The night shimmered with magical tension as footsteps thundered across the flagstones.
Callum burst onto the scene first, eyes blazing, a half-drawn sword glinting in his hand.
Just behind him, Mayor Aldrich followed—fully armored, fully armed—as if stepping onto a battlefield.
"What the hell happened here?!" he shouted—then froze. "Was it the intruder?"
Callum halted too.
Both men stared at the petite figure in a gothic dress, standing alone in the center of the ravaged garden, surrounded by bruised hedges, shattered marble, and guards with crossbows aimed at her.
Her skin glowed like porcelain under the moonlight, crimson eyes still pulsing with the afterglow of a mana surge.
"What the hell?" Callum's voice cracked with disbelief. "Why are you—"
"No time for chit-chat," Freya cut him off. "Lower the barrier. Now."
"What—no, why are you even here?" Callum demanded, stepping forward but not sheathing his blade.
Freya jabbed a finger in the direction the kidnappers had gone. "You need to drop the barrier—now. We can still catch up with them."
Mayor Aldrich's face turned ashen. "Catch up with who?! What do you mean?"
"Two hooded men just came through here. They took a boy." Freya's voice snapped like a whip. "If you still want to save him, then lower the goddamn barrier."
Callum's gaze narrowed. "You're not lying, right? Can I trust you?"
"Not everyone's a lying bastard like you." Freya pointed to a broken patch of ward lines at the garden's edge.
"See that? It was tampered with."
"That's how they got out. One of them was carrying a child—ten, maybe twelve years old, red hair, pajamas. I tried to stop them, but they were too fast."
Mayor Aldrich turned pale. "It's Gale… They took Gale."
"I fought with one of them," Freya went on. "Black hood, silver eyes, good with sword. They weren't amateurs."
Callum's eyes darted to the shimmering barrier overhead. "And they're still within range?"
"If you move now," Freya sighed, clearly frustrated.
"Shut down the barrier!" Aldrich barked. "Gather the men—I want my son back!"
Then he pointed a shaking finger at Freya. "And as for you little missy, you'd better not be lying—or we're going to have a very different kind of conversation."
The barrier shimmered once before fizzling out with a high-pitched crackle.
Without wasting a second, Freya vaulted over the ruined hedges and into the cobblestone street, her boots tapping like drumbeats on the stone.
Behind her, Callum, Mayor Aldrich, and several men followed—breath tight, swords unsheathed.
The night air smelled of burnt ozone and panic. Distant shouts echoed as guards scrambled to organize a search.
But Freya didn't need them.
She could still smell the scent of blood from the silver-eyed man. Her eyes glowed faintly as she picked up her pace, following the trail.
"You sure about this?" Callum asked, catching up beside her.
"Would I be running if I wasn't?" she shot back without looking at him.
He huffed, trying to keep pace. "Sorry, but you can't just jump out from nowhere and expect us to put the fate of the mayor's son in your hands, right?"
Freya stopped. She turned and jabbed a finger into his chest. "Don't pretend to take the high ground with me, you lying prick."
"You lied to me." She turned back and quickened her pace. "About everything."
Callum blinked. "Excuse me?"
Freya smirked. "Have you forgotten how you acted back in the jungle? Clumsy, harmless, nerdy—always tripping over something. Ring any bells?"
"That was... unintentional," he said, voice tinged with guilt.
"I should've known better."
"Anyone who trips that much in that jungle would've been eaten by wild boars in the first ten minutes," Freya said, picking up her pace. "Or ended up in an orc's stew pot."
"But there you were, fresh as morning dew, looking so scared, so harmless."
Callum quickly offered, "I didn't mean to—I was just—"
"Oh, c'mon," Freya rolled her eyes and cut him off. "We're not in the jungle anymore. Just cut the crap already."
"…I—" Words caught in his throat. He didn't know what to say at all.
They rounded a corner where a lamplight had been knocked askew. Blood. A smear on the wall.
Freya crouched low, fingers brushing the stone. Her expression sharpened.
"Here. They cut through the side alley. At least the wounded one did."
Callum hovered beside her, clearly rattled. "Look, I never meant to—"
"Save it." Freya rose, and summoned the Reaper's Scythe. "Right now, we're getting that boy back. After that, we're done."
