The ghost of ozone, sharp and sterile, clung to me like a shroud.

“Right on time,” Amelia said. The words were right, but her smile was a brittle thing, threatening to shatter.

I had made a point to be seen, to drift past chattering maids and a stern-faced butler on my way to the library. “Are you ready?” I asked, my voice a carefully constructed calm.

Amelia nodded, but the tremor in her clasped hands betrayed her. I watched the frantic pulse beat in the hollow of her throat, then gathered my mana. The air before me didn’t tear; it fractured, splitting like glass to reveal a swirling vortex of amethyst light. The portal cast violent, dancing shadows across the walls.

“You first, Thalia,” she breathed, her voice a wisp of sound.

It was unsettling to see her resolve worn so thin. She was the rock, the unshakeable one. Seeing her frayed unnerved me more than the guards outside. “Alright,” I said, my tone softer than intended.

Stepping through the portal was a nauseating lurch, like falling and standing still at once. The world dissolved into a kaleidoscope of screaming color and then reformed. My bedroom vanished, replaced by the empty restaurant. The air, thick with the ghosts of stale grease and spilled wine, was a physical weight. Behind me, the portal hummed, a low thrum of raw power. A moment later, Amelia stumbled through. Her knees gave out instantly, and she collapsed to the filthy floor, her breath catching in ragged, desperate gasps.

She threw up a hand, warding me off. “I’m… fine,” she choked, pressing a palm to her sternum as if to hold her heart in place. “Just… a moment.”

I stood sentinel in the gloom, my own urgency a cold, tight knot in my stomach. The frantic pace of her breathing gradually slowed, the silence of the dead restaurant amplifying every hitch and shudder.

“Amelia,” I began, the necessary cruelty. “I have to move.”

She looked up, I saw not resentment, but a weary understanding. “Go, Thalia. I’ll stay here.”

Relief was a bitter pill. “Thank you. Stay hidden. I’ll be back.”

A weak nod was her only reply.

I pressed my cheek to the cool, grimy glass of the front window, scanning the street. Empty. I slipped out the door, easing it shut without a sound. My eyes darted from one lightless doorway to the next, every shadow a potential threat. I forced my breathing into a shallow rhythm, listening for any sound over the frantic drumming in my ears.

Rounding a corner, my gaze snagged on a silhouette perched on a wooden crate. Even in the gloom, the man’s hostile glare was unmistakable.

“Careful now,” he rasped as I drew level, his voice the sound of gravel grinding on stone. “These streets have teeth after dark. Guards’ll gut you for your shoes.”

I kept my head down, my pace unchanged.

A dry snort followed me. “Just trying to help. Stay out of the light.”

I gave a curt, dismissive nod without looking back. An alleyway appeared on my left, a welcome slice of deeper darkness. I ducked into it, the stench of refuse and damp brick closing in around me. Just as I neared the other end, a booming laugh echoed from the main thoroughfare, freezing me in my tracks. I flattened myself against the wall, the rough brick scraping my cheek, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The rhythmic clink-clank… clink-clank of heavy armor grew closer.

“Heard the crown prince is losing the favor he had with the king,” one voice sneered.

“Ha! No surprise there. The boy acts like he’s already wearing the—”

“Shhh,” the first voice cut in, sharp and sudden. “Hear that?”

Ice flooded my veins. My breath hitched. A direct confrontation wasn’t an option; my power was too conspicuous, too loud. My mind raced, clawing for an escape that didn’t exist.

“Hey!” a guard bellowed from farther down the street. “You! What are you doing out? Curfew’s in five minutes!”

A woman’s terrified voice floated back. “Please, I’m sorry. My son… he needed medicine.”

“I don’t care if the king himself needed it,” the guard retorted. “Get home. Now. We’ll be right behind you, and if that door isn’t locked one minute after the bell, we’ll find a reason to visit.”

His partner chuckled, a low, cruel sound that curled in the pit of my stomach. “Now, wouldn’t that be fun?”

The woman didn’t reply; I only heard the frantic patter of her footsteps fading into a desperate run. I remained pressed against the cold brick, a statue of held breath, until the sound of their armored boots receded into the oppressive silence.

I slipped from the alleyway’s shadows. One more street. I moved in a silent jog, a wraith in the gloom. Then I saw it: the familiar glint of torchlight on steel up ahead. Another patrol. My hand shot out, testing the iron handle of the nearest door. It turned. I slid inside, melting into the dusty entryway of what might have once been a tailor’s shop.

Through a grimy pane of glass, I watched them pass. Their helmeted heads swung from side to side with the methodical rhythm of predators. I didn’t breathe until they were gone.

Rounding the final corner, I found my target. A row of ancient, timber-framed buildings, their facades covered in carved incantations that still pulsed with a faint, dormant magic. Beautiful, historic, and flammable.

Forgive me for this, I thought, but the sentiment was hollow. There was no room for guilt, only for necessity.

