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Mist hung low over Nytherion as morning broke, curling around the stilts of the waterborne village like a living thing. A pale sun tried to claw its way through the haze but failed, leaving the canals silver and strange. Birds called from the swaying reeds. The storm had passed, but the air remained charged, like the sky hadn't quite forgotten what it wanted to say.
Tarn stood by the docks, stacking barrels into a raft meant for a supply run. His muscles tensed beneath his sleeveless tunic, his face calm, unreadable. He was a wall of strength, and his every movement had a deliberate precision. Beside him, Valron loaded wrapped bundles of smoked fish into a wooden crate, moving methodically. Sweat clung to their skin from the morning labor, the tension between them all palpable.
Asteria sat on the edge of the dock, legs dangling over the water. He held a bamboo skewer between his teeth, chewing on the end absently, watching his companions work. His sword, Aunnex, was sheathed and leaning lazily against a post beside him.
"Still not helping?" Mira's voice cut sharp as frost behind him.
Asteria turned, giving her a grin. "I'm helping by staying out of the way."
"You're helping by proving my patience has limits," she snapped, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "You promised to assist the village."
"I am. Spiritually."
Tarn snorted from across the dock, and Valron didn't even look up. Mira narrowed her eyes at Asteria, but before she could retort, a shout came from across the pier.
"The rafts are ready!" a villager called out, interrupting their conversation.
Mira's gaze softened slightly but only for a moment. She nodded. "It's time. Get moving."
---
By noon, the village gathered around the edge of the central pier. A supply transport had to be escorted through a route Mira described as "ten miles of mud, fog, and problems."
"Two rafts," she explained, pointing at the loaded vessels. "One for the supplies. One for the escort team. We'll pass through Hollow Marsh and meet with a caravan at the outer ridge. Bandits have been spotted near the bend, so stay sharp."
"Any chance we just scare them off with charisma?" Asteria asked, his smirk easy but his eyes calculating.
"Not unless your charm can deflect arrows."
He grinned. "Depends how close they are."
---
The journey started quiet. Mira stood at the helm of the first raft, directing the paddlemen through narrow channels. Valron and Tarn kept watch at the edges of the raft. Asteria leaned against the supply crates, sword strapped across his back, boots crossed, clearly disinterested.
The air was thick with silence, save for the occasional call of distant birds or the rustle of the reeds. Hours passed, the only company the slow current and the ever-present fog. The sun hung low, but its rays were almost entirely blocked by the persistent mist.
Then, without warning, Tarn's voice cut through the silence. "Right bank," he murmured, his sharp eyes catching movement among the reeds.
Shapes flickered, shadows between the tall grasses. The hairs on the back of Asteria's neck stood up, a vague instinct telling him something was coming.
The first arrow flew.
"Down!" Mira shouted.
Asteria ducked, narrowly avoiding the shaft. Tarn, quick as always, grabbed a nearby barrel lid and used it to block two incoming arrows with a sharp thunk. Valron rolled into cover, unsheathing his short blade in a smooth motion.
Figures burst from the reeds, bandits—mud-caked, quick-footed, and wearing armor cobbled together from bone, bark, and metal scraps. Some wielded crude weapons, while others had sparks of elemental magic flickering between their fingers. The fire-wielders were the most dangerous, their flames almost palpable in the damp air.
The fight began.
Tarn leapt from the raft with a grunt, landing heavily in the shallow water, the splash sending ripples through the marsh. A heavy bandit charged him, swinging a massive club. Tarn gritted his teeth and met the blow with a shoulder slam that sent the man flying into a nearby tree trunk, breaking the wood with a sickening crack. Another bandit came from behind, but Tarn's reflexes were faster. He ducked under the incoming swing and slammed an elbow into the man's gut before sweeping his legs from under him. The bandit fell, landing with a heavy thud.
On the raft, Valron fought with the fluidity of a master. No elemental power flowed through him, but his precision and agility made him dangerous all the same. He ducked beneath a fire-sparked punch, spinning with the grace of a dancer to strike the attacker's throat with the butt of his hilt. The bandit crumpled, gasping for air. Before Valron could pull back, a second attacker swung a blade at his head, but Valron parried it with a sharp twist of his sword, his movements so fast the enemy barely had time to react.
Mira stood near the front of the raft, her control over water as precise as a master sculptor's touch. Water lances shot from her fingertips, slicing through the air and coiling around enemy limbs. Her movements were terrifying—elegant, fluid, ruthless. Two bandits tried to surround her, their eyes glinting with malicious intent. But Mira simply waved her hand, summoning a dome of mist that obscured their sight.
