The aftermath of the Festival of Lanterns weighed heavily on Myras, a city that had thrived despite its inhospitable location at the base of the rugged mountains. Whispers of the Order’s attack rippled through the streets like an unshakable shadow, dampening the industrious hum of the marketplace. Merchants, usually loud and boisterous, now spoke in hushed tones, and guards patrolled with an edge of nervous vigilance.

Zerutod stood outside the council chambers, his silver hair catching the glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through the stone arches. Inside, the city’s Merchant’s Council debated the security measures for the upcoming weekly marketplace—a vital gathering point for miners, traders, and artisans.

He adjusted his katana strapped to his back, sensing the faint vibrations of footsteps inside. Captain Calista emerged first, her armored boots clicking against the stone floor. Her expression was hard as iron.

“You’d better have a damn good plan, Zerutod,” she said, her green eyes narrowing. “The council’s growing uneasy about your methods. This isn’t the festival—they’re not willing to risk chaos in the marketplace.”

“They’ll risk far worse if the Order strikes again unchecked,” Zerutod replied evenly. “I have a plan, but I need their cooperation.”

Calista scoffed. “Your plans have a way of leaving a trail of destruction. You’re asking for traps in a public space full of civilians. Have you even thought about what happens if one goes off at the wrong time?”

“I have,” he said, stepping past her into the chamber. “And I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

The council members, seated around a massive oak table covered in maps and notes, fell silent as Zerutod entered. Aeliana stood near the corner, her golden eyes meeting his with a flicker of worry. He could sense the tension in her posture, the unspoken plea for him to tread carefully.

“The Order isn’t finished,” Zerutod began, placing his hand on the table. “The Festival of Lanterns was just the beginning. They’ll use the marketplace’s crowds to get close to their targets, and we can’t let that happen. We need traps and chokepoints to funnel them into defensible positions.”

A balding merchant raised an eyebrow. “Traps? In the marketplace? You’re out of your mind. Do you know how much damage that could cause?”

“Do you know how much damage the Order will cause if we don’t act decisively?” Zerutod shot back, his voice cold. “This isn’t a game of risks and profits. It’s a war.”

“It’s our livelihoods at stake,” another council member argued. “The marketplace feeds this city. If word spreads that we’re turning it into a battlefield, what do you think will happen to trade?”

“They won’t care about trade if they’re dead,” Zerutod said, his tone hardening. “The Order isn’t interested in your goods—they want control. They’ll use any means to get it, including Aeliana’s magic.”

Aeliana stepped forward, her voice soft but resolute. “Please. I understand your concerns, but Zerutod is right. If the Order succeeds, no one will be safe. We have to trust him.”

The room fell into uneasy silence. Finally, Captain Calista spoke. “Fine,” she said grudgingly. “But if we’re going to do this, we do it my way. Minimal traps, stationed guards at every chokepoint, and clear evacuation routes for civilians.”

Zerutod bristled at the restrictions but nodded. “Agreed. As long as we’re prepared, I don’t care how we get there.”

That night, Zerutod found himself standing at the edge of the empty marketplace, his mind racing as he traced the paths he had memorized from the map. The Order was watching, waiting, and every instinct told him that they would strike soon.

Raigaloth’s voice slithered into his mind. “You’re wasting time with their foolish debates. They are weak, afraid of the necessary sacrifices. You know what must be done, Zerutod.”

“Sacrifices have limits,” Zerutod muttered under his breath. “I’ll protect Aeliana without losing myself.”

“A naive sentiment,” Raigaloth replied, his tone dripping with contempt. “You will find no victory in hesitation. Only loss.”

The voice faded as Zerutod’s hand tightened on the hilt of his katana. He glanced back at the lanterns swaying gently in the wind, their light casting long shadows across the cobblestones. Aeliana’s safety was non-negotiable—but at what cost?

The streets of Myras, though quieter now in the aftermath of the festival, still carried a lingering unease. Zerutod navigated the narrow paths leading away from the marketplace, his mind a whirlwind of plans and counterplans. The Order’s threat loomed larger with each passing hour, and every moment of inaction felt like a tightening noose around Aeliana’s safety.

He entered a small, dimly lit meeting room in the barracks where Captain Calista and a group of her guards waited. Aeliana was seated near the back, her golden eyes scanning the room nervously. The map of Myras was once again spread out across the table, but this time, Zerutod had added more markings—lines tracing potential escape routes, circles highlighting chokepoints, and ominous red Xs denoting where his traps would be laid.

