By moonlight, they approached a remote village said to suffer under cruel enforcers. Crouched behind a thicket, Lyrus surveyed the scene: half-starved villagers huddled in huts, a handful of guards patrolling with torches and clubs.
Alyra silently climbed a tree, bow drawn. Kael pointed out guard rotations. Lyrus stepped forward, each move swelling his power. With a single leap, he reached a guard before the man could shout. A flaming fist knocked him senseless.
A second guard swung his blade wildly. Alyra's arrow whizzed past Lyrus' shoulder, striking the guard's hand. The blade dropped, and Lyrus followed up with a swift kick. Another guard rushed from behind a hut, but Kael's warning gave Alyra time to down him with a precise shot.
Within moments, the guards lay scattered. Lyrus tore open crude cages, freeing trembling villagers. "Quietly," Kael reminded them. "We must leave before reinforcements arrive."
But the distant blare of a horn signaled their presence discovered. More soldiers would come. Lyrus clenched his fists, flame dancing along his knuckles. He would stand firm. Let the oppressors come. Tonight, in this silent village, they would learn that cruelty would meet an unyielding blaze of defiance.