Ezra walked with one hand tucked casually in his pocket, the other occupied with a cream puff he was lazily biting into. Beside him, Elena tapped quickly on her phone, her attention fixed on booking tickets.
"It's for the Skyveil Observatory," she said without looking up.
Ezra took another bite of his cream puff, unfazed by the sudden snow that drifted down from the gray sky. Flakes settled on his sliver hair, melting into tiny beads of water that gave him a sharper, almost untamed look. He didn't notice, but Elena did. For a moment, she just stared—an unbidden thought crossing her mind: he's… really good-looking.
Ezra finally turned toward her, his voice casual, almost teasing.
"Skyveil, huh? I've heard about it. Supposed to be a pretty famous spot up north."
Elena's lips curved into a soft smile as she answered, her eyes warming with anticipation.
"Mm. Let's go. The sunset view from there is… breathtaking."
Her smile wasn't forced—it was natural, radiant, the kind that lit up her whole face. Ezra found himself caught off guard. He didn't say it out loud, but the words echoed in his mind like a whisper only he could hear.
The ropeway swayed gently as it carried them higher and higher, the city shrinking into a patchwork of lights below. By the time Ezra and Elena stepped out at the mountain's peak, the air had turned sharper, colder. The platform was crowded with tourists, but Elena instinctively tugged his sleeve and led him through the throng, weaving toward the best vantage point.
From there, the world opened wide. The snowcapped ridges stretched endlessly, bathed in the glow of a sinking sun. Crimson light spilled across the mountains, painting the falling snowflakes a fiery red as though the heavens themselves were aflame. For a moment, neither spoke. Ezra found his gaze drifting to Elena—her eyes fixed on the horizon, the wind tugging at her hair, her smile unguarded.
"Worth it?" he asked quietly.
Her breath misted in the chill, but her answer came warm.
"More than worth it."
Ezra almost said what he was thinking—that her expression was more beautiful than the view itself—but the words stayed locked in his chest. He only smiled faintly, slipping his hands into his pockets as if to hide the thought.
The scream tore through the crisp mountain air.
"Mama! Mother! Ronnieee!"
Heads turned. A boy dangled over the railing, his small hands scrabbling desperately against the slick steel as his camera tumbled down the cliffside.
Ezra's cream puff dropped from his fingers. Without hesitation, he vaulted the railing. Gasps rang out behind him, but he paid them no mind.
His mana surged into his legs, his boots striking the icy cliff face with precision. The world blurred past as he dove, and in one clean motion his hand caught the boy's wrist.
"You alright, kid?" His tone was level, as if they weren't hanging over a death drop.
The boy only sobbed, too terrified to speak.
"Tch. Guess not. Hang tight."
Ezra shifted the child into his arm and pushed off the cliffside. Stone to stone, he bounded upward until his boots found the platform again. He landed lightly, setting the boy down as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
The child's mother rushed forward, tears spilling as she wrapped her arms around her son. "Thank you—thank you so much!" She pressed a small card into Ezra's hand with trembling fingers. "If you ever need anything, please… call us."
Ezra slipped the card into his pocket without looking at it. "Take care of him. That's enough."
The crowd didn't cheer—most were still in shock, whispering nervously about how fast he'd moved, some convincing themselves it had just been reflex or luck. A few phones had recorded it, but the blur of his motion made it look almost unreal.
Elena came up beside him, smirk tugging at her lips. "So… done playing hero?"
Ezra brushed snow from his sleeve and shrugged. "Wasn't playing. Just didn't feel like watching a kid fall."
Her eyes narrowed. "Mm. And here I thought you enjoyed the spotlight."
He gave her a sidelong glance, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, because applause from tourists is exactly what I live for."
That earned a small laugh from her, breaking the tension.
Her phone buzzed just then, and her expression dimmed. "Ah—sorry, Ezra. I need to go. Personal matter."
"No problem," he said casually, already turning toward the descent path. "Let's head down."
The sunset's glow faded behind them as the cold deepened, the incident dissolving into murmurs among strangers—while Ezra walked on as if it had never happened.
