The merchants' legs scrambled beneath them. Their eyes darted to every shadow, every corner, every possible escape.
We can run. Maybe through the gates. Maybe if we hide. She can't be everywhere. She won't follow.
Blaze snapped her fingers.
The ground itself obeyed.
An invisible hand seized their spines and throats, dragging their ruined bodies across the cold stones like discarded toys.
Pathetic. Useless. Weak,
Blaze thought, watching them flail.
You stain my name and think you are still alive.
They hit the center of the courtyard, suspended above the ground. Their limbs twitched, useless and crooked. One tried to scream, another flinched violently.
Foolish. Weak. Every movement is meaningless.
Blaze circled them slowly, deliberate, her boots sounding louder than their gasping. The red flower in her hair gleamed beneath the veil—a jewel of calm in the storm of suffering.
I wonder… which form of amusement shall I indulge in first?
"Should I burn you alive?" she asked softly, almost conversational. "You are familiar with fire."
Run… run… I can still escape,
the merchants thought, panic pulling at their instincts.
If we just jump, maybe we can survive. We're faster… maybe faster than her…
"Or break every bone, one by one," she continued. Pressure twisted their limbs painfully, joints popping.
Useless… weak… pathetic.
"I could remove your heads." Their necks strained under invisible hands.
"Pull your organs out slowly." One of them whimpered, imagining the horror.
"Or drain you dry," she added, "and see how long you beg before silence."
Maze appeared beside her in a shimmer of embers. She did not look at the merchants, only at Blaze. Her youthful face paled. Master… this is… too much.
"…Master," Maze whispered. "You'll figure it out."
Her eyes flicked toward the merchants, then away. "Let me move the children," she added quickly. "All of them. Somewhere safe."
Blaze did not respond.
"Do it," she said in thought, her gaze fixed on the twisted figures below. I do not care for their fear… only the name they sully.
Maze exhaled and vanished in a flash of fire, reappearing moments later among the shadows where frightened children waited. She wrapped them gently in flames shaped like wings. Ven clung to nothing but hope, trembling as Maze guided him and the others away.
Blaze remained.
She looked down at the courtyard stones. Water seeped upward from cracks, pooling around the merchants' suspended bodies, cold and slow. What if I boil them alive? How exquisite.
The merchants' inner thoughts scrambled. We can't… can't die like this… maybe if we just beg… maybe she'll…
"…Hey!" one rasped, courage twisted by desperation. "You… don't have to do this! Bet… bet you've got a beautiful face under that veil! You could join us… make money… real money…"
Blaze's veil stirred, just slightly. Impertinent. Foolish. Weak.
The water ignited. Not outside—inside. Flames rolled beneath the surface, white-hot, consuming instantly. Their screams failed to form as throats and lungs burned. Pathetic. Nothing but weak, useless flesh.
Blaze watched, unblinking.
When the water collapsed back into the earth, nothing remained that could scream, beg, or remember.
She adjusted the red flower behind her ear. I am amazing.
The courtyard fell silent.
Maze hovered a few steps behind, flames dimmed, witnessing without awe or surprise. The children were safe, carried beyond the courtyard's reach.
Order restored,
Blaze thought.
My shadow cleans itself, and my name remains untarnished.
Blaze walked the corridors of the mansion while the screams followed her.
They echoed through stone and gilded halls, muffled only by distance, never fading—pain stretched thin and long, like something meant to last. Walls trembled faintly with every broken cry. The air smelled of steam, scorched flesh, and fear trying to survive.
"You deserve it," she murmured without turning her head.
Her footsteps were unhurried.
Paintings peeled from damp walls as she passed. Silk curtains hung rotting, gnawed by time and neglect. At the far end of the lower wing, she stopped before a narrow door half-swallowed by dust and cobwebs.
A storeroom.
No—
a vault pretending to be one.
Blaze pushed the door open with two fingers.
Darkness receded instantly.
Gold.
Stacks upon stacks of it. Chests cracked open and overflowing. Coins stamped with foreign empires. Gemstones locked in velvet trays—blood-red rubies, cold sapphires, pale diamonds cut by hands that had never known hunger. Rare imports lay scattered beneath dusty cloth: ceremonial blades, glasswork from distant ports, relics smuggled through borders soaked in bribes and screams.
