| Through the Storm

༺ The Fractured City VII ༻

Rowan woke with a jolt, the pain in his back dragging him out of his slumber. His body felt as though it had been pulled through a storm, every muscle screaming in protest. His chest tightened as he gasped for air, the sensation of being pulled backward overwhelming his senses. It was as though the very fabric of reality was stretching, warping, tearing apart at the seams. Rowan's heart hammered in his chest as the world around him blurred.

Suddenly, he was slammed into something solid, the impact rattling his bones. His head spun, and his vision flickered as the air around him twisted. For a moment, there was nothing—just endless, empty darkness. Then, a deafening crash echoed through his ears, and he was thrust into the cosmos itself. Stars swirled around him, streaks of light cutting across the void like shooting stars. The expanse of the universe stretched out before him, vast and incomprehensible. There was no ground beneath him, no sky above. He was suspended in nothingness, weightless and adrift. His senses overloaded as his body tumbled through the boundless space.

For what felt like an eternity, Rowan struggled to make sense of his surroundings, but the cosmic landscape was alien, its beauty both awe-inspiring and terrifying. It was like staring into the heart of infinity. Time itself seemed to lose all meaning here, and the more he fought against the force pulling him, the more it overwhelmed him. He felt as though he were being torn apart by the sheer vastness, every atom of his being stretched and pulled in ways that defied understanding.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, the sensation stopped. Rowan was thrown back, and reality snapped into focus with a jarring crash. He found himself once again on solid ground, his legs buckling beneath him as he struggled to regain his balance. His body trembled, still reeling from the disorienting journey.

His eyes shot open, and he looked around. The world was different—familiar, but different. The air was thick with the smell of salt and rust, the scent of the sea heavy in his lungs. Rowan's feet were planted firmly on the weathered deck of a ship, the surface slick with moisture from the ocean spray. The wood beneath him creaked and groaned with the motion of the vessel, the lanterns overhead casting flickering shadows that danced like ghosts along the walls of the ship. His pulse quickened as his mind snapped into focus.

This was it—the same place. He recognized it immediately. The events that had unfolded here before came rushing back, but something was wrong. The entire world was frozen in place.

The ship was motionless, the sea itself had stopped, and even the wind had stilled. Rowan could feel the oppressive stillness in the air, the way the very world around him held its breath. It was as though time itself had been held in suspension. His gaze shifted, following the eerie silence of the scene before him.

There, in front of him, hovered a bullet. It was perfectly still, suspended in midair, inches from his head. Rowan's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the projectile. He could see the gleam of its metallic surface in the soft moonlight, the glint of it almost mocking him. The world around him had stopped, every detail frozen in time, and the bullet hung there—motionless, like the calm before the storm.

Rowan's heart pounded in his chest as he stood there, frozen in time with the bullet. His breath came in shallow gasps as the reality of the situation set in. He was caught in this moment, trapped in time, with death looming just inches from him.

But then, something happened. The bullet began to move—slowly at first, its motion almost imperceptible. Rowan's eyes widened as he watched the deadly projectile inch forward. The stillness of the world seemed to stretch on for an eternity as the bullet gained speed, its motion becoming more and more pronounced.

Rowan's instincts kicked in. With a swift motion, he dropped low, ducking just in time as the bullet streaked past him. His body moved almost on its own, a blur of motion as he launched himself forward, his feet pounding the deck beneath him. His eyes were fixed on the man holding the pistol, the one responsible for the bullet that had nearly taken his life.

The boss—his face a mask of surprise—watched in disbelief as Rowan closed the distance between them. The man tried to raise his pistol again, but Rowan was faster. In one smooth motion, he grabbed the man's shoulder, twisting him around. The boss's breath caught as Rowan's knee drove into his stomach with a sickening thud. The man crumpled to the ground in pain, his pistol slipping from his grasp as he gasped for air.

The masked mercenaries around them, who had been frozen in place moments before, were suddenly animated. With a coordinated fluidity, they reached for their weapons—khopesh swords, their gleaming curves catching the light of the lanterns. The sharp, menacing blades were an immediate threat, but Rowan didn't falter. His hand gripped the hilt of his keris, ready to face the mercenaries head-on.

