The two youths exchanged glances but did not hesitate. They rose silently, their movements as smooth and shadowed as Grievous's own. Outside, the bustling market continued in its oblivious rhythm. A man stood nearby, engrossed in buying provisions, his attention swallowed by the colorful stalls and the clamor of merchants.
While the man's focus remained elsewhere, Grievous led the two children into the thickening darkness. The shadows cloaked their figures as they slipped through the alleys and shadows, vanishing from sight like whispers on the wind.
Within moments, they reached the sanctuary, a hidden underground safe carved into the roots of the estate, shielded by ancient enchantments and the protection of the family's ancestors. The three appeared there in silence, the only sound their soft footsteps on stone.
The two young men, exhausted from the day's strain and the sudden flight. and by Grievous' hidden hands, both sank into peaceful sleep almost immediately. Their breathing slowed, their faces serene, untouched by the chaos that had just passed.
Grievous stood watch, his eyes reflecting flickers of the dim torchlight. The weight of the moment settled upon him deeply.
'This moment has come as I expected,' he thought.
His mind raced, recalling every detail of the plan he had honed in secret for months. The time for patience was over. Now, action was necessary.
Quietly, he moved to the corner where his armor and mask lay carefully arranged. The armor was unlike any other, dark and mysterious, forged with hidden runes that whispered of power. He donned it piece by piece, feeling the familiar cold metal embrace his form.
The mask was the final touch, sliding over his face and obscuring his features beneath a grim visage.
With the armor in place, Grievous summoned the arcane energy within him. He focused intently and formed a perfect clone, an exact replica of himself, down to the smallest detail. The clone shimmered briefly before stepping aside.
He left the clone standing silently in his room as a decoy, a small deception to buy precious moments.
Then, with careful steps, Grievous climbed the winding stairs leading to the top of the palace. The air was cold and sharp against the armor, but he welcomed the chill. It sharpened his senses and steadied his nerves.
At the pinnacle, standing high above the city, he gazed down upon the palace, the very place that had held so many memories.
He extended his armored hand, fingers crackling with elemental energy. A fierce blaze kindled quickly, a fire elemental killer move that combined several spells in a devastating symphony.
With a sudden, forceful motion, the fire surged forth, a blazing torrent unleashed upon the palace. Flames licked the ancient stones, swallowing the walls in a ravenous hunger.
Screams erupted from within, frightened, desperate cries that echoed into the night.
Grievous watched quietly from above, his expression unreadable beneath the mask.
'Fortunately, I have a slight affinity with the fire element,' he thought, 'which is quite far from my main element, and is one of that man's elements as per the legends. So even if someone searched the rescue, they would not find anything about me.'
The fire raged with terrifying speed, consuming everything in its path. The palace became a furnace, the heat so intense it warped the air itself.
The killer move, a rare and powerful technique of the fourth rank, left no survivors. Bodies were charred beyond recognition, reduced to ashes in the inferno.
Yet beneath the devastation, the ancient arrangements made by the family's ancestors held true. The storeroom below ground, reinforced with resistant stones and protective enchantments, remained untouched by the flames.
Inside, the two children slept undisturbed, shielded from the destruction above.
Grievous lingered a moment longer, ensuring that every corner of the palace was consumed by fire and ruin. His heart remained cold, detached.
'This is necessary,' he reminded himself. 'A sacrifice for the future.'
When he was certain that all was destroyed, Grievous disappeared silently from the top of the ruined palace. Like a shadow slipping through the night, he moved swiftly to the other side of the kingdom, already planning the next move in the game that had only just begun.
---
Smoke billowed relentlessly, a dark shroud above the once proud Hyde family mansion. The thick haze curled upward, twisting like a living thing against the pale sky. Villagers and city folk from miles around stopped in their tracks, eyes drawn by the unnatural plume. Whispers spread quickly, carried on the wind as if the smoke itself spoke of the tragedy.
