Mirae shot him a glance. The boy slapped a hand over his mouth, though his alarm wasn’t overly dramatic. This thing was beyond strong. They shouldn’t even be considering an approach. Running would be the logical solution.

  The guardian continued its rampage through the battlefield. Emela had secured her companion, at the lumbering creature of stone and wood now attacked other mercenaries who swarmed it like small dogs.

  Each time it tried to move away from the combatants and toward the figures on the hill, several mercenaries threw themselves forward, weapons flashing and bouncing off its stone in desperate attempts to distract it.

  Meat shields. Obstacles positioned between the guardian and Drion, who stood on the hill.

  But why? Surely they should have fled by now. Was Drion paying them enough to sacrifice their lives? Unlikely. Nobles, while lavish with wealth, weren’t exactly known for generosity.

  Mirae pulled her attention from the field, turned and rested her back against the tree trunk. Her gaze flickered to her puppets positioned nearby.

  Then a thought struck her, one she’d been ignoring all this time.

  None of this matched her vision. This fight, this battle. It hadn’t happened. In the grey-scaled world she’d witnessed when her Talent activated, her dreams had taken her here, standing over a field of grass with the tower in the distance as she moved through the forest.

  She’d found Emela being thrown from some bushes, the three nobles from the hill following behind. Similar in some ways, but the vision wasn’t accurate.

  There had never been a discrepancy this large; this was new. Minor differences occurred normally, but nothing so dramatic. This defied all patterns.

  What had changed? How had the situation been altered so drastically?

  The answer crystallised. The Talents—the very thing Hector had given her to protect her, to save her life—those were different. She’d possessed her original [Dreams of Time] Talent for so long, but the new ones Hector had provided couldn’t be accounted for. Her vision couldn’t factor them into the weave it perceived.

  Both terrifying and comforting. She wouldn’t know exactly how events would unfold, but now anything she saw could shift. The future could change.

  The tower loomed beyond the Guardian, ancient stone reaching toward the clouds. Its dark wooden entrance stood waiting, promising a future for both Pippa and Mirae. Things had diverged far from her vision now, and perhaps that change carried its own merit. Perhaps it was better.

  “It’s a test,” Pippa spoke up from the side.

  Mirae turned to her, frowning. “Why would—”

  “You said it yourself earlier with the stone monkey, Mirae.” Pippa continued, “Someone like me would be killed if I had to face it in combat. So why place something so violently powerful in the way?”

  “You think there’s a puzzle?” Harry asked, shifting against the tree.

  Pippa nodded. “I think there is.”

  Before Mirae could respond, a shout rang through the air. The stone guardian’s arm swept wide, scattering three mercenaries. The men hit the ground hard, rolled, and came up running, but moved more slowly.

  The creature noticed. Its eyes locked onto them as it rose.

  Ice shards shot toward it, glancing off the tough wood and stone. A few feet away, Emela’s hand glowed white as more spikes materialised in rapid succession, slamming into the Guardian. It batted its hand to the side, sweeping away the glittering shards. Emela had achieved her intention, though—the men scrambled to safety.

  A black-haired woman who’d been fighting alongside Emela earlier darted forward. She sidestepped the Guardian’s swipe and brought her blade down with a crack that rang through her blade. Steadying herself, she stepped back, narrowly avoiding a stone fist to her face.

  More ice shards rained against the creature. It raised a hand to block and released another roar.

  Then, as if compelled by fury, it lunged toward the woman who’d struck it. Hands reached for her. She dove clear, but the guardian barreled past, fixing its attention entirely on her. Its eyes glowed with something like contempt as it pursued.

  The mercenaries Emela had saved moments before rushed back in, blades ringing uselessly against stone. The creature ignored them completely.

  Within moments, it closed on Emela. It raised its massive fist, swinging toward her. Her eyes went wide.

  Time seemed to drag to a halt. Mirae could see the exhaustion in Emela’s stance, the way her shoulders trembled. She wouldn’t be able to dodge this, if she did, barely. When that fist fell, and if it hit, Emela would die.

