Every child remembered where they were when the Church brought them to the island. A report spread among them: the priest had died at the hands of a devil who summoned a black hole and destroyed a church. Now the children had to do their part to prove their loyalty to God. The boys were forced into the mines to gather resources for weapons, and the girls were subjected to a fate far worse.

  “As you can see we run a tight ship around here.” One of the guards said to a man in a suit

  “Yeah. Ridsdale will be pleased.”

  The man watches a child dragging a cart of ore, lips cracked, arms shaking from dehydration.

  “Want me to whip him?” one of the guards asks.

  The man tilts his head. “He has a sister, doesn’t he?”

  The guard nods.

  “Then listen closely,” the man says, crouching so the boy can’t look away. “If that cart slows down again… your sister gets punished instead.”

  “No—please,” the boy whispers. But even he can hear how hopeless it sounds.

  The man sighs as if bored, brushing dust from his sleeve while the boy struggles with the cart.

  “Go get his sister,” he says, not even looking up. “Let’s remind him what happens to slow workers.”

  One of the guards grins and turns toward a row of crude cages hammered together from rusted bars and scrap chain. The children inside shrink back as he approaches, their thin shoulders pressing into one another, eyes wide and hollow.

  Keys jingle.

  Metal scrapes.

  The door groans open.

  “Which one’s his?” the guard asks lazily.

  A smaller voice answers before anyone else can speak. “I am.”

  A girl steps forward on shaking legs. Dirt streaks her face. Her hair hangs in uneven clumps where it’s been hacked short with something dull. She tries to stand straight anyway.

  The guard snorts. He grabs her wrist and drags her out. She stumbles once, nearly falling, but doesn’t cry out. Her eyes stay locked on her brother the whole time.

  The boy drops the cart handle. Ore spills across the dirt. He doesn’t say a word.

  “Oh, I’m going to have some fun with this one,” the man says, tightening his tie as he grabs the girl and pulls her toward a side room. He reaches inside and flips a switch.

  The camera light dies.

  Silence.

  Then—

  Crack.

  Something lashes out of the shadows.

  The whip coils around the man’s wrist and slams him to the ground hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.

  “How dare you—!” he snarls, struggling. “When I get my hands on you—”

  “Oh, sorry.”

  The voice is calm. Almost bored.

  A faint glow blooms in the darkness as a stone marked with the character 『魔』lights the room.

  “You really don’t believe bad boys used to get whipped?”

  “You’re him,” the man breathes, drawing a gun.

  “You can use my name. That’s fine. I’m not ashamed to be Markus. I know that must feel strange to say. What was it Mikey?”

  Markus takes a slow step forward.

  “I’m leaving with the girl… or your head. Lucky for you, you get to choose which one today.”

  The man pulls the trigger of the pistol. A loud boom echoes through the small room, and the little girl dives under the table they had been about to punish her on.

  “What—? That’s impossible.” He pulls the trigger again and again, but even aiming straight at Markus’s chest, nothing happens.

  Looks like your bullets are no match for me,” Markus says, pointing his sword at the man’s chest. He glances around and sees no bullet holes in the walls.

  “You replaced them with blanks,” the man says.

  “You’d think the only armed man in the room wouldn’t turn out to be a blink. So what’ll it be? If you want to live, you’ll let the kids go.”

  “I know you can’t kill me, Dragon Slayer. That sword wouldn’t let you.”

  As soon as he says it, Markus drives the blade into his chest.

  The man chokes on a scream.

  Markus yanks a potion from his belt, uncorks it with his teeth, and forces it down the man’s throat.

  “You’re right,” Markus says quietly. “I can’t kill you. I’d lose the blade if I did.”

  He twists the sword slightly. The man gasps.

  “But trust me… I can make you wish I could.

  Markus pulls the blade free and rests it lightly against the man’s neck.

  “You turned off the cameras,” he adds. “Too bad. Otherwise the guards might’ve seen you and come help.”

  His voice lowers. “Maybe think about that next time before you—”

  Markus stops himself, jaw tightening as he fights down the anger rising in his chest.

  Shaking, the man staggers to the door and throws it open,

  The door bursts open.

  A guard charges in.

  Markus drops him.

  Another rushes through. Then another.

  Steel flashes. Boots skid. Bodies hit the floor.

  One by one, they come.

  One by one, they fall.

  Once Markus gets a moment, he shuts the door. Then he walks over and kneels beside the girl.

