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Chapter 3 - Chapter 3 - Cinder Vow

Faster! Run, damn you!"

The Cloaker's bark split the night, jagged as the crack of a whip. Villagers stumbled forward, Black faces streaked with soot and sweat, ash clinging to braids and tight coils of hair. Bare feet kicked up dust on the slag-stained path. Children sobbed, their mothers hissing for silence, clutching small hands. Fathers limped under ragged bundles, ribs sharp beneath thin shirts.

And behind them, steady, merciless, came the beat of boots. Iron on stone. A hundred in step.

Elira's lungs burned, but she dragged Kael along, her grip unbreakable around his hand. His legs, quick for nine, stumbled over loose rocks, tripped in ash. Each fall she yanked him upright, whispering, "Don't stop, baby. Don't stop." Sweat glazed her face; her torn silver dress hung in rags; coils of hair clung to her damp cheeks.

Then the shadows lengthened. Torches behind them flared red, and a new weight pressed into the air.

The Serpent-Tongue had come.

He moved forward in crimson-edged black robes, his hood drowning his face in shadow. A carved serpent coiled around his staff, its eyes faintly aglow as though alive. Cloakers halted at once. Torches bent low, crackling. The villagers froze in a cluster, trembling, their hearts thundering.

When he spoke, his voice was oil on stone—smooth, searing, and cold.

"You run like vermin. But the Serpent sees through ash, through bone, through night. There is no refuge. Hand me the boy, and the rest of you may live."

Murmurs hissed through the crowd.

"The boy?"

"He means the mystery child…"

"The one born with no father…"

"If we give him, they'll let us go?"

Kael pressed against Elira's side. She bent over him, shielding him with her body. "Don't look at them, Kael," she whispered fiercely. "Don't you dare look."

"Better one child than all of us," a man growled.

"Quiet!"

The voice came hoarse, but steady. Elder Thalos stepped forward. His dark face was weathered, beard wiry gray, back bent, but his eyes burned bright under heavy brows. He leaned hard on his staff, every step a labor.

Then—he whispered. So soft only those huddled near him caught it.

"They fear him… because he is hope. And hope is what serpents cannot devour."

Gasps rippled.

"Did you hear him?" a woman hissed.

"Hope?" another muttered. "The old man's cracked."

Thalos drew breath, straightening as far as his frail spine allowed. His whisper slid out again, barely audible:

"I can hide some of you… not all. My craft is weak, brittle as these bones. My illusion will not cloak every soul here. Only a few—at a time."

Shock buzzed through the group.

"He has magic?"

"That old crow?"

"Since when—"

But the proof came. Purple smoke bled from Thalos' trembling fingers, curling like ghostly threads. It spilled over the ground, twisting into shadow-shapes. Outlines of villagers warped and blurred; figures doubled, splintered, shifting like a mirage.

The Cloakers growled, unsettled.

"An illusion…" one spat.

"Smoke and trickery."

The Serpent-Tongue slammed his staff. "Old fool. Do you think pale smoke will blind the Serpent's eyes?"

Elira's gaze snapped from Thalos to Kael. Her chest heaved. The answer struck her sharp and certain.

"The children," she said. Her voice rose. "The children go first!"

Heads turned.

"Yes—the children!" she shouted, braids lashing her shoulders. "If only some can pass unseen, let it be them. If there's any future left, let it run in their legs. Let them breathe free!"

Whispers flared like sparks.

"She's right."

"Better the little ones—"

"They'll live where we can't—"

Elira dropped to Kael's height, her dark eyes blazing into his wide ones. "Kael, listen to me. You go. Do you hear me? You go with them."

"But Mama—"

"No!" Her grip shook his shoulders. "No questions. You run. Run until your feet bleed if you must. But you never look back."

She shoved him gently toward the gathering cluster. Bram—broad-shouldered, stubborn. Lyra—tall, braids tight, chin high. Joss—small, clinging to Lyra's sleeve. Amara—quiet, sharp-eyed, clutching a ragged doll. Dagan—hot-headed, scowling even through his tears.

Thalos hunched low, voice rasping. "Stay close, little ones. My smoke will cover you. Don't stop till the trees take you."

Kael's hand slipped from Elira's. His chest ached like it was tearing open, but he obeyed.

The purple haze thickened at their feet, cloaking them in shadow. Cloakers cursed, eyes straining, as the shapes of the children blurred and broke apart.

"Move!" Thalos hissed.

And the children darted into the dark.

---

The last threads of Elder Thalos' purple smoke curled into the air, thinning until only the adults remained in the open square.

The Serpent-Tongue's staff cracked against the ground. His hooded head jerked like a viper, the serpent carved into his staff glowing faintly.

"Where is he? Where is the boy?"

Elira stepped forward, chest heaving. "Let the villagers go! I will call the boy back. I swear it!"

The Serpent-Tongue tilted his head. "You would summon him yourself?"

"Yes," she said, voice raw. "But only if you let them live."

A low chuckle scraped from under his hood. "Very well. Crawl back to your holes, insects. The Serpent has no hunger for you this night."

The villagers stumbled in relief, fleeing down the ash path.

Then his fingers twitched—subtle, silent. The Cloakers raised their hands, palms glowing red.

Flames burst from their fingers, roaring into the fleeing crowd. Red fire devoured flesh and cloth, screaming bodies collapsing into ash.

Elira turned, horror splintering her face. "No—NO!" She lunged, but Cloakers seized her, wrenching her down.

"You swore!" she screamed. "You swore you would let them go!"

The Serpent-Tongue leaned close, whisper hissing: "Serpents do not swear. Serpents consume."

He turned toward the trees. "Kael… hear her scream? Come save her, boy. Come now."

Kael surged forward, choking. "Mama!"

Dagan grabbed him, slamming him down. "Do you want to die?"

"I don't care! She needs me!"

Elder Thalos clamped a hand over his mouth. "Quiet! Live, child. Live, and one day make them pay."

The children shook, silent vows hardening in their chests.

Dragged through the brush, Kael sobbed as his mother's cries burned into him.

At the rear, Joss stumbled, tears blinding him. His chest heaved, but his mind spun dark.

They are power. They take what they want. They burn who they please. And no one can stop them.

His fists trembled, but not with hate— with hunger.

If I had their fire, I wouldn't have lost her. If I were a Cloaker, I wouldn't be the one running. I'd be the one the world feared.

The thought rooted deep, warm and poisonous.

And still he ran.

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