The patrons didn’t seem to like what he implied. Ethan didn’t mind, however. They would learn.

  The ringleader staggered forward. He had a slight sway to his steps, but other than that, he seemed to be growing in anger. “I’ll teach you some manners, boy. It’s called respecting your elders.”

  Ethan stayed where he was, feet planted, posture relaxed, and watched the man, waiting to see what he would do.

  The man swung at him. A wide hook. There was power behind it, evident by how his body followed through with the strike. The man had clearly gained levels at some point. But that was to be expected. No one survived the trials by being weak.

  Still, for over ten years, Ethan had fought alongside Alex. One of the strongest hand-to-hand combatants he had ever known. Compared to that, this was nothing.

  He slipped under the punch easily, feeling the blow pass over his head. As the man’s weight carried forward, Ethan drove two strikes into his ribs. The air burst from the man’s lungs in a surprised grunt, and he tried to retaliate with another swing, aiming to take Ethan’s head off as he rose back to full height. With [Keen Sense], Ethan predicted it easily enough. He leaned back just enough for the fist to skim past his jaw, then caught the man’s wrist mid-follow-through.

  He twisted. The joint locked with a sharp crack. Ethan stepped in, bringing his free hand up behind the man’s head, and drove it forward into the edge of the bar.

  The impact echoed through the tavern. Blood splattered as the man’s nose broke open.

  For a moment, the entire place fell silent. Every man who had half risen from his seat froze, processing what they had just witnessed. The ringleader collapsed backward onto the floor, clutching at his face as blood streamed from his shattered nose.

  Then the tension snapped as someone else lunged.

  Ethan exhaled once and moved.

  The first attacker came from his left, swinging a stool like a club. Ethan stepped inside the arc before it reached full momentum, elbowing the man sharply in the throat. The stool clattered harmlessly to the floor as the man gagged and dropped to his knees.

  Another came from his right, trying to tackle Ethan to the ground. Ethan stepped to the side. His knee drove upward into the man’s head as he lunged. It didn’t drop him, but the follow-up punch to the back of his head did. Ethan released him and pivoted, letting the body fall into a table and scatter mugs across the floor.

  Someone tried to grab him from behind. Ethan shifted his weight and stomped backward into the man’s foot. The grip loosened. He hooked an arm over the attacker’s shoulder and threw him forward over his hip. The man crashed through a small table, splintering it beneath him.

  The tavern devolved into chaos.

  Someone rushed him head-on. Ethan weaved, slipping the punch and countering. He landed a solid straight that crunched into the man’s nose, followed by a cross that clipped his jaw. The man spun and collapsed sideways into a bench.

  Ethan felt something stab into his shoulder.

  He turned.

  A scrawny man stood beside him, broken bottle embedded in Ethan’s shoulder. His eyes were wide as saucers, like even he hadn’t fully realized what he’d just done.

  For Ethan, it took only a split second to internalize that weapons were now on the table.

  As the man stood there in shock, Ethan wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword and pulled upward, slamming the pommel up under the man’s chin.

  He felt the small shards of glass give way as the man stumbled back. Ignoring the sting in his shoulder, Ethan followed up. Letting his sword slip back into its sheath, he kicked out. His foot struck the man in the chest, sending him flying. He crashed through the front door and landed hard on the street outside.

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  Ethan turned.

  Only one remained standing now, wide-eyed and breathing hard, clearly reconsidering his life choices.

  Ethan didn’t give him time to change his mind.

  He closed the distance, seized him by the front of his shirt, and drove his head into the man’s nose. Again, he felt blood spill onto his forehead. Ethan released him as he dropped to the floor, clutching his face.

  He brushed dust from his sleeve and turned slowly back toward the barmaid. The place was silent now, apart from the groaning men on the floor.

  “Do you feel like talking now?”

  He swept his gaze over the room, over the men sprawled in pain.

  “Any of you?” he finished, directing his attention back to the barmaid.

  Her eyes were wide, fixed on the carnage that had just consumed her bar. But as she went to speak, someone else beat her to it.

