As the skirmish outside moved further down the street, Nazyr led the party out the back door into a dirty alleyway. Up ahead, a man quickly darted through a doorway, slamming it shut behind him, seeming spooked by their sudden appearance.

  Rylan paid the man no heed as he jogged after the former pirates. While he’d lived in Cliffport for over two seasons, he hadn’t gotten around to much exploring, so he had little idea where they currently were.

  Even as they cautiously crossed a street, he barely recognised the area as South Harbour, with how thoroughly the pavement had been cleaned in preparation for the parade.

  Balconies were adorned with decorative garlands, and colourful buntings hung across the road, yet there was little left of the festive mood in the deserted streets they rushed through. All Rylan saw was wary eyes peeking out from behind closed curtains and shutters.

  As he ran, he couldn’t help but go over the mysterious interaction he’d just witnessed between the two Ruby-Grade Quinthar.

  It kind of seemed like... like he couldn’t attack her. Not that he didn’t want to, he just couldn’t. But he also seemed surprised that she attacked him, like he thought she shouldn’t be able to either. Why though?

  Unfortunately, he didn’t have much time to think about it. He snapped out of his reverie as soon as they reached familiar territory, namely a crossroad he’d taken very often on his daily commute between the Hawktalon family home and the Knackered Hag. In fact, from this crossing, he had a direct view of the pub in ques—

  Rylan gasped, stumbling to a halt.

  The Knackered Hag was on fire.

  “Rylan!” Leahna called out as he darted off towards it, straying from their route. “Where are you... oh. Oh no.”

  One of the massive burning projectiles fired by the Talons seemed to have hit the limestone roof, as there was a gaping hole in the tiles with flames roaring out of it, and the surroundings rooftops were covered in what looked like sticky, burning tar.

  Most of the staff was thankfully already outside, watching from a safe distance with stricken, soot-smeared faces as smoke wafted out of the windows and the gaping doorway.

  “Fylsa, Edil!” Rylan called as he came rushing over, relieved to see his colleagues had made it out in one piece.

  The redhead, who had her face buried in Edil’s neck, looked up with a gasp, a bleeding cut on her temple. “Ryles! You’re safe! Oh, thank the spirits, we feared the worst!”

  Edil reluctantly let go of her, but smiled at Rylan nonetheless.

  “Are you all right?” Rylan asked, slowing down in front of them.

  “I’m fine, thanks to my big hero here,” Fylsa replied, patting Edil’s pecs. “He pulled me right out of the rubble.”

  Edil scratched his neck. “Well, I couldn’t leave you in there, could I?” he replied gruffly. “I never would’ve forgiven myself.”

  Rylan heard his companions run up behind him, but didn’t turn around just yet, scanning the crowd with his eyes. “Wait, where’s Burt? And his wife?”

  Fylsa bit her lip, glancing up at the building.

  Rylan’s stomach sank; their rooms were just below his loft...

  However, right at that moment, his employer came stumbling out of the smoky doorway clutching a small bundle of cloth.

  Edil and Fylsa rushed over to help the man as he erupted in a fit of coughs, the prep cook slinging an arm around his waist to support him, and Fylsa deftly taking over the baby, rocking and shushing it as its cries filled the street.

  ‘Arphin, is anyone else left inside?!’ Rylan asked frantically.

  [There is, but not for long!]

  ‘What? What do you...’

  Out of the smoke stepped Sloan, Burtrand’s wife slung over his shoulder like a bag of grain. The muscular man walked out with his back straight, not seeming to care or notice that one of his moustache’s tips was on fire as he gently put her down across the street.

  [They were the last ones, Boss; looks like everyone made it out!]

  The staff crowded around her, and after a moment, she gasped and inhaled, before starting to cough, her eyes luridly trailing across the crowd before they fluttered shut again.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Meanwhile, Sloan pinched out his burning moustache between two thick fingers, then started taking off his singed apron.

  Relieved, Rylan watched Burtrand stumble up to his wife with Edil’s help. Seeing her breathe, the ruddy-faced man sank down next to her, fat tears dripping down his cheeks. “Sloan,” he croaked, looking up at the pub’s bouncer. “Big guy... I owe you my life. Fog, I owe you everything!”

  “Hmm,” Sloan hummed, a faint smile on his face as he neatly folded his apron. “Keep life. Keep everything. Getting too hot around here. I quit.”

  In front of the baffled crowd, he handed Burtrand his apron. Gaping like a fish, the man accepted it.

  And with that, Sloan turned around and lumbered off, nodding at Rylan in passing.

  Burtrand blinked, before his eyes fell on Rylan. “Ryles! Thank the spirits!”

  Rylan waved awkwardly as he stepped closer. “Hey Burt. Glad to see you made it out all right.”

  “All thanks to Sloan,” Burtrand replied, coughing as he shook his head. “Some shelves had toppled over on me, he ripped them right off...”

