“We need to leave, now.”
“Where are we going?” Noah asked.
“Back to my parents’ house—until it’s safe again.”
There was fear in her voice, subtle but unmistakable. Noah didn’t wait for further explanation. He fell into step beside her as they moved quickly into the hallway.
“Is it some kind of forest creature?” he asked as they hurried.
“Unlikely. The spells protecting the town ward off most non‑sapient forest creatures. Whatever triggered the bells would need Fae‑like—or, in your case, human‑like—intelligence, and significant power.”
“And… there aren’t many of those around here,” he said carefully. “Right?”
“There are some,” she replied, locking the library door behind them, “but very few. And most would have no reason to come here.”
Outside, the square had erupted into motion. Fae darted between buildings, expressions caught between fear and grim resolve.
“So what has everyone this worried?” Noah asked.
“I don’t know,” Ciri said, slipping the key into her pocket. “The bells warn us of danger, but they do not specify what kind of danger.”
Noah nodded and changed tactics. If questions weren’t helping her, awareness might help him. As they broke into a jog, his eyes tracked everything: doors slamming shut, windows being barred, the direction of the wind, the number of steps across the square, the relative position of buildings and alleys. Adrenaline sharpened his perception, filing away details he might need if things went badly.
They were halfway down her parents’ street when Bryn emerged from her workshop, still wearing her heavy leather apron. Hruk paced at her side, hackles raised and unhappy. In her hands was an enormous hammer, and a thick belt bristling with knives and swords hung low on her hips.
She matched their pace easily. “You need a weapon?”
Thinking of his ice pick—lost worlds ago—Noah nodded. “I’m no expert, but I’d feel better with something in my hands.”
Bryn frowned, then blinked. “Ah. Right. Traveller. I wasn’t offering it to you.” She nodded toward Ciri. “I was asking her.”
“Sorry,” Noah said. “Right.”
“We’ll shelter here,” Ciri said. “I have my grimoire upstairs.”
“Suit yourself,” Bryn replied as they reached the house.
Noah took one last look down the street. The children who had been playing there earlier were gone—hopefully inside and safe. In their place stood a dozen Fae women in steel plate armor. Half carried books; the rest wielded swords, maces, and spears. Moving as a unit, they advanced toward the meadow, stopping at each house to check doors and windows.
“We should go inside. Now,” Ciri said, already turning toward the basement entrance.
Noah started after her, but Bryn stopped him.
“Traveller.”
He turned. She held out a large, curved knife, handle-first.
“You’re not going to need that?” he asked.
“I’ve got plenty,” she said. “I wouldn’t normally give this to a male, but you’re not Fae. Just don’t swing it like an idiot and it won’t break. You can give it back when this is over.”
He accepted it, glancing toward Ciri, who was opening the basement door. “Any idea what we’re up against?”
Bryn answered—but the word came out in her native tongue, incomprehensible to him.
He frowned, then blinked as understanding clicked into place.
The spell doesn’t work if I’m not close enough to Ciri.
He looked back at Bryn. “Good luck.”
She stared at him, confused—then followed his gaze to Ciri and came to the same realization. Without another word, she nodded once and turned, jogging after the armored women. Hruk sprinted after her.
Noah slid the knife into his belt and hurried inside as Ciri pulled him through the door.
“That is one of Bryn’s knives,” Ciri observed.
“She let me borrow it,” Noah said. “Wait—this doesn’t count as an unsolicited gift, does it?”
“No. It is an exchange,” she replied, locking the door. “As payment for the knife’s use, you are expected to defend this tribe if required.”
“Oh.” He hesitated. “Should I be… out there, then?”
“Not unless there is no other option,” she said. “Come. We should go upstairs.”
They crossed the basement together, but Noah paused long enough to take in his surroundings. In many ways, it mirrored the room above—stone walls, ceiling, and floors softened by wooden furniture—but the purpose here felt different. To his left, a room glowed with warm yellow light, illuminating several more shelves packed tightly with books. To his right stood what looked like a meeting room, dominated by a long table. A heavy door set into the far wall looked like it had frost creeping outward from its edges despite the relatively warm day.
Definitely not the time, Noah decided, filing the sight of the clearly magical room away for later as he followed Ciri up the stairs.
