The first torch reached the cliff's edge as Ryn scrambled back into the watchtower. His hands shook as he grabbed the shadow-forged dagger from the bed, its cool weight unfamiliar in his grip.
"Move, boy!" Lira barked, already at the tower's entrance. She held a rusted iron bar in one hand, its end sharpened to a brutal point. "They're not here for tea."
Ryn's breath came in short gasps as he joined her. "How did they find me?"
Lira's single good eye gleamed in the torchlight. "You left a trail a blind beggar could follow." She jerked her chin toward the chest. "That crest isn't exactly subtle."
Outside, boots scraped against stone. A man's voice called out, rough with amusement. "Captain Lira! Still hiding in your broken tower, I see."
Lira's grip tightened on the iron bar. "Vask," she muttered. "Malrik's favorite attack dog."
**[Vask | Wolf Crest Commander]**
*Malrik's lieutenant*
*Expert tracker*
*Known for leaving no survivors*
Ryn's mouth went dry. The dagger suddenly felt too heavy, his arms too weak. The bruises from Lira's training screamed with every breath.
Lira noticed his hesitation and leaned close. "Listen carefully," she whispered. "These men won't take you alive. Malrik wants you dead, not dragged back for some grand execution."
"Why?"
"Because he's not stupid." Lira's breath was hot against his ear. "He knows what the wind can do when properly pissed off."
The first soldier appeared in the doorway—a hulking brute with a broken nose and twin axes strapped to his back. His torch cast flickering shadows across the tower walls.
"Ah," Vask grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "The little lordling survived after all."
Lira moved like lightning.
Her iron bar lanced forward, catching Vask just below the ribs. The man grunted, stumbling back—but didn't go down. Instead, he laughed and drew an axe in each hand.
"Always liked you, Lira," he chuckled. "Pity I have to kill you."
The fight erupted in a blur of steel and firelight.
Lira danced between Vask's axe swings, her movements economical and precise. The iron bar became an extension of her arms, parrying blows that would have cleaved Ryn in two.
"Ryn!" she shouted between strikes. "The others!"
Two more soldiers clambered through the doorway. These were younger, leaner—but their swords gleamed sharp in the torchlight.
Ryn's training fled his mind. He stumbled backward, the dagger held out before him like a talisman. The first soldier laughed—a cruel, mocking sound—and swung.
Steel met shadow-forged metal with a shriek. The impact numbed Ryn's arm to the shoulder, but the dagger held. The soldier's eyes widened slightly.
"Fancy toy," he sneered, pressing forward. "Won't save you."
Ryn's back hit the tower wall. No retreat left.
Somewhere in the chaos, Lira shouted something—but the blood roaring in Ryn's ears drowned it out. The soldier drew back for another swing, and something inside Ryn snapped.
He remembered his father's last words. *The wind will guide you.*
As the sword came down, Ryn *pushed.*
Not with his hands. Not with the dagger.
With the air itself.
A gust exploded outward, slamming into the soldier with enough force to send him crashing into his companion. Both men went down in a tangle of limbs, their torches rolling across the stone floor.
For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Even Lira and Vask paused mid-strike, staring at the downed men. At Ryn. At the way the wind still curled around his outstretched hand like a loyal hound.
Then Vask grinned. "Well now. That's interesting."
Lira recovered first. Her iron bar whipped around, catching Vask across the temple. The big man staggered but didn't fall.
"Ryn!" Lira barked. "The chest!"
Ryn didn't understand—until he saw it. The wooden chest lay near the firepit, its lid slightly ajar. And inside...
He dove for it just as the second soldier regained his feet. Fingers scrabbling against the rough wood, Ryn flung the lid open.
There, nestled in the bottom where he hadn't seen it before, lay a coiled length of silver wire.
The soldier's sword came down—
—and met nothing but air as Ryn rolled aside, the wire now clutched in his left hand. He didn't think. Didn't plan. Just *moved.*
The wire lashed out like a living thing, wrapping around the soldier's wrist. Ryn yanked with all his strength.
The man screamed as the wire bit deep, his sword clattering to the floor. Blood pattered against the stones like rain.
Ryn barely had time to register what he'd done before the other soldier was on him. This one fought smarter, keeping his distance, using his longer reach to keep Ryn at bay.
Behind them, Lira and Vask's battle raged. The iron bar sang through the air, meeting axe blades with showers of sparks. Lira moved like a woman half her age, but Vask was fresh—and grinning.
"Getting slow, old woman," he taunted, driving her backward step by step.
Ryn's opponent feinted left, then swung right. Ryn barely dodged, feeling the blade's edge whisper past his cheek. He tried to summon the wind again, but whatever had awakened in that desperate moment remained stubbornly silent.
Then the soldier's eyes widened. His sword arm dropped.
A sharpened iron bar protruded from his chest.
Lira stood behind him, her face splattered with blood. She wrenched the weapon free just in time to meet Vask's renewed assault.
"Finish him!" she shouted to Ryn, nodding at the first soldier—still whimpering over his ruined wrist.
Ryn hesitated. The man was on his knees, unarmed, his face twisted in pain.
"Ryn!" Lira's voice cut through his indecision. "Now!"
The dagger moved almost of its own accord.
Shadow-forged steel met flesh with surprising ease. The man gurgled once, then collapsed.
Ryn stared at the blood on his hands. On the dagger. His stomach heaved.
A crash brought his head up. Lira had Vask backed against the wall, her iron bar a blur. But the big man was grinning through bloody teeth.
"Good fight," he rasped. Then his hand darted to his belt.
Ryn saw the glint of metal too late. "Lira!"
The throwing knife took her high in the shoulder, spinning her around. Vask didn't wait—he charged, axes raised for a killing blow.
Ryn moved without thought.
The silver wire lashed out again, wrapping around Vask's ankle. Ryn pulled with all his weight—just enough to throw the big man off balance.
It was all Lira needed.
Her iron bar found Vask's throat with a wet crunch. The man staggered, eyes bulging, then collapsed like a felled tree.
Silence fell over the tower.
Ryn's hands wouldn't stop shaking. Blood—so much blood—pooled across the stone floor. The coppery stench filled his nose, his mouth, his—
"Breathe." Lira's hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Don't you dare faint on me now."
She looked terrible—blood seeped from her shoulder wound, and fresh bruises were already forming along her jaw. But her grip was iron-strong as she steered Ryn toward the door.
"We need to move," she said, kicking one of the fallen torches into the firepit. "More will come."
Ryn stared at the bodies. At the blood on his hands. "I... I killed..."
"Yes." Lira's voice was grim. "And you'll do it again if you want to live." She grabbed the cloak from the chest and thrust it at him. "Now move."
Outside, the wind howled across the cliffs, carrying the scent of smoke and blood out to sea. Ryn followed Lira into the darkness, his body aching, his mind reeling.
Behind them, the watchtower burned—a pyre for the dead.
Ahead lay only shadows and the whispering wind.