The city's veins pulsed with the dawn's pale glow as Eamond, Lysandra, and Jake pressed through a twisting network of alleys, the twins secure in Eamond's arms. Their breath came ragged; the hush of night gave way to the stirrings of predawn workers and the clatter of hooves on cobblestone. Danger slithered behind them, each guard's cry echoing like thunder in adjacent streets.
"This way!" Eamond urged, pivoting into a narrow lane draped with shuttered storefronts. The twins slept soundly like leaves in a storm as he tucked them close, warding off fear with a soft hum of protective magic.
Jake scoured the rooftops, searching for Lysandra and their mysterious savior. But Lysandra lagged, she stumbled on a loose stone, pain flickering in her eyes—then forced herself onward. . "We need a safehouse," Eamond snapped. "We can't keep running."
A sudden whoosh overhead stole their breath.
A hooded figure dropped onto the street, blade gleaming.
"Go!" he hissed.
Before Eamond could question the stranger, he spun and vanished into a side passage. With no time to argue, they followed.
They slipped through the narrow corridor into a dim courtyard, where moonlight pooled across cracked flagstones. The hooded man beckoned them to a half-open door, leading down a steep stair into a vaulted cellar. Inside, lanterns burned blue flames, revealing simple cots, crates of supplies, and a heavy wooden table.
"Who are you?" Eamond demanded as he laid the children on a blanket. The twins clung to his shirt, eyes wide in the low light.
The stranger pulled back his hood, revealing angular features—sharp cheekbones, dark hair plastered to his forehead, and eyes the color of storm clouds. "Call me Vale," he said,
New Contact: [Vale – Age 16. Trait: The Hound Guild. Loyalty: 30% ].
Lysandra collapsed onto a cot, flame flickers dancing from her fingertips as she exhaled relief. "Why help us?" she asked, voice strained.
"I was hired to find those children. And when I saw you at the tavern trying to steal the Crimson Fang's 'treasure'. I thought, why not let you do the heavy lifting?" Vale replied.
Eamond stared at Vale and said. " You'll be getting a bill for this service."
Vale's storm-gray gaze softened, and he chuckled. He gestured to the twins. " Now, how about you hand them over?"
" You get them when you pay for our service. 100 gold coins for planning and another 100 for the service fees per child. Also, a safety service that you must provide." Eamond replied.
Vale's storm-gray eyes flickered with both amusement and calculation. "Generous," he said softly, sweeping the coins into a leather pouch. " Let's negotiate away from here."
"Fine," Eamond replied, eyes on the twins. "And I do not tolerate surprises."
Vale nodded, pocketing the pouch. He drew a small map from beneath his cloak. "The Fang know the children's value. Word has already spread through the lower wards. Guards and bounty-hunters scour for any hint of abductors. We have, at best, six hours before they mobilize a full dragnet."
Eamond leaned forward, fingertips brushing the twins' hair. "Then we must avoid the Fang entirely."
Vale led the small company onward, shoulders squared beneath the weight of night's dangers, lantern-blue flames still dancing in Lysandra's cupped hands. Behind him, Eamond carried the twins—one cradled in each arm—while Jake flanked them, dagger in hand, eyes darting between shadowed rooftops and shuttered windows.
Each breath came ragged. The children stirred against Eamond's chest, tiny hands clutching his coat. Their thin clothes did little against the chill of predawn, but Eamond wove a faint ward of protective warmth around them. It was all he could spare after last night's expenditures.
They emerged onto Barricade Lane, a twisting passage of slick cobblestones and shuttered shopfronts. Vale paused once more, scanning the rooftops, then nodded. "Two more turns, then straight to the orphanage," he whispered.
A distant cry shattered the fragile quiet: "There! Intruders!" The unmistakable clang of armor followed. Vale's hand dropped to his sword hilt. "They've found us."
Crimson Fang enforcers pouring from a narrow alley ahead. Silver blades flashed in the growing daylight; leather jerkin aglimmered with the Fang's emblem. They outnumbered the four of them at least five to one.
"Stand fast!" Vale barked, drawing his blade in a single motion so smooth it left no echo. His cloak snapped around him as he charged the nearest guard.
Lysandra ignited her ember-flame, a ribbon of fire curling around her knuckles. She planted her feet and unleashed a scorching arc that singed the leather of the second enforcer's cloak, sending him stumbling backward into the guard behind him.
Jake lunged at the third, blade flashing—only to be shoved back by a mailed fist. His dagger clattered to the stones. He squared his shoulders and readied himself for the next pass.
Eamond sank to one knee, raising his voice above the clash: "Everyone behind Vale! Shield the children!" He pressed the twins closer.
Vale's sword snapped through the air in a perfect arc, parrying a saber and driving the guard off-balance. But three more enforcers closed in on him from the flanks. He fought on, sparks flying where steel met steel.