  “Hi,” he says softly. “Are you okay?”

  The little girl is shaking, staring at the pile of unconscious men around the room.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” she whispers, unable to move, her heart racing.

  Markus lowers his voice. “Maybe it wouldn’t feel so scary if you knew who I was. I’m Markus. Do you have a name?”

  The little girl nods faintly. “My name… Jessica.”

  “Jessica. That’s a lovely name. That was my mom’s name.” Markus gently wipes a drop of blood from her cheek. “She was amazing. She used to make cookies I looked forward to every day after school. Did you get to know your parents?”

  “They died,” she says quietly. “A big dragon came… and they died.”

  Markus knows too well about the Morgi Dragon. So many he failed to save.

  But not today.

  “Hey, Jessica,” he says gently. “Mind doing me a favor?”

  The little girl shows him the way. Markus follows, his whip snapping out to coil around a guard’s neck and yank him aside. Gunfire erupts, but the shots only spark harmlessly off his blade. Some of the wiser guards drop their weapons, realizing too late that Hans Ridsdale has already been outplayed by the Dragon Slayer.

  Markus exhales slowly, trying to steady the anger burning in his chest as he looks at the children locked inside the cells.

  One by one, they’ll pay.

  One by one, they’ll suffer.

  Running footsteps echo down the corridor.

  Markus turns instantly, raising his blade, stepping in front of the cages to shield the children behind him.

  “Jessica!”

  A little boy breaks from the group and runs toward her, several boys from the mines rushing after him.

  “Michael!” Jessica runs forward and throws her arms around him.

  Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

  He hugs her tight. “I’m glad you’re okay. We saw the guards knocked out, so we came looking for you.”

  Markus watches for a moment. Then he lowers his sword.

  With a quiet motion of his hand, a portal opens beside the wall, light spilling across the stone.

  “Is everyone here?” Markus asks.

  The children nod.

  “All of us that are still alive,” one of the boys says quietly.

  Markus swallows, then gives a small nod. “Alright. Then everyone through the portal. We can talk more on the other side.”

  They just stare at him, wide-eyed, bodies rigid with fear.

  “I understand you don’t trust me. We can talk about what would make you more comfortable once I know the men who run this place won’t find you.”

  “What are you going to do to us?”

  Markus pauses, thinking about how to answer. Then he kneels so he’s at eye level with the children.

  “First things first, those of you who still have parents, we’ll try to reunite you with them. I know many of you formed families here after losing yours in the dragon attack.”

  He softens his voice.

  “My colleague and I run an orphanage in Canada. It started as a project back when I was in Ohio. You can stay as long as you want. We’ll help you find a new home, somewhere safe, somewhere you can just be kids again. You’ve suffered far more than anyone ever should. And I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t trust you,” one of the girls says.

  Jessica puts a hand on her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

  Markus nods once. “That’s fair. What would I need to do to earn your trust? If my orphanage isn’t what you want, we’ll find another place. I just want to get you off this island.

  The girl looks down. “Adults don’t care about kids. They never do.”

  “Get down!”

  Markus lunges to the door and throws his sword through the doorway. A gunshot cracks. A fresh bullet hole splinters the wood beside him.

  “I thought I replaced all the bullets,” he mutters.

  He peers into the hall. One of the guards is there, gripping a child with a gun pressed to the boy’s head.

  Before the guard can speak, Markus snaps his whip. It lashes the gun from the man’s hand. The weapon clatters to the floor as another shot fires and slams into Markus’s shoulder.

  He doesn’t flinch.

  Markus charges, slamming the hilt of his blade into the guard’s temple. The man drops instantly. Markus catches the child and pulls him close.

  “Go. There might be more. Through the portal.”

  “He’s bleeding,” the boy says, voice trembling. Markus thinks his name is Michael.

  “Jessica, any water left? Noah, cloth. Press it here.”

  “No need, kid,” Markus says. “I’ve got proper supplies back at my base. But we can’t stay here. Move.”

  After watching him take a bullet for them, the children finally move. One by one, they step through the portal.

  The old motel had softened into something kinder than it was ever built to be. Sunlight pooled across the balcony rails, warming rows of tiny shoes lined neatly outside each door, and the breeze carried the smell of pancakes from the makeshift kitchen where laughter rose louder than the clatter of pans. Hand-drawn pictures were taped over the faded room numbers, bright crayon suns and crooked stick-figure families turning peeling paint into a gallery. Someone had planted flowers in plastic buckets by the stairs, and wind chimes made from spoons sang whenever the children ran past. It wasn’t fancy, and it wasn’t perfect, but the place held a gentle hum now, like a tired heart finally beating easy. For the first time in a long while, the building wasn’t just shelter. It was trying, in every small way it could, to be a home.

