Chapter Forty — How the Battle Affected Daniel and His Companions
The two guards stood rooted, their bodies stiff as if the ground had swallowed their feet, their eyes fixed on the prince's body lying inert on the sand. They had carried an oath that brooked no mistake, a single, sun-clear duty: protect the prince at any cost. Now… the prince lay motionless before them, a cold wind slapping their faces, bringing the stench of blood and smoke and with it a shame that sat heavy behind their ribs.
They did not let that moment pass in dazed helplessness. Their next sight was of the other two men — already withdrawing, carrying the third fallen figure who had just undergone that bestial transformation — sprawled on the ground, unconscious from the savage blow he'd taken. His wounds mapped the body in deep, bloody lines; his hulking form was a mangled mass of pain. Still, the healer's light flared again from the third companion, seeping into his torn comrade in a desperate attempt to ward off certain death.
The guards grasped quickly that the retreat of those three was not random; they were moving toward the edge where Daniel's party stood — the farthest point from the guards. They exchanged a brief look that was enough to harden their resolve: they swore to kill those three, even if it cost them their lives. There would be no turning back; the prince's blood spilled before their eyes demanded vengeance.
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On the other side, with Daniel's group…
From the first instant they had seen Prince Niral surge forward with impossible speed to face the three masked attackers, worry had drawn lines on their faces. It was like watching a man dash into a storm unarmored. Azrian spoke with confident gravity and a sting of warning in his voice: "All of them are fourth-tier… each of them has four full mana circles. If we don't run now we will be wiped out."
Malik and Risha echoed him with quick nods; the decision formed and they fled, feet tearing up sand, chests tightening with every breath. No one dared glance back, as if a look might hasten death. Then a monstrous explosion thundered behind them. Their feet stilled of their own accord, bodies refusing the command to run, eyes scouring the thick smoke for what had occurred.
Reason convinced them they were at a safe distance; a quick look would not matter, so they peered through the haze. No trace of the three attackers stared back at them, and relief eased their chests; some smiled faintly, convinced those masked men were the source of the calamity. The relief, however, did not last. Moments later the three emerged from the heart of the blast — alive, charred and lacerated, yet their eyes still burning.
Before they had time to react, one of them unleashed a beam of light: a straight, lethal thread slashing the air toward Daniel's group with no time to dodge. The armor that protected them now was feeble against a fourth-tier skill, especially an onslaught like the Light Beam.
The beam struck like a hot filament, cutting through Malik and Risha at once; both collapsed without sound. The beam did not stop; it raced on toward the others. Panic froze Lucas and Daniel in their tracks as the beam drew nearer.
In that crucial instant Azrian — who knew that skill intimately — reacted faster than thought. With strong hands he grabbed Lucas by his clothing, yanked him to the ground and threw himself on top of Daniel to pull him down out of the beam's path. Yet the beam had already taken Lucas's left arm clean away, and had torn a gaping wound along Azrian's right side, flesh flaying deep.
When the reality of what had happened sank in, Daniel felt time dissolve. He cradled Azrian's body and set him carefully on the sand as if a wrong touch might shatter the last of him. Azrian's face was pale; his eyes flickered between fear and sorrow while Daniel's mind scrambled for any idea that might save them.
Around him lay Malik and Risha, inert and still; Lucas was prostrate, and Daniel could not tell if he still drew breath. His heart screamed but his legs would not carry him. In a frantic search, he ransacked his leather pouch — fingers fumbling among medicinal herbs he'd gathered — pulling out leaves and roots in a panicked, clumsy array until his knife nicked his skin and he bled a little.
Azrian gripped Daniel's hand; his voice trembled and blood flecked his mouth: "Th… the end… at last… I will rest after all my attempts to flee… from…"
Then, abruptly, he tore the ring from his finger and everything changed. The old man's body shrank before Daniel's eyes; his features shifted in an instant. Deep wrinkles smoothed away, his skin lightened and cleared — Daniel hardly recognized the face that emerged. Azrian had become a young woman, delicate in features yet bathed in wounds.
Blood still seeped through her clothing, proof that the injuries remained raw. The girl extended the ring toward Daniel with a trembling hand and slipped it onto him, saying in a frail voice, "Keep this… well…"
Daniel hesitated, his gaze caught by her eyes as he watched concentration fold inward on her face — she seemed to be working some inward skill. She said, "I will take you now… to another place… with a Nira… what… was…"
Rozia opened her hand again and handed him a kingdom's badge and another ring. When Daniel took them she forced a weak smile and in a faint voice said, "Stay away… from this kingdom…"
Daniel was stunned and had no time for answers. He looked at her hand as she clasped his to effect the transfer, and when she asked, "Are you ready?" he wanted to ask if he could take someone with him, but he knew — if she could, she would have done it already. Instead he whispered, barely audible, "What is your name?"
She managed a thin smile amid the pain and answered, "Ro…zia."
In the next heartbeat Daniel vanished from where he had stood as if the air had swallowed him whole — no trace left behind.