The first warmth of dawn slid across the ruined plaza, spilling gold over shattered stone and ash. Eryndor leaned against a fractured column, shoulders heavy, eyes half-lidded. Kael sat cross-legged on the ground, fiddling with the wrapping on his ribs.
For once, there was space to breathe.
"You ever think about what we're doing?" Kael asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the hush. He smirked faintly, though his eyes were serious. "I mean, look at us. We've been here what, days? Weeks? Already killed an elder, pissed off the city's most powerful man, and we're still standing in the middle of the storm like it's normal."
Eryndor didn't answer at first. His gaze was on his hands, the faint crackle still crawling in his veins, stubborn even after the fight.
"Maybe this is normal for us," he said finally, his voice low. "Fighting. Surviving. Breaking what tries to break us."
Kael gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "That's a bleak kind of normal."
Before Eryndor could respond, the silence split.
Shadows shifted at the plaza's edge.
Figures dropped from the rooftops — a dozen of them, cloaked in dark armor, masks glinting in the new light. Each carried weapons honed for killing, their movements disciplined and sharp.
Kael pushed himself to his feet, blade sliding into his hand almost lazily. His grin returned, sharper now. "Looks like Veylan couldn't wait."
Eryndor straightened, rolling his shoulders. The ache of the last fight lingered, but the storm in him stirred eagerly, ready. "Good. Neither could I."
The assassins spread, circling like wolves. Their leader lifted a curved blade, signaling the strike.
And then the world moved.
The first assassin lunged at Kael, dagger flashing for his throat. Kael tilted his head, let it whistle past, and drove his knee into the man's ribs with a bone-snapping crack. He caught the man's wrist mid-collapse and wrenched the dagger free, spinning it across the plaza into another attacker's shoulder.
Eryndor met two at once. Their blades arced in tandem, one high, one low. He stepped in, catching the first strike on his forearm, his other hand snapping out to grip the second man's throat. Lightning surged at the contact — not enough to kill, just enough to stun. With a twist, he slammed the throat-gripped assassin into his partner, sending both sprawling.
A third came from behind. Eryndor felt the shift in the air and pivoted, elbow whipping back into a masked jaw. Bone crunched, sparks dancing in the air from the contact.
Kael spun into him, the two moving back-to-back.
"You take the left, I'll take the right?" Kael said, grinning.
Eryndor smirked. "Try to keep up."
The fight turned into choreography.
Kael ducked under a spear thrust, blade flashing up in a smooth arc that cut the haft clean through. His footwork was fluid, a dancer weaving between blades, cloak swirling as he disarmed and struck with brutal precision.
Eryndor was the storm — raw, unrelenting, every strike a crack of thunder. He caught a sword swing in his bare hand, sparks exploding as he twisted the steel until it shattered. His fists hammered ribs, jaws, and stomachs, each blow punctuated by bursts of lightning that flung bodies back.
At one point, Kael vaulted off Eryndor's shoulder, twisting midair to drive his sword through an assassin who had tried to flank them. He landed light, blade dripping, and gave a sharp whistle. "Admit it, you'd miss me if I wasn't here."
Eryndor ducked under a slash, drove his fist into the attacker's chest, and let the lightning blow him clear across the plaza. "Less talking," he growled.
But there was the faintest curve to his lips.
The last assassin staggered forward, mask cracked, blade shaking in his hand. Eryndor and Kael advanced in unison — storm and flame, side by side.
The man hesitated. That was enough.
Eryndor struck low, sweeping his legs. Kael's sword followed high, the flat of the blade slamming across his temple. The assassin crumpled before he even hit the ground.
Silence fell again.
Kael leaned on his sword, chest rising and falling hard, a laugh bubbling out of him. "Gods, I needed that."
Eryndor shook out his hands, sparks fading into the morning air. His eyes flicked to the rooftops, the corners of the plaza, the empty streets beyond. He knew this was only the beginning of Veylan's response.
But for now, they were still standing. Together.
And the city would know it.