They emerged into the kitchen to find her parents already waiting, worry etched into every line of their faces. What unsettled Noah more was that all three of Ken’s wives were armed—steel at their hips, books like Ciri’s clutched in their hands. Except for the pot of bubbling water on the stove, the casual domestic calm of earlier was gone, replaced by readiness.
“Ciri!” Aelya snapped, green hair whipping as she turned. “You know better than to leave the house without your grimoire.”
“I am… sorry, Mother,” Ciri said, her gaze dropping. “I forgot.”
“We were just worried,” Thala said more gently, pulling her into a brief embrace.
Probably her biological mother, Noah thought, noting the matching pink hair and golden eyes. Assuming genetics work the same way here.
“Did you encounter any trouble on your way back?” Vela asked, tucking a loose strand of brown hair behind her long ear, her eyes flicking between Ciri and Noah.
“No,” Ciri replied. “We came straight from the archives. The guardians had already passed our house by the time we arrived.”
Noah cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to intrude, but what exactly is the danger? Ciri didn’t know, and Bryn tried to explain, but I couldn’t understand her.”
Ken studied him, one brow lifting as his gaze dropped briefly to the knife at Noah’s belt before returning to his face. “So. You met our artificer. You must have made a favorable impression to be trusted with that.”
“Borrowing,” Noah said quickly. “I’m giving it back once this is over.”
“Do you know how to use it?” Aelya asked.
“Not really,” he admitted.
“He shouldn’t learn,” Vela said. “It’s unbecoming of a man.”
“Not the time.” Aelya growled.
The two locked eyes, tension stretching the moment thin until Thala cut in smoothly. “We still haven’t answered Noah’s question.”
Thala exhaled and looked back at him. “No. I suppose we haven’t.”
“So?” Noah prompted. “What are we dealing with?”
“Corrupted,” Ken said.
Ciri flinched.
“And corrupted are…” Noah began.
The room went still. Each of them—Ciri included—looked anywhere but at him, as if silently hoping someone else would take on the burden of explanation.
They didn’t get the chance.
Shouts erupted outside, sharp and sudden. Steel rang against steel. A dog barked furiously.
“Stay away from the door,” Aelya hissed, herding them back as the noise swelled.
A man‑shaped creature burst through the door a heartbeat later, ripping it from its hinges. It wore tattered remnants of clothing, beneath which Noah glimpsed diseased green skin mottled with scabs, open sores, and weeping lesions. In places, its flesh appeared to be melting, sloughing away to reveal swollen, malignant growths beneath. The thing stood easily over two meters tall and wielded a sword so massive Noah was certain it would have taken both his hands to lift.
Ciri’s mothers didn’t even hesitate.
Each tore a page from her book, sending glowing characters spiraling into the air. The creature registered the movement and charged, shockingly fast for its size. Its footsteps shook the room. Noah’s hand went for the knife at his belt.
He never got the chance to use it.
Bolts of jagged lightning and roiling spheres of fire erupted from the hovering runes, slamming into the creature in rapid succession with a series of sharp, cracking reports. Each impact drove it backward, yet it remained on its feet, bracing itself in the shattered doorway with both hands.
For one frozen moment, everything went silent.
Then Aelya, Thala, and Vela surged forward. They struck as one—swords flashing, steel biting deep. When the creature finally swung its massive blade, they leapt back in perfect unison, letting it cleave only empty air.
Why isn’t it dead? Noah thought, tightening his grip on the knife.
They shifted seamlessly, rotating attackers and defenders to keep the creature off balance. Steel rang. Deep gashes split its body, dark fluid spilling freely—yet somehow it stayed upright, fighting on.
We need to help.
Noah turned to Ciri. She stood frozen, terror etched across her face.
“How do you kill that thing?”
“I—I don’t…” she stammered, shaking her head.
He dropped the knife and seized her gently by the shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Ciri. You know everything. How do we kill it?”
She blinked once, clarity snapping into place.
“Corrupted are resistant to spells, but not immune. Accumulated physical damage will kill it. It cannot heal.”
“That’s what they’re trying to do!” Ken growled.
The creature roared and swept its longsword in a wide arc, forcing the three women back. With them momentarily driven off, it locked onto Ciri, Ken, and Noah. A feral grin split its ruined face as it charged, sword dragging behind it.
Noah didn’t think.
He lunged sideways, grabbed the still‑bubbling pot from the stove, spun, and hurled it. Boiling water splashed across the creature’s face. It screamed, dropping its sword and clawing at its eyes as flesh blistered and reddened.
