Three Hours After Midnight

Lyra - POV

I woke to the sound of splintering wood.

Not the gentle creak of settling timber or the familiar night sounds of our cottage, but the violent crash of a door being torn from its hinges. My eyes snapped open in the darkness, instantly alert with the kind of primal fear that cuts through sleep like a blade.

Beside me, Gregor was already moving, his soldier's instincts faster than conscious thought. But before either of us could speak, rough hands seized me, dragging me from the bed with brutal efficiency.

"No!" I gasped, struggling against iron-strong grips as dark shapes filled our bedroom. "Naelira, my baby!"

"Grab the infant," came a harsh whisper from the shadows. "Two females, one still nursing. Good price for both."

My heart stopped. They weren't here to rob us. They were here to take us.

I fought then, truly fought, drawing on every ounce of strength my war training had given me. My staff lay across the room, but I didn't need it. Not when I was surrounded by the cottage Gregor had built from living timber.

The disorientation of sudden waking, the shock of rough hands, the terror for my children. All of it fell away as combat instincts honed during the border conflicts kicked in. I pressed my palms against the wooden floor and reached out with senses trained to work with any growing thing.

Wood remembers what it was.

The cottage responded immediately to my call. Floorboards groaned and buckled as I awakened the dormant life within them, reminding oak and pine what it felt like to grow, to reach, to fight for survival. The walls themselves became my weapons as thick vines erupted from every beam and plank, writhing with predatory hunger.

The nearest raider cursed as woody tendrils wrapped around his legs like serpents, their grip tightening with crushing force. "What the hell?"

I didn't give him time to finish. Window frames sprouted thorned branches that lashed out like whips, while ceiling beams sent down hanging root systems to entangle anyone within reach. The very air filled with the sound of creaking wood and rustling leaves as our peaceful bedroom transformed into a living weapon.

"The goods fight back," someone laughed coldly, but there was uncertainty in his voice now. "I like spirit in the merchandise."

Merchandise. The word ignited rage in my chest, and the wooden assault intensified. Door frames reached out with grasping fingers, floorboards split to release more aggressive growth, and every piece of furniture joined the attack.

But there were too many of them, and I was still groggy from sudden waking. As I focused on turning the bedroom into a trap, more raiders poured through the doorway, stepping over their struggling comrades with disciplined efficiency.

"Don't damage her," snapped an older voice, more authoritative. "Bruised women sell for less. Take her down properly."

They came at me from multiple angles, forcing me to divide my attention between attacks. One group fought through my wooden guardians while others circled toward baby Naelira's cradle. I tried to protect both positions, but the split focus weakened my control.

A cloth pressed over my mouth, bitter with chemicals that made my thoughts go fuzzy. The cottage's responses began to slow as the drug crept through my system, wooden limbs moving like creatures caught in amber.

"Damn plant witch," one raider spat, pulling thorns from his arm. "Should have brought fire."

Through the haze, I watched them lift baby Naelira from her cradle, my perfect, innocent daughter, wailing in terror as strange hands seized her. I tried to summon more power, tried to call every tree in the forest to crush these monsters, but the chemical was spreading through my bloodstream, making my magic sluggish and unreliable.

"Mama fights like a wildcat," one of the raiders observed, looking at my daughter with calculating eyes. "The little one's got good blood. Should train up nicely."

Train up. They were talking about my baby like she was livestock to be broken and sold.

The last thing I witnessed before darkness took me was Naelira clutched carelessly under one arm like a sack of grain, her tiny face red with crying, held by a man who viewed her as nothing more than future profit.

Victor - POV

The crash from Mama and Papa's room jolted me awake like lightning.

I sat up in bed, my heart hammering as strange sounds filled the cottage. Heavy footsteps, muffled voices, Mama's cry of alarm cut short too quickly. The wrongness I'd felt earlier crystallized into pure terror as I realized what was happening.

Bad men. In our house. Hurting my family.

