My legs pushed through dirt and tangled roots, heart slamming against my ribs.
Idiot. Idiot. Why did I yell at her like that? Why did she take it so personally? N-no shit sherlock! Of course she did! Anyone that get yelled like that would obviously take it personally!
Branches whipped my arms. Leaves snagged my sleeves. Still, I didn't stop.
"Paul, you big moron!" I muttered to myself.
Each time I blinked, I saw her face, that look when she bit her lip, trying not to cry. Then the part when she screamed she didn't need magic.
I didn't mean it like that. I just...
A root nearly tripped me. I stumbled, caught myself. Then I saw it.
Blood.
A splatter on the grass. I skidded to a stop as my eyes widened as I dropped to one knee, brushing a leaf aside. Another smear. Then a trail. Dried red streaks, some still wet.
Too big for a rabbit, I realized. Definitely not human. But fresh.
My stomach twisted. She fought something. A cold weight dropped in my gut.
What if..?
No. No, no— before my thoughts could stretch, I heard a scream, faint, but I heard it. High-pitched. Echoing through the trees.
I recognized it instantly.
Lyra.
I bolted, heart racing, feet pounding so hard the ground felt like it was cracking beneath me. I leapt over a fallen log, rounded a crumbling ridge, then slowed.
Voices...
I crouched low and crept toward the edge of a bush, careful not to snap a twig, and there she was. Tied to a tree. Face dirty. Sword on the ground, just out of reach. Her arms bound. Her expression defiant but shaken.
Six men were dressed in ragged black clothes, scarved faces and grimy boots —heaved the carcasses of three black wolves onto a creaky wooden wagon. Each beast, large and dark-furred, bore the marks of a brutal struggle. Blood matted their fur, but the wounds were clean, intentional, and practiced strikes.
Just a few feet away, Lyra sat tied to the base of a tree, her arms bound tightly behind her. Her cheeks were smudged with dirt, her knees scraped from the skirmish. Her sword; a rust-bitten old thing from the village rack, lay a few feet away in the grass, just out of reach.
"HEY! LET ME GO!" she shouted, thrashing against the ropes. "THOSE WERE MY KILLS!"
One of the bandits tossed the last wolf onto the wagon and wiped his brow. "Thank you for your generous donation," he said with a smug grin. "Black wolves. These'll fetch a fat coin purse."
Another leaned against the wagon, crossing his arms. "Boss," he nodded toward the struggling girl. "What do we do with her?"
A man emerged from the shadows of a crooked pine, lighting a cigarette with a match that flared orange against the dimming green. His hair was swept back, streaked with gray, and a wicked scar ran down his left eye. There's a sword strapped behind him. His voice was low and calm.
"We take her," he said simply, snapping the lighter closed with a flick. "We let her go, she tells the village. They'll be on edge. And our raid plan? Burned."
One of the other men laughed darkly. "Or we have some fun before we take her. She's a feisty one."
"She'd sell well, too," another added, his grin missing several teeth.
"Rghh!? WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!" Lyra roared, her voice trembling with rage.
The leader exhaled a long stream of smoke, his eyes drifting lazily to the wagon where the three black wolf corpses lay. "Honestly impressive. Girl your age taking down three of those? What do they feed you in that village?"
One of the bandits, a lanky man with greasy hair and twitchy fingers, stepped toward her, an ugly grin stretching across his face. "Maybe we find out up close," he muttered.
The leader didn't even glance back. "Enough. Load the rest. We'll move out soon."
Lyra's breathing sharpened. Her wrists strained against the ropes binding her to the tree.
"Hey! Don't come near me!" she barked, panic rising in her throat.
The greasy bandit kept walking, his shadow falling over her like a curtain. "Or what? You gonna yip at me like your dead mutts?"
"I said, DON'T COME NEAR!" Her voice cracked with fear and fury.
His grin widened. "Aw, the little killer's scared now?"
Her bright yellow eyes shimmered. She turned her face away, blinking fast, chest rising and falling too quickly.
She felt it creeping in. That sick, clenching weight in her gut.
That awful truth she couldn't shake.
She couldn't fight.
Not like this. Not tied down.
"P... Papa... M-Mama... Kyro..."
Her whisper trembled into the trees.
Then suddenly..
Thunk.
The greasy bandit flinched as a clump of dirt smacked him square in the temple.
"What the hell?"
His gaze snapped to the treeline. I was already sprinting towards the man and the dirt wasn't an attack, but a distraction.
My distraction.
"Who—?!"
I ducked low, and moved across the grass, and slammed my palm against his gut, a burst of mana already gathered in my palm. I spoke no words, just intent.
Wind. Blast. Push.
BOOM.
A sudden, focused gust of wind erupted from my hand, launching the bandit backwards like a ragdoll. He flew across the clearing, smashed into a tree trunk with a sickening crack, and slumped to the ground, coughing.
Aura shimmered faintly around the bandit as he staggered to his feet, rage twisting his face. "Ughh! You'll pay for that, brat!"
The other bandits froze in shock.
"What the—?!"
"Where did he come from?!"
"He's just a kid!"
One of them, broader and meaner with jagged teeth and a crooked nose, hefted his axe. "Don't matter. We gut him, grab the girl, and go."
