Before Kai could form a thought, the three bandits charged. Roric, thinking fast, yelled a command to Kai: "Spin the chain!" Using their linked manacles as a makeshift flail, they create a dangerous, whirling barrier of iron that forces the bandits back initially.
They get grazed by blades, stumble over each other, but survive the first onslaught through sheer, uncoordinated grit. The bandits, now annoyed and more cautious, spread out to flank them. A hard kick sent Roric sprawling, yanking Kai off balance. As Kai fell, he saw it.
Over Roric's shoulder, past the chaos of the main fight, the bandit leader was circling. While Valerius was locked in a duel with two last brutes, the scarred man raised his heavy axe, creeping toward the Captain's undefended back. A killing blow.
Time seemed to slow. A voice in Kai's head—a hundred-year-old instinct from when he was a general.
A heat he didn't recognize, a fury that was not entirely his own, erupted in his chest. It was a dam breaking.
"NO!" The roar tore from Kai's throat, raw and powerful.
He didn't think. He just pulled.
With a deafening CRACK of shattering metal, the magic-suppressing manacles around his wrists exploded outwards, shards of hot iron flying like shrapnel. The force was a visible wave of pressure, a blast of searing air that made the advancing bandits stagger back.
In two strides, Kai closed the distance. The bandit leader started to turn, his eyes wide with shock, but he was too slow. Kai's fist, wreathed in a flicker of black-and-crimson flame, connected with his jaw.
The impact wasn't just a punch; it was a detonation. The sound was a sickening crunch of bone, and the man was lifted off his feet, thrown backwards like a ragdoll to land in a broken, unmoving heap.
Silence fell over the field, broken only by the crackle of fading embers around Kai's knuckles.
Valerius finished his opponents with two swift, precise strokes of his icy blade and spun around, his cold composure shattered. He stared at the shattered manacles on the ground, then at the fallen bandit leader, and finally at Kai, who stood panting, his fists still smoking.
The Captain's face was a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. He took a sharp, gasping breath, his analytical mind trying and failing to categorize what he had just witnessed.
"You..." he finally managed, his voice a hoarse whisper. He gestured weakly, not at the bandit, but at the broken manacles. "How?" He trailed off, his eyes boring into Kai with a new, terrifying mix of fear and avid curiosity.
The silence that followed was thicker than the dungeon walls. The only sound was the groan of the wounded bandit leader and Roric's low, appreciative whistle.
"Well," Roric said, climbing to his feet and brushing dirt from his clothes. He held up his hands, still bound by the other end of the now-severed chain. "Don't suppose you could do the honors for your old partner, could you? Feeling a bit left out."
Valerius ignored him. His gaze never left Kai, who was staring at his own hands as if they belonged to a stranger. The faint scent of ozone and ash hung in the air.
"Those manacles were forged to contain a battle-mage," Valerius said, each word measured and cold. "You didn't break them. You... you unmade them." He took a cautious step forward, his own frost-tinged sword still held ready. "Who are you? Truly."
Before Kai could form an answer—an answer he didn't have—a pained shout echoed from the tree line. The bandit leader was stumbling to his feet, his jaw hanging at a grotesque angle. He fixed a look of pure, venomous hatred on Kai, then turned and fled into the forest alongside some of his injured men.
The spell was broken. The immediate threat was gone, but a far more dangerous one now simmered in the space between Kai and the Captain.
Valerius's jaw tightened. He had the runestone, a prize worth more than the lives of the men now cooling on the ground. By the cold calculus of command, the mission was a success. But, he was standing in a field with a liar who possessed power that defied all known laws of magic.
"We are returning to Illyria," he commanded, his voice regaining its steely authority, though it was now layered with a new, profound wariness. He gestured to the remaining piece of chain dangling from Roric's wrists. "Find something to bind him with. And you," he said to Kai, "will walk in front of me. Try anything, and I will put a hole in your back before you take a second step."
The journey back was a silent, grueling procession. Valerius led his single remaining horse, his posture rigid with tension. Kai walked ahead, every muscle taut, feeling the Captain's gaze like a physical pressure between his shoulder blades. Roric, walking beside him, was uncharacteristically quiet, his mind clearly racing.
"Well, that could have gone a lot better," Roric finally muttered under his breath, after an hour of silence. "On the bright side, you're definitely not a Resonator. So we've got that cleared up."
Kai didn't answer. He was too busy fighting the echo of the power that had surged through him. It had felt like coming home and like tearing himself apart, all at once.
As they entered a narrow, rocky pass that wound through the foothills back towards Illyria, the atmosphere grew heavier. The sun dipped below the cliffs, casting long, deep shadows. It was the perfect place for an ambush.
Valerius felt it too. He slowed his pace, his hand resting on the hilt of his icy sword. "Keep moving," he ordered, but his voice was low, his attention on the high rocks around them.
All of a sudden, there was a soft whisper of displaced air.
A crossbow bolt slammed into the ground at Roric's feet, not meant to kill, but to halt. From behind rocks and from the ridge above, figures emerged. They were not bandits. They wore sturdy, practical gear—travelers' clothes reinforced with leather, their faces set with determination. They moved with a quiet efficiency that spoke of discipline.
A woman stepped forward to lead them. She had a bow in her hand and a quiver on her back. Her silk white hair was tied back practically, and her face, while striking, was unfamiliar. Yet, as Kai's eyes met hers, the world seemed to tilt.
No memory surfaced. Instead, a visceral, overwhelming sense of recognition struck him like a physical blow. It was a feeling of profound safety and devastating loss, all wrapped into one inexplicable moment. His chest tightened, and he felt a strange pull, as if an invisible thread connected him to this stranger.
The woman, Seraphine, stopped in her tracks. Her confident stance faltered for a heartbeat. Her eyes, locked on Kai, widened slightly. She brought a hand to her temple, a flicker of pain and confusion crossing her features. It was gone in an instant, replaced by hardened resolve, but the moment of connection had been real.
"Stand down," she said, her voice clear and commanding, addressed to Valerius. Her eyes swept over the scene—the bound Roric, the tense Kai, the Captain who looked more like a besieged survivor than a conqueror. "We are not your enemies. Release the prisoners and you will be on your way."
Valerius raised his frost-covered blade, the temperature dropping instantly. "You have no claim to them. They are property of the Emperor of Illyria."
"Men are not property," Seraphine countered, her gaze flicking back to Kai, studying him with that same troubled intensity. "And you are in no position to refuse."
The two groups stood at a standstill. Seraphine's archers had arrows nocked. Valerius's sword glowed with pale blue light. And in the middle, Kai and Roric exchanged a glance. They were no longer just prisoners; they had become the prize in a battle between two powerful, unknown forces. And one of those forces felt like a ghost from a life Kai could no longer remember.