The afternoon sun hung heavy over the rolling hills as Sage made her way along the winding path that led away from Okorodu Village. Her pack sat comfortably against her shoulders, filled with notes and observations that would satisfy Commander Raido's expectations—and confirm what she'd suspected from the beginning about Maiko's questionable intelligence.

  Behind her, the village was settling into the rhythm of late afternoon. Merchants were beginning to pack away their wares, children's voices carried on the warm breeze as they played their final games before supper, and the scent of cooking fires drifted up from the low rooftops barely visible through the trees.

  Sage paused at a bend in the road to adjust her canteen, glancing one last time at the settlement she was leaving behind. Just your run-of-the-mill Astralyn village, she thought, exactly as her initial assessment had concluded. Modest population, minimal defenses, a handful of guards patrolling, and not a single Eterna in sight.

  Sagan the Reaper, living quietly in a farming village? The notion seemed even more absurd than when she'd first received the assignment. This was a wild goose chase, courtesy of Maiko's overactive imagination. She shouldered her pack more securely and continued down the path, her boots gripping the packed earth.

  The shadows were growing longer, casting the grasslands in deep ochre and muted bronze, when the air itself seemed to crack.

  A sudden, violent pulse of core energy erupted from somewhere in the distance, so intense it made Sage’s teeth ache and turned the air sharp against her skin. The pressure was refined. Heavy.

  She wheeled sharply, trying to pinpoint the source of that overwhelming power. The energy signature was already fading, but its echo clung to the afternoon air, refusing to dissipate. She was already moving — three hard strides off the road before she leapt, both feet landing square on a branch of the nearest tree, binoculars at her eyes in the same breath.

  What on Arcanum was that?

  This wasn’t desperation or panic. It was controlled — a deliberate, measured release.

  It had been a declaration.

  A warning.

  A glimpse of power that made her earlier dismissive thoughts crumble like sand castles before the tide.

  She adjusted the binoculars' focus, scanning the landscape until—there. She could see it now.

  So this was your gift, Maiko. Understanding swept through her. The memory of his cryptic smile, from two nights past, clicked into place.

  Two nights before—Secret encampment

  Lamplight flickered across the canvas walls of Sage's tent, casting dancing shadows that seemed to writhe with every gust of wind through the camp. She knelt beside her field pack, checking each piece of equipment. She balanced the throwing knives on her fingertips and arranged the specialized smoke bombs in precise order.

  The sound of approaching footsteps on dry grass made her hand still. She recognized him before he spoke.

  "Come to see me off, Maiko?" Sage didn't look up from her packing, though her shoulders tensed slightly. "Getting all chummy with me because I defended you with those lot?"

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Maiko stepped into the tent’s circle of light, his jaw set and eyes sharp. "Besides, it's not like they were wrong. I chased after a little girl for years, and not only failed to eliminate her but even lost track of her. How could I still call myself an assassin?"

  “You’re right—when you put it like that, it’s thoroughly pitiful.” She looked up from her pack. “So then what do you want? I'm kind of in a hurry."

  "I knew the commander would send someone to confirm the Reaper's sighting, so I left a present for you."

  "Oh, how nice of you."

  Maiko smiled. “Not at all. Plus, he won’t be in the village when you get there. Something about a caravan delivery.”

  Sage turned the throwing knife over in her fingers. “And why would that gladden me?”

  "Well, there would be no one to interrupt your inspection of the village that way." Maiko's paused. "But don't worry—you'll still get to see him."

  Sage met his eyes. “What exactly did you do, Maiko?”

  His smile widened, and for a moment she caught a glimpse of the killer he'd been before failure had worn him down. "Just arranged a little test. Nothing too elaborate—some local talent looking to make quick coin. It should be enlightening. Do take care of yourself."

  Sage held his gaze. “And if this 'test' of yours gets me killed?”

  "Then I suppose we’ll have concrete proof that the great Sagan the Reaper is exactly what the legends claim." Maiko said. "That’s why I told you to take care. You can really only blame yourself if that happens."

  “You’re playing a dangerous game with my life, Maiko.”

  “Have you forgotten who we are, Sage? Everything we do is a dangerous game. That is the life we live.”

  ??Two days later—The Present, moments before the surge of core energy

  Eight travelers moved at a steady pace, their horses’ hooves keeping gentle time on the worn earth as the trail stretched ahead.

  “? Ohhhh, the road leads home through forest greens,” Osaze’s voice rang out clear and strong. “? Where hearts find rest and crops sing! ?”

  The others sang along, even Osunde adding his deep bass to the harmony.

