The Ruin Courtyard
The night skies darkened, the sun retreating farther and farther from the Land of Curse, as if unwilling to cast its light upon it any longer. Beneath that growing veil of darkness stood the Castle of Limelight, carved into the mountain wall—articulture of gold and white, once radiant in its glory, now dulled by the weight of fear and horror.
Now, it lay under siege—harried by a winged creature. A single short knight stood to square the beast with her cunning display of magical prowess. Or so it seemed, at least through the eyes of Milea, a young maid serving one of the noble families.
Milea had served nobles for as long as she could remember. She was born noble herself—though of such lesser rank it hardly made a difference.
In Limelight, nearly everyone bore noble blood, but most never bothered tracing it. For Milea, her station as a maid made her lineage plain enough. Only those of noble descent were ever offered the role of serving nobility.
She had never once stepped beyond the main walls of the city. And yet, her imagination soared past even further than Limelight cities boundary. She dreamed of the world outside—of thick forests, endless green fields, and creatures both wild and wondrous, covered in scales, feathers, or fur—nature in its perfection.
Books had painted that world for her, and she longed for it.
But tonight, her dreams had to wait.
She had duties to fulfil.
Assigned to the castle courtyard by the head maid, her task was simple.
Keep the refreshment table stocked with sweets to keep the children calm and still. The job was not difficult, but it did not stop her mind from wandering.
While the children nibbled pastries in ignorance, Milea stood off to the side, gazing longingly toward the distant city walls—so high, so far—and the unseen world beyond them.
As she stood there, eyes fixed on the far-off wall, Milea caught a sudden burst of colour on the horizon.
A brilliant flare lit up the sky, 'a firework? No… something more erratic and wilder.' She thought.
Trails of light danced high above the main wall like lighting strike, a dazzling display of lights. For a moment, she forgot herself, entranced.
It was beautiful.
But then beauty turned to horror.
Without warning, a blinding streak of fire tore through the sky and plummeted down—straight into the centre of the courtyard.
The impact was deafening.
The fountain exploded under the sheer weight of the projectile. Stones flew in all directions, and water burst from beneath the shattered structure, drenching the flames and casting a misty spray into the air. As the water struck the object, it shimmered, revealing a large silhouette shrouded in a mist of vaporized water.
The ground heaved beneath her feet, hurling her backward as debris grazed her skin.
And then came the sound—the scream.
A screech so shrill, so immense, it felt as if the air itself had been halted in placed. The force of it hit her like a wave. Her vision blurred. Her knees buckled.
Her world narrowed to a single, piercing note, reverberating through body and bone, until there was nothing left but darkness.
For a while, she drifted between wakefulness and darkness, her mind caught in a cycle of fleeting awareness and overwhelming exhaustion. Each time she clawed her way back to consciousness, the world before her was different—shifting, chaotic, impossible to grasp before she faded once more.
The first time she awoke, blurred figures moved in the distance. Knights and guard clashed against a massive winged creature. Swords flashed, and spells crackled in the air. The beast was enormous, its dark silhouette towering over the courtyard, wings spread wide, its movements both graceful and monstrous.
Then—darkness.
When her eyes fluttered open again, the battle had changed. The knights, once holding their ground, were now scattering, retreating in frantic desperation. The beast loomed unchallenged, its massive body stirring up dust and debris with every movement.
The courtyard was in ruins.
and—darkness again.
The last time she awoke, the air was thick—heavy and suffocating. A strange, unnatural haze filled the courtyard, pressing into her lungs like a weight. Her body refused to move, as if the dust itself had pinned her down.
But something stood out—something unnatural cutting through the stifling air. Golden eyes, gleaming through the swirling dust, watched her—silent in the storm.
Before Milea could comprehend what she was seeing, she found herself lying on the dirt, shielded and surrounded by a crude, makeshift shelter.
She blinked slowly. Her head throbbed, and her limbs felt like heavy logs. Confused by the sudden change in her surroundings and the lingering pain, she curled up, trying to subdue it.
As far as she knew, she was already dead or waiting for one.