“The marketplace will be their next move,” Zerutod began, his tone sharp and precise. “They’ll use the crowd to mask their approach. The only way to stop them is to control their movements.”

“And by control, you mean traps,” Calista said, her voice dripping with skepticism. “You’re really doubling down on this, aren’t you?”

“It’s the most effective strategy,” Zerutod replied, unfazed. “We funnel them into narrow alleys where the traps are set, forcing them into predictable patterns. The guards will be waiting at the chokepoints to pick them off.”

A murmur of unease spread among the guards. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a scar running down his cheek, raised his hand. “What about the civilians?” he asked. “These alleys aren’t empty during market hours. If one of those traps goes off at the wrong time—”

“That won’t happen,” Zerutod interrupted. “Smoke bombs will clear the area first. The traps are a last resort. If we act quickly, no one but the Order will be caught in them.”

Calista crossed her arms, her green eyes narrowing. “That’s a lot of ‘ifs,’ Zerutod. And every one of them relies on perfect execution. You’re gambling with innocent lives, and I won’t stand by and let you turn this city into a battlefield.”

“It already is a battlefield,” Zerutod said, his voice rising. “Every moment we hesitate gives the Order another opportunity to strike. You think they’ll show restraint? They won’t. We have to fight them on their level or lose.”

“You’re so focused on Aeliana that you’re losing sight of everyone else,” Calista shot back. “We’re supposed to protect this city, not sacrifice it for one person.”

The room fell into a tense silence. Aeliana stood, her soft voice cutting through the standoff. “Enough. Both of you.” She stepped forward, her golden eyes filled with a quiet strength. “I understand what’s at stake, but please don’t tear each other apart over me. Zerutod, you’ve always been willing to do whatever it takes, but Calista’s right—we can’t let fear drive us to harm innocent people.”

Zerutod turned to her, his pale lavender eyes unreadable. “I won’t let the Order take you,” he said quietly. “No matter what it costs.”

That night, Zerutod worked alone in the shadows of the marketplace. The layout of the traps occupied his mind, each placement meticulously calculated. Smoke bombs at the northern alley. Tripwires near the southern gate. He knelt to adjust the positioning of a concealed spike trap, his hands steady despite the turmoil in his heart.

Raigaloth’s voice slithered into his thoughts, cold and calculating. “They will always doubt you, Zerutod. Their weakness will be your downfall. You must act alone if you truly wish to protect her.”

“I don’t need them to understand,” Zerutod muttered under his breath. “I just need them to follow orders.”

“And when they refuse?” Raigaloth pressed. “When their fear makes them hesitate? Will you let their cowardice ruin everything? Or will you remove them from the equation?”

Zerutod’s grip tightened on the spike trap, his knuckles whitening. “They’ll follow because they have no choice,” he said. “This isn’t about their fear. It’s about Aeliana’s life. That’s all that matters.”

The voice chuckled darkly, fading into the recesses of his mind. Zerutod stood and surveyed his work. The traps were ready, the plan set. All that remained was to convince his allies to see it through.

The next morning, Calista confronted him outside the barracks. “Your traps are dangerous, Zerutod,” she said bluntly. “And so are you. If something goes wrong tomorrow, I’ll hold you responsible.”

“Nothing will go wrong,” Zerutod replied, his voice cold. “You just need to do your part.”

“For your sake, I hope you’re right,” she said, her tone laced with warning. She turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the chill morning air.

Zerutod watched her go, his resolve hardening. The divide between him and his allies was growing, but it didn’t matter. Aeliana’s safety was the only thing that did.

Zerutod stood on a rooftop overlooking the square, his katana sheathed at his side and his senses attuned to the rhythmic vibrations of the city below. Merchants bustled about, setting up stalls laden with goods: raw ore from the mines, freshly baked bread, and fabrics dyed in vivid colors. The usual hum of industrious life seemed louder today, almost a defiance of the looming threat. But Zerutod knew better than to trust the surface.

The traps he’d laid in the narrow alleys and side streets surrounding the square were set and ready. Smoke bombs were strategically placed, tripwires were hidden beneath loose stones, and spikes lurked in concealed pits. Everything was calculated, methodical—a reflection of the relentless focus that had overtaken him.

“You’re really going through with this?” Calista’s voice broke his concentration. She had climbed the rooftop without his noticing, her boots crunching softly against the stone.

Zerutod turned to face her, his expression unreadable. “It’s the only way to keep Aeliana safe,” he said simply. “The Order won’t stop, and neither will I.”

