Smoke.

  Thick and choking, curling through the air like ghostly hands.

  Lusei stepped into the village — or what was left of it — the smell of burning wood, blood, and something worse clinging to his lungs. The heat from the flames kissed his skin like an open warning, but he didn’t stop.

  The world around him was a nightmare still unfolding.

  Homes lay in ruin, torn open by fire and blades. Smoke billowed from rooftops that had already collapsed. Bodies — some whole, some not — were scattered in the streets like discarded dolls. Blood soaked the dirt, and broken weapons clattered in the wind.

  Some houses were still untouched by fire — but not untouched by fear.

  He saw faces in windows. Survivors, hiding in their homes, peeking out with wide, tear-filled eyes. Others lay groaning in alleyways, burned or broken or too afraid to move.

  He took a step.

  Then another.

  And then the memory hit him.

  His fist. Coming down.

  The sound of bone breaking.

  The weight of the warrior’s body beneath him.

  The way the creature had looked at him just before the end — not in rage. Not even fear.

  Surprise.

  Lusei stopped walking.

  His breath caught in his throat, and his hand instinctively curled into a fist.

  I killed him.

  He knew it had been in self-defense. He knew it had saved the girl.

  But that didn’t make it easier.

  He swallowed hard and staggered into the side of a half-burned wall, one hand pressed to the splintered wood. His legs felt weak. His stomach churned.

  He wanted to throw up.

  Seventeen.

  He was just seventeen.

  And now he’d killed someone.

  He sank slightly, leaning into the wall, the smoke stinging his eyes — or maybe that wasn’t just the smoke.

  What the hell am I supposed to do now?

  He felt lost. Like he’d stepped into someone else’s story and didn’t know the lines.

  Then—

  He remembered her.

  The little girl. The look in her eyes. The way she clung to his sleeve like he was the only thing left in the world worth believing in.

  That moment, when he stood in front of her — scared out of his mind but refusing to move.

  That meant something.

  And if this happened here… it could be happening somewhere else, too. Right now. Without anyone to stop it.

  Lusei exhaled and looked up at the burning sky.

  “No one’s coming to save them,” he said quietly. “So I will.”

  He stood straighter, letting the fire warm his face but not burn him. His pulse was steady. His fists unclenched.

  This is life now.

  This was the path Celeste had opened. He didn’t know where it would lead — but he knew what he had to do in the meantime.

  Protect the weak.

  Move forward.

  And carry the weight.

  Lusei stepped out of the alleyway, his eyes sharp and cold, the silver mark on his arm still faintly pulsing beneath his sleeve.

  Smoke curled past him as he moved — slow, steady, deliberate.

  He turned his head toward the right.

  Screams.

  That’s where they were — the captives. He could hear the sobbing, the shouting, the cruel laughter of the warriors surrounding them.

  Lusei’s feet carried him forward without hesitation.

  Around the corner, the scene opened up.

  Eight warriors stood in a loose formation — hulking brutes armored in bone and metal, barking in their guttural tongue, jabbing their weapons toward the frightened villagers huddled together on their knees.

  Some of the warriors laughed. One kicked over an old man too slow to obey. Another grabbed a crying woman by the hair and threatened her with a blade.

  They were monsters pretending to be men.

  Lusei walked into the center of the ruined street, smoke and ash rising around him like falling snow. The moment he stepped into view, one of the warriors looked up — then another. Then all of them turned.

  The villagers noticed too.

  Some looked at him with wide, hopeful eyes, like a prayer had just arrived wearing a school uniform.

  Others looked scared.

  A boy? What could a boy do?

  Lusei stopped, standing tall in the open, the wind tugging at the edges of his jacket.

  His voice cut through the chaos — low, calm, and sharp as steel.

  “It’s easy to feel powerful when you're swinging your blade at the helpless…”

  “…But I wonder—”

  “How do you feel when the helpless look back at you and don’t run?”

  The warriors stilled.

  Their expressions shifted — some sneering, some narrowing their eyes.

  Then one stepped forward.

  Massive. Broad. Scarred across the face.

  His armor clinked as he moved, and his voice thundered like a drum.

  “What’s this? A foolish boy in strange cloth… playing hero?” he growled. “You come here alone, thinking you’ll change something?”

  Lusei didn’t flinch.

