At last, Kira fell quiet. She gave him a slow nod, barely moving her chin, like she'd made up her mind but still wasn't quite sure. She turned and led him back toward the section where the other villagers sat together, worn down and bruised and mentally drained. Without any flair, she lifted one hand and traced a lazy circle in the air. She was using ruine magic. A faint light followed the path of her finger and hung in the air, moving along with her fingers, as if the air was a sheet of paper. It touched the ground and spread outward in a clean ring that wrapped around the group. This wasn't meant to scare anyone, although it still did. It was tidy, controlled, and steady. A containment seal. The kind the kingdom's battlemages used when they wanted prisoners alive for questioning.
Zane watched the glow sink into the dirt. His mouth pulled into the start of a smile, not from amusement and habit. So that was her plan. She hadn't freed them, instead, she boxed them in, waiting for someone in particular to come. She was betting on Phantom to show up for even one of the captives, so the seal could grab the trace of his energy and leave a mark to track. And if no one came? If the days passed and the hooded figure never appeared? Then she would know Phantom was already inside her little trap. She would know Phantom was one of the prisoners.
Zane crossed his arms and dropped into place with the others, settling into the same slouched position he'd kept from the start. He didn't glance at the seal again, but his mind ran aimlessly again. Calculating every possible escape method that would leave no trace. Off the top of his head, he could think of six different ways to escape. He'd read the spell in the time it took her to finish it, seen the rhythm of it like a page in an open book. He could break it if he wanted. From outside and inside, he could enter without leaving a trace. From inside, though? Quietly? He could pull it apart without anyone noticing.
But he wasn't going to. He had an even easier method. He could walk right through her rune spell. But for now he needed to sit still. He could walk through it whenever he wanted, there was no need to prove anything. For now, it was better to let her think she had him.
He eased back into the same lazy pose and let his expression go blank with boredom. The air felt heavier under the seal's presence, pressing on his chest. A few villagers curled up to sleep, faces buried in their arms. Others murmured prayers that probably hadn't left their lips in years. Zane hardly heard them, his thoughts were far away.
Three days. That was his limit. If he didn't get home by then, his mother would start worrying. She'd pace the little room, stare out the window though nothing would be there, and keep food warm even when she knew better. She'd lived through hard times. She understood the way things worked. The coins he brought home now and then bought her a better life, kept the shelves stocked and blankets ready for winter, but they didn't give her peace. She was always waiting for the sound of the door that didn't open.
But she didn't know the truth. She thought her son was just another man trying to get by. She didn't know he was Phantom. If he stayed in here long enough, someone else might figure it out before she did.
He adjusted his sleeves in small movements. To anyone watching, it looked like he was trying to get comfortable. In reality, he was thinking. If he waited too long, Kira would start putting the pieces together. She trusted logic over kindness. She'd see the numbers. Seventeen captives, No rescues, Phantom missing. She'd work it out.
He needed to throw her off.
In Bluridge, nobody would have suspected him. The guards knew his face. Vendors had his change ready before he spoke. Kids shouted his name in the street. Drunks passed him without a second look. He'd fed stray dogs behind the butcher's shop and trained alone with a wooden staff at his father's grave. Everyone knew him. The little boy who once ran naked in the streets, not one would ever suspect he had skills, brains or power.
But Kira wasn't from Bluridge. She hadn't grown up under the same worn sky. She came from a place that still believed in order and law. Maybe even in heroes. That made her dangerous.
The mage hadn't returned since nightfall, torches burned low at the gate, giving off more smoke than light. Guards walked slow, their steps muffled in the grass.
The seal was well-made, tight enough to convince most people it couldn't be broken. That was the real mistake—believing he belonged in the "most people" category.
The moon rose higher, its light cutting sharp shadows along the prison walls. Zane stood among the sleeping villagers, as if he was a thief in the night, no one noticed. He stretched, rolling his shoulders loose. Then his body shifted. The lazy posture was gone and his spine straightened. His head lifted. The hint of a smile faded. His eyes sharpened. Every bit of him moved with a quiet precision, like a weapon had been drawn.
This wasn't the man from the tavern anymore. This was Phantom.
He slipped his hands into his pockets and walked toward the seal. The edge of it pulsed faintly, as if warning any idiots to not step closer, the glow should have shoved him back or burned him where he stood. A common prisoner would have burst like a balloon. But Zane took one step, then another. The light brushed over him and parted. He passed through as if it were no more than a draft in the air. Next was the metal prison bars ,they seemed solid, but he moved through them like they weren't even there. Then his outline flickered. His shape faded until there was nothing to see. He was gone.
Phantom moved through the camp like it was his backyard. He slipped past the guards, his form sometimes gliding right through their bodies. A pair of sentries slumped half-asleep at their post didn't even twitch. He passed the horses tied near the supply stand, their tails swishing lazily.
At the edge of the camp, where the torchlight thinned and the moon took over, he stopped. The pale glow of moonlight washed over his face. His shadow stretched across the stone, long and sharp.
He spoke then, his voice steady and low, a pitch lower than Zane's, deep and frightening.
"What a dark night to shine Justice."