After a while, she stirred, slowly pushing herself up from the dirt. Now sitting in the center of the shelter, she gazed blankly at the cracked wooden beams above her, half-convinced this was the afterlife—a silent waiting room before judgment.
Eventually, she stood and pushed through the flap of furniture covering the exit. Sand whipped at her skin, but she squinted through the haze and caught movement—fast, moving straight to her.
Then—
BAM!
Something crashed into her, knocking her flat. She landed hard, winded, her back scraping against the ground. Dazed, she looked up and saw them again.
Those golden eyes, glaring down at her—not with malice, but with exasperation.
"What are you doing?! It's dangerous out there!" the figure seemed to shout, though Milea heard nothing—only silence. Not even the wind.
The figure was short, wrapped in mismatched cloth, dust clinging to every inch.
'A gnome, perhaps? Female, by the look of her.' She thought. Unmistakably furious, judging by the way she moved her arms—sharp, agitated gestures.
Then, without a word, the gnome slid something off her back. A child—limp, unconscious, and wounded.
Milea stared.
The gnome stepped closer, held her own head with both hands, then flicked her fingers toward each side of her ears.
Milea understood.
Her eyes widened, and tears welled up as the dreadful truth hit her—she was deaf.
The gnome paused. Then gently wiped a tear from Milea cheek with a dusty palm and pulled her close in a wordless embrace, comforting her.
Moments later, she stepped back and pointed at the child on the ground.
"Look after them," her gesture said.
Milea nodded. She did not need to hear the words to understand the plea—or the trust behind them.
She did not know what was happening outside the shelter, only that she had been attacked and had blacked out.
Perhaps the castle where she worked had come under assault.
The Limelight cities—and the town that surrounded it—was the only bastion of civilization in the Land of Curse.
There had never been another city. Not in these lands. Just one.
And that meant if war ever returned, Limelight would always be the first—and its only target.
The kingdom had just come out of a fragile peace, barely a few months old. To be under attack now could only mean one thing.
Treachery.
Even if Milea tried not to dwell on it, the thought settled uneasily in her chest. She was just a lesser noble. Her status meant little, and her power meant nothing.
Whatever was unfolding outside, she could not stop it. All she could think about now was her family and her friends.
The gnome disappeared into the storm of dust beyond the shelter flap, only to return moments later, carrying another person. A child, unconscious, cradled in her arms. Then another. And another.
The pattern repeated—vanishing into the suffocating haze, only to emerge again, dragging or carrying survivors through the dust-choked air.
Milea did what she could—laid them down gently, tended to the wounded with anything she could reach, even using pieces of her garment to bind the wounds, and cleared space where there was none.
But with each return, she noticed something deeply troubling.
The gnome clothes, once a patchwork of multiple colours and mismatched fabrics, were turning darker—stained red.
At first, it was a smear on her sleeve. Then a streak down her side. And soon, she looked almost soaked in crimson.
When Milea met her gaze, she noticed the gold in her eyes had become veined with red, the whites tinged pink from strain or exhaustion—or worse, from losing blood.
She could be injured.
And she had just returned, this time with three children. She guided them into the shelter, gave Milea a gesture to look after them, and then turned to head back into the cloud of dust.
But Milea could not let her go again. Not like that.
Milea stepped forward and reached out to the gnome, stopping her just before she could vanish into the dust again. With a hesitant hand, she inspected her small frame—fingers brushing lightly over torn fabric and grime-caked skin. And there, at her lower back, buried beneath cloth and dried blood, was a thick wooden shard jutting out, pierced deep into her flesh.
For a body as small as hers, this kind of laceration could easily be fatal.
The wound had been there for too long—the blood had soaked through, dried, and bled again. It was not fresh anymore, but it had festered through every during her desperate rescue efforts.
Without a word, the gnome suddenly yanked the shard out and flung it aside. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed briefly—then pushed herself back up with a grim determination.
The fresh blood bloomed anew, soaking through the fabric, but she did not stop.
Milea looked up at her, horror written across her face.
The gnome, seem not to care about her condition only to brush her off with a calm gesture, gave only the smallest shake of her head—as if to say, Not now.