I didn't waste time. I rushed straight to Lyra, my heart pounding. "Kyro!" she called out, stunned, and for a moment, relieved.
I dropped to my knees beside her and grabbed the ropes binding her wrists. My fingers brushed the coarse, fibrous texture.
It's Tree bark. It's tough, but organic. Good.
I took a breath, steadying my mana despite the pounding in my head and used Wither without saying the spell.
A pulse of mana surged through me. The bark rope hissed as it dried, shriveled, and then crumbled to dust in my hands.
She blinked, stunned. "Huh?"
But then the recoil hit me. A wave of dizziness slammed into my skull like a hammer. My knees buckled.
"H-Hey! This ain't the time to sleep!" Lyra caught me by the shoulders just before I slumped to the ground.
I let out a weak chuckle, trying to shake the fuzz from my vision. "S-sorry... just... kinda overdid it a little..."
"KYRO, LOOK OUT!"
She yanked me toward her with a burst of strength, and my face collided into her chest as an arrow thwacked into the tree trunk behind where I'd just been.
I blinked, stunned. "Ow—what was—?!"
Lyra's eyes flared with fury as she scooped up her sword. "It's that guy!"
The leader stood at a distance, lowering his bow, a thin trail of smoke curling from the cigarette clenched between his teeth. "That kid's got tricks," he muttered, "but he just made it worse for both of them."
The rest of the bandits were closing in, weapons drawn and eyes locked on us like predators scenting blood.
Lyra's grin widened as she gripped her sword tighter. "Heh... good. I was getting bored."
What the hell?! This kid is seriously considering fighting them? She was just bound by a rope! I thought.
"No!" I grabbed her wrist and yanked her back. "You won't last five seconds! There's six of them!"
She blinked at me, shocked. "What?! You seriously want to run?!"
But I was already moving, grabbing her arm as I muttered, "Think fast or we both die."
"Rghh, I hate when you're right!" she hissed, reluctantly turning with me as we sprinted into the forest.
Behind us, the bandits cursed and gave chase, their footsteps thundering after us like drums of war.
Branches whipped past us, claws of bark and leaf slashing at our arms and faces as we sprinted through the forest. Our legs burned. Our lungs screamed. But we didn't stop.
Because they were right behind us.
Heavy boots pounded the forest floor.
Shouts echoed through the trees.
Arrows thunked into trunks just inches from our heads.
"Move, move, MOVE!" I shouted, yanking Lyra's wrist as we ducked under a low branch.
A blur of steel slashed overhead; an axe swing. We barely ducked it.
Lyra twisted and clanged her sword against the blade of a bandit, sparks flying.
His Aura flared orange from the impact, staggering him just enough for us to get a few more steps ahead.
"They're gaining!" Lyra gasped.
"We're smaller!" I panted. "Use it!"
We darted between tightly packed trees, slipping through gaps too narrow for adults. Behind us, curses erupted as the bandits had to veer around.
But not the leader.
He was gone from the group. Somewhere in the woods, he'd broken off, moving silently, methodically.
We didn't notice, because we were too focused on surviving.
Another bandit leapt from the side, his knife gleaming. Lyra parried instinctively, slashing his wrist aside and ducking low. "Go!" she shouted, pushing me ahead as the man grunted in frustration.
I scanned my surroundings as we ran, then, my eyes widened.
"There!" I shouted.
Ahead, the ground sloped steeply downward.
A natural down-hill, slick with moss and lined with roots.
And at the bottom, half-hidden by bramble and time, was the hollowed trunk of a fallen tree, massive and open like a tunnel.
We didn't slow down as we jumped in.
A hand reached — just inches from Lyra's skyblue long hair.
Then darkness swallowed us as we slid into the hollow.
The inside reeked of damp rot, bark scraping our sides as we tumbled through.
And then, SPLASH!
We hit a pond at the bottom.
Cold. Mucky and Deep.
I surfaced, gasping. "Lyra?!"
She thrashed beside me, panicked. "K-Kyro—! I can't—!"
She didn't know how to swim.
I grabbed her wrist, pulled her close. My mana was low, but not empty.
I focused, using Wordless Magic. The water around us shimmered and resisted me at first, but then it softened, parting slightly, easing our movement. I kicked off the water using my magic, manipulating the water for a short amount of time and dragged her to shore.
We collapsed on the muddy bank, coughing and shivering, but alive.
"We... we made it..." I said between breaths.
"No," came a voice from behind.
I turned and a fist like stone slammed into my ribs.
WHUMP.
The world spun, pain exploded through my chest as I was launched off my feet, back into the pond. I barely registered the water before I sank again.
The leader stepped out of the shadows beneath the trees, cracking his knuckles, a smirk curling under his cigarette.
"You kids almost impressed me."
Lyra staggered to her feet, soaked, panting. "Y-you—!"
She rushed him with her sword, aura flaring one last time. But he stepped sideways with frightening precision and drove his knee into her gut.
CRACK.
Her aura shattered like glass.
She choked, coughing spit as she crumpled to her knees, her sword falling limp to the mud beside her. The swamp around us was quiet, save for the soft ripple of water... and the slow approach of heavy footsteps. The leader exhaled smoke again, eyes calm, almost amused as he watched Lyra struggle on her knees.
