The courtyard of the Elmhurst estate had become a battlefield.
Smoke clung to the flagstones. Blood streaked the marble steps. The bodies of city guards and masked assassins lay scattered in broken heaps.
Steel clanged. Arrows hissed through the air. Shouts echoed off burning walls.
The last squad of city guards formed a tight circle near the shattered fountain, halberds slick with blood.
“Hold the line!” one of them roared. “Don’t let them through!”
“It’s too late!” another guard shouted, barely parrying a curved blade before driving his spear into his attacker.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHhTVpwiClc
“They’ve breached the inner hallway!”
All around them, the Crimson Crow moved like shadows—swift, silent, merciless. They poured from broken windows and crumbling doors, blades gleaming in the smoke.
One of the assassins hurled a glass vial into the sky.
It arced high above the courtyard—
—and slammed into the garden wall.
BOOM.
An explosion ripped through the hedges, sending fire, stone, and soil into the air. The blast rocked the courtyard. For a heartbeat, everything stopped.
Then the battle resumed—louder, fiercer, bloodier.
But on the far side of the ruined garden wall—beyond the rising smoke and shattered ivy—another storm had also begun, as Mira’s rapiers slammed into Veylar’s, the force of her strike jarring his arms.
She twisted to the left, feinted, then unleashed a blast of wind. Veylar threw up a crackling barrier of red and black magic just in time.
She was breathing hard, her eyes burning with fury.
“So this was your plan?” Mira spat, circling him. “Lure me out with polite words while your goons go after my father?”
Veylar’s face was tight with strain, his voice hoarse. “No—listen to me, Saintess. This isn’t my doing.”
Mira’s blade came down again, sparks flying as he caught it on the crossguard. Her magic flared around her with every strike.
“Liar!” she shouted.
Behind her, Alwen lunged forward—silent, swift, loyal. His glaive swept low, aimed for her knees.
Mira jumped clear, twisting midair. She landed and spun, hurling a gust of wind that knocked the butler back through scorched rosebushes.
Then she turned back to Veylar.
“Stop,” Veylar said, breath ragged. “If you really believe your father is in danger, then don't waste your time with me.”
She let out a bitter laugh.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡT2Wd7JWREX
“Oh, I’m not wasting anything. I’ll take you hostage—make your people stand down.”
Her blade shot forward.
This time, Veylar didn’t hold back. His dark mana pulsed as he countered.
“You’re making a big mistake,” he said through clenched teeth.
But Mira wasn’t listening.
She pressed the attack.
Every step forward drove Veylar back—his boots skidding on the scorched grass.
Sparks flew as blade met blade, their clash echoing between the garden walls.
She was faster.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVABxQutVmQ
Fiercer.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuJ9q5PUb7V
Fueled by fury and fear.
“You wanted me out of the way,” she hissed. “So you could get to my father. Why?! What does he have to do with this?!”
Veylar winced, blocking another blow, but Mira didn’t stop. Her rapiers spun, slicing through the air, forcing him on the defensive.
Alwen recovered in silence, springing back into the fray.
He lunged from behind with surgical precision, glaive slicing down in a deadly arc.
Mira twisted sideways—barely in time.
She gasped, gritted her teeth, and retaliated with a whip of wind that hurled Alwen back again.
“Enough!” Veylar growled, magic flaring around his arms as he drove Mira back with a pulse of raw force.
She slid across the dirt, rapiers scraping the ground, but held her footing.
“Would I really need a distraction to deal with a mere mortal?” he shouted, his voice cracking with something that almost sounded like disgust.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡkhSfUSZFn8
“Think about it, Saintess—was your father worthy?”
Mira faltered—for just a second. Her blades lowered half an inch. Her breath caught.
And she heard it again—the bell tower ringing in the distance.
One.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUwgxYDR3RK
Two.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡMknSihjo4k
Three.
The clang of steel. The cries of pain. The fire crackling through the estate. Every second here meant someone else might die.
Her father. Lucien. Cassian. Silver Fang. Could be anyone.
She didn’t have time to waste.
“You said you weren’t part of this?” she said, voice low and trembling.
Veylar took a step forward, chest heaving.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9bZhM0xaUE
“I am not.”
Mira didn’t move. Her gaze locked on him.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0J8cWNVg3x
“Then prove it. Help me save my father.”
Veylar didn’t answer right away.
He looked at Mira—really looked at her.
Her chest rose and fell with fury and panic. Dirt streaked her cheeks, her braid half-undone.
The garden burned behind her, vines curling in green fire, roses turning to ash. And still she stood tall, blades raised, like a tempest given flesh.
