It was like everything exploded at the drop of a pin.

  The moment Tethys fell, everyone and everything was set into motion. Sibei and Phaedon ran after the Flockmother in hopes of restraining her, Albus jumped into the hole Tethys fell into—jamming his blades into the wall to slow his descent—and the white wyvern above released a sonic blast downward into the safe haven. Sibei felt her bones creak from the blast as the ground itself shattered. Dust and fragments of earth created a cloak of debris, and through it, one could hear every piece of furniture in the room break apart into tiny wooden bits. The two bodyguards shielded Cynth with their bodies, but even then, the young girl fell to the ground, unconscious.

  By the time the dust had settled, Flockmother Lyanne was nowhere to be seen and neither was her white wyvern.

  “Lye’s hells!” Phaedon coughed and kicked a broken chair away.

  Sibei clenched her teeth. She escaped. Again. Then, realization hit, and her breath caught. She turned around and ran towards Lilieth, the young mage’s head and bloodied arm dangling over the side of the hole. Her eyes were cloudy and staring into empty space, unmoving. Sibei checked her pulse.

  Dead.

  The desert girl panicked, feeling her stomach drop, before remembering that Lilieth could come back to life. But what if she didn’t? Lilieth herself admitted to not knowing the exact mechanics of her immortality.

  A problem arose: Sibei didn’t know when she’d revive, but if she did now, most people in the room would witness it. The two bodyguards reported directly to the Kastrionis family. Would that be okay? Sibei didn’t know why, but Lilieth always seemed adamant about not wanting others to know about her strange ability unless she really had to talk about it, like with Niko. She could carry Lilieth in her arms and run away, but with the wyverns still outside, it was dangerous.

  “How is she?” Phaedon asked from behind her.

  Holding back a sharp breath, Sibeiya quickly reached out and closed Lilieth’s glazed-over eyes.

  “She’s just unconscious,” she said, hoping that Lilieth would take her time coming back for just a little while longer. “More importantly, you need to get Cynth back to the estate.”

  “That’s Lady Cynthia to you—!”

  “Agasias, this isn’t the time!” the female bodyguard said as she hoisted the little heir onto her shoulders. “There are still a lot of wyverns up there! We’ll need a bit of help,” she added as she turned to Phaedon.

  He clicked his tongue. If Sibei had to guess, Phaedon wanted to continue chasing after the Flockmother. She would have done the same if she wasn’t preoccupied.

  “Fine!” He turned to Sibei: “Don’t die!”

  With that, the bodyguards and Phaedon were up and out the stairway, Cynth in tow. The Shebauno breathed a sigh of relief, though she knew she wasn’t out of the woods just yet.

  She dragged Lilieth’s body to a wall, where she would be out of sight from the wyverns flying overhead. A red streak marked the ground, trailing them. It was a miracle that none of the others had seen the blood that pooled beneath Lilieth, or they’d never have bought her bluff.

  After some time, Albus emerged from the pit, climbing with one hand and holding Tethys steady behind his back with the other.

  Her entire body was covered in blood.

  Niko ran through the panic-filled crowds that packed the streets

  He had turned his own clinic into a make-shift shelter for the people who couldn’t make it to the proper ones and was tending to the wounded there as best he could. But with several of his patients bedridden elsewhere, he ran out as soon as he was able. He needed to make sure that everyone was safe. Going through them, he found that most of their houses were empty, and he hoped it was because they were taken to the shelters already. The ones that remained, he carried through alleyways back to his clinic or to the nearest shelters.

  Eventually, he reached the home of the Lytrases. The lift was broken, so he ran up the stairs, thanking the Greater Gods for the enhanced body they’d Blessed him with. A terrified Irene in her bed met him when he opened the door.

  “Doctor!” she cried out, her eyes red from tears.

  Immediately, Niko came to her side and inspected her for any wounds. She was mostly safe inside, but there was no guarantee that she’d continue to be safe here. This was the top floor of the insula, and there were wyverns out there that could tear roofs off just by screaming. He had to take her to a shelter somewhere.

  “It’ll be alright, Irene. Just stay calm.”

  He carried her in his arms and ran out, continuing to whisper words of comfort all the while. The actual shelters were closer than his clinic, which was in another district, so he made a beeline to one of them.

  “What about mom?” Irene said weakly. Her body already wasn’t doing too well, so this must have been straining for her. “She ... she hasn’t returned yet ...”

  “She’s fine!” Niko assured her—as well as himself. “Just close your eyes. We’ll be at the shelters soon!”

  When they reached the shelter, he laid Irene down on the ground. It was cold and hard, but it would have to do. The Healmage removed his coat and covered her to provide some warmth.

  “Please … find mom,” she pleaded.

