Aela lost her balance and fell hard to her knees, catching herself with an elbow. "Ignisara's bloody teeth! Can we get a break?"
All three of them bolted down the stairs, feet thudding against the wood.
They found Melo crying, with Orryn holding her, rocking them both back and forth. "The loud sounds scared her," he explained. He had streaks of tears running down his cheeks, too.
"Sorry. Sorry. I'm so sorry, my loves." Aela said as she went to them.
The shouting outside grew louder. Dozens of voices raised in alarm. They heard someone, a man, shout, "Leave our homes alone." And then more people picked it up until it became a chant.
Leave our homes alone.
Leave our homes alone.
Leave our homes alone.
"Are the monsters back, sis?" Melo asked.
"Come on," Aela said as she picked Melo up, "let's go inside and play with some toys. It's just people working; the noise will be gone soon. Ok."
Devvyn started pacing, his eyes flicking toward the front door, then to the windows. His hands curled into fists at his sides. "I need to go find Maelis," he said.
"I'll come with you," Jelric said immediately, already heading toward the door before Devvyn could respond.
Devvyn turned to Aela. "Stay with your siblings. Don't come out, no matter what. If anything else happens, go down into the basement and lock the door. You hear me?"
"Yeah. I got it."
Devvyn and Jelric stepped out onto the street, walking carefully. The shouting had grown louder, more frenzied.
A pair of men sprinted past them, breathing hard, barely sparing them a glance.
"What's going on?" Jelric called out.
But the men didn't answer. They just kept running.
Devvyn and Jelric picked up their pace. When they reached the end of the street and rounded the corner, they stopped short.
A crowd had gathered. Dozens of men and women, some young, some old, all armed with whatever they could find. Knives. Iron pipes. Wooden logs. One woman even held a cast-iron pan. They were moving in unison, all heading in the same direction, eyes hard with purpose. And fury.
Devvyn let out a breath. "Well… here's your protest."
Jelric gave a half-grin. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
Devvyn's eyes swept over the crowd, the makeshift weapons, the angry shouting. "Considering they're all folks without an Echo or bonded to low-powered Echos going up against Echo wielders and armed guards... yeah. It's not great odds."
"We'll see," Jelric said and then joined the crowd to chant:
Leave our homes alone.
Leave our homes alone.
They kept walking, staying behind the mob as it surged forward. When they reached the edge of the packed crowd, Devvyn pulled Jelric to a stop.
Through the gaps between shoulders and heads, they saw massive mana drilling rigs, long steel arms boring into the earth, trucks parked haphazardly around the site, thick cables snaking across the ground.
Workers with hand drills shouted to one another. Guards in dark vests covering the perimeter, all bearing the crest of House Pyrethorn.
People were trying to break through the perimeter, swinging pipes and tools. One man smashed a truck window with a wrench. Another tore into a control panel with a hammer. A woman kicked over a crate of drill bits while dodging a guard's hands.
Devvyn noticed that the guards weren't fighting back. They held firm, blocking access to the drilling rigs, but their movements were restrained and measured as though they'd been ordered not to escalate. But as the tension increased, he was sure that would change as more people joined the fight.
But the crowd was growing more aggressive. Sooner or later, someone would do something to snap the last bits of the guard's restraint.
And he was right.
A man rushed one of the guards and managed to snatch the gun from his belt. He raised it, hands trembling, finger hovering uncertainly near the trigger.
That was all it took.
The moment the weapon turned, the guards raised their shields and moved in. Several people were knocked off their feet in an instant as the guards surged forward, no longer holding back.
Devvyn's heart pounded. "This is getting out of hand. We should get out of here before someone—"
But Jelric wasn't beside him anymore. He'd seen his father grappling with a guard and was already pushing through the crowd.
Devvyn spun, searching for Jelric. People rushed past him, screaming. A guard knocked down a woman and then a boy he knew. Panic tightened his chest.
The crowd blurred. His breath hitched. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, all he saw were bodies.
Strewn across the broken ground. Limbs twisted. Blood pooling beneath some. Others still, too still, faces slack with lifelessness. Screams tore through the air, but they sounded distant, muffled, as though underwater.
