Chione Tarmal’s POV

Sitting with my back against the rough stone wall next to the alley’s entrance, I clutched my chest, drawing in short, shaky breaths. Tears still stung my eyes. Carefully, I peeked around the corner.

The three kidnappers passed the two wary-looking thugs, the largest of them carrying Kane’s limp body over his shoulder. As the kidnappers disappeared deeper into the alleys, one of the thugs spat on the ground in their direction, cursing.

“Those bastards, acting like they’re untouchable,” he muttered. “Who do they think they are?”

The other shook his head. “They’re Harvey’s men. Best not to get involved unless you fancy ending up a burnt corpse in some ditch.”

Swallowing hard, I pulled my head back and pressed against the wall, trying to stop the tremors in my body. Guilt gnawed at me—I should never have left Kane alone. We weren’t supposed to split up. I had turned back, but by the time I did, I saw them knock him unconscious. I couldn’t do anything but hide.

Minutes passed before I forced my body to move. I had to tell Dad.

Keeping to the main streets, I ran, weaving through the crowd, pushing past people as I looped around the block. A few glances followed me, but I didn’t care. By the time I reached the protest site, the chaos had mostly settled.

Only a handful of people remained—the city guards, the merchant and his escorts, Haela, Dad, our guards, and a few bystanders who hadn’t fled. The merchant sat slumped in the doorway of his carriage, blood trailing from a nasty gash on his forehead as someone attended to him, but no one else seemed injured.

Dad spotted me instantly. He ran over, the guards close behind, one still holding Haela.

“Chione! What happened? Are you okay?” He gripped my shoulders, scanning me for injuries. “Where’s your brother?”

More tears welled in my eyes as I recalled my last words to Kane. “I’m sorry Dad, I shouldn’t have said… I was…”

He gently wiped away the tears that now streamed down my face. “It’s okay,” he said. “Just tell me what happened.”

I hurriedly explained everything, from when I got separated to seeing the kidnappers take Kane. By the time I finished, Dad’s face had darkened, a subtle energy radiating from him—so intense that even those without a core could feel it.

“Are any of the men still there?” he asked, voice low.

I nodded. “Two thugs were in the alley with the kidnappers. They said the men work for someone called Harvey.”

“Good,” he muttered.

“Dad.” Haela tugged on his sleeve, her small voice uncertain. “Will Kane be okay?”

“Of course,” he said, crouching to touch her face with a forced smile. “I’m not going to lose another son.”

When he stood, his expression had hardened again. “Take them back to the inn,” he ordered the guards. “And this time, you don’t let them out of your sight.”

“Yes, sir.” One of the guards stepped forward, taking my hand. 

After a brief conversation, the city guards agreed to escort us as well.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

Dad turned towards the alley. “Get my son back.”

“But it’s dangerous!” I protested. “At least take guards with you!”

He glanced back, a small, forced smile playing at his lips. “It’s easier if no one watches this part.”

Desperately, I looked to the guards, hoping for support. But they either turned away or gave small nods of agreement, their expressions grim.

Dad took another step forward. “Don’t worry,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ve just got a few questions for them.”

* * * * *

Harvey Castello's POV

Sitting in a small office inside the abandoned storehouse, I flicked through a ledger for a final recount when a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” I said, setting the ledger down.

The door swung open, and Latisha stepped inside. Tall and muscled, with blonde hair and a rough exterior, she closed the door behind her before speaking.

“Everything’s ready. We’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”

“Good,” I nodded. “Get to it—we’re already behind schedule. I’ve sent word to the regional coordinator in Icouver to apologise for the delay, but that won’t do much. When you arrive, the goods will be merged with their stock and sent out in a caravan. From there, you’ll likely be ordered to accompany them when they leave Ekrethia.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded again and turned to leave. As she began opening the door it was pushed open, and a weasel-like man with greasy hair stumbled in, breathless.

“M-Mr Castello,” Clay stammered, freezing before offering a clumsy salute. “Uh, we—err—”

“What do you want, Clay?” I waved him inside, already irritated.

“We… w-we found an extra head to add to the cargo,” he stuttered. “A young boy.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out a deep sigh. “I believe I was clear when I said to halt all operations until we’d relocated our current haul. Correct?”

“Y-yes, sir,” Clay nodded rapidly. “We just thought—”

“So you ignored the order?” I cut in, my voice turning cold. “Why would you complicate things now?” Small flames flickered to life in my palm, searing into the wooden desk. Clay shrank in on himself—he’d been terrified of me ever since learning I was a silver-core mage.

I exhaled slowly, letting the fire die as I leaned back in my chair. “Just send him off with the others.”

“Yes, sir,” Clay and Latisha answered in unison. She grabbed him by the back of his shirt and dragged him out, shutting the door behind them.

I tapped my fingers on the desk, flickering flames weaving between them as I tried to focus on anything other than Clay’s idiocy. After a few minutes of steadying my temper, I turned my attention back to the documents.

Less than ten minutes passed before another knock came—but before I could answer, the door burst open.

“Boss!” Clay barrelled in, only to yelp and dive to the floor as a bolt of fire shot past him.

“Did I say you could enter?” I snapped, lowering my hand.

“B-but there’s an emergency!” he squeaked. “Lorenzo told me to report—a mage has found us!”

I narrowed my eyes and rose from my chair. “A mage?”

Clay nodded frantically. “Some guy was seen interrogating the local thugs with earth magic. They gave up the storehouse’s location.

I swore under my breath. “You’ve really pissed off the wrong person this time.” My jaw tightened. “If I’m right, it’s either their hire—or dear old dad.”

Clay gulped audibly.

I strode past him, making my way through the storehouse. As we walked, he relayed the rest of the report from the lookout.

