Blood on Stone, Light in Dust

Barkel did not rise. His body twitched once, then fell silent, too injured and spent to move. The red glow bled away from him like smoke leaving a dying fire.

Hanel staggered, his knees buckling even though his injuries were healed. He caught himself on trembling hands, sweat dripping into the dust. The golden lattice of his wards had shattered long ago, but traces of them still hung in the air, fragments of light, scattering like dust motes in the moonlight, mingled with the fading red traces of Barkel’s casting. His head pounded with each heartbeat, vision swimming. He had burned too deep into himself.

He wanted to rise, to check on the others, on Bilia, on Galir, on Kade. But his arms shook violently when he tried. His own magic still hummed painfully under his skin, like a sore limp.

Then a hand touched his shoulder.

Ayen.

Her lips rose in that familiar mischievous grin, but her green eyes looked worried despite it. Her body trembled with overuse, still bearing the strain of caging Barkel. She had spent herself almost as much as her father had.

And when she looked to the side.

He turned his head, following her gaze.

Doravis sat in the rubble, arms around herself, staring at nothing. Her sobs were small, broken.

Hanel understood the power it took her to change sides. To do what was right. It didn’t give her answers or a clear path though. After all that indoctrination and abuse she no doubt suffered. Now, she couldn't go back to Ralensa and Lunavin wasn’t known for their forgiveness.

Hanel vowed to pay her back for all that it was worth. He didn't have any political sway in the Capital, but he'd try.

The courtyard hung in exhausted silence.

Until the tramp of boots shattered it.

The Red Order spilled into the ruin, crimson-cloaked soldiers fanning out in rigid formation. Their armor gleamed faintly in the moonlight, uniform sigils stamped over chestplates, the mark of authority clear.

At their head strode Velis.

His long black hair tied back. His face looked severe more than usual under the moonlight; cheekbones sharp, jaw set tight. His eyes swept the courtyard with measured calm, noting the ruin, the bleeding Barkel crumpled on the ground, the shaking healer girl hugging herself, the battle after magic hanging like dust in the air.

And then his gaze landed on Hanel.

Hanel’s throat felt scraped raw when he forced the words out.
“There are… two more sorcerers. Inside. Go.”

Velis didn’t waste a breath. His dark eyes cut toward his men, and half the formation split off instantly, boots pounding toward the Badania house. He moved with the ease of command, his presence filling the wrecked courtyard.

A hand lifted, a silent signal, and a silver-coated healer was summoned from the back of the group. The man was Hanel’s age, perhaps older, his Marked coat bearing the polished design of long service. He knelt beside Hanel without a word, providing him with a bottle of pain relief solution. Water-like and tasteless, it wouldn’t restore his strength, but it would see him through the night. Hanel downed it without words..

Pain vanished. Fatigue melted. In less than a heartbeat, Hanel’s lungs opened, his head cleared, but the strain on his body, the bone deep exhaustion persisted, now more than before, with the pain to distract from it.

Ayen withdrew, her own illusion magic guttering out. She lowered her hand, flexing her fingers to work out the tremble. Her eyes, bright but tired, shifted away as the Order’s men hauled Barkel and Doravis upright.

Chains clicked shut. Cold iron cuffs wrapped their wrists, binding his flame and Doravis both. Barkel, half-conscious, spat blood but did not resist. Doravis did not even lift her head. She was pale, small, her cropped hair shadowing her downturned eyes.

Ayen’s voice slipped out:
“She helped us. When she didn’t have to.”

Hanel added, “She is Lunavin’s, both are… they never got a choice and still she decided to do what's right, Velis.”

Velis’s head turned fractionally. He had heard and gave a curt nod.

“She’ll be heard. That much I promise.”

His words didn't say anything one way or another. But Hanel thought he read outrage in his eyes at the implication that someone was forced to fight against their will.

