One moment, Faresoenn is still standing there, his shields warping around him as before. The next moment, he’s gone.

A crash. Several soldiers are immediately flung into the air, their bones shattering from the sudden impact. Faresoenn launches them into a nearby wall, crushing them with his energy barriers. The disfigured, lifeless bodies slump, their armor crumpled like paper. The others cannot even react, standing completely shocked at the monster in front of their eyes.

He feels the concentration of his magic, his life’s energy bursting forth from his core. His muscles suddenly seem to be reverting in age, as if he is once again a young man feeling the peak of his physical strength. Yet all of this, he knows, it’s temporary. The power surging within him will run out soon. And once he weakens again… it will be over.

Distracted and foolish, he had once failed to protect his leader. His life should’ve ended that day… if not for a certain newborn child. Since then, he swore to protect that child, to raise him as his own. It was all he could do.

He has successfully protected his child for so long. He can’t fail now.

A hail of spontaneous blasts shoot from the soldiers’ rifles. He blocks, the lethal blasts being no more than little vibrations against his barriers. He pushes up from the ground, leaping into the air like an acrobat… before he dives into the formation, hearing the satisfying screams of soldiers as they are squashed, their bodies merging with the ground.

In front, behind, to his left, to his right… He is surrounded now, a lone figure dressed only in rough fabrics in a sea of metal. But that doesn’t matter. As the pikes attempt to stab at him, they are easily blocked, caught in his rapidly changing barrier. He tenses, forcing another burst of energy. The tips melt, the heat seeming to burn the soldiers inside their metal coffins.

In a narrow street walled in by primitive buildings, the terrain advantage only belongs to Faresoenn. He rams himself into a house raised by a cobblestone foundation, shielded by his barrier. The house rocks and shakes briefly before collapsing on itself, the snapped timber, metal, and stone crashing down.

For a moment, the rumbling of the fallen structure covers the dying soldiers’ torturous screams, soldiers perhaps not even a decade older than Avalel.

“Reform formation!” the lead soldier shouts, already hiding behind some of his comrades. They advance again, stepping over the rubble and their dead comrades. It’s becoming easy to predict. Faresoenn deflects the blasts and pike charges, hemming another three into a wall, hearing those same screams and cracking of bones.

He only hopes the show of invincibility can force the company to retreat.

It’s becoming monotonous. Endless, even. They simply do not stop. No matter how brutal he ends several of the soldiers’ lives, they do not falter. The dogged tenacity, the mindless perseverance, the unfaltering sense to just see a mission to its end… The soldiers of this new era have become wholly alien to him.

He is tired. The barriers are growing thinner. The waves of energy are not as vibrant as before. He is struggling to even stand straight. And they are still coming. He doesn’t want to kill them all. He only wants to protect the village, to protect Avalel, Kavlina, but if he must…

Release the Gate. The Gate, the only abstract limiter to his energy release. Once it is completely opened, he can no longer return to his home. He will not be able to see Avalel or Kavlina again. His dear adopted children, now suddenly left alone without his protection in the cruel world.

Don’t worry. They’ll be fine. I raised them to the best I can, after all.

A sudden surge of power courses through his entire body. His arms feel as if they are being electrocuted, burning from the increasingly high concentration of energy. His barriers begin to warp, lashing out like whips for a moment before they retreat to their original state. Another foolish soldier climbs up the pile of rubble, only to be immediately coiled, caught before they are snapped in half. It almost feels like Faresoenn’s barriers are taking a life of its own, defending himself with a violent rigor so raw, so… unconscious.

His heart begins beating almost like a motor, the blood racing around his body, straining the blood vessels. Without thinking, he impulsively charges, knocking some rubble into the crowd of soldiers behind it. Two dumbfounded individuals are immediately killed, then another one nearby. The soldiers fire again, yet Faresoenn cannot be even touched. A thin layer of energy coats him, easily absorbing the blasts. His barriers are gone now, the energy all focusing instead on his fists.

He grabs the closest soldier by the neck. Immediately, their fabric burns, smoke fizzling from their flesh. Then a second one, their life ending in a similar fashion. These young men and women, sent only to intimidate the village into submission, now are dead in a foreign area.