  Niko smiled as best he could and gave her a thumbs-up. “Don’t worry. Just leave it to me!”

  Despite the guards’ best attempts to keep him in the shelter, it wasn’t long before Niko was back out on the streets. They were doing their jobs, and he was doing his own. He ran in the direction of the refugee tents in the Mesogaia district, where Irene said Tethys had gone, traversing the city through the alleyways where the wyverns couldn’t see him. Every now and then, he was made an open target across wide streets, and though wyverns tried to get him, he was able to keep his head intact. He had gotten some combat training from his father back in the day, and he was thankful that some of the muscle memory for evasion was retained.

  Niko continued to run, looking around, trying to—

  “Niko!”

  Albus’ voice called to him. He turned around to see the gray-haired man hastily approach him. His face, usually so aloof, was tainted with a grave expression.

  Just as Niko was about to respond, his gaze froze over. In his arms, Albus carried what looked to be a corpse drenched in blood.

  Tethys Lytras.

  No, no, no, no ...

  Niko’s mind drew a blank. What was he supposed to tell Irene? What—

  “Focus, Niko! She’s still alive!”

  The Healmage snapped out of his daze as Albus ran into a streetside shop—empty, of course—and laid Tethys gently across one of the larger tables inside. Niko followed him in and inspected Tethys’ body.

  He checked for a pulse.

  She was alive.

  “—?! [Diagnostics]!”

  Surveying the damage her body took, immediately went to work.

  Massive internal bleeding, multiple rib fractures, a collapsed lung, severe damage to pelvic ring, compromised spine, ruptured tendons and ligaments all over, deep lacerations on multiple areas—she wasn’t dead, but she was very, very close.

  Niko took a deep breath. He needed to calm down.

  First, reduce the bleeding. “[Topical Hemostasis].”

  Second, ensure her body gets enough oxygen. “[Needle Thoracostomy].”

  Third, lock her fractured bones and damaged joints in place so they don’t get damaged further. “[Skeletal Immobilization]. [Muscular Immobilization].”

  Fourth. “[Transcutaneous Pacing].”

  Fifth. “[Shock Suppression].”

  Sixth. “[Entonox].”

  Niko continued on, casting spell after spell to keep Tethys from dying. He could tell that Albus was fending off wyverns behind him, but he couldn’t take his focus off the operation.

  A few minutes in, and he’d done all he could do. Tethys was breathing, albeit faintly. Her wounds, however, were too numerous, too deep, and too complex for his First tier spells to fully heal. He’d bought her time, but she was still in mortal danger.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  She needed to be treated somewhere with the proper tools and equipment—by trained professionals.

  Niko clenched his fists so hard that blood might have seeped out with just a little more force. There was only one place nearby that had all that.

  Don’t hesitate now! Her life is on the line!

  Niko carried Tethys in his arms. “Albus! We’re heading to SilverRose!”

  Without uttering a word, the gray-haired man nodded and readied his twin blades, and soon, the two of them were rushing through the streets. There was no time to weave in between narrow alleyways. They charged through the main roads where they were easy game for the flying beasts that infested the city.

  Albus handled defense, swinging his blades in wide twirling arcs, each swing leading into the next—a fighting style reminiscent of dancing. Niko had always believed that Grits was Guillem Spearman’s strongest student, but seeing Albus fight made him want to rethink that assumption.

  While running, he noticed that many of the wyverns were flying away from the city proper. Were they retreating?

  No time to think about any of that!

  They reached SilverRose Clinic—a large, pristine white building—and he could already hear how busy they were inside. The Healmage pushed through the double-doors with his shoulder and looked for the nearest worker he could find.

  “Rhea!” he called out to one passing by after a moment of thought.

  The woman, Rhea, stopped to turn to him. Her pure-white uniform was stained with blood, and her face was ragged and stressed, like she was going to pass out from exhaustion at any moment.

  She furrowed her brows. “Lord Argyri? What are ...” her eyes saw Tethys in his arms.

  Without fuss, she led Niko deeper into the clinic, placing Tethys upon a bed. It wasn’t long before more workers came in and began their work. Some of them—most of them, actually—took a conflicted glance at Niko before doing so, though.

  The Healmage breathed out a sigh of relief. SilverRose’s staff was of the highest caliber. They were much better at medicine than he was, so he had no doubts that they could save her life.

  Niko turned to leave. When he did, he was greeted by an all-too familiar face.

  A tall man stood before him, an older gentleman. Lanky, thin, but well-dressed with neatly combed hair—his eyes were as sharp and painful as Niko remembered. On his chest, he wore a silver badge depicting a rose surrounded by a laurel—worn only by the clinic’s director.

  “Leaving so soon, Nikolaos?” he spoke, his voice smooth and well-articulated.