Her tiny hand gripped Milea for just a moment, a quiet thank you or perhaps a silent command, before she turned to leave again.
But now, Milea could see it clearly—the gnome was not just their rescuer.
She was burning herself away to save them.
Not soon after the Gnome left, a bizarre thing happened.
The children suddenly grew erratic—twitching and writhing as if gripped by some unseen pain. Milea gasped, her heart pounding, as she gathered them in her lap, cradling their fragile bodies against her. She could feel their tiny frames shaking, their breath ragged.
Terrified, she did not know what was happening, but she could see the agony in their eyes. It was unmistakable. The children were suffering.
Her gaze darted to the unconscious survivor beside her. The body, still and motionless moments before, now began to twitch violently.
Milea breath caught in her throat. "What is this... what's happening?" she murmured, her voice trembling. She could not understand what was causing this.
In desperation, she whispered a prayer, hoping whatever this was, would stop.
And then, as if the world itself had heeded her plea, the violent convulsions ceased. The childrens erratic movements quieted, and the unconscious survivors stopped their thrashing.
But Milea relief was short-lived. One of the children in her lap had gone limp, their small chest no longer rising. The other two were teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, their eyes glazed, unable to focus.
Milea breath hitched, and all she could do was cry. She felt so helpless—watching, unable to act.
Suddenly, as though the very air itself was gasping for breath, a violent gust of wind tore through the air, slamming into the makeshift walls of the shelter. The wall of furniture groaned and rattled under the pressure, dust spilling through every crack.
Milea staggered, she moves toward the flap and lifted it. What she saw stole the breath from her lungs.
The dust had cleared.
And for the first time, she realized—they had never left the courtyard.
What had once been a place of polished stone and a flowing fountain was now a field of ruin. The ground was cracked and cratered, scorched and scarred. The fountain was gone, reduced to rubble. Smoke curled from shattered stone.
And there, standing defiantly between the shelter and two monstrous beasts, was the gnome.
Small. Bleeding. Alone.
One of the creatures—a towering with colourful winged feathers turned and fly away, while the other slinking toward the shelter as if savouring the coming slaughter.
But the gnome did not flinch.
She took one step forward, her silhouette dwarfed by the massive creature she faced. The wind tugged at her tattered kirtle, red-streaked and heavy with blood. Her golden eyes blazed through the darkening night.
And that, Milea realized, was what courage looked like.
Alone she stands, the odds defied, battered and broken, but bright as gleed.
Sand Castle
Kimmi let out a shaky breath of relief as the Cootic flew away, abandoning its kin. Thank the stars—handling two of those beast was more than her nerves could take. One was already enough to send her running.
"One Cootic's already nightmare fuel," she muttered under her breath. "Two? That's just bullying."
The ground still trembled from the earlier blast of air, the shockwave having nearly knocked her off her feet. Luckily, she had not been anywhere near the beast—if she had, she would have been another stain on the courtyard stones. She was not eager to find out what it felt like to be smashed into a wall again. Once had been more than enough.
Her eyes darted around the battlefield, searching for any sign of the survivors. Two glyphs should had been visible—distinct, glowing markers hanging above the heads of those she had tagged.
She scanned the courtyard quickly, trying to relocate the glyphs of the last two survivors. Two glyphs should had been visible—distinct, glowing markers hovering above the heads of those she had stalked. But she could not find either of them.
"Art of Trickery—Stalk," she whispered.
Her eyes shimmered gold as her vision sharpened, scanning every inch of part of the ruin courtyard.
No glyphs. Not a single mark except one.
One massive glyph, hovering right above the Cootic proud head like a glowing crown.
Panic gripped her chest. The two glyphs she had marked—the survivors—were gone. She did not fully understand her newfound powers yet, but one thing was certain. If the glyphs had vanished, it could only mean one thing.
She failed.
They might already be dead.
Kimmi whipped her head toward the shelter, heart hammering.
"Art of Trickery—Stalk," she murmured, almost too afraid to see the result.
Then—seven glyphs lit up, hovering above the shelter like little golden lanterns.