"That was a good attempt to escape," he said, voice low and casual, "but unfortunately... you're out of luck."
I groaned, trying to sit up. My limbs felt like logs, my chest tight and burning with every breath.
My fingers clawed at the mud.
L-Lyra...
That was all I could think.
She was trembling, soaked and bruised, trying to lift herself, but her aura was gone. She had nothing left. The leader reached down and grabbed a handful of her hair.
"You're one fiery brat," he muttered, pulling her up by her scalp.
Lyra gasped, her teeth clenched in rage and pain.
"From what I've seen... you're already an Intermediate-level swordsman. Impressive, really." He tilted her face toward him, his cigarette trailing smoke beside her cheek. "Your village must be hiding some serious talent."
Behind him, heavy boots crunched against the wet earth. The rest of the bandits had caught up.
"They're just kids," one muttered, spitting into the dirt.
"No," the leader said. "If a nine-year-old can fight like this, that village must have strong warriors, real ones. We may have just struck gold."
He yanked Lyra higher by the hair, lifting her off her feet. She kicked, her voice caught in a growl, fury burning in her eyes. I forced my hand into the mud, trying to push myself up.
Move. Please... MOVE.
Just then, a rustle. A shout.
"Over there! S-someone's coming!"
The leader turned his head.
One of the bandits stepped forward, sword drawn. "I'll handle it."
He didn't take more than three steps before a flash of steel carved through the trees.
SHHK—!
The bandit's eyes went wide.
A clean slash opened across his both of his knees, and he dropped. He groaned in pain but his face was immediately kicked. The bandit fell unconscious.
Silence.
Then... footsteps. Calm. Heavy. Intentional.
Out from the trees stepped a man. His coat torn at the shoulder. His sword dripping red.
Saul.
His eyes were locked on the leader. Expression unreadable. Cold.
"Put the girl down," he said.
*Earlier*
The sun hung high, casting long golden streaks through the trees. Midafternoon warmth soaked the air, buzzing with insects and birdsong.
Three village children sprinted out of the treeline, breathless and flushed. Their sandals kicked up dust as they stumbled toward the nearby field where two guards stood lazily chatting near a post.
"H-hey!" one boy cried. "Something's wrong!"
The younger girl tripped over her own feet, falling to her knees. "Kyro and Lyra, t-they went into the forest!"
One of the guards furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? Alone?"
The tallest of the children nodded rapidly. "Yeah! They went deep. Lyra said she'd only be a minute, but she had her sword and everything! Kyro followed after her!"
The other guard straightened immediately. "How long ago was this?"
The kids exchanged glances. "...A while," the girl admitted, shame creeping into her voice. "P-please help them!"
The first guard knelt in front of them. "Which way?"
The children pointed toward the southern trail, narrow, dense, and rarely used. A path meant more for seasoned hunters than children.
The air grew heavier.
"Go back to your homes," the second guard said, already turning. "Now."
He blew a sharp note on a whistle hanging from his neck. Another guard came running.
"Alert the head house. Get Reyna and Thorskil," the first guard ordered. "Two kids went into the deep wood alone."
*Samsworth Household, Fifteen Minutes Later*
Reyna was kneading dough when the knock came, hard, fast, and unrelenting.
"Coming!" she called, wiping flour from her hands. She opened the door.
A guard stood panting at the steps, sweat dripping down his temple.
"It's the children."
Reyna's heart skipped a beat.
"Which children?" she asked, the question trembling in her throat even as she already knew the answer.
"Your daughter," the guard said. "And your boy. They went into the southern forest. Alone."
Reyna came sprinting across the yard, her voice sharp and ragged.
"Thorskil!"
He looked up from the barn, hands still dusted with hay. One glance at her face was enough.
Something was wrong.
"They're in the forest. Kyro and Lyra. I told them not to go far—!" Her words stumbled, caught between panic and fury.
Thorskil didn't ask questions.
His smile vanished.
They turned and headed straight for the house.
Reyna threw open the front door, storming through the hall toward their room. She yanked open the old cedar chest, grabbed the battle-axe resting inside, and slung it over her shoulder with trembling hands. Her jaw clenched tight.
Thorskil moved calmly toward the weapons rack near the hearth. His eyes landed on the sword mounted in the center. Its sheath and hilt were dark — pristine, black, like a blade carved from the empty parts of space.
Excalibur of Destruction.
His fingers hovered over it, Thorskil hesitated. But only for a moment. Then he reached to the side, where a simpler, iron-forged sword waited. That one would do.
There was no time to change. He wore the same sweat-dampened shirt and worn trousers he'd worked in all morning. Reyna still had her apron on, stained with dirt and flour, her hair a mess from rushing outside.
None of that mattered. They stepped outside again, the door swinging shut behind them, and without a word, they ran.
*Deep Forest, Moments Later*
The guards moved fast, blades in hand, eyes sweeping through the underbrush.
But one man ran faster than them all.
Saul.
He had not spoken a single word when the children came rushing in. The moment he heard the names — Kyro and Lyra — his body moved before his mind could catch up. He seized his sword, slid a dagger into his boot, and disappeared into the forest before the others had even finished asking what happened.
His face betrayed nothing.
His pace never slowed.
