The marketplace had become hell.
The explosion had torn through the heart of Al-Munira, turning a once lively night market into a landscape of devastation. Fires spread like hungry beasts, leaping from stall to stall, devouring everything in their path. Shattered wooden carts lay overturned, their goods either burned or trampled beneath the stampede of panicked people. The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke, flesh, and spilled spices.
Screams echoed through the night—wailing voices of those injured, those trapped, and those searching for the dead.
Blood stained the cobblestone streets, dark and glistening under the flickering glow of the fires. Some people lay motionless, others groaned in agony, their faces twisted in pain. Children cried for their parents, their small hands reaching out desperately in the smoke-filled darkness.
Shahira was frozen.
Her breaths were ragged, her vision blurred. The world around her felt like it was tilting, spinning—breaking.
She stared at the inferno where the restaurant had once stood. The same restaurant where she and Ryo had been sitting minutes ago.
The same restaurant where he had stayed behind to save a child.
She could still feel the ghost of his grasp when he threw her—out of harm's reach.
But he hadn't escaped.
He hadn't made it out.
Her stomach twisted. A sickening coldness crawled up her spine.
He was in there. Inside the flames.
A choked sob pulled her out of her trance.
Then—
A woman's shriek cut through the madness like a blade.
"LAYLA!!!"
Shahira flinched.
A man and a woman stood near the wreckage, their eyes wild with terror.
The woman's face was streaked with tears, her mouth trembling as she screamed again—raw, broken, desperate.
"LAYLA!! WHERE ARE YOU?!!"
The man staggered forward, his body shaking so violently it looked like his legs would snap beneath him. His hands clawed at his face, his breathing ragged, his eyes darting frantically between the burning debris.
Layla, the little waitress girls' parents.
Shahira's heart clenched.
The woman fell to her knees, fists slamming into the ground as she let out a wail of pure, unbearable agony.
The man took another step toward the fire, his arms reaching out as if he could somehow pull his daughter back from the flames.
"NO!" his voice cracked. "NO, NO, NO!! NOT MY PRECIOUS DAUGHTER!! PLEASE—PLEASE, GOD, NO!"
His words broke into incoherent sobs as he collapsed beside his wife, shaking, sobbing, begging.
But the fire did not care.
The marketplace was crumbling into madness.
People ran, some screaming for help, others too dazed to even move. The injured lay sprawled across the bloodied streets, their weak cries lost in the chaos.
Shahira couldn't breathe.
Her hands clutched her chest, trembling.
Her mind was screaming—telling her to move, to do something, but she just sat there, paralyzed by the sheer weight of despair.
This can't be happening.
This can't be real.
Her vision swam.
Layla's parents were still screaming, their voices breaking, their bodies trembling as they reached for something that was no longer there.
And then—
A single, shattered whisper left Shahira's lips.
"…Ryo…?"
Silence.
And then, all at once, reality crashed down upon her.
Her head snapped toward the inferno, her eyes widening as the truth struck her like a dagger to the chest.
He was gone.
Her only hope. The man who swore to see this through. The one person who had pieced everything together when no one else could.
The only one who had fought to protect her.
Gone.
Swallowed by the fire.
Her throat tightened, her hands clenching into fists so hard that her nails dug into her skin.
Her breath came out in shudders, her body shaking violently.
And then, she screamed.
"RYOOOOO!!!"
Her voice ripped through the night, through the chaos, through the fire itself—
A scream of grief.
A scream of loss.
A scream of shattered hope.
The fires still crackled, smoke curling into the night sky. The marketplace was in chaos—screams of the wounded, the cries of terrified civilians, the shouts of vendors mourning their ruined stalls. The ground was littered with debris, embers glowing like dying stars.
But then—a sound.
A soft, broken sob.
Shahira's breath hitched. It was faint, almost drowned out by the surrounding panic, but it was there.
Her head snapped toward the burning wreckage. Amid the charred remains of the restaurant, she spotted something odd—a thick, rolled-up carpet, blackened and smoldering on the outside, but still intact.
Then—it moved.
A slight tremor.
Then again.
Something—no, someone—was inside.
Shahira's heart slammed against her ribs as the carpet slowly unfurled.
And then—there they were.
A man, covered in soot and ash, cradling a small, trembling girl in his arms. His back rested against a cushion, his breath ragged—but he was alive.
Ryo.
And Layla.
Shahira felt her vision blur with tears. She didn't think—she ran.
