The mission was not announced.
Mask never called it that.
He simply stopped walking.
The road they had followed for two days—a narrow trade path skirting the borders between human farmland and old forest—ended abruptly at a burned village. Smoke still curled from collapsed rooftops, drifting upward like exhausted breath.
Kael felt it immediately.
Magic had been used here.
Not cleanly.
Not carefully.
Elmyra slowed beside him, eyes scanning the ruins. "This was recent."
"Last night," Mask said. "Maybe earlier."
Kael swallowed. Charred wood crunched under his boots as they stepped into the village square. Homes lay split open, tools abandoned mid-task, a child's wooden toy half-buried beneath ash.
No bodies.
That disturbed Kael more than blood would have.
"Where is everyone?" he asked.
Mask knelt and pressed two fingers to the ground. His posture was casual, but Kael noticed the tension beneath it. "Taken," Mask said. "Alive."
Elmyra's voice tightened. "Slavers?"
"Worse," Mask replied. "Messengers."
Kael frowned. "For who?"
Mask stood. "You already know."
The kidnapper.
Kael's chest felt heavy. "Then why bring me here?"
Mask looked at him directly. "Because this time, the world pushes back."
Before Kael could respond, the air shifted.
Not sound. Not movement.
Pressure.
Kael felt it like hands closing around his thoughts.
"Elmyra," Mask said calmly, "stay behind me."
Figures emerged from the edges of the village—six of them—wearing the same dull masks as before, though each bore a different sigil etched across the metal.
Fire. Wind. Stone.
Magic-users.
Kael's heart kicked hard in his chest.
The lead figure stepped forward. "We were hoping you'd come."
Mask's voice was cold. "You're early."
The figure chuckled. "We adapt."
Elmyra's hand tightened around her blade. "How many villages?"
"Enough," the figure replied. "Fear spreads faster when people vanish quietly."
Kael stepped forward despite himself. "Why?"
The masked figure tilted its head. "To make you visible."
A pulse of magic surged.
Kael reacted without thinking.
Pain flared—but he didn't cast.
He moved.
Mask's rules snapped into place like armor.
The ground erupted where Kael had stood a moment earlier, stone spears bursting upward. Elmyra rolled aside, blade flashing as she cut down one attacker before he could finish a spell.
Mask stepped forward—and reality warped.
Not dramatically.
Surgically.
The air folded, and two attackers slammed together mid-cast, their spells collapsing into harmless sparks.
Kael watched, breath ragged.
This was the difference.
Mask didn't pull magic.
He corrected it.
A wind-blade tore toward Kael.
Instinct screamed at him to cast.
He remembered the rule.
Never to save yourself.
Kael dove instead, shoulder slamming into the dirt as the blade passed inches above him.
Pain exploded through his side.
But he was alive.
"Good," Mask said sharply.
Kael gritted his teeth and scrambled up, grabbing a fallen spear. He wasn't helpless without magic. His father's training surged back—stance, balance, timing.
He moved.
One attacker lunged.
Kael sidestepped and struck, driving the spear into the man's leg. The masked figure screamed and collapsed, magic dissipating wildly.
Elmyra fought like a storm, precise and relentless.
Still, they were outnumbered.
The lead figure raised both hands.
"Enough," it said. "We're not here to kill you."
Kael froze. "Then why burn the village?"
"To teach," the figure replied. "You inspire hope. Hope invites resistance. Resistance invites consequence."
Mask's voice was lethal. "You're using civilians as currency."
"Yes," the figure said calmly. "And it's working."
Kael felt something twist inside him—not fear, not anger, but a sharp, focused resolve.
"You took them to draw me out," he said.
"Correct."
"And you're here to see how far I'll go."
The figure inclined its head. "Exactly."
Magic stirred.
Not around Kael.
Within.
He remembered the warmth in the soil. The patience. The listening.
He didn't pull.
He shaped space.
Just enough.
The ground beneath the attackers softened—not into mud, but into instability. Their footing failed. Concentration shattered.
Elmyra stared. "Kael—"
Pain flared immediately.
Something slipped.
Names.
Simple ones.
Kael blinked hard, breath hitching.
Mask noticed.
The lead figure stepped back, impressed. "Ah. There it is."
"Enough," Mask said, stepping forward. "Leave."
The figure considered him. "Soon."
The attackers retreated in a blur of wind and shadow, leaving silence behind.
Kael dropped to one knee, gasping.
Elmyra rushed to him. "You broke the rule!"
"No," Kael whispered. "I didn't save myself."
Mask crouched beside him. "What did it take?"
Kael searched inward.
Something was missing.
Faces—blurred at the edges.
"I can't remember the villagers' faces," he said quietly. "Even the ones I saw."
Elmyra's eyes filled with horror.
Mask closed his eyes briefly. "Memory of strangers," he said. "Magic considers it expendable."
Kael laughed weakly. "Convenient."
Mask stood. "You held back. That matters."
Kael looked up at him. "I'm not strong enough."
"No," Mask agreed. "But you're learning the correct way to be dangerous."
Far away, the kidnapper stood before a map now marked with burned villages.
"He chose," the kidnapper murmured. "And he paid."
A pause.
"Good," he said softly. "Now we can escalate."
Back in the ruins, Kael rose slowly, pain etched into every movement.
"Next time," he said, voice steady despite the cost, "they won't be ready."
Mask turned and began walking.
"Next time," he said, "neither will you."
---
End of Chapter 16