  Markus leads the group of children to the front desk. “Hey, Emma. The plan worked.”

  She looks up quickly. “How many kids did you bring me?” she asks, already pulling out a map from the desk that shows which rooms are open.

  “Um…” Markus glances back at the crowd behind him. “At least four.”

  He starts counting under his breath. “…Forty-seven.”

  Emma blinks. “That’s huge. We’re going to need another expansion.” She studies the map, thinking fast. “If we put four in a room, we should manage for now. Hey, Kanna? Mind showing them to yours?”

  Kanna runs forward and throws her arms around Jessica. “It’s been so long. I never thought I’d see you again after they took you.” Her voice trembles as she fights back tears, then she gently takes the children and starts leading them upstairs.

  Markus watches them go and exhales slowly. “Kanna’s group alone had one hundred twenty-seven kids. And hers wasn’t the only group on that island…” His voice lowers. “No telling how many they killed.”

  “Markus,” Emma says softly, “you did what you could.”

  “I almost saw a girl…” He stops himself, jaw tightening. He slams a hand against the desk and sinks onto the couch in the lobby. “Please. Just make sure they have a good life. They might not be the most well-behaved kids. The adults they had before would…”

  He swallows hard.

  “Just be patient with them. They’re good kids. They deserve better.”

  Markus grabs his shoulder and feels the blood fill his hands. “I’ve got to go before I bleed out.”

  “Don’t go dying on me,” Emma says as Markus steps through the portal. He leaves the planet he once called home and appears at the front door of his house in Serbest Liman, a grand medieval city in a far-off dimension.

  He pushes the door open. A small green demon turns the corner.

  “Hi, sweetie. I’m glad you’re home—oh, you’re bleeding.”

  She rushes for the first-aid kit, hands him a health potion, and carefully removes the bullet from his shoulder.

  “Liddle… Liddle,” Markus murmurs, leaning forward to kiss her. “I promise I’m fine. Just a flesh wound.”

  He drinks the potion, trying not to flinch as the damaged nerves knit back together, the pain of the gunshot finally catching up with him.

  “You promised you wouldn’t get shot,” she scolds softly. “We even snuck in and replaced all their bullets with blanks.”

  When she finishes bandaging his arm, she settles onto his lap, facing him. “There. Now you have to kiss me.” She puckers her lips.

  Markus leans in and kisses her.

  “There. Happy?” she asks, pressing her forehead against his chest.

  “Just one?”

  Liddle smiles and leans in again.

  “Where’s Sally?” Markus asks.

  “Oh, right. She’s at training today.”

  Liddle smiles. “Commander Komutan says she’s a natural. And that she won’t be coming home with a bullet wound.”

  She gives Markus a pointed look. “He also said you could learn a thing or two from your daughter.”

  “I love you,” Markus says softly.

  He rests his hands against her horns, and she flicks her tail playfully against his lips.

  “We should go get Sally.”

  “Sure,” Liddle replies, hugging him tighter. “But promise you’ll take me to bed later tonight.”

  Markus smiles. “Every night. Now come on. I was thinking the three of us could eat out tonight.”

  “Um… I don’t know,” Liddle says thoughtfully. “You did get shot when you weren’t supposed to. I think Sally should ground you.”

  Markus raises an eyebrow. “She would be able to if you’d get off me.”

  Liddle shakes her head in protest. “You just got home.”

  But we can go out together. Maybe stop by the bards, or go to the park. We’ll still be together.”

  Liddle pretends to think, placing a finger against her lips.

  “I suppose a family outing would be nice,” she says. “But don’t think this means you’re getting out of kissing duty.”

  She leans in and kisses him, slow and warm.

  Then she slips on her green cloak trimmed in gold and takes his hand as they step out into the city proper.

  The streets roared with life. Crowds drifted past in bright currents, voices overlapping in a lively hum as vendors called out from their tents. Smoke curled from grills where skewers of sizzling meat turned slowly over coals, the scent of spice and char drifting through the air. People laughed, bartered, tasted, lingered. The whole city seemed to breathe at once.

  Liddle took it in quietly.

  Markus lifted his free hand and gently brushed back her hood, letting her horns show.

