The black vehicle sped along the deserted road, its wheels kicking up a fine cloud of dust. Inside, only the hum of the engine and the faint whistle of the wind against the windows disturbed the silence. Dawn timidly crept over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange, while the vast wooded stretches of Concordia passed on either side of the road.

  The landscape shifted as the miles stretched on: first misty plains of tall grass swaying under the morning breeze, then rocky hills where the shadows of cliffs sculpted ominous shapes beneath the rising sun. Further ahead, the road wound through a dense forest of gnarled trees, their twisted roots snaking across the earth like dark veins.

  Bastien sat in the back, gazing at the scenery without truly seeing it. His mind wandered between his recent losses and the uncertainty of his future. His father was dead. Allen was dead. He was in exile. He felt hollow, as if each mile consumed by the vehicle pulled him further away from who he once was.

  Selena, sitting beside him, remained silent, her eyes fixed on the road with an unreadable expression. Bastien didn’t have the energy to speak to her. Not now.

  At last, they reached a small, secluded inn, nestled among the trees like a forgotten sentinel. The establishment was modest, its dark wooden walls worn by time, and its signboard barely legible. The innkeeper, a stocky man with a suspicious gaze, cast them a wary glance as they entered. His eyes lingered on Bastien a little too long, narrowing as if trying to confirm a doubt in his mind.

  After a brief exchange, they climbed up to their rooms.

  Bastien lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to think about everything that had happened, but exhaustion swallowed him before he could form a coherent thought.

  A sharp noise jolted him awake.

  An unnatural silence weighed on the room. He strained his ears, but everything seemed frozen. Even the wind outside had stopped. A deep unease settled over him.

  A faint creak, closer this time, made him jump to his feet. Someone was here.

  Instinctively, he reached for his sword beside the bed, but before he could grasp it, the door exploded inward with a violent impact. A translucent mist seeped into the room, and the sound of splintering wood vanished into nothingness.

  Bastien opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Absolute silence.

  A figure emerged from the darkness and lunged at him.

  Bastien tried to dodge, but a brutal strike slammed into his shoulder, sending him rolling across the floor. Three attackers stepped in, slicing through the darkness like sharpened shadows.

  One of them, a lean man with dark hair and an impassive gaze, separated himself from the group. His face was lined with fine scars, his piercing eyes betraying neither cruelty nor pleasure—he was a professional.

  With a slow, deliberate motion, he spread his fingers, and a blade of wind shot toward Bastien. He barely managed to roll aside, but the razor-sharp air grazed his arm, tearing a thin cut through his sleeve.

  His two accomplices combined their magic, forming a swirling orb of fire and hurling it toward him.

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  Selena vanished from sight without a sound.

  Soren raised his hand again, summoning a spiraling gust that rattled the wooden beams. His movements were precise, measured, devoid of unnecessary emotion.

  What was even stranger was the lack of verbal commands. Instead, the three attackers communicated in rapid, efficient hand signals, a clear sign of their longstanding coordination. Bastien immediately understood—these men had been working together for a long time.

  The other two cast a detection spell, attempting to locate Selena before she could slip away and warn their driver.

  Bastien clenched his teeth and struggled to rise, but pain flared through his shoulder. He was far weaker than during his fight against Alex Aster. His reflexes felt sluggish, his body heavier.

  Soren gave a sharp signal, and his men attacked.

  Bastien’s gaze darted toward his sword resting on the table—too far away. Soren dashed toward him, swift and relentless. Bastien blocked an incoming strike with his forearm, absorbing the painful impact before narrowly dodging another blow.

  Just as he prepared to counterattack, a shadow flickered behind him.

  Selena. She hadn’t run. She had merely been waiting for the right moment.

  Her daggers shimmered in the darkness. Thoron, her lightning dagger, crackled with arcs of electricity at every motion, while Emilio, her ice dagger, trailed a deadly chill through the air.

  She lunged at Soren, but he made a circular motion with his hand, conjuring a powerful gust that sent her skidding back.

  Bastien moved to intervene, but Soren ignored him and raised his palm toward Selena. The air around her began to spiral, forming an invisible bubble that enclosed her. She struggled, but her breaths grew shorter—the oxygen was thinning.

  A moment later, a brilliant blue light flared through the room.

  The temperature plummeted as Selena slammed Emilio into the ground. A wave of frost surged outward, transforming the air around her into razor-sharp ice crystals.

  Soren instinctively stepped back, dissolving his own technique to avoid being caught in the freezing trap. His calm gaze followed the creeping frost with calculating precision.

  Selena didn’t give him a chance to recover. In a blur, she struck with Thoron, driving the electrified dagger into his shoulder. A powerful current surged through his body, forcing him to his knees, his muscles locked in paralysis.

  Bastien seized the opportunity to unleash a double lightning strike on the other two assassins, but Soren, in a last-ditch effort, summoned a violent gust that shattered the window. The three of them vanished into the night.

  "We will meet again." Soren’s voice was barely a whisper as he disappeared into the darkness.

  A heavy silence settled over the room.

  Bastien, breathless, dropped to one knee. Selena approached and, wordlessly, pulled out a bandage to tend to his wounded hand.

  Then, a thought struck him.

  "How did they find us?"

  Selena lifted her head and turned toward the now-open door. Standing there, trembling, was the innkeeper, holding a lantern in an unsteady grip.

  "Your friend… he looks like one of the desert monsters. I've never seen skin so dark… Please, don’t kill me!" he stammered.

  Selena advanced slowly, wiping Emilio’s blade against the hem of her tunic.

  "If we were really monsters, you’d already be dead." Her voice was calm, almost casual. "But perhaps you’re right. Maybe I should let my friend kill you right here."

  The innkeeper recoiled, nearly dropping his lantern.

  "And to make up for your betrayal," she continued, "you’ll give us a free night and a good meal. And don’t even think about poisoning us or trying anything stupid… You wouldn’t live long enough to regret it."

  The man bolted down the stairs toward the kitchen, eager to comply.

  Selena had certainly proven she could hold her own, but something about her demeanor unsettled Bastien.

  He fixed her with a steady gaze before speaking in a firm, cold tone.

  "I appreciate you defending me… but my father is one of those monsters too. Watch what you say."

  Selena didn’t respond immediately. Instead, a quiet rage stirred within her. Men usually didn’t correct her. They were too distracted, too enchanted by her beauty. But Bastien—he challenged her. He was different.

  She simply nodded, concealing her irritation.

  The night was far from over.