  “And what is it you’d like to know, boy?”

  Ethan turned toward the doorway, where the voice had come from.

  Behind him, the barmaid leaned closer, finally finding her voice.

  “I told you,” she whispered, “you should have left when you could.”

  Ethan regarded her. She actually seemed genuine. He frowned and extended his senses.

  There were several presences outside the bar. The man he had thrown out earlier crawled back behind the figures. He looked less angry now and more afraid. Metal scraped against metal in front of him. The unmistakable sound of weapons being drawn.

  Ethan turned his head slightly toward the barmaid. “I take it these are the people who can answer my questions?”

  She had gone pale. The sharpness was still there, but something heavier sat behind her eyes now. Regret. Maybe fear. She gave the smallest nod.

  That was enough.

  Ethan rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and walked back toward the broken door. The sunlight hit him hard as he stepped outside, bright and unforgiving after the dim interior.

  Five of them stood in the street.

  They wore crude armor pieced together from scorpion chitin, plates strapped over chest and shoulders, leaving joints and limbs mostly exposed. On their chests was the insignia of the Broken Dawns. A sun and moon fused into one.

  Ethan frowned slightly. Now he was getting somewhere. The man at the front looked like he fancied himself the leader. He had cropped hair and a lean build, a thin scar cutting across his upper lip. His posture was relaxed, but his weight was balanced, leaving only a couple openings.

  “Now why,” the man asked calmly, “would you come into our settlement and cause a ruckus?”

  Ethan let his gaze drift across the group instead of answering immediately. One archer. One who carried himself like a mage, without any visible weapons. The other three held blades. All of them stood with confidence.

  “I’m looking for missing members of the Valkyries,” Ethan said evenly. “Do you know anything about that?”

  One of the men behind the leader gave a short laugh.

  “I don’t see no Valkyrie robes,” the leader said. “What’s it to ya?”

  Ethan looked around. The street had cleared. What few people the settlement held had disappeared. Ethan extended [Keen Sense] outward. There was no one else close enough to interfere. No hidden flanking presence. Just the five of them as far as he could tell.

  “You see,” Ethan said, “there are a couple of problems.”

  The leader snorted. “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

  “First,” Ethan said, raising a finger, “my sister was last seen here.”

  Before the man could respond, Ethan lifted a second finger.

  “And second, you’re not from the Broken Dawns.”

  There was a pause. Subtle. A tightening in shoulders. A fractional shift in stance. With Ethan focusing intently through [Keen Sense], he felt it all.

  The leader’s smile thinned.

  One of the men muttered, “Oh, you’ve gone and done it now, kid. There was still a chance for you.”

  Ethan sighed softly. He could feel their levels in the way they carried themselves. They were strong and clearly accustomed to combat. He had hoped he was wrong. After all, his second point had only been an educated guess. But judging by their reactions, it was all but confirmed.

  Still, they had answers. And he was going to get them.

  If it turned bad, he would target the archer first, then the mage. Create chaos. Break their formation and run if he had to.

  “I see,” Ethan said.

  He drew his sword.

  The steel cleared the sheath with a clean sound.

  And then everything inside him flared.

  [Keen Sense] spiked violently, awareness snapping sideways. A presence had entered his range without him noticing. But he had been focusing on his senses the whole time. It was like they had appeared out of nowhere.

  The faint smell of lavender accompanied the new arrival. That was the first thing he noticed. Then a curtain of jet black hair at the edge of his vision.

  A small hand settled lightly on his shoulder.

  Mana surged around him. It wrapped around his body before he could react, before he could twist away or strike.

  And the world folded.

  The sunlight dimmed as if a veil had been pulled over it. Sound dulled. The five men in front of him blurred and slowed, their movements dragging unnaturally.

  Ethan felt the ground beneath his feet shift, not physically, but perceptually. Like he had stepped half a pace out of alignment with reality.

  He did not panic.

  He held his blade steady and inhaled slowly as the strange realm solidified around him.

  Whoever had just touched him had bypassed his perception entirely. And taken him somewhere he had only been once or twice.

  Into the shadow realm.

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