The city awoke to whispers of horror. In the narrow alley, only ash remained where boys had once stood. The cobblestones were cracked, the walls scorched, yet no bodies were found. Merchants spoke of demons, priests muttered of curses, and the people avoided the street as though it were haunted. Within the marble halls of the city's rulers, the High Council gathered, their voices sharp and wary. "Seven boys vanish in a blaze of fire," one ruler said, his jeweled fingers tapping the table. "No witnesses, no survivors. Only destruction."
Another leaned forward, his eyes cold. "This was not ordinary magic. The marks on the stone… they speak of combat power. And yet, the flames were unnatural. Whoever did this is no common fighter." The council fell silent. The city thrived on hierarchy — warriors and magicians ruled, the weak obeyed. But this massacre hinted at something beyond their control. A power that was both magic and combat, fused in one. A power that could shatter their order. "Find the source," the leader commanded. "If a monster walks among us, we will root it out."
Far from the council's chambers, Hoj stumbled into the forest, clutching Mandle close. The trees swallowed them, their branches whispering like guardians. For Hoj, the forest was not frightening — it was sanctuary. He laid Mandle gently on a bed of leaves.
The boy's face was pale, streaked with ash, his breathing shallow. Hoj knew the child had unleashed something terrible, but Mandle had been unconscious, his eyes closed even as the ground cracked and the flames roared. Hours passed before Mandle stirred. His mismatched eyes opened, confused. "Father…?" His voice was weak, uncertain. "You're safe now," Hoj whispered. "We're far from the city." But Mandle frowned. "Safe? What… happened?" His gaze searched his father's face, but there was no memory in his eyes. The fight, the fire, the screams — all gone.
Then pain struck. A sharp, searing headache tore through his skull. He cried out, clutching his head, his small body convulsing. The sound pierced the forest, raw and desperate. Hoj scrambled forward, forgetting his own wounds, catching Mandle before he collapsed. "Mandle!" he cried, his voice breaking. The boy's cries grew weaker, his body trembling until at last he passed out completely, his head resting against Hoj's chest. The forest fell silent again, except for the rustle of leaves and Hoj's ragged breathing.
He held his son tightly, his heart heavy with dread. Mandle had no memory of the massacre, no knowledge of the terror he had unleashed. But the trail of cracked stones and scorched walls in the city would not be forgotten. And now, in the quiet of the forest, father and son began again — fragile, uncertain, but together. While the rulers searched for answers, the truth lay hidden beneath the trees, where a child with terrifying powers slept in his father's arms.