Katyl stood in the middle of the open, breathing harder than ever. Her arms ached with pain, and her head was already starting to throb from the magic. But she pushed through it all and turned slowly toward where the boys hid.

“Out. All of you.”

The rubble shifted, Xyron’s face popping out, then Aolyne’s, his eyes squeezed shut. Kai had both arms around Aolyne, but let go once the younger one went into the clear. Xyron’s shirt was bloody from where Aolyne’s nose had started to bleed. Katyl didn’t remember when that happened, but they couldn’t stay there.

She looked them over, quickly scanned for other injuries, then motioned them forward.

“Stay behind me. Don’t touch the bodies.”

They did as they were told, completely silent and serious. Xyron’s hands quivered, but he never loosened his grip on Aolyne’s arm. Katyl retrieved her knife, wiped it on her leg, and crouched to check the church guards.

The older one was unconscious from blood loss, but breathing. She took a piece off a broken fence close by, and wedged it under his arm to keep the bleeding stopped. As for the younger guard, he was dead. She let herself feel nothing; it was no time for feelings. Xyron might have known him, but it was the sort of pain they’d have to deal with later.

She counted the seconds, making sure nothing else moved on the street. The quiet following violence was a familiar kind, but it still made her skin itch, like an insect crawling beneath it.

“Let’s check the church.” She said.

Katyl pressed her boot to the shattered stones and pressed her shoulder against the church door, its iron hinges creaking above the sound of battle outside. She entered fast, her knife up, expecting the next attack, never expecting the shape it took.

A thin blur shot from behind the door. A dagger found her throat, so close that the tip grazed the line of her lower jaw and ripped off a single thread from her shirt. For a moment, the world went quiet. As Katyl was about to strike back and finish the attacker in a single swing of her knife, she forced herself to stop after realizing who stood in front of her.

“Luzia!” Xyron’s voice, startled, cut the air behind her.

The girl’s arm twitched, then dropped. The dagger bounced once or twice on the stone below. Luzia’s chest heaved once, hard, and her face went from battle-ready to blank, a mask snapping back into place.

“I’m so sorry…” She said, with tears dripping from her eyes. “I thought you were…“

Katyl caught Luzia’s wrist before she could finish, just long enough for the pulse to register. She let go and stepped back, giving the girl space to reset.

The situation was worse than Katyl expected. Blood formed a wide arc across the steps of the altar, the kind of mess left when a body’s been moved but the stain outlives the life itself. Wax had collected in a lake beneath the toppled candles, some still smoking faintly, their death scent mixing with the burn of wood from outside. Higher up, sunlight barely filtered in. Partly because it was evening, but most of the glass was shattered, and the smoke made every beam thick and discolored.

Aolyne, in his brother’s arms, kept his face pressed to Xyron’s chest. He did not dare to look at the altar.

Katyl looked around and took in every detail she could in a single glance. Six children were in the shadow behind the altar rail, hugging each other so close their faces merged into one mass, legs and hands tangled, as if to make themselves smaller. The smallest girl, maybe five or six, was buried so deep in another child’s side she was almost invisible, her back bent over as she’d never get up again. The others stared at Katyl with a hope that bordered on fear. None of them cried; they couldn’t cry more than what they did already.

Kai hovered at the rear, only two steps inside the door. He didn’t relax, not even when he saw Luzia alive and standing, not even when he realized the enemy wasn’t coming for them yet. Instead, he scanned around, checking the smashed windows and the long, arched corridor behind, scanning for movement. In a way, it reminded him of the ruins he and Xyron explored.

The two guards Katyl had saved from the courtyard, one with a hastily bandaged forearm, the other limping from the hit to his knee, came in last. They did not speak, but the look in their eyes told more than enough; they were forever grateful. They took up a post by the door as if it was the only thing they’d ever known how to do.

Katyl did her job, counted heads, checked for wounds, and thought about what to do next. Luzia was alright, but her sleeves were stiff with dried blood. Katyl guessed it wasn’t hers, but she’d ask later. The guards would live, for now, and her boys and Kai were winded but still whole. The orphans were intact, though that word never meant much after a day like that.

Luzia knelt, picked up her dropped dagger, and fixed it at her belt. She swept her hair back with a hand which trembled wildly, then made her way to the altar, never letting the children out of her sight.

“What happened?” Katyl asked, voice at half the volume she usually used. There was no point in frightening the kids even more.

Luzia took a slow breath, then spoke over her shoulder.