  The certainty screamed through Mirae, primal and undeniable. In a heartbeat, someone she’d shared food with, a friend. A noble who actually understood the slums would be killed.

  Mirae’s gaze snapped toward her companions. Harry’s face had gone tight, his eyes calculating something, already measuring the distance between himself and Emela. Mrs Strongmail stared at the scene, unblinking, frozen with uncertainty. Pippa simply gaped, her hand gripping Kar’s diary for support.

  Only Nyx moved. Her body emerged halfway from behind the tree, preparing to sprint toward Emela. If she ran, she’d get exposed, and that would put them all in a precarious situation.

  Mirae couldn’t sit here and watch her friend die. She had to act.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  The Guardian’s fist continued its descent. Mirae’s decision solidified.

  Mirae raised her hand, drawing on the mana within her. It bubbled and whirled, churning to the surface. She sent her three puppets forward.

  They broke from the treeline, leaves swirling in their wake, feet slamming against the dirt. As Emela braced herself, the fist cracked into her arms. Before the guardian could pull back for a follow-up strike, one puppet slammed into its side. The stone and wood creature stumbled, staggering sideways. A second puppet followed, leaping over its shoulder and crashing into it again.

  Mirae stepped closer now, just inches beyond the tree line. Vines sprouted from the ground beneath the stone Guardian, whipping upward and lashing onto its extended arms. They dragged it down even as a puppet circled in front and kicked off the ground, knee crashing into its face and sending it reeling backwards.

  The beast released a furious roar. Mirae felt the mana drain from her core. She wouldn’t be able to hold it down for long.

  “What are you doing?” Pippa hissed from the side, her eyes darting toward the hill where Drion stood with his two siblings. His gaze flickered toward them, holding something Mirae didn’t have time to clearly identify. The mana currently haemorrhaging from her demanded all her focus.

  She released the pull with a shout, her insides thrumming as she staggered back. On the battlefield, her puppets continued to assault the Guardian. The mercenaries, distracted for only a moment, realised someone was aiding them.

  They rushed forward, swords held high, and released blow after blow. Lucky for them, the Guardian’s attention remained fixed on the puppets. Its arms reeled back and thrust forward, impacting the dirt with thunderous booms.

  After being saved, Emela clutched her arm and limped to the side. One of the two women she’d been fighting with moved over and helped her to the ground to rest.

  Mirae rested a hand on her knee, calculations burning through her mind. She could continue trying to hold the guardian in place, but that would only work for so long. The thing embodied strength itself, that it hadn’t simply batted aside her puppets yet spoke to their power and to the amplification her soulscape provided to them.

  “So, are we getting involved?” Harry said. Leaves crunched as he stepped forward beside her.

  The smell of ozone lingered in the air as static crackled off the Guardian’s body. It released another roar, thrusting a fist toward the puppet. It crossed its arms across its chest, bracing for impact. Far from enough.

  The fist crashed into the luminescent form, flinging it backwards with such force that it carved a deep trench in the dirt. For a moment, the puppet struggled. But the guardian did not stop; it walked over, raised its foot, and slammed down. The puppet dissipated in a puff of light.

  Mirae felt something whir inside her as she clutched at her chest. Not pain exactly, but loss. Definite loss.

  She pulled on the Talent again. Light gathered into a humanoid form at her side—the fourth puppet she’d always held in reserve for situations like this.

  “Go assist,” she muttered.

  Mirae glanced over her shoulder. Nyx still hid behind the tree. Probably for the best. If Drion or anyone else spotted her, they could find themselves in a far worse situation—mercenaries attacking from one side, the guardian from the other.

  A shout cut across the battlefield. “Scatter!”

  The mercenary’s voice was hoarse with urgency. Men and women ran in every direction, plate armour clinking as they moved. Emela, her body wracked with exhaustion, leapt sideways. Even mid-leap, she raised her hand, frost forming at her fingertips.

  More fragments bombarded the guardian as Mirae’s puppet arced away from the creature, running along the ground to reach its back.

