Archer “Griff” Griffin
The Prince's departure was like the spark to a powder keg. The uneasy stillness of the refugee tent site shattered in an instant, giving way to shouts, panicked cries, and the unmistakable cracks of gunfire. Griff barely had time to register what was happening before Mikey had pulled her rifle and fired. The sound rang in his ears, sharp and precise. And then she was gone.
One second she was next to him, and the next, she had vanished.
"Griff, watch out!" Her voice carried back to him, urgent and distant.
Griff's head snapped toward the shout, but his gaze was immediately drawn to the attackers barreling toward him. Knives gleamed in the low light, their makeshift guns coughing out rounds sporadically. His instincts screamed at him to move, and he obeyed, diving toward a pallet stacked high with rice bags. The impact jarred his shoulder, dislodging one of the heavy bags that sagged slightly against him. He pressed his back to the stack, gasping for breath, his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest.
His mind raced, unable to keep up with the chaos unfolding around him. Mikey’s Noble Arm had shown its worth in mere seconds, not just as a weapon but as something versatile, almost otherworldly in its efficiency. Griff’s eyes dropped to his own arms, his breath hitching slightly at the sight of the bracers fused to his forearms. They sat there, dull and lifeless, offering no comfort, no power—just dead weight. He clenched his fists tightly, frustration mixing with fear. If his bracers weren’t going to do anything, then he’d have to do it himself.
"Finding a vantage point!"Gritting his teeth, Griff steeled himself and surged to his feet. The attackers were closing in, and he knew he needed to stop them before they could take aim. Charging forward, he closed the distance to the nearest man, his movements sharp and deliberate. A knife came slashing toward his ribs, and Griff’s body reacted on instinct. His arm shot up, the blade skidding harmlessly against the bracer with a sharp clang. He barely registered the sound before driving his fist hard into the attacker’s ribs. The man staggered back with a pained gasp, dropping to his knees, leaving Griff enough time to press on.
Griff barely had time to catch his breath before a gunshot cracked through the air. His body twisted sharply to the side, the bullet whizzing past him so close he could feel the rush of air against his cheek. His heart thundered in his chest, the realization of how narrowly he’d avoided death hitting him hard. He didn’t stop to think about how he’d moved so quickly—adrenaline, he told himself. It had to be adrenaline.
The gunman raised his weapon again, but Griff was already moving. He surged forward, closing the distance in a blur of motion. The gun fired once more, the bullet striking his bracer with a sharp metallic clang and ricocheting harmlessly to the side. The sound startled him, but he didn’t falter. His shoulder slammed into the gunman’s chest, driving him to the ground with a force that left the attacker stunned. The weapon clattered free, and Griff followed through, pinning the man down with swift, practiced movements.
Before Griff could recover, the glint of a knife caught his eye. An attacker lunged at him, the blade flashing in the dim light. Griff turned, but not quickly enough to avoid the knife entirely. Pain flared along his side as the blade glanced off him, slicing through his shirt and grazing his skin. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the attacker’s wrist. With a sharp twist, he disarmed the man and drove his knee into his stomach, doubling him over. Griff finished with a decisive strike to the back of the attacker’s head, sending him crumpling to the ground.
Griff staggered back, pressing a hand to his side where the knife had caught him. His breaths came fast and heavy, the sting of the wound a sharp reminder of how close he’d come. For a fleeting moment, he thought about the way his body had moved—the speed of it, the sharpness of his reactions. It felt... different, like he was a step ahead of himself. Adrenaline, he told himself again, though the thought sat uneasily in his mind. He couldn’t afford to think about it now.
Scanning the chaos around him, Griff’s gaze darted over the sea of movement—refugees fleeing, attackers pressing forward—searching for any sign of Mikey.
“Mikey!” he called out, his voice raw but forceful as his eyes scoured the camp. She had vanished across the field earlier, her voice echoing back to him. He needed to find her.
Griff’s chest heaved as he stood amidst the chaos, his fists clenched tightly, the sting along his side a sharp reminder of the fight he’d just survived. The attackers lay scattered around him—some groaning, others still. The camp was still in turmoil, the cries of fleeing refugees and the distant sound of sporadic gunfire filling the night air. But for the moment, Griff stood alone, a brief lull wrapping around him like a vacuum.
It was then, as he raised his head, that he saw her.
She was already there, standing as if she had been cut from the chaos itself. Silver hair cascaded past her shoulders, catching faint glints of light, and in her hands were two gleaming swords. She stood with an otherworldly stillness, her presence commanding yet unnervingly quiet. Around her, the air rippled faintly, and Griff’s eyes were drawn to the space behind her—a swirling portal, its edges flickering like a barely contained storm. He hadn’t noticed it before. Had it been there all along? Had she?
Something deep inside him stirred, a primal instinct he couldn’t explain. He didn’t know who she was, but there was no doubt in his mind—she was a Noble Arm user. It wasn’t the swords or the portal that convinced him, though both were strikingly unnatural. It was something else, something he couldn’t put into words, as if his own Noble Arm could sense hers.
Griff’s breath caught for a moment as he stared at her, unsure of what to do next. His fists loosened slightly, the cold weight of his bracers grounding him in the moment. The battle may have been over for now, but something about her told him it wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot.