She stalked into the alley, silent as a shadow.
Callum followed, guilt and confusion weighing down every step.
The trail of blood and mana residue twisted through alleyways and across empty backstreets, growing fainter but still there—just enough for Freya to catch hints of it with every breath.
She moved like a bloodhound on a scent, her mana surging, her eyes glowing faintly.
She was prepared to battle.
Callum lagged a few steps back, silent but sword half-drawn.
Mayor Aldrich and his men were even slower—thirty, maybe forty steps behind.
"We're heading away from the gate. You sure this is the right way?" Callum finally broke the silence.
"Seriously?" Freya muttered. "You think they'd just walk out the front door with the mayor's kid?"
She stopped at the mouth of a dimly lit side street, her nose twitching, eyes narrowing on a shady building with a crooked wooden sign swinging above a dented iron door—The Rusted Sigil.
Faded paint, one broken lantern, and the faint hum of laughter and off-key music leaking through cracked windows.
Freya tilted her head and smirked. "...Rusted Sigil, well, at least you didn't lie about this place."
Callum caught up beside her, staring at the rundown tavern. "We really need to have a serious conversation after this."
Mayor Aldrich stepped up, "This is the place? My boy is in there?"
"I'm pretty sure the silver—eyed is in there." Freya grimaced, Reaper's Scythe already in hand and pointing forward.". "As for your son...only one way to find out."
Mayor Aldrich was thinking the same thing. He barked, "Guards! Tear this place apart if you have to—I want my son found!"
The guards surged forward like a wave, kicking open the dented iron door of The Rusted Sigil.
The tavern erupted in a storm of chaos—tables overturned, tankards clattered to the floor, patrons screamed in protest as blades were drawn and orders were shouted.
"WHERE IS HE?!" a gruff soldier roared, hauling a drunkard up by his collar.
"I—I don't know anything! I was just playin' dice!"
"Liar!" another guard snarled, yanking open a trapdoor that led only to a wine cellar. "Search every inch!"
Within minutes, the tavern was in shambles. Bottles shattered, chairs splintered, and every patron was interrogated, shoved against walls, frisked, questioned again.
But no little boy in pajamas.
No Gale.
Aldrich's fury was rising by the second. "Where is he?! Where's my son!"
Freya, who'd remained just inside the doorway, arms folded, closed her eyes for a breath.
Then she opened them and strode forward, ignoring the shouting and confusion.
Her boots crunched over broken glass, passed by overturned tables and weeping barmaids without a glance.
And then, a scent—faint, metallic, familiar. The blood trail.
It curled faintly in the air, lingering in the ether like a whispered scream.
Freya's eyes glowed crimson.
She followed it to the back of the tavern, past the kitchen, where a grimy door led into a narrow storage room stacked with barrels and crates.
She stopped at the threshold.
The blood was stronger here.
"This room," she murmured, stepping in. Her fingers drifted across a crate like mist.
She crouched low, touched a small smear of blood on the wooden floorboards.
Callum appeared behind her, sword still in hand. "Anything?"
Freya didn't answer. She stood, then slowly walked to the back wall.
Something wasn't right.
She knocked once—thunk.
Then another panel—thud.
Then again—hollow.
Freya narrowed her eyes. "
Here." She stepped back.
With a sharp swing, the Reaper's Scythe cleaved into the false panel.
The rotted wood cracked, splintered, then gave way completely.
Dust exploded into the air as the wall buckled inward, revealing a gaping hole beyond.
A narrow passage descended into darkness.
The scent of blood wafted up from below—stronger now, almost fresh.
"Found it," Freya said grimly, her voice low. "They didn't go far."
Mayor Aldrich shoved past the others and stared down the tunnel with wild eyes. "Gale..."
Freya turned to him, serious. "There's no telling what is waiting in the dark, are you up for it?"
He didn't hesitate, gritted his teeth and barked to his men, "Torches! Blades out! Go!"
Freya was already stepping into the passage, shadows curling around her.
Callum followed close behind, muttering under his breath, "Of course there's a secret tunnel. Why wouldn't there be?"
Behind them, the guards filed in, their torchlight flickering against the damp stone.
And so they descended into the darkness—toward blood, danger, and whatever waited at the end of the hidden path...