He didn't know exactly what had gone wrong, but deep in his bones, something screamed that they were running out of time.
He pressed forward through the tangled woods, his steps quick and quiet. The forest here was familiar, but still treacherous. He moved like a phantom, eyes scanning the ground for any trace.
There.
Tiny footprints in the dirt. Two sets, running close together. A boy and a girl. Saul's chest tightened. He didn't stop.
The tracks led him through a narrow gap between the trees and into a small clearing. A wagon stood abandoned in the middle. Blood stained the boards, and three black wolves lay sprawled across the top; slain
Saul slowed, eyes sharp as daggers.
He studied the area quickly. There was an arrow buried deep into the bark of a nearby tree. A clean shot. It hadn't hit its mark.
He turned slightly, stepping past the trunk. More arrows jutted from trees beyond it, each one staggered and leading deeper into the woods. A trail.
The children had been fleeing. Someone had been shooting at them.
Saul narrowed his eyes and followed the path.
The forest darkened as he descended into thicker terrain. The trees grew taller, the air damp and heavy. Moss clung to everything. Each step took him deeper into what was now clearly swampland.
And then he saw them.
Figures.
Moving slowly through the marsh. Armed. Laughing.
Bandits.
Saul pressed his back to a tree, eyes locked on their movements. He could count them now. The leader moved with a deliberate pace, further ahead from the rest. The others trudged behind him, blades drawn.
He exhaled. Quiet. Steady.
He had found them.
***
"Put the girl down," Saul said.
The words were calm. Measured. But they struck like a hammer in the dead air.
The remaining bandits flinched, blades twitching in their hands. Even the birds had gone silent.
The leader, however, remained still. Unbothered. Smoke curled lazily from his lips as he exhaled through his nose, tilting his head with mild amusement.
"Who are you supposed to be?!" one of the bandits barked, trying to mask his unease with bravado.
But Saul didn't answer.
"Saul!" Lyra cried, her voice cracking. Her eyes were wide, glazed with relief and pain. "Y-you're here..."
Kyro pushed himself upright with trembling arms, sweat and mud on his face. His body screamed to rest, but his heart steadied. Saul was here. They had a chance.
"Get him!" one of the bandits shouted.
Steel hissed. The four rushed in, blades flashing, but Saul moved like a storm.
His footwork was clean, balanced even on the slick swamp floor. His blade met the first attacker with a hard cross-strike that shattered the man's Aura in a burst of light and pressure. Before the bandit could recover, Saul pivoted and slammed the hilt of his sword into the man's neck. The thug crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
The second and third attacked in tandem, one high, one low. Saul twisted between their blows, dodging by inches. His blade knocked one sword aside, then rebounded to strike the other man across the temple with the flat. A loud crack — his Aura broke. The third took a kick to the chest that sent him crashing into a tree. Both were down. Groaning. Not getting up.
The last tried to turn and flee.
Saul reached into his coat. A flick of his wrist, and a throwing knife spun through the air. It didn't stab, but struck the man's shoulder with enough force to knock him off balance. Saul was already there before he could hit the ground, delivering a hard elbow that knocked him out cold.
Four men. Four fell.
Only two remained in the swamp clearing.
Saul.
And the Bandit Leader.
The leader grunted and dropped Lyra without a word. Then raised his boot and kicked her off to the side like discarded luggage. Her body tumbled through the mud and came to rest against a tree.
Kyro's heart lurched.
"L-Lyra!" he screamed. He tried to move, but his legs gave out. All he could do was crawl.
Saul's jaw tightened.
He took a step forward.
The leader finally reached behind his back and drew a wide, curved blade. Unlike the others, this one was polished. Weighted. Deadly.
The moment the blade cleared its sheath, Saul's eyes narrowed.
"You're no ordinary thug," he said flatly.
The leader smirked, rolling his neck with a few loud cracks. "Neither are you."
They moved.
CLANG!
Steel met steel.
Their first clash sent a shockwave through the clearing, boots skidding across wet ground, blades ringing with raw force. Trees quivered. Mud kicked up. The air turned dense with tension.
Saul ducked beneath a brutal overhead slash and retaliated with a slicing counter. The leader blocked it clean and struck with his elbow. Saul shifted with the blow and answered with a sweeping low cut that grazed the man's thigh.
Back and forth they traded, neither gaining the upper hand. Saul's strikes were refined, calculated. The leader's style was heavier. They're raw power shaped by ruthless precision.
The duel was brutal. Fast. Controlled.
No wasted movement.
"You've had real training," the leader muttered between blows. "Your stance... that weight behind every swing... You're no mere village guard."
Saul didn't answer and his eyes stayed locked.
Blades clashed again. Sparks flew.
Then the leader gave a sharp grin. Like a beast recognizing another hunter.
"I get it now. You're a Sword Saint, aren't you?"
The silence that followed was enough.
The leader chuckled low.
And then something changed.
His Aura surged; thick, violent energy spiraling around him like a rising storm.
"But you're not the only one with a name," he said, his voice deepening with the pressure of raw power. "I'm a Sword King."
The forest seemed to flinch at his words. The very air turned heavy, pressing on every branch and blade of grass.
Kyro felt it.
Even from the ground, the pressure gripped his chest like an invisible hand. His breath caught. The air had grown thick. Heavy. Too heavy.