  One puppet launched from the earth, shoulder barreling into the creature’s side, though it merely bounced off. The guardian released another roar and smashed the puppet into the ground.

  The Guardian’s attacks grew wilder now, more desperate.

  “Go for the leg on the right,” Pippa said, her eyes tracking the lumbering creature of wood and stone.

  Mirae frowned but didn’t question her, commanding her puppet toward that spot. Roots made up of purple leaves erupted from the ground, slamming into the Guardian’s chest and bouncing off. The creature lunged, grasping at them.

  Mirae held firm, locked in a momentary tug-of-war with the beast. The struggle gave her puppet just enough time to circle behind and launch its attack, fists crashing against the spot Pippa had pointed out.

  A thrum of golden energy pulsed through the creature. It released a roar—weaker this time. The guardian staggered forward as Mirae’s vines won the tug-of-war somehow. That spot had given it power, and striking it drained the creature’s strength.

  “Hit there now,” Pippa said, raising a finger and jabbing towards another point on the Guardian.

  Emela’s eyes flickered toward them on the hill and widened for a moment, but she refocused on her task and moved to the side. The two women helped her retreat.

  The guardian found new prey and lurched toward it. Mirae’s puppet moved to intercept. Another vine slammed into the Guardian’s side, staggering it this time.

  A puppet that had positioned itself behind the beast leapt and drove its fist into the creature’s back, sending the lumbering monster forward. Its knees buckled and collapsed to the ground with a groan, kicking up mud and dirt.

  Mirae wouldn’t give it a chance to recover. She commanded the three puppets to converge, their luminescent fists cracking against wood and stone. This time, the sound of cracks and scattered fragments signalled their attacks were actually working.

  Mirae raised both arms. A vine exploded from the ground in front of the Guardian, thick with purple leaves. It wrapped around the creature’s neck and dragged its head to the floor, slamming it into the earth.

  Emela charged through the growing crowd of mercenaries converging on the fallen beast. She leapt into the air, brought her sword up, and drove it straight through the Guardian’s back.

  A low boom split across the battlefield, launching Emela and several mercenaries backwards along with Mirae’s puppets. As the dust settled, the guardian collapsed. Its form hit the earth with a final thud.

  Mirae’s puppets stood motionless, veined with flickering blue energy as their heads scanned continuously for danger as the threat slowly subsided. The mercenaries began murmuring among themselves, weapons still raised as if waiting for the guardian to rise again.

  Emela knelt in the dirt, her chest rising and falling in steady waves. Dust settled around her slowly. The scope of destruction left Mirae in awe—churned earth, trees splintered to fragments, bodies of men and women who would never rise again scattered across the clearing.

  Someone coughed, then another. Ragged breathing filled the eerie quiet of the trial space, punctuated by groans from those whose adrenaline began fading.

  Above the Guardian’s remains, a golden light bloomed. It coalesced from nothing, taking shape as lines twisted into words. They hung there with soft luminescence, glowing and pushing back the settling dust. The words arranged themselves with deliberate, precise control, floating just a few feet above the corpse.

  Every eye in the newly formed clearing turned toward the text—mercenaries, Emela, Drion and his siblings. All focused on these unfamiliar words. Even some of the wounded stopped groaning to stare.

  Movement caught Mirae’s attention from the corner of her eye. She turned and found Drion stepping forward, descending the small hill toward the battlefield with measured strides.

  His boots struck the ground with complete indifference to the carnage. Brom and Noelle trailed behind him, forming a triangle of noble authority as they approached the fallen Guardian.

  They stopped at the edge of its collapsed form. Drion’s eyes scanned over its body, then flicked up to the text. Satisfaction crossed his face as he read the words, though a frown quickly replaced it. He turned to Brom, then back to the words. His voice carried across the clearing with practised projection.

  “I have cities, but no houses to dwell. I have forests, but no trees grow tall. I have water, but no fish swim free. I have roads, but no travellers walk. What am I?”

  Patreon. For anything else, you can find me on .