Somewhere to my left, a girl screams for her mother. High and shrill. Ahead, an older woman with a full head of red hair coughs, crying weakly, her palms blackened from soot. Another woman is barefoot, blood trailing down her legs. She stumbles into the street, only to vanish into the dark smoke again.
This is a message. A purge. A punishment for those who refused to obey. I surge forward, not knowing what I’ll do, only that I must do something.
I spot a group of women trying to break the chains wrapped around a house’s door, locking someone inside as the flames climb higher. My magic roils inside me, desperate to lash out, to devour the lives already hanging by a thread. I force it inward, taming it, keeping control.
When I reach the women, they’re bloodied and burned, their makeshift tools clanging uselessly against the iron. I glance at the windows. Each one boarded shut with thick wooden planks, sealing off any chance of escape. The sheer, deliberate cruelty of it makes my insides twist.
I shove them aside and press my palms to the warm metal, sending my magic into the chains. Screams echo from within, coughing, banging, pleading. It’s taking too long. Rot struggles against metal, always one of the hardest materials to break down, even with more magic in me.
When the final link dissolves with a sharp pop, I grab the scorched door handle and yank it open.
Flames burst outward. And in that silence, I realize I haven’t heard anything from inside for a while. I shield my face and stumble back. Within the blaze, I see them. Three, maybe four bodies piled together.
The smell of burning flesh turns my stomach. The women who were trying to save them scream behind me, their sobs raw and piercing.
“There’s no time to fall apart,” I snap. “We’re not done.”
Dozens of houses still burn. Still chained. Still boarded. And not nearly enough people to save them.
“I’ll open the doors,” I say. “You get people out. We’ll move from house to house. Follow me.”
“But what if they need help, water?—”
“Later,” I bark, already sending my magic into the next set of boards. “First, we get them out.”
And so we move. From one house to the next. Sometimes we’re too late. Sometimes we’re just in time. I notice the men in black are gone, but I don’t let myself waste time wondering why or where they’ve gone.
More women join us. Those who can walk, who can carry, who can comfort. Eventually, there are enough of us that some can stay behind,give water, hold broken bodies, so no one has to die alone.
My magic never stops. House after house. My mind finally organizes the chaos enough to notice that many of the women who escaped unburned are bruised. Beaten. Some were left outside, others must have hidden. At some point, sweat stings my eyes and I sway.
Strong arms catch me.
Kaelzar. His scent surrounds me. His shadows crack the chains in my place, giving me a moment to rest.
“She’s safe with Micheline,” he whispers, and I nod, giving his hand a small squeeze.
Now that he’s back, his shadows leap from house to house, faster than my decay ever could. I forbade him from touching the cursed women or even getting too close. Most still wear the protective gloves, but not all. While they can safely touch each other, the Crimson Tether curse would still rot him if even a fingertip brushed his skin.
When we finish clearing the homes that aren’t completely engulfed, I’m barely on my feet. I lean against Kaelzar’s thick forearm, and he doesn’t let go.
“Did you see where all those men disappeared to?” I finally ask.
“Yes,” he says, his voice like distant thunder. “There’s a pile of them outside the gates.”
I blink at him. “You stacked them into a pile?”
“What’s left of them,” he corrects evenly. “But I think we’ll still be able to question some of them.” He pauses, reconsidering. “One for sure.”
I open my mouth to reply, but a gentle tug on my arm pulls my attention away. “Lady,” a girl, the same one from the first house, says. “We need help.”
I follow her gaze. The freed women lay sprawled across the burnt ground. Some dead. Some dying. Others suffer in silence, covered in burns. Dozens of them.
The flames have thinned, and many of the screams have quieted. Only the light breeze moves now, lifting ash from the earth like falling rain in reverse. The chaos had blocked it out, but now the low, aching sounds of their pain sinks into me and I reach inward.
My Blood magic is drained. Even my own scrapes now throb.
“Will someone help us?” she asks, voice full of fragile hope. “The healers?”