Saul stood firm, body low, his weight centered and balanced. His breathing slowed. Every inch of him seemed braced for what came next. Then, in a blink, the bandit leader vanished.
Saul's pupils shrank.
A blur of steel flashed in his vision.
Pain exploded in his shoulder. The world tilted.
His sword dropped from his hand, spinning into the mud. Blood sprayed as his right arm was severed in a clean, merciless cut. In the same instant, his Aura shattered with a sharp, cracking noise, like ice breaking underfoot. The ground lit with white-blue sparks for a moment, then dimmed.
Before Saul could react, a heavy boot slammed into his back.
He grunted, his body flung forward. He hit the mud with a hard, wet thud, his remaining arm sinking into the soaked earth as he struggled for air. The world spun.
Footsteps followed.
Slow. Measured.
Mocking.
The bandit leader walked toward him with lazy confidence, dragging his bloodied blade along the ground. He rolled his neck and gave a soft chuckle.
"That's it?" he said. "Sword Saint? That's what they call you?"
Saul groaned, pushing against the ground with one hand. Mud clung to his cheek. He forced himself up to one knee, jaw clenched.
"You're just a man clinging to a title," the leader continued. "A fool with a wooden crown. Sword Saint... what a joke."
He raised his blade.
"I'll show you what a real title looks like."
The sword rose over Saul's head.
Kyro's eyes widened. His heart pounded. No words came, only a scream caught in his throat.
He lifted his arm — shaking in fear.
He didn't think.
He didn't aim.
He simply acted.
A small fireball burst from his palm, arcing through the air. It struck the leader square in the side with a loud crack of flame.
Fwoom.
Fire flared. Smoke rose to the sky.
For a moment, Kyro thought it had worked.
But the leader didn't even flinch.
His Aura flared — thick and dark — and the fire dispersed like steam in the wind. His coat smoked lightly where the fire had hit, but his stance didn't shift.
He turned his head and his eyes found Kyro.
There was no humor in the man's eyes now. No amusement, but only focus.
Kyro felt something cold crawl up his spine. His breath stopped. It wasn't the silence. It wasn't the stillness. It was the way that gaze pinned him in place. The world around him blurred at the edges. Colors dulled. Sounds vanished. Only that stare remained, drilling into him, stripping away every thought but one.
He could not move. Could not speak.
His fingers trembled at his sides, but his legs remained rooted. Every part of him screamed to run, to do something, anything, but his body betrayed him. He was a statue carved from fear. His chest ached. Something primal inside him twisted and writhed.
Then, a sound.
Coughing.
Kyro's eyes jerked to the side. Lyra. She was alive. Slumped against the dirt, her hand weakly reaching out as she gasped for breath.
Relief surged through him. But it was short-lived. The leader turned. Slowly, he stepped away from Saul's motionless form. That smile returned to his face. Not playful. Not mocking.
But hungry.
He approached her with the cruel patience of a predator.
"No," Kyro whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.
But Saul moved, his arm shot out, latching onto the bandit's ankle. The leader paused and looked down. Then without hesitation, he raised his foot and brought it down on Saul's remaining arm.
A sickening crack split the air.
Saul screamed. A cry torn from the very depths of his being. And then, silence. His body collapsed into the mud, unmoving.
The leader kept walking.
Kyro's heart pounded louder than his thoughts. He watched, helpless, as the man neared his sister. Lyra groaned. Her eyes fluttered open. She tried to sit up, confused, dazed.
A shadow loomed over her.
The leader stood above her, raising his hand.
"No. No!" Kyro's voice finally broke free. "Get away from her!" Kyro forced himself forward, legs shaking, steps stumbling. Too slow. Far too slow.
The leader reached for her, hand inched closer and closer.
But then, rushed footsteps tore through the field. A blur of muscle and fury surged into view.
The bandit leader sensed this and turned to raise his sword, the air exploded with the clang of metal.
CLANG!
A battle-axe collided with the bandit's sword, the impact sending a shockwave that rippled through the clearing. The leader was hurled several feet away, his boots dragging trenches in the dirt.
He regained his footing, eyes wide.
Before him stood a woman with an apron, tall and powerful. Her golden hair clung to her sweat-soaked skin. Her green eyes burned with rage. Her grip on the massive battle-axe was unshakable. Each breath she exhaled hissed in the air like steam off hot iron.
Reyna.
"Mom!" Kyro and Lyra cried out together.
"You will not lay a hand on my children!" Her voice thundered across the clearing.
The moment she stepped forward, earth trembled beneath her. Dust rose with each step. The ground buckled under her fury. Cracks split the soil as the very forest seemed to respond to her wrath.
The bandit blinked. For a moment, he stared at the ground, brow furrowed.
"A barbarian." He scoffed silently.
Then he looked up and Reyna was already airborne.
Her axe swung overhead, casting a long shadow as it came crashing down like judgment itself. The bandit raised his sword — BANGG!
The bandit's feet buckled, creating a mini-crater of dirt. He gritted his teeth.
"You will not get away from this!" Reyna yelled, she pushed forward as the sword king was pushed back as he was slammed to the dirt beneath.
BWOSH!