That was all the opening they needed.
Ciri’s mothers charged again, stabbing without mercy. Heavy blows took out the backs of its knees, slamming it to the floor. More strikes followed—torso, neck—until it stopped moving entirely. Only when Aelya severed its head with a brutal series of overhead chops did they finally step back.
A wave of nausea rolled through Noah as he looked at the corpse. Killing the wooden creatures and the insect monsters in the forest had been distant, impersonal. This was different. This had been humanoid—close enough to feel wrong.
It was a monster, not a person, his analytical mind insisted. Kill or be killed.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. “Fuck.”
“Fuck indeed,” Thala said, turning to him. “You did well there. How did you—”
“We should check outside,” Aelya cut in. “Make sure there are no more.”
The others met her eyes, grim, and moved for the ruined doorway.
Noah glanced once more at the body, bile rising in his throat, then looked away. Ciri was shaking, clinging to her father as tears slid silently down her face. Ken, by contrast, was eerily calm—as though a monster hadn’t just torn through his home.
These people took me in, Noah thought, collecting his dropped knife from the ground. I promised to help protect them.
Before he could second‑guess himself, his feet began to move. A slow shuffle became a determined stride as he crossed the room toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Ken demanded.
Noah stopped. Where am I going? To fight monsters? I’m an engineer, for fuck’s sake—not some fantasy hero.
And yet, he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he stayed behind. More than that, logic asserted itself: these people were his only chance of surviving long enough to find his brother. Whether he liked it or not, they were his lifeline.
He gestured to the blade in his hand. “To help,” he said simply. “I made a deal.”
Ken studied him, then sighed. “I thought these days were behind me.” He slipped an arm around Ciri’s shoulders. “Come on. If we’re doing this, we stick together.”
Ciri hesitated—then looked down at the beheaded creature. She raised her gaze to Noah, something hardening behind her eyes. She brushed off her father’s arm and marched past him.
The street beyond the balcony was chaos.
Fae women fought creatures like the one inside, surrounding them in coordinated groups. Doors lay shattered. Steel rang. Screams echoed. Ciri’s mothers were already engaged some thirty meters away, driving blades into another grotesque form.
For a moment, it seemed their immediate area was clear.
Then Noah saw movement. A pale limb jutted from behind a nearby bush. Knife clenched tight, he sprinted down the stairs, scanning for threats. His heart pounded as he approached—then relief flooded him when he saw no monster standing nearby. The only moving being aside from him was Hruk, barking frantically as it looked at him.
That relief curdled into dread as he recognized the fallen body.
“Bryn…”
A deep gash split her leg. Her breathing was shallow, her skin pale with shock. A trail of blood led back toward her house, as though she’d dragged herself here before collapsing.
“Nobody’s noticed us yet,” Noah muttered, waving urgently at Ciri and Ken. “Hurry. Can you heal her the way you healed me?”
Ciri was already kneeling, flipping through her book. Ken scanned the street as Noah knelt beside Hruk, gently pulling him away from Bryn’s body. A moment later, Ciri tore out a page and pressed her palm to it. The paper disintegrated. A rune rose.
A soft chime rang out as warm light enveloped Bryn. Before Noah’s eyes, torn flesh knit together, the wound vanishing without a trace. Her breathing evened.
“Amazing,” he breathed.
“She will recover,” Ciri said. “But she needs rest.”
“We should get her out of the street,” Ken said.
“Agreed.”
Carefully, Noah rolled Bryn onto her back and hooked his arms beneath her shoulders, hauling her upright. She was heavy—solid with muscle—but adrenaline carried him as he dragged her toward the house. Ken unlocked the basement door, and together they eased her inside.
Bryn stirred as he set her down. Hruk was instantly at her side, whining and licking her face.
Noah scratched the dog’s ears, then quickly removed Bryn’s apron and weapons, setting them aside. He turned to Ciri.
“How many more times can you heal people?”
She flipped through her book, lips moving silently. “Thirteen.”
Noah nodded once. “Then we don’t waste them.”
Ken and Ciri both looked at him.
“There are going to be more injured,” he continued. “We can’t fight those things alone—but we can save lives.”
Ken met his gaze, then nodded.
“Then let’s move,” Noah said, tightening his grip on the knife. “These people aren’t going to save themselves.”