  Atop Ragnar’s broad back, the children swayed with his stride, their voices carrying up through the canopy. His head moved in slow arcs as he walked, unhurried but missing nothing.

  You’ve noticed them, haven’t you? Ragnar asked.

  Yes, Sagan replied without breaking his gentle smile or shifting his gaze from the children. Exactly twenty of them. Ten on either side.

  In the underbrush to their left, Peto crouched behind a moss-covered fallen log, heart hammering as he watched the approaching travelers. His grip on his sword hilt had gone slick.

  This is it, adrenaline surging through his veins like liquid fire. One thousand gold coins. Enough to set up my crew for life. Landon had better have the rest of my money ready.

  He raised his hand, fingers spread wide where his men could see. Around him, nineteen bandits shifted in the undergrowth, dense forest pressing in on both sides of the narrow trail.

  "Now, men! It's time to get rich!"

  They exploded from concealment with wild cries, weapons raised, eyes bright with hunger — charging at eight unsuspecting travelers.

  The singing stopped.

  Yet as the bandits thundered toward them, the adults didn't scatter or cry out. They didn't flinch. Boe sat calmly in his saddle, hand nowhere near his sword. Hanni's expression was serene, almost bored. Osaze's parents looked as though nothing of particular interest was happening.

  Only the children reacted — their faces creasing as they looked from the charging bandits to the adults around them, then back again.

  Ragnar's roar split the air wide open. It tore through the trees, rattling branches and scattering birds in a frantic burst of wings, rolling off the trunks and earth until it shook the clearing awake.

  Momentum shattered. Faces went pale. The echo refused to fade.

  At the same moment, Sagan unleashed his core energy.

  It poured outward from his Eterna core in a crushing wave — focused, deliberate, suffocating. The sheer quantity flooded the clearing and the purity of it — refined through decades of discipline — turned the air sharp and electric, as if the forest had been caught in the breath before a lightning strike. The atmosphere grew oppressive, heavy in the lungs.

  The bandits slammed to a halt. Weapons shook in grips that could no longer hold them steady. Knees buckled. Some went down entirely, palms hitting the earth, unable to explain to their own bodies why they couldn't stand.

  Peto's sword arm, raised high for a killing blow, began to shake. What level is this? He was Level 1 — he'd felt core energy before, had survived an encounter with a Level 2 once. This wasn't that. This can't be Level 2. This can't even be early Level 3...

  This was something else entirely.

  "Do you all see your mistake?"

  Sagan's voice was quiet. He hadn't moved — hands still loose on the reins, seated as though nothing had interrupted the journey. Every eye went to him anyway.

  Bandits stood trapped in their own bodies, chests barely moving. The eight travelers watched. The forest held its breath.

  Then the pressure lifted.

  "Now scram."

  They didn't need to be told twice. Men shoved past each other, weapons hitting the ground where they fell, forgotten. The undergrowth crashed and thrashed as they poured back into the forest.

  "You... you..." Peto stumbled backward, his face drained, his sword clattering to the ground. "What level are you?!" The question came out cracked, stripped of everything but air.

  His eyes met Sagan's for one moment. Not anger. Not bloodlust. Not even particular interest. Just the calm, patient gaze of something deciding whether the effort was worth it.

  "MONSTER!" The word tore from his throat as he spun and fled, shoving his own men aside. Core energy shot through his legs, carrying him far past human limits as he crashed through the undergrowth. "No fucking money is worth this! Get out of my way! Get the fuck out!"

  His empowered strides pulled ahead of the others, branches snapping, ground disappearing beneath him. He didn't look back.

  The clearing emptied. Scattered weapons lay where they'd fallen, and nothing else remained.

  The excitement in Osaze's eyes faded as the last bandit disappeared into the trees. He turned to Sagan. "You're just going to let them get away?!"

  Sagan slid from his saddle and stood listening. The crashing footsteps grew distant. "Everyone wait here for me. I'll be right back."

  He vanished.

  Not quickly, not in a blur the eye could follow. One moment he was there. The next, empty air.

  Energy flowed through Sagan's body as he moved, pulsing in his muscles, filling them with something that turned pursuit into execution.

  High in her distant tree, Sage pressed the binoculars to her eyes. She caught a glimpse — a fraction of a second — before he was beyond tracking. Speed-specialty said to rival even Level 4 Eterna in pure velocity. A bear BeastPartner Eterna. The pieces fell into place.

  There was no doubt in her mind. "Sagan the Reaper." A specter of death wearing human shape.