Kyro scrambled over to Lyra, despite the headache, trembling legs and the wave of dizziness, he fought it all as he dropped beside her.
"L-Lyra! Are you—"
"Hush!" she hissed, pressing a tiny finger to his lips. Her eyes sparkled. "Mama's fighting! I wanna see this!"
What's wrong with this girl? Kyro thought as a bead of sweat formed around my temple.
Before he could answer, a strong hand wrapped around his waist. Another around Lyra's.
"Ah—!" Kyro flinched. Then a familiar scent, warm and earthy. Both Lyra and I looked up to see Thorskil.
"FATHER!" both Kyro and Lyra cried out in unison.
Relief flooded Kyro's chest, washing away the fear like a wave over a dying flame. The warmth of his father's presence, solid and unmoving, finally reached his limbs. His body, frozen just moments ago, began to tremble; not in fear, but from the aftershock of surviving the terror.
Thorskil held them tightly, one arm around each child.
"We saw a smoke rising from here. What are you two doing here anyway?" His voice was calm, almost too calm, like the eye of a storm. But his eyes told another story. They scanned every inch of them, flickering with restrained panic, as if he were searching for any sign of wounds.
"We—um..." Lyra said hesitantly.
Thorskil sighed, "We'll talk once we get home, yeah?"
Kyro and Lyra exchanged glances before turning to their father with a nod. Once satisfied, his gaze shifted past them.
Toward Reyna.
The battlefield had shifted.
Reyna had one of the man's ankles clutched tightly in her hand. Her teeth were clenched, muscles bulging as she roared with each motion. With the fury of a rampaging beast, she slammed him against the ground. Once. Twice. Then again. Each slam shook the dirt and sent mud splattering in every direction. The sound of impact echoed across the forest swamp, joined by Reyna's guttural cries. Rage twisted her features; rage born from a mother's wrath.
With a final growl, she hurled him high into the air.
The bandit's body twisted midair like a ragdoll.
And as he began to fall, Reyna dug her boots into the earth, raising her battle-axe high. Her stance was solid, like a titan bracing for a storm. No — more like she was preparing to swing a baseball.
She swung.
The impact rang like thunder.
Her axe struck the bandit across the chest, sending his body hurtling through the swamp. Trees splintered beneath him. One, two, three, four — until the fifth shattered like brittle glass. His body came to a brutal stop against the sixth tree, bark cracking under the force.
His aura broke. It shattered with the sound of glass meeting stone, fragments of golden energy scattering into the fog. He gasped, spitting saliva as he slumped to the base of the tree, eyes wide in disbelief.
Reyna straightened her back and wiped a thumb across her nose. She scoffed as if tossing aside the weight of battle, her eyes burning with defiance.
Kyro stared, slack-jawed. Beside him, Lyra's eyes sparkled with amazement.
"Mother is strong..!" Lyra whispered, her voice full of awe.
Thorskil chuckled, the sound low and proud. "Yeah. She is."
The man stirred again.
Slowly, he dragged himself up, sword trembling in his grip. His chest heaved. His aura was gone, his stance sluggish.
But it was his face that revealed the truth.
Not fear. Confusion.
"Argh... my speed... it's decreasing..." he muttered, glancing down at his sword arm as though it no longer belonged to him. "My body feels heavy... I couldn't react in time to that monster's attacks..."
He grimaced, I could take on barbarians with ease... but why am I suddenly... sluggish? The bandit thought. Then, his eyes darted from Reyna back toward the man standing calmly with two children tucked safely under each arm.
Thorskil.
He wasn't holding a blade. He hadn't even drawn his sword yet.
But the moment the bandit had noticed him — truly noticed him — everything had changed.
The Sword King clenched his jaw. He had faced champions, warlords, knights blessed by gods. Yet never had his instincts screamed so loud.
His vision spun for a moment, like the ground beneath him had tilted.
Thorskil's presence pressed on him like gravity, each breath heavier than the last.
Sword God's Authority.
An aura that did not radiate outwards but weighed inwards, like a mountain placed atop the spirit. A divine suppression born from the title of Sword God itself. It didn't matter if Thorskil stood still or moved. For those who recognized him as a threat — those who dared to stand opposed him in the battlefield — Thorskil became a living curse. Their bodies weakened. Their strength would falter. Their swings would slow. Their reactions dulled. Even their balance could shatter mid-battle, like standing on a ship during a storm.
He could toggle this power on and off like a lights witch, and now, he's using it for Reyna to do the job while he makes sure the children are protected.
For Reyna, that pressure had become her wind.
Reyna's eyes locked onto the man again.
She rolled her shoulders slowly, like a predator shaking tension from its muscles. Her grip tightened on the handle of her battle-axe, each finger curling with deliberate control. Mud squelched beneath her boots as she stepped forward, radiating fury.
The bandit staggered back, eyes flicking between Reyna and the looming figure in the distance.
"Thorskil...?" he breathed, face pale with dawning horror. "Thorskil's here...!?"
His voice cracked.
Panic crept into his tone as realization spread like poison. "That scum sent us to our deaths...!"
His head jerked toward the trees. He spun on his heel and bolted, trying to run. But he didn't make it far. A pulse rippled through the swamp. Not a sound, not a gust, but a shift in the very air. The Sword God's Authority surged like an unseen tide. The bandit's knees buckled. His vision tilted violently. A wave of dizziness struck him so hard it dropped him instantly to the ground.
