The Glaive and the Fire

-- Ray --

Ray's stomach growled. The heat was oppressive, and the brooks they passed had long since stopped offering anything edible. Time and again, he and the otter warrior would peer into the gently rippling water—only to be disappointed once more as the acidic gnawing in their bellies grew louder.

Still, Ray wasn't ready to become a thief. They kept their hands off the fields they passed, not that it would've helped much. Most carried only flowers, and the few fruits that clung to the withered stems looked sunburnt and barely worth the trouble. But they couldn't go on much longer like this. They needed food.

"Caleb," Ray said, pointing east, "let's head into that village. There's bound to be a market or something. I'm starving."

"Fine," the otter grumbled, "but let's get through the centre quickly. I'd rather not get into another scuffle like in Tsubiki."

His voice held that scolding tone Ray had come to know all too well. The young man only grinned and raised his hand to his heart, as if swearing a solemn oath. "I swear on all that is soggy—I'll behave."

It had been nearly two days since they'd first spotted the broad, cherry-lined avenues that signalled their arrival in the Sakura region. The name fit. Sakura—blossom. Ray had heard people say it was the most breathtaking part of the entire Shizen Bistum.

Late spring had brought the cherry trees into full bloom. Delicate white and pink petals crowned the high branches like a blessing from the skies. Ray had never seen so many blossoms in one place. Then again, he hadn't seen many at all. The lands of the southern Water Tribe didn't grow such fragile trees. The only sakura he knew was dried, steeped into the tea his grandmother used to sip, brought in by travelling merchants.

But whatever wonder he'd felt was quickly melting away with every passing hour. The deeper they ventured into Sakura, the hotter it became, making their travel slow and exhausting. They were forced to rest more often than they liked, moving forward only in short, sluggish stretches.

Around them, cherry groves and flower fields unfolded like a painting, broken here and there by scattered farmhouses. The village Ray pointed to now was the first real cluster of buildings they'd seen since entering this part of the Shizen Bistum. It was no Tsubiki, that much was clear.

Ray's eyes wandered across the tidy wooden homes as the path curved between them—neat, peaceful, and quiet. No stone walls, no paved roads. Probably no more than a hundred souls living here.

He frowned slightly.

Hopefully, there was at least a market.

A young man bumped into Ray without warning."Watch it," he muttered, hurriedly gathering up the white lilies he'd dropped. The bouquet was so large that he hadn't seen the wandering water warrior in front of him.

"The market?" Ray asked quickly, before the man could rush off.With a curt gesture, the stranger pointed down one of the side paths.

"Thanks," Ray called after him, but the man had already vanished around the corner.

Not long after turning past another neat row of timber-framed houses, Ray and Caleb found themselves standing at the edge of the market square.

It was surprisingly large for a village this small—and even more surprisingly, bustling with life. People pressed in from all sides, crowding around the wooden stalls so tightly it looked more like a city festival than a remote village gathering.

"This must be the central market for all the surrounding settlements," Ray murmured.

"Wait here," he added, glancing at Caleb. "No need for both of us to get trampled."The otter gave a short nod.

Ray plunged into the crowd, weaving his way from stall to stall—only to find that most of them had already been picked clean.The only goods that still seemed to overflow were the many-coloured flowers, arranged in elaborate bundles across nearly every table.

Some of the merchants looked as empty as their displays—tired eyes, slouched shoulders. Others, who still had a few meagre goods left, were too busy fending off the swarm of locals to even notice a pair of strangers.

One stand in particular was completely swarmed by people. A wooden sign read, in elegant hand-painted script:Remedies and Healing Salves.

"These people look even more affected by the crisis than those in Tsubuki," Ray thought grimly. "Maybe the Officials should start doing their jobs in places like this… instead of wasting time getting drunk."

He lingered a moment, watching the commotion, before squeezing through to a modest bakery stand tucked off to the side.

The woman behind it was elderly and small, with folded arms and tired eyes. She glanced up at him.

"Two loaves of bread, please."

"None left."Her voice was flat, like someone who had repeated the same sentence too many times.

Ray immediately noticed the difference in her accent—it was sharper than what he'd heard in Tsubuki. The Sakura dialect, he guessed. It sounded tougher. Like the life here.

"Then, um… what do you have?"

── ✧ ──

Ray returned at last, less than satisfied, carrying a dry pretzel and three rock-hard bread rolls.Caleb raised a scruffy eyebrow. "Well, that doesn't look particularly appetising."

Ray shrugged. "It's edible. Come on, let's get out of here. I spotted a small rise to the east earlier—should be a decent spot to rest without all the stares."

The otter accepted half of the pretzel and began gnawing at it, clearly unimpressed with the taste.