“These people showed up out of nowhere... The guards were outnumbered, maybe six to two. They tried to block the doors but couldn’t. I collected the children and waited until I heard fighting stop, then... waited even longer.” Her eyes glanced at the streak of blood, then away. “Didn’t know if anyone was left.”

Xyron set Aolyne down beside Katyl and moved forward, careful not to step in the worst of the mess.

“You did great, Luzia.” He said, his voice not quite steady.

Luzia looked at him, and for a second, her whole face softened. She didn’t answer, just went to the children and started the slow process of getting them upright. She checked each one’s hands and arms for cuts, straightened one of the small boy’s collars, even pressed some folded cloth into another’s hand to wipe the dirt and dust off his face. She did it all without speaking, except for the occasional, “Here, hold this,” or “You’re okay now,” spoken soft enough that the others could pretend they hadn’t heard.

Aolyne, now standing, kept his face slightly down, eyes fixed on the dusty floor. Katyl let him. She scanned the perimeter instead, mentally rehearsing the way to the west, the number of bodies between the church and the gate, and the odds of another enemy squad showing up.

“They’ll be coming again, right?” Kai’s voice was low and worried.

“Most likely,” Katyl replied. “We don’t have long. And will you be fine with that armor?”

“Yeah, I’m used to wearing heavy stuff thanks to my work at the smithy.”

If the boy said so, then Katyl chose to believe in him.

She cleared the ground with her boots, crouched and pressed her fingers into the old stone, tracing a path with the tip of her knife, west from the church, then through the ruined square, then a direct shot to the gate. As she mapped it, Luzia joined her, crouching next to her with the attentive gravity of someone preparing for confession.

“Some of them can’t run far,” Luzia said, and indicated toward the children, two of the youngest still too shaky to run.

That could prove problematic. Katyl didn’t like it, but it would come down to simple luck. If they came across no more enemy soldiers on their way to the gate, everything would be alright.

“Do you need a weapon?” Katyl asked Luzia, eyeing the dagger.

“I’ll take another one if you have it.” Luzia’s hand, now steady, reached out and caught the knife Katyl slid across the stone. She picked it up, feeling the grip on her hand, then hid it in the folds of her dress, standing again in one smooth motion.

The moment had a strange hush, the kind that came before a bell toll or a verdict. Katyl studied Luzia, not the way she wanted to, but the way she needed to, as a mother. The girl had blood on her knuckles, more than anyone should. There was a wound on her cheek that hadn’t been there earlier when she picked up Aolyne from their home so he could play with the other kids.

Katyl caught Luzia’s gaze, then nodded. It was a single, tiny motion, but it meant: you did great so far.

Luzia wasted no time; she took the six children from behind the altar, linking hands. She crouched to the most frightened girl, met her eye to eye, and murmured something too soft for anyone else to hear. The little girl loosened her grip on the altar and let Luzia guide her forward.

Katyl led the group to the door, quick and quiet, then pressed her hand against the broken wood, ready to push it wide as the sounds of the dying village waited on the other side.

She looked back once, just long enough to count everyone, just long enough to see the last child take over everyone’s eyes. Then, she gave the signal, and the group flowed out, as one, into what remained of the light.

“Guards, you’re on the sides. Eyes open for anyone shadowing us.” Katyl didn’t bother explaining; they were professionals, or close enough to pass for it in a place like this. She kept her voice high and firm so only the adults caught it all.

“Luzia, keep the children between you and me. If they start to panic, you calm them. If I tell you to run, you run. No looking back.”

“Understood.” Luzia straightened, already looking over the children for the ones most likely to bolt. They left without a word, boots dull on the floor.

Katyl saw them leave, then took a knee so she could look Aolyne in the face. He was older than the orphans, but not by much, and the mask of courage he’d worn all morning was slipping fast.

“If I tell you to run, you do it. Can you carry one of them if they can’t keep up?”

Aolyne’s lips twitched. “I can try.”

“That’s good enough,” Katyl said. She squeezed his shoulder gently and stood.

“No one is right outside. The street's empty up to the corner.” The guards returned, breathless, but at least that was some piece of good news.

Katyl heard the distant crack of wood, maybe another house giving way, maybe just the world breaking up further. It was a signal, or a warning. Either way, they were out of time.

“Let’s go.” She said.

She laid her hand against the church door. The wood felt warm, nearly alive with the memory of all the hands that had touched it today, fleeing, fighting, hoping for rescue.

On the other side, the world waited, still burning, still dying. She pushed the door open and let them out.