After the second soldier fled the field.

  They never heard the first arrows.

  From the darkness above, two shafts cut downward in flawless succession—silent, surgical. The first entered through a goblin's eye with a wet crack, the force bursting through the back of its skull in a spray of blackened blood and bone.

  The second struck square in its sternum. The wind behind the shot drove the arrow clean through rib and lung, splintering spine before embedding deep into the cobblestone. The creature jerked once, coughing a thick gout of crimson, then collapsed forward over the shaft that transfixed it.

  Two more arrows followed.

  But now the surviving goblins were alert.

  They scattered instantly—rolling, springing, and scrambling with feral agility that belied their twisted frames. Their eyes snapped upward.

  They found her.

  Perched atop a slanted rooftop, golden hair stirred by the night breeze, Lunaria exhaled slowly. Her gaze was calm, calculating.

  This will take longer than expected, she murmured.

  The five goblins shrieked in unison, a discordant war cry, and charged the house from all sides.

  Lunaria did not remain.

  She loosed another arrow mid-stride, forcing them to duck as it split a roof beam behind them. Then she sprinted and leapt to the adjacent rooftop. Clay tiles cracked beneath her boots. She vaulted a chimney, rolled, and rose fluidly in one seamless motion.

  Below, the goblins climbed with terrifying speed—clawed hands digging into wood, axes biting into beams for leverage. One scaled straight up the wall, muscles bunching like a spider.

  They were fast.

  But Lunaria was faster.

  She inhaled and called to the unseen currents.

  The wind answered.

  It coiled around her ankles first—then her waist, then her shoulders. She jumped.

  The air caught her.

  Suspended above the rooftops, balanced in the dark like a falcon mid-dive, she drew her bow and aimed at the scrambling figures below.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Her voice cut through the night:

  Soft as a sigh, swift as regret—deliver silence on silent wings.

  From horizon to horizon, let the sky scream through my aim.

  Aetheric Arrow!

  The atmosphere thickened.

  Wind spiraled violently around the bowstring, compressing until it emitted a low, resonant hum. The arrowhead shimmered as streams of invisible current condensed along its edge, sharpening it beyond steel.

  The first of the remaining goblins crested the rooftop with a snarl, jaws wide.

  Lunaria spun and released.

  The arrow detonated forward.

  It did not merely fly—it vanished and reappeared in a thunderclap of displaced air. The shaft punched through the goblin's open mouth, shattered its skull from within, and tore out the back in a violent burst of bone fragments and brain matter. The body was hurled backward off the roof, striking the alley below with a heavy, final thud.

  A second goblin lunged at her flank.

  She dropped beneath its swing, the crude axe shrieking past her ear. With a twist of her hips, she summoned a gust beneath her boots and launched upward into a backward flip. Mid-rotation, she drew and fired downward.

  The arrow pierced through collarbone, split the heart, and buried itself into the rooftop beam beneath. The goblin convulsed, pinned upright, blood pouring down the wood as its limbs spasmed and fell limp.

  Three remained.

  They split apart.

  Two climbed opposite sides. One hurled a spinning axe toward her skull, nearly grazing her ear.

  The wind shifted sharply.

  Lunaria extended her palm. A razor-edged gust struck the projectile mid-flight, snapping its rotation sideways and sending it spiraling into the street below.

  She sprinted along the ridge and leapt across a narrow gap. The wind bore her farther than gravity allowed. She landed lightly, turned, and fired twice.

  The first arrow shattered a goblin's thigh, splintering bone and ripping muscle from its frame. It screamed and fell to one knee. Before the sound finished leaving its throat, her second arrow pierced cleanly through its temple. The scream ended in a wet choke as it toppled sideways.

  Two remained.

  One reached her with reckless fury.

  It swung wildly.

  Lunaria stepped inside the arc, too close for the blade to function. She drove her knee into its abdomen, folding it. As it gasped, she seized its face in her palm.

  Palm of the First Gale!

  Compressed air exploded from her hand.

  The goblin's skull imploded—eyes rupturing, jaw snapping—before the force launched its corpse backward in a violent arc. It flew off the rooftop and smashed into the stone street below with a bone-shattering crunch.

  The final goblin froze.

  Something new flickered in its eyes.

  Fear.

  It turned and fled.

  Lunaria did not rush.

  She drew one final arrow.

  The wind gathered—not gently this time, but violently. It spiraled tighter and tighter around the shaft until the air itself screamed. Dust lifted from rooftops. Shingles rattled. The bowstring vibrated like a drawn storm.

  Soft as a sigh, swift as regret—deliver silence on silent wings.

  From horizon to horizon, let the sky scream through my aim.

  Aetheric Arrow!

  She released.

  The arrow became a streak of compressed tempest—air detonating in its wake. It struck the goblin in the back, tore through its chest, and continued forward without losing momentum. The goblin's body lifted off its feet, impaled along the shaft before the arrow embedded deep into the stone street beyond.

  The goblin slid down the shaft and collapsed face-first into the dust.

  Silence reclaimed the rooftops.

  The wind subsided.

  Lunaria stood alone beneath the night sky, bow lowered, and her breathing steady. Below her, broken goblin bodies lay scattered across stone and shadow.

  The hunters had come in silence.

  And she had answered with precision.