Silver and Nil sat side by side beneath a dark sky, watching the flickering lights of the festival below, their dinners balanced on their laps. The oldest of the masters ate contentedly, untroubled by the night to come, enjoying the meal he’d prepared—smoked orange roughy topped with breadcrumbs, served with rice and sweet sauce. Nil didn’t share his appetite, idly prodding at his food while staring at the distant homes.

  “Silver, that aura’s getting worse by the second.”

  “Yes, I know,” he replied mid-chew. “You think I can’t feel it?”

  “I wondered. My question is—why aren’t we down there with them?”

  A strong wind lifted their cloaks and the thick, loose clothing they’d worn for the evening. Silence stretched between them as Silver waited, realizing he’d indeed have to respond.

  “Maybe you still disagree with my teaching style. That’s your right, as a man and a teacher. But… these are my students, and I know them better than you—or anyone. If they want to reach the end of the paths they’ve chosen, then danger like this is something they must learn to thrive in.”

  “Death may have different plans.”

  Silver took another bite. “My students like you more. That’s your reward for treating them kindly. But in the end, the results prove that I’m the one who truly trusts them.”

  A few seconds passed as they sat in stillness—then the same thought seemed to strike them both. They looked toward a neighboring hill. Seated atop it, as calm as the grass swaying around him, was Yig. Eyes closed, aura flowing in a graceful stream, he continued to meditate—right in front of them, yet somehow distant.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  Among the charging troops, Blū could hear their enemies shouting.

  “I thought you said we wouldn’t have to deal with Master Stearna again!” one of them yelled.

  “We don’t,” the silver-haired one replied. “These aren’t Masters.”

  One of the Stearna landed beside Sil.

  “So, what’s going on?” he asked.

  “When did you get here, Pervoick?” Sil asked.

  “Just now,” Pervoick said. “We would've been quicker, but Mair and Kacur got into an argument about who would eat more at the festival.”

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  “And…?” Oy asked. “Who won?”

  “Neither. We left them in Sharirun for everyone’s safety,” Pervoick said. “You two are Silver’s students, I presume?”

  “We can fight, if that’s what you’re asking,” Blū replied.

  Pervoick grinned. “Excellent.”

  Owlmen swarmed down, clashing with the leaping Stearna in a chaotic blur. Blū, Oy, Sil, and Pervoick stood among the fray, dodging feathers as blades clashed and sparks flew. The Stearna students were strong, but it still took three or four of them to take down even a single freakish Owlman.

  “They’re the ones who attacked us, Pervoick,” Sil said.

  “Yes,” he answered, eyes scanning the growing battlefield. “Let me take the one with the twin swords. I fancy the challenge.”

  “Wait,” Sil said, holding out a hand. “We still don’t know who they’re after—Joe or Yig?”

  “Both,” Blū answered. “That’s my guess.”

  “Split them up, I say,” Oy added.

  The Stearna students slammed the Owlmen to the ground, each beast bound tightly with makeshift bandages. It was impressive—but Blū could tell they wouldn’t hold.

  “Those are some tough birds,” said one of the Stearna—a particularly tall and muscular one.

  “Where’s my top student?” another asked. “Don’t tell me he’s already out of the fight.”

  “Host! Slye! You both came!” Sil exclaimed in surprise.

  The Owlmen began tearing at the bandages.

  “Quick,” Blū said.

  “Stearna!” Pervoick shouted. “Divide the enemy!”

  They all burst into motion. The crowd of Stearna continued holding the Owlmen at bay. Oy leapt mid-dash and struck the big green one. Sil drew her dagger and clashed with the spiky-haired punk. Pervoick crossed blades with the man with silver hair. Blū exchanged blows with the square-headed man.

  Blū’s opponent laughed. “I was hoping I’d get to crush you!”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Blū said, landing a punch to the man’s chest.

  For just a second, Blū’s opponent flickered—his whole body turned into a hard, metallic substance. Blū recoiled, pain bursting through his knuckles. He hadn’t used nearly enough mana to strike something that dense.

  “I’d say you’re the one getting ahead of yourself, boy!” the man taunted, lifting a clenched fist.

  A dark aura erupted from the silver-haired man, sweeping outward like a gust of wind. It filled Blū with a dread far worse than anything he’d felt before. His senses screamed, the world distorting into a cacophony of horrific noise.

  “Now!” Pervoick yelled, voice trembling.

  The Stearna slammed their hands to the pavement in unison, summoning massive amounts of clay. Walls rose up in front of Blū—one separating him from his opponent. The same happened for Sil and Oy. Blū clenched his teeth, pushing aside the rising terror, and charged the wall. Mana-enhanced legs launched him upward, smashing into his foe and hurling both of them over the rooftops into a neighboring street. He glanced to his side, spotting Sil and Oy doing the same. Behind them, Pervoick and the other Stearna remained with the Owlmen—and that monstrous aura.

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  “Well then,” Quinlou said. “I suppose you lot will have to do for now.”

  Nearly twenty Stearna stood before him, most already locked in combat with the Owlmen. Only three stood out as particularly strong—Pervoick, Slye, and Host; he’d overheard their names.

  He was left alone. Jug, Seye, and Grime had been thrown into other streets to be dealt with individually. This lot clearly didn’t understand the threat his group posed. It wouldn’t be long before his comrades returned victorious.

  “I meant what I said,” Quinlou added. “You shouldn’t underestimate us.”

  The sternest of the Stearna, Pervoick, raised his blade in defiance. Quinlou smiled.