"Rghhh—!"
He groaned, clawing at the mud, trying to stand. His limbs trembled under their own weight, his strength leaking out of him like blood from a wound.
Then a shadow fell over him.
He looked up.
Reyna stood above him, battle-axe raised high.
Steam curled from her arms. Her eyes, sharp and burning, glared down like judgment itself. There was no hesitation. No pity. Only the feral, primal rage of a mother protecting her children.
The bandit opened his mouth to scream something—anything.
But the axe had already begun to fall.
The blade swept downward like divine punishment, cleaving clean through flesh and bone. The sound tore through the clearing, not like metal striking metal, but like a wet crack of thunder, sharp and final.
"ARGHH—!"
The scream was short.
Then silence.
Blood spattered the water and Reyna's apron.
The body collapsed, split in two.
*Kyro*
I flinched the moment it happened.
My body, locked up in my father's arm, heart jumping straight into my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut right as my mother brought her axe down, like I could shield myself from the reality of it just by not seeing it. But the sound still reached me. That wet, final sound. It sank deep into my ears, dug into my brain.
My hands trembled.
This wasn't like the games back home. It wasn't like movies or simulations. This wasn't a dramatic death with orchestral music and a fade to black.
This was messy.
It was violent. Brutal. Real.
I felt something twist in my stomach.
A cold pressure gripped my gut and pushed up into my throat. I didn't vomit, but I was close. My breathing turned shallow. My hands clutched tighter to my father's shirt without realizing.
She just killed him. Mother just... killed someone... Not knocked out. Not detained. Not driven away, but actually.. killed!
I opened my eyes slowly.
Reyna stood there, axe lowered to her side, blood dripping from the blade like melting wax. Her chest rose and fell with deep, measured breaths. Her eyes were sharp, focused — but not shaken.
Thorskil remained still, calm as ever. His gaze was locked on the corpse, but there was no emotion in his expression. Not fear. Not pride. Not even discomfort. Just quiet observation.
Lyra, being held beside Thorskil, eyes wide, but not in horror. In admiration.
"She got him!" she said simply.
She didn't look away. Didn't even blink, like she'd seen this before. Like it was normal.
I swallowed hard, because I was the only one reacting like this.
I came from a world where murder was an act that shook the foundations of society. Where death was clinical, distant, never raw and inches from your feet. Where seeing a man split in half would spark headlines and courtrooms, not a relieved sigh and and admired eyes.
So can you really blame me for reacting like this?
I was only one who still couldn't stomach seeing it done and yet... this was my new reality.
Thank goodness I wasn't near enough to see the detailed gore, or else I'd definitely vomit.
***
Mother carried her massive battle-axe over one shoulder, the blade still darkened by dried blood. She walked in long, confident strides, her expression unreadable beneath the fading sunlight. Father followed behind her, Saul slung unconscious across his back, one arm bandaged and limp.
Lyra and I trailed behind them, our boots soft against the dirt path. She kept close, hands clasped behind her head, gaze drifting occasionally toward Saul. Her eyes were distant, lips pressed together in a flat line.
The other village guards came last, five in total, each dragging or carrying an unconscious bandit. Their bodies would be healed enough to talk, just not enough to run. They'd be interrogated before the sun rose again.
Mother had offered to carry me, which I declined, after that she had asked Lyra if she wanted to ride on her shoulder. But Lyra shook her head, chin high, and said she was almost an adult. I said nothing. I couldn't bring myself to grab Mother's fingers. Not while they were still stained with blood.
We weren't close with Saul. Not really. Not until today. But Lyra had trained with him for over a year. They'd sparred together, eaten meals, shared dreams of adventure. My worry to Saul, the man that risked his life for us, was real, but Lyra's... it was deeper. Quieter. She kept glancing at him, even after we'd passed him.
By the time we reached the village gates, the sun had dipped low enough that shadows stretched long across the fields. Torches flickered to life along the fences. People stepped out from homes, murmuring, whispering as they saw Saul's body and the tied-up bandits.
Father gave orders, calm and precise, and the guards followed without hesitation. It surprised me, how easily he stepped into command. He wasn't wearing anything regal, no fancy armor or cape. Just a dirt-streaked tunic and leather boots. Yet the way people responded to him... it was like he had always been their leader.
As Father stayed behind to organize the guardhouse and secure the prisoners, Mother, Lyra, and I made our way back to the house.
The door creaked open. The familiar scent of wood, herbs, and smoke welcomed us home. It should've comforted me. It didn't.
The moment I stepped inside, everything caught up to me.
The adrenaline was gone. Replaced by exhaustion, aching bones, and a heavy fog in my head. My shoulders slumped. My knees felt like they might give out at any moment.
Mother was saying something. Maybe telling Lyra to wash up. Maybe reminding her about tomorrow's chores. I didn't hear it. My thoughts were spinning too fast, too loud.
All I could think about was what had happened.
We almost died.
Saul lost an arm.
Because of me.
Because I couldn't keep my temper in check. Because I let my pride get in the way. I should've known better. I should've walked away. I should've stopped myself.
I stared at the floor, barely hearing the creak of the door closing behind us.
