Lenko had barely a breath of realization, before he understood what Muzio was about to do.
He’d seen that look before. The quiet calculation in the prince’s eyes, the way his jaw clenched, the faint tremor in his fingers before committing to sothing reckless, dangerous, and inevitably painful.
"Fuc---"
Too late.
The tenth prince had already drawn the dagger, the one Yona had once gifted him. For a split second, Lenko thought the prince was going to throw it at his sister above. But then he saw it, how Muzio’s eyes weren’t on her at all, but on him.
And the next thing Lenko knew, the dagger t the sacred arrow that Olga had loosed, the sa arrow ant for him.
Steel and mana collided midair, exploding into a burst of red and green light that hissed as it tore through the dust-filled space. Lenko barely had ti to flinch before he felt a rough hand clutch the at his front.
Muzio’s hand.
And with that, he shoved him.
"---Son of a---!"
Lenko didn’t even have ti to shout properly before the ground disappeared from beneath his feet. The world tilted and spun, air rushing past his ears, everything swallowed by the echoing howl of the crater below.
For a few seconds, there was nothing but sound, the shrill whistling in his ears, the rush of air that tore his breath away, and the faint, ringing throb that drowned everything else.
Then ca the pain, cold, biting wind slapping his face as he plumted through the thick dust and darkness. His stomach lurched, his arms flailing as if grasping for sothing, anything to hold onto.
He scread, the curse torn from his throat and lost to the void.
It was absurdly far down. Too far.
His heart pounded, his mind blanking out as the realization hit, he was actually falling.
He could feel his cloak whipping violently behind him, the mana still clinging faintly to its threads reacting to the rapid drop. His lungs burned from the rush of air. He could barely even think, only curse and scream and pray that sohow, the tenth prince hadn’t just sent him to his death.
And then, through the blur and panic, he saw her.
Up above, against the glow of flickering runes and the chaos of battle, his sister stood on the fractured ledge. Her bow was drawn again. Her aim wasn’t at Muzio. It was at him.
Their eyes t for the briefest instant.
And Olga loosed her arrow.
Lenko’s heart stopped.
The mana streak cut through the darkness, coming straight for him. For a fleeting, absurd mont, all he could think was ’which would kill first’, the ground that waited below or his sister’s arrow through his heart.
His mind buzzed and blurred as he fell, the wind roaring in his ears, yet even as he plumted, fragnts of what happened just before this chaos flickered back into his thoughts.
He rembered eting him.... them.
The elven.
The sa one they had seen in the dungeon, though now he looked nothing like the drunkard wrapped in tattered clothes. This ti, the man stood upright, his posture calm, almost regal, his face that of an old man, skin folded in false wrinkles, eyes gleaming behind the illusion. The air around him carried that sa unsettling stillness that made Lenko’s skin crawl, the kind that made him want to step back before his mind even processed why.
He’d tried to continue and use the parchnt then, Muzio’s so-called ’help’.
Then the elf had moved.
With an almost careless grace, he reached out and pressed two fingers to Lenko’s wrist, pushing his hand gently but firmly aside. The motion was so simple, but it cut through the air like a command.
The parchnt flared, then died.
The light snuffed out as if drowned in water. The parchnt midway through their burn, leaving a half burnt parchnt.
Lenko rembered staring at it in disbelief. He wasn’t supposed to stop.
And then he looked up.
The elf’s face shifted, the illusion rippling slightly, and that grotesque smile ford across the wrinkled mask, too wide, too wrong. It was like watching soone pretend to be human, but missing just enough details to make it horrifying.
Lenko’s stomach turned, his chest tightening with a dread that no words could describe. He had felt then what he felt now, his body weightless, his heart sinking, his life dangling over sothing bottomless.
The next instant, he was back in the present, falling.
The air whipped at his face, burning his eyes, every thought blurring into panic. He didn’t even realize he’d stopped screaming until the sound of rushing wind was all that was left.
Then, a sudden gust, soft but powerful, lifted him mid-fall.
It wasn’t enough to stop him, but enough to slow him. The pressure beneath him felt alive, like hands catching him midair, steadying him just enough before letting him sink again.
And in that mont, he saw it, light flashing toward him.
The arrow. Olga’s arrow.
It blazed with the faint hum of her mana, a streak of divine precision cutting through the dark. It was aid directly for his heart, the sa spot it always would’ve hit, had sothing not intervened.
There was a hiss, a crack, and suddenly his vision exploded with light.