  The first bandit died mid-stride. One moment crashing through brambles, branches tearing at his clothes — the next, clawed fingers punched through his spine. Vertebrae separated with a wet crack.

  The second didn't register his comrade's death before Sagan's hand clamped over his skull. Bone gave way.

  One by one they fell. Sagan appeared where he needed to be before anyone knew he was there, moving between them like time had different rules for him.

  Even Peto never heard him coming. He was shouting orders to regroup when the blow took him from behind, precise and controlled. He crumpled without a sound, unconscious.

  Through her binoculars, Sage watched the forest become a charnel house. Then the thought hit her. If he senses me here, won't he come for me too? Thinking I'm a lookout or something?

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Her hand dove into her equipment pouch, fingers closing around the specialized device Raido had given her for exactly this sort of emergency. The sphere felt warm in her palm, thrumming with contained energy.

  This better work — they were talking it up so much.

  She gritted her teeth and crushed it just as death itself materialized before her, clawed fingers reaching for her throat. The sphere detonated — a shockwave of raw energy tearing outward in every direction, the smoke riding the blast like a second skin, gray-white and reeking of alchemical compounds, swallowing everything in its path.

  When it cleared, she was gone. Three parallel lines scored deep across her throat, something warm trickling down her neck.

  A gift from Sagan.

  Hmm, you let one get away? Ragnar's mental voice carried mild curiosity.

  Sagan stood among the trees, his head tilted slightly as he studied the dissipating smoke. That device just now wasn't a simple smoke bomb. Core energy identical to hers was spread in all directions from it, masking which way she went. I've never heard of such technology.

  Advanced toys for advanced players, Ragnar noted.

  Indeed. Sagan looked around once more, then shrugged. "Anyway..." He vanished again.

  The heart of the forest reeked of blood and fear-sweat. Broken branches marked where desperate men had crashed through in their final moments.

  Sagan appeared beside Peto's prone form. He knelt, fingers finding pressure points with surgical precision, and struck. Peto's eyes snapped open with a gasping inhalation as his lungs struggled to remember their purpose.

  Recognition dawned in Peto's eyes. He immediately tried to scramble backward, fingernails scraping against bark and dead leaves, tears already cutting through the grime on his face. "Please — spare me, I'm begging you—"

  "What are you doing? Stop this nonsense." Sagan grabbed him by the collar and pinned him against the trunk of an ancient oak. "Have you lost all your dignity as a bandit?"

  "Dignity?!" Peto's voice pitched high. "What use do bandits have for that?!"

  Sagan chuckled. "Sorry — I meant pride. Surely you have that. Now tell me, what is your name?"

  "P-Pe-Pe-Pe-Pe..." The stuttering trailed off into silence.

  Sagan released him, then slammed him back against the tree. "Peto!" the name burst from the bandit's lips.

  "I see, Peto." "What do you say to us making a deal? Tell me everything that led up to this attack, and I'll let you die peacefully."

  A few minutes later, Sagan's familiar silhouette appeared through the trees, clothes spotless, breathing steady. He approached his horse with unhurried steps and swung back into the saddle, settling the reins in his hands.

  "All set to go!"

  Osaze studied his face. "What did you go to do?"

  "Oh, just to have a wee." Sagan grinned. "Sorry to keep everyone waiting."

  As the caravan reformed, Osunde led his horse alongside Sagan's, his voice dropping low. "You know, this is what I'm talking about, right? I know your capabilities. You could have killed all of them without even a lick of pressure or core energy seeping out of you. But you wanted to show off in front of my boy."

  "Show off?" Sagan glanced at him. "Osunde, you know I don't appreciate being nagged. If I hadn't done that, I'd have been forced to kill all of them in front of the kids. Tell me, isn't it better for them to be spared such a sight?"

  Osunde said nothing for a moment. His shoulders dropped.

  "Yes. So you handled it?"

  "Of course."

  He guided his horse back to Iyabo's side. Behind them, the children's chatter had already resumed.

  Ho, a feisty one he is. Ragnar's thoughts were dry. Osaze joining the army is such a bleak thought to him.

  I know. And I don't blame him. But keeping the boy wrapped in cotton won't prepare him for anything.

  So, Sagan — that Landon sent people after us. Seems you left an impression.

  Yes, though my questions just keep growing. To offer a thousand gold coins, paying a hundred upfront...

  To waste that kind of wealth means backing. Serious backing.

  Yes, but from who? And what do they want?

  And that lookout..

  Yeah. Since he said he was the only Eterna in his group, she couldn't have been one of his people. In fact, she was definitely stronger than him.

