The chains were hammered deep into the forest floor, iron spikes biting into earth with dull, final thuds. Each impact sent a vibration through Tomora's body, up his arms, into his skull. His knees pressed into cold soil, wrists pulled wide, metal biting skin. The smell of damp leaves and smoke mixed in the air, heavy and suffocating.
Firelight flickered.
Tomora lifted his head slowly. One eye caught the flame, reflecting it back as a sharp, unnatural glow. The other stayed half-lidded, throbbing with a pain that pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
Footsteps approached.
Not rushed. Not aggressive.
Measured.
Leather creaked. Metal shifted.
Tomora's gaze slid forward.
The traveler stepped into the firelight.
No cloak now. No hunched posture. Black armor wrapped his body like a second skin, scarred and worn, built for war. His presence pressed down on the space around him, quieting the raiders without a word. Even the crackle of the fire seemed to hesitate.
The Raider Leader stopped a few steps away.
For a moment, he simply looked at Tomora. Not with hatred. Not with anger.
With interest.
"So," the man said, voice low and calm, "it really was you."
Tomora didn't move.
"The boy who erased fifty of my men," the Leader continued, eyes tracing the faint sparks that jumped along the chains, "in twenty-three seconds."
The words echoed in Tomora's head, mixing with memories he didn't want to touch. Screams. Running feet. The clean silence after.
"So what?" Tomora replied.
His voice came out flat. No bravado. No fear.
The Raider Leader's mouth curved slightly.
"Stage Two lightning," he murmured, almost to himself. "Untrained. Raw. No discipline. That kind of power chews its way out of the body."
He crouched, bringing himself eye level with Tomora.
"But there's something wrong with you."
The forest seemed to lean closer.
Tomora's head spiked with pain. Sharp. Sudden. White.
His vision blurred—and then snapped.
The execution platform flashed in his mind. The man's eyes. Calm. Accepting. The way the axe fell. The way the crowd screamed afterward.
Thunder rolled through his chest.
The Raider Leader tilted his head, watching the way Tomora's fingers twitched against the chains.
"Why didn't you kill us today?" he asked softly. "Fear? Pain?"
A pause.
"Or do you enjoy watching people die?"
Tomora's heartbeat thundered louder, drowning out the forest. Each pulse sent sparks crawling along the metal binding him. His breath slowed—not from calm, but from something colder.
A whisper slipped from his lips.
"…Pathetic."
The word tasted bitter.
Pain stabbed behind his eyes, deeper than before. His teeth clenched as electricity flared, snapping and hissing against the iron. The chains groaned, glowing faintly where lightning kissed metal.
The Raider Leader inhaled slowly, like someone savoring a scent.
"Ah," he said. "There it is."
Tomora's shoulders shook—not with fear, but with pressure. Something inside him pushed, clawed, demanded space. The ground beneath him trembled. Dirt lifted, pebbles hopping as if caught in invisible rain.
"A monster born from lightning."
Tomora's mouth opened.
No scream came out.
The chains shrieked.
Metal softened. The earth cracked.
With a violent snap, the iron tore free.
Lightning erupted outward, tearing through the clearing in wild arcs. Tomora surged to his feet, hair lifting, body wreathed in crackling light. His eyes burned—not fully white, but split, electric yellow bleeding into something darker beneath.
"I told you," he said, voice layered with static.
The raiders stumbled back, shields raised too late.
"I'm not dying today."
He stood there, power raging around him—yet he didn't attack.
Instead, he looked at them.
Not with rage.
With disgust.
His breath hitched. The storm flickered, unstable. His knees threatened to buckle.
Movement exploded from the trees.
Heat surged.
Jer slammed into the clearing like a comet, fists blazing, fire rippling across her arms. She drove a raider back with a single strike, boots skidding in scorched dirt.
"Are you okay?!" she shouted, eyes locked on Tomora.
He turned toward her, vision swimming. The lightning around him dimmed, sputtering like a dying flame.
"I'm still…" he breathed, "too weak."
A hand grabbed his.
Firm. Steady.
Tala stood beside him, jaw set, eyes sharp. She didn't speak—she didn't need to. Her grip said everything.
You're not alone.
"Then let us cover you," she said.
For the first time, Tomora didn't pull away.
Around them, the forest glowed—firelight, lightning, shadows stretching and twisting as the raiders regrouped.
The Raider Leader straightened, smiling wide now, teeth flashing in the dark.
"Good," he said, voice carrying easily through the chaos.
"Because now…"
He spread his arms.
"…the real hunt begins."
Lightning snapped overhead.
Fire flared in Jer's hands.
Tala stepped forward.
And somewhere deep in the forest, something answered back.
The world held its breath.
Then—
Darkness surged.