  He smiled — a quiet, dangerous smirk.

  Then he raised his hand.

  And pointed.

  Straight at the warrior in the back — the one furthest from him, half-distracted, only now reaching for his weapon.

  “I’m not here to play hero.”

  A flash.

  A pulse of blinding silver-white light exploded from Lusei’s palm — fast as lightning, silent as breath. It tore through the air like a comet and struck the warrior at the back clean in the chest.

  The impact cracked like thunder.

  The brute didn’t scream.

  He just collapsed — a smoking hole where his armor had been, his body falling backward like a toppled pillar.

  Silence.

  Everyone — warriors, villagers, even the flames — seemed to freeze.

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  Lusei let his hand fall back to his side.

  His voice came again — cold and measured.

  “Now let’s see how the self-proclaimed strong react... when the real predator steps into the room.”

  His silver eyes gleamed beneath the smoke.

  The warriors tensed, eyes flicking between their fallen comrade and the silver glow still pulsing in Lusei’s hands.

  Then the massive one — the scarred brute who'd spoken earlier — stepped forward and barked a command.

  “Don’t just stand there!” he roared. “He’s just a single young fool! We outnumber him!”

  The others hesitated, then slowly nodded, steeling their grip on their weapons. Their fear melted into forced bravado.

  “He’s a long-range type,” one of them muttered to the others. “Close the distance — we hold the advantage!”

  Two warriors surged forward, weapons raised, snarling.

  Lusei tilted his head slightly.

  Then smiled.

  Not kindly.

  His hands flared with silver-white light, brighter this time — and without warning, his body surged forward in a blink, a blur of motion too fast for untrained eyes to track.

  By the time the two warriors realized he was gone from where he stood, Lusei was already there — right in front of them.

  His palms met their faces in the same instant.

  A sickening crack tore through the air as he drove them into the ground, skulls crushed beneath the force, stone cracking beneath their weight. Both bodies went still.

  Gasps rippled through the captives. Even the flames seemed to pull back.

  The huge warrior’s face twisted.

  “What… what is this?!” he growled, his voice shaking with something between rage and disbelief. “An enchanter?! How can there be an enchanter here?!”

  Lusei’s expression twitched at the word.

  “Enchanter?” he repeated, curiosity slipping into his tone. “That’s a new one.”

  He took a step forward, eyes locked on the last of the warriors.

  “So that’s what they call people who can use magic in this world… Good to know.”

  He rolled his shoulder and cracked his neck.

  “Not that it really matters. Just means I have something to ask about later.”

  He glanced at the remaining five warriors, raising an eyebrow.

  “Is that all? I thought I was supposed to be fighting the ‘strong.’ This is just sad.”

  The captives were silent now, wide-eyed. The warriors glanced at each other — unsure.

  Then the brute stepped forward again, a twisted grin forming on his lips.

  His voice dropped into something smug, venomous.

  “Enough games.”

  He snapped his fingers.

  The remaining warriors moved quickly, each grabbing a hostage, placing their blades against trembling throats.

  Lusei’s smirk faded. His jaw tightened.

  Cowards.

  The brute sneered. “I am Toghat. Leader of this warband. And I order you to stop, enchanter. Surrender.”

  He stepped forward, motioning to the captives.

  “Unless you want these people’s blood on your hands.”

  Lusei looked at the scene in silence.

  His silver eyes moved from blade to hostage. Face to face. Fear. Desperation. Hopelessness.

  Then he sighed.

  Casually, he raised both arms.

  Toghat grinned, turning to his men. “Hah. The fool bends.”

  He whispered, “Grab him.”

  Four warriors moved in quickly.

  That’s when the glow returned.

  Fast.

  Sudden.

  Lusei’s hands ignited with brilliant silver light — and in the same breath, crescent-shaped blades of moonlight manifested at his fingertips. Smooth. Silent. Lethal.

  He threw them.

  Four streaks of silver light tore through the air.

  Four heads hit the ground.

  The bodies followed.

  The blades vanished in glowing ash.

  For a moment, nothing moved.

  Toghat turned slowly, eyes wide, staring at the headless corpses of his warriors.

  And when he turned back—

  Lusei was already in front of him.

  A silver glow wrapped around his right fist.

  His expression unreadable.

  “Hi.”

  The punch landed clean into Toghat’s jaw.

