Orin Alpheratz (15 years old) Location: Solaris Date: Year 873 / Crow Cycle (3) / Blacksmith's Day (8)

  Orin sprinted down the stone-paved road, heart hammering, chasing the direction of the scream. His gut told him it was Gina. Sirius kept close, boots striking in rhythm with his own.

  “You think that was Gina?” Sirius asked, voice edged with doubt as they neared the corner.

  Orin's jaw tightened. “I think so... We'll know soon enough.”

  A few paces behind, Aran followed with a frustrated growl, her voice sharp as she tried to rein them in. “Wait, Orin! You don't know what's ahead. Don't just rush in, you'll—”

  Her warning came too late. Orin swung around the corner at full speed, and collided headlong with someone.

  The impact sent him sprawling. He hit the ground hard, breath knocked from his chest. Before him loomed a man with a rough-hewn face, beard unevenly hacked short, and eyes like cold steel. A massive sword rested in his grip, broader and longer than the standard Solaris issue.

  “Damn brat,” the man barked. “Watch where you're running! Don't you even realize the state this capital's in?” His eyes flicked over Orin's uniform, then to Sirius who skidded to a halt behind him. A slow recognition dawned, his expression curdling. “Wait a second... you're the ones the Captain's been looking for.”

  Sirius blanched, words dying on his tongue. Orin forced himself upright, studying the man's attire. Neither Church robe nor imperial uniform. His hand drifted subtly to his dagger, concealed at his hip.

  “We're just looking for our friends,” Orin said, voice steady, almost disarmingly polite. “Once we find them, we'll leave.”

  The man's gaze shifted as Aran caught up, her presence adding to his suspicion. His grip on the sword tightened. With a snap, he leveled the blade toward them, its edge glinting in the torchlight of the street.

  “You three,” he growled, “are coming with me. The Captain will decide what to do with you.”

  The man jerked his chin, motioning for them to move.

  Orin's fingers tightened around the hilt of his dagger, every muscle coiled, ready to strike the instant an opening appeared. Sirius noticed, his own stance shifting, tension coiled like a spring.

  But before either of them could act, Aran's calm voice cut through the air.

  “All right... take us to your captain,” she said, her tone firm yet measured.

  Both boys turned to her in disbelief.

  Forced to comply, they followed the man down the street. Orin leaned closer to Aran, his voice low and sharp.

  “Why did you give in so easily? We could've taken him out right there.”

  Aran shook her head. “And if he wasn't alone? Think, Orin. He doesn't wear Solaris steel, nor the Church's robe. He's a mercenary. If he's hired muscle, there are more. If we'd failed to kill him instantly, we'd already be surrounded.” Her green eyes flicked warily to their escort. “For now, we keep our blades sheathed and our eyes open. We need to know how many we're truly up against.”

  Orin bit back a retort. He still believed striking first might have been their best chance, but Aran's logic was difficult to ignore. With a stiff nod, he stayed silent.

  When they reached an open square, Orin's breath caught.

  Several figures waited there. But his gaze was drawn immediately to a corner of the street, where two familiar silhouettes stood.

  “Gina…”

  She met his eyes with a fleeting, hopeful smile, one that crumbled when she noticed the mercenary escorting him. Beside her, Cor lay slumped on the ground, unconscious, a shallow cut marring her temple. Her bow and arrows were scattered across the cobblestones, evidence of a fight already lost. Another mercenary loomed above them, broadsword at the ready.

  Orin's chest tightened.

  Not far from them, two boys he didn't recognize were held in place by yet another mercenary's blade.

  And at the center of it all stood a towering figure clad in heavy armor, every plate polished and marked with the radiant sigil of the Church of Luminia. A longsword hung at his side, a broad shield strapped across his arm.

  The captain.

  The air around him was oppressive, a weight that pressed down on Orin's chest. Compared to the hired swords flanking him, this man radiated command. The kind of authority that came not from coin, but from absolute conviction.

  “Looks like it's my lucky day,” the Church Knight said, his voice muffled and metallic beneath the full helm. “Another brat with red eyes.”

  Orin stiffened. Another?

  His gaze snapped to the two boys held under guard. The older one—seventeen years old, maybe—had a pale, sharp-featured face, black hair, and unmistakable crimson eyes like his own. Beside him knelt a boy closer to Orin's age, with chestnut-brown hair and clear blue eyes.

  The knight let out a low chuckle, then produced a crystal from the pouch at his belt. Its surface shimmered faintly with stored light. “But the rest of you... worthless. If you wish to leave, I won't stop you.”

  For a heartbeat, the idea clawed at Orin's mind. At least his friends could escape. But he knew better. Aran would never abandon him, not while her duty was to see him safely to Dhamarr.

  Aran's clear voice broke the tension. She stepped forward, every word heavy with resolve.

  “I am a priestess of Bhizenti. I demand permission to heal the wounded girl.”

  Orin blinked, startled by her boldness. The knight's posture shifted immediately, rigid, uneasy.

  “My apologies, Lady Priestess,” he said, his tone coarse but suddenly restrained. “Forgive me for mistaking you for one of those despicable sorcerers. But...” His gaze flicked toward Gina and Cor, where the latter still lay unconscious. “That girl aided an escaped sorceress. With respect, I cannot allow you to waste your grace on such a traitor.”

  “That judgment is not yours to make,” Aran said, her voice cutting like steel as she strode toward Gina and Cor. “The grace of Bhizenti falls upon all citizens of Solaris... equally.”

  The knight said nothing, helm turning slightly as if biting back anger. Instead, he gestured toward the mercenary beside Orin.

