Night fell upon Oakhaven like a soft, velvet blanket, studded with a breathtaking number of stars. In the city, light pollution had washed the cosmos away, but here, the heavens were a brilliant, swirling tapestry. Ren sat on the stoop of his newly-repaired shack, mesmerized. It was the kind of peace he had dreamed of.
The farm, however, was anything but dark. The 'Sun's Fury' tomato plants, laden with their glowing fruit, cast a warm, crimson-gold light over the entire plot. It created a surreal, beautiful scene—a sanctuary of gentle light in the vast darkness.
Lyra was not enjoying the view. To her, this peaceful glow was a beacon, a massive "TREASURE HERE" sign for anyone with ill intent for miles around. As she'd predicted, she wasn't sleeping. She had melted into the shadows at the edge of the clearing, her form invisible, her senses stretched to their absolute limit. Her black leather armor made her one with the night, and her enhanced hearing could pick up the frantic beat of a rabbit's heart from across the clearing.
Ren, feeling the cool night air, decided to turn in. "Well, goodnight, Lyra," he called out to the seemingly empty darkness. "Don't stay up too late."
A disembodied voice whispered back from the shadows near the treeline. "Goodnight, Ren. Sleep well."
Ren shivered slightly. It was still unnerving. He went inside the shack, lit a small tallow candle, and lay down on his simple straw-stuffed mattress. The day had been long and strange, and sleep came quickly.
An hour before midnight, Lyra's ears twitched. She heard it. The soft snap of a dry twig, too heavy to be a fox. Then another. The clumsy footfalls of men trying, and failing, to be stealthy. Four of them. Their scents drifted to her on the breeze: stale ale, sweat, greed, and cheap, rusty iron.
Amateurs, she thought with a flicker of contempt. But even clumsy amateurs can be dangerous if underestimated.
She watched from her perch in the branches of a large oak tree as the four figures crept into the edge of the clearing. It was Silas and the three mercenaries. Their eyes were wide as they took in the sight of the glowing tomato patch.
"See?" Silas whispered excitedly, his voice carrying clearly to Lyra's sensitive ears. "Just like I told you! It's a field of bloody jewels!"
The brutish mercenary with the axe licked his lips. "Forget the girl for a minute. Let's just grab a sackful of that fruit first!"
"No, you idiot," the wiry captain hissed, slapping him on the back of the head. "We stick to the plan. Silas, you said the boy was alone with the cat-girl. Where are they?"
"The shack, probably," Silas guessed, pointing a shaky finger at the small, dark structure. "We go in, knock the boy out, grab the girl. Should be easy."
Lyra almost laughed aloud. Easy. These fools had no idea what they were walking into. Her initial instinct was to eliminate them all before they took another step. A single, well-aimed throwing knife from the darkness for each of them. Quick, silent, efficient.
But then she considered Ren. He was a kind, gentle soul who thought monsters "choked on apples." If he woke up to four dead bodies on his lawn, he might be upset. He might even think she was the problem. A different approach was needed. One that was less... lethal. A warning.
The four men began to creep across the open ground, heading for the shack. The captain took the lead, a cruel-looking dagger in his hand.
Lyra decided to make her presence known.
From the darkness of the treeline, a voice, low and cold as a winter wind, echoed through the clearing. "That's far enough."
The four men froze, spinning around, their weapons held aloft. "Who's there? Show yourself!" the captain yelled, his voice tight with alarm.
"You are trespassing on protected land," the voice continued, seeming to come from all directions at once. "This is your only warning. Turn back now, and you might live to see the dawn."
Silas whimpered, his greed rapidly being replaced by terror. "It's the cat-girl! I told you she was with him!"
The axe-wielding mercenary squinted into the darkness. "It's just one woman! Let's get her!" He raised his axe and charged blindly towards where he thought the voice originated.
Lyra sighed. There's always one idiot.
She dropped from the tree branch, landing as silently as a falling leaf directly in the charging man's path. He didn't see her until he was practically on top of her. His eyes widened in shock as a slender, black-clad figure simply... appeared before him.
He swung his heavy axe in a clumsy, powerful arc.
Lyra didn't even bother to draw a weapon. She sidestepped the blow with contemptuous ease, the axe head burying itself in the soft earth where she had been standing. As the mercenary struggled to pull it free, she moved. Her hand, open-palmed, shot out and struck him precisely on a nerve cluster at the side of his neck.
There was a soft thump. The big man's eyes rolled back into his head, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the dirt. It was the work of a split second.
The other two mercenaries and Silas stared in horror.
"What… how?" the third mercenary, a scrawny man with a crossbow, stammered, fumbling to aim his weapon.
"I warned you," Lyra said, her voice dripping with menace as she took a slow step towards them, the crimson light of the tomato plants painting terrifying highlights on her leather armor.
The crossbowman fired his bolt. It flew straight and true, aimed at her heart.
With a flick of her wrist, Lyra snatched the speeding crossbow bolt out of the air, her fingers closing around the wooden shaft just inches from her chest. She examined it for a moment, then casually snapped it in two and dropped the pieces to the ground.
That was the final straw. Silas screamed, a high-pitched wail of pure terror, and turned to run. The crossbowman dropped his weapon and followed suit.
The mercenary captain, however, was made of slightly sterner (or stupider) stuff. He saw his payday vanishing. "Cowards!" he snarled, and lunged at Lyra with his dagger.
He was faster than the others, his attack aimed with a modicum of skill. But to Lyra, he was moving through molasses. She ducked under his lunge, spun, and kicked the back of his knee, buckling his leg. As he stumbled, she brought the pommel of her concealed dagger—which she hadn't even bothered to draw—down in a sharp, precise blow to the base of his skull.
Like his axe-wielding companion, the captain collapsed in a boneless heap, out cold.
Lyra stood over the two unconscious forms, breathing calmly. She looked in the direction the other two had fled. They wouldn't be back.
She had neutralized four armed intruders without spilling a single drop of blood on Ren's farm. She considered it a professional success. Now, for the cleanup. She efficiently dragged the two unconscious men to the edge of the clearing, stripped them of their weapons and coins, and tied them up securely with their own belts.
It was at that moment that the door to the shack creaked open.
Ren stood there, rubbing his eyes, backlit by the candle from inside. "Lyra? Is everything alright? I heard some shouting."
Lyra instantly adopted a casual posture, stepping in front of the two tied-up men to block them from his view. "It's nothing, Ren. Just some… lost travelers. They were confused by the glowing plants. I gave them directions and sent them on their way."
Ren blinked, trying to wake up fully. "Lost travelers? In the middle of the night? That's strange." He yawned. "Well, as long as everything is okay." He trusted her completely. "Good work. I'm going back to sleep."
He closed the door, and the clearing was quiet once more.
Lyra let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. Maintaining her master's peaceful worldview was proving to be a more challenging task than defeating armed thugs.
She looked down at her handiwork. Two unconscious mercenaries, tied and ready for delivery to the authorities in the morning. A good night's work.
Then she heard a new sound. The slow, steady hoofbeats of a single, heavy horse approaching on the main path. This sound was different. It was disciplined, deliberate, and exuded an aura of unshakable confidence.
This one, she thought, her eyes narrowing as she melted back into the shadows, is not an amateur.
The Knight-Errant had arrived.