  Then she's with Landon.

  Yes. And if she's with him, who knows how many more? That day in the village, he clearly wasn't after me personally, and this attack seemed to have been to gauge my abilities. So what are they really after?

  Whatever it is, they think you'd be in their way.

  The forest road wound on toward home.

  The familiar sights of Okorodu Village came into view as they crested the final hill — smoke rising from cottage chimneys, the scent of oak and applewood drifting up to meet them.

  "It's good to be back," Iyabo murmured, hands loose on her reins. "I'd forgotten how peaceful it looks from up here."

  The children on Ragnar's back chattered about their adventures in Reldo Town. Even Hanni allowed herself a small smile as the orphanage came into view.

  At the village outskirts their procession began to dissolve naturally. Sagan and Boe dismounted at the village entrance.

  “Take this to the clerk at the village hall,” Sagan said, handing Boe a leather pouch heavy with coins and a rolled parchment sealed with official wax. “It’s the Chief’s copy of the receipt and his tax share.”

  Boe accepted the items. “Avoiding the main office today, sir?”

  “Let’s just say I have other matters to attend to. Oh, and take your time. He could get it today, tomorrow — who cares.”

  “Will do.” Boe led the cart and horses away, humming.

  "Come on, Himeko," Hanni said. "Let's get back to the orphanage."

  Himeko slid down from Ragnar's back and paused, resting a small hand in the coarse fur behind his ear.

  "Thank you for the ride," she said softly.

  She has excellent manners, Ragnar observed to Sagan. And she treats me properly, unlike certain young men I could name.

  Get over yourself, Sagan replied.

  Zen chuckled as Osaze dismounted, legs wobbling. "Stay out of trouble till tomorrow, Osaze."

  "I never start trouble," Osaze shot back. "It just finds me."

  Zen snorted. "Keep telling yourself that."

  Hanni and Himeko headed toward the orphanage, Sagan and Zen toward their small home, the Adeoti family toward their farmhouse. Lanterns glowed in windows as evening settled over the village.

  Osaze pushed open the farmhouse door, the familiar creak echoing as the faint must of a cold pot of leftover stew lingered by the hearth. A worn pitchfork leaned by the door. He crossed to his usual seat at the table.

  "So," Osunde announced, dropping his pack by the chair, "yesterday was your birthday!" He grinned. "And tomorrow's your Farmday! Hahahaha!" He turned to face his wife. "Iyabo! Aren't I funny?"

  Iyabo glanced up from setting out the pot of leftover stew, lips twitching. "Hilarious. A real comedian."

  "Jokes aside," Osunde continued, "rest today. We start early tomorrow. The drainage ditches still need fixing, and the fencing by the north field needs mending."

  "Yes," Osaze replied, his voice a low hiss.

  Osunde's grin faltered. Iyabo's eyes flicked toward her son, hands still on the pot.

  She placed an empty bowl on the table with a firm clunk. "Osaze, help set the table. And Osunde, stop dressing up farm work as a celebration. The boy's tired."

  "I'm not trying to—"

  "Yes, you are." Iyabo's voice was quiet. "We all know what tomorrow brings and how we feel about it. Tonight, we're just eating dinner. Can we do that?"

  Osunde nodded.

  The following afternoon sun scorched the Adeoti farmland, dust rising from the cracked drainage ditch as Osaze shoveled. Sweat darkened his shirt. His thoughts drifted to yesterday's showcase — how Uncle Sagan had crippled the bandits through sheer presence, the deference the town council had shown him earlier that day. Each memory made him ache to hone his abilities, to reach such heights rather than stand here with a shovel in his hands.

  He'd positioned himself at the far end of the field, as far from his father as the work would allow.

  "Isn't this fulfilling work, my boy!" Osunde's voice carried across the field. "Look at the dirt on your hands — that's the sign of a true contributor to society!"

  Iyabo straightened from her own section, wiping sweat from her brow. "Leave him be, Osunde. Words like those will never reach his ears."

  Osunde's spade bit into the soil. "Maybe if you weren't teaching him to fight while I tell him not to, some of it would get through his skull!"

  "I know we agreed long ago that we didn't want him to have anything to do with the military," Iyabo said, her gaze steady on Osunde's face. "But I've long given up on those thoughts."

  "And I don't understand that, my love! We're meant to be a unified front!"

  Iyabo looked across the field at her son. Even from this distance, his profile, the set of his shoulders — the resemblance to his father as a young man. She looked away.

  "Yes, but I don't want to waste my time with my son having useless fights." Without another word, she cupped her hands around her mouth. "Speaking of which — Osaze!"