"RYO!!"
The moment his tired eyes lifted, she threw herself at him, arms locking around his smoke-stained body in a desperate, bone-crushing embrace.
Ryo grunted softly, barely managing to stay upright, but when he felt her trembling, her grip tightening as if she'd lose him if she let go—he let out a weak, breathless chuckle.
"You… reckless… idiot!" Shahira's voice cracked, her face buried in his shoulder, ash and tears mixing together. "I thought—I thought—"
"Still here… aren't I?" he murmured, exhausted but alive.
Before Shahira could respond, another sound cut through the chaos—
"LAYLA!"
Two figures burst through the smoke—Layla's parents, their faces stricken with terror. The moment they spotted their daughter, still trembling in Ryo's arms, they sprinted toward them.
Layla let out a weak sob, her tiny fingers gripping Ryo's shirt before finally turning her head—
"Mama… Baba…"
Her parents collapsed to their knees, pulling her from Ryo's arms and into their own, sobbing, holding her like they'd never let go again.
Shahira, still clutching Ryo, felt her breath hitch. The girl was safe. They were safe.
And then—her grip tightened.
Ryo barely had time to react before she hugged him even tighter, pressing her forehead against his shoulder, shaking.
"Don't—don't ever do that again, you hear me?" Her voice was muffled, but he could hear the raw emotion behind it.
Ryo exhaled softly, his own arms weakly wrapping around her in return.
"Yeah… no promises."
Shahira pulled back slightly, just enough to glare at him through teary eyes—before letting out a half-laugh, half-sob, and hugging him again.
For that moment—amid the destruction, the fire, and the chaos—nothing else mattered.
The air was still thick with smoke, the marketplace echoing with sirens and distant cries, but in this small circle of survivors, there was nothing but relief.
Layla's parents, still clutching their daughter as if they'd never let go, turned their tear-streaked faces to Ryo.
The father, voice shaking, managed, "Thank you… thank you for saving our daughter…"
Layla's mother could barely speak, only nodding repeatedly as she wept into her child's hair.
Ryo, still catching his breath, wiped a bit of soot from his face and gave a tired, lopsided grin.
"No problem."
Shahira, still kneeling beside him, stared.
"Ryo… how did you—how did you survive that?!"
Ryo exhaled, leaning back slightly, his eyes reflecting the fire's dying glow. Then, with a small smirk, he explained:
It was a split second.
Ryo was still trying to help Shahira up when he noticed something horrifying—a tiny ember, burning red-hot, falling through the flour-filled air.
And then, he saw it.
A figure—cloaked in black, standing just beyond the chaos. Watching him.
And then, in absolute silence, the figure smirked and mouthed a single word.
"Die."
Ryo's eyes widened.
His mind snapped into motion.
The flour dust. The sparks. The timing.
It was a trap. A dust bomb.
If he hesitated, even for a second—they would've died.
First, he had to get Shahira out.
With zero warning, he grabbed her by the wrist, and with all his strength, spun his body and THREW her out of the dust cloud.
She barely had time to scream before she was launched out onto the open street, rolling to safety.
Then, Ryo turned his head and saw—
Layla.
She was still inside.
The little girl was coughing, rubbing her eyes from the dust—completely unaware of the incoming explosion.
Ryo's chest tightened.
"Damn it."
He sprinted.
Every second felt like slow motion as he dashed toward her, flames beginning to ignite around him.
He grabbed her. Held her tight.
But he still had no cover—nowhere to run.
That's when he saw it.
A thick cushion from the seating area, still intact.
And a nearby woven carpet—big enough to roll up in.
His only chance.
In one motion, Ryo threw the cushion onto the carpet and dove onto it with Layla in his arms.
Then, with all his strength—he grabbed the edge of the carpet and ROLLED.
BOOM.
The explosion ripped through the marketplace.
Heat. Pressure. Flames.
But inside the thick, insulated carpet, Ryo gritted his teeth and held Layla close, shielding her completely.
The world roared outside. The fabric burned on the surface, but the inside held.
Seconds passed. Then silence.
They had survived.
Shahira sat there, speechless.
Layla's parents, still clutching their daughter, had tears streaming down their faces.
Shahira slowly shook her head in utter disbelief.
"You… you threw me out first. Then you had time to think all of that… in just a second?"
Ryo, still exhausted, just smirked.
"Detective instincts."
Shahira let out a breathless laugh, somewhere between awe and admiration.
