The corridor stretched before them, dim and winding, torches flickering along stone walls. The children followed silently, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe, trusting Kairo completely.
Behind them, the muffled shouts of guards and nobles began to rise, scrambling to understand how a child had undone their carefully laid trap.
Kairo's crimson eyes glinted. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. With subtle movements of his fingers, his bone magic rippled through the air like invisible threads.
One guard rushed forward, sword drawn. Kairo's hands flexed. A quiet snap echoed in the guard's knees. He dropped to the floor, clutching them, screams muffled by terror.
Another guard tried to flank them from the side. The same snap, the same pain, knees buckling under him, leaving him crumpled and helpless.
Even the nobles, trying to assert authority, found themselves staggering, unsteady. Kairo's control was precise: no one died, but no one could pursue them.
Igron grinned from behind a shadow, using illusions to amplify the chaos. Phantoms moved in every direction, misdirecting the remaining pursuers, giving Kairo and the children precious seconds.
"Stay close," Kairo whispered, his voice calm, almost too calm. The children shuffled after him, some stumbling over their newly freed ankles, but none were injured.
The gods murmured in his mind, a low, approving hum: "Do not hold back. Bend the world to your will. Protect them. Lead them."
By the time they reached the outer gates of the Trade Realm's estate, the remaining guards lay sprawled, incapacitated but alive, kneecaps crushed by Kairo's precise bone magic. The children, still huddled close, looked at him with wide, reverent eyes.