As my fingers brushed against something smooth and round in the satchel, inspiration struck me like a lightning bolt. With a fluid movement, I drew forth the sunsphere, its core pulsing with a warm, ethereal light that bathed my face in a soft, golden glow.

"Back off," I commanded, my heart pounding like a wild drum in my chest. "Or I swear, I'll release the sun's power and burn you all to ashes."

The men advancing toward us came to an abrupt halt, exchanging wary glances. Skepticism flickered in their eyes but so did fear—a fear that grew as they hesitated caught between their bravado and the unknown. One of them, bolder or perhaps more foolish than the rest, took a daring step forward, his demeanor challenging me to make good on my threat.

"I see you don't value your lives," I threatened again, raising the sunsphere above my head. "Sana, sana colita de rana," I began to chant, pouring every ounce of intensity into the words, hoping they would resemble some ancient incantation.

"Wait," one of the men whispered, his bravado crumbling into raw fear. His eyes, wide and haunted, locked onto the sphere in my grip. "I've heard stories... The people of Xoltecans possess evil magic."

"If that were true, why didn't she use it on us earlier?" the advancing man scoffed, continuing to move closer.

"Si no sana hoy!" I continued, my voice growing louder, more commanding. "Sanará mañana. Sana, sana, colita de rana!" As I repeated the chant, a sudden pain coursed up my left arm. The sunsphere hummed, growing louder, reverberating through the narrow alley.

To my amazement, three of the men staggered back, their faces blanching as if they genuinely believed I commanded the wrath of the sun itself. They began to retreat, stumbling over themselves to escape the sorceress they imagined me to be.

"She doesn't scare me!" the man at the front shouted before charging at Jean.

In the next breath, the sunsphere's gentle warmth transformed into an unbearable inferno against my skin. A sharp gasp tore from my lips as the heat surged down my arm, controlling my muscles like a puppet to an unseen master. I was compelled beyond my control, and I launched the sunsphere to the ground at the feet of our would-be attackers.

The sphere shattered upon impact, unleashing a blinding explosion that flooded the alley with a brilliance that devoured everything in its path. The men’s cries—a chorus of shock and dismay—were swallowed by the light's onslaught as they futilely tried to shield themselves from the unleashed energy, too late to escape the radiance enveloping them.

Blinking rapidly, I tried to adjust to the sudden darkness that followed. When my vision cleared, the sight before me made my stomach turn.

Sprawled on the ground in front of us were the charred bodies of the assailants, burned beyond recognition.  Each figure was frozen in a macabre dance of death, blackened and brittle, and the air was thick with the acrid stench of scorched flesh.

I turned to Jean, desperate for some semblance of understanding, but my thoughts evaporated as I took in the sight of him. He stood unsteadily, clutching his stomach, his clothing stained with a spreading red blotch that painted a chilling portrait across his torso.

"Jean!" My voice cracked as I rushed to his side.

He looked at me through eyes glazed with pain, offering a crooked smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I wasn't quick enough," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the heavy silence.

Panic surged within me. I wasn’t accustomed to feeling so helpless, so incapable. My hands fluttered to the wound, pressing against the fabric in a futile attempt to stop the flow of blood.

"You're going to be alright," I whispered, throwing his arm around my shoulders and helping him walk.

Our progress was painfully slow as we navigated the labyrinthine alleyways. How had we become trapped in this maze? Every turn seemed wrong, every alley a dead end.

"A left... ahead," Jean managed to gasp out. Following his directions, I finally saw the end of the alley, opening up to a brightly lit plaza.

Adrenaline surged through me, hardening my resolve. Yet, it was heartbreakingly clear that Jean's strength was ebbing away with each moment. I bore the brunt of his weight, dragging him forward as his feet barely scraped the ground.

"Stop... just... just leave me," Jean pleaded, his voice strained, barely audible over the pounding of my heart.

"I am not going to leave you," I said firmly.

"You... have to. You'll be able to move faster, to get help."

My heart twisted in agony at the thought of leaving him alone to face the encroaching shadow of death. Yet, the logical part of my mind whispered cruel truths, Jean's chances dimmed with each passing second. 

"Alright, I'm going to find help," I finally conceded, easing him down gently against the cold embrace of a stone wall. "But you have to promise me you'll hold on until I return."

"I promise," Jean whispered, his attempt at a reassuring smile warping into a grimace of pain. His eyes, clouded with suffering, held onto mine.

My heart hammered against my ribcage as I bolted from Jean's side. The cobblestones beneath my feet blurred as I dashed toward the alley’s exit, my cloak billowing behind me, the hood falling in my frantic movements.

"Help! Please, someone help us!" My voice was raw with desperation as I ran into the plaza, hoping to find a kindred spirit in the bustling crowd. But the sea of faces remained impassive, their eyes sliding over my pleading figure only to quickly dart away as if acknowledging me would bring them misfortune.