_______________________
After Elena left, Ezra was alone again. He fumbled through his pocket for his car key and a small, crooked smile tugged at his lips. Back on Earth he'd had a three-year relationship; it ended because her family thought he wasn't good enough. Funny how life had rearranged itself since then, he thought, and the smile widened like a private joke.
Night had already fallen. Elena had said the tournament started tonight. Ezra decided to go watch. He was halfway down into the underground lot beneath the clock tower, hand on the gate, when a man stepped out of the shadows.
Ordinary-looking—brown hair, a trimmed beard, a jacket that tried to look expensive. "Hey," the man said. "You Ezra?"
Ezra turned, polite but guarded. "Yes."
"Name's Justin. Can we talk for a moment?"
A faint ripple of aura rolled off Ezra like a silent warning. He didn't bother to hide it; unknown men who asked for 'a moment' usually carried agendas.
Justin swallowed. "I—look, I'm not here to hurt you. I just… have something to give you."
Ezra made a noncommittal sound. "Give."
"Not here," Justin said, eyes flicking toward the exit. He sounded too nervous for a simple courier.
Ezra considered for a beat, then slid into his SUV. The man's tension visibly spiked; Justin watched the car pull away like someone watching a train leave a platform—stunned.
Justin's phone buzzed. He answered with a voice that trembled on the edges. "Plan failed," he hissed.
A cold voice barked through the line. "What failed you, you—" Follow current ɴᴏᴠᴇʟs on novelꞁire.net
Justin forced himself to speak faster, placating. "I know the Marshal's son in Bloodfort. Please, sir — I'll get it done. Just keep calm, and stop cursing; it makes you look pathetic."
There was a beat, then the other side snapped, furious: "Goddamn it — just kill that bastard. I don't want him anywhere near Elena."
Justin's voice, small and quick: "Okay." Then a click. The line cut.
A soft snap of motion Justin vanished.
Night lay over the ridge east of Bloodfort, but the ridge was quiet. Count Alaric and General Marcell stood close to a small holo-map, not giving orders yet—just talking, planning. The attack will happen one week from now. Tonight they only measure and set the plan.
"We don't start tonight," Alaric said. "We have seven days. Use them to learn how they watch their city, how their wards behave, and which parts are weak. We'll move slowly so they don't notice."
Marcell pressed the holo and lines showed patrols and supply roads. "We will place teams in three nights. They will look like refugee groups and traders. Small staged fights will pull guards away so we can see how they react. By day five, our tech teams finish testing. Nights five and six we do dry runs. Night seven we turn on the Sanguine-Pulses."
"One hundred thousand soldiers," Alaric said. "But we won't show all of them at once. We spread them out so it looks like nothing. On the seventh night we make our move when they are weakest."
Marcell pointed to the holo. "We split our forces into four groups: Silence Brigade—40,000, who keep areas quiet and stop noise. Shadow-Rangers—30,000, scouts who move fast and take positions. Tech-Artillery—20,000, who handle the mana devices and sentinels. Infiltration Nodes—10,000, small teams that sow panic by tricking people and stealing supplies."
"Why only ten thousand for infiltration?" Alaric asked.
"Because those ten thousand are specially trained," Marcell answered. "They don't need numbers. They will break sleep, plant false dreams, and steal from key stores so the market panics. If three big warehouses are found empty in the morning, soldiers will rush to protect goods instead of guarding walls."
Alaric nodded. "We must test the pulses carefully. If the anchors are set wrong, the pulses could backfire. We have six nights to tune everything. No mistakes."
Marcell added, "We will run tests in the eastern valleys with dummy anchors—no effect on the town, just data. Silent Medics will be ready to fix any small damage and wipe clear signs of us."
They stood silent for a moment. Down in the town, people slept, unaware of the plans. Around the ridge men moved slowly, setting supplies and hiding relay devices inside tents and caravans. The plan was simple: wait, learn, test, and then strike on the seventh night.
"Do not rush," Alaric said. "One week. We do this right, and Bloodfort will open its gates to us without a big fight."
Marcell bowed his head once. "Then we wait and prepare."
They turned and walked back along the ridge. The night kept its calm—unaware that a week from now it would belong to them.