Saving Lior 2

The cloaked figures slipped into Lior's room as silent as shadows. The young boy lay peacefully on his bed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The faint moonlight streaming through the window illuminated his face, soft and serene.

One of the intruders pulled a vial from their cloak, uncorking it with a quiet pop. A faint mist rose from the liquid inside. Another figure produced a cloth and dipped it into the vial, the fabric absorbing the strange substance.

Moving with practiced precision, they pressed the cloth gently over Lior's nose and mouth. The boy stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering for a moment, but he quickly fell still, the sedative taking effect.

"He's out," one of the figures whispered.

"Good. Move," their leader ordered.

With careful hands, they bundled Lior into a black shroud, concealing his small frame. Moving as swiftly as they had entered, they climbed out of the window, their movements fluid and quiet, the boy securely in their grasp.

As they landed softly on the ground below, their leader glanced around, ensuring the coast was clear. That's when they saw him.

A small figure, no taller than a child of five, stood near the base of the wall. His form seemed to blend into the darkness, his features hidden in shadow. The faint light from the moon offered only the vaguest outline of his presence.

"Who's there?" one of the cloaked figures demanded, their voice low but tense.

The boy didn't answer immediately. He tilted his head, his voice modified and unnervingly calm when he finally spoke. "I am your death."

Before they could react, he moved.

The boy shot forward like a blur, his speed unnatural. His fist drove into the stomach of the closest figure with a force that sent them flying backward, crashing into the stone wall with a sickening thud.

"Get him!" the leader barked.

The remaining cloaked figures drew weapons, daggers gleaming faintly in the dim light. They lunged at the boy in unison, their strikes coordinated and deadly.

But the boy was faster.

He ducked under one blade, spinning low and sweeping the legs out from under the attacker. The figure hit the ground hard, and before they could recover, the boy slammed a fist into their chest. There was a crack of ribs breaking, and the figure went limp.

Another figure came at him from the side, slashing with precision. The boy twisted his body, the blade missing him by mere inches. In a fluid motion, he grabbed the attacker's arm and wrenched it sideways. The scream that followed was brief; the boy drove his palm upward into their jaw, snapping their head back.

The last two attackers hesitated, their confidence faltering. One tried to throw a knife, but the boy caught it mid-air, spinning it effortlessly before throwing it back. The knife embedded itself in the attacker's throat, their gurgled cries silenced as they collapsed.

The leader, now alone, stepped back, their breathing heavy. They dropped Lior's shrouded body, pulling out a curved blade that shimmered faintly with an ominous energy.

"Who are you?" they demanded, their voice trembling slightly.

The boy stepped forward, the shadows around him writhing as if alive. "I told you," he said, his tone cold and final. "I am your death."

The leader charged, their blade slicing through the air with lethal intent. But the boy didn't flinch. He sidestepped the attack, his movements almost casual. His hand shot out, gripping the leader's wrist with impossible strength.

With a sharp twist, the blade clattered to the ground, and the boy delivered a brutal knee to the leader's stomach. The figure doubled over, gasping for air.

"You made a mistake coming here," the boy said softly, his voice carrying an eerie calmness.

The leader barely had time to react before the boy's hands closed around their neck. The struggle was brief, their strength no match for the boy's unrelenting grip. A sickening snap echoed through the night, and the leader's body crumpled to the ground.

The boy stood amidst the carnage, his breathing steady. He glanced down at Lior's unconscious form, ensuring the child was unharmed. Then, with a wave of his hand, the bodies of the cloaked figures dissolved into shadows, leaving no trace of the fight behind.

The night fell silent once more, as if nothing had happened. The boy stepped into the darkness, disappearing without a sound.

Elsewhere

Kael slipped back into his room through the open window, landing lightly on the floor. He quickly glanced around, making sure everything was just as he'd left it. Quietly, he walked to his bed and flopped onto it, letting out a long breath.

"Wow," he muttered to himself, a small grin spreading across his face. "That was insane."

His heart was still racing as he replayed the fight in his head. The way the cloaked figures had moved, their weapons gleaming in the moonlight, and the rush of adrenaline when he'd taken them down one by one. He could still feel the sharp sting of their blades slicing the air near him, the satisfying crack of ribs breaking under his fists, and the way the leader's face had twisted in fear when they realized they didn't stand a chance.

It wasn't the first time Kael had fought, but something about tonight had his blood pumping in a way that left him restless. The danger, the chaos—it was thrilling, and for a moment, he let himself enjoy the memory of it.

Then, his smile faded. He let out a sigh, his excitement giving way to a weight he couldn't ignore.

"They're not going to stop, are they?" he said quietly to himself, staring at the ceiling.

He knew it was only a matter of time before more of them came. Whoever was after Lior wasn't going to give up, and protecting his brother would mean more nights like this—more fights, more blood, and even less peace.

"So much for a little bit of quiet," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

For a moment, he lay there, listening to the faint sounds of the night outside. He knew he couldn't let his guard down, not now. But for tonight, at least, Lior was safe. That was all that mattered.

Kael closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax. Peace might not last, but for now, he'd take whatever rest he could get.