But then, something changed.

The mercenaries, as though sensing a threat, froze. It was as if some primal instinct had kicked in, warning them of something Rowan couldn't see. In a split second, they threw smoke bombs to the ground. The air filled with a thick, choking fog, the world around Rowan turning into a swirling vortex of grey. His senses were on high alert, but the gas cloud was disorienting. The sharp tang of the smoke burned in his lungs as he held his breath, waiting for the next move.

The seconds stretched on, the thick cloud swirling around him. Rowan's muscles tensed, his body poised for action as the smoke began to clear. When it finally dissipated, the deck of the ship was eerily quiet. The mercenaries were gone—vanished without a trace. The boss, too, was nowhere to be found. It was as though they had all evaporated into the air, leaving nothing behind but the fading scent of smoke and the lingering tension in the air.

Rowan wasted no time. He turned toward the old man, still bound to the post, and swiftly cut the ropes that held him. The old man's eyes widened in shock and gratitude as he was freed. He staggered to his feet, his breath shallow, but his voice was urgent.

"We have to run!" the old man exclaimed, his eyes darting around nervously.

Rowan didn't understand, but before he could ask any questions, a voice rang out, cutting through the night.

"Didn't expect someone to beat a powerful organization."

Rowan's head snapped up, his eyes locking onto the source of the voice. The old man's expression shifted from confusion to dread as they both looked up into the night sky. There, hovering above them, was a woman.

She stood atop an almost invisible platform of compressed air, her feet balanced effortlessly as though she were walking on solid ground. The wind tugged at the edges of her light brown scarf, which billowed out behind her, the movement almost graceful in the still night air. Her army green shirt and light brown pants looked almost military in their design, practical and worn, though they were clearly suited to the task at hand. A single leather pauldron rested on her shoulder, the strap cutting diagonally across her chest.

Her eyes were hidden behind a pair of ski goggles, the reflective lenses gleaming faintly in the moonlight. They were the only thing that obscured her gaze, but they did nothing to soften the dangerous edge to her smirk. She was a warrior through and through. On her back, twin spears were crossed in an X formation, their sharp, gleaming tips poised and ready. Rowan could feel the raw power emanating from her—she was no mere fighter. She was something else entirely.

The old man's voice dropped to a whisper as he recognized her. "That's Selene Vaireis. Also known as The Howling Gale."

Rowan's gaze shifted between the woman and the moonlit horizon, his thoughts racing. The Howling Gale. The name sent a chill through him. Her presence was commanding, and the air around her seemed to bend and twist in unnatural ways. She was in control—of everything. The sea, the wind, the very air itself.

The old man's words were sharp, filled with warning. "You can't fight her. She's too powerful."

Rowan gripped his keris tightly, his heart racing, but his voice was calm. "I have no choice."

He turned to the old man, his eyes meeting his for a moment before he spoke. "Get out of here. Now."

The old man hesitated, his face etched with fear. "That's futile!"

Rowan's expression softened as he looked at the old man, a flicker of understanding passing between them. The old man knew what needed to be done. With a final glance at Rowan, he nodded and turned, running from the ship into the night.

Rowan stood alone, facing Selene Vaireis—the Howling Gale—her presence like a storm in the sky. The wind whipped around them, the moon hanging high above as the battle ahead loomed ever closer. Rowan's grip tightened around his keris as he faced her, ready for the storm to break.

Rowan's mind raced as Selene floated in front of him, the air charged with an eerie stillness before the storm. He needed an edge. A moment of hesitation could mean the end. He quickly opened the system interface, his heart pounding as he scanned the screen.

It appeared—the system, the gateway to his newfound power. Rowan allowed himself a brief moment of relief as the interface blinked to life before him. He was glad it still worked. No time for hesitation now.

He quickly checked the points he'd accumulated from the Ruinborns that he and Alina had defeated. Those Ruinborns had been no joke. High-ranking for a beginner, at least as Alina had explained. Each battle had been a struggle, but worth it. Rowan had gained 45 points in total—one for the solo kill of a Ruinborn and another assisted with Alina.

