Chapter 8 : Presence With No Face

This was not how today was supposed to go.

Today was meant to be simple. A promising beginning. Serena was to meet her appointed supervisor, receive her assignment, and take the first true step toward her dream—joining the Adventurine ranks, just like she always envisioned.

Instead?

She'd been ambushed by half-orcs. Forced to flee with a strange, silver-haired man with distractingly pretty eyes. Crossed paths with an old guy capable of summoning horrors from the abyss. Spent an entire afternoon running for her life. Met a terrifying blonde woman who swung an anvil like it was a loaf of bread. And now—now she was cornered in some run-down blacksmith's shop on the poor side of town, surrounded by snarling Horn Raiders with murder in their eyes.

What sin had she committed in a past life to deserve this chaos? Surely the Celestials above held a grudge.

Her thoughts were shattered by the sound of a howl—one of the half-orcs let out a guttural scream as Elliot drove a brutal knee into his gut, followed by a spinning heel that sent him crashing into a rack of tools.

“Serena!!” Elliot barked, his voice strained and furious as he turned to fend off two more attackers. “Don’t just stand there—cast something!”

The urgency in his voice slapped her back to reality.

“R-right!” Serena stammered, fumbling for her staff as panic loosened its grip.

She inhaled, pushing away the whirlwind in her chest, and found her footing. Her fingers tightened around the familiar grooves of her staff. Sparks of magic began to gather in the air, dancing like starlight at her fingertips.

The familiar ring of blue light shimmered into being beneath Serena’s feet, spinning slowly at first, then faster as she lifted her staff. Three caelus cores rose in formation on the ring, pulsating with growing intensity as her voice rang clear and resolute.

“The moon light shines through the veil of darkness, bathing the realm in her grace… unbent and pure…”

The ring brightened with a soft, celestial hum, and from its heart, a crystalline formation emerged—a sapphire, hovering just above the ground. Its facets glinted like stars in a midnight sky, pulsing in time with her breath.

“By the crystallized light…” she continued, raising her staff as the sapphire trembled, cracks spidering across its radiant surface. “I invoke the dazzling gleam—”

She swung her staff in a sharp arc, the sapphire flaring with one final pulse.

“Metrion Helenia!”

With a sharp crack, the gem shattered into a thousand shards, each one blazing with magical energy. Like a sudden flurry of stardust, the fragments shot outward in all directions. They rained down upon the half-orc horde like a meteor storm—each shard detonating on impact with a burst of blue-white animus, sending concussive ripples through the air.

“Oh my Celestials… the spell work, it didn’t blow up right in front of my face…” a moment of self praise for Serena.

Several raiders stumbled back, shouting in surprise. Shields went up too late. Some were blown off their feet, others hit square in the chest and thrown against the walls. The spell wasn’t lethal—Serena hopes it could be more destructive tho—but it was dazzling, blinding, and overwhelming. Just enough.

Just enough to open a path.

“Serena!” Elliot called, thrusting out his hand toward her through the chaos.

She didn’t need an explanation. Without hesitation, she grasped his hand—her fingers slipping into his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

They were about to flee the scene, but then again, fate has other plan for them.

Just as Elliot braced to leap into the air, a violent snap rang out.

“Chh—!” he hissed through clenched teeth as a searing pain shot through his leg. He glanced down—his foot was caught in a crude but vicious iron bear trap, its jaws clamped tight around his boot. A rattling chain pulled taut, then yanked him off balance. He hit the floor hard and was dragged sideways across the broken floorboards.

“Elliot!!” Serena shrieked in terror, turning as he was pulled through a haze of blue spelllight and shattered wood.

Out of the shadows, she emerged—Maggie. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice, low and bitter, cut through the air like a blade.

“None of you are leaving this place,” she growled, “not until someone pays for the damage done to my shop.”

Her grip tightened around the chain, anchoring Elliot in place.

