Marcus moved between the trees, his boots pressing softly into the moss-covered earth. Dawn hadn't yet broken, and the night air hung thick with moisture. Mist curled around the underbrush, and every branch creak sounded like a blade being drawn.
His skin still burned beneath the bandages he'd wrapped around his forearms. The Power Stone was buried deep in his pocket, pulsing faintly like a second heart.
He hadn't stopped walking since the chamber collapsed behind him.
The memory of Seraphine's words lingered like smoke.
"Find the Pillars... or die before they find you."
Marcus didn't know where Falcrest was, or what Captain Kreel looked like. He just knew the air reeked of blood and something unnatural. And that silence in a forest like this wasn't peace.
It was the calm before the hunt.
A twig snapped.
Marcus spun.
Nothing.
He waited, holding his breath. The mist seemed to thicken, coiling between the trees like fingers reaching for his throat. And then—
thup.
An arrow slammed into the tree beside him.
He dove behind the trunk just as another whistled past. No time to think. No time to scream. His instincts flared, and the Power Stone surged inside him like a lit match dropped in oil.
He rolled, flames bursting along his palms, and sent a blazing arc into the trees. The fire crashed into the mist, illuminating a shadowy figure ducking low—another arrow already nocked.
Too fast. Too precise.
Another one.
This one aimed for his head.
He threw himself flat as it sliced the air above. The archer wasn't hunting. He was toying with him.
Marcus growled, slamming his hand into the ground.
Flame Root: Ember Snare!
The earth beneath the archer lit up in a fiery rune. Roots burst from the soil, glowing hot with molten energy. The man didn't scream—just tensed and dropped his bow, writhing as the roots wrapped around his limbs and seared through armor.
Marcus sprinted forward before he could rethink it, sliding to his knees and grabbing the man's collar. The mask peeled away under his hand.
A tattoo of a red crown was burned into his neck.
"Vengeful Court," Marcus spat.
The man smiled through bloodied teeth. "Too slow... worm. He's already here."
Marcus's chest tightened. "Who?"
He didn't get the answer.
An explosion tore through the forest.
Marcus was thrown off his feet, crashing into a tree trunk. The air cracked with force as smoke billowed up from the undergrowth. Where the archer had been, there was now only fire—and a figure stepping through it.
Tall. Armored in deep grey and crimson trim. A long blade rested on one shoulder like it belonged there. His face was calm. Too calm.
"You're not supposed to be breathing," the man said.
Marcus struggled to stand. "Who the hell are you?"
The man stopped a few feet away. "Captain Varro Kreel. You've wasted your first breath by asking."
He charged.
Marcus barely raised his arms before the blade was there—slicing for his neck. He ducked, but the force of it sent him skidding back. Kreel was a monster in motion. Each swing was fluid, practiced—nothing wasted.
Marcus flared the Ember Root.
Fire exploded at his feet, launching him upward.
Kreel raised his sword like he was swatting a fly. The next thing Marcus knew, he was slammed out of the air, crashing into the dirt.
Everything hurt.
"You're lucky," Kreel said. "We were told to bring you in alive. I disagree. But the Court outranks me."
He raised his sword again.
And that's when the arrow hit him.
Not Marcus—Kreel.
It struck his shoulder, deep and precise. Kreel hissed, stumbling back. Marcus blinked through the smoke.
A second arrow.
Then a third.
Both landing with surgical precision.
Someone emerged from the trees behind Kreel—dark cloak, two blades strapped to her thighs, and a look that could kill a god.
"Elara?" Marcus gasped.
She didn't look at him. She was already moving.
Blades out, wind rushing behind her.
Kreel turned just in time to block her first strike. Sparks flew. She spun low and aimed for his ribs, but he caught her boot mid-air and hurled her like she weighed nothing.
Elara landed in a crouch, sliding back but not breaking stride.
Marcus forced himself up. "How did you—?"
"Talk later," she growled, not taking her eyes off Kreel. "He's not alone."
Sure enough, more shadows were moving now—black-armored soldiers, faces obscured, blades drawn. The Vengeful Court had come prepared.
Marcus gritted his teeth.
System. Activate Core Channel.
The stone flared in his pocket. Heat washed over him. The burn turned into fuel.
He stepped forward, standing beside Elara.
"Tell me you've got a plan," she said.
"Yeah," Marcus muttered. "Burn everything that moves."
---
The battle became chaos.
Marcus launched volleys of searing flame into the enemy ranks, lighting up the trees in waves. Elara danced between blades, her knives carving paths through armor like paper. She moved like a ghost—sharp, fast, and cold.
But they kept coming.
Kreel moved through the chaos like death itself. Every slash from his sword split the air. The ground quaked under his strikes.
Elara tried to flank him again. He grabbed her mid-spin and hurled her into a tree with a crack.
"Elara!" Marcus shouted.
She groaned, alive but bleeding.
Rage took over.
Marcus raised both hands.
Ember Root Skill: Infernal Bloom.
The forest exploded in heat. Fire bloomed in all directions—scarlet petals of destruction. The enemy staggered, blinded. Kreel stopped mid-step, covering his eyes.
Marcus focused everything he had.
He charged, roaring, and slammed both fists into the ground.
The fire surged toward Kreel like a wave.
It hit.
The blast knocked Kreel back, armor scorched.
But it wasn't enough.
Kreel rose, smoke trailing from his shoulders. He looked... amused.
"You're learning," he said. "But still a child."
He raised his sword again.
Before he could bring it down, Elara was there—dagger in his side.
Kreel flinched. A heartbeat of hesitation.
That was all Marcus needed.
He let go.
System Override Surge: Firestorm Vein
The world exploded in white-hot flame.
---
Marcus didn't remember blacking out.
He just knew that when he opened his eyes, it was dawn. The mist was gone. The trees around them were charred and broken. Smoke drifted gently through the ruined clearing.
Kreel was gone.
Only a deep gash in the earth remained—scorched, stained with blood.
Marcus lay on his side, coughing. His arms ached. His vision pulsed.
"Elara?" he croaked.
She sat slumped against a rock, one eye swollen shut, lips bloodied—but she nodded weakly.
"You're alive."
"So are you," she rasped. "Which is... impressive."
He laughed once, painfully. "You came back."
She looked at him for the first time in years.
"Of course I did," she said. "You owe me a sword."