Without wasting another second, Rowan dumped the points into his stats. His fingers flew across the interface as he poured them into strength, speed, and durability. The points shifted rapidly, fueling his muscles and enhancing his agility. He prioritized strength most, knowing that it would give him the power to strike harder and resist more. His stats updated quickly.

Strength: 3

Speed: 2

Durability: 2

The numbers were modest, but the change was palpable. Rowan could feel his body growing stronger, faster, and more resilient. His mind sharpened, instincts kicking in. The moment the upgrade finished, Rowan's attention snapped back to the fight, his gaze locking onto Selene, who hadn't moved an inch.

And then, she moved.

With a powerful exhale, she released a massive blast of compressed air. The blast stayed suspended in mid-air, a swirling vortex of energy hanging above the battlefield. Rowan barely had time to react before smaller blasts of compressed air shot from it in rapid succession, each one aimed directly at him. The air around him snapped with tension as the blasts cut through the atmosphere with devastating speed.

Rowan's enhanced reflexes kicked in. He darted left, narrowly avoiding the first blast, then right, barely sidestepping the second. His body felt lighter, faster—each movement more fluid than before. His heart raced, but his mind was clear.

Selene's smirk widened as she watched him dodge with unnatural speed. "Well," she said with a mocking tilt of her head, "I am not going to hold back anymore!"

Her voice was a signal, and in an instant, the swirling vortex above her intensified. The pressure in the air grew heavier as Selene pushed all of her energy into the formation. The large compressed air blast above her swelled, turning into a monstrous, swirling tornado of wind. It shot forward toward the ship with the force of a hurricane. Rowan's stomach dropped as he realized the power behind it.

The ship creaked in protest as the tornado collided with its hull. The wind howled, the structure shuddering violently as the vessel split in two, its parts snapping under the pressure. The ship began to capsize as the water poured in, and Rowan barely managed to keep his balance on the broken deck.

"Damn it!" Rowan cursed under his breath.

He had to act fast. Rowan bolted toward the highest point of the ship, needing the elevation, needing the momentum. With a powerful leap, he soared through the air, angling himself for a strike on Selene. But the moment he was airborne, Selene reacted.

She pulled out her twin spears, her eyes narrowing with deadly focus. The spears were an extension of her, moving with practiced ease as she caught Rowan's keris in an X formation, blocking his strike effortlessly.

In that instant, she was already moving again. With a swift twist, she hurled Rowan into the tornado. The wind roared around him as he was sucked into the vortex, spinning violently. He fought against the winds, struggling to maintain control, but the tornado was relentless, dragging him deeper into its center.

His mind was clear, though. He needed to use the broken pieces of the ship. Rowan's enhanced reflexes kicked in as he grabbed hold of a jagged piece of debris and used it like a springboard to parkour around the edges of the tornado. He bounced from one fragment to the next, building momentum with each leap. Faster, faster.

And then, with a burst of power, he blitzed through the heart of the tornado, narrowly escaping the grip of the storm. As he shot out, he slashed his keris across Selene's cheek in a swift, fluid motion. The blade caught her by surprise, cutting a thin line across her skin.

She barely managed to block the attack, but the rage in her eyes was unmistakable.

"You think you can—" Selene hissed through gritted teeth, her fury palpable.

Before Rowan could react, she slammed her hands together, and a massive burst of wind shot out from her, pushing him backward with bone-crushing force. The wind was like a battering ram, sending him flying away from the port, his body twisting in mid-air as he was flung through the sky.

He was going down.

He braced himself for impact, but as his body hurtled toward the water below, Selene appeared beneath him, her feet coming up to meet his back in a powerful knee strike. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through Rowan's spine, and he was sent crashing toward the port. His body crashed into the buildings, smashing through five of them in a devastating chain reaction as he plummeted from the sky.

Rowan finally came to a stop, buried in rubble, blood trickling down from the wounds on his body. His chest heaved with the effort to breathe as the world around him spun in dizzying circles.

From the air above him, Selene's voice rang out, cold and unyielding.

"Join us… or die!" Her words hung in the air, the promise of destruction in them.