  Next to the man, sous chef Timur started organising a bucket line, the staff bravely banding together to fight the fire, prevent it from spreading.

  That wasn’t too great a risk in the city of limestone, but still, Rylan itched to jump up and start helping.

  Behind him, Leahna cleared her throat.

  “Ehm... I’m afraid I can’t stay,” Rylan said apologetically. “In fact... I fear I have to quit as well.”

  Burt blinked at him, then chuckled. “That’s all right, kid. It’s going to take some time before we can serve food again either way, and thanks to you, we have enough savings to tide us over. I’ve been meaning to redecorate anyway... Good luck out there. May Auris watch over you.”

  Rylan put a hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed. “And you.”

  It took him another minute or so to extricate himself from the crowd, with Fylsa demanding a hug before he left, but then he was loose, and they were running again.

  Before he turned the corner, he took one last look at his burning loft.

  At least I brought all my weapons and my savings...

  Leahna came up next to him as they hurried down the street. “I’m sorry. That has to suck.”

  “It does,” he replied quietly, anger roiling in his stomach. “But at least I know they’re all right... for now. I’m sure you’re worried about your friends and colleagues as well.”

  “I am,” Leahna admitted. “But I’m more worried about Cassie. And most of all, about dad.”

  Rylan nodded tersely. “Right. Let’s get a move on.”

  That was the second home the Talons had robbed from him. He’d be damned if he let them take a third.

  Rounding the corner onto their street, Rylan let out a curse and stopped in his tracks.

  The Hawktalon home was just a few houses down, but in front of it stood half a dozen Talon soldiers, looking out in different directions.

  They immediately spotted Rylan’s party, frowning and turning their way, but not moving towards them.

  Rylan’s eyes flicked towards the entrance. The door was busted open and the sound of ceramics being smashed echoed out through the doorway.

  Something inside of him snapped, and he could feel his lips drawing back in an angry sneer. “They’re inside,” he hissed.

  Leahna gasped, but he was already off.

  Rylan rushed forward, dropping Stealth to make sure his Mana Shell would properly help protect him against the blades the soldiers were drawing in response to his sudden charge.

  He drew a throwing knife as well, hiding its glow behind his back as he approached.

  “Walk away, son,” one of the soldiers said, holding up a hand as if to ward him off, his sword held loosely in his other hand. “This isn’t going to go well for—”

  Rylan didn’t wait for the man to finish his sentence, instead whipping his knife forward.

  The soldier’s eyes went wide at the sight of the glowing blade flying towards him. He moved his raised hand to intercept it, but the mana-charged blade ripped right through his palm, before burying itself in his throat.

  The last time Rylan had killed a man had been in a desperate struggle on the ground, after he’d been taken off-guard. He’d learned an important lesson there, and this time, the initiative would be his.

  As the man stumbled back, gurgling blood, his fellow soldiers cursed and raised their weapons, backing up, but Rylan was already too close.

  He activated the Jump he’d been charging, leaping forward from his left foot with sudden speed as he lifted his right.

  His target brought up a mace, but to no avail. Rylan planted the sole of his leather boot on the woman’s sternum, and activated the second part of his Skill.

  Bones snapped beneath his foot as the female soldier was sent flying by the sudden burst of mana, smashing into the soldier behind her with a heavy thud, both of them going down in a sprawl.

  A shield-bearing man to Rylan’s right took a swing at him, cutting down diagonally.

  Rylan tried to side-step it, twisting his shoulder inward protectively, but couldn’t quite get out of the way. The blade hit his upper arm, eliciting a flash of white. However, the angle was quite shallow, and between his Mana Shell and the sleeve of his leather coat, it felt more like getting hit with a bamboo practice sword than the real thing.

  With his other arm, Rylan drew Arphin. However, before he could do anything else, a glowing arrow came whistling in, piercing straight through the man’s shield and leather armour, into his chest. He went down with a strained gasp.

  A harpoon passed on Rylan’s left, catching another soldier in the stomach, causing her to double over. Then Nazyr came rushing in with his club, and smashed one of the soldiers trying to struggle off the ground on the temple.

  The last soldier, who’d originally been closest to the doorway, tried to rush inside.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Rylan growled, activating Knife-Fighting as he gave chase.

  The man made it to the doorway of the kitchen before Rylan caught up and rammed him into the wall. Charged with mana, Arphin punched through his leather armour once, twice. He crumpled.

  “Well well,” another man spoke from the kitchen. “Who do we have here?”

  Rylan stepped over the dying soldier, stopping as he was faced with what looked like the small squad’s commander—judging by the dark-haired man’s expensive-looking plate armour—and one more female soldier, who was holding a knife to his father’s throat.

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  : Unnatural Laws

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  : Unchained Potential

  : Untamed Spirit

  : Undivided Worlds

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