“Let him go!” Serena shouted, raising her staff defensively, its core glowing with flickering animus. “He saved your life!”

“Request denied,” Maggie snapped, her voice calm but deadly. “That wall you broke was bad enough. But that pretty spell of yours? It just tore my entire storefront to ribbons.”

Serena took a glance around—and her stomach dropped. Maggie wasn’t exaggerating. The forge was in ruins. Smashed tools, cracked shelves, a furnace now glowing through a hole in the back wall. Shards of sapphire light still floated like embers from the aftershock of her spell.

“I told you—we’ll pay for the damages!”

“The wall? Maybe,” Maggie said, eyes narrowing. “But my entire shop? My livelihood? Everything in it? Yeah… you two definitely look like folks rolling in coin.”

Serena opened her mouth to respond—but a cold voice whispered from behind Maggie.

“…Please forgive me.”

Maggie barely had time to process it. In a blink, Elliot was behind her. Not limping. Not bound. Just there, silent and swift as a shadow. She hadn’t seen the trap spring open, nor heard his footsteps cross the floor.

Before she could turn fully, a sharp but measured blow landed at the base of her neck. Her eyes widened, then rolled back.

Maggie crumpled to the floor, unconscious before her body even touched the ground.

Without missing a beat, Elliot grabbed Serena’s hand and yanked her away from the wreckage, dragging her through the chaos with swift, decisive strides. Half-orcs stirred around them—some dazed, others regaining strength. Elliot moved like a phantom, weaving between them, shoulder-checking one, elbowing another, never once slowing his pace.

Serena, still breathless from the spell and overwhelmed by everything around her, stumbled behind him. She could barely keep up.

“How is this guy even doing this?” she muttered under her breath, eyes flicking down to his bloodied leg. The bear trap had torn deep, and yet he moved as though it were nothing but a scratch. The wound was seeping, and each step left a faint red print on the broken street. “That’s not normal.”

They burst from the ruined smithy and into the moonlit alley, only to find more trouble waiting for them.

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“There they are!” one of the half-orcs roared from the other side of the street.

Dozens more surged into view, weapons raised.

“Get them!”

Without hesitation, Elliot threw his arms around Serena—and yes, of course she blushed—and leapt into the air. His cloak flared like wings as he vaulted upward, landing on a slanted wooden roof with a hollow thud.

But there was no time to breathe. No time to think.

A whistling sound sliced through the air.

Serena’s eyes darted upward.

“Gryphons…”

Seven of them.

Above the rooftops, circling like vultures, half-orc riders loosed arrow after arrow from their saddles. The sky itself rained death. Elliot moved again, dodging left, then right—his footfalls as light as feathers on the rooftop beams. But carrying Serena made it harder, slower. His movements began to falter. The pain in his leg was catching up. His breathing grew uneven.

And then it happened.

An arrow struck.

Straight through the shoulder.

“Ghhk—!” Elliot grunted, the impact twisting his body mid-leap. His balance faltered. His grip on Serena tightened instinctively, shielding her with his own body as they plummeted.

They crashed hard against the rooftop and tumbled through rotten shingles, landing in a heap on the alley floor below.

“Elliot!?” Serena cried out, untangling herself and kneeling beside him. “Elliot, talk to me!”

He didn’t answer—only gritted his teeth and groaned, his breathing ragged, his body trembling from shock. The arrow was still lodged in his shoulder, blood soaking through the silver trim of his cloak.

“Damn it, no—no, no, no!”

Serena reached for her staff, quickly placing its head near the wound.

“Aether, gleam and glow… for thee, the fate be changed… save what has been lost, as the healing prayer is sang…”

A chant ring appeared, glowing blue—and then, it sparked. Not in a good way, and she knew it.

“Wha—?”

The circle flickered, sputtered, and shattered into shards of failed spelllight.

“Agh!!” she flinched as the backlash stung her palm.

