Chapter 29 - blessed by a god

  Ryn was struck.

  Pain tore across his shoulder, ripping down to his first rib. The world went blind with it, raw, indescribable.

  Before he could even register the wound, a boot slammed into his chest. Bone gave way with a sickening crack. His ribs—already splintered—shattered further as the force hurled him across the street.

  He hit the wall hard, stone biting into his back before he crumpled to the ground. Breath wouldn’t come. Every nerve screamed, his body refusing to obey.

  The world narrowed. His vision blurred, colors bleeding together, fire flickering into shapes he couldn’t place. Ariel—was she screaming? Her mouth moved, her voice distant, warped as though underwater. Or maybe he'd only imagined it.

  “An entire army of Blessed sent to wipe this off the map…” Ryn could hear the man’s boots drawing closer.

  “It would be an embarrassment if I somehow lost to a mundane Solvaran knight.”

  The enemy edged nearer, ready to finish him off.

  Of course, he'd been Blessed. That explained everything. From the very beginning, it seemed Ryn had been destined to lose.

  The enemy raised his weapon, edge catching the firelight, ready to strike

  “Die knowing you saved the world.”

  And then—

  A whistle through the air. A flash. A sound like wet cloth tearing.

  The man froze. His sword never fell. Instead, a strangled gasp tore from his throat as he staggered back, arms twitching wildly. Blood sprayed in twin arcs, spattering the cobblestones.

  Both his hands, blade and all, hit the ground with a sickening thud.

  The knight screamed, a raw, guttural sound that ripped through the burning street, his body convulsing as he stared at the stumps where his wrists had been.

  “Get up, boy!”

  The voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding, dragging Ryn back from the edge of unconsciousness.

  He heard it before he saw him, the sharp, splintering crack of precious stone breaking. The sound cut through the chaos like a scream, clear and unmistakable.

  Then he felt it. A faint hum, almost a song, threading into his ears. Emerald sparks bled into the smoke around him, coiling like fireflies. They sank into his skin, burning, stitching torn flesh together. His shoulder knit. His ribs locked back into place. Even his jaw, broken and swollen, pulled straight with a crack.

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  He wasn’t whole, not yet, but it was enough. Enough to stand. Enough to fight.

  Ryn’s eyes widened as he pushed off the wall, legs trembling but holding. He was alive.

  Standing before him was a familiar figure, the old drunk, the Blessed Eldric.

  His armor was cracked and dented, slick with blood that wasn't his own. His hair was matted, his blade dark with gore. And yet his eyes—blurred by drink so many nights before — were sharp now, alive.

  He couldn’t decide which emotion he felt more, the relief of seeing Eldric alive, or the shame that he himself hadn’t been enough.

  “Are you listening, Ryn?!” Eldric barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.

  “Take the princess—go! Now!”

  Eldric leveled his blood-soaked sword at the advancing enemy, feet planting into the stone.

  “I’ll handle things here.”

  Just as those words left his mouth, the knight Ryn had struggled against crumpled, his body cleaved in two. Eldric barely spared him a glance.

  And then four more emerged from the haze. Their presence alone was suffocating, each one radiating the same killing force, perhaps greater, than the man Ryn had barely survived.

  Ryn’s breath hitched. Four of them?

  But then Eldric moved.

  He stepped forward as a gem rose beside him, burning with a deep vermillion glow. Then steel ignited, crimson light crawling along its edge until the whole blade burned as though it had been set ablaze. His battered frame straightened, shoulders squaring, and he sank into his stance with the slow, deliberate weight of a man who had chosen to stand and burn the night with him.

  He stood between Ryn and the advancing knights, boots scraping through blood-slick stone.

  The four enemies faltered, just for a moment.

  Ryn didn’t wait to see more. Eldric had chosen his ground. Without wasting another breath, he hauled Lilia onto his back once more and seized Ariel’s trembling hand.

  “Now, Ryn!” Eldric roared, his voice carrying like thunder. “The walls, Run!”

  And Ryn ran. Dragging them both with him, chest burning, he forced himself forward. The last thing he saw when he glanced back was Eldric meeting the charge head-on, his blade splitting the night with crimson fire.

  ***

  Ryn ran through the flames, past the collapsing facades of Solvara’s once-white stone. The city he had known was melting into ruin. As he neared the walls, the clash of steel reached him… what remained of the Solvaran knights making their last stand. Their swords met the Blessed, but it was futile. Ordinary men against monsters.

  The street was littered with the fallen, knights split in half, soldiers broken and discarded like dolls. Ryn didn’t let himself look too closely, though he recognized faces among the dead. He couldn’t afford to. Lilia’s weight grew heavier on his back with every step, each breath like iron in his lungs.

  Protect her.

  Ariel had not spoken since the fighting began. She clung to his arm, silent, trembling, her golden eyes dimmed, darkened. She was watching her world die. And there was nothing Ryn could do to shield her from it, the sight of knights dragging away shattered comrades, or civilians cut down where they fled.

  He was spent. Every wound from his last battle burned, every breath scraped his chest raw, yet somehow his legs carried him to the wall.

  But the sight there was no kinder than the streets he’d left behind.

  The battlements were a graveyard in the making, men clutching broken shields, knights staggering under the weight of their own blood. The wall was meant to be Solvara’s last defense; they held most of the remaining army, but at this point.

  It looked ready to fall before the city itself.

  I need to keep moving.