Faresoenn no longer cares. He is a dead man. If he can somehow bring all one hundred of them to his grave, then at least Avalel and Kavlina will live as they were. Even though he doesn’t want to kill them, he must.

He slams several of them with his fists before dropping them to the ground. The rest begin to run, still stubbornly firing their weapons, but the fear is already written in them. Their weapons are useless, their bodies only waiting to be crushed under his rampage. Despite whatever numbers they have, they cannot even make a single wound.

The so-called lead soldier is now in clear sight. Frightened, he is already far ahead of his soldiers, his weapons long left behind. Faresoenn has no particular hatred towards that individual, but alas, it is just pitiful of a sight.

He rushes up to the soldier, his arm outstretched as he leaps from the ground. The others can only dodge in fear, their backs against the houses as they helplessly watch. The soldier himself screams, unable to run any faster.

It is over.

Faresoenn suddenly feels a jolt in his chest. He stops, his legs unable to carry him any further. Blood trickles from his eyes, strained for too long. Blood. He vomits the crimson liquid, spitting it on the ground. The energy flickers away as an emptiness sets in. His body is suddenly heavy, very heavy. He falls onto the ground as the frightened soldiers inch up to him, cautiously picking up their pikes and rifles. His vision blurs, reddened by the overflow of blood. His hands twitch until they, too, run out of strength, flat and defeated.

His energy is depleted. There is nothing left in his core.

Ah. It’s over.

His vision goes black.

The lead soldier gasps for breath, sweat perspiring from inside his helmet. Faresoenn’s bloody outstretched hand just lies in front of him, the man already not moving. His subordinates approach slowly, their steps small and timid.

“Is it over?” he asks. “Is he dead?”

A relatively brave soldier raises their pike, driving it into Faresoenn’s back. A relieving squelch relaxes their ears as the pike is quickly smothered with blood. The body didn’t even flinch.

“So he is, indeed, dead.” The lead soldier looks into his displays. Only fifty six of them are left still in fighting condition. A single man has decimated his company, armed only with magic. He shakes his head. Such a massive cost only for the abrupt death of one individual. The village is not even the most viable of locations for a small military base, and yet, they have already sacrificed so much to gain this piece of territory theoretically their own.

Faresoenn must pay for his comrades’ deaths. Somehow.

He grits his teeth. “Kill those children,” he says.

“Company Leader, why is it necessary?” a soldier asks. “Shouldn’t we now begin establishing our base now that the obstacle is gone?”

“He killed so many of us just to ‘protect’ his children… Call this an act of spite, but we must avenge our fallen comrades.”

“But, Company Leader—”

“We must punish his actions in some way. We’ve lost too much. Shouldn’t he lose something as well? That magic-powered, middle-aged man, brutally killing so many of us, and you’re still thinking of our goal?”

The soldiers are silent.

“We will search this village until we find where they live,” the leader says. “And then… they shall join their father in death.”

“Dad’s taking a long while to get back,” Avalel says, staring at the dim lights of the house worrily. “I hope he’s fine.”

“He should be returning soon,” Kavlina suggests. “Let’s just hope he’s not hurt in some way.”

The two of them sit quietly on their chairs, staring out the window, anticipating Faresoenn’s shadow to just appear at some moment. The lamps flicker, casting their long shadows on the wall as the sky outside grows increasingly dark. Usually, this time would be just a time to relax as Faresoenn cooks dinner, the aromas filling the entire interior of the house. However, without Faresoenn, the house seems empty, the wind from the outside feeling colder than usual.

“I hope he’s fine,” Avalel says again. “No, he should be fine. He’s Dad.”

“Speaking your thoughts again?” Kavlina asks.

“Oh,” Avalel realizes. “Maybe.”

“Don’t worry too much about it.” Yet Kavlina’s eyes are narrowed, fixated only on the path, barely even blinking even as they gradually turn drier. Her feet tap the floor anxiously, the wooden floorboards echoing in response. Despite her usually upright posture, she is leaning forward, not even aware that her elbows are resting on her knees.

Avalel shakes his head. He sometimes wishes Kavlina could just say her worries instead of internalizing it inside. Perhaps not to the point of his carelessness, but it should be better for her to say it than just hiding it. But well, that’s just who Kavlina is ever since they met.