  His head snapped up.

  "It's time! Come on, let's go train!"

  Osaze's tool clattered to the ground. "Really?!"

  "Yes, really?" Osunde's voice came out strangled. "Taking him from farm work to train right when we're having this discussion?"

  Iyabo blew him a kiss as she walked toward their son, waving him off with her free hand. "I love you too, honey."

  Left alone with his workers, Osunde kicked at a clod of dirt. "If you don't train him, how would he have the confidence to go around acting like a hero?" He drove his shovel into the ground. "But no one listens to me."

  The storehouse beside the main house had been converted into a training ground some time back. Sacks of grain moved to create open space, wooden walls bearing the scuff marks and dents of countless practice sessions.

  Iyabo stood in the center, her stance relaxed but ready.

  "Okay, come at me, my little boy." She settled into a fighting stance.

  "I'm not little, Mum!" Osaze charged forward, feet pounding against the floor.

  His fists flew in rapid succession — left, right, left — air whistling with each swing. But Iyabo slipped sideways, ducked under a hook, pivoted as his cross sailed past her ear. Her palm snapped against the back of his head — a sharp crack — and sent him stumbling forward.

  "What is that? You're being far too eager. Calm down."

  "Yes!" Osaze straightened.

  "Come again!"

  This time he stepped in slower, kept his guard up, threw measured jabs instead of wild swings. Iyabo caught his wrist, redirected a punch past her shoulder, deflected another with the back of her hand.

  "Yes, this is more like it. But stop."

  "What?!"

  "Watch me, Osaze." Iyabo moved to the center and began throwing punches into the air. Left cross, right hook, uppercut — each punch snapped out and back, her feet shifting in small, precise steps. Her left foot stayed planted as her right hip twisted forward, her shoulder driving through each strike.

  "Do you see? This is how you punch. You may have powerful fists, but anyone with experience will sidestep you if you can't control it. Now do it."

  Osaze began copying her movements. He threw the combinations, but his feet stayed flat, his punches came from his arms alone.

  "Like this, Osaze." Iyabo placed her hands on his shoulders, repositioning him as he threw practice punches. "Feel how the power flows from your feet, through your legs, up through your core, and out through your fist. It's not just about arm strength."

  "Yes, Mum…" He paused. "Mum?"

  "Yes, dear?"

  "I've always wondered — how come you know how to fight so well, since you weren't in the army?"

  For just a moment, Iyabo's jaw tightened. Her gaze drifted past Osaze to the scarred wall behind him.

  "I've had a long life, Osaze. The military doesn't have a monopoly on fighting." Her smile returned. "Now come at me again, and this time I'm fighting back. No one is just going to let you hit them one-sidedly."

  Osaze opened his mouth, then watched her settle back into her stance. He closed it and raised his fists instead.

  The Village Hall's interior felt stifling as evening settled in, thick air carrying the scent of old parchment. Chief Janson sat behind his desk, fingers drumming against the polished wood as he reviewed the day's reports.

  When the nervous clerk entered with a ledger under his arm, Janson looked up.

  "Mr. Stirling's caravan receipt, sir," the clerk said, placing the leather-bound document on the desk.

  Janson barely glanced at it. "Where is Sagan? I told you to bring him to me the moment he arrived."

  "Erm — it wasn't him that came, sir. His assistant Boe delivered everything."

  Janson's fingers stopped drumming.

  "So the great Sagan is avoiding me." It wasn't a question. "Send a guard for him. I want a report on the task I gave him, in person."

  The clerk shifted, hands moving against the ledger's binding. "Sir... word is he has already left the village."

  "What?!" Janson's fist slammed down, papers scattering. Ink pots rattled. The clerk stepped back toward the door.

  Janson's chest rose and fell in sharp bursts, knuckles whitening against the desk's edge.

  Evening shadows deepened in the forest beyond Okorodu Village. Sagan rode atop Ragnar, scanning the darkening underbrush. Ragnar's nose twitched.

  Ragnar, we're going to kill two birds with one stone. First, deal with the bandits like we promised Mayor Venile. Second, find out if Landon has anything to do with the local bandit population, or if yesterday was just a one-time arrangement.

  Yes, seems like we're going to be busy.

  They paused at a clearing, deer paths worn through tangled underbrush.

  Aren't you excited, Ragnar? We're going bandit hunting.

  Huhuhu. Ragnar's chuckle rumbled through their telepathic link.

  Sagan signaled Ragnar forward, their movements silent as they slipped deeper into the dusk.