As they climbed the gentle, grassy hill, Ray raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. Sweat beaded across his brow—something he still wasn't used to in this unfamiliar heat. It stung where it touched the scar on his face, and he made a mental note to rinse the wound soon. More than that, though, he longed for the breeze of home—the ever-present wind that danced through the southern water lands.

He came to an abrupt stop. Something up ahead had snapped him out of his thoughts.

Caleb bumped into him with a grunt.

"Shh." Ray held out a warning hand, motioning for silence.

Due to the stark difference in their heights, Caleb couldn't see over the hilltop—or what had put Ray so on edge. The otter furrowed his brow in confusion."I just want a nap," he muttered. "Let's keep moving."

Before he could take another step, Ray swept him off his feet and hoisted him up onto his shoulders. Caleb was about to protest, but the moment he sat upright, he saw it too.

A group of men—varied in age—were resting on the slope. Some were lounging against the crumbling stone walls of an old ruin, while others stood in small clusters, casually chatting.

But one group near the edge stood out. They had formed a tight circle, their heads bent toward something in the centre. They gestured animatedly, voices low but urgent.

What drew Ray's attention most, however, was the unmistakable sheen of their black uniforms, glinting dully in the sun.

They were Samael's men.

Ray felt Caleb's fur bristle beside him, a subtle shiver running through the otter's body as he whispered into Ray's ear, his voice laced with dread."Ray, let's go. There are at least a dozen of them. We're only two."

Ray gave a slow nod. "I don't want to fight them."

Still, he crouched down and carefully lowered Caleb to the ground before inching forward, closer to the group.

"Ray," Caleb hissed again, tugging on the hem of his trousers."Ryujin Gaido," he added more firmly—but Ray remained transfixed, crawling forward with a quiet determination.

"I just want to hear what they're talking about," Ray whispered over his shoulder. "I'll stay hidden."

Caleb let out a low grumble. Ray knew his friend hated this. Knew exactly what he thought of Ray's stubbornness. But he couldn't help himself.Any scrap of information—anything at all—could one day help them bring Samael to justice. Help him avenge what had been done to his homeland.

With a resigned sigh, Caleb muttered, "Guess I don't have a choice," and followed close behind.

They crouched low behind a patch of shrubs, just close enough to see and hear the group without being spotted. Ray narrowed his eyes.

One of the men wore the polished black uniform of Samael's forces. Long, dark hair framed his angular face, and pointed ears poked through the strands—definitely a shadow elf. He held a short, curved blade in his hand, inspecting it as he spoke.

A chill crawled down Ray's spine. Yong Riki's warning echoed in his memory.

Another man stood close to him—also with elven features, but his hair was shaved short, and a katana hung from his belt. A shadow elf with a longsword? That was rare. Ray could feel Caleb tense beside him, the otter ducking lower into the brush.

A third figure stood out even more clearly: a flame mage. His palm faced the centre of the circle, where a small flame flickered steadily just above his skin, swaying in the breeze but refusing to go out.

"I think there's something in the middle," Ray whispered.

Caleb narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look. Between the legs of the uniformed men—who stood with their backs turned to them—lay a small, unmoving bundle.

"Shit," Caleb breathed, just as the bundle shifted and raised its head slightly.

It wasn't a bundle.It was a little girl.

A surge of adrenaline shot through Ray's body. Every muscle tensed, ready to strike. In that instant, he knew—he would not keep the promise he had made to Caleb.That girl was in danger. Grave danger.

The long-haired shadow elf reached down and lifted the child effortlessly, licking his lips with a long, reptilian tongue.

"Well, well," he hissed, "looks like lunch came early today."The others burst into laughter.

Ray's mind flashed to Sumi—the tiny, brave girl they had met not long ago. Was she looked at the same way? With the same vile hunger?This girl looked to be about her age.

Rage and panic crashed through him. Not again.He couldn't let this happen again.

Caleb growled under his breath.

Ray closed his eyes for a moment, forcing a breath into his lungs. Then, calm and clear, he said:

"I'll distract them. You grab the girl and get her off this hill."

Before Caleb could argue or object, Ray stepped out from behind the cover of the brush—and a heartbeat later, he stood tall behind the group that circled the child.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said, voice cold and composed.

The men flinched. But before they could even register what was happening, Ray had already drawn one of the two new blades forged for him by Yong Riki. The weapon sliced through the air with deadly grace—and carved cleanly across the throat of the long-haired shadow elf who had held the girl.

His eyes widened—first in surprise, then in terror. His clawed hands shot up instinctively, letting go of the child as he stumbled backward, clutching his bleeding neck. Thick blood streamed through his fingers. No scream came—only a gurgling rattle escaped his lips as he collapsed, eyes wide and glassy, onto the grass.

The others jolted into action, their brief paralysis shattered by the sudden kill.