  “Thales,” Niko said, trying his hardest not to shrink under his stern gaze. “It’s ... good to see you again.”

  “How I do wish I could reciprocate the sentiment.” Thales glanced at Tethys behind him. “Horrible wounds. Were you not able to handle them yourself?”

  The Healmage found himself unable to maintain eye contact. His stomach felt like it was churning painfully without end. “I’m only in the First tier. I don’t have spells that can work on wounds that severe.”

  Thales narrowed his eyes. “So I see. In that case, it was a smart decision to bring her here.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell over both of them, the sound of chaotic running surrounding the two.

  “... How is everyone?” Niko asked.

  “Better now,” Thales replied bluntly.

  Niko gave a nervous chuckle. “R-right, right. Of course. That’s good, I mean. Good, yes.”

  He felt sick.

  “I really must be going now,” Niko stepped around him and hurried his pace to the exit.

  “Better,” Thales repeated sharply. “But I assume you’re not here to ask about everyone.”

  Niko stopped. He opened his mouth and closed it again as he turned his head around. Thales was looking at Tethys surrounded by busy medics. Only once he was sure that the woman was stable did Thales turn his attention back to Niko, his glare even sharper than before.

  “A commoner woman. I’m surprised you even bothered to carry her here.”

  Niko’s throat tightened.

  “You would have berated the other medics, hurled insults,” Thales continued. “And after all that was over, you’d throw the woman back outside. Gods forbid a commoner inconvenience the great Nikolaos Argyri, heir to SilverRose Clinic.”

  “That’s not—” Niko started, reflexively, but the words died in his throat. He found himself looking away, back towards the conversation.

  “Tell me I’m wrong, Nikolaos. Last I remember, you labeled everyone here as ... What was it again? Ah, yes: ‘A bunch of talentless, good-for-nothing parasites who only exist to ruin your image’. Was that it?”

  Niko flinched. The mere memory burned. He swallowed, forced himself to stand still. He heard Thales’ footsteps behind him, pacing slowly.

  “Everyone was of half a mind to leave the clinic rather than serve under you when your father died. Had it not been for me, SilverRose would not be standing today. Either you’d have lost all your personnel, or you’d have burned this building to the ground with your ego.” He stopped pacing. “I’m aware that you’ve become somewhat of a ‘savior’ to those in need, tending to them for sparse coin. They sing you praises, completely blind to who you truly are. I’d speak of how grateful you must be to them for falling for your act so splendidly, but I’m doubtful you can even feel it—this thing called gratitude.”

  There was a lot Niko wanted to say. It’s not an act. That’s not me anymore. I’ve changed. But not a single word left his mouth. Because what would be the point? There was no purpose in explaining himself to them. They’d never believe him. And even if they did, he certainly didn’t deserve—or want—their forgiveness.

  He didn’t know what he’d do if they forgave him. He didn’t want to imagine it.

  “Yes, Nikolaos. Everyone is doing better now,” Thales spoke, his voice now directly behind him, as if whispering in his ear. “And more importantly for you, the clinic is doing better. That’s all you really care about, isn’t it?”

  No, that’s not true.

  He could hear Thales smirk. “I think you’d best be going now. It wouldn’t do for me to be keeping you from your oh-so important duties now, would it? Safe travels, Lord Argyri.”

  His ever-so-distinct footsteps began to fade. Niko didn’t want to stay longer either, so he went towards the exit.

  He was bumped into by a passing worker, spilling liquids all over his coat. The smell was pungent, but at least they didn’t seem to be toxic chemicals—although, the scent would be hard to remove.

  “My apologies, Lord,” the worker said with a snide eye as he continued walking. Niko recognized him, though he didn’t remember his name.

  He barely bothered to remember anyone’s name here now that he thought about it.

  Niko looked down at his stained garments, a white hooded coat that reached down to his calves. It was somewhat based on the SilverRose uniform, though he didn’t incorporate the silver and red trims that gave their uniforms their distinct recognizable look. His was only a cheap coat he bought at the flea market—definitely not the apparel of a lord.

  Lord.

  He couldn’t have imagined that word stinging as much as it did now.

  Albus waited for him outside the clinic. He had his swords equipped, joining the many guards that defended it. When he noticed Niko walk out, he immediately trotted over.

  “Everything good?” he asked.

  “She’s safe now.”

  “And what about you?”

  Niko flinched. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re looking awfully pale. Need something to drink? Maybe some tea to help you calm down?”

  Niko couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of the offer. “Tea? In this situation?”

  Albus shrugged then looked to the skies. “The wyverns are starting to retreat. My guess is that the invasion’s over now.”

  The Healmage saw wyvern after wyvern fly southward, away from the city. There was a cheering in the air as guards and adventurers from the nearby district rejoiced at their victory.

