They didn’t have time to wonder who had spoken.

Shadows peeled away from alleys, rooftops, and building corners.
Five. Ten. More?

They didn’t know.
They only knew one thing—it was too many.

Marenna backed up against a wall, panic gripping her chest, hands shaking.
She had never fought. Not for real. Not against people who actually wanted her dead.

Garlan stepped in front of her, eyes darting.

Five, circling him.

— “Assassins, most likely. So... close combat.”

He grabbed Marenna by the waist, leapt upward, and propelled them into a hover. Mid-air, he stretched out his hand.

Two arcs of lightning shot forth.
Two enemies collapsed before they even realized they’d been struck.

The three others hurled poisoned daggers.
Marenna reacted on pure instinct. She raised her arms—
and a cocoon of brambles surged from the ground, shielding them both.

The blades ricocheted off the thorns. One dagger lodged itself in the wooden shutter of a nearby house.

Marenna counterattacked immediately.
The vines lashed out, entangling the legs of two assailants and yanking them to the ground with muffled screams.

The last one had already vanished from view.
Behind them.

He slipped through a gap in the cocoon—a flaw too small, too overlooked.
He hurled a dagger.

It struck Garlan’s calf.

Garlan winced. He felt the venom take hold.

They floated gently back to the ground in a controlled descent.

Without hesitation, Marenna pressed her hands to his leg and purged the poison in a flash of glowing green magic.

He met her gaze, nodded, and raised both hands.

Dozens of fireballs blinked into existence around them—hovering in a shifting circle.

— “Go ahead…” he murmured.

The orbs glowed, pulsed. The air turned hot. Electric.

— “Come on, then. Don’t be afraid of a little fire.”

Three more assassins joined the remaining one.

One snorted.

— “You think your toys scare us? All we have to do is—”

He never finished that sentence.

As he stepped forward, one of the fireballs locked on like a magnet.
And exploded.

The rest froze mid-step.

No one dared enter the fiery circle.

But one of them had either more guts… or less brain.

He drew another dagger and flung it with precision—aimed straight for Garlan.
But this time, the blade never reached him.

A loud thud echoed across the plaza.

Tharion had just landed, hooves slamming the cobblestones.

The dagger clinked off his armored shoulder.
He picked it up, examined it briefly, then looked up at the attackers.

— “I don’t know who you are. But you just made a mistake.”

He rose to his full height, his massive form shielding the two teens.

The air trembled around him.

And without waiting for a reply—he charged.

The first assassin was smashed against a wall with such force he couldn’t even scream.
The second tried to block, but his weapon flew one way—his arm the other.

The third turned to flee.
Tharion didn’t let him.

A single hoof strike.
Clean. Final.

The last one dropped to his knees, hands raised.

— “Please…”

Tharion paused. Stared at him.

Then stepped back.

— “You’re going to talk. Everything. Or I’ll hand you over to her.”
He tilted his head toward Marenna—still glowing, thorns writhing around her like hungry snakes.

A new laugh rang out.
Colder. Closer.

A shadow darted toward Tharion—Carea.

He emerged from the darkness, lightning-fast, and drove a dagger into the centaur’s side.

Tharion froze. His limbs trembled.

— “Paralyzing venom,” Carea said with smug satisfaction.
— “Enough to bring down a Gronox.”
(A creature that’s basically a rhino-elephant hybrid. On a very bad day.)

Tharion collapsed to his knees, unable to move.

Garlan screamed:
— “DON’T TOUCH HIM!”

Carea turned with a sneer.

— “Well, well. Look who’s found his voice. You see what I did to your master?”

Garlan teleported—appearing inches from him.

— “Go take a long walk off a short cliff.”

He slammed his palm against Carea’s gut.

A shockwave erupted—violent, deafening, like a cannon blast.

Carea was blasted so far away his silhouette vanished into the horizon.

Seconds passed.

Then, in the distance… a figure stirred.

Carea stood, barely. A gaping hole in his abdomen.

He gave a weak smile.

— “Not bad, kid… not bad at all… for a mage…”

And collapsed, unconscious.