Matthew's heart pounded violently in his chest the moment he heard that name.
The Black Tower.
It was a name known across Rosendar—an organization of dark Arts Users that had emerged a few years ago and begun operating about one year ago.
Since then, they had left nothing but ruin behind.
Villages were attacked without warning, every living soul inside slaughtered, and when the killing was done, the corpses were taken away as if they were spoils of war.
Matthew had heard the villagers whisper about them countless times—low voices, fearful glances, conversations that always ended too quickly.
He didn't know why the Black Tower took the dead.
No one seemed to know.
That unanswered question terrified him more than the stories themselves.
A group of monster Arts Users, murdering everyone, committing unspeakable acts…
And now… they were here?
Here, in Ronia.
Tonight.
His thoughts raced in panic. Why would they come here?
Had their leader sent them—the Dark Crow, the one people claimed was the strongest Arts User in the world?
The seven-year-old couldn't make sense of it.
His mind froze under the weight of fear, unable to understand how something so distant and horrific could suddenly stand at his doorstep.
But his body reacted on its own.
He took a step back, small hands trembling, as fear washed over him and threatened to swallow him whole.
...
Jena moved without thinking, stepping in front of Matthew as if her body had decided for her.
Her heart hammered wildly in her chest as she stared at Ron's rigid figure by the window, then forced herself to look past him—outside.
Fire tore through the night.
Screams echoed from every direction as the village jolted awake in chaos. Dark, cloaked figures ran through the streets, their movements swift and merciless.
They were here.
She had heard the stories.
Everyone had.
Whispers of the Black Tower had reached even Ronia. But to see it—to realize they had come here, to her village—her mind refused to accept it.
This can't be happening.
No… it—what…?
Her body shook for a brief moment, fear threatening to unravel her completely.
Then she heard soft footsteps behind her.
Jena turned and saw Matthew—only seven years old, his small face drained of color, fear etched into every inch of him.
Something inside her snapped into place.
Her trembling steadied, her racing thoughts slowing as instinct overwhelmed terror.
Motherhood took control.
Without taking her eyes off the danger beyond the window, her hand dropped to her thigh, fingers closing tightly around the hilt of the dagger hidden there.
...
Ron swallowed hard as he stared out the window.
His village—the village he had lived in for the last eight years. The place where he had built a life, raised a family, learned the faces and names of the people around him.
It… it—
He couldn't finish the thought. He didn't want to.
Outside, the world had become a living nightmare.
Figures cloaked in black moved through the flames like shadows given form. Their hands crackled with power, fire bursting from their fingers and rolling through the streets, devouring homes in seconds.
Lightning tore through the air, striking the ground with cruel precision, bodies collapsing where it hit.
Tornadoes of water spun violently, roaring as they swept away buildings, people—everything in their path.
Spears of compressed air screamed through the night, impaling anyone unlucky enough to be caught in their line.
It was a slaughter.
Men and women he had lived beside for years fell one after another.
Children.
The elderly.
No one was spared.
Ron's breath hitched as he saw an old man—the same one he had shared lunch with just a week ago—collapse as lightning tore through his body, leaving him motionless on the ground.
A mother's scream cut through the chaos as water ripped her child from her arms, the small figure vanishing into the swirling vortex before Ron could even blink.
His stomach twisted violently.
There was no mistaking it. The way they moved. The absolute control. The merciless efficiency.
Arts Users.
The Black Tower had come to Ronia.
A hand shook him sharply, tearing him away from the nightmare.
"Ron!"
Jena stood in front of him, a dagger clenched tightly in her hand, her voice cutting through the chaos as she called his name again, demanding he come back.
Ron stared at her for a heartbeat too long, then his gaze dropped to their son standing behind her.
Matthew.
Reality crashed back into him all at once.
He was a husband. A father. He didn't have the luxury of freezing in fear—not now.
Thinking could wait.
Right now, he had to act. He had to protect them.
Jena was strong—she had once been an adventurer—but Ron was stronger. More experienced. Before settling in Ronia, he had served as a noble's Chief of Guard.
Battle was something etched into his body, even if he hadn't drawn his blade in over a year.
He drew in a deep breath, forcing his racing heart to steady.
"Stay close to Matt," he told her firmly.
Then he moved to their closet and pulled out a sword wrapped in old cloth. The weight of it in his hand was familiar, grounding.
He and Jena had helped the village before—when a monster wandered too close, or a dangerous animal strayed into the fields.
But most of the time, that had been the guards' responsibility—
The guards.
