Unrepentant

The Siren’s Rest was no more. The inn, once a calm haven for travelers, lay in utter ruin.

Flames gnawed at the fractured beams and shattered walls, sending tendrils of thick, black smoke spiraling into the sky. The heat radiated outward, baking the streets below, while passersby stumbled back, eyes wide with horror.

The blast had ripped through the structure like a beast unleashed, a vicious force that left nothing untouched.

The wreckage told the story. Where the explosion had originated, the inn's floor had buckled under the immense pressure, giving way as a beam—still splintered and jagged—plummeted downward.

The poor receptionist, who had unwittingly sealed his fate by guiding Silas to the mystery man's room, found himself directly in the path of that collapsing structure. He didn’t even have time to cry out.

The beam came down with a sickening crunch, pinning his torso to the ground. His legs twitched, kicking feebly, as half of his body lay flattened beneath the weight.

His face, pale and frozen in shock, twisted into an agonized grimace that would be his last expression. A flicker of life still pulsed in his eyes, but it wouldn’t last long. A single 100 Reshal bill, peaking out of his back pocket, caught a stray ember. It ignited slowly, curling into ash just as the last breath left the man’s lips, and he became nothing more than another casualty of the chaos.

In the adjacent rooms, where the blast had originated, the fate of the guests was no better. The explosion had been merciless. Bodies lay twisted and broken, the walls smeared with blood and debris. The force had been enough to rip limbs from torsos, to shatter bones like glass. A once peaceful night in Sichal had turned into an inferno of death, and the unfortunate souls caught within had no time to react.

Not everyone was defenseless. Down the hallway, far from the heart of the blast, a young Air Elementalist named Tyne had been jolted awake by the sound of the explosion. Though she was on the inn’s far end, the shockwave hit her hard. She felt her eardrums burst with a sickening pop, the warm trickle of blood running down the sides of her neck. Her vision blurred, and for a few disorienting seconds, she could feel nothing but the roar of her own heartbeat.

But Tyne was a survivor. Shaking off the daze, she realized the inn was already filling with toxic smoke. The acrid stench burned her throat, making it hard to think, but she forced herself to focus and rush out to help.

Drawing on her Elemental Arts, she raised her hands and began to push at the air around her. The smoke, thick and choking, swirled and dissipated as she created a vacuum within the gaping hole in the inn’s structure. The air rushed out, dragging the poisonous cloud with it.

Cries of anguish echoed down the corridors. Tyne could see the shadows of movement—other guests, clinging to life, trapped under the wreckage. Their screams mingled with a single, collective thought, reverberating through the survivors' minds: ''Why did this happen? Why me?''

Outside, the devastation had spread beyond the inn. The shockwave had slammed into the street, throwing mortals to the ground with the sheer force of it.

Some had perished instantly, their bodies crushed by the concussive blast or pummeled by flying debris. Others lay pinned under rubble, calling out weakly for help, while a crowd began to gather, staring in disbelief at the flaming wreckage that was once the Siren’s Rest.

Two first-step cultivators, a Monk and a Fighter, quickly joined the growing chaos. With their Qi and Energy enhanced bodies, they dove into the fray, lifting beams and broken stone with ease. Their movements were swift, as they worked to free the trapped mortals from the rubble.

Around them, those still standing whispered in horror, “What happened?” But no one had an answer.

Inside, Tyne continued her efforts. Her Arts kept the smoke at bay, but the fire was spreading too quickly, licking at the walls, threatening to consume the entire structure. Gritting her teeth, she moved toward the largest pile of rubble near her, hoping to contain the flames by suffocating the air around it. As she did, a sudden movement caught her eye—a hand, punching through the debris, covered in a gleaming black metallic sheen.

Her heart jumped as she saw the figure emerge from the wreckage. A man, his robe torn, his skin shimmering like polished iron, stepped out carrying two unconscious girls in his arms. The children were unnervingly peaceful, their faces serene despite the destruction around them.

Silas. His raspy voice, now clearing into something warm, called out, “There is one other in the room behind me, their elder brother. Please assist me in helping the victims caught in this attempt on my life.”

Tyne couldn’t hear him—not fully. Her eardrums hadn’t yet healed, and the constant ringing in her head made everything sound distant and muffled. But she could feel the vibrations of his words in the air, the way they pressed against her skin, the urgency in his tone unmistakable. She nodded, her desire to help taking over, as she redirected her focus to the pile he indicated.

While she worked to draw the smoke away from the rubble, Silas leaped through the giant hole in the inn’s side and down to the street below. With a grace that belied the chaos, he laid the children down in a safe spot, away from the growing inferno. Without pausing, he turned and headed back up toward the wreckage, his eyes scanning the destruction for more survivors.

The inferno roared on, as outside the inn, the crowds continued to gather, watching in stunned silence as the building collapsed further in on itself.

Selen stood across the street from the Siren’s Rest Inn, her arms crossed as she watched the destruction unfold.