Mana, volatile and bright, coalesced in my palm. I thrust my hand forward, releasing the energy not as a weapon, but as a key. A flicker of blue-white light danced across the nearest facade, waking the dormant magic in the wood. The flicker became a lick of flame, tasting the ancient, tinder-dry timber. The dormant incantations flared, feeding the fire instead of repelling it. Within seconds, the building was engulfed. The fire leaped to its neighbor with a hungry roar, a living thing of light and heat, bleeding upwards into the sky.

A plume of black smoke billowed into the sky, and a wave of searing heat washed over me. In the distance, a frantic bell began to toll, followed by a chorus of panicked shouts. “FIRE!”

My cue. I fractured the air again, the cool amethyst of the portal a stark, calming contrast to the raging orange inferno. I stepped through, leaving the chaos I had birthed behind me.

The roar of the fire was replaced by the dead silence of the restaurant. Amelia sat at a dusty table, her head in her hands. She looked up sharply as the portal sealed with a whisper.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she breathed.

“How are you?” I asked, my own pulse finally starting to slow.

“Better. I still don’t know how you stand that feeling.”

“You learn to,” I said, moving to the window. “Anyone out there?”

She craned her neck. “The street’s empty. The whole district is running toward the fire. You’re clear.”

“Good.” With the city thoroughly distracted, I focused my will, summoning a portal. It was connected to the training grounds of Aelindoria.

Elven warriors flowed through, silent and poised. They moved not like men, but like water flowing around obstacles, their exquisite silver armor accented with royal blue. They filled the room with an otherworldly grace and the faint scent of pine.

“The last of us are through,” one announced, his voice a low hum.

I allowed the portal to seal. A figure in more ornate armor approached, removing his helm. Cassius. My breath caught, as it always did. His noble features, framed by his black hair, were set with grim purpose.

“Thalia. We are yours to command.”

“But you are their king, Cassius,” I managed.

His gaze was unwavering. “Though I am king, tonight I am merely your sword. We all are.”

A warmth bloomed in my chest, a stark contrast to the cold calculation of the past hour. “Thank you.”

He nodded, sliding the helmet back on as I pulled the deep hood of my cape over my face. Beside me, Amelia’s hands trembled. She clasped them together. “It will be okay,” I murmured.

“I know,” she whispered back, her voice tight with a newfound resolve.

A soft clink of armor made me turn. “Cassius, the armor. Can you silence it?”

“Of course. Warriors,” he commanded, his voice muffled but clear, “a silencing incantation, if you please.”

A soft glow emanated from each soldier—emerald, sapphire, gold—as they channeled their mana, wrapping their armor in a veil of utter silence before the light faded. “It is done,” Cassius confirmed.

I peered out the window one last time. “Three blocks to the Crescent Moon Theater.” I threw the door open. “Let’s move.”

We flowed through the streets like a silver river, a silent, deadly current under the choking haze of smoke. Screams and shouts for water echoed from the burning district; my distraction was working perfectly. When we reached the theater, I turned to the elves, my voice a low command. “Your targets wear all black like assassins. Harm no one else. Protect the innocent.”

I shoved the heavy doors open to a symphony of chaos. The grand lobby was a maelstrom of clashing steel, panicked screams, and the acrid smell of discharged magic. Flashes of light from dueling mages illuminated scenes of brutal, desperate combat.

“Attack!” Cassius roared, the first sound any of them had made. He led the charge, a silver comet plunging into the heart of the fray.

His warriors surged after him. I remained in the shadows of the doorway, a silent orchestrator watching my pieces move. My eyes found him instantly—a lone swordsman with defiant green eyes, his blade glowing with imbued mana, fighting with a desperate grace as three opponents circled him like wolves.

Then, I saw her. Lyra. She hit their lines like a human tempest, a whirlwind of steel and fury, cutting a path through the Cresent Moon guild members. A flicker of profound relief crossed her face as she saw Cassius’s warriors pouring in, a silver tide turning the battle.

“I have to warn the king!” A Crescent Moon fanatic broke from the fray, sprinting directly for the exit—directly for me.

He never saw it coming. There was no light, no sound. I simply reached out, and a bolt of pure, unseen force left my hand. It was a ripple in the air, followed by a sickening crunch as it struck his chest, throwing him back into the chaos, his body limp before it hit the floor. The battle was over moments later.

I stayed hidden in the alcove as Lyra, breathing heavily, approached Amelia. “Amelia. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” Amelia replied. She stood taller now, her earlier fear burned away and replaced by a regal calm. 

“I have a request,” Lyra said earnestly.

“What is it?”

“The boy, Billy. He is in the dungeons below. His family is searching for him. I would like to take him with us.”

“Of course,” Amelia said, bowing her head in gratitude. “He is yours.”

I surveyed the scene—the routed guild, the freed captives, the quiet strength of our new alliance. A quiet, sharp sense of triumph pierced through me. The Crescent Moon was broken. Yet outside, the city burned.