I slipped from bed as quietly as I could, but as I reached for the door, it burst open. A large man filled the doorway, silhouetted against the flickering light from the main room. Behind him, I could see more figures moving through our cottage like shadows made of malice.

"Well, well," the man said, his voice rough with cruel amusement. "Look what we have here. Red and violet eyes, just like the reports said."

He stepped into my room, and I backed away instinctively. "Where's my mama?" I whispered, though I was afraid of the answer.

"Your mama's coming with us, boy. And so are you. But don't worry, we'll take good care of you. You're very valuable."

"I want my papa."

"Your papa's a bit busy right now." The man reached for me with hands that looked like they could crush stones. "Come along quietly and nobody else has to get hurt."

But I couldn't come quietly. I couldn't let them take me away from my family, away from my home, away from everything I loved. As the man's fingers closed around my arm, panic exploded inside me.

"NO!"

The word tore from my throat, raw and desperate. The air suddenly felt thick, pressing against my skin like invisible hands. Frost crept across the window glass even though the night was warm.

The man's grip loosened as he felt the temperature drop. "What in the seven hells..."

I twisted free and bolted for the back door, panic driving me toward Papa's workshop. Maybe I could hide. Maybe I could find a weapon. Maybe the bad men would just go away.

But he was so much faster. His hands clamped down on my shoulders just as I reached the door.

"Got you, you little beast."

I fought like a wild animal then. Bit his wrist until I tasted blood. Clawed at his face with my fingernails. Kicked and screamed and thrashed with every bit of strength my small body could summon. We crashed through the workshop door in a tangle of limbs, scattering Papa's tools across the floor.

"Hold still, damn you!"

But I couldn't stop. Mama's cries echoed from the cottage. Baby Naelira was wailing somewhere in the darkness, terrified and alone. They were hurting my family and I was supposed to protect them, but I was just seven years old and this man could break me in half if he wanted to.

The feelings crashed together inside my chest like storm waves. Fear so sharp it felt like drowning. Rage that burned hotter than Papa's forge. Love so fierce it made my whole body shake. All of it building, building, building until the pressure had to break.

"Let me GO!"

The words exploded out of me with a sound like breaking glass.

Everything went strange. The oil lamp's flame bent sideways as if pulled by an invisible current. Scattered nails began rolling uphill across the tilted floor. The man's face rippled like I was seeing him through water.

His eyes went wide. He stumbled backward as if the ground itself had shifted under his feet. Then an invisible force picked him up and hurled him against the workshop wall. Wood splintered. He hit with a wet sound and didn't get back up.

But the wrongness in the air kept getting worse. The walls groaned like living things in pain. Support beams curved inward as if giant hands were squeezing the whole building. I tried to stop it, tried to pull the power back inside me, but it was like trying to stuff lightning back into a bottle.

The shed folded in on itself with a roar like thunder.

One moment I was standing in the doorway, watching the raider's lifeless body hanging suspended in the air like gravity had forgotten it existed, and the next the entire structure was falling down around us. Heavy beams crashed where I'd been standing, and the world disappeared in a cloud of dust and splintered wood.

When the rumbling stopped, everything was dark and silent.

I was trapped under a pile of broken timber, my head ringing and my body aching in ways I'd never experienced. But I was alive. And from the complete stillness near where the raider had fallen, I knew he wasn't.

I tried to call out for Mama and Papa, but my voice came out as barely a whisper. Dust filled my mouth and nose, making it hard to breathe. The weight of the collapsed roof pressed down on me, holding me pinned beneath debris that would have taken several grown men to move.

Outside, I could hear voices growing distant, orders being shouted, the sound of horses moving away from the village. The bad men were leaving.

But they weren't leaving empty-handed.

Malachar - POV

"Status report," I barked as my lieutenants gathered around me in the village square. Around us, Hearthvale burned. Not the whole settlement, but enough buildings to create chaos and confusion. Exactly as planned.