The thought hit him like a blow.
Where were they?
Ron hadn't seen any resistance at all.
No organized defense. No counterattack.
True, Arts Users were far stronger than ordinary Fighters, and the guards of Ronia were only Rank 0 Fighters—but even so, they should have been able to slow the attackers, to buy time, to save at least some of the villagers running through the streets.
And yet… nothing.
No shouts of command. No clash of steel. No sign they were even fighting.
His grip tightened on the sword.
Where did they go?
That… that wasn't right.
No.
Ron shook his head sharply and closed his fingers around the sword with the white hilt.
This was not the time—not for questions, not for anger, not even for the fury boiling in his chest at the so-called protectors who were nowhere to be seen.
Matthew watched his father arm himself and saw his mother tighten her grip on the dagger.
In that moment, it became real.
The Black Tower was truly here.
Fear crashed over him so suddenly his knees nearly gave out, but Jena's hand caught him at once, steady and warm.
She leaned down, her voice low and firm, "It's alright, Matt. I'm here, I'll protect you. Your father is also here, and he will protect us."
Matthew wanted to believe her.
But...
His thoughts rushed to his friends—their families, their homes—and the question burst from him before he could stop it.
"What about the others? The village?"
Jena's face twisted, her expression turning awful as she looked away, unable to answer.
Ron spoke instead.
Sword in hand, he moved to the door leading outside, stopping just short of opening it. He didn't turn around as he answered, his voice steady despite the chaos beyond the walls.
"Matt," he said, "from now on, you need to be very silent. All you do is run with us. Never leave your mother's sight. Got it?"
The young boy wanted to ask more. To say something—anything. But fear had stolen the words from his mouth.
He only nodded.
If this was how he could stay safe, then he would trust them completely.
And so, with trembling fingers, he held tightly to his mother's hand.
Ron tightened his grip on the sword and took his stance. He turned to Jena, meeting her eyes.
"Protect Matt," he said quietly. "I'll lead. If anything happens—anything at all—tell me immediately."
Jena nodded without hesitation.
Ron drew in another deep breath.
Then he opened the door.
The night outside was nothing but carnage.
Screams tore through the air from every direction. Fire roared. Buildings collapsed.
Death lay scattered across the streets like debris.
Something dark flew through the air and struck the ground near their home—a severed hand, landing with a sickening thud.
Matthew's stomach lurched. He nearly threw up.
Jena squeezed his hand hard, her voice sharp but gentle as she leaned down. "Close your eyes, sweetie."
He obeyed at once.
But even with his eyes shut, he couldn't escape it.
The screams. The sounds of destruction.
The wet, awful noises of things breaking that should never break.
Tears burned at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill.
But he didn't cry.
He couldn't make a sound.
Not now.
...
"Where to?" Jena whispered as she moved in behind Ron, still gripping Matthew's small hand tightly in hers.
Her eyes never stopped moving.
All around them, the same nightmare unfolded—fire, screams, destruction.
Not far away, a cloaked figure raised a hand, and a twisting tornado of force tore through a man's body, disfiguring him in an instant.
For now, the attackers hadn't noticed them.
They slipped forward, staying close to walls, ducking behind large crates and the shadows of half-standing houses.
"The stables," Ron answered without slowing. "We take two horses and ride for Coupitia. We warn the guards there, then come back and save whatever can still be saved."
Jena nodded, swallowing hard, and they pressed on.
Then it happened.
Ron's hand slammed into her shoulder, shoving her back with brutal force.
Jena and Matthew fell to the ground as something screamed through the air above them. A blade of compressed air struck the house beside them, wood exploding outward in a storm of splinters.
If Ron hadn't pushed her—
Her head would have been there.
Jena turned, heart hammering, and saw a cloaked figure laughing as he lifted his hand again, power gathering for another strike.
Ron was already moving.
Sword in hand, he sprinted toward the attacker, shouting over his shoulder, "Go! Get to the stables—protect Matt!"
She froze for a moment.
What?
Split up from her husband? She—she couldn't. If she left him here, then… no.
No—
Matthew's hand tightened around hers, clutching her in pure fear, and the thoughts shattered. She forced them away. There was no time.
Jena stood up, scooped Matthew into her arms, and drove power into her right leg. The ground cracked beneath her as she exploded forward with sudden speed.
"I love you," she called out.
Ron smiled as he slashed at the cloaked figure, his sword cutting through the firelit air.
"I love you too."
—End of Chapter.