Aziz's Pov
I called the arcane to my hands light surged, warping and folding into shape.
A gleaming axe formed in my grip, crackling at the edges like it was alive.
Hope glanced up at it, wide-eyed.
"You said you wanted me to teach you how to use the arcane, right?" I said, stepping forward. "Then pay attention."
She shrieked, "Sweet!" as I dropped down and crashed between her and the gunmen, the impact shaking dust loose from the trees.
I drove the axe into the ground.
The force erupted outward, the earth buckling beneath it masked men were flung like rag dolls, boots dragging trenches as they hit the dirt and skidded back.
More were coming I could feel the weight of them in the air, sense their breath before they even broke through the smoke.
I swung wide.
The arcane lashed out, a wave of power blasting from the axe, sending the next line flying through crates and barrels like they were made of paper.
That's when I smelled it.
I turned, eyes locking on a massive cart stacked with smooth, black barrels each one pulsing faintly.
I stepped closer and inhaled.
The scent was rich and sharp, but sweet too. Like fresh rain mixed with something ancient warm, clean, electric.
I didn't have a word for it. Only that it made my chest ache and my blood burn.
If power had a smell, this was it.
I turned slowly, surrounded half a dozen rifles aimed at my chest. Their stances were rigid, breaths steady, but I could see the tremble behind their masks.
My eyes scanned them, calm as a storm before breaking.
I lifted a hand and pointed behind me toward the container of pulsing barrels.
"Tell me where did you acquire those?"
Two of the gunmen exchanged uneasy glances.
Another stepped forward, voice rough. "You'll get no answers from us, Yeager."
I tilted my head at him, thoughtful. Just the weapons.
No armor. Had they the full set, this might've been troublesome…
But no. This was manageable.
"I'd rather you speak freely," I said, voice low. "Because if you don't I'll simply unravel your mind."
That made them falter. One of the younger ones looked to the first masked man.
"What are your orders, Cletus?"
An explosion ripped through the crates behind them—splinters flew, fire flared.
I didn't see the throw. Just her at the treeline, smoke curling around her.
I sighed, lips pressed tight.
"This girl…"
Hope stepped from the treeline, arms wide, glare sharp. "What?"
The masked man clicked his tongue. "Hm."
I turned my eyes to him. He was watching her then me.
"That," he said quietly, "that right there… is why we do what we do."
He stepped forward, voice firm, rough with conviction.
"You wield destruction like it's a toy. Laugh as it burns. You don't even see it, do you?
The way power has blinded you.
That girl throws a blast like it's nothing like she's untouchable. Like none of this costs anything."
He pointed to the scattered debris, the cinders curling in the air.
"You burn the world in passing and never look back."
He pulled down his mask fully now, revealing a scarred face and sharp, angry eyes.
"That's why the Warlord gave us this gift. Not for vengeance no. For correction.
To bring down those who were born with the sky in their hands and never once looked down."
He jabbed a finger toward the barrels, then to me.
"You Arcane-blooded walk as kings, call yourselves chosen. But you've forgotten the people below.
The ones without names.
Without bloodlines.
Without power."
He shook his head slowly.
"So we rise. We take what was denied. We balance the scales. And if it means toppling cities to do it… so be it."
"Warlord, huh?" I said, steady. "I used to think it was unfair that only a few of us were born with arcane in our blood.
But then I was sent beyond the continent… and what I saw out there changed everything."
I let the silence sit.
"This system isn't perfect. But it's here for a reason."
One of the men scoffed. "Save your breath, princeling."
A woman to his right sneered. "That's what you took from all this?
Pathetic."
I glanced at her, then back to the crates. "Those weapons weren't made for rebellion.
They were built to end wars against those who used the arcane to enslave and destroy. They're not meant for this. For you."
I straightened, voice colder now. "And as a son of the royal line, it's my duty to stop you. I'd rather not fight…"
My hand rose.
"…but I will."
Cletus didn't hesitate. "Take aim."
Weapons lifted.
I sighed. "I warned you."
The arcane unlocked something in my mind—sharp, electric. I raised my hand, and the rifles tore free, ripped into the air by thought alone.
The men shouted, stumbling back as their weapons flew from their hands.
They spun, hovered, trembling like leaves in a storm.
I turned toward the crates just as their lids blew off armor and more weapons inside, humming with dangerous light.
My jaw clenched. They had more than I thought.
I clenched my fist. The weapons exploded midair a violent bloom of arcane fire that scorched the trees and flattened the earth in a rolling shockwave.
When the smoke cleared, I dropped to one knee, chest heaving. Blood trickled from my nose.
"Blast," I muttered, wiping it away.
Hope rushed over and helped me to my feet. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah," I said, though my limbs felt like stone.
A figure sprinted through the settling dust diving into a half-buried tent. He tore through it, searching.
Hope narrowed her eyes. "What's he doing?"
Clutching my chest, I stepped forward. "Let's find out."
I swept my hand. Arcane wind blasted the tent clean open.
He crouched over a black arcane comm-stone smooth, glyph-etched, glowing with pulsing veins of light.
He turned as I approached, panic in his eyes.
The stone flared, and a low, controlled voice cut through the static.
"Conner… what did you just say?"
Conner opened his mouth, but no words came.
The voice sharpened. "You froze."
A beat of silence. Then:
"I'm coming."
Hope didn't wait. She lunged blade flashing and sliced the device in two.
It shattered, sparks flying. The man screamed, clutching his hand.
I stared at her. "You could've avoided his fingers."
She shrugged. "Relax. I avoided backup."