World of Terror

A few more days had passed. The breeze had grown colder, and the clouds hung low with a grayish hue, as if snow might fall at any moment. All around the town, people buzzed with excitement, their cheeks red from the chill and their arms full of decorations.

Everyone was preparing for the Winter Fire Festival, a celebration marking the start of the winter season. Tonight, a giant fire would be lit in front of the church, its flames rising into the sky as music and laughter echoed through the streets.

Meanwhile, Belle was dragging me down the cobbled path toward Lulu's School and then to Lana's Pastry, her grip on my sleeve unrelenting. Roswell followed behind us, looking equally exhausted from the drama in front of him.

"I'm tired and cold," I groaned, dragging my feet. "I want to go home."

"Shut up! The school is just ten blocks away, so stop whining. You promised Mother," Belle snapped, not even looking back.

Every morning, we trained without fail, and over the past day, I'd come to the realization that I was terrible with a sword. My body was too fragile, my stance always off, and every swing made my arms feel like they'd fall off.

"Sir Roswell," I asked as I was half-dragged along, "why do we use swords instead of handguns?"

"Because swords are cool and handguns are for the lame," Belle cut in immediately.

Roswell said, "We usually use handguns for support. They may be quicker, but they don't teach patience or precision. Swords require skill, discipline, and a close connection between the wielder and their weapon. For us Easterners, the sword acts as a channel for the power of our class. It's part of the tradition."

"Well, I'm a lame person, then," I muttered.

Shortly, we finally arrived. Mother was waiting outside the school building, wrapped in a thick coat and smiling warmly.

"There you are," she said. "Come on in; we're going to start."

The building was a cozy two-story structure. Old wooden beams framed the windows, and the stone walls were partly covered in new decorations.

We passed through the front hall where a group of children were busy hanging paper stars. Mother joined them to help, laughing softly as she handed out supplies. Belle and I made our way down the hall and into one of the classrooms.

The room was lively and warm. Kids were chatting and laughing, some gathering near the hearth while others organized their notebooks. Belle took a seat near the front, already talking to a girl about sword training and the lectures. Meanwhile, I stayed back near the wall, quietly observing everything as usual.

That's when a thin girl with slight curly hair nervously approached me.

"Uhm, good afternoon, Sir—Lord Lucian," she said with a stammer.

"Lucian's fine. And you?"

"Right! My name is Lizzy. You remember?"

"Of course. You're that girl from the alley. How are you?"

"I'm fine. T-Thank you."

Belle, who had overheard, leaned over and smirked. "Friend of yours, Lucy?"

"Huh? Uh—no, Lady—I mean, the Lord—Sir helped me before," Lizzy said quickly, flustered.

"Really?" Belle leaned in closer, studying Lizzy with interest. "No need to be nervous. I'm glad this weirdo is finally making friends."

"Uhh, Lord—Sir is not a… um…" Lizzy trailed off, blushing.

"Stop, Belle, you're making her uncomfortable."

"No, I'm not! Am I?" she asked, turning her pretty face to Lizzy.

"Of course not."

We continued talking until the meal was ready, trading small stories about school and sword lessons, while Belle threw in the occasional sarcastic comment to keep things lively.

…

As the class finished their meal, chatter and laughter slowly gave way to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor and footsteps echoing down the hallway. People left in small groups, their voices fading as they disappeared around corners. The warmth of the dining hall lingered for a moment, then faded too.

I stood and stretched. "I think I'll walk around town a bit."

Lizzy perked up. "Want a tour of Linberg? I know all the good spots."

I smiled. "Sure. Lead the way."

I told Mother I'd be back soon, while Belle stayed behind. Roswell followed quietly, serious as always, with his hands tucked into his coat pockets.

We stepped outside into the crisp afternoon air. The sky was overcast, but the streets were alive with activity. People were stringing up lanterns, painting wooden signs, and hanging streamers across windows and doorways. The Winter Fire Festival was clearly a big deal.

"So, where are we going?" I asked.

"The port," Lizzy said confidently, already turning a corner. "It's a little loud and messy, but it's an interesting place."

As we walked, the noise of the harbor grew louder. Shouts from sailors, squawking gulls, and the clatter of crates being moved filled the surroundings.

"This is the port," she announced proudly.

It was crowded. Wooden stalls lined the docks, displaying all kinds of things—fresh fish packed on ice, jars of spices and pickled vegetables, dried herbs, old tools, and hand-carved ornaments. The smell was a strong mix of saltwater, fish, and something smoky and fried.

"It's always like this?" I asked, stepping aside as a man rolled a barrel past us.

"Pretty much," Lizzy replied. "In summer, it smells even worse, but the snacks are good."

We stopped at one of the stalls, where a woman was arranging rows of smoked trout on a board. Her sleeves were rolled up, and her hands moved quickly.