Blaze stepped inside.
She did not smile.
These simple gold-colored rocks, she thought coolly, are meaningless to me.
She swept her sleeve once.
Selected artifacts lifted into the air—ancient scroll-tubes, sigil-etched boxes, items steeped in old magic and forgotten contracts. They vanished soundlessly into the hidden realm of her mind, stored like memories she might one day find amusing.
The rest she ignored.
The merchants screamed again.
Blaze paused, head tilting slightly, as if listening to music.
Pathetic. Useless. Weak.
She turned, snapped her fingers.
Across the city, paper fell from the sky.
Not fire.
Not ash.
Documents.
Pages fluttered down like pale wings—confessions, ledgers, contracts, shipping manifests. Names. Dates. Routes. Proof of crimes layered so thoroughly even denial would rot under it. Seals burned into the parchment glowed faintly as they landed in streets, on doorsteps, across market stalls, inside noble courtyards.
Truth rained without mercy.
Blaze didn't watch.
The eastern sky had begun to pale.
Dawn crept in reluctantly, as if unsure it was welcome after the night she had carved open.
She left the mansion without looking back.
Miles away, beyond the reach of screams and collapsing lies, Maze waited with the children. Flames shaped like wings sheltered them from cold and fear. Ven stood among them, small hands clenched tight, eyes searching the horizon without knowing why.
Blaze emerged from the shadows.
Maze looked up.
"It's done," Maze said quietly.
Blaze adjusted the red flower tucked behind her ear.
"I know."
Behind them, the city would wake choking on truth.
Ahead of them, the valley waited—silent now, finally listening.
Blaze turned toward it, posture straight, expression hidden, untouched by the dawn.
My name remains untarnished, she thought.
And that is all that matters.
The screams faded behind her.
The story moved forward.
Blaze did not follow them into the town.
She stopped at the edge of the road, where the earth turned from wild grass to beaten stone, and lifted her wrist slightly.
"Maze," she said. "Disguise yourself."
Fire folded inward, reshaping without spectacle. When Maze stepped forward again, the embers were gone—replaced by a plain cloak, dust-smudged shoes, dark hair tied back loosely like any other village girl. Her presence dimmed, no longer radiant, no longer terrifying. Just… human.
"You will take them to the town office," Blaze continued calmly. "You will tell them everything. Names. Methods. Routes. How the red-wearing ghost's name was used to steal children and sell them."
Maze nodded. "And the children?"
Blaze's gaze swept over them—thin arms, hollow cheeks, eyes dulled by nights too long and fear too constant.
"I will see to that."
Maze hesitated, then bowed her head. "Understood."
She took the children gently, guiding them forward. Ven lingered for half a breath, glancing back—not at Blaze's face, but at the shape of her presence. Something in him recognized safety without understanding why.
Blaze did not move.
She watched.
From the shadows behind a crumbling wall, she followed without being seen, her steps never touching the ground long enough to leave a mark.
The town office erupted before Maze even finished her first sentence.
"What nonsense is this?" a clerk snapped, rising halfway from his chair. "Children don't simply—"
Then he saw them.
The room went silent.
Small figures stood clustered behind Maze—too thin, too quiet, too still. Bruises half-hidden beneath sleeves. Rope burns. Eyes that flinched at raised voices.
A chair scraped back sharply.
"Gods above…" someone whispered.
Maze spoke steadily, voice trembling just enough to sound human. She laid out the truth piece by piece—how the merchants spread fear, how they whispered of a red-wearing ghost, how lullabies and lies guided children away from their homes. How contracts were signed in bloodless rooms. How routes led out of town under the cover of superstition.
Every word landed like a blow.
"No," a woman sobbed suddenly, pushing forward. "No—my son—"
A boy lifted his head.
"Mother?"
The scream that followed shattered something in the room.
Parents surged forward, voices breaking, hands shaking as children were pulled into desperate arms. Tears soaked hair. Fingers clutched clothing as if letting go would undo reality itself.