Not the “Saintess” the people of Mermaid’s Cove adored.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzV9uSNVLqy
Just a daughter—desperate to protect her father.
“I’ll help,” Veylar said quietly. “But not as your hostage.”
Mira’s eyes narrowed. Her rapiers remained at the ready.
“Then swear it,” she said. “If I see any sign of betrayal—”
“You won’t.” Veylar glanced at the smoke curling over the estate roofs. “Someone burned down my home, and there’s a price to pay for that.”
Mira’s fingers tightened on her hilts—then, slowly, she lowered them.
Behind her, Alwen picked himself up from the scorched hedge. His coat was torn, one sleeve smoking. Yet, he still didn’t speak.
Instead, he stepped forward and looked at Veylar.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ30hAYzE0x7
A silent question.
Veylar gave the smallest nod.
The butler tucked his glaive back into his sleeves—a quiet understanding.
Mira turned toward the burning house.
The garden gate had been blown open. Smoke poured from the shattered windows. Screams echoed deeper within. The bell tower rang again—four… five…
“Let’s go get them,” Mira muttered. “The guards won’t hold long.”
“Then we move,” Veylar said.
Mira sprinted ahead, boots slamming against the cobbled path, wind curling around her like a cloak.
The vines parted, pushed aside by her magic.
Veylar followed, dark mana simmering around his fists.
Alwen brought up the rear, silent as a shadow, eyes always scanning.
They passed through the garden ruins into the manor’s side wing, where firelight danced violently across the smoke-stained walls.
A black-cloaked figure stumbled out of the smoke ahead—half-burned, limping.
Before Mira could raise a hand, a silver blur flew past her and buried itself in the assassin’s throat.
The body crumpled without a sound.
It was Alwen. He didn’t even break stride.
Mira slowed, then stopped beside the corpse. She knelt, pulling back the soot-stained hood.
A young woman. Barely in her twenties. Her lips were pale, her lifeless eyes still wide with adrenaline and fear.
Mira turned the body just enough to see the mark inked along the neck.
Her breath caught.
“It’s the Crimson Crow,” she said quietly. Then, with dawning horror—“They’re after Lucien.”
Behind her, Veylar cleared his throat.
“Ahem. Well… I suppose that clears my name, doesn’t it?”
Mira rose slowly, her eyes still on the fallen assassin.19Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnGRk3ADFxb
“We need to go now,” she said grimly. “My father and Lucien are in grave danger.”
Veylar nodded once. “And we don’t have much time.”
Inside, the manor was chaos. Smoke thickened with every step. Bookshelves burned. Tapestries curled with flame.
Still, they moved like shadows through the smoke-choked halls.
The roar of fire consumed everything—portraits melting from their frames, floorboards groaning beneath waves of heat, glass cracking under pressure.
The scent of burning paper and scorched velvet filled Mira’s lungs, but she pressed on.
Up ahead, a grand double door sagged on its hinges. The gold trim once gleamed in sunlight—now blackened and warped.
It was the library.
Mira’s heart lurched.
She burst through the doors—
—and stopped cold.
The library was already lost.
Flames danced across every shelf. Tomes centuries old collapsed into ash.
The domed ceiling glowed red, cracked and trembling as beams above gave way one by one.
A rain of burning parchment fell in slow spirals, like snow from a nightmare.
“No...” Mira whispered. Her voice felt small, swallowed by the inferno.
Veylar stepped beside her, face grim. His eyes narrowed, then closed.
He reached out—not with his hand, but with his mana.
So did Mira.
Their senses pushed out in all directions, scanning for movement, for life, for anything.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No breathing. No heartbeat.
No one was inside.
Alwen moved up behind them, silent as always, but even he paused at the threshold. The three stood still, as if trying to will someone to answer.
“Nothing,” Mira said at last, her voice brittle. “No one’s here.”
Veylar opened his eyes. “They either escaped… or they’re already dead.”
Mira’s throat tightened. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
She took a step forward—heat blasting against her skin—only to feel a hand grip her shoulder.
Veylar.
“Don’t,” he said, calm but firm. “It’s coming down any minute now.”
She stared past the flames, through the ruined archways and scorched shelves.
“They must have escaped,” she said, voice trembling. “It’s impossible for them all to die in here.”
Behind them, the ceiling groaned louder. Cracks webbed across the highest beam.
“We have to move,” Veylar said. “There’s nothing left to save here.”
Mira swallowed hard.
She turned from the burning library.
“We check the other exits,” she said. “There has to be clues.”
“I suggest we take a look at the backyard,” Veylar said, already turning.
Mira nodded, blinking away the sting in her eyes.
Not from smoke.
Not entirely.
They ran again, the shadows of flame stretching long behind them...
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