“No—are you kidding me? Now?! Now you won’t work?!” she shouted, her voice cracking in frustration. Once again, her animus flow has betrayed her, in the moment she needed it the most.

All around them, the sound of boots striking stone and wings beating the air grew louder—closer. The half-orcs were closing in, relentless, organized, and enraged. Squads flanked them from both sides of the alley, while above, the seven gryphon riders wheeled like shadows across the moon. Whoever had sent this hunt wasn’t taking chances—they’d brought everything.

Serena’s chest heaved as she glanced from the advancing half-orcs to Elliot, still on one knee, blood soaking through his shoulder and trailing down his side. Her animus was already faltering, her pulse thundering in her ears, and yet—

She refused to back down.

Planting her feet, she rose to stand in front of Elliot, wobbling slightly as she lifted her chin. Her hand trembled, her heart pounded, but her eyes… her eyes still held fire.

“Stay back!” she shouted, forcing as much steel into her voice as she could muster. “Don’t make me burn all of you to ash!”

The threat rang hollow, and she knew it—but it was all she had left. Her voice quivered at the end, but her stance didn’t falter.

“I mean it!” she snapped, raising her staff. “I’ll blow you all to—”

Thwip!!

The arrow struck before she could finish.

“Agh!!”

It sliced through her wrist with a flash of white-hot pain, knocking the staff from her grip. She dropped to her knees with a cry, clutching her wounded arm. Her staff skidded across the ground, just inches from her reach.

“Come on…” she gasped, crawling toward it, stretching her fingers desperately.

But then—it moved.

The staff lifted gently off the ground, hovered in the air for a heartbeat, and drifted away from her.

“No—no, no, no!” she hissed, reaching out in vain.

It floated into the waiting hand of a slender half-orc man standing at the edge of the fray. He looked barely older than her, with round spectacles perched on his nose and neatly combed brown hair that shimmered faintly under the moonlight. His expression was unreadable—quiet, almost disappointed.

Two boulder frogs blinked into visibility at either end of the staff, shimmering as the mimicry ability wore off. They croaked lowly, satisfied, returning to their master’s side.

The young half-orc looked down at Serena, his voice low and colorless, like rain falling over stone.

“You shouldn’t have killed Tom-Tom,” he said softly.

“Huh?” Serena blinked, her confusion plain.

The half-orc raised an eyebrow, visibly offended. “Oh, come on now—Tom-Tom? My boulder frog familiar? Hello?”

“You’re the one who sent that thing to spy on us?” Serena asked, still clutching her injured wrist.

Corrin adjusted his round glasses with an exasperated sigh. “Yes, yes, that was me. I’m a tamer, obviously. My name is Corrin. These two—” he gestured to the squat, stone-skinned frogs that now croaked contentedly at his feet, “—are Jammy and Yam-Yam. And they—wait—why am I even explaining this to you?”

He quickly shook his head, refocusing. “Alright, whatever. Let’s just rope these two up and call it a day.” He waved Serena’s staff lazily through the air, wielding it like some cheap baton.

At his signal, the half-orc raiders began closing in, circling like wolves. There was nowhere left to run. The alley’s mouth behind them was blocked, and the skies above teemed with gryphons.

Serena clenched her jaw and forced herself upright. Her body screamed in protest, her wrist throbbed, and her animus was flickering like a dying flame. But she didn’t care.

She stepped in front of Elliot—arms spread wide, injured and staffless, bleeding and exhausted. Her legs wobbled beneath her, but she held her ground like a fortress.

She wasn’t going to let them have him.

Not after everything he’d done for her.

He didn’t owe her anything. She was a stranger—just some academy hopeful with too much pride and not enough skill. And yet, he’d shielded her, fought for her, carried her through every disaster today had thrown at them. For nothing more than a few slices of oukan pie.

She wasn’t about to let that kind of loyalty be paid back in chains.

“If you want him,” Serena growled through clenched teeth, “you’ll have to go through me.”

