What’s his endgame? The thought hit first like a cold splash, then Lucimia asked herself.

She forced herself out of the whirlpool of fear and looked at the board like a hawk over a field.

If the masked man strings these moves together, what tumbles like dominoes? What scene does he want, what harvest does he reap?

She still didn’t know his true aim. He had ambushed her in the forest, stirred the beasts like a wasp nest to swarm them, gauged her and Desty’s strength, then stopped the beast incursion. He switched to sneak strikes and slander, and now villagers had gathered at her door, voices like sparrows in a thicket—this was the outcome, this was the tableau.

Wait—gathered?

The word snagged in her mind like a fishhook; a sharp pain, a sudden clarity.

She watched the young men ahead, some chattering, some begging her to catch the killer, their faces flushed like embers in wind.

All of them had stood watch last night. They’d found Malun’s body after returning and rallied to demand justice. Right now, outside the village, not one guard remained. The old, the weak, the ill, and the children sat in wooden huts like candles in paper lanterns—no one to shield them.

A jolt stabbed her chest. She knew what he wanted. From the start, his goal was to use the beasts to butcher villagers. The slander was a lure—the classic lure-the-tiger-from-the-mountain ploy. Wasn’t that the very method she had pulled in Jaha Town, footsteps still warm?

The déjà vu slammed down like a falling eave.

“Everyone, back now! Beasts are coming!” Lucimia’s shout cracked like thunder.

“Huh?” the burly spokesman blinked, confusion drifting like mist.

He opened his mouth to say there are no beasts in daylight—and the ground rumbled like an awakening drum.

ROAR!

The cry rolled from afar, echoing over rooftops like surf, pouring into every ear in the square.

“Oh no! My mother’s still inside!”

“My kid too! Move, move—hold the line!”

The village mobilized like a startled flock. Men snatched up weapons and ran, boots kicking snow in streaks of white. But the beasts were faster, arrows before bows. A vanguard had already burst into the village, splintering doors, dragging villagers from rooms, teeth red like berries in snow.

“Lucimia, do we help?” Desty burst from the hut, breath quick, eyes bright as steel.

She didn’t answer at once. Emotion tightened like a fist, then she opened her Magic Eye and swept the treeline. As expected—there. In the forest, a masked man crouched on a high branch like a night crow, his eyes glinting red.

“I’ll help here. You hunt the masked man. That direction—front to back, left to right, third row, fifth tree.” Lucimia spoke short and clean, then vanished with Instant Movement.

She had noticed the pattern. These beasts were clever, a pack flowing like a river. Those with fire affinity burned down the sharpened stakes, the ground beasts charged the gap, flyers skimmed low to harry.

Plain as frost on glass—that man was controlling them. The red glow in his eyes said special ability, not taming.

Of course. No one tames a whole forest. Some of those things were born storm and iron.

Desty would harry the puppeteer; Lucimia would drop a wide-area spell and cut the strings.

Two Instant Movements, and she stood atop a hut in the village center, a lone pine over a wind-swept ridge. She looked down.

Beasts had poured into homes. Villagers swung iron with desperate arms, breath clouding like smoke. Little Aili sobbed in a corner. White snow took streaks of crimson, a winter painting torn by claws.

Lucimia let out a sigh like a melting icicle, then drew a deep breath, belly and chest steady as a lake.

Power surged to her like a tide to shore. Snow on ground, roofs, and tree boughs stirred, restless as startled birds. She raised her right hand. The snow lifted, whirled around her in bright spirals. A hard wind rose, shouldering the snow until it sheeted over the village like a white veil.

The wind swept the clouds; the world turned all white. Branches thrashed like oars in a storm. Snow boiled in the air, and the day dimmed as if dusk had cupped the sun.

Vision blurred to milk-glass. Heavy flakes drove. Cold winds howled through alleys, leaving the village silvered like a blade.

Through that blur, Aili saw the figure on high—a girl standing where roofs meet sky, her clothes rippling like river grass, all the snow moving because she willed it.

Some beasts whimpered, courage draining like water from a cracked jar.

Others, those who could cast, spotted the caster on the roof and surged like wild sparks.

A bear-like brute bellowed, took her stance as a challenge. Its paw crackled with lightning like storm-wrapped vines, and it lunged for the roof.

Lucimia flicked it a glance, sharp as a knife. She sent the snow screaming. Flakes that should be soft turned to needles of winter. They bored through the bear’s skull cleanly. It fell without a cry, a felled tree in a white wood.

“S-so strong…” Aili whispered from behind a door, awe blooming like fire in frost.

The whole village became her circle. Countless flakes churned and seethed above, a white millstone grinding every beast that dared cross the threshold. The timid tried to flee like shadows at sunrise; she picked them off with pinpoint gusts.

This AOE blizzard was new. Before, her snow froze. Today, it cut.

And her blizzard wasn’t like other mages’. Their wide-area spells blew wild and hurt friend and foe. Hers threaded a needle. With fine control, she decided, flake by flake, what cut and what caressed.

So the snow that struck beasts pierced like icy spears. The snow that struck huts fell soft as down, nothing but a chill kiss.

The storm raged for dozens of seconds. When the last beast fell, she closed her hand and stilled the sky.

Snow settled like feathers. Gale slacked to breeze. The dim veil lifted, and sight cleared, bright as a polished mirror.

Aili looked up at the girl on the roof. Lucimia’s hair, lifted by the wind, drifted down strand by strand. She turned, and their gazes met. A shy canine tooth showed; she smiled, small as sunlight through leaves.

At that smile, Aili’s heart fluttered like a caged bird. A sudden wish rose like a spring—she wanted to learn magic.

While Lucimia was still here, she would beg her to teach her.

All around, villagers had watched the blizzard and stood hushed, awe and praise like a warm tide, shame pricking like nettles for the earlier blame.

“Thank you, Bloodkin young lady,” the village chief called, voice steady as a bell.

“Uh…” Lucimia scratched her cheek, heat creeping like dawn, then slid the topic aside. “I know who killed Malun. These beasts were controlled. He used a beast that can slip inside to assassinate Malun, pulled you off your posts, then struck the village through the gap.”

“What?! Such a thing?!” The chief’s shock leapt out like a startled stag.