Kaelen adjusted the grain sack on his shoulder, teeth clenched as the coarse fabric scraped against his neck. Sweat clung to his brown skin despite the cool air, dark strands of his black hair sticking to his forehead. He shifted his grip, refusing to let the weight slip, even as his arms trembled.
The square carried on around him, unaware.
Voices overlapped in lazy argument. A butcher laughed. A child cried over something small and unimportant. The smell of bread and damp earth hung thick in the air.
It felt normal.
Too normal.
"Careful with that," his father said.
Kaelen glanced over. Darrin Thrynn stood by the forge wagon, broad and unmoving, like he'd been carved from the same iron he worked. His beard was dark and rough, his arms blackened with soot. Even now, there was something unshakable about him.
"You tear it," Darrin said, "you're carrying two."
Kaelen exhaled sharply through his nose and dropped the sack onto the stall with a dull thud. He wiped his hands against his tunic, flexing his fingers.
That was when he saw it.
Smoke.
Not the thin, drifting kind from chimneys.
This was thick. Black. Rising fast over the eastern hills like something clawing its way into the sky.
Kaelen frowned.
"That ain't right," someone muttered.
A knot formed low in his stomach.
The air felt heavier.
A scream cut through the square.
Not loud at first. Not even clear. Just enough to make people turn their heads.
Then it came again.
Closer.
"Riders!"
The word tore through the crowd.
Everything shifted.
Kaelen stepped forward without thinking, trying to see past the buildings. Behind him, he heard the faint scrape of metal as his father lifted his hammer.
"What's going on?" Kaelen asked.
No answer.
The first horse burst into view.
It stumbled into the square at full speed, sides slick with foam and blood. Its rider barely held on before collapsing, hitting the dirt hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.
"Soldiers," he choked, dragging himself forward, leaving a smear of red behind him. "They're—"
Hooves thundered over the hill.
Kaelen froze.
They came fast.
Too fast.
A line of riders surged into view, cutting through the rising smoke like shadows given shape. Their armor was dark, stained from travel and worse. Purple cloth snapped behind them, streaked with white, the color bright against the dirt and ash.
The crowd didn't wait to understand.
They ran.
Someone screamed. Someone fell. A cart overturned, spilling its contents across the ground as people trampled over it without looking.
"Inside," Darrin said, his hand clamping down on Kaelen's shoulder. "Now."
The first soldier hit the square.
His blade cut through a man before the man even had time to turn.
Blood sprayed across the dirt in a wide arc, hot and bright. The body dropped hard, twitching once before going still.
Kaelen's breath caught.
"Elira—"
He spun, searching.
She stood near the well.
Frozen.
Her small frame trembled, light brown hair falling loose around her face as she stared at the riders. Her eyes were wide, unfocused, like she couldn't understand what she was seeing.
"Move!" Kaelen shouted.
He ran.
Someone slammed into him, sending him stumbling sideways. He hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from his chest. For a second, everything rang.
Then he saw it.
A man crawling through the dirt.
His leg bent wrong. Bone pushed through skin, slick with blood. He reached out blindly, fingers clawing at the ground as he tried to drag himself forward.
"Help—" the man rasped.
A shadow fell over him.
The soldier didn't slow.
Steel came down once.
The sound was wet. Final.
Kaelen forced himself up, swallowing hard against the rising bile in his throat. His hands shook as he grabbed Elira's arm.
"Come on!"
She stumbled as he pulled her, her grip weak and desperate.
Behind them, Brennfall broke.
Flames caught fast, racing along rooftops and dry timber. Smoke thickened, choking the air, turning every breath into a struggle. The screams didn't stop—they grew louder, sharper, twisting together into something unbearable.
The town guard tried to form a line.
It lasted seconds.
A spear snapped. A man went down. Another turned to run and was cut open across the back, his blood spilling into the dirt as he collapsed face-first.
Kaelen didn't look away long enough to see if he got back up.
"Elira, stay with me," he said, his voice shaking despite himself. His chest burned as he dragged her through a narrow alley, boots slipping on something wet.
He looked down.
Blood.
Not his.
"Where's Finn?" she cried.
The question hit harder than anything else.
Kaelen's steps faltered.
"I—" His voice cracked. He swallowed, forcing the words out. "We'll find him. Just—just keep moving."
They turned the corner—
—and nearly collided with his father.
Darrin stood in the narrow street, chest rising steadily, hammer clenched in his hand. Blood streaked his arm and soaked into his sleeve, dark and thick. His eyes moved over them quickly, sharp and searching.
Relief flickered.
Gone just as fast.
"Get to the house," he said.
"What about you?" Kaelen asked, breathless.
Darrin didn't hesitate. "I'll be right behind you."
Kaelen knew it wasn't true.
Another scream echoed behind them—cut short, like something had been ripped away.
Darrin stepped forward and shoved them back. "Go!"
Kaelen hesitated.
Just for a second.
Then he tightened his grip on Elira's hand and ran.
Behind him, the sounds followed.
Steel.
Fire.
Screaming.
And something worse—
the kind of silence that came right after.