AKI:

Three men entered, one after the other, their skin as black as night. The first was dressed as a merchant, his fineries looking ill-placed on his warrior's frame—tall, broad, and muscular. He was not of dusk nor dipped in coal, but of a hue deliberately crafted or manifested by a god, royal in pigment, noble in stance. Yet whatever Helena had done had marked him with an ugly vexation, his rabid snarl and heavy breathing dribbling his mouth with foam and spittle. The next two, smaller men with whip-like figures made for agility, carried a collection of oddly shaped sheaths about their backs and waists, and flanked the merchant in a triangular formation.

The merchant reached out with one arm, fingers splayed. Long fingers, the nails as black as his unfathomable skin, filed sharp as if they were the claws of a devil. He clenched them into a fist. Torches snuffed out, and the darkness he carried flooded the room, blinding us.

I heard Roche clamber to his feet, Helena cackle as if the darkness the Af'titalan saddled onto us brought with it a sense of excitement, and my own heartbeat hammering in my ears. My sensight blared on. I saw figures of light blindly scrambling over and through debris, desperate to flee. They'd seen the Af'titalans and wanted no part in what came next. What I didn't see were the fake merchant and his men. Where I knew them to be was a spherical void.

"Who dares to cause havoc here?" In the chaos, a fierce presence declared itself with a commanding roar, his tone forged from years of giving orders, echoing with authority.

Suddenly, fire bloomed behind the bar. The proprietor—a man by the name of Avelin, whom Edon had introduced me to—stood, seemingly ablaze, lines of fire dancing around him like swimming eels. The light lay siege on the hazy abyss the fake merchant had conjured, revealing the Af'titalans. But the flames lasted but for a moment before the weakened void, once more wielded by the merchant, reached out a fingerless hand and smothered them to death.

"Af'titalans!" I heard Avelin shout. "Why are there fucking Af'titalans in my place!"

"Yes, Helena," Roche said, voice dry. "Why are Af'titalans here?"

Helena was already on the move, silent but for the rush of air I felt as she dashed towards the enemies she'd ensnared. Steel clashed. A series of grunts. I heard a man fall. A cry moments later. More grunts. More clashes between daggers and whatever sharp-edged instrument of death the strange foreigners used. No sparks came from them. Someone gurgled their last breath—one of the Af'titalans. Helena hissed. I heard the faint splatter of blood. That kill had cost her. Two remained. Helena's grunts began to mix in with the others.

"She's injured," I said to Roche.

"Serves her right." Roche sipped from his cup, unbothered.

"We have to help," I said.

"Her mess. Her problem."

"Avelin!" I called.

"Aki!" The man remained behind the bar. "That you, boy?"

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"Can you summon more fire?"

"Yes!"

"On my signal, summon all you can."

"I ain't burning my place down," he said. "Cost me too many years."

"Just do it. And when they steal the light once more, flee."

"That's a

I crept towards the fight in a low crouch, feeling my way across the debris-strewn floor. Helena had overplayed her hand. She was powerful, yes, but the Named was no match for three Af'titalans, especially when one was clearly of royal descent. This was not the time for battle. This was the time for escape.

I inched closer, one shuffling step at a time. Nothing but the exhalation of exhaustion guided my path. I felt it then. The limits of the merchant's domain. Thick as oil. Thicker. Each breath I drew grew heavier. The sound of my heart, which had continued to beat against my ears, went silent. I pressed forward.

A scream tore through the black. Helena's voice, sharp, defiant, but strained.

"Avelin," I whispered, knowing he could hear me—the man was a Named Zephyr. "Now."

A heartbeat passed.

Fire bloomed brighter than before. It surged from behind the bar, licking the ceiling, casting wild shadows across the room. Avelin stood on the counter and at its center, arms raised. The flames danced like airborne, reptilian spirits, illuminating the chaos.

The void shrank in an instant. Rays of light beat against it. The Af'titalans reappeared behind a haze of darkness, its utter blackness softened to degredations of gray. There was two of them now. The third lay crumpled, unmoving, a thick, perfectly circular stab wound leaking a less-than-red ichor from his neck. Blood streaked down Helena's arm, her blade trembling in her grip. The merchant stood across from her, his snarl transformed by the curl of a smirk before the brilliance of Avelin's Ignis Art purified his rage. The merchant turned toward the fire, his bottomless eyes consuming the light. He raised his hand again.

And dropped right back down.

My Pondus matrix dropped the merchant to his knees. I sent two throwing knives at the man. I'd aimed for his throat. They barely grazed his neck.

"Go!" I shouted. "Run!"

Avelin didn't move. His eyes locked with the merchant's. "This is my place," he growled.

The merchant got to his feet. The void grew. The fire dimmed. An army of shadows spread out. Avelin gritted his teeth, summoned more flame, but the void surged, swallowing the light in a wave of black as the darkness sought to reclaim its conquered domain.

I lunged forward, grabbing Helena's arm. "We have to go!"

She resisted. "Not yet."

"You're outmatched."

"I can still—"

"No!" I pulled her back as the covert Af'titalan slashed at the space she'd just occupied. He'd been circling around to her blind side, his movements fluid and predatory.

The man carried two curved blades: one short and one long, both the color of dried blood. Helena and I stumbled back. He stalked forward, kicking aside broken fragments of tables and chairs as he walked.

Roche stood at the edge of the chaos, still sipping from his cup, his expression unreadable. "You two done playing?"

"Help us!" I snapped.

He sighed, set his cup down, and finally moved. "Fine, but only because you've thrown yourself into the danger. And if I die, you best know I'll damn well be haunting you from beyond the grave."

We ran. Helena stopped resisting. The path to the door had been cleared by those who'd already fled. Avelin took the lead. Despite his bravado, a soldier—which he was to a fault—learns to despise a worthless plight.

Roche covered our backs, hands glowing faintly with a pale, cold sensus. These Tunnels were unlike his others. They were older. Louder. The void recoiled slightly, as if recognizing a worthy enemy. It seemed nothingness had a soul.

The merchant paused. His eyes narrowed. "You," he said, voice low and resonant. "You're a soul eater. Such vile powers will not stop me."

The shadows continued to advance as Avelin hurried up the stairs, but he barely made it a few steps before his body was forcefully thrown backward. He slammed into us, and we tumbled down in a tangled heap. Above us, silhouetted against the faint glow of the sun streaming in from outside through the distant front door, two more Af'titalans descended the staircase, their figures ominous and silent.

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