"Please," I begged, stretching my hands toward them. My appeals met nothing but cold stares and brisk steps. Their judgment of my Xoltecan appearance sealed their lips and hardened their hearts; trouble was something they saw draped around me like a shawl, and they wanted no part in it.

Whirling around, my breath caught at the sight of emerald eyes meeting mine and the familiar red hair igniting a spark of hope in my chest. I rushed to him and seized his hand without warning, my grip ironclad as I pulled him into a run.

We raced through the maze-like streets, our boots pounding against the cobblestones, the sound reverberating off the enclosing walls. Behind us, I could hear other sets of footsteps following closely.

The alley before us stretched ominously, swallowing the scant daylight. As we neared what seemed like an endless abyss, I suddenly let go of Lord Aster's hand and dropped to my knees beside a shadowed form crumpled against the cold, unyielding stone—a stark, haunting image against the bleak backdrop.

"Jean!" My voice shattered the stillness, sharp with terror. The man before me lay motionless, his life hanging by a thread. My fingers, steady despite the shaking of my hands, found Jean's wrist. I searched for his pulse, "He's alive."

"Please, help him," I pleaded, tears already spilling from my eyes. 

"We'll do everything we can," Lord Aster vowed, his hands hovering above Jean's blood-soaked shirt as his eyes followed the sinister trail of crimson that disappeared into the shadowy depths of the alley.

Another man stepped forward, his features carved with solemn resolve, with eyes of amethyst.  He extended a hand to Lord Aster, offering a vial filled with a liquid that shimmered like molten gold. Lord Aster's fingers wrapped around the vial, uncorking it with a swift twist. Casting a reassuring glance toward me, he explained, "It's a healing elixir. We must apply it directly to the wound."

My eyes remained fixed on the vial as he carefully poured the golden liquid over Jean’s wound. Light weaved across the damaged skin, stitching it together with threads of light that seemed to draw on the very fabric of reality.

"Will he... will he be okay?" I asked, my voice trembling with my barely contained sobs. 

His emerald eyes met mine, heavy with the weight of our grim reality. "The wound has healed," he acknowledged solemnly, "but the elixir can't replace all the blood that he has lost."

Panic flashed in my eyes as I blurted out, "Can’t we take him to a doctor for a blood transfusion?" My words were met with puzzled looks from the others.

"Jansen, Elliot, bring the carriage. We must move him to safety." With a nod, two men vanished quickly back toward the bustling street.

One man remained, and as I finally glanced up, I recognized him as the one who had given me his cloak after being pulled from the river. Pulling him aside with a firm grip on his shoulder, I heard Lord Aster whisper urgently, "Henry, follow the blood trail. See where it leads and report back." Henry nodded and quickly darted down the alley.

I knew what he would find at the end of the trail. How was I going to explain what happened? That didn't matter right now, I thought as I watched Jean continue to breathe with difficulty.

The rumble of carriage wheels soon broke the oppressive silence, heralding the return of Jansen and Elliot. They appeared as quickly as a gust of wind, their faces set with grim determination. Together, they carefully lifted Jean’s inert form, their movements smooth and practiced in the grim ballet of survival. To any onlooker, it was but a moment of men tending to one fallen, a scene all too common in a city woven with secrets and steeped in sorrow.

"My lady," Lord Aster murmured, extending his hand to steady me as I stepped into the carriage. My acknowledgment was merely a faint nod, my gaze unwavering from Jean’s ashen face. I watched over him with the intensity of a sentinel, my fingers constantly pressed to his wrist, tracking the fragile ebb and flow of his life.

"What are you doing?"

"Monitoring his pulse," I answered, my voice a blend of worry and resolve, without tearing my eyes away from Jean.

"Monitoring?" Belmont’s brow furrowed in confusion.

"Here, on the wrist," I elaborated, gently taking his hand and placing it alongside Jean’s arm, then against his own. "Feel the heartbeat, the rhythm of life flowing. It reassures us that they’re still with us."

Silence enveloped us as the carriage jolted forward, beginning its cautious trek toward safety. I could feel Lord Aster observing me, steadfast in my watch over Jean. 

Outside, the cityscape drifted past the narrow carriage window, a moving portrait of shadows and fleeting light. The carriage rocked as it crossed through the streets quickly until it finally came to a stop outside a pub. The wooden floors, worn smooth by countless secretive sojourns, groaned under our weight as we hurried inside. The room, cloaked in shadows, enveloped us in its quiet embrace.

With practiced motions borne of countless crises, the three men gently laid Jean on a modest bed tucked in the corner. His pallid face was a ghostly contrast against the dark, rumpled linens that smelled faintly of tobacco and old wood.

"Stay with him, and I’ll go find you some clean clothes," Lord Aster whispered to me, his voice a strained hush in the dim room. He paused, his gaze lingering on me before he exited. 

 Alone, I finally allowed my gaze to drift down to my dress, each stain a dark reminder of the day’s grim events.

"Thank you," I whispered to the empty room as I fell to my knees next to the bed, burying my face in the sheets as I could no longer hold back my tears.