First, I made sure the cargo had already departed. Then I turned to the gathered guards and enforcers.

“Grab anything important and leave through the back,” I ordered. “There may not be city guards in this part of town, but we don’t need to cause a scene if we don’t have to.”

In just a few minutes, everyone in the building—a total of nine men, including myself—had been roused to action. We slipped out the back door, moving through the connected alleyways until we emerged onto a ruined street. Crumbling abandoned buildings loomed around us, their broken walls casting jagged shadows. The cracked pavement jutted out unevenly, and there wasn’t a soul in sight.

This was the abandoned section of the city, past the slums and on the edge of Gilramore. The sun hung high in the sky, a warm breeze stirring the dust and carrying the scent of decay through the desolate streets. I led my men further from the storehouse, planning to abandon it for a second location—until a figure emerged from the shadows at the end of the street.

He was tall, around 180 to 190 centimetres, with shaggy black curls and sharp, golden eyes. Stocky and broad-shouldered, he carried a sword loosely in one hand, while the other gripped the collar of a struggling man. He dragged his captive forward, step by deliberate step, his gaze scanning us coldly.

“Th-that’s him!” the man in his grip squealed, thrashing against the mage’s hold as he pointed at me. “That’s Harvey! He’s a mage—we can’t stop him even if we wanted to!”

“That bastard’s selling us out,” Milton growled. The scarred man hefted his axe, his one good eye narrowing with rage. Beside him, Darnell—a tall, heavyset enforcer—gritted his teeth. They had both helped Clay in kidnapping the boy who started all of this.

“I’m guessing we’re fighting this guy, boss?” Milton asked.

“Seems so,” I muttered, taking stock of our situation.

Everyone’s armed. This mage seems to be at least bronze-core, maybe silver-core like me. If that’s the case, we can tip the scale with numbers.

Before I could give the order, the mage lifted his captive off the ground. His grip loosened—and in the same motion, he conjured a solid grey spear of stone that shot clean through the man’s skull. Blood and brain matter splattered across the cracked pavement.

The corpse crumpled, and the mage tightened his hold on his sword. “We can resolve this peacefully,” he said, voice steady. “Tell me where my son is.”

A cold sweat broke out down my back.

“No can do,” I forced myself to say, raising my sword.

“Don’t you think you’re a bit late to be chasing after him now?” Gavin, one of our enforcers, sneered. “Your son’s probably gonna miss you when he’s halfway across the contine-”

His head exploded.

The mage stood where Gavin had been, his fist drenched in blood. The headless body slumped to the ground with a wet thud.

Reeling, I raised my hand and unleashed a wave of fire, engulfing the mage in roaring flames. Staggering back, I tightened my grip on my sword. Around me, my underlings scrambled to ready their weapons, fear stark on their faces. I poured more mana into the fire, the searing heat distorting the air as the mage disappeared beneath the inferno.

Then, the flames erupted.

Shards of stone blasted out in every direction, tearing through the street. A jagged piece of rock buried itself in my shoulder, sending a flare of pain through me. My fire faltered. Next to me, our lookout Lorenzo choked as an equally large shard pierced his throat. His spear slipped from his grasp, clattering against the bloodstained pavement as he collapsed, his eyes turning glassy.

Through the dying flames, the mage lunged, sword flashing.

White-hot agony ripped through me as my arm was severed at the elbow. I hardly had time to register the pain before his blade swept toward my side. Gritting my teeth, I raised my sword to block, but the sheer force of his strike sent me hurtling backwards. I slammed into the wall of a nearby building, stone cracking beneath me as dust and debris exploded into the air. 

The world spun. My head pounded as I tried to push myself up, burning pain shooting through my arm at the movement. Gasping, I summoned flames around the stump, desperate to cauterise the wound, but stopped when a wave of pain almost made me black out. A shadow passed over me—then a body crashed onto mine. I heaved it off and looked down. One of my men. His body was covered in deep cuts, his lifeless eyes staring back at me.

I dragged my gaze back to the battle. There was another corpse that hadn’t been there before and only four men remained standing—Clay, Milton, and Darnell, hesitantly circling the mage, who held the final man, Chet, by the face. Chet’s daggers lay forgotten at his feet as he clawed uselessly at the arm gripping him, his screams shrill with agony—until the mage tightened his grip. The front half of Chet’s head crumpled with a sickening crunch. The mage tossed his corpse aside as the other three charged.

He parried Clay’s sword, dodged Milton’s axe, and, in the same breath, decapitated Darnell while driving his fist into Milton’s chest. Half a second passed before Milton’s body erupted into a jagged stone statue, tearing through his flesh and scattering blood, muscle, and bone across the street.

Clay staggered back, his sword slipping from his fingers. He fell, shaking, mumbling incoherently as tears welled in his eyes. The mage regarded him coldly. The ground shifted beneath Clay, stone spearing up through his chest, lifting him several feet into the air.

Before I could process what had happened, I was the only one left.

The mage turned to me as I finally forced myself to my feet. He pushed off the ground and flashed forward, his sword knocking mine aside effortlessly. Before I could react, his hand clamped around my throat, lifting me into the air with terrifying strength. His grip tightened, choking the breath from me.

“Where’s my son?” His voice dripped with malice.

“He’s already gone!” I gasped, clawing at his wrist with my remaining hand. “They’ve left the city by now.”

“Where are they heading?” he demanded.

“If I tell you, will you let me live?” I rasped.

There was a pause. The only sound was my own ragged breathing. Then he averted his gaze. “Of course.”

I stared at him, my strength fading. “Liar.”

His grip tightened as he flicked his wrist. My head jerked with an audible crack, pain shooting through my neck, then everything stopped.