Elms had always excelled at magic, thanks to their unique forms, their biology. Trolls practiced stone magic, drawing power from the sacrifice of their breath, thanks to their naturally large, powerful lungs—twice the size of a human's. Elves favored sand magic, which relied on the sacrifice of their dreams, as they required little to no sleep. Humans, however, lacked such unique features and never favored a particular branch of magic. It was no wonder why witches were so rare. Mastering a single genre of spells was challenging enough, even with biological advantages. Mastering several fields was near impossible, even for an elm. Yet, many witches existed before the sudden boom of technological advancements.

  The improbable was always possible. In Ellenore's case, she had a chance because, at a young age, she found a branch of magic that perfectly suited her desperate needs at the time.

  Her chosen line of spells was made into a spectacle when morning came.

  The sight was both mesmerizing and terrifying. As the sun came over the horizon, casting an ominous glow across the sky, the silhouettes of dragons emerged in the distance. Their colossal, winged forms sliced through the twilight, creating a scene that evoked both awe and dread among the city’s inhabitants.

  It had been nearly two generations since the last dragon was seen and slain, and the memory had faded into legend. The reality of fearsome creatures returning sent ripples of panic through the streets. Parents clutched their children tightly, eyes wide with fear, while elders murmured prayers and recounted tales of ancient heroism.

  The dragons moved with a slow, deliberate grace, their scales shimmering like molten metal in the growing light. Though they were still far off, their sheer size and power were unmistakable. The sight stirred a primal fear in the hearts of those who watched, a reminder of the ancient times when dark elms roamed freely and humanity cowered in their wake. It was a reminder of a time when elms were seen as heroes rather than worthless street ornaments.

  For a fleeting moment, there was a sense of eerie calm. The distance between the dragons and the city meant there was still time—time to run, to evacuate, to prepare for the onslaught that seemed inevitable. Families hurriedly packed their belongings, and the streets buzzed with urgent whispers and hurried footsteps.

  Yet, the office of law was ill-prepared for such a threat. Decades of peace had dulled their readiness, and the ancient strategies for dealing with dragons had long been forgotten. Officers scrambled to gather their forces, their faces etched with uncertainty and resolve.

  The dragons' approach felt like a slow march of doom, each beat of their wings a countdown to chaos. The air grew heavy with tension, and the city held its breath, caught between the fragile hope of escape and the looming shadow of destruction. The scene was a vivid tapestry of fear, bravery, and the desperate will to survive against an ancient, unstoppable force.

  While District Seven hurried to corridnate officers and mercenaries to form a plan of defense, no one noticed Ellenore and Larimer entering the office of law. Amidst the chaos, they snuck through the building with minimal resistance. Anyone unlucky enough to get in their way was quickly knocked unconscious by the barman’s strength, but Ellenore was able to conceal most of their movements.

  The lady wasn't a witch, but wind magic, illusions, and mind manipulation were her specialties. Her spells often helped her calm her thoughts or discern truth from lies, but with great effort, she could sow unrest in others.

  Case in point, the impending threat of dragons was a clever ruse—a mass hallucination that came at the cost of Ellenore’s hair. Had she been born with feathers, her power would have been immeasurable, but strands of hair had served well enough. Thankfully, she preferred her hair short, but under the circumstances, she had to keep sacrificing more as she and the troll descended into the building’s holding cells. Usually, an inch of hair could fuel her magic for a week, but fooling an entire district into believing dragons were circling the city required that inch to uphold the illusion for mere minutes, not days.

  As they descended, Ellenore couldn’t help but smile. "Quite the first affair?" she quipped while brushing away the strands of hair on her shoulders she had cut already.

  The troll chuckled, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Furthest from a bed, it is."

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  The couple were emboldened by the ease of their raid until the atmosphere around them demanded their silence. Creeping along the corridor, Ellenore and Larimer searched cell by cell for Kurt, but there were too many.

  "Where is he," Larimer pondered aloud.

  "We don’t have time," Ell said.

  There wasn't enough light to discern faces through the dark, but they couldn't call out either, not without bringing unwanted attention. As the tension grew and both the woman and troll grew frustrated, a voice broke through, telling them, "You shouldn’t be here."

  Vilk approached the bars of his cell, but Larimer knew who to expect before a face was visible.

  "A friend of yours?" Ell questioned.

  "No... he's my brother," the barman spoke with eyes on the goblin.