The arrow struck sothing, a barrier, thin but dense with mana, hovering inches from his chest. The impact sent sparks flying in every direction, green clashing against light. The air rippled with heat and energy.
The arrow wavered against the shield, its tip trembling as it struggled to pierce through, but the mana held firm. Then, slowly, the force behind the arrow faded, and the shaft dropped.
Lenko blinked, dazed, realizing he was no longer falling but descending slowly, gracefully, like being lowered onto water. His body crashed into a pile of debris, the air knocking out of his lungs, pain shooting up his back, but he was alive.
No shattered bones.
No arrow through the chest.
No death.
....Yet.
Just bruises, dust, and the pounding echo of his heartbeat that refused to slow.
He stared up at the broken ceiling above, at the faint light that leaked through the fractured floor.
He was alive. Sohow.
Lenko could feel his chest heaving, each breath sharp and uneven as he stayed there on the ground. The ringing in his ears dulled into a distant hum, slowly giving way to the muffled shouting echoing from above the crater.
Voices, frantic, but beneath... with him ca a louder, more primal noise... the hissing, shrieking, and guttural cries from below. The undercroft was alive, and not in a way anyone would want.
He winced, blinking hard as a sudden flash of light seared across his vision. The mana lights above, so bright they turned the broken rafters into outlines of blinding white, pierced through the gloom and montarily blinded him.
And then, movent.
A silhouette slid across the broken ground ahead of him. Small, cautious, almost curious. It shifted in and out of the dim light, peeking at him from behind a toppled crate.
Lenko’s breath hitched.
He pushed himself upright in a rush, the arrow that had almost end his life tumbling from his chest with a dull thunk. His hands scraped against rough stone as he stumbled back a few steps, squinting to see through the dark.
And then he saw her.
A child.
At first glance, she looked human, small, frail even, draped in a long, torn white robe and a cloak far too big for her. Her red hair spilled down her shoulders in a ssy tangle, almost glowing faintly against the dark. But then his eyes caught on sothing else, green scales that shimred faintly along her ears and cheeks, catching what little light remained.
Lenko froze, unable to breathe.
The faint swish behind her made him look lower, and his eyes widened when he saw it, a tail, slim and reptilian, flicking restlessly against the dirt, stirring up dust and ash.
His mouth went dry.
"Y-you... who are you?" he managed to stamr, his voice cracking.
Before he could take another step, a voice echoed down from above. Muzio’s voice.
"Little fla, did you get him?!"
Lenko’s head snapped upward, squinting at the sudden glow of mana light pouring down from the broken edge of the crater. He could see the Tenth Prince now, Muzio, standing right where Olga had been earlier.
His form was tense, his cloak torn, the runic markings across his arm glowing faintly red. Behind him, Lenko’s breath caught, was Olga, bound by strips of carpet, the runes on it glowing as they pulsed, tightening every ti she struggled. Her snarl echoed faintly even from that distance.
Muzio leaned forward, squinting down through the haze, searching for Lenko.
Lenko opened his mouth to call out, but suddenly, a tug on his cloak pulled him back.
He looked down and found the red-haired child staring at his hand. Her eyes, sharp, bright, with slit pupils glowing faintly green, were locked on the object he’d been clutching the entire ti without even realizing it.
Before he could react, she pulled him sharply to the side. A tallic whip of air sliced past his cheek, followed by a stinging burn. He hissed, reaching up to feel the thin line of blood trickling down.
"Oh," the child murmured, tilting her head as her tail flicked behind her. "They’re here... the screaming blade."
Lenko froze.
"The... what?"
He didn’t get to ask again.
He turned toward the direction the attack ca from, and his blood ran cold.
Out of the smoke and dim flickering light erged another figure.
The second rcenary, the woman who’d been with Mr. Genevra that morning. But she was almost unrecognizable now. Her cloak was gone, her once-polished armor scorched and cracked. She was limping, one arm held a broken lamp that still spat tiny bursts of fla.
Her blue eyes burned, cold, furious, and locked straight onto him.
No, not at him.
At what he held.
Lenko looked down at his own hand, rembering only now that he was still clutching sothing tight against his chest.
The heart.
The dragon’s heart.
Tyron’s mother’s heart.
His pulse thundered in his ears as the mory hit him in fragnts, the elven’s mocking grin, the way he’d shoved the object into Lenko’s hand, muttering with a mocking expression.
"Your lordling better rember to pay what he bargained for..."
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