[hider=Flashback: Night Sola 23, 1739][center][h1][b][color=00F8FE]Callum[/color] & [color=DAF6C7]Riona[/color] Part 7[/b][/h1][/center]
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They followed the secret corridor back until they were back in Wystan’s room. The same heavy mechanical sounds followed as the wall lowered behind them sealing up the room and its dark artifacts once more. He returned the candle he’d borrowed to its spot in the bedroom before snuffing the flame with his fingertips. Then he grabbed the sword, keeping hold of it rather than returning it to the wall. [color=00F8FE]“Time to go before Wystan gets back.”[/color] He whispered. Cal scanned the room, making sure nothing was left disturbed, and made a mental note to grab the burnt matchstick he’d dropped by painting in the hallway. 

“Good idea. Why don’tcha leave the sword behind too while you’re at it? Then Wystan won’t find out you tried to steal from him.”

The unfamiliar voice startled Riona, and she whirled around to face its owner. A figure lurked at the open window, all features but their amber eyes obscured by a dark cowl and mask.

[color=00F8FE]“Stealing? Haven’t you heard of finders keepers, losers weepers?”[/color] Callum looked toward the window, falling back into the ‘I’m just a drunk prince causing mischief’ routine. [color=00F8FE]“Maybe I’ll give Wystan his sword back when I get my trumpet back.”[/color] He added, haphazardly pointing the blade toward the window, waving it around like a toy. [color=00F8FE]“Or maybe I’ll keep it, since I found it in my house and all. Now, identify yourself, creepy window lurker.”[/color] 

The cloaked figure—a man, Riona guessed—snickered and clapped in a mocking ovation. “Spoken like a spoiled prince.” He pushed off from the window and strode forward, one gloved finger jabbing at the blade. “Better leave that pretty sword behind. Or a little birdy might just tell dear old dad what’s inside there.” The stranger cocked his head toward the false wall.

Riona’s heart stumbled in her chest. How long had this man been skulking about, watching them?

[color=00F8FE]“Yes, please tell dear old pops that you were lurking outside palace windows, spying in the middle of the night. The king would love that!”[/color] Callum answered as he attempted to swat the man’s hand with the blunt side of the blade. [color=00F8FE]“Why do you care whether I hang this sword on the wall or not? Planning on stealing from a room full of old junk?”[/color] He asked, trying to figure out what the stranger was even doing here in the first place, and how much he knew. Cal’s mind wandered further; could he run a man through with a sword? That would make a noticeable mess in Wystan’s room. Maybe force him back out the window and hope the fall ended things? Could he do it? It was better that no one knew what they had found here. 

He remembered the scroll he’d grabbed, Illisonary Flames, inflicting the sensation of burning on a pyre might get information out of the stranger or distract the man long enough to push him out the window. He could do that, [color=00F8FE][i]a perfect opportunity to test the scroll out[/i][/color]. And it all became evident to Callum that his snooping around Wystan’s room was one thing but the masked stranger had seen Riona as well, it was too big a risk not to do something. 

[color=00F8FE]“Servant, hold [i]my sword[/i] please. I don’t need it for this.”[/color] Cal extended his sword arm towards Riona, the blade was far more useful in her hands than his. The corners of his mouth twisted upwards as his eyes stayed locked with amber eyes that peered through a mask and cowl. 

The man heaved a sigh, eyes rolling in their sockets, “And they say you’re the least blood-hungry of the three.” He shrugged and, to someone who wasn’t there, said, “Don’t say I didn’t try to play nice.”

That was all the warning they got before his fist cracked into Cal’s face. Without pause, he yanked Cal down by his collar and drove his knee upward, smashing it into Cal’s head.

The sword hit the ground with a clang.

Riona was already lunging, halfway to the man before she even saw the dagger appear in his hand. Her shoulder collided with the intruder, shoving him away from Callum.

She wanted to check on Cal, but the stranger was quick, too damn quick. He regained his balance with infuriating ease and came right back at them, dagger ready to strike.

Riona hitched up her dress and her fingers closed around the blade she kept strapped to her thigh. She whipped it out just in time to deflect the incoming slash, steel ringing on steel.

[color=00F8FE][i]Don’t bleed on Wystan’s floor.[/i][/color] That was his clearest thought. Callum cupped his hands around his bleeding nose. His face felt numb, his ears rang, and metal clanged against metal. [color=00F8FE][i]Too loud. Someone might hear.[/i][/color] He rolled over, pushed himself up off the floor, and flung himself at the stranger's back His arm immediately tried to coil around the man’s neck and grabbed a handful of his cowl. Cal knew he needed to ensure the stranger couldn’t scream.