  “Take the white-haired boy. Put him with the others.”

  Orin's hand brushed the hilt of his dagger as he instinctively stepped back, Sirius shifting in front of him.

  “Oi, brat,” the mercenary growled, swinging his broadsword in warning. “Don't make this harder than it has to be.”

  To the mercenary's shock, Sirius didn't flinch. Instead, he lunged forward, shield braced, sword drawn.

  “Tch. Don't say I didn't warn you,” the man spat, swinging his broadsword into a heavy arc.

  But Sirius didn't slow down. If anything, his momentum only grew fiercer.

  “ACTIVATE KNIGHT SKILL: Total Defense!”

  At once, a halo of spectral shields burst into existence around him, rotating in unison. The mercenary's blade crashed uselessly against the barrier, the recoil jolting up his arm. Sirius slammed forward with the full weight of his charge, the phantasmal shields battering into the man's chest and knocking him off balance.

  “What—?!”

  Before the mercenary could recover, another figure slipped from Sirius's shadow.

  “ACTIVATE HUNTER SKILL: Speed Up — 10%.”

  Orin's form blurred, feet whispering against the cobblestones as he veered to the man's exposed flank. His crimson eyes sharpened with deadly focus.

  “ACTIVATE HUNTER SKILL: Piercing Dagger!”

  The short blade flashed, its edge wreathed in faint light. Orin drove it mercilessly into the gap between the mercenary's armor plates.

  “Ghhhaaa!”

  The man's scream tore through the square as he crumpled to his knees, clutching his bleeding side. His broadsword clattered against the stone, forgotten.

  Orin tore his gaze away from the fallen foe, straight toward the armored knight who stood at the center of it all.

  The captain raised his shield and lowered his sword into guard, his presence heavier than the steel he wore.

  “I see...” His voice echoed hollowly beneath the helm. “Impressive teamwork.” He stepped forward, the ground trembling faintly under his plated boots. Then, with a cold finality, he leveled his blade at the boys.

  “But unfortunately for you... this ends here.”

  From the corner of his eye, Orin saw Aran kneeling beside Cor, her hands glowing faintly with light. Relief steadied his breath, they only needed to buy more time, enough for her to finish. Enough for a chance to escape.

  He exchanged a sharp glance with Sirius. Then, channeling his lingering boost, Orin darted forward. This time their plan was reversed: he would draw the knight's blade, slip past with speed, and leave the opening for Sirius to strike.

  “Come then, boy!” the captain's distorted voice thundered from beneath the helm. “Show me if you're worth the trouble!”

  Steel hissed free as the knight swung his sword into guard. Orin closed in, ready to pivot away from the strike—

  —and suddenly felt his body betray him. His feet grew heavy, as though shackled to the earth. The adrenaline surging through him dulled, his blood sluggish.

  My Speed Up... it's gone?!

  The hesitation cost him.

  The captain's blade cleaved across Orin's arm in a brutal arc. Pain exploded through him as the dagger slipped from his grip, spinning into the air before clattering to the stone.

  “Ghh—!” Orin stumbled back, clutching his forearm as blood seeped hot between his fingers.

  “Orin!” Sirius roared, freezing mid-charge at the sight of his friend's wound.

  “Hold on, Orin! I'll heal you!” Aran called, raising her hands, light gathering once more.

  But the knight's cold voice cut across the square.

  “I'm afraid not, Lady Priestess. Stay where you are.”

  He gave a slight nod toward the mercenary holding Gina. The man raised his accha sword, blocking Aran's path with its curved edge.

  Aran's eyes narrowed, her voice steady despite the threat. “What is the meaning of this?”

  The captain's tone was iron-clad, absolute. “I told you. Even a priestess has no right to intervene. The Oracle's command stands above all.”

  Sirius, desperate, broke into a sprint toward Orin. But the armored knight stepped forward, his heavy boots striking against the stone as he intercepted him.

  “Sorry, boy,” the captain's voice rumbled coldly beneath the helm. “I won't allow your interference either.”

  He raised his blade to strike. Sirius grit his teeth, raising his shield.

  “ACTIVATE KNIGHT SKILL: Solar Shield!”

  A radiant glow surged across his shield, golden light blazing for an instant like the sun's embrace. But just as quickly, the brilliance flickered and died.

  “What—?!” Sirius's eyes widened in horror. The shield, stripped of its blessing, could not withstand the captain's crushing swing. Steel smashed against steel. His shield flew from his grip, spinning into the sky, and Sirius was hurled back, crashing onto the cobblestones.

  “Why... why didn't my skill...?” Sirius groaned, the breath torn from him as he tried to rise.

  Orin's heart lurched. First my boost... now Sirius's Solar Shield. Our skills are being erased.

  “What's happening...?” he muttered, trembling.

  From across the square, Aran's voice rang out, calm but cutting, as though she had pieced the puzzle together.

  “I see... an ability like that belongs only to a Summoner. That's what you are, isn't it?”

  The knight's helm shifted toward her, his silence speaking louder than words.

  “If that's the case,” Aran continued, eyes narrowing, “then I can guess what you're doing. You're suppressing their skills with the passive ability of your Guardian Spirit. Am I wrong?”

  At last, a low chuckle rumbled beneath the helm.

  “If the Lady Priestess understands that much... then you already know the futility of their struggle.” His voice was ice, absolute and certain. “Two children without summoning powers cannot hope to defeat me.”

  He raised his sword again, the heavy shield angled like a wall.

  “Yes... I am a Summoner. And this power is my Guardian Spirit's gift, Divinity's Witness. Its presence suppresses all activated abilities around me. Against me, their skills are meaningless.”