"Seventeen captives secured," Gareth reported, his armor spattered with blood. "Twelve women, five children. Good quality stock, all of them."

"Resistance?"

"Heavier than expected. The blacksmith fought like a man possessed, took three of our best to bring him down. And that plant witch gave us trouble. Turned her whole house into a weapon before we got her subdued. We lost Korven, Matthias, Durek, and two of the new recruits. Several more wounded."

Six dead, counting Rax. For what was supposed to be a simple raid on defenseless farmers. My jaw clenched as the true cost became clear.

"What about the primary objective?"

Gareth's expression darkened, and I could see him brace for my reaction. "Problem, sir. The boy was in the tool shed with Rax when an incident occurred. Whole structure came down, looks like some kind of magical accident. Rax is dead, and we can't find the child."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I'd spent months planning this operation. Invested fifty men, supplies, reputation. All for the water-wielding child who could have changed everything.

"What do you mean you can't find him?" My voice came out dangerously quiet.

"The shed collapsed completely. If the boy's under there, it would take hours to dig him out. And we don't have hours."

I looked toward the blazing buildings, rage building in my chest like molten iron. Already lights were appearing in distant farmhouses. Soon angry farmers would converge, possibly militiamen from larger towns. We needed to be gone.

My hand moved before conscious thought. The backhand caught Gareth across the face with enough force to stagger him, splitting his lip and sending blood spattering across his chin.

"You incompetent fool," I snarled. "That boy was worth more than everything else in this village combined. How do you lose the one thing that mattered?"

Gareth straightened slowly, wisely keeping silent as blood ran down his chin. Around us, the other men watched with tense caution.

"Could he have escaped?" I demanded.

"No sir," Gareth said with care. "Rax cornered him in the shed, there was nowhere to run. Whatever happened in there, the boy's either dead or buried so deep we'd need an excavation crew to reach him."

I cursed under my breath, hands clenching into fists. The water-wielding child had been the primary reason for this raid. Without him, we'd risked everything for secondary profits. Valuable, but not the game-changing asset I'd been planning for.

"Sir?" Gareth pressed, blood still dripping from his split lip. "Your orders?"

I wanted to kill the man responsible for this failure, but Gareth was still useful despite his incompetence. I forced myself to think strategically rather than emotionally.

"We leave. Now. The boy's either dead or trapped too deep to matter. Take what we have and get out before reinforcements arrive."

"What about digging him out?"

"Not worth the risk. Dead children don't command prices, and if he's alive under all that debris, he'll suffocate long before we could reach him." I turned toward my horse, already putting the failed objective behind me even as rage continued to simmer in my gut. "Seventeen captives will still make this profitable. We cut our losses and move."

As we rode out of Hearthvale with our human cargo, I allowed myself one look back at the smoldering village. Somewhere under the rubble of that collapsed shed lay either a corpse or a dying child. The weapon I'd dreamed of adding to my arsenal.

But the smart money said he was already dead. Children didn't survive building collapses, especially not when they were trapped without air. By morning, the boy with the impossible eyes would be nothing but a memory and a cautionary tale about the dangers of unchecked magical power.

Six good men dead. Gareth's face would carry my mark for weeks. All for a failed objective and seventeen captives who, while valuable, couldn't replace what we'd lost tonight.

But I'd learned a lesson from this disaster. The impossible could exist. If one child could awaken abilities this young, perhaps the phenomenon wasn't limited to this backwater village. Not others exactly like him, that would be hoping for miracles upon miracles, but perhaps other anomalies existed somewhere in the world. Rare beyond measure, yes, but worth searching for.

This wasn't just a failed raid. It was proof that legends could walk among us. And if one impossibility could exist, then my life's work hadn't been in vain. Somewhere out there, other prizes waited to be claimed. Other opportunities for power that the world insisted couldn't be real.

Next time, we'd be better prepared. Next time, we wouldn't underestimate the resistance. And next time, we wouldn't lose the prize.

The hunt would continue.