“Don’t make a sound.”
The soldiers plundered everything on their way to Port Ventura. Men and women, young and old, they were all slaughtered and left to bleed on the ground, in their homes, in the plaza. Flames clawed at the wood like leeches would an open wound. Not even the church saved itself from the dul Pondulle army, who raided it and stripped it of its relic.
“Do not… move a finger.”
She could hear their steps getting closer and closer. The house was small; it had a bed and a table in the same room. There was nowhere else to hide but underneath the bed. Her blue eyes could be seen looming underneath. Her breathed hitched as she could hear their steps at the doorstep. A branch cranched, and the doorknob slowly twisted.
“If the door opens…”
The door opened. The levitating kettle suddenly stopped levitating and it clanked against the head of the first with a violent gust of wind. The man crumbled down on the ground, while the sound of a sword getting unsheathed announced violence.
Her eyes glimmered as a figure with a sword appeared at the other end of the room; before the second one could notice that it was an illusion, she snuck her slender arm around his neck and tightened.
His fingers gradually loosened the grip of the sword until it clambered to the ground.