Eamond gritted his teeth. He reached inside his pouch, feeling the last heavy weight of coins—a pitiless reminder of how thinly he'd spread his resources. He allowed himself only one thought: I will not lose them.
He put down the twins next to him and extended both arms, palms outward. Golden runes erupted from his fingertips, weaving a latticework of arcane energy around the group. He tasted copper on his tongue—his last life savings—yet fear for the children drowned out every other concern. The ward glowed fiercely, then snapped outward in a roaring wave.
The wave struck the Fang enforcers like liquid metal. Helmets buckled, breastplates cracked, and armor plates melted into molten rivulets. The earth trembled beneath the spell's force. Guards were hurled aside, sabers clanging uselessly against the blast's heat.
Vale staggered back, free from his attackers, chest heaving with renewed vigor. Lysandra's flames flickered brighter yet, as if fed by Eamond's magic. Jake, eyes wide, scrambled to retrieve his dagger and help dispatch the few guards still struggling to rise.
When the heat abated, only four enforcers remained—and two fled into the alleys, howling in terror. The rest lay unmoving, their armor smoldering.
But as the smoke cleared, Eamond sank to one knee, sweat and ash on his brow. He looked at the twins. Their eyes were still shut. Then he immediately rises and moves on. A brief pause—Lysandra catching his eye, Jake lowering his dagger in awe—will underscore how devastating the spell was.
Vale approached, sheathed his sword, and placed a hand on Eamond's shoulder. "You saved us all," he said, voice gravelly with awe. "Including me."
Jake brushed soot from his cloak, hands trembling. "Are… are we safe?" he managed.
Lysandra knelt beside the fallen enforcers, embers swirling in her palm as she inspected the men's gear. "Too safe," she muttered, the hum of her magic still echoing. "He… he burned them from the inside out."
Eamond rose slowly, peeling away from the lingering glow of his ward. He reached into his pouch and found it nearly empty. Only a handful of copper and a single battered silver coin remained.
He muttered hard. "That… that was seventy percent."
Eamond straightened, gathering the twins into his arms. "Let's go home."
Vale nodded and fell into step beside them. Though Eamond had sacrificed most of his wealth, he still had what mattered: the children, his friends, and the knowledge that—even at the brink of ruin—he would not let them down.
Together, the ragtag band wound through the back alleys one last time, Vale guiding them like a silent sentinel, until the familiar silhouette of St. Marla's orphanage came into view.
They emerged into a narrow courtyard behind St. Marla's, dew-slick grass curling around Lysandra's boots. The orphanage loomed in the pale light, windows dark but welcoming. A single lantern burned by the door—Matron Celine's habit—glowed like a beacon.
Jake exhaled. "We made it."
Eamond strode forward, Vale guarding their rear. He rapped on the back door's heavy wood. Moments later, Matron Celine flung it open, shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders.
"My dears—" she began, but froze as she saw the twins in Eamond's arms, Lysandra's charred sleeves, and Vale's silent sentinel stance behind them.
Eamond set the children down gently. "Safe," he said, voice low. "All of us."
Matron Celine's eyes filled with tears. "Bless you… all of you."
Jake sagged against the doorframe. "They were after us… We barely made it."
Lysandra brushed apart her hair, fiery embers flickering like dying sparks. "This was suicidal—but they didn't catch us."
Vale stepped forward, lowering his hood. "I believe you have something of mine," he said, his voice tinged with both urgency and uncertainty.
Eamond shifted the twins in his arms, gaze flicking between Vale's expectant stance and the sleeping children. "They're mine until my fee is paid," he replied coldly. "No gold, no handover."
Vale's fist clenched around the hilt of his sword. His jaw worked, but no coin changed hands. Finally, he dropped his blade, shoulders slumping. "I have no more gold," he admitted. "But I can repay my debt in other ways. My sword—my labor—my life, if that's what it takes."
Lysandra's ember-light flared in outrage. "You risked everything to help us. You don't owe him your life!"
Vale ignored her. He met Eamond's eyes. "Name your price."
Eamond exhaled slowly, arms crossed. Skepticism flickered in his eyes, memories of broken promises surfacing. Then, a familiar chime resonated in his mind.
[ Alsa Albert and Alfon Albert, 5 years old, Children of Marquess Albert of Alcasa]
Eamond's heart thudded. Marquess Albert was one of the realm's most powerful nobles—his influence rivaled even the Crown's. To ransom these children would be to command unimaginable wealth… or to unleash his wrath.
He looked down at the twins, their pale curls and white hair glinting silver in the lantern's glow. The Marquess's heirs, hidden here, were rescued by thieves and warlocks.
Eamond's tone softened. "How about we talk about this after the children are tucked in? We can talk in private in my room." Eamond said in a very sweet voice that sent a shiver down Vale's spine.
Vale nods, and Eamond leaves the children in the Matron's care to lead Vale to his room.