We had been traveling for about half an hour, and the village was already far behind us, though I could still see the outline of that familiar hill that had been my home for so long. I was very surprised when, despite it being barely dawn, Ryan, Arthur, Rita, and Viola came to say goodbye to me again. I had never been good at showing affection, so maybe they didn't know how happy their presence had made me. Even when the wagon started moving, Viola kept waving her arms back and forth with my old book in her hands, as if to remind me of my promise.
While I was lost in thought, I suddenly felt the world flip around me and, a moment later, I hit the wooden floor.
**THUD.**
The air rushed out of my lungs and a groan of pain escaped me. Still dazed, I only realized a moment later that I was being restrained, my hands bound behind my back. I tried to shout, but—as if anticipating me—my mouth was covered with a rough cloth. After my arms and mouth, my legs were also immobilized with a rope. In less than ten seconds, I had been rendered completely unable to move.
The first thing I felt was confusion and disorientation, not fear. I was lifted like a sack of potatoes, and now I could see the culprit. Even though there weren't many options, it was still confirmation: it was Daren.
I tried to say something, but it was impossible with the cloth over my mouth.
"Nothing personal," the adventurer said.
Then the hatch of the larger wagon opened; I was thrown inside without much ceremony and, with a dull thud, I hit the floor. Daren said nothing else: he looked at me for a moment and sealed the wagon again, leaving me immersed in a suffocating dimness.
I blinked several times, trying to adjust to the darkness inside. Meanwhile, my mind was still full of questions and confusion.
Why? How? Have we been kidnapped? I'm just an orphan—is it really worth kidnapping me???
Then the fear came, because who knew what would happen to me now—the unknown was more frightening than anything.
Finally, I began to make out my surroundings better and saw that I wasn't alone. One… two… five… twelve children in the same condition as me: bound, gagged, and with empty, terrified expressions. Some still had red, tear-streaked eyes.
We had been kidnapped. Well, yes, it didn't take a genius to figure it out, but until a moment ago I had still been trying to escape reality.
Beside me, Luke writhed weakly, his watery eyes showing the same fear and shock I felt. He tried to speak through the gag, but only a muffled whimper came out.
I couldn't understand. Just a few hours—no, just a few minutes—ago everything had been perfectly normal. I was going to the city, they were going to evaluate my potential… Now—
My thoughts were cut off when the wagon jolted again and came to a stop.
That was when I heard it. A muffled but unmistakable voice.
My heart stopped once more and, for a moment, I thought I was hallucinating. I started moving in jerks, ignoring the pain in my shoulders and legs as I dragged myself toward a small crack in the wagon's frame where a bit of light seeped through.
When I finally managed to align my eye with the hole in the wood, the world stopped for a moment.
The old man was there, standing in front of Lyra and Daren. The relief of seeing a familiar face was so overwhelming that I began to cry.
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**[POV LYRA]**
I sighed in annoyance, arms crossed.
"I told you to check more carefully, and now look what happened," I said sharply.
Daren grimaced, irritated for who knows what reason, when he was clearly responsible for this situation.
"Don't talk nonsense. There was no one in that village who could pose a threat. And no one seemed suspicious."
I wanted to hit him over the head, but I held back, since this was clearly not the right moment.
Then we both turned toward the old man who had introduced himself as Aron. He stood motionless, leaning on a cane as he watched us.
"Well?" Daren said coldly. "How did you find us, old man?"
For a moment, Aron didn't answer.
Then he slowly exhaled a puff of smoke from his pipe.
"…Nothing much. Just old habits. You see, I used to be an adventurer too."
Daren's eyes widened slightly.
"Really?"
Aron continued calmly.
"I've seen a lot of people in my life, and I can tell you, with all my experience, that seeing a two-star adventurer with such a useful artifact is extremely unusual, boy."
His gaze slid to the artifact still attached to Daren's belt.
Then he spoke again.
"Many would be killed just for holding something like that for too long."
A heavy silence followed.
Daren gave a faint smile.
"But suspicion isn't enough. I could have kept it in plain sight out here in the countryside simply because there was no danger of running into someone too strong. Or I might have connections, or it could have limitations I didn't mention. Sounds like a pretty weak argument to me," he said.
Aron nodded slowly and took another puff from his pipe.
"The good thing about old age is that you have plenty of free time and very few ways to spend it. So I decided to follow you for a while. To see if I was just being paranoid…"
The old man's eyes hardened.
"…or if I was right."
Right after that, a cloud of smoke began to move against the clearing's breeze.
So this old man had the smoke element.
I followed the drifting haze and noticed it thickening at precise points, sliding slowly along the ground and then rising just enough to muddy our line of sight. The battle hadn't even begun yet, and Aron was already shaping the field to his advantage.
Daren clicked his tongue in clear annoyance as fire wrapped around his blade.
"Lyra, stay out of it. I'll handle this."
I didn't answer, but I stepped back while focusing on studying possible weaknesses in the opponent's defenses. Daren had just told me to stand aside, but I wasn't stupid enough to think the old man wouldn't target me just because of that.
Aron advanced half a step into the mist, and I was briefly surprised when he drew a thin blade—similar to an estoc—from his cane. His breathing was controlled, but I immediately noticed the stiffness in his shoulders and the way he distributed his weight more on the right side—probably an old injury.
Before I could analyze his condition further, he disappeared into the smoke.
The first attack came from Daren's blind side: a low, clean thrust with nearly perfect timing. Daren managed to deflect the blow by a few centimeters, but the tip of the blade still sliced the upper part of his shoulder. The cut wasn't very deep, but it seemed enough to wound his pride.
"Tsk."
Daren stepped back half a pace and stomped hard on the ground, deciding to use his second element. The earth element responded immediately: the soil swelled in an uneven wave that spread all around, breaking apart part of the smoke and kicking up clumps of dirt in several places.
I had to admit it was a smart move. He couldn't see him, but he could at least reduce his options and the angles of attack.
Aron didn't try to resist. He shifted sideways with measured movements, letting the wave pass beside him, then immediately slipped back into the mist from a different angle.
The second exchange followed, then the third, and then a fourth.
Daren was already starting to adapt.
Instead of chasing the figure in the smoke, he slowly rotated in place, watching how the mist thickened an instant before each attack. When Aron reappeared on his right with a diagonal slash, Daren was already moving: the flaming blade intercepted the strike with a metallic clash that sent sparks flying.
They traded several blows at close range: Daren using the organization's classic sword style, the old man instead wielding a unique style probably forged through the blood and sweat of his years as an adventurer.
The two crossed blades a few more times before Daren attacked with a wide swing—too powerful to be elegant, but enough to force Aron to retreat quickly to avoid the blow. The fire grazed the ground, blackening it and leaving a trail that began to ignite the dry grass.
"I thought you came to fight, but you keep hiding," Daren growled, his eyes darting around in search of the slightest movement.
"You can't keep this up forever."
The old man still didn't respond.
Instead, he reappeared in the blink of an eye, bent low to catch his opponent off guard from an unusual angle. His blade slipped under Daren's guard and carved a second cut, this time across the forearm—and deeper. Blood began to drip in slow, dark drops.
I clicked my tongue.
Time was on Daren's side, but the old man was dictating the rhythm of the fight. I readied myself: if necessary, Daren's words didn't matter—I would step in to finish the job, whether he wanted it or not.
I had no intention of dying out here in the middle of nowhere.
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Writing fight scenes is terribly difficult. I regret not starting a novel about a child who wants to become a teacher when he grows up:no fights, no blood, just the power of friendship.