[color=00F8FE]“Urere hostem meum”[/color] He half spat, half-whispered in the stranger's ear. [color=00F8FE][i]Burn my enemy,[/i][/color] and each word was meant. The stranger wasn’t a man, only an enemy, one who threatened their plans. Callum wanted the stranger to burn, and the prince braced himself to feel the same pain. 

Suddenly, Cal and the intruder writhed—bodies jerked, faces twisted, and sweat slicked their skin. Riona couldn’t see the flames searing their flesh, but she didn’t need to. The shared agony was unmistakable. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, wrestling to stay quiet while they grappled in the dark.  

Cal clung to the intruder with white-knuckled ferocity. Each new wave of pain visibly drained him. The stranger looked to be hurting just as bad, but as seconds passed, his movements became eerily controlled—like someone who’d survived worse than fire.

The difference between them was obvious, a chasm of hard lessons and harder living. The man had a survivor’s edge, hardened by life they could only imagine. Cal? Tavern brawls taught Cal how to take a beating, not how to give one.

Callum was screwed.

Sure enough, Cal’s hold slipped. A blade caught the half-light and plunged into Cal’s side before Riona could suck in a breath to shout a warning.

Riona saw the stranger’s hand tense, ready to rip the knife free, or worse, tear it sideways and spill Cal’s guts across the floor. She wasn’t going to let either happen. Riona charged at the stranger with her dagger.

Again, too slow. The intruder’s hand shot out, clamping around her wrist. He twisted. Hard. Tendons stretched. Joints groaned. With a sickening crack, sharp pain exploded outward from wrist to shoulder. A scream caught in her throat.

A blur of motion. Her head snapped back and stars burst in her vision. Before she could process the high kick, the stranger’s boot slammed into her stomach. Air rushed from her lungs. She hurtled backwards, hitting the dresser. The impact dropped her to the ground, dazed and gasping.

Callum didn’t just feel flames eating away at his skin, he smelled it. A rich and rank scent of burnt meat and hair filled his nose, leaving its taste burning in his throat. Reality melted away, the illusion felt more real than anything. He barely felt the knife over the searing of the flames. 

He saw Riona’s shape move, but the details were lost, his vision a wet blur of panic and tears. 

This was his future, if he got caught, if he failed, his pyre would not be an illusion. All it would take was for his focus to slip for a second and that would be the end. 

The curse persisted; it held both caster and victim suspended in peak, unchanging, agony. 

[color=00F8FE]“Only I. Can make this. Stop.”[/color] Words drifted out from behind clenched teeth. A partial bluff, Cal wasn’t sure he could make it stop. But he could make this continue, for as long as he could keep uttering the curse. His legs shook, threatening to give out but his grip around his enemy’s neck stayed locked. He felt the other man’s throat rumble. He was… chuckling?

He spoke again once the magic that fueled the illusory flames burned out and the illusion dissipated. [color=00F8FE]“Who do you work for?”[/color] He’d hoped his question would sound intimidating, wished for a voice that could compare to the inferno he’d just conjured. Instead, it sounded like a whimper, it sounded like ‘please, don’t make me do that again.’ And that made the other man laugh.

Something wet dripped from his side as a new, sharp, pain snapped into focus. 

Before Cal could blink, he was on his back, the wind knocked out of him. The man straddled him, knees pinning Cal’s arms into the floorboards. Cal tried to free himself but any movement sparked more pain from his side. 

A gloved fist forced its way between his teeth, preventing him from casting, while a free hand pawed at Cal’s clothes, rough and purposeful. Fingers found‌ something tucked away and freed it. The scroll.

With a flick, the parchment unfurled. The man’s eyes devoured the words, and he let out a low whistle. “Nasty,” he commented before shoving the paper into his boot.

“Now then.”

Callum had no other choice, he wasn’t losing that scroll, and he bit down on the man’s knuckles with no intention of letting go. That was his scroll, the closest thing to real power he had, he needed it. His head shook with a desperate attempt to rip something from the man.

The intruder cursed, but instead of pulling back, he shoved his fist deeper‌. Cal’s throat spasmed, and his gag reflex betrayed him. His jaw went slack, releasing the fist.

