The three of them entered the carriage, followed closely by Mary and Belemir, the latter stepping out from Jacob's shadow in a silent, unhurried manner that gave no hint of strain.

Jacob made certain to take the seat beside the window, for the habit had grown on him over time, and no matter how often he travelled by carriage he found himself unwilling to resist the quiet fascination of simply gazing out at the shifting scenery, letting his eyes wander over towns, forests, and roads that never quite lost their novelty.

Arthur slid in next to him and, after a short pause, nudged Jacob with his elbow, speaking in a light and playful tone that did not entirely mask the faint undercurrent of envy beneath it. "Hmm, when do I get a bodyguard?"

Jacob turned his head slightly, studying Arthur for a moment before answering with complete seriousness, as though he had chosen to respond to the question at face value. "No idea. You probably never will, so don't get your hopes up."

Arthur laughed once, short and a little awkward, clearly realizing that Jacob had either missed the joke or chosen not to acknowledge it.

Their guards, after all, were not simply ornamental; each of them was a carefully selected expert whose presence was meant to ensure that no unexpected trouble could spiral out of control. His older siblings had no need for such protection, for they were far beyond the level where a bodyguard might truly make a difference, and so the men and women assigned to them functioned more as aides, assisting with day-to-day obligations rather than acting as shields in battle.

Arthur seemed to mull over this explanation without replying, and so the conversation fell into silence. They travelled onwards without hurry, the wheels rolling steadily beneath them, and it was only after some time had passed that Jacob realized he had not been told where, precisely, they were going. He assumed the destination would be somewhere nearby, perhaps a quarter of an hour at most, but this guess proved quickly and utterly wrong.

The journey stretched on for hours, the interior of the carriage caught between stretches of silence and brief attempts at conversation. Arthur tried, now and then, to fill the stillness with words, but he had little success.

Jessica seemed disinclined to speak with him, Mary and Belemir remained as quiet as ever, and Jacob's own answers were curt and rarely offered more than a few syllables, never encouraging the flow. Still, Arthur did not let the lack of response dissuade him; he pressed on with idle remarks and half-hearted jokes, filling the air with small, inconsequential chatter that drifted in and out of notice.

Then, without warning, the carriage came to a halt. A heartbeat later, both Mary's and Belemir's auras flared at once, sudden and overwhelming, rolling through the confined space with such intensity that Jacob's skin prickled with goose bumps before his mind even registered the danger.

Mary slipped out of the carriage without a word, her figure vanishing almost instantly into the still air outside, while Belemir, unlike her, made no move to follow. He remained seated, his posture unchanged, though the expression on his face had shifted into something far more severe, the kind of look that carried weight even when no words accompanied it.

Jacob noticed immediately, and after a moment of hesitation he finally asked, "Belemir… what happened?"

For a time it seemed as though Belemir would not answer at all, his lips pressed thin and his gaze fixed on something far beyond the wooden frame of the carriage, but at length he exhaled and spoke in a calm, measured. "We are passing through a small district. The carriage walls interfere with your senses, your own strength is not yet enough to push through the dulling, but outside there is a stench of blood, thick and overwhelming."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and when he spoke again there was no ambiguity. "The residents are most likely dead, every one of them. The killers have not yet left."

Jacob instinctively turned his head and pressed his face closer to the window. All he could see were a few scattered houses, simple structures that gave no hint of anything wrong, yet Belemir's words left no room for doubt. A district, even a small one, meant tens of thousands of people at the very least, and if Belemir was right then every man, woman, and child had been wiped out in silence. The thought tightened Jacob's chest.

"Mary, can you tell how she's doing?" Jessica asked suddenly, her voice clipped with concern.

Belemir did not move as he replied, "She has made contact, young miss. At this moment, I believe she is speaking with them."

"Speaking?" Arthur cut in sharply, disbelief etched across his face. "Speaking with killers?"

Belemir finally turned his head and regarded Arthur with a flat, unamused stare that seemed to silence the very air around them.

"A group capable of erasing an entire district without drawing the slightest attention cannot be dismissed as ordinary opponents. Even if the two of us fought together, it would be difficult to defeat them while ensuring your protection. And should such a fight break out, understand this Arthur, Mary and I would prioritize our charges and leave you behind without hesitation. Choose your words carefully."