Kimmi knees buckled as relief flooded her. "They're alive... Oh gods, they're alive!"
But relief was short-lived.
Now their makeshift shelter was exposed. The beast might turn it attention toward it, as long as she could attract the beast Cootic attention, they will be safe.
She did not know if some divine being was protecting those inside, but if not—then she would. She had to be their shield. Even if she had to become beast bait, so be it.
Of course, Kimmi never exactly sees herself as a hero, but she had already invested so much of her well-being into saving the survivors—she might as well see it through.
As she gathered her strength to summon another cloud of dust to hide the shelter away from the beast, she paused.
Something was wrong.
The beast Cootic cease its movement.
It was just staring. Unblinking. Eerily idle.
Following its gaze, Kimmi heart sank.
A head—just barely peeking out from the flap of the shelter. The maid had been found by the beast, and even though it was just a glimpse, it was enough to attract the Cootic into taking action.
'Dammit! birdy saw them!'
The beast inhaled sharply, gathering energy into its gaping beak. The air around it cracked like snapping bone, pulsing with violent pressure.
Kimmi brain kicked into overdrive. "What do I do?! What do I do?! WHAT SHOULD I DO?!"
'Run?' she thought. "No! That's not it… What about them?" she said to herself.
Kimmi shut her eyes tightly and clapped her hands together in desperate prayer.
"Please—whoever's been helping me… give me something! Anything! Tell me how to stop that beast from turning them into meatpie!"
And then, like a whisper across the dark, a voice echoed in her mind.
Art of Trickery—Sand Sprinkle.
"Art of Trickery—Sand Sprinkle!" she cried.
The ground beneath her feet began to tremble. Sand started to swirl upward—yellow grains rising like glittery specks from her toes, her fingertips, even her sleeves. A tiny mound began forming around her feet, no taller than a small anthill.
Kimmi stared down at it, unimpressed.
"This... This isn't even enough to build a sad little sandcastle," she muttered. A few grains trickled off her finger like weak seasoning. "Not even enough to bury me with some dignity!?"
But she was not giving up.
She grit her teeth and shouted, "Art of Trickery—Sand Sprinkle! Art of Trickery—Sand Sprinkle! ART. OF. TRICKERY. SAND. SPRINKLE!" With every chant, more sand dribbled out of her sleeves like a busted hourglass.
The hill grew—to her knees. Impressive, if she were an ant. But considering Kimmi own height was closer to a chair, it still not nearly enough.
"This looks so pathetic…" she muttered, side-eyeing the menacing bird beast in the distance. Then, with a deep breath and a desperate prayer, she gathered her focus.
Kimmi erratic movements had already drawn the beast full attention. With a guttural screech, it ramped up its attack—its massive body releasing a misty red smoke, while the energy forming inside its beak glowed with a bluish blinking light that bathed the ruined courtyard like a lightning storm.
From within the shelter, the survivors peeked through a narrow gap in the fabric walls—and froze. What they saw was not just light, but powerful incarnate forming inside of the beast beak. A blinding blue glow pulsed from the creature beak, where a dense swirl of air was being drawn inward, compressing and folding upon itself until it sparked.
Their eyes turned to Kimmi.
She stood alone in front of the monster, arms raised in a strange, deliberate rhythm. It looked like a ritual—or maybe a battle chant. They could not tell. All they knew was that she had not flinched. Not once. While they cowered behind the safety of broken pillar and scattered debris of broken table, she stood defiant in the eye of the storm.
And for the first time, despite their fear, a spark of hope flickered in their hearts. Maybe—just maybe—this little knight or gnome could actually protect them.
"Please make it work…" Kimmi muttered.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, envisioning a great desert before her. Waves of sand. Towering dunes.
"Art of Trickery—Sand Sprinkle!" she clapped her hands together.
And the prayer was answered.
Sand erupted of from her body. From her sleeves, her fingertips, even her eyes. "Wait, my eyes—?!" she yelped as dry grains streamed from her tear ducts. She coughed, gagged—then promptly vomited a mouthful of sand.
"Too much! Too much!" she yelped, struggling as the sand grew higher.
