The elf slaves had shattered their cursed seal days prior, biding their time beneath Margrave Vassar's arrogance. They moved at midnight, when the palace guards-already tense from whispered rumors of unrest-paced the halls with weapons clutched too tightly. The elves' rebellion was a storm long brewing, but the guards, though wary, never guessed its shape: as the moon crested, alchemical sigils on the guards' rifles and cannons flared once... then died. Something had fused their weapons' cores, leaving them inert.
The elves struck in silence. Parents and warriors split seamlessly: one group herded children into shadowed alcoves, layering crude protective wards, while the rest descended on the guards, Hands glowed with stolen alchemy, claws sharpened by generations of rage.
In its collapse, the alchemical weapons of the palace guards fused shut-but the guards, trained in elemental manipulation, refused to relent. Flickers of crimson energy crackled around their fists as they channeled raw alchemy through their bodies. The elves split swiftly; one faction corralled the children behind a trembling barricade of magic, while the other lunged at their captors with claws and primal spells.
Amid the fray, a mother shoved her daughter aside as a guard hurled a searing orb of alchemical fire. The blast scorched her shoulder, leaving flesh smoldering. Enraged, the child retaliated-her small hands conjuring a geyser of superheated steam that engulfed the attacker, forcing the vapor into his nostrils and eyes. Around them, the battle felt surreal; some guards held back, their strikes hesitant, as if staging resistance rather than co itting to slaughter.
A thunderous hum split the air as a human soared into the courtyard aboard a levitating alchemical container. The elves paused, their hostility tempered by recognition-*they had expected him. Before questions could form, a bloodied guard slammed a hidden button. The human flinched, sensing a dissonant energy surging beneath the stones. "Down!" he roared-no time for explanations.
The elves reacted instantly. Linked by ancestral instinct, they wove a shimmering barrier around the children. But the explosion defied all reason: a concussive storm of light and force that devoured walls and pillars alike. The barrier held, yet the impact hurled elves. against crumbling masonry. Only the girl survived, her tiny frame cocooned in a brittle shell of her own novice alchemy-a half-formed shield that splintered even as it spared her life. As debris rained down, the human stood amid the ruins, his hands still glowing from the alchemical barrier he'd thrown around the guards-including the one who'd triggered the detonation. That one, he thought coldly, would answer questions later. Outside, boots crunched stone: soldiers in unfamiliar sigil-marked armor stormed in, their stern efficiency clinical. They cataloged survivors, their gazes lingering on the unconscious girl, her breath a fragile thread between realms.
The human watched, jaw clenched. This was not salvation. It was al