Harvis had been gone for a days, venturing into the wilds beyond Eldoria to gather rare herbs and resources for the restaurant. The journey had been uneventful, a peaceful escape from the bustling life of the town. But as he neared Eldoria's outskirts, his world shifted.
The acrid stench of smoke and blood filled his senses.
The town was burning.
Screams of agony and terror rang through the air. The cries of the innocent, the clash of steel, and the crackling of fire painted a scene of devastation. Then, amidst the chaos, a familiar voice cut through the noise—Lily's scream.
She was calling for Alex.
Harvis halted. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He stretched his senses outward, feeling the chaotic flow of movement within the town. He could hear Alex's ragged breathing, sense the pain in his broken body. Liz stood farther away, poised like a coiled spring, ready to engage. But she wasn't moving yet.
Because she was afraid.
Not of the bandits. But of him.
His fingers clenched around the strap of his supply bag, leather creaking under the pressure. He exhaled slowly, his breath steady despite the fury boiling beneath his calm exterior.
Then, he walked forward.
The town square was a battlefield of carnage. Garrick the Redfang stood among the corpses, a satisfied smirk on his lips as his men looted, slaughtered, and burned. He turned as the presence of another entered the scene—a young man with dark blue hair, a blindfold covering his eyes, stepping onto the bloodstained cobblestones.
Harvis.
Garrick's smirk widened. "Well, well. The blind pup returns." His voice dripped with mockery. "Did you get lost in the woods, little boy?"
The bandits roared with laughter. Some pointed, jeering at the newcomer who had walked into their domain as if he owned it.
Liz, still a few meters away, stiffened. Her hands trembled slightly.
She knew what was coming.
Garrick tilted his head, stepping closer. "Tell me, what's a blind fool like you going to do?" He grinned, spreading his arms. "You can't even see what's happening around you! Why don't you turn around and—"
"Enough."
The single word was not loud, yet it cut through the air like a blade.
The jeering stopped. The air grew heavy, as if the town itself was holding its breath.
Garrick's grin faltered. A strange chill crept down his spine. His instincts screamed at him, though he couldn't understand why.
Then, he heard it.
The whispers of the surviving townspeople. Soft, fearful murmurs. Not of him. Not of his bandits.
But of Harvis.
"The storm… it's here."
The blindfolded man took another step forward, his hands slipping into his pockets. He was unarmed. Vulnerable. And yet, the sheer presence he exuded sent waves of unease through those who faced him.
One bandit, eager to reclaim the bravado that had been stolen by silence, sneered and lunged forward, blade raised.
He never made it.
The sound of a single step echoed, and the air shifted violently. Before anyone could blink, the charging bandit's body twisted unnaturally midair, his limbs contorting as if an invisible force had seized him. A second later, he was flung backward, slamming into a burning building with a sickening crunch. His corpse slid to the ground, lifeless.
Harvis had not moved from his spot.
The laughter died completely.
Garrick's eyes darkened. His instincts had been right—this man was dangerous. And yet, he refused to acknowledge the fear creeping into his heart. Instead, he took another step forward, brandishing his crimson blade.
"You think you scare me, boy?" Garrick growled, though his voice lacked the confidence from before. "You're just one man."
Harvis tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating the words. Then, he exhaled again.
The temperature in the air plummeted.
Wind howled through the streets, twisting unnaturally in violent gusts. The flames that had consumed Eldoria flickered, struggling against an unseen force. The bodies littering the ground shifted, as if drawn toward the blindfolded man.
Liz inhaled sharply. She had seen this before. A memory surfaced—one she had buried deep.
A battlefield. A ruined city. And Harvis, standing alone amidst the wreckage.
Back then, she had witnessed what happened when he unleashed his fury. It had not been a battle.
It had been a calamity.
Garrick's men hesitated now. The bravado that had fueled their slaughter was gone, replaced by something else. Something primal.
Fear.
And then, Harvis spoke.
"Leave."
His voice carried an unnatural weight, each syllable pressing into the bones of those who heard it. The command was not a request. It was absolute.
The bandits wavered, their hands gripping their weapons tightly. Some took an instinctive step back. Others looked to Garrick, waiting for his response.
Garrick snarled. He refused to be intimidated. He was Garrick the Redfang. He had butchered warriors, slaughtered nobles, and conquered towns.
He would not be cowed by a blindfolded boy.
"You want me to run?" He spat. "You think you can just—"
Harvis raised his hand.
The air screamed.
Garrick's words died in his throat as an invisible force gripped him. His body lifted off the ground, weightless yet utterly helpless. His eyes widened in shock. His men stumbled back, panic erupting.
And then, Harvis clenched his fist.
The pressure surrounding Garrick intensified. His bones creaked, his limbs twitching violently as unseen hands crushed him from all sides. His once-confident expression twisted in agony.
"I warned you," Harvis murmured.
Liz turned away. She knew how this would end.
With a final, deafening crack, Garrick's body contorted unnaturally before imploding inward. Blood sprayed across the cobblestones, his remains falling lifelessly to the ground.
Silence followed.
The bandits, once so confident, now stood paralyzed in horror. Their leader—the invincible Redfang—was gone, snuffed out like an insect.
Harvis slowly turned his head toward them. Though they couldn't see his eyes behind the blindfold, they felt the weight of his gaze.
"Leave," he repeated. "Or die."
They did not hesitate this time. Weapons clattered to the ground as the bandits fled in all directions, tripping over themselves in their desperate attempts to escape the nightmare they had awakened.
The storm had passed.
As the last bandit disappeared into the night, Harvis exhaled softly. The unnatural pressure in the air faded, the winds settling.
Liz approached carefully, her steps hesitant. She looked at him, studying his face for any lingering traces of that terrifying presence.
But Harvis simply sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "That was a mess," he muttered. "I just wanted to make stew tonight."
Liz exhaled, shaking her head. The calamity was over.
For now.