  The impact roared like an explosion.

  Toghat’s massive body sailed backward through the air, crashing through a pile of broken carts and stone.

  He didn’t move for a full ten seconds.

  Then—

  A low growl.

  Smoke began rising from his body — not from fire, but from within.

  His hands clawed the ground as he forced himself up, spitting blood and bits of teeth.

  His eyes — once black — now burned crimson.

  A red aura pulsed from his back, thick and seething, like heat off molten metal.

  Lusei took a step back, startled for the first time.

  This was new.

  Toghat bared his jagged teeth, fury pouring off him in waves.

  “I am Toghat, leader of this warband,” he growled. “And I will not fall to a boy in rags!”

  He slammed his axe into the ground, and the earth cracked beneath him.

  Lusei smiled.

  “Interesting,” he said.

  He shifted his stance.

  Power hummed beneath his skin again.

  “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Toghat let out a primal roar and charged.

  His boots thundered against the earth, each step fracturing the ground beneath him. His crimson aura surged like wildfire, rippling off his shoulders in waves of heat and pressure.

  Lusei tensed — then moved.

  He ducked under the first wild swing of Toghat’s massive axe. The weapon carved through the air like a falling meteor, smashing into the ground with such force it split the stone path beneath their feet.

  BOOM.

  Dust exploded outward.

  Lusei rolled, flipped back onto his feet, and countered — a burst of silver light glowing around his fist as he launched a clean strike into Toghat’s ribs. The hit landed hard — but Toghat barely flinched.

  The warlord grinned.

  "You think you're the only one with power, Enchanter?" he spat, stepping back and gripping his axe tighter.

  Then, with both hands, he slammed the weapon’s pommel into the ground. His aura ignited, red energy coiling up the length of the weapon, crawling through carved runes along its haft.

  His voice bellowed like a war drum:

  “CRIMSON FANG: REAVER’S DROP!”

  The axe pulsed — then cracked in a flash of molten light.

  It transformed mid-motion, reshaping into a jagged war-spear of condensed red force, its head gleaming like sharpened obsidian. Toghat roared and hurled it with both hands — a streak of death that tore through the air.

  Lusei barely had time to react.

  The Bloodfang Spear slammed into his chest with brutal impact.

  He was launched backwards, crashing through the charred remains of a merchant stall and tumbling across the dirt, coughing and winded. Smoke curled off his uniform. His chest burned. His shoulder screamed with pain.

  He groaned, pressing a hand to his ribs. Nothing was broken — but it was close.

  “That... sucked,” he muttered, spitting blood onto the dirt.

  Toghat laughed, walking forward with heavy, confident steps. His axe reformed in his hands, whole and steaming.

  "You bleed. You fall. You’re just another body waiting for the fire.”

  Lusei slowly pushed himself upright. Every part of him hurt — but his spirit didn’t waver.

  He raised his head, eyes glowing with silver light again, calm and unreadable.

  “I bleed,” he said quietly, “but I don’t fall.”

  The mark on his arm flared.

  He exhaled — focused — and charged.

  Their second clash was faster, tighter.

  Toghat swung — wide and heavy — but Lusei slid beneath it, countering with a blinding elbow to the chin, followed by a silver-lit crescent kick that cracked against Toghat’s torso.

  The warlord stumbled, then responded with a savage punch of his own, slamming into Lusei’s shoulder. The pain exploded again — but Lusei twisted, caught Toghat’s wrist, and with a surge of instinctive strength, threw him across the street.

  Stone shattered where the warlord landed.

  Both stood again.

  Wounded.

  Burning.

  Refusing to yield.

  Dust swirled between them.

  Toghat’s crimson aura cracked and hissed like embers caught in a storm. His muscles tensed, eyes blazing, axe humming with bloodlust.

  Lusei stood opposite — body bruised, uniform torn, silver glow pulsing from his right arm in rhythmic waves. He exhaled slowly, steadying his breath.

  Then he smiled.

  “You’ve got names for your attacks,” he said, wiping blood from his lip. “I think I’ll make one up too.”

  Toghat growled. “Enough of your talk, boy!”

  He slammed his axe into the ground again, the red aura bursting like a shockwave around him.

  “THIS ENDS NOW! I'LL KILL YOU WITH ALL MY MIGHT!”

