The walls of Elzibar were burning. The army of kobolds bore down on the town, their arrival as quick and deadly as a summer cyclone.

  Flames leapt higher than the watchtower, tearing through wood that had never been strong enough to stop anything larger than a wolf. The barricade had been built from pine logs, old and half-rotten, lashed with tar and rope. Everyone in town knew they would not hold forever. But no one had expected an army.

  Maruzan pushed through the mob crowding the street, his chest tight with smoke. Families ran in every direction, clutching baskets, dragging children, screaming for each other. He tried not to hear their cries. He kept his mind on one thing. The bay.

  That was where his sister had promised to be. Rinia had sworn she would wait at the docks until he found Velthur. She had said it so firmly that morning, gripping his arm before she ran to gather their mother and the old aunt. She had always been the steady one.

  He glanced down. Velthur’s hand clutched his sleeve so tightly that his knuckles were white. The boy’s face was streaked with ash, his wide eyes fixed on nothing. He had not spoken since they saw the baker’s hut collapse, the roof caving in, and flour drifting like ghostly snow. Eleven years old was too young for this.

  “Stay with me,” Maruzan said, though his own voice shook. “Do not let go.”

  They broke from the last row of huts. Ahead, the slope fell toward the docks. Boats rocked on the river, too few for too many people. Men tried to push families aboard, but there was no order. Voices tangled together.

  “That is the last one!” someone cried.

  “No, wait, my boy is still—”

  Flaming arrows slammed into the next pier over, lighting the nearby cargo crates on fire.

  Maruzan froze, staring at the boat that still clung to the far edge of the pier. His chest seized.

  Rinia was there.

  She stood near the stern, one arm wrapped around their mother, the other hand gripping the rail. She was shouting something to the men on the docks, pointing toward him. No sound reached their ears, only the crackle of fire and the chaos of the crowd.

  “Rinia!” he shouted, his voice raw.

  Her eyes met his for an instant, dark and fierce even through the smoke. Then the oars struck the water. The boat pulled away.

  “No!” He lurched forward, but Velthur’s grip pulled him back. The dock was splitting apart. Flames rained from above as more kobolds spilled out of the streets behind them.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Maruzan’s knees buckled. He clutched Velthur close, his face pressed to the boy’s hair. “Gone,” he whispered. “They are gone.”

  The words slipped out before he could stop them.

  Velthur did not cry. He only stared at the river, his lips pressed into a hard line.

  Maruzan forced himself to stand. He could not break. Not now. “We need to move. This way.”

  They staggered toward the reeds near the underbridge. That was where the fishers used to hide their nets, a place Maruzan had played as a boy. It might shelter them for a while.

  The sound of claws on wood made him whip around. A kobold leapt from the ruins of a shed, landing only a few strides away.

  Maruzan had grown up hearing stories of kobolds, but stories did not prepare him for the sight. The creature was shorter than him, but wiry and hunched, its back covered in dark, cracked scales. Its face was sharp and narrow, with yellow teeth jutting from its jaw. Its eyes glowed red, like coals hidden deep in ash. In its hands, it carried a blade of black obsidian, chipped but deadly.

  It hissed, throat rattling like dry leaves, and charged.

  Velthur stumbled back. Maruzan stepped in front of him, heart hammering. He had no weapon, only his fists. He braced himself.

  But before the kobold reached them, a man burst from the alley to their right. He was a villager, wild-eyed, carrying nothing but a broken hoe. In his panic, he tripped on a fallen beam and sprawled across the ground between them.

  The kobold snarled and turned, raising its blade high. It slashed downward. The man screamed, blood spraying as the weapon struck.

  “Run!” Maruzan barked. He seized Velthur’s arm and pulled him toward the reeds.

  The kobold’s head snapped back toward them, but it hesitated; its foot caught on the dying man’s cloak. The delay was only seconds, but seconds were enough.

  They splashed into the shallows, reeds closing around them. The water rose to Maruzan’s waist, cold and sharp against his skin. He dragged Velthur beneath the shadow of the bridge, forcing him low into the cattails.

  “Quiet now,” Maruzan whispered, holding the boy against him. “Breathe quiet.”

  Above them, the dock groaned and split apart. Kobolds paced along the ruined boards, their clawed feet scraping. One crouched, sniffing the air, its tongue flicking out like a lizard’s. Its red eyes swept across the reeds.

  Velthur’s breathing quickened. Maruzan pressed a hand over the boy’s back, steadying him. His own heart thundered so loudly he was sure the creature could hear.

  But the kobold turned away, drawn by another scream deeper in the village.

  They stayed there for what felt like hours. The sounds of Elzibar dying filled the night. Wood cracking, voices pleading, and the triumphant roars of the attackers. Maruzan’s body ached from crouching in the cold water, but he did not move. He held Velthur tight, whispering now and then to keep the boy still.

  When dawn finally broke, the noise had faded. Smoke still curled over the ruins. The village that had been their home was nothing but charred beams and splintered ash.

  Maruzan rose slowly, his legs stiff. He lifted Velthur onto his shoulders. The boy felt light, despite his clothes being waterlogged.

  They turned away from the ruins of what they once called home. Maruzan did not look back. He walked north, into the forest, into the wild. He told himself he would keep walking until there was nothing left of the fire behind him.

  But inside, the fire burned still.

  And with every step, one thought seared itself deeper into his mind: I will not Velthur. We will survive.