Lizzy waved. "Mother, this is Lucian."

The woman looked up, her eyes widening for a second before she smiled.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," I said politely.

She gave a short bow. "No need for that, young lord. I heard what happened earlier. Thank you for helping my child."

"Oh, it wasn't a big deal," I said.

Lizzy chatted with her mother for a few minutes, talking about school, the festival, and what she planned to wear tonight. Roswell and I stood off to the side, listening quietly.

After a bit, we said our goodbyes and continued the tour.

We visited a quiet bookshop that smelled of old paper, passed by the bakery with giant sweet buns in the window, and stopped at a little old tower that gave a perfect view of the festival square. Everything felt calm and peaceful, like this town had its own rhythm.

As the hour passed, the sky dimmed slightly, and the sunstone lanterns began to flicker to life.

"We should head back, young master," Roswell said, checking the time.

"I guess you're right." I looked to Lizzy. "Thank you. I really enjoyed the tour."

"Glad you did. I'll see you later then," Lizzy said, waving as we parted ways.

Lizzy walked off toward the port, cheerful as ever, humming a tune under her breath. But just as she turned into a narrow alley near the fish stalls, something felt… off.

The noise from the market faded, replaced by a silence too sudden to be normal. From the shadows between two crates, a hooded figure emerged.

…

At dawn, we waited outside the carriage as Mother and Roswell wrapped up their work inside. The air was cold, the kind that bit at your fingers and turned your breath into mist. The streets were quieter now, most people already gathered near the church for the start of the festival. In the distance, faint music and the crackle of torches being lit could be heard.

"You know they're going to light the fire soon," Isabelle said eagerly, bouncing on her feet.

"I know," I replied, rubbing my hands together for warmth. "We just need to wait a little longer."

"Come on, the church is only a few blocks away. We'll miss it!"

"I said wait. They'll be done soon."

She frowned. "Stop acting like you're the older child."

I sighed. "I am older than you," I muttered, but she was already storming off toward a side alley.

The town, once vibrant with festival colors and movement, felt strangely muted as more and more people funneled toward the church square. Lights flickered overhead, and soft snow had begun to fall, blanketing rooftops and drifting down in slow, swirling patterns.

I guessed I should chase her back.

I hesitated but followed the path Isabelle had taken, turning down the narrow alley between two buildings.

That's when I saw them.

Three hooded men stood around her. One lay unconscious on the other side, blood staining the cobblestones. Isabelle was frozen in place, her back against the wall, her cheek red from being struck. Her eyes were wide with fear.

The men didn't look right. Their skin was pale, almost gray, stretched too tight over sharp bones. Their eyes twitched and flickered, unfocused yet locked on Isabelle. One of them sniffed the air, like a predator catching a scent.

"Shit, someone saw us," one of them growled. "Grab him!"

I didn't think. I just moved.

I snatched a brick from the side of the alley, then grabbed a glass bottle from a trash pile nearby. I hurled the bottle straight at the man blocking my path; it shattered on his head with a crash. He stumbled, and I lunged forward, swinging the brick and hitting another one in the leg. I may be small, but I'm fast. I squeezed past them and stood in front of Isabelle, heart pounding.

"Hey! Isabelle! Snap out of it! Run! Go to the other side!"

She didn't move. Frozen. Damn it! Why now?

"Argh! You little brat!" one of the men yelled.

Two of them charged. I ducked low and slammed the brick upward into the first one's jaw. He crumpled instantly. The second grabbed my arm, but I kicked up into his gut with everything I had, wrenching free and sending him into the alley wall.

I turned to the second man, ready to finish him with the brick, but the third man's fist came crashing toward my side. I blocked it with the brick still in hand, but the impact shattered it. The force sent me back.

I coughed up blood, pain flaring through my side. My thoughts scrambled. Was my hand broken? My ribs? Awakened?

Then two I knocked down began to stand unhurt.

I immediately grabbed Isabelle's hand and dragged her. "Run!"

We sprinted.

"HELP! HELP!" I screamed so loud it could tear my throat. "HELP!"

"Fuck! Get them!" one of them barked, all three giving chase.

"Lu-Lucian? So-sor," she tried to say with watery eyes.

"It's alright," I said breathlessly. I shoved her forward and kicked her hard in the back, sending her stumbling out of the alley toward the lit road.

"RUN! HELP!"

I turned back just as they reached me. I punched, kicked, and bit—anything to slow them down, but I was already losing consciousness. My body screamed in pain.

Through blurry eyes, I saw Belle in the distance. People were turning now, noticing the commotion.

"Damn it! We only need that girl!" one of them shouted.

He grabbed me and pulled something from his coat: a ball-sized object. He threw it to the ground.

With a sharp hiss, black smoke burst upward, swallowing everything around me.

The last thing I heard was Belle shouting my name before the darkness swallowed everything