Hanel’s voice carried, somber and certain: “They came for Bilia Badania. And there are other children. In the carriage outside.”

Velis’s brows furrowed. His eyes narrowed slightly, and Hanel could almost see behind his stillness, thoughts moving in a rush. Traffickers had always been cunning, always hidden behind intermediaries, networks, shadows. But they were never this bold. To set an attack here, in Lunavin territory, with stolen sorcerers of this scale…

The political weight of it pressed itself into the air.

Then boots pounded back. A soldier in red snapped to attention, bowing his head before Velis. His words were clipped, urgent:

“Inquisitor. We searched. No signs of children. Nothing inside the carriage.”

The courtyard went still.

Shock rippled outward, Ayen’s eyes widening, Hanel’s breath catching, even the exhausted dust motes of magic seeming to hang heavier in the air.

The children were gone.

****

Galir staggered from the safe room, half-blinded by the smear of blood in his own vision. His side burned, his leg throbbed, his good hand slick against the hilt of the sword he still clutched. The other hand was useless, hanging limp at his side.

Behind him, in the stale, suffocating air of the room, Lantar’s body was cooling. Galir could still feel the echo of crimson madness in the air, clinging to the back of his throat, making his skin crawl with wrongness. He couldn’t stand it a second longer. He needed to be away from that corpse.

Footsteps.

He raised the sword, teeth clenched, breath ragged until the figures in red came into view. Red Tower soldiers, their formation flooding the hallway like a tide.

The tension broke from his shoulders at once. He lowered the blade, though he didn’t stop moving. He didn’t speak. Just pressed forward.

One of them stepped out, a healer, short, with warm purple eyes that seemed too kind for this place. She reached for him without hesitation. Silver light spilled into him, knitting torn flesh, easing pain, uncoiling muscles that had been clenched into iron knots. Galir sucked in a deep breath. The world steadied.

“Is everyone…?” he started.

She nodded quickly. “Your sister is with the Red Tower wardens. Safe. There is only one unresponsive member of the household…”

She didn’t finish. Galir’s heartbeat was already racing ahead of her words.

“Take me,” he demanded.

****

The entrance of the house was a ruin; splintered door, charred stone, a hollow silence still crawling through the walls.

Kade sat in the middle of it, on the cracked floorboards just beyond the threshold. His eyes stared wide into nothing. Blue light swirled around him, rising in a slow, restless current, curling against the walls like fog.

“Kade,” Galir rasped, dropping to his knees beside him. He shook him, once, twice. “Kade. It’s me.”

No response. Just that vacant stare and the restless halo of magic glowing around him.

Across the room, Eurnar sat cuffed between two soldiers, her back against the wall, her body a collection of cuts and bruises. The same tattoo as the dead sorcerer burned against her skin. She looked like a husk, but alive.

Galir’s eyes locked on her. A flash of rage burst like fire in his chest. He couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t fathom what someone like her had done to Kade. Kade, who was brightness. Kade, who didn’t even understand pain and cruelty. Thrown into that… that madness that he had seen himself.

He was moving before he thought. His sword point pressed to her throat. His voice was raw.
“What did you do to him?”

The soldiers shifted, tense, but didn’t move him back.

Eurnar lifted her eyes. They were hollow, like a well with no bottom. Her voice was faint, barely a whisper, but it crawled into the room all the same:
“He was inside my head. Inside my soul. He’s… strange. Unnatural.”

Galir’s grip trembled on the sword. The red soldiers moved then, dragging her to her feet, pulling her away. She went without resistance, still murmuring under her breath.

Galir turned back. Crouched beside Kade once more. Helpless. His fingers hovered over him but had no place to land.

The healer knelt beside him, light already flowing from her palms into Kade’s body. But the glow only skimmed the surface, closing shallow scratches and cooling bruises. Nothing touched the blankness in his eyes. Nothing quieted the storm of blue still circling him.

Then the ruined doorway darkened. Hanel and Ayen stepped in, Velis close behind.

