Race towards the Square

When Celestia and Sylvanie reached the docks, they stopped at the entrance, ready to help Gretta and the townspeople. But the scene before them was strangely ordinary. No knights. No Order. Nothing out of place.

“Celestia...” Sylvanie looked around, her head turning sharply as unease settled in. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t that oversized oaf say the Order was here?”

Celestia scanned the docks with care. Fishermen repaired their nets, merchants argued over crates, and children darted between stacked barrels, their laughter blending with the crowd. Everything was... peaceful.

“He did,” Celestia said softly, her fingers curling at her side as she scanned the docks. “But nothing seems out of place. Everything looks just as it did the day before.”

“So, where’s the screaming? The chaos? Nothing’s blown to bits, and everything is still standing.” Sylvanie pointed toward the humans shopping at the stalls. “Either they’re pretending nothing is wrong, or I’m missing something.” She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing at the ordinary scene. “I don’t like this, Celestia.”

“I agree.” Celestia kept her eyes forward. “This hardly matches what that man told us. He even said that woman...Gretta was holding off the Order.” She placed a finger on her chin. “But instead, we find—”

“HEY! OVER HERE!” Gretta’s voice rang out. The sisters quickly lifted their heads and spotted her waving from her stall.

The sisters shared a wary glance before approaching the stall. Gretta stood there wiping her hands on a cloth, looking as though nothing unusual had happened.

“Didn’t expect to see you two back so soon!” Gretta called, flashing a warm smile. “I figured you’d be keeping away from the crowd.” A rough chuckle slipped out before she noticed someone was missing. “Where’s the boy? Did he get himself into trouble again?” she asked, unaware of what had happened.

The sisters exchanged another glance before Sylvanie turned to Gretta. “Fishing woman!” she snapped, slamming her hands on the counter. “That fat oaf said you were fighting the Order. What’s going on?”

Gretta blinked, her smile fading into confusion. Her gaze moved from one sister to the other, then dropped to Sylvanie’s hands on the counter. “Fighting the—” She gave a baffled laugh. “Girl, do I look like I’ve been fighting anyone?” She gestured to herself, the fresh fish on ice, and the nets hanging neatly from their hooks. “Everyone’s been busy since morning, setting up for the afternoon rush.” She crossed her arms at the dark elf.

Celestia’s eyes narrowed with concern. “Ms. Gretta, forgive us, but Grog burst into the tavern today in a panic. He said the Order was in town and that you were holding them off here at the docks.”

Gretta’s expression tightened. “Grog said... what?” Her face turned serious. “He came to you and said I was fighting the Order? Here, at the docks?”

“That’s what I just said, fishing woman,” Sylvanie replied impatiently. “He barged in, sweating like a damn ogre, screaming that the Order was attacking and you were holding them off. So where are they? What the hell is going on?”

Gretta’s expression darkened. The warmth in her eyes vanished as she set the cloth down and leaned over the counter, her voice dropping low. “Girls, listen to me. I don’t know what’s going on, but I haven’t seen Grog all day. Not once. And the Order hasn’t come anywhere near these docks.” Her eyes moved between the sisters. “If he came to you with that story...”

She didn’t finish that sentence. She didn’t need to.

Realization flashed in Sylvanie’s eyes as she clenched her teeth. “That lying sack of—”

“It was a trap.” Celestia’s voice came out sharp as her eyes widened, the pieces falling into place. “He separated us from Oreon on purpose.”

“The boy...” Gretta’s face paled. “Where is he now?”

“He went to check on that old man tailor who stitches clothes,” Sylvanie responded. “That fat lummox barged into the tavern saying that he was attacked—”

“ — So Oreon went to check on Mr. Silas. Grog said that you were here doing what you could against the Order and then volunteered to help Oreon.” Celestia finished the explanation.

Gretta gritted her teeth and gripped the counter’s edge. “That bastard,” she hissed. The woman who had been all smiles moments ago now looked ready to tear someone apart with her bare hands. “Grog’s been plenty of things—a drunk, a fool, a damn coward—but I never thought he’d sell someone out.” She slammed her fist onto the wooden counter, making the fish on ice jump. Nearby merchants glanced over, startled, then quickly looked away. “And Silas... if they got to him too—”

Sylvanie, having heard enough, pushed herself away from the counter. “Screw this, I’m going to go find that idiot human.”

“Sylvanie, wait.” Before Sylvanie could take more than two steps, Celestia caught her arm.

“Wait?!” Sylvanie yanked her arm, but Celestia’s grip held firm. “What the hell are we waiting for?! The Order is here, and that stupid, fat coward is with that idiot human. We can’t afford to wait!”

“Sylvanie, I know,” Celestia replied, her voice rising slightly. “But think for a second, Sylvanie. They separated us deliberately. Split us apart for a reason. We can’t just rush and not expect something waiting for us as well.”

The dark elf gave an irritated grunt but stopped pulling. Her jaw clenched as Celestia’s words sank in, even as every instinct screamed at her to run.

