Chapter 2

Lina’s voice resounded, drawing everyone’s attention. Her jet-black hair contrasted with the pale armor of the soldiers. Her expression was steel. Her eyes, sharp.  
“Who are you?” barked the scarred soldier.  
Before Lina could answer, a hand rested on her shoulder. It was the Father of the church.  
“My child, do not commit madness.”  
Lina closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The sunlight reflected in her pupils.  
“I have no other choice, Father.”  
She turned to the soldiers with terrifying calm.  
“My name is Lina Darwing. James is my son. And I am solely responsible for the disruption.”  
The soldiers’ pale faces twisted into demonic smiles.  
“Interesting. Things are much easier now.”  
“Although…” Lina broke the silence again, her voice firm. “I am your target now. Not the boy.”  
“So, you intend to take the blame to save your brat. Boring, but if you insist…” said the second soldier.  
“That’s right. I am your target.”  
“It’s boring, but we have a mission to fulfill.”  
Both soldiers unsheathed their swords. The cold steel gleamed, reflecting the terror in the villagers’ eyes.  
The Father intervened, his legs trembling before the dark aura of the beings. “Wait a moment, what do you intend to do?”  
“Our mission is to eliminate the one who disturbs the peace of this stupid village. That person does not deserve to live.”  
“You mean you will kill Lina?” the Father exclaimed in confusion.  
“At last you understand, old man.”  
Lina nodded, staring directly at the blades. Fear was absent from her eyes; instead, there was deep sorrow.  
The Father tried to grab her arm.  
“Lina, don’t do it, think of your son!”  
“Old man, you’d better stay silent, unless you want to die too.”  
Lina turned to the crowd of villagers.  
“I am sorry for everything. Sorry for the trouble. Thank you for being my neighbors. Thank you.”  
She did not look back.  
Tears ran down her cheek just as the soldiers moved.  
Like a single block of steel, the soldiers advanced. The swords pierced her abdomen. Blood spilled from her mouth in a whisper, and Lina fell.  
“Mother!”  
James ran down the street. He heard the Father’s pleading voice. Just as he turned the corner, he saw the swords. He saw the flash, then the red. The scream caught in his throat. He arrived at that instant. Too late.  
He had arrived too late. Far too late.  
He collapsed beside his mother’s body, shaking her.  
“Wait, Mom! Don’t leave me!” he cried, begging her to hold on.  
Lina could barely speak, but her lips moved one last time.  
“I love you so much, my son.”  
Her eyes closed. Forever.  
“No, Mom… please, don’t leave me. Why…? Mom!”  
With his face drenched in tears and his body trembling uncontrollably, he clung to her. The blood on the ground was proof that his innocence was shattered.  
The soldiers looked at him with disdain. One was about to sheath his sword, but his companion stopped him.  
“We have not yet completed the mission.”  
“That’s true,” replied the other. “Though we killed the one responsible for the disruption, James, the instigator of blasphemy, must die. It is the King’s law: total annihilation.”  
The Father and the tavern keeper realized the danger.  
“Look, Father, it seems they want to do something more.”  
“You’re right. I have a bad feeling.”  
James, clinging to Lina’s body, felt a chill. He heard a sharp noise approaching slowly. It was no imagination. The soldiers were upon him, swords raised.  
Just as the blades were about to pierce the boy, a blinding flash erupted into the scene.  
A hooded figure, hidden among the terrified crowd, leapt forward. He precisely blocked both soldiers’ strikes.  
The soldiers recoiled, stunned.  
“Who the hell are you?” shouted the first, his voice full of fury.  
The stranger ignored the question. He stood between James and the killers, his hidden eyes glowing with cold determination.  
“This child is not your target. Your mission here is over.”  
The soldiers, enraged, attacked. The stranger was incredibly fast. With every movement, he conjured something.  
“It can’t be! He’s a sorcerer,” said the second soldier.  
“Let’s kill him!”  