"My daughter—my baby—"
"I looked everywhere—everywhere—"
"I thought you were dead."
Blaze watched from the doorway's shadow.
Pathetic, she thought distantly. How loud they become when loss retreats.
Still, she did not look away.
One by one, the children were claimed. Some cried. Some stared blankly, confused by warmth after so long without it. Ven stood apart, uncertain, watching reunions that were not his.
Maze noticed.
She knelt beside him. "It's alright," she said gently. "You're safe now."
Ven nodded, though his eyes searched the crowd.
Blaze's fingers moved.
The powder drifted unseen, weightless as breath. It settled on hair, on lashes, on skin. A memory-softening haze that erased sharp edges—chains without detail, fear without faces. The night blurred into something distant, dreamlike, survivable.
Children blinked.
"What… happened?" one murmured.
Parents held them tighter, relief flooding in fast enough to drown questions.
Blaze withdrew her hand.
They will remember nothing of me, she thought. Good.
Officials scrambled now—scribes writing furiously, guards shouting orders, seals pressed into wax with shaking hands. The name of the red-wearing ghost echoed through the room again and again, but this time it carried no power.
Only shame.
By the time the sun fully rose, the town would believe justice had arrived by chance—by brave testimony, by documents falling from the sky, by mercy.
They would never know how close they had come to being erased along with the guilty.
Blaze stood at a distance, dawn light brushing her veil.
Order restored, she thought calmly. And my name remains clean.
Below, parents wept in relief.
Above, the sky burned gold.
Blaze turned away without sentiment and vanished into the thinning night.
Maze returned after the crowd thinned and the town office fell quiet again.
The shouts were gone. The crying had faded into exhausted relief. Only lantern smoke and scattered footprints remained—proof that something terrible had ended here, even if no one could quite remember how.
Maze stood with a small group of children behind her.
Ven was among them.
Blaze emerged from the shadow of a stone archway, veil in place, posture immaculate. She stopped a few steps away and looked at the extra figures with open displeasure.
"What," she said flatly, "is this."
Maze hesitated. Then, softly, "These ones… don't have anyone to go back to."
Blaze's gaze sharpened. "Explain."
"They're orphans," Maze said. "Some were sold after their families died. Some never had families to begin with."
Blaze clicked her tongue quietly.
"I do not own an orphanage," she said. "And I have no intention of starting one."
The children shrank back instinctively.
Maze did not argue.
She just looked up at Blaze.
Big eyes. Quiet. Hopeful in that infuriatingly human way.
Blaze felt irritation coil sharply in her chest.
Disgusting, she thought. What filth did this thing learn from humans.
She turned away half a step, pinching the bridge of her nose beneath the veil.
"This is inefficient," she muttered.
Maze waited.
The silence stretched.
Blaze exhaled—slow, controlled, annoyed.
"…Fine," she said at last.
Maze brightened instantly.
Blaze lifted a finger. "Do not look at me like that. I am not agreeing to anything permanent."
She turned her gaze to the children again, eyes glacial.
"Take—" she paused, frowning faintly. "What was his name. The thin one."
Maze blinked. "…Ven."
"Ah. Him." Blaze waved a dismissive hand. "Take Ven with us."
Ven startled, eyes widening. "M–me?"
"Yes, you," Blaze said coolly. "The rest—leave them at an inn. Or a shelter. Somewhere loud and supervised."
She turned already, interest fading. "This singing ghost is becoming an inconvenience. And I dislike unresolved inconveniences."
Maze nodded quickly. "I'll make arrangements."
Blaze took two steps, then stopped.
"And little flames."
Maze looked up.
"This is temporary," Blaze added coldly. "Do not misunderstand me."
Maze smiled anyway.
Ven followed hesitantly, glancing back once at the town office before hurrying to keep up.
As they walked away from the waking city, the valley loomed in the distance—quiet now, waiting.
Blaze's eyes narrowed beneath the veil.
Finish the mother, she thought.
Then decide what deserves to remain.
The dawn crept higher.
And somewhere behind them, a lullaby waited to be silenced forever.