The fire burned low.
Its glow pulsed gently against the trunks of surrounding trees, shadows stretching and shrinking with each soft crackle of ember and ash. Night pressed in from every direction, thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. Somewhere far off, an owl cried once, then fell silent.
Tomora slept lightly.
His body lay still, but his brow was faintly furrowed, breath uneven, as though the dream clung to him even now. His fingers twitched once, then stilled again.
Patricia sat a short distance away, spear resting across her knees. Her back leaned against a stone, eyes half-lidded but alert. She listened to the forest the way soldiers did—not for sound, but for the absence of it.
That was when the night shifted.
A sudden rush tore through the trees.
Not wind.
Movement.
Water hit first.
A slicing wave burst from the darkness, cold and violent, slamming into the camp like a living blade. Two soldiers were flung backward before they could even shout, bodies skidding across the dirt as if the ground itself had turned against them.
"Elemental—!" someone screamed.
A figure stepped into the firelight.
A boy—no older than Tomora—stood barefoot on soaked earth. White hair clung wetly to his face, dripping onto his shoulders. His eyes were sharp and restless, reflecting the fire like moonlight on a storm-tossed sea.
He moved again.
Not charging. Flowing.
His body bent and twisted with impossible smoothness, slipping between spear thrusts and blade swings as water surged around his feet. The ground turned slick beneath the soldiers, mud sucking at their boots as waves burst upward, knocking them flat.
Patricia lunged.
Her spear met resistance—then nothing.
The boy slid beneath it, water spiraling around his body as he rose behind her, palm slicing the air. A shockwave exploded outward, throwing her back several steps before she could recover.
Stage Two, her mind registered grimly.
Then Tomora stepped forward.
No weapon.
No power.
Just his eyes.
He didn't rush. He didn't shout. He watched.
The boy's movements weren't random. Tomora saw it now—the rhythm beneath the chaos. Every strike flowed into the next, every step anticipating resistance like a tide responding to the moon.
Tomora moved sideways, drawing the boy's attention. The ground beneath his feet was uneven, damp from recent rain. A coil of rope lay half-buried near the fire pit.
The boy lunged.
Tomora rolled, barely avoiding a slicing wave that shaved dirt from the ground where his head had been. Smoke erupted as a pouch shattered against the fire, thick and blinding. The boy hesitated—
That was all it took.
Tomora yanked the rope, snapping it taut as the boy's foot slid on wet earth. He crashed down hard, water exploding outward in a violent splash.
Moments later, he was bound.
Silence crept back into the camp, broken only by ragged breathing and the hiss of dying embers. Soldiers groaned as they pushed themselves up. Someone laughed shakily.
An ally, they thought.
They were wrong.
Night deepened.
The camp slept again.
But the boy's eyes never closed.
Bound hands rested against soaked soil. His breath was slow. Controlled. A bitter smile tugged at his lips as he stared upward at the stars.
"Pity," he whispered, voice barely louder than dew falling from leaves. "Pity is poison."
Moisture stirred.
It rose from the ground, from blades of grass, from the breath drawn by sleeping lungs. The air grew heavy, damp, pressing inward as droplets gathered and merged.
A sphere formed.
Silent.
Perfect.
With a flick of his fingers, the water surged outward.
Patricia woke choking.
Her body was yanked violently upward as the world turned liquid. Panic exploded in her chest as water crushed in from every side, filling her mouth, her nose. She reached instinctively—
Hands.
Yora's fingers clutched hers, eyes wide with terror.
Tala screamed, the sound swallowed instantly as water forced its way down her throat. Jer flailed nearby, movements growing slower as his lungs burned.
Outside the sphere, Tomora jolted awake.
"No—!"
Arrows flew.
They passed straight through the boy as his body dissolved into rippling liquid, reforming a step away. His face twisted with fury, eyes blazing.
"You thought I'd accept your pity?" he roared. "You'll drown like dogs!"
Inside the water, panic reigned.
Patricia forced her hands together with the others', gripping tight as darkness crept at the edges of her vision. Her chest screamed for air that wouldn't come.
Tomora didn't think.
He ran.
The world narrowed to a single, terrible choice.
He dove.
Cold swallowed him whole.
The impact stole his breath instantly as water slammed into his lungs. Pain flared white-hot through his chest. He forced his eyes open, vision blurred and distorted.
He pushed.
Hands found Tala first—he shoved her outward, using the momentum of his dive. Yora followed, then Patricia, Jer—
The sphere ruptured.
Bodies tumbled free, coughing, gasping, collapsing into the dirt.
Tomora sank.
Water filled him completely now. Sound vanished. Light dimmed. His limbs grew heavy, numb.
His heartbeat slowed.
Then stopped.
Outside, the boy's rage crumbled into horror as he realized what he'd done. He fled, melting into the forest without a sound.
Patricia screamed.
They dragged Tomora's body from the mud, shaking him, striking his chest, pleading. Time stretched unbearably thin.
Nothing.
Then—
He gasped.
Water poured from his mouth as air tore back into his lungs in a violent, painful rush. His body convulsed as life slammed back into him.
Everyone collapsed around him, sobbing.
Tomora lay there, shaking, staring at the stars.
For just one second—
A faint purple glow pulsed beneath his chest.
Then it faded.
And the night breathed again.