The half-orcs slowed, murmuring uncertainly as the wounded girl stood tall before them, like a spark defying the storm. Even Corrin paused, blinking behind his glasses.

She was defenseless. But she refused to kneel.

On the other side of the standoff, Corrin allowed himself a faint smile and a long, quiet breath of relief. His mission was nearly complete. With the aid of his little spies and the squad under his command, the target was cornered—wounded, exhausted, staffless. The net was closing.

This would please the master. Perhaps enough to overlook Corrin’s previous blunders. Perhaps enough to restore his standing.

But then… the smile died on his lips.

It struck like a tidal wave.

A pulse.

Dark, suffocating, and sharp as a blade drawn in shadow.

The instant one of the half-orcs reached for Serena—his grimy fingers mere inches from her—something unseen lashed out into the air. It wasn’t magic, at least not the kind Corrin understood. It was something older… heavier. The very air itself seemed to warp, turning dense with malevolence. The hairs on Corrin’s neck stood on end. His breath caught in his throat.

And then he saw it.

Just for a moment—a blink, a breath—a veil lifted. A presence flickered into existence, draped in shadow and murder. An aura, black and coiling, wrapped itself around Serena like a silent, invisible guardian. It did not roar. It did not move.

It watched.

Corrin’s heart slammed against his ribs. His legs buckled just slightly, a step taken back without conscious thought. His instincts—the deep, primal ones every creature is born with—were screaming now. Run.

The worst part? It wasn't just him.

Around him, the half-orcs froze. Hands halted mid-reach. Weapons hung limp at their sides. The gryphons circling above let out uneasy cries, veering wider in the sky.

No one moved.

They all felt it.

A terrible silence, soaked with killing intent, pressed on them like the weight of the ocean.

While the crowd stood frozen—paralyzed by the crushing weight of the unseen force—salvation descended in fire and fury.

From the heavens above, a blazing carriage, engulfed in roaring flame, plummeted like a falling star. It struck one of the circling gryphons mid-air, sending the beast and its rider into a spiral of smoke and screaming metal. The carriage crashed into the far end of the alley where a cluster of horned raiders had begun to regroup—its impact an explosion of fire, splinters, and blood.

Cries of pain filled the night. Smoke rose. Chaos returned.

Corrin stumbled back, blinking wildly as the shock settled in. “Wh—What the hell was that!?” he snapped, spinning toward one of his familiars. “Yam-yam! Where did that thing come from!?”

The boulder frog croaked but offered no answer.

Then Corrin turned. And he saw it.

“…Oh no.”

The words barely left his lips—more breath than voice. His eyes went glassy, all the color draining from his already pale face. His shoulders slumped, dread sinking deep into his bones. “Why… why is he here?”

Far down the cobbled road, framed by the burning wreckage and rising smoke, stood a man in crimson. A long coat, tattered at the edges and dancing with heat. His spiked blond hair glinted beneath the torchlight, and though the distance was great, Corrin swore he could feel the man grinning—wide and unhinged.

One hand was raised, holding another carriage like it weighed nothing at all. Flames curled around it eagerly, as if they, too, craved destruction.

“Damn,” the man muttered to himself with a click of his tongue. “Looks like my aim’s not what it used to be.”

Behind him, a bespectacled figure—Gerald—lifted a cautious finger. “Um… are you sure you’re not overdoing it?” he asked gently, flinching as he glanced at the flaming vehicle still suspended in the air. “Throwing burning carriages at people feels… I don’t know. A bit extreme?”

Roderick turned to him with a grin so sharp it could cut steel.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that to these bastards.”

Gerald let out a dry, nervous chuckle. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, a small, rational voice whispered what he’d known from the start.

This man is absolutely insane.

Roderick turned his gaze back toward the raiders. His fingers curled into a fist, and the flames on the second carriage flared brighter—hungry.

He was just getting started.