Within seconds, blades pointed at Ray from every direction. The heat from the fire mage nearby surged, as the air around them shimmered with rising temperature.

At the same moment, Caleb darted from cover and scooped up the girl. The otter bolted down the sloping hill, her tiny arms wrapped tightly around his furry shoulders. Ray had drilled it into him: get her to safety first—then come back for him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ray saw them disappear into the distance. Relief surged through him—and then he turned his full attention to the attackers.

The short-haired shadow elf and several others who hadn't stood in the original circle were now on him, blades swinging.

Ray ducked, dodged, parried. Metal clashed. One sword came too close—he deflected it with a sharp clang using his left blade while countering with the right. Another attacker lunged—Ray spun, both swords raised, and drove one deep into the man's abdomen. The soldier crumpled with a gasp.

But the heat—it was unbearable.

One of the enemy mages had closed in. Flames danced from his fingers in brilliant arcs, searing the air. Ray had no magic. No water to call upon, no elemental counterforce. Just two blades and quick reflexes.

The fire mage stepped forward, fingers curled like claws, forming a sphere of blistering light. Ray could feel his skin sting already. The heat was rising by the second.

He's going to roast me alive.

Time slowed. The fire gathered between the mage's hands, pulsing with lethal intensity.

Just as the fire mage lowered his arm to unleash the searing ball of flame, a black blur leapt toward him. Small, clawed paws grabbed his head and yanked it sideways.

Caleb crashed into him, knocking him off balance. The fire shot into the sky—missing Ray entirely.

Before Ray could catch his breath, pain tore through his right forearm. He let out a roar, spinning toward the soldier who had just driven a blade into his arm.

The short-haired shadow elf narrowly dodged Ray's first counterattack. But Ray, driven by fury and pain, struck again—this time with his left hand, the only one not yet soaked in blood.

His aim was true. He lunged, blade first, straight for the elf's chest—certain that he'd feel ribs snap and steel tear through flesh.

But nothing.

The blade hit only air.

The shadow elf had vanished—no sound, no blur, just... gone.

In his place stood a small, freckled boy, clutching the same katana in his tiny fists. Ray froze. The child couldn't have been more than ten years old, his buzz-cut hair identical to the elf's.

What... was this?

Magic?

Illusion?

Ray's heart skipped a beat.

The boy darted forward with terrifying speed and drove the blade deep into Ray's already wounded arm. The pain exploded through him—hot, sharp, all-consuming. Ray couldn't stop the sword in his right hand from slipping to the ground.

But the child was now so close—too close.

Ray reacted on instinct. His left blade came up and slashed downward in a brutal arc. He felt the weapon tear into flesh, heard the hiss of steel meeting skin.

But then—a powerful jolt.

His blade met something far heavier, far denser than a child's body.

Ray stumbled backward, thrown off by the sudden resistance.

Before him no longer stood the boy.

In his place towered a hulking brute of a man—broad as a bear, muscles like boulders, standing where the freckled child had been just a heartbeat earlier.

Ray's eyes widened in horror.

What in the spirits' name am I fighting here?

The bear-like brute seized Ray in his moment of disorientation, lifted him off the ground and hurled him back with inhuman strength.

The impact sent a wave of nausea through him, and for a split second, everything blurred.

No. You can't give up now.

Gritting his teeth, Ray forced himself to his feet, legs trembling beneath him. The world spun. He squinted one eye shut to steady his vision, to regain focus.

Before he could even plan a counterattack, the shadow elf's katana whooshed past his head—so close it nearly shaved his ear. Had his reaction been even a heartbeat slower, that blade would've split his skull open.

Another strike followed, and Ray ducked again. The gust of wind trailing the swing told him how much force this beast could generate in its brawler form—far stronger than the elf's leaner, faster build. But slower. That was something.

Ray launched forward, blade in his left hand, aiming to drive it into the beast's side. But again, the transformation hit mid-motion.

Too late to stop.

The burly figure vanished, and in its place stood the boy again—small, deceptively agile, and now in perfect position.

Damn it. Not again.

How could he predict these shape-shifts?

The child brought his sword up while grabbing Ray's wrist with his free hand. Ray tried to react—but not fast enough. Pain exploded in his other forearm as the blade pierced deep. He screamed, unable to hold it back.

Then, with a speed Ray hadn't expected, the boy kicked him hard in the face—still clinging to Ray's wrist in a crushing grip. Numbness crept into his fingers. The blade in his left hand wavered.

Panic struck.

If I lose my grip—if I can't hold my weapon—I'm finished.

A primal instinct surged through him.

With a snarl, Ray bared his teeth and bit down—hard. The boy's eyes widened in shock, and his scream tore through the clearing.

Fueled by the pain he'd inflicted, Ray yanked free, staggered back, and slashed. His blade caught the boy mid-transformation—now half-shifted back into the bear. Blood sprayed as the sword tore into the creature's thigh.

