The forest had changed since the raid.
It still smelled of pine and damp earth, still whispered with rustling leaves and distant birdsong, but something invisible lingered between the trees now. A tension that hadn't been there before. Every snapped twig made hands tighten around weapons. Every shadow felt heavier.
Tomora walked at the front of the group, boots crunching softly against the dirt path. His pace was steady, deliberate. The faint crackle of electricity clung to him like static in the air—barely visible, barely audible, but there if you looked closely enough. A thin thread of yellow light danced under his skin, restrained by will alone.
Behind him, Tala kept close. Too close.
Her fingers brushed his sleeve every few steps, as if grounding herself—or maybe grounding him.
"Don't push yourself," she whispered again, her voice low and urgent. "Last time you collapsed. Your head—"
Tomora didn't turn around, but his jaw tightened. His steps didn't slow.
"I know," he said quietly.
Jer walked a few paces back, spear resting against her shoulder. She moved with confidence that came from years of surviving with little more than grit and stubbornness. The metal tip of her weapon caught the sunlight as it pierced through the canopy, gleaming with quiet readiness.
"If they show up again," Jer said, her voice clear enough for the others to hear, "we don't hide. We don't scatter. We fight together."
The village soldiers—ten of them—shifted uneasily. Their armor was mismatched. Some carried swords dulled by age. Others held spears with cracked shafts. Their eyes kept drifting to the forest floor, to the patches of earth where blood had soaked in days earlier.
They nodded anyway.
Because nodding was easier than admitting fear.
The path opened into a clearing.
Sunlight poured down, unhindered by branches, illuminating tall grass and scattered stones. For a heartbeat, it looked peaceful. Almost inviting.
Then the forest exploded.
Men burst from the trees—too fast, too many. Forty-one shapes surged into the clearing, boots pounding, weapons raised. Steel flashed. Leather creaked. The air filled with the sharp smell of sweat and iron.
The soldiers shouted.
Jer lifted her spear.
Tala reached for Tomora.
And Tomora didn't move.
No lightning surged.
No stance shifted.
No storm answered.
He stood still in the center of the clearing, arms loose at his sides, eyes fixed on the men surrounding them.
The Raider Captain stepped forward, a grin splitting his scarred face. His armor was darker than the others, stained and worn, as if he had stopped caring how much blood soaked into it.
"Oh?" the captain said. "You lived."
Jer glanced sharply at Tomora. "Get ready," she urged.
He didn't.
"No."
The word fell softly, but it landed like a stone dropped into water. Ripples spread outward.
Tala turned toward him sharply. "Tomora—what are you doing?"
His fingers curled slowly into a fist. The faint lightning around him flickered, then faltered, like a candle in wind. His breathing hitched once, just once.
Images flashed behind his eyes.
The burning pain splitting his skull.
The world going white.
Voices screaming.
His own power tearing against itself.
He swallowed.
"I'm too close," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "If I fight again…"
His hand trembled.
"…I won't stop."
Jer stared at him. The soldiers' formation wavered.
The raiders watched with growing amusement.
Tomora took one step forward.
Not toward the village. Toward them.
"You're not here for the village," he said calmly, his voice carrying across the clearing. "You're here for me."
The captain's grin widened. He tilted his head, studying Tomora with open interest now, like a hunter examining a rare animal.
"So you noticed."
Weapons rose higher.
Tension tightened like a drawn bowstring.
Tomora lifted his hands.
Not to summon lightning.
Not to strike.
But open. Empty.
"Then take me."
The words hit like a blade.
"What?!" Jer barked.
"Tomora, stop!" Tala shouted, her voice cracking as she reached for him again.
The soldiers erupted into panicked noise—protests, curses, disbelief.
Tomora didn't look back.
"I'm done running," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos behind him. "Everywhere I go, people get hurt. That ends now."
He stepped closer to the raiders.
The captain laughed, a deep, ugly sound. "That's real noble, boy."
He raised a hand.
"Chain him."
The raiders surged forward.
Cold metal wrapped around Tomora's wrists. Shackles snapped shut with heavy clicks. Rough hands shoved him forward.
He didn't resist.
Tala's breath caught in her throat. Jer's grip on her spear whitened her knuckles.
As they dragged him away, Tomora finally turned his head.
His eyes met Tala's first.
"Protect them," he said quietly.
Then Jer.
"Don't follow."
The chains pulled him forward, deeper into the ring of enemies.
The forest swallowed the sound of his footsteps.
And for the first time since he had learned to run, Tomora walked willingly into the dark.