A light suddenly shines upon the house, nearly blinding to their eyes. Avalel instinctively covers his face, but through the gaps of his fingers, he sees silhouettes. Many silhouettes, outlines of figures armored and armed.

The soldiers are at their doorstep.

“No, wait, no…” Avalel realizes. There are still so many of them, quickly encircling the house as they shout at each other. Faresoenn is nowhere to be seen.

“Get to the Old Man’s room!” Kavlina urges, dragging Avalel away from his chair and into Faresoenn’s room. The lights, shining through the windows, almost make it seem as if it’s midday, the house brightened, leaving barely any shadows behind. Yet as she pushes open the door, Faresoenn’s room is engulfed in a comforting darkness, the small space a place of temporary shelter compared to the now exposed main interior.

Faresoenn’s room is a strange one. Devoid of windows, it’s almost always dark, and compared to the tidiness in the house, the room is filled with various junk. Avalel himself rarely ventured in here, the room often closed by Faresoenn himself. Before, it was the only place in the house where they were generally not allowed into due to the many pieces of old junk, but now, it’s the only shelter they have. A short-lived one before they are found and likely shot dead by the soldiers.

Kavlina quickly closes the door, bolting it with some metal gadgets and a cupboard. The room is now completely pitch black, the two of them just sitting on Faresoenn’s bed, holding their breath as they silently wait for the inevitable.

A crash as the house’s door is kicked down. The soldiers didn’t even bother knocking, their intrusive flashlights quickly conquering every open corner of the house. Avalel hears their footsteps, so frightening, so intimidating as they pass by. Occasionally, a ray of light passes into the room, and Avalel grips his fists tightly, afraid to even make a sound.

A kick against their door, rattling the cupboard. Without hesitation, Kavlina goes to the door, pushing against the cupboard with her back. Another kick, and she coughs in pain as the wood knocks her back, drops of spit splattering on the floor. The door is already cracking. A third kick, then a fourth, a fifth… Kavlina holds strong, but her strength is faltering. And yet Avalel, stunned in fear, continues to sit, unable to bring himself to move, his frozen body not answering his call.

If you’re afraid, there’s always that big torch in my room.

Faresoenn’s words echo in his head. Yes. The torch. It’s somewhere in the room. Perhaps it can at least offer some comfort for him, although he doesn’t know what to expect. If he lights it up, he will expose their location. But then again… isn’t their location already exposed?

He crawls down the bed, making his way to the only stick-like object in the room. It isn’t really a big torch, but rather a thin stick about up to his waist in height with a piece of flammable cloth tied to it at the top. Sighing, he reaches for it, hoping at least to somewhat quell his fears as Faresoenn promised.

A great warmth seems to wrap itself around him, his mind blanking out just for a moment as he sees the outline of a small girl before being snapped back to reality. The torch suddenly lights up, burning away the cloth and the wood as it illuminates the entire room.

It’s been a while, young one.

“Lel, what are you—” Kavlina calls out before the door is finally broken down, the flashlights immediately flooding the room.

A great fiery crimson light suddenly encompasses the area, overpowering even all the flashlights, temporarily blinding the soldiers. Avalel himself seems to be engulfed, swallowed in a ball of flame. Even as the wood is burnt to a crisp, Avalel feels no pain at all, his right arm still as it is. Yet something, just something feels off.

As the light finally dies down, Avalel finds himself holding a finely decorated sword almost completely of a silver color. A single red gem decorates the six-winged guard, with a fine, balanced blade and a slightly long handle ending with a blunt pommel. The gem itself seems to radiate its own light, emanating an unnerving sense of raw power and energy. It pulses almost like a beating heart, powering its own life.

The soldiers jump back in fright, completely in fear of the object in front of their eyes. Kavlina's eyes widen, unbelieving of what she's seeing in front of her.

“You’ve done enough, Kavlina,” Avalel finds himself saying. “I’ll protect you.” His left eye begins to bleed, the blood etching into his skin, forming a sort of symbol similar to the shape of the sword. As his eye is bled black, a single red dot surrounded by eight diamond-shaped marks replaces his pupil and iris.

The gem pulses faster and faster, like an engine becoming active, like a being coming to life.

You are truly born now, young one.