Cold iron bit into Tomora's skin.
The chains wrapped around his wrists first—rough, heavy links that scraped against raw flesh as they were tightened. Then came the collar, snapped around his neck with a dull metallic click that echoed far too loudly in the clearing. The moment it locked into place, a sharp sting pulsed through his nerves, like needles pressing inward, smothering the faint hum of lightning beneath his skin.
He staggered once as a raider shoved him forward with the blunt end of a spear.
"Move."
Tomora didn't resist. His feet dragged against the dirt as he stumbled ahead, branches brushing his arms, thorns catching at his sleeves. The forest felt closer now, darker—its shadows pressing in as if watching silently.
Behind him, voices broke through the tension.
"Tomora!"
Jer strained against the grip of two villagers holding her back. Her spear lay discarded on the ground, forgotten. Her jaw was clenched so tightly it trembled, eyes burning as she watched the chains pull him farther away.
Tala stood frozen, fists clenched at her sides. Her lips parted as if she wanted to scream his name—but no sound came out. Her eyes followed every movement of the chains, every shove, every step he took away from her.
"Don't let them take him!"
A villager shouted, but fear rooted their feet in place. The memory of bodies from the previous raid still lingered too close. No one moved.
Except Yora.
While the raiders barked orders and laughed among themselves, something small slipped through the chaos. A flicker in the air. A shimmer, barely noticeable—like heat rippling off stone.
Then nothing.
"Where'd the brat go!?" one raider snapped, spinning in place.
Another cursed as his foot was suddenly kicked out from under him. He hit the ground hard with a yelp. A second raider stumbled forward, shoved from behind by hands he couldn't see.
"What the hell—!?"
Panic rippled through the group.
Yora moved like a ghost.
Invisible fingers tugged at belts, pinched exposed skin, shoved knees sideways at the worst possible moments. One raider swore loudly as something yanked his helmet down over his eyes. Another shouted as his spear was knocked aside.
"Let him go," a small voice whispered—not loud, but fierce.
Tomora twisted his head, eyes searching wildly.
"Yora—"
A sudden hand lashed out blindly through the air.
Fingers closed around something solid.
Yora screamed.
Her invisibility shattered in an instant, her body flickering back into view as the Second Commander yanked her forward by the wrist. She stumbled, nearly falling as she was dragged into the open.
The laughter came immediately.
"Well, well," the brute chuckled, towering over her. His grip tightened, scarred knuckles crushing into her small wrist. "What do we have here?"
Yora froze.
Her face drained of color, eyes wide and glossy. She tried to pull back, but her strength meant nothing against his. Her free hand shook violently as she raised it, fingers curled like she might still fight.
"I—I'm not scared," she said.
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Tomora's chest tightened painfully.
"Yora," he said sharply, taking a step forward despite the chains. The iron links rattled loudly as a spear jabbed into his side, forcing him back. "Don't do this."
Her eyes flicked to him instantly.
She searched his face—not for orders, not for a plan—but for reassurance. For something to hold onto. For proof this wasn't the end.
The Second Commander tilted his head, amused. He lifted a blade slowly, the steel catching the light as he raised it near her throat—not touching, but close enough that she stopped breathing.
"Brave little thing," he murmured.
Tomora moved again, this time stepping fully into the spear's path. The metal pressed hard into his ribs, but he didn't flinch.
"Don't hurt her."
The words came out calm. Steady. Not a plea.
Yora stared at him, stunned.
She waited for him to say something reckless. Something heroic. Something stupid.
Instead, he smiled.
It was small. Gentle. Almost warm.
"Don't worry about me," he said softly. "I'm not dying today."
Her breath hitched.
"Not here," he continued. "Not yet. It's not my time."
Her lips trembled violently. She bit down hard, teeth digging into her lip as tears welled but didn't fall. The Second Commander snorted and reached down with his free hand.
He grabbed Tomora's shirt from Yora's grasp—the same shirt she'd been holding onto since that night.
"So this belonged to you?" he asked, holding it up mockingly.
Tomora shrugged, chains clinking as he shifted his shoulders.
"You can keep it," he said lightly. "I'll get another one."
Yora's face turned bright red instantly.
"I—I never wanted it anyway!" she blurted out.
Her voice broke halfway through the sentence.
She turned her head away sharply, shoulders shaking as she stepped back, retreating into the safety of the villagers. The raiders didn't stop her this time. They had what they came for.
The chains tightened again.
"Move."
They dragged Tomora toward the forest, boots crunching against dead leaves, branches snapping underfoot. He didn't fight. Didn't struggle. His steps were steady now—measured, deliberate.
As he crossed the tree line, he looked back one last time.
His eyes met Yora's.
Then Tala's.
Then Jer's.
And even chained… even stripped of power…
He smirked.
A survivor's smile.
"Save your strength," he said quietly. "I'll walk back with my own two feet."
The forest swallowed him whole.
And the chains rattled on.