  Vilk was in a dire state. His eyes were bloodshot, and dried blood streamed from his ears. Larimer, still upset with his only family, couldn't bear to see him in such a condition. Before anyone could utter another word, he bent the bars of Vilk's cell, freeing him with a display of sheer strength.

  "You shouldn’t be here either," Larimer muttered before turning coldly to walk beside Ellenore. But Vilk, determined, followed.

  "Who are you here for?" Vilk's voice was hoarse but resolute.

  "We don’t need your help," Larimer dismissed his brother, but the goblin knew they were running out of time.

  "I risked everything to keep you from this place. Who are you looking for?" Vilk's voice rose, and the stress proved too much. He stumbled, falling to his knees.

  "Kurt Halex. We're here for Kurt Halex," Ellenore answered, moving to help the green shadow back to his feet. That brief moment of kindness cost them, for as Ellenore extended her hand to the goblin, she stopped clipping her hair.

  Outside, the illusion began to waver, and questions arose.

  "Kurt isn't here. They took him upstairs after what happened to his father," Vilk explained, his voice heavy with guilt.

  Larimer's eyes narrowed. "How would you know?"

  Vilk's expression was pained. "Because I watched it," he confessed, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a dark cloud.

  "We need to leave, now," Ellenore resolved since their mission was a failure. Sadly, no one would get out as simply as they had arrived.

  The dimly lit cells curved around the corridor, making it impossible to see what lay at either end until they encountered it. Ellenore, Larimer, and Vilk moved swiftly, their breaths ragged and hearts pounding to escape. Flickering lights cast eerie shadows, adding to the tension.

  Just as they reached a bend in the corridor, Jocelyn stepped into view. The very moment Ellenore’s dragons disappeared up top, the officer suspected something was afoot. Her sharp eyes locked onto the trio, and her pistol was already drawn.

  "You're not leaving," Jocelyn declared, her voice cold and unwavering, "go back to your cell, and I may leave you with your tongues."

  Larimer, towering over the others, stepped forward. "We don't want to hurt you," he said, his voice a protective growl with Ellenore behind him. His skin began to harden, a shimmering, stone-like texture spreading across his body like pebbles plucked from a sea bed.

  Jocelyn's finger twitched on the trigger. "Then stand down."

  Before she could fire, Ellenore conjured a small illusion—a sudden burst of blinding light. It was all she could muster with what little magic she had left. Jocelyn flinched, momentarily disoriented, giving them a precious second.

  Larimer surged forward, his immense strength propelling him like a battering ram. Jocelyn fired, the shot echoing off the stone walls. The bullet struck Larimer's hardened skin, deflecting harmlessly, but the effort cost him. He gasped for breath, slowing down.

  Vilk, though injured, slipped into the shadows, his small form nearly invisible in the dim light. He picked up a stone from the floor and crept to get a better angle.

  Ellenore replicated her simple illusion, creating a mirage of lights darting toward Jocelyn. The officer fired again, her shots missing their true targets, but Ell's light grew dimmer and easier to see through.

  "Stop!" Ellenore shouted at the officer, desperation in her voice as Larimer took bullet after bullet until he stumbled back.

  Jocelyn, undeterred, pulled a second pistol to avoid reloading the first, aimed it at Ellenore, her eyes steely. "Your father must be proud, Lady Sheridan. Or does he know who you've made friends?"

  As the standoff continued, Vilk made his move. He lunged from the shadows with his rough stone, aiming for Jocelyn's throat rather than her weapon. The officer reacted with lightning speed but took a cut to the side of her face. She twisted after facing the sting of Vilk's strike and brought her pistol down on his head, sending him sprawling.

  In that split second, Larimer charged again, his breath ragged, but his resolve unbroken. He tackled Jocelyn, pinning her to the ground. "Run!" he wheezed to Ellenore.

  Ellenore ran, but there was no use.

  While Larimer held the officer down, Vilk, with an absence of remorse, picked up her weapon and shot a decisive round through her head. The blood painted Larimer’s face, and he froze in horror.

  Ellenore’s footsteps abruptly halted as the ringing of the last gunshot reverberated through the bones of everyone present.

  "Get up. It's done," Vilk struggled to motivate the barman. Both Larimer and Ellenore were ghosts until Vilk shot another bullet to the ceiling, telling them, "Run!"

  Ellenore moved to help Larimer stand, and as they made their escape, neither could think soundly enough to notice Vilk hadn't joined them. The goblin instead chose to hide Jocelyn's body and collect his misplaced daggers. Only once the scene had been cleaned did he make an effort to go.