Then, a hand rested on my shoulder.
I turned my head.
Lyra stood beside me, smiling. It wasn't forced. It wasn't bright, either. Just a simple, gentle smile that said she was still here. That we both were.
"What? Are you sad?" she asked, tilting her head a little.
I didn't answer right away.
How could she smile after everything that happened? After Saul nearly died? After Mother cut a man in half? That wasn't something you were supposed to smile after.
"I... well... I just..." The words stumbled. Nothing came out right. My mouth moved, but my thoughts were a mess. Eventually, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My shoulders sank, heavy with everything I had kept locked in since the moment we ran.
"I'm sorry, Lyra. I caused all of this."
She didn't stop smiling. No twitch in her brow. No sigh. Just a calm expression as if she had already expected those words to come out of my mouth. Her eyes stayed steady, quietly watching me like she could already hear the rest before I even said it.
"What?" she asked, her voice light. Almost teasing. But not unkind.
"It's my fault," I murmured. My fists tightened at my sides. "It all started because I called you an idiot. I shouldn't have said that. I was mad and... I let it out. I should've kept it in. I'm sorry I—"
"You think that was your fault?" she cut in gently.
Not sharp. Just clear.
I froze. Her voice wasn't angry, but it still stopped me cold. I looked up to meet her gaze.
She let her hand fall from my shoulder and gave a half-shrug, her face unreadable.
"Kyro, we were attacked by bandits. Bad people. Do you really think one argument between siblings had anything to do with that?"
I wanted to speak. I really did. I wanted to say Yes. I wanted to say, If I hadn't said that, you wouldn't have run off. I wanted to believe there was a way it could've all been avoided. That if I had just stayed quiet, maybe none of this would've happened.
But she beat me to it.
She rolled her eyes and gave a soft snort.
"You're not that important. No offense."
The words hit harder than any slap. But they weren't cruel, they were grounding. Like being pulled out of a dream you didn't realize you were stuck in. I stood there, the weight of those words sinking in.
She walked past me and dropped onto the wooden bench beside the fireplace. Her arms draped across her knees, her posture slouched. For once, she wasn't trying to act bigger than she was. She just looked tired.
"I was already planning to go," she said, eyes locked on the hearth. "Even before I asked you to teach me about magic, I'd made up my mind. I wanted to try out that new move Saul showed me. I wanted to prove something. I was excited. And angry. A bad mix."
Her voice lowered, and something bitter curled at the edges.
"I wasn't thinking. That was my choice. Not yours. I walked into that forest because I wanted to, not because of something you said."
She clenched her jaw and looked away.
"It cost Saul his arm. That's on me."
A small, humorless scoff escaped her lips.
"You were right, by the way. I am an idiot. So I'll take the blame. All of it."
Silence crept in, only broken by the occasional crack of wood in the fireplace. The orange glow danced across her face, softening the tension in her features. I stayed by the door, the guilt still clinging to my chest like a wet blanket. It didn't feel gone, at least not yet.
I stared at her back, then asked, barely louder than a whisper, "Then how can you still smile after all of that?"
She turned her head. That same faint smile returned. A little lopsided this time, a little tired. But real.
"Because my little brother isn't acting like a wuss anymore."
I blinked. The words surprised me. Not because they were mean. They weren't. They were... proud.
Her eyes met mine. Sharp, as always, but there was no teasing. Just quiet admiration. She looked away again, back toward the fire.
"I'm still sad, of course I am. I hate what happened. But when I think about that moment... that you actually went into the forest for me... I felt proud. It made me happy, even in the middle of all that fear."
Honestly, I didn't know what to say.
She leaned back against the bench and stared into the flames. Her voice softened again.
"Saul's gonna live. He's tough. He always has been. I don't know how to make it up to him yet, but I will. I want to make him something. Something that matters. An apology, at least. Even if it's small."
I listened. Every word. Her tone, her pauses, her honesty.
She wasn't just my sister. She was growing in front of me. And maybe, the world had forced her to.
She looked at me one last time, her eyes shimmering faintly in the firelight.
"I'm sorry again, Kyro. It's not your fault. But your big sister? This time... it was hers."
I didn't respond. My eyes stayed open, not with fear or pain this time, but clarity.
Ah. So that's how she sees it.
My eyes followed her face.
She's... she's wiser than she looks.
She leaned back, stretching her arms above her head with a groan. Then, suddenly, she turned toward the back room and shouted.
"Mom! What's for dinner?"
Mother's voice boomed from the kitchen.
"Change your clothes first! You're tracking in mud!"
Lyra let out a loud sigh and dragged herself off the bench. I stayed where I was, near the front door, the wood warm beneath my feet. My eyes wandered across the room. The walls. The fading sunlight filtering through the window. The fireplace still crackling.
I let out a breath.
Everything that had happened today was still lodged in my mind. The fear. The screams. The blood.
It's.. too much.
Although, I felt relieved from Lyra's words.
But I was just... tired. Completely, utterly tired. I took a step forward, but the world shifted beneath me.. The floor tilted. The warmth faded.
Huh...?
My vision blurred, colors melting together. Sound dimmed.
Bam.
I hit the cobblestone floor and everything went dark.
Damnit... I'm all out.
[End]