Envoys from neighboring nobles arrived cautiously, their expressions grim beneath polished helmets. They approached the scorched remains with wary steps, led by magicians skilled in detection and recovery. The ruins offered little solace. Charred corpses lay scattered, their forms twisted beyond recognition. The acrid scent of burnt flesh and smoldering wood hung heavy in the air.
The magicians worked swiftly, quelling the last stubborn flames and sealing pockets of heat. News traveled fast, and soon the kingdom buzzed with rumors of the Hyde family's destruction, claimed to be the work of a powerful magician whose name no one dared speak aloud. Fear mingled with sorrow in every retelling. Yet none ventured below the rubble.
Only a rare few knew of the underground storeroom, a sanctuary carved deep beneath the estate. All but one had perished, leaving Grievous the sole guardian of its shadows. Inside that dim refuge, days passed in silence. Then, stirring beneath layers of dust and despair, two young men awoke.
Faera blinked against the gloom, his vision swimming as memories clawed at the edges of his mind. Edmund's breath came in shallow gasps beside him. The heavy stillness pressed in, broken only by distant creaks and the faint drip of water. Slowly, fragments of the night before emerged. Grievous had acted with desperate courage, hiding them here before the inferno consumed all.
'He gave us everything,' Faera thought, voice barely a whisper.
Spells of every kind, carefully inscribed scrolls, and a space ring filled with magical fruitsartifacts meant to sustain and empower. They were gifts born of sacrifice.
Tears welled and spilled silently down their cheeks. The weight of loss settled deeply. Their father, their protector, had chosen to face death so they might live.
Faera wiped his reddened eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, voice trembling yet resolute.
"We have to get out of here first."
He swallowed hard, determination sparking anew.
"Then without a doubt, we will find who did this."
Edmund nodded, his body weak but spirit flickering like a flame in the breeze.
They were already talented rank two magicians, but with their father's final endowment, the path to late third rank lay open. Power and knowledge now rested in their hands, tempered by grief and sharpened by resolve.
Faera's gaze swept the cramped storeroom. Strange items cluttered the shadows, their purposes unknown. Yet instinct told him to gather all. He carefully placed them into the space ring.
"We must leave here quickly."
The urgency in his tone was clear.
"The fire must have already attracted many people."
Edmund's nod was slow but steady. Together, they rose, unsteady on legs stiff from confinement.
The massive door loomed before them, a barrier between the darkness below and the world above. It had been sealed tight, heavy wood reinforced with iron, now obstructed by rubble from the collapse.
With combined effort, they pressed forward. The door groaned, inching open as their strength grew. Behind it, debris shifted and settled.
They paused, alert.
Three bodies lay nearby, half buried in ruin. Faera approached cautiously, examining the nearest. Recognition eluded him, replaced by a dull ache of pity.
The second was equally unfamiliar, but the pain radiated in the silent stillness.
Then came the third. Faera's breath caught. He pushed away the debris with trembling hands, revealing a face once beloved.
Tears spilled down his palm as a choked whisper escaped.
"It's him."
Edmund's eyes widened.
"Who is he?"
Faera lowered the rubble gently, shaking his head to mask the pain.
"He is the cook."
A fleeting sadness clouded Edmund's gaze, but the moment passed. Survival demanded focus.
They pressed on, clearing more debris with weary determination. Each step brought them closer to freedom, to sunlight, to vengeance.
At last, they emerged, gasping in the harsh light. The air was thick with the scent of burnt wood and charred bodies.
Without hesitation, Faera summoned fire magic, flames flickering at his fingertips. Edmund mirrored the gesture, their combined energy lifting them from the ground.
They soared upward, wings of fire propelling them away from the smoldering ruin.
"Let's go," Faera urged, eyes scanning the horizon.
"The forest is far from here."
Their destination lay hidden among ancient trees, a place where they could heal and plan. The path ahead was uncertain, but their purpose burned clear.
Revenge awaited, and they would not rest until justice was claimed!