“Good boy,” the man crooned, flexing his freed fingers.

Then he rained down blows—face, ribs, gut. Each impact was precise, brutal, ensuring the prince wouldn’t be able to get up anytime soon.

Riona’s skull throbbed, world tilting this way and that way. Through the haze, steel flashed. The intruder wrenched his blade from Cal’s side and raised it high.

Without knowing how, she moved. One moment she was on the ground, dizzy. The next, she and the stranger crashed to the floor.

Scrabbling at his face, her nails hooked into fabric and when she yanked, the mask came away.

They both froze.
Their eyes met.

A young man’s face stared at her, skin peppered with freckles and faint scars. Fiery orange brows and lashes framed amber eyes, widening with sudden realization—the realization that she could pick him out from a crowd. And that was a problem. A bloody big problem that had only one solution.

His lips peeled back in a snarl as he came at her again, wiry muscles coiled tight with lethal intent. They grappled on the floor, a tangle of straining limbs and ragged breaths. She fought like a wildcat, tooth and nail, but his scarecrow body had a strength it had no right to.

Weapon. She needed a weapon, and fast. Riona wrenched herself away, scrambling towards the first pointy object that she saw. The sword. Just a few steps away.

Stupid. Stupid mistake.

The second she got to her feet, an arm snaked around her throat from behind. And tightened, cutting off her air. Riona clawed at his arm, legs kicking out wildly. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision as she struggled. The room swam, colors bleeding together. Her lungs burned and screamed—

[i]—just like the townspeople.

[color=DAF6C7]Nana. Des. Papa. Mama… Is this how it ends?[/color]

Memories crashed over her: smoke-choked air, the clash of steel, screams cut short. Her people. Her family. All of them gone, while she—

[color=4E0E04]You survived,[/color] the voices hissed. [color=4E0E04]You lived when they died.[/color][/i]

The ginger’s assault had left Riona aching from head to toe. But the pain was nothing compared to the guilt that had hollowed her out.

[i][color=4E0E04]Was it all for nothing?[/color] The voices pressed, relentless.

[color=DAF6C7]… No.[/color]

[color=4E0E04]Are you going to die here, chocked out by some random bastard, without accomplishing anything?[/color]

[color=4E0E04]Useless girl![/color] Another choir of voices hissed. [color=4E0E04]All this time wasted. You should’ve died with the others![/color]

[color=DAF6C7]No,[/color][/i] Riona thought, clinging to consciousness. [i][color=DAF6C7]I can’t.[/color]

[color=4E0E04]Why?[/color]

[color=DAF6C7]Because I promised I would make them pay.[/color]

[color=4E0E04]Then,[/color] they whispered in one ear, [color=4E0E04]it’s time.[/color][/i]

Riona’s eyes clouded, [i]gazing inward at the embers smoldering for years, glowing brighter. Hungry. Anticipating.

They whispered in the other ear. [color=4E0E04]Use the power we all suffered for.[/color]

Flames ignited from the embers. The fire grew, and with them, the shadows darkened.

[color=4E0E04]You’re going to die… this is your last chance.[/color]

Sparks flew as magic stirred.

[color=4E0E04]Don’t let all of that anger, and hate, go to waste, Ríoghnach.[/color]

The girl stood alone on an endless expanse of black powder, torch in hand. The grains shifted restlessly, like an ocean of darkness. Fourteen years worth of people’s suffering. At her feet, a fuse snaked across the dunes, promising destruction.

[color=4E0E04]Do it,[/color] the voices urged in unison.

Ríoghnach’s fingers tightened on the torch.

[color=4E0E04]Set us free.[/color][/i]

An unnatural silence smothered the night, as if the world had taken a collective breath and held it. Callum’s skin prickled hot and cold all at once—the same eerie sensation from the gardener’s cottage.

In the darkness, shadows deepened. Shapes writhed and twisted within the blackness. Unseen things seemed to lurk just out of sight. Watching. Listening. Waiting.

A faint sound tickled the edge of Callum’s hearing. It grew louder, swelling into agonized wails mixed with the roar and crackle of an inferno. The scent of burning wood filled his nostrils, followed by the stomach-churning stench of seared human flesh.

[color=4E0E04]“Feed us,”[/color] something said.[/color][/hider]

[hider=TLDR:] A mysterious figure catches Riona and Callum and a fight breaks out. Callum attempts to curse the intruder and something [i]very strange[/i] happens with Riona…[/hider]