Arthur's mouth closed, though his expression betrayed how poorly the rebuke sat with him.

After that, the four of them could do nothing but wait. Supposedly Mary was still in the midst of her conversation with the ones responsible, though what she could possibly be discussing Jacob could not imagine.

He found himself restless in the silence; he had not even thought to bring a book with him, and so instead his fingers drummed lightly, almost compulsively, against the wooden frame of the window as the minutes stretched. 'I shouldn't be in danger,' he told himself, 'not when Belemir can pull me into his shadow at any moment, and Mary must surely have her own method of retreat for Jessica as well.'

The real issue was Arthur, Belemir had made it clear that if the situation turned dire Arthur would be discarded without hesitation, left behind while the rest were taken to safety.

Jacob was still caught up in his thoughts when Belemir, who had been perfectly still until then, suddenly rose to his feet and stepped closer to him, his tall frame casting a partial shadow across the boy.

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At that exact moment the carriage door creaked open and Mary returned, slipping inside with her usual composed stride, though there was a faint tension in the way her eyes flicked toward Belemir before she spoke.

"Soldiers of Whisper attacked the district," she said flatly, as though delivering a simple report rather than news of a massacre, "but I have managed, for the most part, to negotiate our passage through. The only condition is that they wish to speak to you first."

Belemir's response was immediate, his voice carrying the weight of a refusal that seemed unshakable. "I will not leave young master Jacob's side. Why would they demand to speak with me?"

Mary gave a small, almost careless shrug, though there was irritation in her tone when she replied. "You think I can explain how those fanatics decide things? Their minds are twisted and erratic. They asked for you, and nothing else. Just step down and speak with them, I'll remain here and guard the children."

Belemir did not answer, but Jacob felt the sudden pressure of a hand against his own and glanced down in confusion, realizing that Belemir had quietly taken hold of him, a subtle gesture of protection that was entirely unlike the man's usual demeanour. Mary noticed as well, and her sharp gaze narrowed as she asked, "What are you doing?"

The reply came in a low voice that carried a hard edge. "You claim not to understand the minds of fanatics? That is difficult to believe, considering you were one of them years ago."

The words fell into the space between them like a stone breaking the surface of still water, and for a heartbeat there was silence so thick it seemed to press against Jacob's ears.

Then, without warning, the air erupted, an overwhelming burst of energy shook the carriage as shadows surged up from the ground, coiling around Jacob, Jessica, and Arthur like a living shroud before hurling them violently away from the blast.

They struck the earth hard, the breath forced from Jacob's lungs, but Belemir remained upright, his figure tense and his face contorted into something grim and unfamiliar as he stared into the distance. Jacob forced himself to lift his head, his vision swimming, and what he saw made his stomach lurch.

Five figures were approaching with deliberate steps, each armed, their weapons slick and dripping with blood that had not yet dried. Behind them lay the evidence of their work: heaps of bodies scattered carelessly, crimson pooling across the stone street and seeping into the cracks until the entire ground seemed to reek with it.

One of the five carried a tall pole across his shoulders, and impaled upon it was Mary, her body pierced through the stomach, her limbs trembling with pain as she writhed and cried out.

Jacob felt his senses reel under the smell of iron and the sheer weight of it all, and when he turned to the side he caught a glimpse of Jessica, her eyes wide and shining with disbelief, though already there was a dimming in their brightness, as if some vital flame inside her had been shaken loose.

And then, directly in front of them, came another sight, Mary, or rather someone who looked exactly like her, every feature identical, even the tone of her face. Her hand was raised, and in her palm floated a faintly glowing rune that pulsed like a heartbeat, while her voice carried clearly across the space between them. "So she used to be religious, did she? I wonder what made her abandon her faith."

Belemir slowly raised his hands, and at once the shadows that stretched across the ruined street stirred as though answering his call, rising up in coils and streams until they gathered behind him in a restless mass.