When the mist cleared, both bandits were lying in the water, unconscious. Mira wiped her hands, her expression unchanged.
Asteria hadn't even unsheathed his sword.
One of the bandits lunged at him, a wild look in his eyes, his fire magic flaring. Asteria's grin flashed, as if this were the most exciting thing that had happened all day. He unsheathed his sword with a flourish, parrying the bandit's strike with ease. Asteria let the man overextend before slashing at his leg, sending the bandit sprawling backward into the marsh.
"Too easy," Asteria said, spinning on his heels—only to find three more bandits circling him.
One of them held fire magic in his hands, flames licking the air. Another gripped a twin-blade soaked in poison, the glint of the venomous edge sending a cold shiver down Asteria's spine. The third was silent, his dark eyes locked on Asteria, his weapon already drawn.
Asteria narrowed his gaze.
He moved first.
The fire-wielder thrust his hands forward, launching a blazing wave of flame. Asteria's body reacted instinctively—he stepped sideways, his foot sliding across the wet deck, barely avoiding the full force of the attack. The flames scorched his jacket, the heat searing his side. But he didn't flinch.
He had no time to.
The twin-blade wielder was already on him, attacking with lightning speed. Asteria's sword clashed against the poisoned blades, sparks flying from the contact. He twisted, ducked under the next swing, and slashed wide. The blade caught the man's shoulder, but it wasn't enough to incapacitate him.
Another bandit stepped forward, drawing his own sword, and Asteria was surrounded.
This was no longer a fight—it was a struggle for survival.
The fire-wielder raised both hands, his fingers crackling with renewed power. Asteria backed up, blood trailing from his side where the twin-blade had struck. The fire-wielder's flames spiraled higher, forming a cone of fire aimed straight at Asteria's chest.
The world slowed.
Asteria could see the flames building, the world around him bending and cracking under the heat. His breathing quickened, and a feeling deep inside him started to stir. His eyes flickered—then brightened.
The wind kicked up, suddenly howling around him. The air itself seemed to tremble.
Asteria's eyes glowed blue-white—flickering like twin storms in his pupils. His body surged forward faster than the human eye could follow.
One step.
Then ten.
He was everywhere at once. A streak of lightning, too fast, too sharp.
Asteria reappeared behind the fire-wielder, his blade flashing through the air. A clean horizontal cut opened across the man's chest, the wound smoking where it met the air. The bandit's eyes widened in shock, but before he could react, Asteria was already spinning, a blur of motion.
The twin-blade wielder tried to raise his blades in defense, but Asteria was already there, his foot snapping into the man's stomach with the force of a tidal wave. The bandit was sent flying, crashing into a wooden crate.
The third attacker, a quiet figure with a cruel smile, barely had time to raise his weapon. Asteria blurred again, his body a flash of blue light. His blade cut across the air in a perfect arc, and the bandit's weapon was torn from his hands before he collapsed, unconscious.
It was over.
The remaining bandits looked at each other, fear spreading through their ranks. Some dropped their weapons and fled, bolting into the marsh. Others stood frozen, unsure whether to continue fighting.
Valron, still in motion, froze, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Mira's narrowed, but her expression was more calculating than surprised. She glanced at Asteria, then turned her attention back to the remaining fighters.
But Asteria didn't notice.
He was still standing in the center of the chaos, breathing heavily. Sparks of energy still flickered faintly at his fingertips, his body humming with adrenaline. His sword still glowed softly, reacting to the aftershocks of his power.
Then, with a sharp breath, he dropped to one knee.
Valron rushed forward, reaching him just before he hit the deck.
"Asteria!"
But the young warrior was already unconscious. His body crumpled, and the last thing he heard was the distant sound of thunder—far off, but certain.
---
The marsh fell silent once again.
Mira stood still, her boots crunching against the wet wood as she approached Asteria. She looked down at him, brow furrowed, her fingers still wet from the water lances. Her voice was barely a whisper.
"He used lightning," she murmured. "But no one… no one from the Fire Tribe should be able to—"
Tarn said nothing, just stood beside Valron as they lifted Asteria's limp form from the raft.
The last thing anyone heard was the faint echo of thunder in the distance.
---
And a voice unheard...cried out from the void..
:The Storm has spoken...and now it has gone quiet again"
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