  Not long ago, crowds meant danger. Noise meant panic. Eyes meant judgment. But standing beside her husband, fingers laced with his, none of it felt frightening. It felt warm. Safe.

  Someone waved.

  “Markus!” a merchant called.

  Markus lifted a hand in greeting, smiling as if he belonged to every street and stall at once. People greeted him easily, like he was part of the city’s rhythm instead of someone who could shatter it. He answered each voice, each nod, each laugh, never letting go of Liddle’s hand.

  And as she watched him, watched the world move without fear around them, Liddle felt something soft settle in her chest.

  For the first time in a long while, the noise didn’t sound like chaos.

  It sounded like home.

  “Sorry to leave so soon,” Markus says. “I need to pick up Sally. I promised I’d spend time with Liddle now that I’m back from my mission.”

  “Don’t put too much weight on that shoulder,” an old woman says kindly.

  Markus nods, and they part ways. Hand in hand, he and Liddle cross into the military training grounds, where Sally is already in motion, blade flashing as she spars among a ring of soldiers.

  Markus nods, and they part ways. Hand in hand, he and Liddle step into the training yard, where Sally is already in motion, swinging a small wooden toy sword with fierce determination as she spars among a circle of soldiers. The blade is painted silver, its edges worn smooth from use, and though it’s clearly a child’s practice weapon, she grips it like a knight guarding a kingdom. Each swing is a little wild, a little uneven, but her focus is unshakable.

  “Unshakable… until she sees her dad.”

  “Daddy!” she cries, sprinting straight toward him and launching herself into his arms. “Look! I’m getting stronger. Soon I’ll be summoning this sword just like you summon yours!”

  Markus glances at the toy blade and chuckles. “I don’t think that’s a magical sword.”

  With a small flick of two fingers, his own blade appears in his hand.

  “She’s been picking up the basics quite nicely,” Commander Komutan says as he approaches, glancing toward the practice swords.

  “Can we fight, Dad?” Sally beams, holding up her toy sword.

  Markus chuckles. “Maybe later. I just got back from rescuing some kidnapped kids from an evil warlord.”

  “That sounds like quite the quest,” the commander says with a faint smile. “I look forward to hearing about it.”

  “Yeah, we can grab coffee sometime,” Markus replies.

  Sally swings her toy sword with dramatic flair, humming to herself as she plays, completely lost in her own little battle.

  Markus watches her, and for a moment he can’t stop smiling.

  “Alright,” Markus says, crouching slightly. “One round. But you’ve got to be gentle. I messed up my shoulder pretty bad.”

  Commander Komutan glances at the Life-Giving Blade resting nearby. Curious, he reaches down and grips the hilt.

  The sword doesn’t move.

  He strains, using both hands. The blade remains firmly planted against the stone.

  “You swing this heavy thing around?” he mutters.

  Markus chuckles. “Sorry. Only someone the blade deems worthy can lift it.”

  He reaches down, picks it up effortlessly, and dismisses it in a shimmer of light.

  The commander exhales and hands Markus a wooden practice sword instead.

  “Ready… go,” the commander says.

  Markus and Sally stare at each other for a few seconds.

  Then Sally charges.

  She swings her wooden blade with both hands, bringing it straight down toward his head.

  Markus catches her strike with his own and slides it aside, redirecting the blow so it glances past him. With a quick turn of his wrist, he taps her shoulder.

  “Point,” the commander announces.

  Markus smiles and steps closer to his daughter. “Mind putting your blade back up?”

  They reset, blades meeting again like they had in the clash.

  “When I slide your sword away,” Markus says quietly, “twist your grip so it catches on my handle. That’ll open me up, and you can score.”

  Sally watches carefully, eyes bright as she studies every movement, absorbing each detail while he demonstrates.

  Markus straightens slowly, rolling his shoulder with a small wince.

  “Sorry if I have to stop early,” he adds. “My shoulder’s really bothering me.”

  “What were you thinking, sparring like that?” Liddle scolds, gently using her ice magic to numb the pain in his shoulder.

  Markus smiles faintly. “I was thinking I didn’t want to miss time with my daughter.”

  The commander folds his arms. “You should get some rest.”

  “Will do,” Markus replies.

  He turns and walks out with his wife and daughter, the three of them stepping into the night together.

  “When I slide your sword away,” Markus says quietly, “twist your grip so it catches on my handle. That’ll open me up, and you can score.”