Across the street, Xylia stood frozen in the clothing store—her composure slipping fast.
Her usual calm, regal composure had fractured, replaced by the barely-contained chaos of a mother whose child had vanished without a trace.
"Oh gods… where is he?!" Her voice was sharp, breaking at the edges. She tore through racks of tiny clothes as though she might find him wedged between them, every breath ragged with terror.
"He's just a baby—he couldn't have gone far! Anything could have taken him!"
Her mind spiraled:
"Dragged into an alley by slavers. Carved open for some witch's rite. Swallowed whole by something waiting in the dark."
Her nails bit into her palms, trembling. Her breaths came in shallow bursts, on the edge of hyperventilation.
The shopkeeper stepped forward, trying to soothe her. "Madam, please, he—he may only be wandering. We'll search—"
But Xylia didn't hear. She was already breaking. Her voice cracked, desperate:
"Rigas! Rigas, where are you?! Our son—he's gone!"
The door chimed open.
Rigas entered, composed as ever, with Styx bounding in behind him, clutching a sword almost as tall as she was.
"Mama, Mama, look!" Styx grinned, swinging it dangerously close to a mannequin. "Papa got me a sword! I'm gonna be a knight!"
Rigas puffed his chest proudly. "That's right, sweetheart! Your old man knows the best swordsmith in town. This baby's got a real edge."
He turned toward her, expecting a simple comment, maybe even a complaint about the sizing but his eyes automatically swept the shop for Piers. The boy wasn't in sight.
When he looked back at Xylia and saw her face—drained, shaking—his expression hardened instantly.
But Xylia didn't see the sword. Didn't hear the pride. She lunged, clutching Rigas's arms with white-knuckled desperation.
"Where is he?!" she gasped, her voice breaking. "Where's Piers? Please—tell me he's safe!"
One look at her—wild eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, her trembling grip on his shirt—and Rigas's pride melted into solemn resolve. His jaw tightened. Gently, he laid a broad hand on her shoulder, grounding her.
"Xylia," he said, voice low and steady, "breathe. We'll find him. He's strong—our son. Remember that."
But reason couldn't touch her. "He's a baby, Rigas!" she sobbed, collapsing against him. "What if he's crying somewhere, terrified? What if he's already—" Her voice strangled on the word. "—gone?"
Rigas wrapped her in his arms, holding her as if she might shatter. His hand stroked through her hair with steady patience.
"We'll get him back," he murmured. "Nothing in this world could take him from us. Not while we draw breath."
Styx had gone still. Her golden eyes shone with a new, grave determination as she reached for her mother's hand.
"Mama," she whispered, voice small but firm, "don't cry. I'll help find him. I'll protect Piers—just like you protect us."
Xylia's sobs slowed. Through wet lashes she looked at her daughter—not just a child, but a reflection of her own fierce heart.
Her trembling steadied. She drew in one slow breath, then lifted her chin. Her voice was raw, but laced with steel.
"We'll find him," she said. "Even if we have to burn this city to the ground."
And the three of them stood together—shaken, desperate, but unbreakable.
Across the plaza, Vale and Milli, having left the bookstore, met up with the rest of their party. Two figures approached, their expressions a mix of curiosity and relief.
The first was a man who looked every bit the seasoned hero. He carried himself with quiet confidence, the air around him shimmering faintly with restrained power. His attire was practical, reminiscent of an alchemist's—numerous pouches and vials hung from his belt, hinting at his mastery of chemicals. His name was Astral.
Beside him strode a dwarf, solid as stone and just as immovable. A massive shield rested across his back, battered but proud, like it had survived centuries of war. His beard was his crowning glory—long, snowy white, and so immaculately groomed it practically caught the light. This was Borin.
"Valerie! Milliana!" Astral called, his smooth voice carrying like a spell. "You're late. What kept you?"
Vale inclined her head toward Milli, who still hovered far too close to the child in her arms.
