"Show us the way,"
the robed man said.
His voice was flat.
Emotionless.
Like a blade already halfway through flesh, not yet bothering to finish the cut.
Sam nodded stiffly.
Turned.
Began to walk.
Every muscle in his body screamed against it.
Each step dragged across the earth like the weight of a noose tightening around his neck.
Danger.
Danger.
Danger.
Every instinct inside him howled.
Too polite.
Too quiet.
Too sharp.
Predators pretending to be men.
***
They reached the mouth of the cave.
Mist clung to the ground, curling around their feet like grasping fingers.
The knights halted — silent sentinels clad in gray steel, thorns and crosses stitched onto their cloaks, their hands resting lazily — too lazily — on the hilts of their blades.
Waiting.
Sam swallowed.
His throat was sandpaper.
"Kyle,"
he rasped.
"Come out."
For a long, terrible second — nothing.
Then — movement.
A shape stumbled out of the shadows.
Kyle.
His clothes were torn, smeared with dirt.
His face — pale, terrified.
His gaze flicked between Sam and the strangers, shrinking inward.
Recognition hit.
The silver-stitched symbols.
Saint Knights.
Kyle inhaled sharply — as if realizing he was already too late.
He dropped to one knee, hand flat against his chest in a gesture of submission.
"S-Saint Knights…"
he stammered.
The two knights exchanged a look.
Wordless.
Measured.
One — tall and bald, with eyes that seemed hollowed out by time — pulled back his hood.
The sight of him sent a jolt of dread through Sam's spine.
This was not a man who forgave.
"Him?"
the second knight asked.
Sam nodded stiffly.
"Yes.
He helped me."
The lie burned in his throat.
The bald man — Andrew — stepped forward, his steps too steady, too heavy.
"Name,"
he said.
Kyle flinched.
"K-Kyle Mason, sir. I'm not a criminal. I swear — I escaped —"
Andrew didn't blink.
He flicked a glance at the second knight, who unrolled a crinkled scroll.
Finger tracing downward.
The parchment crackled in the cold air like brittle leaves.
"Kyle Mason.
Escaped property.
Marked by Lord's decree."
A thin, humorless smile twisted Andrew's lips.
Kyle's face drained of blood.
His trembling hand disappeared beneath his shirt — clutching something tight against his chest.
A pendant.
Sam saw it.
Something small. Precious. Sacred.
Andrew's gaze sharpened.
"Thomas,"
he said without looking back.
"Take the slave."
He let the next words hang in the air — cold and final:
"Kill the other if he resists."
Sam staggered back a step.
Heart slamming against his ribs like a drum of war.
"Wait—!
He's innocent!"
Kyle's voice cracked the air:
"He saved me!
He… he uses magic!
Without incantations!"
***
The silence that followed wasn't just quiet.
It was suffocating.
Andrew turned slowly.
Something behind his hollow eyes gleamed — something ugly and old.
"What did you say?"
Kyle lifted his chin — despite the terror in his eyes.
"He makes spells…
himself."
For a moment — just a moment — a ripple of uncertainty passed between the knights.
Then Andrew sneered.
"Fool,"
he snapped.
"You believe the ravings of a rootless vagrant?"
He turned his head slightly, addressing Thomas without breaking eye contact with Kyle:
"Execute the order."
Thomas stood frozen.
A heartbeat.
Two.
His sword stayed in its sheath.
"I… swore to protect the innocent,"
he said — voice low, almost pleading.
Andrew's face hardened.
The kindness in Thomas' words was already his death sentence.
"We serve the Great One.
Order is everything."
A moment of silence.
Sharp. Fragile.
"Kill him too,"
Andrew said.
Cold as a winter grave.
Steel hissed free of its scabbard.
***
"Wind Blade!!"
Sam's scream split the air.
Magic flared.
A razor of compressed wind tore through the mist —
and slashed across Andrew's thigh.
Blood splattered the stones.
Andrew stumbled —
threw up a shimmering golden shield.
Sam lunged.
Pain lanced through his ribs — sharp, brutal.
Thomas tackled him sideways.
Steel flashed.
Sam twisted — barely avoiding the killing blow.
***
"Incinerate!!"
The word ripped from his soul.
Flames erupted from his palm.
They smashed into the golden shield with a thunderous roar.
Cracks spiderwebbed across it.
Andrew staggered, his face grimacing for the first time.
"You think I wasn't prepared?"
his voice hissed like venom.
"Magic is predictable."
Sam stumbled, coughing blood.
Strength drained from him like water through broken hands.
He tried —
tried to lift his hand.
One more spell.
One last breath.
"One… more… Wind—"
His body gave out.
He crumpled to the dirt.
***
"Kyle…"
he rasped.
"Run…"
But Kyle didn't.
He screamed.
Charged.
A rock gripped in both hands like a prayer.
"NO!!"
Sam shouted — but the word was already too late.
Thomas spun.
Kyle swung the rock.
It crashed into Thomas' temple — a sickening thud.
The knight reeled, dropping his sword.
A heartbeat later—
Andrew moved.
Effortless.
Brutal.
His sword cut through the air.
And into Kyle.
A sound — not a scream — but a gasp.
A boy too small to carry the world on his shoulders.
Blood fanned out across the mist.
Kyle stumbled.
Collapsed into Sam's arms.
***
"No… no, no, no—"
Sam clutched him.
His hands slick with blood.
"Sorry…"
Kyle whispered.
Each word soaked in pain.
"Sorry… for dragging you into this…"
He coughed.
Dark blood staining his lips.
He pressed something into Sam's shaking fingers:
The pendant.
Small.
Simple.
Etched on the back:
To Kyle. From Mom.
"Give this…
to my family…"
"What town?!"
Sam pleaded.
"Lowra…"
The word was barely a breath.
Then he was still.
Gone.
A hollow shape where a boy had been.
***
Sam's world tilted.
He clutched the pendant to his chest.
His body shook.
Not from pain.
From rage.
From grief.
From something deeper than magic.
"I promise…"
he whispered.
The mark on his arm burned — blue and alive.
Energy surged.
Blood boiled in his veins.
"INCINERATE!!!"
The scream wasn't a spell.
It was a funeral.
Magic tore out of him in a roar.
Fire exploded.
The shield shattered.
Andrew stumbled, coughing, smoke trailing from his armor.
Still standing.
Still smiling.
"Enough,"
he said.
He raised his sword for the final blow.
Sam lifted a trembling hand.
One last effort.
One last breath.
His fingers spasmed.
And he collapsed.
Face-down in the dirt.
***
Andrew stood over him.
Sword raised.
"You'll die like all monsters."
The blade swung downward.
And then —
A crack.
A howl of raw magic split the world apart.
A voice —
ancient, furious, unstoppable —
shattered the clearing:
"He is under my protection."
The forest roared.
The air itself seemed to twist and tear.
And Andrew's blade —
stopped mid-swing.
Frozen.
Held back by something older than fear.
Older than magic.
And Sam's story —
was just beginning.