The sky should have been alive with lanterns, with soft lights drifting like sleepy stars. Instead, the only things rising were sparks. The flames that should have lifted the lanterns now ate the village whole. They stretched as far as sight could go, greedy and bright and terribly alive.

Vencian, with Roselys and Reine at his heels, trudged through the wilderness until the village appeared — or rather, what was left of it. The air was thick with smoke.

"This doesn't look like an accident," Vencian muttered.

Roselys' eyes narrowed. "It isn't. People might still be down there. We move. Now."

"Move where? The fire's swallowed everything."

"Maybe the eastern houses. They're close to the stream. Ms. Perdil might still be alive."

Vencian gave a groan but followed. The exit's that way anyway, He thought, breaking into a near jog.

The houses looked like wax left too near a flame. Roofs sagged, beams hissed, the air shimmered with heat.

Then, through the glow, a figure stumbled forward.

As the smoke thinned, the face came clear: Miss Perdil's. Wild-eyed. Gasping. Her child clutched tight against her.

"Miss Perdil!" Roselys cried.

Ms. Perdil opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead came a sharp, strangled gasp.

A blade, burning bright, burst through her chest and carried on through the child.

Vencian froze. Roselys went white. Reine clutched at him, fingers twisting in his coat, and he covered her eyes.

The blade slid free, slower and crueler than it had gone in. Miss Perdil's eyes stayed open, glassy and blank.

She crumpled. And behind her stood the killer.

He was tall, a full head above Vencian, with grey streaking his hair and mustache. A red sash wrapped around his waist, bright against the smoke and char. His expression gave nothing.

He wasn't one of the villager.

But it was his eyes that stopped them cold, dark as black burnt coal.

"Oya… look at that," the man said, grinning. "Didn't expect such company. Vencian Vicorra and Roselys Marendil."

His words sent a warning to Vencian's senses as he said their names.

"How do you know our names?" Roselys demanded.

He laughed. "How about we skip the boring questions? You'll ask how — I won't tell. You'll ask why — I'll say I'm looking for something. You'll ask what — I'll tell you, a chalice. You'll say yes. I'll ask for it. And then—" he lifted a hand, palm open, "—you'll give it to me."

Vencian's voice hardened. "What are you talking about, knucklehead? We don't know anything about a chalice."

"Oh, please," the man said with a mock sigh. "Spare me the act. I can smell the rot of corruption on you as easily as I can smell burning bone."

He tilted his head, smile widening. "I'll ask nicely. One last time."

Roselys's voice came clear through the smoke. "If we give you what you want… what then?"

The man smiled. "Then I'll let you go, of course. I'm a man of my word."

Her jaw tightened. She closed her eyes once, exhaling through her nose. When she opened them again, she spoke without turning. "Vencian. Take Reine and leave."

Vencian blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Go." Her gaze stayed on the man, certain she could not trust a single word from his mouth.

He hesitated. Then she looked at him for the first time since they had returned from the cave.

What he saw froze him. Gone were her ravishing pink eyes. Her sclera was pitch black, the pupils replaced by faint pink halos. They glowed faintly, pulsing like faint heat.

She twirled the stylus in her hand, watching it shift from a simple writing tool into an elongated weapon... something between a needle, a slender rapier, and a short-handled estoc.

His lips twitched. His eyes narrowed as he muttered, "I should've known better."

He grabbed Reine's hand. "Don't die," he said quietly. "You still have a deal to keep."

Roselys didn't answer. Her expression stayed fixed on the enemy.

Vencian turned and ran, dragging Reine along.

Behind him, the man chuckled. "That's right. Run along, Lord Vicorra."

Roselys raised her hands. The air trembled.

A lattice of red filaments appeared above her head, spreading outward in every direction. Threads intersected and wove into translucent layers, forming shapes that changed before they could settle. Faint outlines of faces flickered inside the web, each vanishing before completion. It looked like a mandala made of veins that shifted and pulsed in rhythm with her breath.

Her Archean manifested.

The man tilted his head, his grin thinning but not fading. "Well now… didn't expect that."

He looked amused. "Still, it won't matter. There are more of us here than you think." His eyes followed the direction where Vencian had gone. "Seems his luck was bound to end somewhere."

He stepped forward, his blade dragging a trail of sparks.

— — —

Vencian ran through the burning streets, holding Reine close. The ground shook from collapsing beams and falling roofs. Voices shouted somewhere ahead, mixed with screams and coughing.

Someone was still alive. Someone else was dying.

A shape darted out from his side. He reacted on instinct, twisting his body and pulling Reine down. A blade cut through empty air where his throat had been.

He kicked back, hitting whoever it was in the chest, and dragged Reine into a side path. More figures appeared from the smoke, shadows moving fast.

He turned toward another alley. "Run!"

They sprinted between the burning houses. Heat pressed against his skin. He could hear the chasers behind, shouting orders, spreading out. He reached inside his coat pocket and flicked his fingers.

Illusions shimmered across the road, splitting his image into three. Each illusion bolted in a different direction, echoing his movements perfectly.

The sound of pursuit divided. Two groups followed the false trails. Vencian pulled Reine toward a low shed.

Inside, it was cramped and half burned, but still standing. He leaned against the wall, catching his breath. Reine stood near him, trembling.

His eyes fell on her face. Neine's sister. The thought had haunted him since the temple.

He debated for a long moment. It felt wrong to ask now, but the doubt crawled in his head.

"Reine," he said finally, "can you think of any place your sister might go? Somewhere she'd hide if she escaped?"

Reine looked up at him, confused. "My sister?"

"Yes. Neine."

She frowned. "Why are you asking that?"

"It's not the time for questions," he said, though he added, "I saw her before all this. Yesterday. If a day hasn't passed since that place, then it was yesterday. Maybe we can safe her if we know exactly where she is."

Reine's face changed. Shock widened her eyes.

"That's impossible."

Vencian straightened. "What do you mean?"

Reine's voice trembled. "Neine died a year ago. She was last year's sacrifice."

The granary fell silent.

Vencian stared at her, his throat dry. His mind tried to catch up, but the thought wouldn't settle.

She died… a year ago?

He replayed the memory. The girl by the graves. The voice saying, "You shouldn't have come here." The vanishing. The cold.

All of it pressed together like broken glass in his mind.

He pressed a hand to his temple. Then what was that thing I talked to?

Before Vencian could ask more, voices rose outside the shed. The sound of boots against scorched earth. Metal clanging.

He turned toward the noise. Shadows moved through the smoke—men with swords and machetes, faces half-lit by fire.

One of them broke into a run, shouting as he swung down.

Vencian shifted aside. His left hand shot out, catching the man's wrist before the swing could land. A twist, quick as breath, and the machete spun loose. He tracked it with a flick of his eyes—then snatched it midair.

He turned the catch into motion. One step forward, fluidly. The first cut sliced clean across the man's forearm, parting muscle and tendon before the hand could recover. The second came low and fast, a brutal sweep across the midsection.

The man sagged without a cry, folding to his knees before the dust even began to fall.

Vencian lifted his eyes, glancing at the others while his back shielded Reine.

Silence.

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