"We encountered… a slight delay," she said with dry humor. "Milli made a new friend."
Milliana's ears twitched, her eyes gleaming. "The cutest friend. He looks soft, but he's heavier than he should be. Like holding a little sun in my arms. A dangerous sun." Her grin widened, sharp-edged. "I want to keep him."
Borin chuckled, his beard bouncing. "By Grimnir's beard, what's this? Found yourself a wee bairn, have you?"
Vale sighed, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. "We found him alone in a bookstore. No parents in sight. We're trying to locate them."
Astral leaned closer, emerald eyes sharpening as he neared the boy. The moment he did, he felt it—a surge of mana, raw and unrefined, clinging to the child like a storm barely restrained. His chest tightened; this wasn't learned magic. It was innate power, the kind that bent worlds if left unchecked.
Yet when Piers blinked up at him, calm and curious, Astral's sternness faltered.
"Well now," he murmured, a warm smile tugging at his lips. "Aren't you something special, little guy? There's an entire storm of magic swirling around you... and yet you've got the face of a cupcake."
Astral's smile faded slightly. He narrowed his eyes at Vale, his tone low and deliberate. "Did you retrieve it?"
Without a word, Vale reached into her satchel and unfurled three crimson scrolls, their wax seals glinting like blood in the morning light. "Three scrolls. All sealed. Just like they said."
Milliana bent close to Piers, whispering like a conspirator. "Hear that, little star? They play with curses and blood-paper, and yet here you sit, quiet as a god in waiting. I'll feed you. I'll guard you. If Vale says no, I'll steal you away myself."
Vale's eyes narrowed slightly, though her voice stayed calm. "Which brings us to the matter at hand. We need to find his family. He cannot be left unattended."
Borin's humor drained away. He crossed his arms, voice grave. "Aye. She's right. We'll ask around. Better the boy back with his kin before trouble finds him."
Then—
Wham!
The plaza shuddered. Air buckled under the sheer force of impact, as if the ground itself recoiled.
Borin reacted instantly, yanking his battered shield into place.
Crack!
The blow landed like a thunderclap, splitting the cobblestones as the ancient shield shrieked in protest. A jagged fissure spiderwebbed across its face as the dwarf staggered back.
The dust cleared.
And standing there—skirt torn, muscles taut, violet eyes burning cold—
—was Xylia.
She moved like a storm given flesh, every line of her body taut with fury. A dark pulse radiated around her, thudding in time with her heart.
Moments earlier, she had been frantic, tearing through the square, her voice hoarse:
"Have you seen a baby? A tiny human child? He's missing!"
Then she saw them—four figures in the plaza.
And in their arms… her baby.
Her breath hitched. Her world narrowed.
Her heart stopped.
They had Piers.
Adrenaline drowned out thought. She lunged like a predator, driven by something older and harsher than reason.
Her voice was low, a snarl dragged into words:
"You dare steal my son?"
Astral froze.
A demonic aura...? His mind reeled.
Who is this woman?
His guard shot up, instincts screaming danger—yet beneath it, he sensed something else: love so sharp it could cut.
"GIVE HIM BACK!" Xylia roared, voice rattling the air.
Vale raised her hands, words spilling fast. "Wait please, this is a misunderstanding, we just—"
But Xylia heard nothing. The world had gone silent except for the tiny sound of her son's breath.
Instinct took over. She struck again.
But this time, Rigas, having finally caught up to the situation and realizing the, uh, delicacy of it, decided to intervene with his own brand of... heroism.
Her foot met Rigas's face.
WHAM!
He pinwheeled through the air like a ragdoll hurled by the gods, limbs flailing with absurd grace before slamming into a stone wall. The impact left a perfect man-shaped crater, dust sifting down like snowfall.
For a heartbeat, the plaza froze.
Astral's party stared, wide-eyed, jaws unhinged.
Milli clutched Styx to her chest as though shielding her from an apocalypse. "Oh gods, she broke him—!"