"That was insane, Ryo."
Ryo chuckled.
"Had to think fast."
Layla then stood up and bowed to Ryo while still sniffling and rubbing her eyes "Thank you sir".
Ryo ruffling Layla's hair "Don't mention it kid, make sure you stick with your parents right now."
Layla cutely nodded, and went to a nearby ambulance with her parents.
Shahira pulled up Ryo, helping him stand up.
But then…
Shahira's breath caught in her throat as a realization hit her like a lightning strike.
Her eyes widened in shock. "Wait a minute, Ryo…, earlier, did you just say… a figure cloaked in black?"
Ryo's gaze sharpened, his body tensing as he relived that split-second moment.
That sinister smile. That silent word. That overwhelming sense of malice.
Shahira's hands clenched into fists, her voice barely above a whisper.
"That sounds just like…"
Ryo's expression darkened, his jaw tightening as he finished her sentence.
"Yeah…"
He turned his gaze towards the shadows of the ruined street, his voice now like steel.
"They're here…"
A gust of wind howled through the wreckage, making the flames dance wildly.
Ryo's eyes narrowed.
"The Ravens."
Shahira's voice trembled slightly, her mind still struggling to grasp the weight of it all.
"To think… that they're still around in this day and age."
Ryo's sharp gaze remained locked on the distance, deep in thought.
"Probably…someone from Malakar's group, back in the 5th century, passed down this grudge—generation after generation."
Shahira inhaled sharply. A grudge that lasted over 1500 years? It was madness—and yet, here they were, facing the consequences of an ancient vengeance that refused to die.
"But that's just my guess," Ryo continued, his voice steady. "I can't say for sure. We need to dig deeper."
Before another word could be spoken, a dark presence made itself known.
A lone black-cloaked figure stood in the middle of the ruined street, its stance rigid with barely contained fury. The flickering fire from the destruction illuminated its gritted teeth—like a predator that had just let its prey slip away.
Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, it unsheathed a dagger.
A sinister glow erupted around it.
Flames engulfed the blade, twisting and writhing like a living thing. The heat rippled in the air as if reality itself was being distorted by the sheer intensity of the fire magic.
Ryo immediately tensed.
The assassin lunged.
Straight for his throat.
In a flash, Ryo shoved Shahira aside. "Watch out!"
His right sleeve snapped open.
A tonfa shot out into his hand.
As the enemy's flaming dagger closed in—aiming for a fatal slash—Ryo spun on his heel, twisting his body. With perfectly calculated precision, he struck the side of the assassin's wrist.
CLANG!
The dagger flew from its grip, spinning through the air. The fire flickered wildly before vanishing into the dirt.
Before the enemy could recover, Ryo's left hand flashed.
A taser was already in his grasp.
In one swift motion, he jammed it straight into the enemy's gut.
BZZZZZT!
The cloaked figure convulsed violently, its body shaking from the electric shock. But instead of collapsing, it grit its teeth through the pain and jumped back—still standing.
Ryo's sharp eyes locked onto the enemy's sinister, glowing gaze.
It wasn't done.
And neither was he.
From the side, Shahira's breath hitched as she stared at Ryo's weapon.
"Wait… That's not an investigation tool…"
Ryo turned his head slightly, his signature smirk forming despite the danger.
"I told you I had to bring a few things from my room."
It wasn't for the case.
It was for moments like this.…. just in case.
Ryo's expression turned serious again as realization hit him like a storm.
He was the target.
The Ravens weren't after Shahira.
They were after him.
"Sha!" he shouted, stepping back towards the wreckage. "They're only after me! I can't get other people involved!"
Before she could protest, he turned and ran.
Dashing into the depths of the still-burning marketplace.
The assassin snarled, quickly picked up its dagger, and took off after him.
Shahira barely had time to process what was happening when a shadow moved above her.
Her eyes darted upwards.
Three more cloaked figures.
They leapt across the rooftops, their glowing eyes locked on Ryo like hunters stalking their prey.
Her heart pounded violently.
Her hands trembled—not from fear, but from rage.
They destroyed her favorite market.
They hurt her people.
And now, they were trying to take Ryo from her.
No.
Absolutely not.
With burning determination, Shahira reached into her robes, gripping the hilt of her dagger.
The moment she pulled it free—water surged.
It shimmered, swirling around the blade like a living entity, responding to her fury.
Her eyes glinted with raw power.
She took aim.