“If we rush in blindly, we may walk straight into their trap,” Celestia continued. “If Grog misled us, then he probably wasn’t acting alone. We’re going, but we need to be careful.” She released her sister’s wrist. “Right now, all we know is that the Order may be here. If they are, we don’t know who we’re facing.”

Sylvanie stared at her sister for a moment, thoughts turning behind her eyes before she forced out a sharp breath and calmed herself. “Fine,” she spat, the word sounding like it hurt to say. “We’ll do this smart.” She crossed her arms and looked away. “But the second I see that fat bastard, I’m cursing him so badly his grandchildren will be ugly... assuming he needs any help with that.”

Despite the danger, Gretta gave a short, rough laugh at Sylvanie’s remark before her face quickly sobered. She reached beneath the counter and drew out a weathered hatchet. It was no fish-gutting tool. The blade was nicked and worn, but still sharp enough to hurt someone.

“I’m coming with you, Gretta said flatly, leaving no room for argument.

Sylvanie placed her arms on her hips as she sized up Gretta and her weapon. “You stay here.” She spoke flatly. “No offense, fishing woman, but if the Order is here, then they’re going to be supped up with their blessed weapons; that hatchet of yours won’t mean a thing out there, and it’s only going to get you killed.”

“Sylvanie’s right.” Celestia turned to Gretta. “We do appreciate the offer, but you should leave the fighting to us; however...” Celestia paused, her eyes meeting Gretta’s. “There is something you can do that would help us greatly.”

Gretta tightened her grip on the hatchet. She clearly hated being told to stay behind, but she wasn’t foolish. She knew what blessed weapons could do, and she knew what the Order left behind.

“Alright, what do you need?” Gretta inquired reluctantly, placing the hatchet on the counter with a loud thud.

“If the Order truly is here, then everyone at these docks is in danger, whether they realize it or not,” Celestia said. “You know this town, Gretta. You know these people, and they trust you.” She gestured toward the busy marketplace—the fishermen, the merchants, and the children laughing beside their mothers, unaware of the storm gathering around them. “Get them somewhere safe. Quietly. Don’t start a panic, but get them moving. If things go wrong—”

“—When things go wrong.” Sylvanie corrected bluntly.

Celestia shot her sister a brief look, then continued. “If things escalate, the Order won’t care about collateral damage. In fact, they’ll probably guise it as another reason to purify another town. These people need to be out of harm’s way.”

Gretta stared at Celestia for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then, slowly, she nodded. Her eyes still showed frustration, but determination started to grow.

“I can do that,” Gretta said firmly. She pulled off her apron and tossed it beside the hatchet. Beneath it, she wore a sturdy leather vest, worn from years of hard labor. “There are cellars beneath the old warehouse at the far end of the docks. Thick stone walls, only two entrances. If I move people without drawing too much attention, I can hide most of them there within the hour.”

“You’ll have less than that,” Sylvanie said, scanning the crowd. “If the Order is already here, then they’re not going to wait around for us to get organized.”

Gretta gritted her teeth. “Then I’ll work fast.” She turned to leave, but stopped after a few steps and looked back. Her gaze found Celestia first, then Sylvanie. “Bring that boy back alive, you hear me?” Her voice softened, almost pleading. Both sisters nodded. Gretta exhaled and pointed behind her stall. “Take the back trail. It’ll lead you straight to the square without using the main road. From there, it’s a straight shot to Silas’s shop and Meara’s tavern.”

Gretta didn’t wait for an answer. She turned and strode toward the nearest fishermen, already speaking in low, urgent tones. Within seconds, their casual ease shifted into quiet action—subtle nods, glances, nets set aside without fuss. Gretta knew how to move people without causing a scene.

Celestia watched her for just a moment longer before turning to Sylvanie. “Let’s go.”

The sisters slipped behind Gretta’s stall and found the narrow trail she had mentioned—a dirt path squeezed between wooden fences and the backs of storage sheds. It was just wide enough for them to move quickly, and they wasted no time racing toward the town square.

--Back to Oreon—

“Gah!” One of Grog’s men screamed as Oreon had kicked him, sending his body crashing through a pile of crates.

“Hey!” another fighter shouted, swinging his worn sword at Oreon’s daggers. Oreon parried with ease, then drove his shoulder into the man and sent him tumbling beside the first fighter he had already put down.

Oreon’s breathing stayed even, his movements effortless as he faced Grog’s remaining men. “Grog, this is stupid.” The last three rushed him at once. Oreon slipped past the first man’s downward strike, caught his arm, and hurled him into the second, knocking them both down. When the third tried to stab him from behind, Oreon only glanced back, sidestepped, and tripped him face-first into the dirt. “See what I mean?”

Grog stood at the edge of the square, his huge frame trembling from either fear or anticipation. Sweat ran down his flushed face and soaked into his stained tunic. His eyes darted from his fallen men to Oreon, who stood at the center of the chaos barely winded, daggers loose at his sides as if he had done nothing harder than swat flies.