The darkness shifted and hardened, shaping itself into long spears and broad blades, weapons formed of nothing but absence and gloom, all poised to strike yet held back, waiting for his command. His voice, when he spoke, was even and measured, though Jacob, watching closely, could hear the faint restraint in it. "State your purpose here, Soldiers of Whisper."

To Jacob it was clear that Belemir was trying to avert a battle, and the thought chilled him, because it meant Belemir knew he could not win if forced to face all six of them at once.

Even flight was not a simple choice; Belemir could vanish with him into the safety of shadows, but he could not do so without abandoning Jessica, and the laws that bound him would not forgive such dereliction of duty.

From the advancing group, a woman in a hooded cloak finally stepped forward, a short sword hanging loosely in her grip as if it weighed her nothing at all. Her voice was casual, almost amused, as she answered,

"You will not care for our purpose, but I will tell you regardless." She raised the sword and, with a deliberate motion, pointed it straight at Jacob, and though her face was shadowed, he thought he glimpsed the curve of a smile beneath the hood. "Young master Jacob, would you permit us to borrow him for a few days?"

The words sent a shock through him, his body stiffening involuntarily, and Belemir reacted at once, his arm thrust forward as the cloud of shadow behind him surged. A torrent of spears and blades shot forth, blotting out the faint daylight and filling the air with the smell of iron and damp earth, until for a moment it felt as though sound itself had been swallowed by the darkness.

Then came a sudden eruption, a sharp crack that shattered the silence, and in an instant every shadow-born weapon dissolved as though torn apart by some unseen force.

When Jacob's eyes adjusted, the figure who wore Mary's face was already closer, her steps unhurried, her expression carrying a faint amusement that made the likeness all the more unsettling. She tilted her head as she looked directly at Belemir, her tone almost playful. "An interesting trick. To shape nature itself without runes, it is rare. Tell me, are you only half human?"

Belemir gave no reply, and in the next instant his shadow rose sharply from the ground as though pulled by invisible strings, twisting and folding in on itself until it formed the rough outline of a man.

The shape was broad and imposing, its limbs unnaturally long, and when two blades of pure darkness appeared in its hands they gleamed faintly like oil on water. Without hesitation the shadow-warrior dashed forward, its movement silent yet unnervingly swift, and struck towards the cloaked woman.

She barely shifted, simply lifting one hand and flicking her wrist, and two glowing runes broke into existence above her palm, bursting at once into lines of flame that streaked outwards.

One seared towards Belemir himself while the other curved for his shadow. The shadow raised both its blades in a cross, intercepting the fiery strike though the impact drove it a pace backward, while Belemir brushed the other aside with an almost casual sweep of his hand, dispersing it as though batting away embers.

"As expected," the woman said, her tone still carrying that faint amusement, "you are not so weak that I can deal with you alone. Fortunately for me, I did not come alone."

Even as she spoke, two figures broke forward from behind her, one carrying a sword, the other hefting a broad axe, both of them rushing in with heavy steps that shook the broken stones beneath their feet. They swung at him in unison, their weapons arcing downward with enough force to cleave through bone and iron, and at the same time an arrow whistled forward so fast it seemed to appear directly in front of Belemir's chest.

His response was immediate. With a sweep of his right hand, Arthur's shadow suddenly jerked upright and sprang forward, intercepting the arrow in mid-flight, its formless body absorbing the strike before it could reach its mark.

Belemir's left hand shot up and seized the haft of the axe, holding it firmly as if it weighed nothing, then with his free hand he drove his fist into the axe-wielder's face, the dull crack of the blow echoing through the air.

Almost simultaneously, the swordsman's blade came down across Belemir's shoulder, only to sink into the black, liquid-like fabric of his garments, which had risen of their own accord. The substance coiled around the blade like a living thing and then lashed outward, snaking up the weapon towards the wielder in a sudden attempt to bind him.

Only then did Belemir speak, his voice low but clear, each word cutting through the chaos. "Only two among you are worth facing me directly. Do not waste my time by sending grunts."

His eyes fixed upon the woman in the hood, though his shadow turned its head towards the other figure, the one who still bore Mary's exact likeness, her borrowed face calm and smiling.

The hooded woman's lips curved further, and she inclined her head slightly, as if humouring him. "Very well," she said.

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