“Galir,” Hanel called, his voice heavy. “Are you alright?”

Galir shook his head without looking up. His hand tightened on Kade’s shoulder.
“Kade isn’t.”

Ayen’s face was pale, drained, her movements subdued as she crossed the room. She dropped beside Kade. Her hand reached carefully for his cheek. “What’s wrong with him?” she whispered.

Velis’s eyes swept the boy, then the restless weave of his magic. His voice cut in, steady, clinical:
“It looks similar to a consent magic reaction. Magic used for the first time, beyond instinct. Flame of Will users experience it. Flame of Grace, too. The first time could be violent, sometimes… freezes them. Flame of Form sorcerers rarely ever experience this. Order is part of them.”

Galir’s head snapped toward him. “Then, what…”

“We don’t know what type of Flame he has,” Hanel said quickly. His gaze stayed on Kade, his voice sounded tired but calm, though Galir heard the strain beneath it. “So we don’t know how to guide him out. Each magic needs its own approach.”

“We can still try,” Ayen said. Her tone was softer than Galir had ever heard, but there was steel under it.

The healer straightened, nodding. “Yes. We’ll use every technique. One of them should reach him.”

Her palms pressed to Kade’s chest, the glow of her light deepening. She began to layer the patterns, threads for clarity, pulses for grounding, warmth to anchor his body to the room, to the present.

Galir stood rigid a step away, every muscle tight, watching. His sword remained in his hand. His whole body taut as though he could cut through the silence by will alone.

****

The healer’s hands faltered at last, the glow of her silver magic guttering like a candle about to die. She pulled back, breath unsteady, her brow lined with strain.

“I can’t reach him,” she whispered. “It’s like he’s… folded in on himself.”

The silence that followed was heavy, taut. Hanel’s jaw worked. Ayen’s hand lingered on Kade’s shoulder, her green eyes full of worry. Galir stood over them, body a taut bowstring, his sword trembling faintly in his grip.

Then Velis’s voice cut through. Calm. Firm.
“If I may.”

All eyes turned to him. Hanel’s dark brows rose, but his face revealed nothing else. Still, he shifted back. Ayen and Galir moved aside reluctantly, making space as Velis stepped forward and knelt in front of the boy.

He did not touch Kade.

Instead, Velis closed his eyes. His breath steadied. And his magic unfurled, bright red, flashing into the air like a brand.

Kade’s swirling blue magic shivered. For the first time since they had found him, it hesitated. Then it bent, pulled, not forced, drawn toward Velis’s glow.

The red light spread in threads to carve a path. A channel opening in the storm.

Hanel’s eyes narrowed, watching every flicker. Ayen leaned forward, whispering, “Father, what is he doing?”

Hanel’s voice was low, taut with focus. “I’ve never seen this before… but it looks like he’s calling Kade through the magic itself.”

The blue magic pulsed, then retreated, slowly, folding back into Kade’s body. His chest rose with a ragged breath. His fingers twitched. His eyes blinked, sluggish at first, then sharper, focusing on the ruined doorway, the figures around him.

Velis opened his eyes, their light cooling back to steel gray, and rose to his feet.

Kade sat upright, confusion etched across his face. He looked at them all as though waking from a dream he couldn’t place.

“Kade?” Ayen was at his side instantly, green eyes searching his. “Are you alright? Can you hear me?”

He turned toward her, and for a heartbeat, Galir thought he saw relief. But then… it was gone.

What remained was emptiness.

Kade’s eyes, usually bright with mischief and warmth, held no laughter. No spark. Just hollow reflection.

He looked at each of them in turn, Galir, Ayen, Hanel, Velis, before his voice emerged, slow and raw.

“I… I don’t know who I am anymore.” His hands clenched weakly in his lap. “Who I thought I was…”

“…was a lie.”

The words hung in the air, cutting deeper than any wound.