“G-get up. Get up, you useless sacks of shit!” Grog bellowed at his men, his voice cracking a bit as he pointed at Oreon. “There’s one of him! ONE!”

The man Oreon had tripped groaned into the dirt, spitting gravel from his mouth. He made no move to rise. One of the two men who had crashed into each other clutched his ribs, wheezing, while the fighter thrown through the crates lay still—either unconscious or unwilling to stand again.

“Grr—You’re all useless! Why can’t any of you do anything right! You’re absolutely us—”

“A pathetic waste of time.” The corrupted dark elf cut in, shaking her head with her arms still crossed. “Garbage will always be garbage.” She gave Oreon a small smile, which he met with a scowl. “When the fat one assured us he could handle this part, I had my doubts.” Her gaze slid to Grog, full of contempt. “Still, I thought even a pack of mongrel dogs could bring down one deer if there were enough of them.” A soft, mocking laugh left her lips. “I was wrong. It seems I overestimated the dogs.”

“Sh—shut your mouth!” Grog snapped, then instantly regretted it. The moment the elf’s eyes cut to him, he stumbled back, his anger crumbling into helpless fear. “Y-you said you’d handle the hard part. You said all I had to do was—”

“Separate them. Yes.” The elf shifted her gaze back to Oreon while still addressing Grog, as if looking at him too long would imply they were equals. “And you barely managed even that. Still, it was the only useful thing you did today, though your little act was so clumsy I’m amazed those two elven girls didn’t see through it.” Then she looked at him again, a wide smile revealing the edge of her sharp teeth. “Vermin like you were only ever a means to an end. So, when I raze this town, you’ll burn with it.” An eerie laugh slipped from her lips as Grog and his men stared at her in fear. “The Order doesn’t forgive those who help harbor fugitives.”

Grog’s face drained from red to white in an instant. His jowls quivered as the threat sank in, and his small eyes darted around like a frightened animal searching for an escape that wasn’t there.

“W-what?! That wasn’t—that wasn’t the deal!” Grog sputtered, stumbling backward. His massive frame knocked into a barrel behind him, nearly toppling him over. “You said—You promised me coin! A safe way out of here! You said if I gave you the boy and the elves, I’d be—”

“I said whatever I needed to make you useful,” the dark elf replied, her smile never fading. “Congratulations. You were useful. Briefly.” She flicked her hand in dismissal. “Now you’re not.” In the blink of an eye, she vanished and reappeared above Grog, her nails stretching into sharp claws as her hand came down toward his face. “Which means it’s time for you to die...” she said with a wicked grin.

Grog could only stare upward in horror as the corrupted dark elf swooped toward him, her clawed hand ready to tear him apart. “No—no—NO! Somebody, please! AAAHHH!” he shrieked, crossing his arms over his face as doom came down on him.

“CLANG!”

The sound of flesh tearing never came. Instead, one of Oreon’s daggers caught the dark elf’s clawed hand, stopping it cold. He stood between her and Grog, his other dagger aimed at her throat. This time, his expression was far colder than it had been with Grog—calm, sharp, and fixed entirely on the enemy before him.

As Oreon intervened, Grog collapsed and scrambled backward like a frightened crab, too shaken to speak as he stared in silence.

The dark elf stared, briefly surprised by the interruption, but her smile only widened. “Oh?” she purred, her claws still pressed against the flat of Oreon’s dagger. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned closer, letting the blade hover inches from her throat as if daring him to push. “You’re protecting him? The man who sold you out?” Her voice turned teasing, touched with fascination. “The man who led you here and would have handed you to the Order without a second thought?”

Oreon continued to glare at her. He didn’t answer.

“How fascinating,” she whispered, tilting her head as she studied him. “You know what he did. You know he’s a spineless coward. And yet here you are, shielding him with those little blades of yours.” A breathy laugh slipped from her lips. “Tell me, boy. Is this what humans call a hero complex? Throwing yourself into danger for others without a thought for your own life?”

“Back. Off.” Oreon’s voice stayed low, barely above a growl. His stance held firm, both daggers steady despite the tension coiling through every muscle.

With a dark giggle, the dark elf pushed away from Oreon’s dagger and flipped back, landing a few feet away from him. “Oh, I do like you,” she said, placing a clawed hand over her chest. “Most humans would have let the fat one die and run to save themselves. But not you.” She began to circle Oreon, ignoring Grog and his men completely. “You’re different, aren’t you? I can see it.” Her eyes locked onto his. “That stare...” She giggled again. “There’s something in those eyes of yours. Something that doesn’t belong in a creature with such a short lifespan. What a waste; you would have been great for the Order.”

Oreon turned with her, keeping himself between the dark elf and Grog. Behind him, Grog gasped for breath, his massive chest heaving as tears ran down his cheeks.

“From now on, it’s just you and me.” Oreon leveled his dagger at her. “And you’re going to tell me what you did to Silas.” His teeth clenched as his brown eyes narrowed at her.