Flame leapt across the village in a single breath.
Dry fences erupted first. Then roof-thatch. Then stacked firewood beside doorways. Orange light washed over stunned faces as sparks spun upward into the paling sky.
Women screamed.
Children cried.
Goats rammed their pens hard enough to splinter wood.
The masked stranger stood untouched at the edge of the square, one hand still raised, firelight reflecting from the smooth iron plate over his face.
Sun stared.
"You could have just knocked."
Ling Han moved instantly.
"Buckets! Form lines from the well!" he roared.
The villagers snapped into motion as if struck by command itself. Men grabbed pails. Women tore blankets from beds. Older children ran for water.
Rogan bellowed his own orders, trying to sound like he had always been useful.
"Move, move! Save the grain stores first!"
Drake ran in circles carrying an empty bucket.
"No idea where to put this!"
"Anywhere but your head!" Rogan shouted.
Varen's silver eyes never left the masked man.
"That is Ember Judge Kharon," he said quietly.
Sun blinked. "You say names like I should know them."
"You should fear them instead."
The masked figure took one step forward.
Each footprint smoked.
"He serves the Cinder Tribunal," Varen continued. "Collectors of rare bloodlines. Torturers with legal stationery."
Kharon inclined his head toward Varen.
"Archivist. Still alive. How administrative."
His voice seemed to come from behind the mask and from the flames around him.
Sun tightened his grip on the runed blade.
"You burn villages often?"
"Only unimpressive ones."
Sun started toward him.
Ling Han's hand caught his shoulder like an iron clamp.
"No."
"He set houses on fire."
"Yes."
"So I kill him."
"No."
Sun turned sharply. "Why not?"
"Because you would die first."
That answer landed hard.
Kharon spread his arms almost lazily.
"Wise old wolf. The cub may yet be trained."
Heat thickened in the square. Clay jars cracked from it. Sweat rolled down foreheads.
Cassian Teryn crawled backward through the dirt, forgetting pride entirely.
"My lord! I came in service of House Teryn—"
Kharon flicked two fingers.
A thread of flame crossed the distance.
Cassian became ash before finishing the sentence.
No scream.
Just gray powder collapsing around a jeweled ring.
The mercenaries ran immediately.
Sensibly.
Several villagers vomited.
Sun's jaw clenched.
Kharon pointed toward him.
"Come willingly, heir. Your marrow interests powerful people."
Sun's voice came out colder than he felt.
"Get in line."
The masked man chuckled.
Then Ling Han stepped in front of Sun.
His back was straight, silhouette broad in the blaze.
The old general rolled one shoulder, and for the first time Sun heard bones crack back into place rather than from age.
"I know you," Kharon said.
"Then you know enough to leave."
"I know a crippled relic making noise."
Ling Han smiled without humor.
"Good. I hated my legends."
He thrust his palm downward.
Qi slammed into the earth.
A ring of frost burst from beneath him, racing across the square and devouring flames where it passed. Burning roofs hissed. Fire died in sheets of steam.
The villagers cried out in shock.
Sun stared openly.
"You use ice?"
"I use whatever kills."
Kharon tilted his head.
"Impressive for a dead man."
Then both moved.
Sun barely saw it.
One instant they stood apart.
Next instant fire and frost collided in the center of the square with a blast that shattered windows and threw people from their feet.
Sun hit the ground hard.
The runed blade hummed furiously in his grip.
When the dust cleared, Ling Han and Kharon traded strikes too fast to track—fist, elbow, palm, knee—each impact birthing bursts of steam or sparks.
Ling Han was stronger than an old cripple had any right to be.
Kharon fought like he had forgotten mercy existed.
Varen crouched beside Sun.
"Can you run?"
"Probably."
"Good. We leave now."
Sun shoved himself upright. "We don't leave him."
"If we stay, he dies slower."
Sun's chest tightened.
Across the square, Ling Han drove Kharon through a burning cart, then staggered half a step.
Too slow.
Kharon's palm struck his ribs.
A wet crack sounded.
Ling Han flew backward into the shrine stone, breaking it in two.
"Old Ling!"
Sun sprinted forward.
Varen cursed and followed.
Ling Han rose on one knee, blood at the corner of his mouth, eyes bright with fury.
He looked at Sun—not pleading, not afraid.
Commanding.
"Take them," he said to Varen.
"No," Sun said.
Ling Han ignored him.
"Take. Him."
Kharon advanced through smoke.
"You always did choose unwinnable stands."
Ling Han spat blood.
"You always did need numbers."
He slammed the butt of his weapon into the ground.
The mountain answered.
A deep thunder rolled beneath the village.
Cracks raced through the square.
The slope above the settlement sheared loose.
Sun looked up.
Half the hillside was falling.
Boulders, trees, earth—an avalanche roaring toward the road and village edge.
Kharon finally sounded surprised.
Ling Han laughed once, harsh and satisfied.
"Run now, collector."
Varen seized Sun by the wrist.
"We go!"
Sun fought him. "No!"
Varen's silver eyes flashed with sudden fury.
"He is buying your future with his life. Do not cheapen it."
The avalanche hit.
Sound became world.
Earth smashed houses flat. Trees scythed through walls. Stone and mud devoured the road where Kharon stood in a wave of ruin.
Varen dragged Sun toward the forest path behind the hut as debris and dust swallowed the square.
Behind them, through choking gray chaos, Sun saw Ling Han still standing atop broken stone like a banner refusing to fall.
Then the mountain buried everything.
They ran.
Through pines slick with dawn mist.
Across roots and wet leaves.
Birds exploded from branches ahead of them.
Sun stumbled once, twice, then tore free of Varen's grip only because the older man let go.
They stopped at a ridge overlooking the village below.
Dust clouds boiled where homes had stood.
Fires burned in pockets.
The road was gone.
No sign of Kharon.
No sign of Ling Han.
Sun said nothing for a long time.
His hands shook around the sword.
Below, villagers emerged like ants from wreckage, shouting names, digging, carrying the injured.
Varen stood beside him, breathing steady.
"He may yet live."
"That's not comfort."
"No."
Sun knelt and pressed one hand to the earth.
The same earth that had hidden him.
Fed him.
Watched him be weak.
He thought of villagers who pitied him, mocked him, ignored him, fed him scraps, laughed yesterday, screamed today.
He thought of Ling Han pretending to be small so Sun could remain hidden.
He thought of Earth. Of parents who died believing lies.
Powerless twice.
Never again.
He rose slowly.
"When do we leave?"
Varen studied him.
"Now."
Sun looked one final time toward the ruined village.
Smoke climbed into the morning sky.
"I'll come back," he said quietly. "But next time, I won't be the thing needing protection."
The runed blade pulsed once in his hand.
Varen turned toward the eastern trail.
"Good. Blackstone City is ten days away."
Sun followed.
After three steps he paused.
"What's there?"
Varen's silver eyes gleamed.
"Enemies. Opportunities. Worse food than here."
Sun nodded.
"Then let's not keep them waiting."
And as dawn broke over broken mountains, the orphan of the village walked toward the world that had already begun hunting him.
To be continued...