A guttural cry ripped through the smoke, followed by the clatter of heavy boots on the courtyard flagstones. Cloaked figures, their faces obscured by dark hoods, swarmed the mangled transport wagon. They moved with brutal efficiency, each clutching a coiled net woven with dull, grey filaments – not for capture, but for destruction. Kaviel Darvash moved faster. A blur of obsidian and fury, he was already among them, a low snarl rumbling in his chest. His movements were not elegant, but devastatingly precise. A brigand lunged, his net arcing towards Maviya, but before it could unfurl, Kaviel’s hand shot out, not to block, but to seize the man's wrist. A cold, black tendril erupted from Kaviel’s palm, wrapping around the raider’s arm like a serpent before dissolving into nothing. The man shrieked, his limb suddenly flailing uselessly. He crumpled, clutching his shoulder. Another attacker, emboldened by a shouted command, aimed a net at Maviya’s feet, designed to tangle and trip. Kaviel’s eyes, usually a calm obsidian, blazed. He snatched the net from the air with his bare hand, the dull filaments snapping against his grip. “You *dare* scuff her orthopedic solars?” he snarled, his voice dropping to a terrifying register. “These are custom-fitted Darvash-grade. Do you have any idea how long it took the foot-artisans to find the correct arch support for a reincarnated grandmaster?”
He didn't wait for an answer. With a vicious twist, he flung the net back, not at the assailant’s face, but around his legs, pulling taut. The man slammed to the ground, his head hitting the flagstones with a sickening thud. A third cutthroat, broader and quicker than the others, leaped over the fallen forms, a gleaming, barbed blade held low. His target wasn't Maviya, but Kadin, who stood frozen beside the ruined carriage, his mouth parted in shock. The curved iron glinted, aimed for the boy’s ribs.
Kadin’s clumsy, lopsided golem, a cobbled-together monstrosity of scrap stones and uneven facets, suddenly hummed. A low, continuous thrum vibrated from its misshapen chest, a sound barely audible above the din of the skirmish. It was not the elegant, complex tone of a master’s work, but a simple, unwavering frequency. As the attacker's blade was mere inches from Kadin, his movements stuttered. His arm froze mid-swing, his leg locked in position, and his eyes glazed over. He stood perfectly still, a statue of surprise, utterly paralyzed.
Maviya saw her chance. Her ribs settled after the initial shock. That frequency. It was simple, raw, but powerful in its intent. Focusing on the localized paralysis Kadin’s small protector had unleashed, Maviya extended her hands. A ring of pure, clear resonance pulsed outward from her palms, not shattering, but transforming. The raiders' dull, filament nets, their barbed blades, their heavy iron cudgels – all of them softened, warped, and twisted. In an instant, the implements of violence became vibrant, impossible bouquets of desert sun-flowers, their petals unfurling in brilliant shades of ochre and saffron. They wilted almost immediately in the morning air, scattering petals across the flagstones.
The remaining attackers, disarmed and bewildered, looked from their sudden floral weapons to Kaviel, who now stood over a pile of groaning men. A collective gulp ran through them before they turned tail and fled, scattering like dust-beetles before a sandstorm.
Silence descended, broken only by Kaviel’s ragged breaths and the faint groans of the incapacitated sellswords. Maviya’s gaze, however, was fixed on the shattered vehicle. It was utterly demolished. The reinforced steel frame was buckled, the protective wards that had glowed just moments before were shards of fractured light on the ground. And her masterpiece, the audacious, whimsical sculpture she had poured her heart into—it was gone. Splintered fragments of sun-ore and fractured starlight lay scattered amongst the wreckage, indistinguishable from the carriage’s debris. A single, perfectly formed petal from one of the transformed sun-flowers drifted onto her cracked hand.
“The Grand Banquet,” Kaviel said, his voice clipped, his eyes scanning the destruction. “It begins in ten minutes. The Sapphire Gates will close.”
Maviya looked down at her empty hands. No sculpture. Nothing to present. Her entire proof, her chance to save Kaviel, Kadin, and herself, lay in ruins. A chill tightened the muscles in her neck. Then, a sharp, cracking sound drew her attention. Kaviel. His skin, already pale, was beginning to turn a sickly, mottled gray. Fine fissures spiderwebbed across his cheekbones, like dry riverbeds on parched earth. His movements grew rigid, his lips pressed flat. The blood-pact, that absurd, ancient bond, was activating. He had failed to safely escort her property, and the curse was claiming him. His eyes met hers, a desperate, silent plea in their depths, as the first, tiny speckles of stone appeared on his pupils.