The battle was a chaotic dance: steel against magic. The sorcerer, aware of James’s pain, fought to protect him. He dodged blows with agility, his hands weaving patterns of light and energy in the air.  
With a swift motion, Galen conjured a Cyclonic Whirlwind. The air, charged with brilliant blue energy, lifted the soldiers and hurled them against the wall with the force of a battering ram.  
“Damn it! Where did this guy come from?”  
“Your cruelty will not go unpunished,” the hooded man’s voice thundered. “This land is weary of your tyranny.”  
“Get out of our way, vermin!”  
The sorcerer seized the moment. A shield of light expanded in a shockwave, throwing them back again. Before they could recover, a net of brilliant blue energy surged from the ground, immobilizing them. Their armor creaked under the pressure.  
“This is not over! The King will know! You’re dead!”  
The sorcerer approached, his face still hidden.  
“Your King is a puppet. And his time is ending.”  
“You’ll regret those words.”  
With that final threat, the net dissolved, and the soldiers vanished in a burst.  
The villagers rejoiced. The danger had ceased.  
But the Father noticed that the hooded man and James were gone too.  
James awoke with a start, his heart pounding. He had fainted. Had it all been a nightmare? He remembered only fragments: the fight, the stranger, the swords…  
Still trembling, he stood, confused.  
“Where am I?”  
It was not Asmalia. He was in a forest clearing, surrounded by tall trees. He was lost. He had to return home.  
Then the memory struck him like lightning. His mother was dead.  
It was no dream. It had happened.  
Cries of rage and pain caught in his throat. He was filled with murderous fury. He was about to smash his fist against a nearby tree trunk.  
“You’d better calm down, boy.”  
A hand grabbed him firmly and pushed him back. It was the hooded man. The one who had saved him.  
James took a deep breath, obeying. At that moment, he saw it: the sorcerer carried his mother’s body in his arms. It was all real.  
“Your mother sacrificed herself for your future, not for you to waste it on a tree trunk. Do you think she would have wanted this mourning?” The sorcerer’s tone was severe.  
James turned his gaze away, ashamed. He could not stop thinking he had failed, that he had let his mother die.  
“Pain is an anchor, James. But rage… rage can be the tool that drives you.”  
As James recalled Lina’s advice and his own mistakes, the sorcerer helped him. James asked to be the one to bury her. He placed the body in the hollow of the earth.  
“Farewell, Mother.”  
He bid her goodbye with bitter tears.  
“I’m sorry, boy,” lamented the sorcerer. “If only I had arrived sooner…”  
James nodded, calmer.  
“There have already been too many deaths because of the Zarion.”  
James turned at the sound of that word.  
“Tell me, what are these Zarion, and why do the King’s soldiers attack us in their name?”  
The sorcerer sighed, clearing his throat. He knew this question would come.  
“The Zarion are not human. They are beasts dragged from hell itself. A despicable race that kills without soul or compassion to achieve its goal. Murder machines.”  
James nodded, his face hardened. The pain was still there, but now mixed with a cold, newborn rage.  
The hooded man sighed. He removed his hood, revealing a weathered face and piercing, though weary, eyes. His hair was prematurely gray.  
“My name is Galen. And that is the question that leads us to the heart of what is wrong in this kingdom. The King… or whoever sits on that throne now, is wielding a power he does not understand, and it is destroying Wisteria.”  
Galen pointed to the remains of the firewood and the ground.  
“The fact that the royal mission was to kill you for a mere ‘joke’ is proof enough that things have changed. You are a witness, James. And now that you know of the Zarion, you are a target. You are not safe here.”  
James looked at his mother’s improvised grave. Rage burned.  
“I will not run. I want to know why they killed her. I want to find those… those soldiers.”  
“And you will,” said Galen, nodding gravely. “But not today. Not here.”  
Galen turned, observing an old oak. He raised his hand, and the brilliant blue energy he had used against the soldiers grew in his palm, forming a complex pattern of