Liorin remained motionless behind the moss-covered stone wall, his chest pounding as he watched the elven girl move with astonishing grace. Her movements were no ordinary warrior's; they resembled an ancient dance choreographed by forest spirits over centuries. Every step, every spin, every arrow released from her bow seemed to flow in harmony with the very rhythm of nature.
In an instant, she halted and turned directly toward the spot where Liorin hid. Her gaze—sharp as a glass shard pierced by moonlight—locked onto the gap in the stones where he crouched. Without a word, she drew her bowstring taut—twang!—and an arrow sped straight at him.
Startled, Liorin's reflexes saved him. He dove to the side, landing hard in the dirt as the arrow lodged itself in the wall just above where he had been standing.
"Wait—wait, miss!" Liorin called as he rose slowly, hands raised in a gesture of peace. "I'm not your enemy!"
But the elf said nothing. She notched two arrows at once.
"I swear by the stars that witness this night, I'm not here to harm you!" Liorin added, stepping back a pace.
Her expression remained unreadable. Before she could loose her second volley, a heavy, measured footfall echoed from the alley's far end. The drifting night mist parted to reveal eleven cloaked figures entering the passage. On their robes was a symbol Liorin knew all too well—three crossed eyes within a swirling circle.
The mark of the Dark Organization.
The elven girl's stance shifted. Her sharp eyes refocused—not on Liorin, but on the newcomers.
"Reinforcements?" Liorin murmured.
A tall man with silver hair and a heavier cloak stepped forward. He raised a hand, and red flames began to spiral from his palm, reaching up like a hunger-driven torch.
"An unexpected interruption. But… intriguing," the man rumbled, his voice gravelly yet composed.
Unhesitatingly, Liorin raised his own hands, shaping invisible forces in the air. Blue-white frost and flickers of orange fire gathered between his fingers, materializing into a single blade—half molten magma, half crystalline ice.
The sword glowed under the moon's light, revealing it as no mere smith's handiwork but the manifestation of deep inner power—something drawn from a hidden dimension.
"A strange blade," the elf whispered, though she made no move to stop him.
Battle erupted at once.
Arrows flew in seamless volleys, each wind-blast honed to lethal precision. Liorin charged, his sword cleaving through enemy spells and shattering bursts of flame and ice with equal force.
One by one, members of the Dark Organization fell. Yet their leader, the fire-wizard archbishop, raised both arms and summoned a curling drake of inferno. His breaths came heavy, but his eyes remained coldly focused on Liorin.
Liorin channeled vast reserves of mana into his blade and swung. The flames billowed into a roaring, tiger-shaped inferno that seared the alley's air.
Clenching the sword, Liorin lunged forward, splitting the fire beast with his combined ice-and-fire strike—two elements at odds rendered a fatal harmony in his hand.
The impact shook the alley. Smoke and dust swirled with the echoes of the clash.
When the dust settled, the archbishop sat slumped on the ground, burned and encased in frost. He panted for breath, but remained conscious.
The elf approached with steady, measured steps. Her bow rested on her back as she faced him, her eyes devoid of mercy.
"What was your purpose in this assault?" she demanded, her tone icy and precise.
The archbishop said nothing. He only glared and let out a brittle chuckle, blood at the corner of his lips.
"You'd learn more by listening to the wind," he sneered.
She did not flinch. With her left hand she gripped his cloak at the throat and lifted him slightly.
"I'm not asking for sport," she said, her voice deepening with authority. "I'm asking because I need to know which threat to eliminate first."
His mocking laughter died in his throat. He swallowed hard, visibly cowed by her gaze, which seemed to pierce through to his soul.
"Fine… fine," he stammered. "We only meant to sow chaos—"
He coughed, then added, "—on the anniversary of Grand Sorceress Nyra. Many will gather from near and far… we wanted to show who truly holds power."
Liorin, who had been listening, froze. Nyra? The Grand Sorceress was one of the most influential figures in Aeloria. If something happened on that day, the entire realm would be thrown into upheaval.