The explosion had been sudden, sending debris into the air, and the inn itself had collapsed into a burning husk. Thick smoke billowed upward, obscuring parts of the sky, while flames hungrily consumed the remnants of the structure. From where she stood, she could see people scrambling, others lying motionless on the ground—victims of the blast. The cries of survivors, mixed with the crackling of fire, filled the air.

Her eyes flicked over the scene briefly, taking in the chaos. It was clear who the culprit was. Silas. There was no doubt. He had been inside moments before, and now the place was a ruin. Without even considering the context, he was probably in the wrong.

And even with context, whatever justification he might conjure, it was hard to imagine it making this carnage acceptable. He was ''bad'', she thought, her mind analytical.

Despite the brutality, despite the lives lost, Selen found herself more detached than one might expect. It was surprising to her—yet not unsettling. The destruction perhaps should have disturbed her more, but her thoughts remained sharp, focused on what this meant for her. She was, after all, an outsider in this, a spectator to Silas's violent machinations.

She weighed her position carefully. Silas seemed extremely interested in her—there was no denying that.

His strange enthusiasm for her understanding of Korr'av-el had been obvious. That meant he wouldn’t make things difficult for her, at least not intentionally. He needed her cooperation, or so it seemed. But the ease with which he killed—the lives snuffed out as easily as cutting down a crop—did not bode well if his interest ever shifted or soured. If things turned hostile, she could end up as collateral damage, just like the patrons of the Siren’s Rest.

Her thoughts drifted back to their brief interaction by the window. That strange, disturbed feeling he had exuded for just a moment stuck with her. It was fleeting, but unsettling. There was more to him than the controlled, authoritative figure he projected. Whatever it was, she didn’t care to dig deeper at this moment. She could speak the strange language he had taught her now, which lessened her reliance on him. ''I could just run away now while he’s busy.''

It was tempting. If she slipped away now, while he was occupied, she could escape this entire mess. But she didn’t know enough about him—didn’t know how far his abilities extended. Perhaps he could track her, or maybe he had loyal followers who would hunt her down. Or perhaps he was just a dangerous madman who gave her too much credit, valuing her far more than she was worth.

Selen glanced at the ruined inn again and took a step back, her mind turning over her options.

But the moment she moved, something inside her flared to life, an instinct, sharp and visceral. Her entire body screamed in warning—another step would bring disaster. She froze, her hand instinctively rising into a familiar triangle gesture just above her abdomen.

''So… It’s still here,'' she thought, a quiet realization washing over her. This natural ability of hers, the one that warned of incorrect choices, had not left her. It hadn’t been present in her dreams, but now that she was awake, it returned in full force. She had walked the right path so far, that was why she hadn’t felt the instinct’s sting. But leaving Silas? That was the wrong choice.

She lowered her hands and took a slow breath, choosing to trust her instincts.

For now, she would stay.

Her eyes shifted back toward the wreckage of the inn. Four groups had formed outside the building. The first group consisted of observers, standing by and watching in shock, too paralyzed to act.

The second group moved with purpose, trying to help the injured, pulling survivors from the wreckage.

The third group—the dead—lay scattered, their bodies crumpled in the street, motionless.

The final group consisted of the injured, their groans and cries of pain rising into the smoke-filled air.

Amidst the chaos, she spotted Silas. He stood topless, his body covered in a strange black metallic sheen, as if his skin itself had transformed into an aspect of the night. His eyes scanned the devastation with an eerie calmness. He knelt beside a newly deceased victim, gently closing their eyes, his expression unreadable.

A crowd had begun to gather around him. Selen couldn’t hear every word he spoke from this distance, but she could tell he had captured their attention.

His voice, carrying authority, seemed to pull the people in. At first, there were murmurs of confusion, then disbelief. The murmurs turned into whispers, and soon whispers became yells. Silas was deliberately stoking their emotions, pushing the crowd into a frenzy.

She watched as he held something in his hand, flashing it for all to see. Whatever it was, it had an immediate effect, silencing the crowd’s growing unrest. She strained her ears, catching snippets of his speech: “My fault... assassination attempt... corruption... heresy...”

The crowd seemed to waver between fear and confusion, but Silas pressed on, weaving a tale that cast him as their savior—a man sent to cleanse this town of its evils. He spoke with conviction, making promises of justice, and when he raised his voice one final time, a chant broke out: “Senior Ji! Senior Ji! Senior Ji!”

Selen’s eyes narrowed, watching as the people chanted this name. He had won them over, turned the narrative to his advantage.

He was using the explosion, the deaths, as part of his ruse, spinning a story that painted him as the hero. She could feel the energy in the crowd shift, their fear transforming into hope as they clung to his words.

From where she stood, she could only catch a few more phrases—“I will help,” “Special Inspector,” “Vow.” The crowd surged forward, rallying behind him, their trust won by his deception.

Selen crossed her arms again, watching the scene unfold. Silas was dangerous—more so than she had initially thought—but there was something almost admirable in how effectively he manipulated the crowd.

He had turned a catastrophe of his own making into an opportunity, shifting blame, redirecting anger, and securing his position. Whatever his endgame was, it was clear now that she had a part to play in it.

Her instinct had been right. For now, staying was the smart move.

She would wait. And watch.