Sand burst from her in every direction, swallowing her feet, her knees, her waist—until she was half-submerged in a rapidly growing hill of self-inflicted sediment. It rose higher and higher, eventually matching the height of the beast body and spreading wide enough to cover nearly a third of the courtyard.
Then—silence.
For a moment, there was only the sound of shifting grains and then, from the very top of the sandy mound, a tiny hand emerged, fingers wiggling weakly like a plant sprouting from the earth.
Another hand followed.
Kimmi dragged herself out of the dune, gasping, spitting out sand, and flopping onto her stomach like a fish out of water. With a groan, she pushed herself upright, brushing sand from her eyes and patting down her shoulders and waist, her hair now a tousled mess of yellow grit.
She stood, legs shaky but firm, and turned to face the looming beast.
The dune had grown just tall enough to reach the level of the creature piercing eyes. It glared at her, now blocked from seeing the shelter behind her.
Kimmi grinned, sand stuck between her teeth. "Good enough," she muttered hoarsely and promptly coughed out a small puff of sand.
Bleeding
Kimmi heard the voice again—faint and familiar, like the one she had heard when pulling the wood from her back, maybe even during the crash at the fountain. A warm liquid trickled down her back, and blood welled up in her mouth before spilling over her lips.
Then—nothing.
That was it. And yet, something felt different. She was exhausted. Her vision blurred—not from a lack of focus, but because her sight itself was slipping, like the world was fading at the edges.
She blinked at the beast.
The Cootic blinked back at her, but its beak glowed ever brighter and ready to be release.
Seeing the how strong the energy already condenses, let out a muttered.
"...God forgive me for being hungry," she muttered, blaming herself for asking something unreasonable. Her greed and gluttonous demands might have caused the gods to curse her, forcing her to fight against the beast.
The beast opens its beak wider, ready releasing a massive ball of condense energy directly at Kimmi.
The blue light shone brightly on her, and she instantly closed her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her, trying to shield herself—hoping the sand dune was high enough, or strong enough, to stop the beast attack.
Art of Trickery—Sand Construct
Her eyes lit up as she heard the eerie voice again.
But without even spoken a word.
Her fingers tingled, and her arm grew heavier and heavier. A strange pull tugged at her, as if something was trying to drag her hand down. She raised it to counter the weight—and the sand stirred, following her movement.
It was responding to her arm, as if magnetized.
Seeing the strange phenomenon, Kimmi began to act quickly, hoping that whatever it was, she still had enough time to block the attack. With all her strength, she raised her arms upward—and the sand surged with her, rising and spreading outward, mimicking her posture.
The sand moved like a tidal wave across an open sea, forming a massive hand made of sand. Rising from the courtyard, it crossed its arms like a gauntlet made of sand, looming large—blocking the beast direct line of sight even more.
Kimmi thrust her arms forward and clasped her hands together. The gauntlet of sand mimicked her motion, slowly inching toward its target—the beast. As her fingers clenched, so too did the massive construct, reaching to grasp the Cootic just as she had.
For a moment, it worked. The great hand of sand curled around the beast, fingers closing with a crunching grace. But as it made contact, the structure began to crumble. The beast thick, armor-like feather resisted the soft grains, and the gauntlet began to deform, shedding chunks of itself like a broken vase.
Still, the sand persisted. The loose remnants washed over the creature like a streaming river, forcing it to shake and stumble as the grains clung to its feathers.
Kimmi saw progress—the beast Cootic delayed its attack, giving her a sliver of hope that they were doing the right thing. But of course, it was just wishful thinking.
The Cootic let out a guttural screech and rammed its body forward with a casual shove—enough to collapse the struggling sand construct back into a useless pile of sand. It even began clawing at the scattered grains with irritation, ensuring they stayed deform.
And it worked—the sand gauntlet had been dispelled.
Watching this unfold, Kimmi narrowed her eyes. That explained it—the sand lacked the density to harm something so resilient. Against such a beast, her magic was more annoyance than weapon.
As the last of the sand fell, she felt the weight lift from her arms. Her connection to the construct had snapped. She had lost control.
But Kimmi did not panic.
