The scorching sun had bled away, leaving the sky a deep, bruised purple. The last of the slave traders' carriages vanished into the tree line, the sound of their wheels fading into an unnerving silence. The field was a tableau of aftermath: scorched earth, scattered bodies, and the stunned, grateful murmurs of freed people.
Kai stood like a statue, his command still hanging in the air. But the authority was a shell. The crimson light had long faded from his eyes, leaving behind a devastating emptiness. He took one shaky step, then his legs buckled.
His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed.
"Whoa!" Roric lunged forward, catching him before he hit the ground. He gently patted Kai's face. "Hey! Partner! Wake up." There was no response.
Seraphine's mind raced. The terrifying power was gone, leaving a profound liability. The image of the obliterated forest was burned into her mind, warring with a colder, more practical instinct. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword. It would be so easy. One quick thrust. Remove the unpredictable variable. The thought was a cold, sharp spike in her gut.
"Hey, you!" Roric's voice cut through her calculation, sharp with a mix of desperation and iron will. He met her gaze, his own pleading but unyielding. "If it weren't for him, you'd be dead back there. Please. Do you have somewhere he can rest?"
Seraphine held his stare as the last sliver of sun vanished below the horizon, plunging the field into twilight. The balance of power had shifted again, from her, to Kai, and now to this chained man bargaining for his friend's life. With a frustrated click of her tongue, she relented.
"Tsk! Bring him."
She led them away from the field, to a well-hidden shed nestled against a rocky outcrop, its roof and walls camouflaged by thick, hanging vines and large leaves. It was a sparse, dusty space, but it was shelter and, more importantly, concealment.
Roric laid Kai down on a pile of old sacks. As he did, the unconscious young man stirred, his head lolling to the side. A single, ragged word escaped his lips, a breathless whisper meant for no one.
"...Seraphine..."
Roric froze, his hands still on Kai's shoulders. He looked up, his eyes wide with confusion. "Seraphine?"
In the dim light, Seraphine's form became a silhouette of pure tension. "How does he know my name?" she demanded, her voice low and dangerous.
"Are you Seraphine?" Roric asked.
Her hand went to her sword hilt. "Answer me!"
"Whoa, easy!" Roric raised his hands, his face a mask of genuine bewilderment. "I don't know, okay? I swear. We just met this morning. He doesn't even know his own name."
The claim was so absurd it gave her pause. She studied Roric's face in the gloom, looking for the lie, but found only stark confusion. Her eyes drifted back to Kai, the source of this impossible riddle. The one who commanded 'god-like' power but didn't know who he was. The one who had saved her life, now whispered her name in the dark like a forgotten prayer.
The sword felt heavy in her hand. The simple solution—the kill—was no longer simple. It was buried under a mountain of unanswerable questions.
"Stay with him," she ordered, her voice losing some of its edge, replaced by a weary command. "If he speaks again, you call for me. Do you understand?"
She didn't wait for an answer, turning to leave the shed. She stood just outside the door, her back against the rough wood, listening to the night insects and the ragged breathing of the young man inside. The role of guardian felt alien and unsettling, and she didn't know why she was playing it.
The world snapped back into focus with a disorienting jolt. One moment, the sphere of oblivion was rushing toward them. The next, Captain Valerius, Silas, Garm, and Lyra stood in the center of the Gulliver Chamber, the air still crackling with the aftershock of Lyra's desperate spell.
Lyra collapsed to one knee, gasping, a thin trail of blood leaking from her nose. The emergency teleport had drained her severely.
Garm shook his massive head, a low growl rumbling in his chest. "The little spark has a big bite."
"That was no spark, idiot," Silas said, his voice a mix of annoyance and dark fascination. He touched the fresh cut on his lip. "That was a void. It wasn't burning; it was unmaking."
Valerius remained silent, his jaw clenched. The phantom heat of the blast seared the scar on his cheek. He had been given a good advantage and had still been forced into a retreat. It was a huge stain on his record.
The chamber doors swung open. Duke Henry stood there, his sharp eyes taking in his disheveled team. His gaze lingered on Lyra, kneeling on the floor.
"Captain," the Duke said, his tone flat. "I trust this dramatic entrance signifies a success."
"The initial parameters of the mission were insufficient, Your Grace,". Valerius reported, his voice tight. "The asset's power is volatile and exceeds all our intelligence. He neutralized our primary assault and forced a tactical withdrawal."
The Duke absorbed this, his expression unreadable. He paced slowly around them. "A weapon that can break its hunters is a dangerous weapon indeed. But a broken tool is useless. Our objective must change."
He stopped, facing them. "Your new mission is recruitment. Approach him. Offer him a place within the Inquisition. The power, the resources of the Illyrian Crown... it can all be his. Make him see reason."
Valerius's eyes narrowed slightly. "And if he refuses?"
"Then you use any means necessary to capture him," the Duke replied, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Subdue him. Contain him. But I want him alive. His power must be studied, understood, and controlled."
A slow, predatory smile spread across Silas's face. "Any means?" he asked, helping Lyra to her feet. The question hanging in the air like a drawn blade.
The Duke met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. "Any means,".he confirmed. "But only as a last resort. If he cannot be captured... if he proves utterly uncontrollable..."
He let the sentence hang for a moment, the unspoken order clear.
"...then you erase him. Leave nothing behind. Is that understood?"
Silas's smile widened. Garm cracked his knuckles. Lyra, her arm over Silas's shoulder for support, gave a slow, determined nod.
Valerius placed his right fist over the Iceheart Crystal grafted to his left palm. "Perfect." A final, pragmatic thought surfaced. "And the other one? Roric?"
The Duke waved a dismissive hand. "The scout has outlived his usefulness. Now he's a loose thread. Cut him"
From across the room, Garm smirked. "Shame," the werewolf rumbled, a dark grin spreading across his face. "I was starting to like the smell of his fear."
The Duke gave a curt nod, his business apparently concluded. But as he turned to leave, he paused at the door, delivering his final blow without looking back.
"Oh, and Valerius... you will sit this one out."
The command landed not like an order, but an insult. The air in the chamber went cold.
"Your... personal involvement has become a liability. Your focus is needed elsewhere. The trade affairs in the southern provinces require settling. See to it."
The duty was a bureaucrat's task, a deliberate demotion. It was the Duke's way of reminding him that he was still a servant who could be put back in his place. The door clicked shut, leaving the four of them in silence.
Valerius did not move. His hand, still over the crystal, clenched into a white-knuckled fist. A thin layer of frost spread from his boots across the floor. He had been granted ultimate power, only to be sidelined for the very mission that required it.
Silas watched him, his expression unreadable. "Orders are orders, Captain," he said, his voice a soft taunt. "We'll handle your... wildfire."
The hunt would go on, but Valerius was now chained to a desk, forced to watch from the shadows as others pursued the prey he had let slip away.