"We've… placed summoning runes at multiple key sites," the archbishop said with a small, bitter laugh. "Nyra? She may be grand, but she's blind to the shadows."
Before he could continue, the elf unleashed a solid punch to his jaw. He went limp instantly, unconscious.
She breathed out, expression unchanged.
Liorin watched in silence, convinced he had no role in this conflict—caught in a night that stretched into fate. He turned to leave the alley, ready to let things return to their quiet normalcy.
But a single voice stopped him.
"Wait."
Liorin halted.
He turned. The elf stood with arms crossed, her face calmer now. Their eyes met for a moment.
"Thank you," she said tersely—and a faint, almost unseen smile tugged at her lips.
Without another word, she vaulted up the wall and, in the blink of an eye, was perched on a rooftop. Her silhouette merged with the night wind, vanishing into darkness.
Liorin stood alone. A breeze tousled his hair as he looked up at the perfect moon overhead.
"A strange night," he murmured. "But… fascinating."
Liorin stepped carefully down the slick stone alley, making his way back to the inn. Night had grown darker, and the lanterns lining Aeloria's walls cast a soft glow that swayed through the thin mist. The scent of burning wood and spices drifted from nearby shops, as if escorting him home after the night's battle. His cloak was now slightly torn, and a shred of fabric bearing the three-crossed-eyes emblem hung from his pocket—a small testament to the fight in the silent lane.
His steps felt heavy—not just from fatigue, but from relief at seeing the elf girl exhale in satisfaction after striking down the Dark Organization's leader. Yet beneath the moonlight, Liorin's thoughts turned to what lay ahead: reaching the inn and resting.
Suddenly, two figures emerged at the alley's end. They wore light armor and carried carved wooden spears, their postures radiating vigilance. Their faces were obscured beneath tall helmets, but every muscle spoke of wary readiness.
"You… a stranger?" one guard rumbled, his voice low as if questioning every passerby that evening.
Liorin halted and turned slowly. "Yes… I'm just a traveler taking in the night air," he replied calmly. "I'm no threat."
The first guard stepped forward, eyeing Liorin's tattered clothing. "Your garb… it's unusual. There's tearing and fresh blood. Were you in a fight?"
Liorin raised his hands, palms outward, showing he carried no weapons. "I only helped someone under attack. I mean no harm."
The second guard frowned. "You say you 'helped someone'? But earlier you told us you were just strolling? Tonight the city is on alert for suspicious activity. We've had many reports."
Liorin shook his head. "That wasn't me. I'm not… part of the Dark Organization or a troublemaker. I was simply compelled to help."
At that moment, the first guard noticed the fabric hanging from Liorin's pocket. Lantern light glinted off the dark cloth, revealing the faint three-crossed-eyes symbol. He lifted it before Liorin's face.
"What is this?" the second guard demanded, suspicion in his tone. "Are you hiding this symbol in your pocket?"
Liorin's heart pounded. He stepped forward, reaching for the cloth. "That… is just a scrap of fabric I found when I first encountered them. I thought it proof of their dark dealings… not mine."
But the first guard had already turned away, shouting to comrades beyond the alley: "Seize him! This is a priority mission! He may be part of the shadow cell we've been tracking!"
Before Liorin could explain further, hands seized him from behind—one gripping his wrists, another yanking him against the wall.
"Don't you move!" the second guard barked, their eyes now blazing with alert. "You're coming with us to the barracks for questioning."
Liorin fought the urge to struggle, restraining himself from reacting aggressively. "You've got it wrong! Please—let me explain—"
But the ropes around his hands were pulled tighter, binding his wrists. The two guards dragged him toward the main alley, where three more awaited with lamps and simple wards to block magic.
His luck that night had run out. Yet perhaps this was destiny—the path he was meant to walk to help those he cared about: Clara and the elf girl he had met in the shadows.