Instead, she stood her ground and called out with force, "Art of Trickery—Sand Construct!"
The earth around her rumbled again. Two fresh gauntlets surged up on either side of her, forming quickly, more stable this time. But Kimmi did not send them forward.
She clenched both fists tightly, then slammed them together.
The gauntlets responded instantly, their massive forms shifting and slamming together as well—creating a thick, wide barricade of sand in front of her, a wall of fists.
The beast Cootic did not hesitate.
It roared and unleashed all its energy toward the sand—an explosion of compressed energy and power of a natural disaster barrelling toward them like a tidal wave.
The sand construct met it head-on.
For a glorious moment, Kimmi thought it might hold.
Then it exploded.
The explosion was so immense it shattered the dune like a sandcastle struck by a giant club. Sand erupted in every direction, and the force was so intense it vaporized much of it, turning the grains into streaks of molten glass that rained down like flaming amber. Some of it splattered across the castle walls, leaving scorched smears, while others set fire to the wooden barricades sealing the entrance.
Kimmi was flung into the air like a ragdoll and crashed onto her back—her clothes scorched, her skin raw and burned in patches.
Critical—Cripple—Immobilize
Pain surged through Kimmi body like lightning trapped beneath her skin. The urge to scream clawed at her throat, but she gritted her teeth, forcing the sound back. She clenched her jaw so tightly her head throbbed—but slowly, gradually, the pain began to fade and then vanished altogether.
A trembling breath escaped her lips. "It's helping me again," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. Whether it was divine grace or sheer luck, she did not care. She cried—not from pain, but from overwhelming relief.
She tried to rise. Nothing. Her body would not respond. Her legs were stone. Her arms, anchors. Confused, she stared at her hands—its was there she did not have a missing limp, which she was grateful.
Bleeding
Her vision suddenly turns white, and her breath is slowing down, so slow it almost suffocating to her. Panic flirted with the edges of her thoughts, but she forced it down.
"Okay… this is fine," she muttered weakly, trying to reassure herself. "Not dead. Just… stuck. Really stuck. Yes, that must be it. Just need a tiny bit of a nap for the nightmare to be gone…"
She did not even bother to think about the survivors or if the makeshift shelter still stood after the blast. As far as she was concerned, she had done her best—and endured enough pain to prove it. Maybe it was necessary, this pain, to quiet the narcissistic urge within her.
Maybe now that urge would understand, doing something reckless could come at a tremendous price.
Hopefully it would learn something from all this.
"I hope I can understand you better, my dearly foolish self," she muttered.
Breath like a murmur, soft and slow, Her mind was calm, despite the blow.
Limelight Royal Library
Crash—Boom!
A violent tremor shook the library, sending a cascade of dust from the towering bookshelves. The impact was shocking, echoing through the library.
The knights reacted instantly. With ruthless precision, they pinned the two silver-robed intruders to the marble floor, swords flashing as they slashed the tendons in their legs, ensuring they would not flee. The once-majestic library now reeked of iron as blood seeped into the stone.
They scream in pain but ignored by the knight, even their leader the Lucia was not bother by the knight action. Her attention was only toward rumble of book and broken shelves.
The soldiers who had surrounded the woman split into two groups—one forming a defensive line around their king, while the others rushed toward the source of the disturbance.
Minutes passed like slow-moving hours.
Then—
"It came from the east wing!" one knight called out.
As Lux turned, his sharp gaze followed the destruction. From a distance, it looked as though something had crashed through the narrow windows, colliding with the bookshelves in an explosion of parchment and splintered wood.
It was a slug of molten glass—it ignited some of the books and fragments of wood. Soon, the fire spread to another bookshelf. Like fuel, the flames grew larger, bathing the library in a crimson glow
Without hesitation, Lux raised a hand, his fingers curling as arcane energy pulsed at his command. The air crackled, and in an instant, the burning stop, suffocate by unnatural magic.
Beyond the broken glass, his gaze fell upon the grand courtyard below—the very place where, not long ago, he had welcomed guests for the remembrance of their fallen family members.
