The Trade Realm stank of smoke and sweat. The children huddled in a half-collapsed barn at the edge of the fields, their breaths shallow, their faces pale with exhaustion. The man paced at the doorway, scanning the night with eyes hardened by years of survival.
"We can't stay here," he muttered. "Every step we take, their noose tightens. By dawn, this place will be crawling."
One of the older boys clenched his fists. "Then where do we go? Every road is watched. Every gate is guarded. We can't—"
Kairo's crimson eyes shifted toward the horizon, silent. His gaze didn't look at the gates or the roads. It looked beyond them, as if searching for something invisible.
Igron leaned back against a broken beam, his smirk faint, though there was little humor in it.
"He's right. They'll never stop hunting us. Not while there's a bounty on our heads."
The air grew heavy. The children trembled. Some wanted to fight. Some wanted to run. None had answers.
And then, the silence broke.
The barn door exploded inward, splinters flying.
Shadows poured through the opening — not ten, not twenty, but hundreds. Steel gleamed under the moonlight, torches hissed, and voices barked orders.
The hunters had found them.
Over two hundred men surged forward, their formation tight, blades raised, ropes and chains glinting in the dark. The ground shook under their boots as the circle closed.
The man drew his weapon, face grim. "Stay together!"
But it was too late. The hunters moved with precision, surrounding them in moments. A net was cast, chains whistled through the air, pinning limbs before the children could scatter.
Kairo's eyes flared crimson. His hand shot up, shattering a chain midair with raw force — but another caught his wrist, burning into his skin with enchanted iron.
Igron cursed, a knife flashing in his hand as he cut one chain, then two, but he too was dragged back under a swarm of armored bodies.
The children screamed as they were pulled apart, held down, their struggles drowned in the chaos.
For the first time since their escape, Kairo and Igron were caught off guard — not by skill, but by sheer numbers.
And in that suffocating moment, when hope seemed to snap like the chains biting into their flesh—
A little girl, no older than seven, shrieked with all the strength her lungs could muster:
"Great sword! Help us!"
The night went still.
The hunters froze for just a breath, confusion flashing across their faces.
And then, from the darkness beyond the fields, came the sound of footsteps. Heavy. Certain. Inevitable.
The children's eyes widened in disbelief.
The Hound had returned.