From the crater, Rigas twitched. With agonizing effort, he peeled himself free, nose crooked, hair sticking every which way, dust and blood painting him like a parody of a knight.
He wobbled upright, flashed a mangled grin, and raised a broken thumbs-up.
"I'm… alright," he wheezed. "I'm used to it…"
And in Vale's arms, Piers blinked once—then let out the softest baby giggle.
That sound—bright, innocent—cut through the tension like a blade. Xylia's fury faltered, her gaze snapping to her son's face.
Vale slowly lowered her hands. Astral let out the breath he'd been holding. Borin muttered darkly at his shield, tracing the new crack with one finger.
The misunderstanding began to unravel—not through reason or words, but through the undeniable proof stamped across Rigas's swollen face: no kidnapper could survive a mother's wrath like that.
Once the initial shock—and the collective urge to laugh at poor Rigas's predicament—subsided, Xylia stood before Astral's party, cheeks flushed.
"I… I owe you all an apology," she said quietly, "My son was gone—I lost myself, and—"
She glanced at Rigas, still nursing the outline of her boot on his face,
"—instinct took over. I thought the worst."
Borin chuckled, though he kept his shield close. "Overreacted's one way to put it, lass. Near cracked my bones with that kick."
Astral lifted a calming hand.
"We understand. A mother's fear can be stronger than reason."
Xylia lowered her eyes. "Even so, I lost control. It was reckless."
"Reckless love, perhaps." Astral countered gently, though his words carried weight. "Your instincts weren't wrong to worry. This child…" His gaze lingered on Piers, and his tone dropped low, "There's something inside him. His mana—it thrashes like a storm in a bottle. Left unchecked, it could consume him from within.
Milli's elbow jabbed into his ribs, her tail flicking sharply.
"Astral!" she hissed. "That's not how you tell a mother about her baby."
Astral blinked, startled, raising both hands.
"I—I'm sorry. That came out wrong." Yet his eyes didn't waver. He had meant it.
Xylia tightened her hold on Piers, knuckles pale.
"…I know. I've felt it. The sleepless nights. His mana used to leak out in his sleep. But he's just a baby. He can't control it."
Astral studied her for a long beat, then reached into his belt.
From one of his many vials, he produced a small, dark-green potion.
He held it out carefully, as if offering something sacred.
"This will calm the surge. Just for a while. It won't fix him. But it might give him rest."
Xylia hesitated—not out of mistrust, but fear. Fear of needing this.
Vale touched her arm gently.
"It's safe. Let us help—it may come in useful later."
With a small, grateful breath, Xylia accepted the vial, bowing her head slightly. "…Thank you."
Behind them, Rigas muttered through his crooked nose, "See, love? Not every stranger's a kidnapper. Some just… get unlucky enough to catch your kick."
Styx puffed her chest, hugging her sword. "Mama's the strongest!"
Rigas straightened, his tone steady.
"Our path's clear enough. We are taking Out son to the Holy Church of Jenora. If anyone can guide us with his… aptitude, it's them."
Before Astral could answer, Vale stepped forward with a polite, steady smile.
"We wish you safe travels. Our own journey takes us elsewhere, but We are glad fate let us meet today."
Milli's ears drooped, her tail curling low. She leaned close to Piers, pouting.
"So… no goodbye snuggles?
Piers blinked at her—then pressed his face into Xylia's shoulder. For the briefest instant, the air around him seemed to ripple, heat shimmering, like a candle flame starved of air.
Milli flinched, hand twitching toward her chest.
She forced a smile, waving brightly. "Take care of the little cupcake!"
Borin gave a low, hearty chuckle.
"And keep that lass's kick aimed away from allies, eh?"
Xylia's blush deepened, but her arms never loosened around Piers.
And so the two groups parted ways—one heading toward Jenora Church, the other vanishing down their own road. But even as distance grew, Astral's gaze lingered on the child.
Behind the innocent eyes, he had felt it: a storm biding its time.
* * *