The metallic tang of blood filled his nose, sharp and choking. His vision tunnelled. He stumbled back, gasping. His knees buckled. He clutched at his chest, but the air wouldn't come. The world spun, loud and silent all at once.
It felt like he was back in his nightmare, except it was other people dying, not him. No. No, not again. Not again. Tears burned his eyes, hot and fast. His fingers trembled violently. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't—
Someone slammed into him from the side, knocking him flat to the ground. His elbow scraped the pavement, the pain sharp enough to jolt him back into the present.
He blinked. Gasped.
The sounds rushed back in: shouts, boots, the hiss of mana tools, and a woman crying nearby.
He lay there, dazed, heart hammering. But he was back.
Devvyn pushed himself up on shaky arms, and through the haze, he finally spotted Jelric and his father, side by side, grappling with a guard. The man swung a baton, but Jelric ducked under it, landing a punch while his father tackled the guard to the ground.
Behind them, another guard drew up with his gun aimed at Jelric's father.
"No!" he shouted. He scrambled to his feet and launched himself forward. He crashed into the guard just as the man pulled the trigger. The shot went wide, hitting a truck window instead with a deafening crack.
Just then, a sharp, shrill whistle tore through the noise.
From the western path, a line of mounted figures emerged—cloaked riders in sleek black armour marked with silver trim: the cavalry, high-ranking enforcers who specialised in swift strikes.
"Hands up!" one of the cavalry barked. "On your knees, now!"
They moved fast.
Energy pulses surged from their cuffs. One after another, the mob were restrained, wrenched to their knees and shackled in glowing iron rings. Screams and protests filled the air as people were dragged to the ground and chained.
Devvyn panted where he knelt, one knee in the dirt, his arms raised as someone slapped cuffs on his wrists.
In minutes, they had everyone subdued.
A dark carriage rolled down the slope, flanked by more riders. Its lacquered black surface gleamed even under the dust of chaos. A golden crest shone on the door—House Pyrethorn. The carriage came to a stop near the drilling rigs. A guard stepped forward and pulled the door open.
Out stepped Calder Pyrethorn. Behind him came Isadora Pyrethorn, dressed in a uniform, her hair pinned back, her expression unreadable. Their presence incensed people even further.
A shout rang out from the crowd. Irric the Butcher broke free from a guard's grip and charged toward Calder, wielding a broken pipe. "Highborn scum!" he roared.
Calder Pyrethorn raised a hand.
A ring of fire erupted around the man. It surged upward with a roar, swallowing him whole, then vanished just as quickly, leaving the man collapsed on the ground, trembling but untouched.
The heat shimmered in the air. The scent of scorched fabric hung between them.
"Try that again," Calder said coldly, "and I'll burn you to ash."
Calder turned to one of the nearby guards, his expression stern. "I came down to see an already set up extraction site. What the hell is this?"
The guard straightened immediately, still gripping the pulse rifle at his side. "We were setting up the extraction site as instructed, sir. Rigs were stable, the perimeter was secure."
He glanced at the restrained protestors.
"Then they broke through. Came armed, pipes, knives, tools. Started smashing equipment. We tried to hold the line, but when one of them grabbed a firearm... things escalated."
Calder's gaze swept over the wreckage—smashed control panels, broken cables, overturned crates. Then he looked at the crowd still on their knees. "Does this place have a prison?" He asked.
"Yes."
"Arrest all of them. Keep them for a night."
Isadora, standing just behind him, took a step forward. "Lord Pyrethorn, don't you think that's—"
But Calder cut her off with a sharp glance. One look was enough to silence her.
The crowd erupted.
"Unjust!"
"We were defending our homes!"
"You can't do this!"
"Calder Pyrethorn!" Maelis strode forward through the sea of kneeling figures. She stopped a few feet from him, chin raised. "Tell your men to stand down and release these people."
Calder turned slowly to face her. His eyes narrowed, scanning her face, and then widened in recognition. "Maelis Arkwright?" he said in disbelief.