  “Tea will have to wait,” Niko said. “Once the knights’ battle is over, that is when the healers’ begins.”

  No doubt, now that the danger had passed, the injured would come in droves, much more than so far. He looked back at SilverRose Clinic. It was a good clinic with skilled workers, but it was far too pricey for most common folk. He didn’t even know if Tethys could afford the payment. He was willing to pay for it, but it would cost most of his savings.

  That didn’t matter. Right now, there would be plenty more wounded who couldn’t afford SilverRose, and they’d be coming to him for help. He needed to focus on that.

  Anything to keep himself distracted.

  Lyanne, clenching her stomach, leaned against the side of the wide alley’s wall. Blood dripped onto the ground below her. It wasn’t a lot—she’d already stitched her wounds up—and thankfully, she wasn’t in any immediate danger. It was painful as all hells, but she’d live.

  “Damn them ...” she muttered. “Lye’s madness upon all of them ...!”

  She couldn’t understand why she had so much trouble killing one child. Her employer, who leaked the location of the Kastrionis safehouse, was supposed to make things easier for her. Yet, Cynthia Kastrionis seemed to always be surrounded by troublesome people.

  This was a problem. Again, she had failed in her task. Her employer wouldn’t be too pleased with her performance. It would have been fine if he simply stopped trying to contact her, but there was a great chance that he’d try to get rid of her to keep things clean instead.

  Lyanne would have to run away from Artemest—find some other place to settle down in. She was starting to get tired of Krysanth anyway, so maybe she could go to one of the other nations. Salcaeli was out, of course. The Salt King had eyes just about everywhere there, and she’d find no safe place to hide. Odunast was close by, but it was a cold place, on account of the non-stop magical blizzard that covered the entire nation. Not a great place to raise wyverns.

  And she needed her wyverns. They were dumb and rambunctious even when tamed, but she couldn’t bear to live alone.

  There were numerous other nations she could settle down in that were a fair distance away: Basandre, Zcerne, Prydanwy. She could even go north, to Alveia or Farlan. Eirsia was ... well, the elven nation had closed itself off to outsiders for a century now, so probably not there.

  Whichever she’d choose, anywhere was better than here at that moment.

  She was alive. That was all that ...

  Lyanne stopped. A shadow blocked her path. A large man clad in intricate black wyvernscale armor, embellished with draconic motifs. Carved dragon wings jutted out of his pauldron and helm.

  A chill ran down her spine.

  Kaltheus, Valery Kastrionis’ personal knight.

  “—?! Sugar!”

  She yelled, and the white wyvern appeared from above, diving into the alleyway, smashing windows and bricks on her way down. Sugar opened her maw and roared a sonic blast down at the knight.

  The impact shattered the ground beneath him, but Kaltheus barely moved an inch. Sugar bared her fangs in an attempt to at least bite down on him.

  The knight held up his palms and grabbed Sugar’s jaws, holding them wide open and preventing her from biting. The white wyvern struggled in place, all while Kaltheus stood there like a statue. With a quiet groan, the knight swung the wyvern, slamming her into the wall. Then, he swung her towards the opposite wall. Then, he slammed her down, and Lyanne could hear the mortifying sound of Sugar’s skull cracking open as the tiles beneath them shattered.

  She could only stand there in disbelief. Sugar was a white wyvern—the most powerful class of natural wyvern. And, if her knowledge wasn’t flawed, Kaltheus wasn’t Blessed.

  What in the world did she just witness?

  The armored man released Sugar’s maw from his bloodied grip and began walking slowly towards Lyanne.

  “W-wait, wait!” she stammered. “We can make a deal! I’ll give you anything you desire! Money? Status? Pleasure? I can offer all these to you and more!”

  The man did not stop.

  “Wait! I’ll turn myself in! I-I’ll even tell you the name of my employer! I’m the only one who knows it! You need me!”

  A bluff, but she didn’t care. She just needed not to die. She needed to live another day.

  Her words, however, fell upon deaf ears. Kaltheus unsheathed his blade, and, as if swatting a fly, he—

  Lyanne’s head fell from her neck, rolling across the ground in front of her. Her expression remained locked in place, a panicked desperation plastered across it. Her body fell to her knees and slumped over as blood pooled around it.

  Kaltheus looked at it with stoic indifference. His slash was so quick that blood didn’t have time to stain his blade. It was still spotless.

  The white wyvern was likely the leader of the pack the Flockmother was raising. With its death, the rest would disperse and retreat.

  The knight sheathed his blade and opened his palm towards the Flockmother. The ground beneath her opened up, and her body and head fell deep into the earth. Just as quickly, the ground closed, leaving no traces behind. Kaltheus left the alley.

  With that, the invasion of Artemest came to a close.