Rowan's eyes, blurry from the impact, locked onto her figure in the sky. The flames from their battle had spread, engulfing the port in a fiery chaos. The air was thick with smoke, and the heat pressed in on him.

He coughed, his voice hoarse as he shouted back, "No!"

His words were defiant, fueled by a raw determination that refused to bow to her. He would never join her.

But just as the flames began to consume him, something unexpected happened. A smoke bomb exploded in the midst of the chaos, the thick cloud of smoke obscuring his vision. Rowan's breath caught as he tried to make sense of what was happening. His instincts screamed for him to be on alert, but the smoke was too dense.

The world felt muffled. His senses dulled. And then, he heard a voice—a whisper through the haze

Rowan hesitated as the smoke swirled around him, the thick haze clouding his vision and making the world feel distant, muffled. His heart pounded in his chest, and his mind screamed for clarity, but all he could hear was the faint whisper of the voice calling to him.

"Pssh… follow me."

There was no time to think, no time to question. His instincts took over. With a grunt, Rowan pushed himself up from the rubble, his body aching with every movement. He wiped the blood from his eyes and squinted through the smoke. He could make out nothing but shapes—silhouettes moving in the distance.

He stumbled forward, every step an effort. The buildings around him were in ruins, fractured by the earlier devastation. The once majestic structures now lay in ruins, their jagged edges reaching for the sky like broken teeth. The fires from the battle still crackled in the background, casting an orange glow that flickered between the smoke. The air was thick with the stench of burning wood and metal.

Rowan followed the voice, his feet pounding on the cracked pavement, his mind focusing on nothing but moving forward. The smoke clung to him, but he pushed through, weaving in and out of fallen debris as he continued to follow the unseen guide.

It wasn't long before he found himself entering a labyrinth of broken buildings. The alleyways were narrow, tight, the spaces between the structures barely wide enough for him to fit through. He had to duck under beams and sidestep chunks of fallen masonry. The buildings here were still mostly intact, though battered. Some were leaning precariously, and others had gaping holes where windows once stood. The path ahead twisted and turned, the route not linear but erratic, as though they were navigating the wreckage of a forgotten city.

Each step felt like an eternity, but Rowan kept moving, trusting the voice to lead him. The layout of the city seemed like a maze, the streets winding and intersecting in unexpected ways. One minute, they were passing through an open courtyard, the next, ducking into the shadowed ruins of what looked like a market hall, the air thick with dust.

As they turned yet another corner, Rowan almost stumbled into an old, dilapidated staircase, its steps cracked and half-destroyed. The masked figure in front of him didn't hesitate, leaping up the stairs with practiced ease, and Rowan followed, though his legs felt heavy with exhaustion. The cold steel of his keris hung at his side, and the weight of his body seemed to grow with every passing moment.

They emerged onto a higher level of the city, the rooftops offering a momentary view of the chaos below. From this vantage, Rowan could see the smoldering wreckage of the port, the fire reflecting off the water. But there was no time to linger—he had to keep moving.

The masked figure continued to lead him, taking turns through alleyways, darting across bridges that spanned the gaps between collapsed buildings. Rowan felt like they were being funneled through the ruins, away from the flames, away from Selene and the violence of the battle.

It was almost as though they were moving through the underbelly of the city, a hidden network of forgotten streets and collapsed structures, a path known only to those who had lived here for years—or perhaps longer. Every corner they turned felt like a step further into this forgotten world, away from the destruction, away from Selene's wrath.

Finally, after what felt like hours of weaving through the city's skeletal remains, the smoke began to thin. They emerged into a small, secluded square, the ruins around them more intact, the space quieter. Rowan's chest heaved with exhaustion, his muscles screaming from the constant movement, but he forced himself to focus. He looked up to find the old man and Viktor waiting for him, standing at the edge of a broken fountain.

Without a word, Viktor nodded, and the old man gave him a silent look of approval. Rowan took a deep breath, his body still aching, his mind spinning from the whirlwind of battle. But for now, he had made it. He was safe.

Or so he thought. The sense of danger still lingered, the memory of Selene's power fresh in his mind. This was only a temporary reprieve. The real battle was yet to come.