Calista’s green eyes searched his face, her frustration palpable. “You’re gambling with innocent lives, Zerutod. These people are just trying to survive, and you’re turning their marketplace into a war zone.”

“If I don’t, they won’t have a marketplace left to come to,” Zerutod replied coldly. “The Order doesn’t care about collateral damage. Every moment we hesitate puts more people at risk.”

“And what happens when one of your traps kills a child?” Calista pressed, stepping closer. “What happens when the people of Myras see you as the monster, not the savior?”

Zerutod’s jaw tightened. “They’ll see Aeliana alive. That’s all that matters.”

“To you,” Calista said bitterly. “But to them? The cost won’t be worth it.”

He turned away, his gaze returning to the square. “You don’t have to agree with me,” he said. “You just have to follow orders.”

Calista scoffed, shaking her head. “You’re not as untouchable as you think, Zerutod. When this is over, you’ll have to answer for the choices you’ve made.” She descended the rooftop, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

The hours stretched on, the marketplace filling with life. Aeliana wandered through the square under the watchful eyes of a few undercover guards, her golden eyes scanning the crowd nervously. Zerutod observed her from above, his senses heightened, his every muscle tense.

“Raigaloth,” he murmured under his breath. “Do you feel them?”

The demon’s voice coiled in his mind like smoke. “They are here, creeping along the edges of the square. Waiting. Watching. They underestimate you.”

“Good,” Zerutod replied, his lips barely moving. “Let them.”

As the day wore on, Zerutod spotted the first signs of the Order. A pair of cloaked figures lingered near the eastern alley, their movements deliberate but subtle. Another figure, dressed as a merchant, adjusted their wares with unnatural precision. Zerutod’s pulse quickened.

He tapped into the electroreceptive sense that allowed him to perceive the faint electrical signals in the environment. The vibrations confirmed his suspicions—there were more of them, scattered throughout the crowd, their footsteps deliberate and synchronized.

Zerutod activated the first smoke bomb, releasing a billowing cloud of gray that enveloped the eastern alley. The sudden commotion caused a ripple of panic among the civilians, but it also forced the cloaked figures to move.

“They’re heading for the south gate,” Zerutod muttered, moving swiftly along the rooftop.

Below, Calista was organizing her guards, directing them to intercept the fleeing figures. The smoke had drawn attention, and the crowd was beginning to scatter. Civilians shouted in confusion, their footsteps echoing through the square.

“Zerutod, your traps are creating chaos,” Calista growled through a communication crystal. “We’re losing control of the situation!”

“Stick to the plan,” Zerutod barked back. “Funnel them into the alleys. I’ll handle the rest.”

Aeliana, caught in the shifting crowd, called out, “Zerutod, where are you?” Her voice trembled as she tried to find cover near a vendor’s stall.

Zerutod leapt from the rooftop, landing with precision a few feet away from her. “Stay close to me,” he said, drawing his katana.

The Order made their move, several of their agents converging on the square with blades drawn. The first agent lunged at Zerutod, but he sidestepped effortlessly, slashing through the attacker’s shoulder in one fluid motion. Time seemed to slow as he tapped into Raigaloth’s power, his movements precise and deadly.

“Get to the safe zone,” he commanded Aeliana, who hesitated before nodding and darting toward the designated escape route.

As the battle raged, Calista arrived on the scene, her sword flashing in the sunlight. She fought alongside her guards, her movements a blend of discipline and raw power. But her fury wasn’t directed solely at the Order—it was also aimed at Zerutod.

“This didn’t have to happen,” she shouted over the din of combat.

“But it did,” Zerutod retorted, parrying an attacker’s blade and countering with a lethal strike. “And we’re winning, aren’t we?”

The fight pushed deeper into the alleys, where the traps Zerutod had set began to activate. Smoke and spikes disoriented the Order’s agents, but the chaos also endangered fleeing civilians. Zerutod’s focus never wavered from the enemy, but the cries of the innocent reached his ears like echoes of a distant storm.

By the time the battle ended, the square was littered with the remnants of the fight—overturned stalls, scattered goods, and injured bystanders. The Order’s agents had been routed, but the cost was clear.

Calista approached Zerutod, her armor dented and blood-streaked. “We stopped them,” she said coldly, “but at what price?”

Zerutod wiped the blood from his katana, his expression unreadable. “Aeliana is safe. That’s all that matters.”

Calista shook her head, her disappointment evident. “You’re losing yourself, Zerutod. And if you can’t see that, you’re already lost.”