  The earth cracked beneath him as he surged forward — faster, heavier, more lethal than before.

  The crimson aura spiraled up his axe, forming fiery glyphs in the air as he roared:

  “RAGE BRAND: BLOODFANG JUDGMENT!”

  The axe expanded mid-swing, doubling in size with a burst of heat, becoming a massive arc of fire and steel, aimed to cleave Lusei in half.

  Lusei narrowed his eyes, grounded his feet, and whispered—

  “Let’s try this…”

  His tattoo lit up like a silver flame, snaking around his forearm.

  He brought both palms together, pulling the light inward. Crescent shapes formed around his arms, rotating, aligning.

  “MOONLIGHT STYLE—PHASE STRIKE: SHATTERING ARC!”

  A glowing crescent blade burst forth from his hand — not thrown, but drawn through the air like he was slashing space itself.

  The silver arc and the red judgment collided in a blinding flash—

  BOOOOOOM.

  Energy exploded outward in a dome of light and flame, wind tearing through the wreckage, throwing villagers and rubble to the ground. Smoke blanketed the street.

  For a moment—

  Silence.

  Then—

  A figure stepped through the smoke.

  Lusei.

  His sleeve was gone, his arm glowing faintly. He limped, but he was upright. Breathing. Focused.

  Behind him, Toghat’s axe lay in pieces.

  And Toghat himself?

  Collapsed in the crater, blood dripping from his mouth, armor cracked, eyes wide in disbelief.

  “You…” he rasped, coughing. “You made up a skill… and it beat me…”

  Lusei stopped a few feet away, staring down at him.

  “I didn’t make it up,” he said quietly. “It was already inside me.”

  He raised his hand, silver light dimming now as his body swayed slightly, exhaustion catching up.

  Toghat slumped back, eyes dimming.

  The red aura evaporated.

  It was over.

  The air was still now.

  The smoke no longer screamed.

  The warriors who had ravaged the village were silent — broken or dead. Their weapons scattered. Their blood cooling in the dirt.

  Lusei stood there, just breathing, in front of Toghat’s lifeless body, the last of the crimson aura fading into the air like mist at dawn.

  His body ached.

  His limbs were heavy.

  But he stood.

  Slowly, the villagers emerged from the rubble — men, women, children — all bruised, bloodied, frightened... but alive.

  They stepped forward with cautious reverence, unsure whether to fear or bow.

  One man stepped back instead of forward, eyes wide — like he wasn’t sure whether to thank Lusei or run

  Then one — a woman with a wrapped arm — stepped forward and gently took Lusei’s hand in hers.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Rough hands. Small hands. Old hands.

  Each person who passed by him held his hand, even for just a second — as if touching him made the nightmare truly end.

  “You saved us.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We thought we were going to die.”

  They whispered, cried, nodded.

  Lusei’s lips parted slightly — unsure how to respond at first. In his world, he had always drifted to the background. Faded into silence. People looked through him, not at him.

  But here?

  Here, they saw him.

  And then—

  A blur of movement.

  The little girl — the one he had protected — broke through the crowd and ran straight into him, her arms wrapping tight around his waist, face buried in his jacket.

  She didn’t say a word.

  She didn’t have to.

  Lusei looked down, stunned at first.

  Then he smiled — tired, soft, real.

  He rested a hand gently on her head.

  For the first time in a long time… he felt something new.

  Not alone.

  Not invisible.

  Not background.

  Here, in this strange world…

  He mattered.

  Then the crowd parted, and an elder man stepped forward — bent with age but firm in posture, his face lined with wisdom and fire.

  He bowed deeply.

  “On behalf of the survivors,” the man said, voice clear, “and those who no longer breathe — thank you, brave one.”

  Lusei shook his head slightly. “I just… did what I could.”

  The elder nodded.

  “And that’s what heroes do.”

  Then he stepped closer, examining Lusei with sharp, knowing eyes.

  “It has been generations since we’ve seen your kind.”

  Lusei blinked. “My kind?”

  The elder smiled faintly.

  “It is an honor to be saved by a Moonborne.”

  Lusei’s breath caught in his throat.

  His eyes flicked to his glowing arm.

  “…Moonborne,” he echoed quietly.

  The word lingered in his mind, strange and familiar all at once — like it had always been waiting for him to hear it.