With a sharp flick of her wrist, she unleashed a violent surge of water.
BOOM!
Like a crashing tidal wave, the force slammed into one of the assassins mid-air.
The cloaked figure let out a strangled gasp as the impact sent them hurtling off the rooftop.
It hit the ground hard—unmoving.
One down.
But the other two vanished into the shadows, still chasing Ryo.
Shahira's breathing was heavy, her hands gripping the dagger so tightly that her knuckles turned almost white.
Then, the law enforcement arrived.
The guards stormed the ruined streets, weapons drawn.
Shahira didn't hesitate.
"Seize that one!" she ordered, pointing to the fallen assassin.
The guards immediately restrained the unconscious enemy.
But Shahira was already moving.
She sprinted after Ryo.
She refused to let him face this alone.
She refused to lose someone else.
Not now.
Not ever.
He had promised her.
He would help her. Help her people. Solve the mystery of the Celestial Compass.
And now—she would help him.
No matter what.
Ryo's lungs burned as he dashed through the chaotic marketplace, but his sharp instincts screamed at him—danger was closing in.
His suspicions were confirmed when he caught movement from above.
Two more assassins.
They were leaping across the rooftops in perfect synchronization—one on his left, one on his right. Their black cloaks billowed like predatory wings, eyes locked onto him like hawks about to strike.
Ryo gritted his teeth.
"Are you kidding me?! They're ninjas too?!"
Then—his left-side pursuer stopped mid-run.
Instead of jumping closer, the assassin pulled out a bow.
Ryo's eyes narrowed as he saw sparks of electricity crackling around the tip of the drawn arrow.
"Oh, fantastic. A magical battle!!" He exhaled sarcastically. "Kaji would love to see this!"
The archer let the arrow fly.
Ryo barely dodged—but not completely.
The arrow grazed his cheek, leaving behind a sharp sting.
Before he could react further, the arrow hit the ground ahead of him—
BOOM!
A violent surge of electricity exploded outward, shattering the stone floor in a blast of blue lightning. The air crackled with raw energy, and Ryo instinctively leapt to his left, avoiding the destruction by a fraction of a second.
Then—the other assassin made his move.
From Ryo's right, the figure raised both hands and began chanting.
The air shifted.
Dark clouds swirled above.
A storm formed out of thin air—lightning snapping within.
Ryo's eyes widened.
"Oh, great! A Sorcerer! This just keeps getting better!" he shouted in exasperation.
But then—his expression darkened.
There were civilians on either side of the street. Innocent people. If that mage unleashed a full-fledged lightning storm, they would be caught in the crossfire.
No.
Not happening.
Still sprinting, Ryo's mind raced.
His eyes darted back, taking in everything in a single glance—
Distance. Positioning. Enemy movement.
Weak point.
And then—he saw it.
Locked on.
In one fluid motion, he whipped out his handgun.
Time seemed to slow.
He spun mid-run, extended his arm, muttered to himself "Please hit!"—and fired.
BANG!
A single, perfectly placed bullet found its mark—the sorcerer's forehead.
The enemy's eyes widened in shock.
Their mouth parted—as if trying to utter one last incantation—
But before a sound could escape, their body jerked violently.
The swirling storm shuddered—
Then collapsed.
As the assassin's lifeless body hit the rooftop, the raging storm above died with him.
Ryo himself was shocked by his surprising shooting achievement "Wow that was a lucky shot!"
Ryo exhaled, his muscles still tense.
One down.
Two more to go.
Still running, Ryo's head whipped left and right.
He needed to find an isolated place—somewhere big, open, and empty.
Somewhere he could end this.
"Where's a huge empty space?!" he yelled, half-desperate, hoping someone—anyone—would answer.
Just ahead—a group of elderly men sat casually outside a café.
They were playing chess.
And drinking coffee.
Without missing a beat, one of them cheerfully pointed down a side street.
"Plaza's that way, son! Huge and empty as your wallet!"
Another took a sip of coffee.
"Don't get yourself killed now!"
"Appreciate it!" Ryo called back, sprinting past them.
One of the old men moved a chess piece, watching him go.
"Checkmate."
His friend clearly annoyed of losing "Oh, screw you."
Ryo burst into the plaza, his breath ragged, sweat trailing down his forehead.
It was exactly what he needed.
A massive, open space. No civilians. Nowhere to hide.
He came to a slow stop, turning to face his remaining two hunters.
This was it.
The showdown.