And there, beneath the skies light and the bare ruins of the courtyard, something burned brightly. The monstrous body of a Cootic writhed in agony.
The giant bird thrashed wildly, slamming into broken pillars, its body engulfed in flames ignited by molten glass that stuck on its feather. Then, with a final, guttural cry, the creature collapsed—its body shuddered once before falling still, its strength spent.
Lucia dashed to the window, her eyes flashing with fury. She glanced at the courtyard—even from atop the mountain wall, she could hear the cries below. Her gaze locked onto the wounded, exhausted beast, and she glared down at it menacingly.
Then, without hesitation, she stepped out onto the window ledge and stood at the very edge of the stone slab.
Her body enveloped in shadowy light as she leaped high into the air, gliding toward the beast in the courtyard. She pulled a glimmering slender sword from her waist and muttered a prayer, "Lady of Night, heed my call. Your moon maiden, grant me the sharpness of your coldest light... Crescent Slice!"
A white and blue hue crescent form out from a vertical slice form her blade rushing toward the enemies with speed of light.
The Cootic, already weakened by blood loss, burns, and injuries, did not even bother to dodge the attack—as if it were waiting for the pain to end.
VOOM!
A fast, shocking crescent sliced across the beast neck, and the creature instantly collapsed—but it did not die.
The cut revealed itself a moment later, it was not enough to sever the head, but it was deep—deep enough to bring it down.
Lucia leapt from the high tower, landing on the tiled rooftop. She bounded down from roof to roof until she nearing the courtyard below.
With a final jump, she landed beside the dying beast. It was still breathing—barely alive, clinging to what little strength it had left after her attack.
Lucia raised her sword toward the sky. A blue hue formed at the tip of the blade, growing larger and brighter. With a single, vertical slash, her blade severed the beast head. As the head fell, the Cootic finally dead.
She glanced around, taking in the devastation. Sand blanketed the ground—so much that the grass and cobblestones beneath were barely visible because of the sand. Scattered fragments of molten glass glowed faintly, casting an eerie light across the ruined courtyard.
It was a grim scene—a battlefield scorched and reshaped by power.
She could tell a great battle had taken place here.
The signs were clear, the terrain warped by force, the aftermath left behind by an earth-elemental wielder. Even now, thick clouds of dust still clung to the air.
Then she heard coughing. She dashed toward the sound and found a survivor in the courtyard, protected by a broken pillar that had shielded them from being attacked by the beast.
She saw a survivor in a maid uniform, with several more behind the pillar—children and adults, weak but manageable. She felt a sense of relief, knowing that some had survived the beast onslaught. But she could not find the figure who had been fighting the beast.
Perhaps they were among the survivors.
"Can you tell me where the person who protected you is?" Lucia asked the young maid, who was still shivering in cold.
The woman gasped, sadness flickering across her face. She did not hear Lucia calling, but she kept muttering words.
"She… she's… dead." The maid let a tear fall down her cheek.
Lucia closed her eyes, lost in thought, reminiscing on what she had done wrong.
A group of people staggered out of the smouldering entrance, once sealed by a root of wood.
At the front, Lord Lammert Eigner led the way, his every step leisurely and cautious. When his eyes fell upon the wreckage before him, he stops, his sharp gaze locking onto the devastation. There, amidst the destruction, lay a child—her small leg and arm contorted. Burn marks marred her skin in horrific patterns.
The knights accompanying him could not suppress their shock. Their faces, usually composed and unflinching, betrayed the horror they felt at the sight.
"Did the Cootic toy with its prey?" Lammert murmured, his voice cold, though there was an unsettling note of disbelief in his words. He did not linger long on the child, his gaze already moving on as he pushed forward toward Lucia.
Then, a soft gasp broke through the air, coming from the group of guards who had just emerged from the main hall.
Among them, Lawrence, his face pale and shaken, stepped forward.
Though only a newly elected government official, Lawrence had been pressed into service as a temporary militia, his experience in military training from the royal academy.
His eyes widened, and his voice cracked as he whispered the name, barely audible over the chaos."Kimberly..."
The siege is over, the tension fades, A tranquil night in the moonlight wades.