The brute roared, more enraged than wounded, and gripped Ray's sword with a massive, bleeding hand.

Then, to Ray's horror, the beast twisted the blade sideways. Metal screeched and Ray lost hold. His weapon clattered to the ground.

The bear's eyes—now narrow, savage slits—locked on his prey.

Before Ray could react, the monster grabbed him by the throat and hoisted him effortlessly into the air. One-handed.

The grip crushed his windpipe.

He choked, legs flailing. The world blurred again—sharper this time. Darker. His chest screamed for air.

No. Not like this.

He thrashed, gasping for breath, vision tunneling. But it was no use. His other sword—ripped from his hand and tossed aside.

Then, with a guttural roar, the beast slammed him into the ground.

Pain bloomed through every fibre of his body.

By the time Ray blinked up through teary eyes, the creature had changed again—back into the short-haired shadow elf, katana gleaming in his elongated fingers.

Ray felt the unyielding stone beneath him as he crashed to the ground. Blood ran hot down his battered body, soaking through layers of sweat-stained fabric. Wounds gaped along both arms. His shirt clung to his skin like a second, soaked and shredded layer. Every muscle trembled from the relentless strain, and his breath came in ragged, shallow gasps.

The sun beat down on him without mercy.

He knew he wouldn't stay conscious much longer.

I need a way out.

Ray couldn't see Caleb anywhere—and worse, he couldn't hear his voice either. Instead, more black-clad soldiers moved into view, forming a tightening ring around him. Too many. Way too many.

Damn it. Damn it!

He had miscalculated. Badly. And now both he and Caleb were caught in a fight they couldn't win.

How am I supposed to get us out of this?

Like a desperate chant, one thought pulsed over and over in his mind: I have to stand up. I have to make it. Come on, Ray. Get up.

Out of the corner of his eye, the injured water warrior caught sight of his swords—both lying far beyond his attacker, completely out of reach. The shadow elf—now in his bald, human-like form—towered over Ray. Smirking. Ready.

Ray bit his lip in frustration, tasting the metallic blend of blood and sweat. Move, he begged his body. Get up. Now.

But before he could even tense a single muscle, the shadow elf raised his blade—and with one fluid motion, slashed across Ray's thigh.

The blade carved into his skin like butter.

More blood spilled, hot and fast, and his vision dimmed again. The edges of the world blurred to black. He nearly let go—nearly let the pain take him.

But something deep inside him fought back.

With a shaking head, Ray forced his eyes open again. His surroundings bled back into view in blurred splotches of colour. A high-pitched ringing filled his ears, and the taste of iron was now joined by the bitter burn of bile in his throat.

His attacker was still watching.

Still smiling.

The look in the elf's eyes made Ray's stomach twist.

This wasn't a soldier doing his duty. No. This man—this thing—was a sadist. He wasn't here to simply kill. He wanted to enjoy it. To draw it out. To feast on Ray's pain.

It made Ray want to throw up more than the wounds ever could.

He spat blood onto the ground between them.

"You sick sadist," he rasped, every syllable dragging across raw vocal cords.

To his horror, the spit came out laced with crimson.

Shit. That's not good.

Eyes narrowed, Ray looked up once more at the twisted creature before him.

The shadow elf raised his sword high above his head, the blade gleaming like a cruel promise in the sun. He leaned in just enough for Ray to hear his whisper:

"Say goodbye, boy."

The sword caught the light in a sharp, blinding arc. The elf pulled it farther back over his shoulder—then, with terrifying force, he brought it down. Fast. Precise. Straight toward Ray's heart.

Ray heard his own scream—but it sounded distant, detached, as if it came from someone else.

The blade closed in.

He could already see it—his body being torn apart, the metal splitting his pounding heart in two.

He squinted, blinded by the light dancing off the descending steel.

Then—movement. A sudden flicker on the edge of his vision. Left side. Sharp and fast.

A rush of air tore through Ray's hair.

That must be it, he thought. The wind of the blade, cutting down—

Metal slammed into metal with a deafening clang.

But the pain never came.

His heart still raced—wild, erratic—but it was beating. He was alive.

What—what just happened?

Ray opened his eyes, which he hadn't even realised he'd clenched shut.

The silver blade of the shadow elf had been stopped—caught mid-swing.

Blocked.

Not by him.

The bloodied katana trembled against something radiant—something golden.

A gleaming glaive, polished like sunlight, held the strike at bay. The sun scattered across the golden weapon in a hundred fractured beams of light.

And standing in front of Ray, holding that divine weapon, was not someone he recognised.

Only a dark silhouette.

Wreathed in light.

Silent.

Unshaken.

A stranger with a golden glaive—between Ray and death.