Bandit hunting, as it turned out, was a lot like fishing in a barrel—if the barrel was half a country wide and the fish occasionally tried to stab you in the back.
Lara moved through the northern woods like a force of nature, and for a week, the bandits never stood a chance.
The first three she picked off in a single night, their campfire a beacon in the darkness.
She'd crept up through the trees, waiting until their guard drifted off, then crashed through their makeshift barricade with a blaze of yellow fire, the color bright and wild as dawn.
They surrendered before she could so much as scorch the hem of her cloak.
The next two had more grit. They'd barricaded themselves in an abandoned barn at the edge of a burned-out farmstead, hurling insults and old farm tools through the gaps in the boards.
Lara let them wear themselves out, then sent a ripple of fire around the foundation, not burning, just warming the wood enough to remind them that she could.
They bolted straight into her waiting arms. By the time she bound them, her smile felt almost genuine—clean work, no blood, nothing left for guilt to gnaw at later.
She left the captives in the care of the local militia, who looked at her with the wary awe reserved for those who were more legend than neighbor.
She supposed she was, in a way. Few demons made the journey this far north, and even fewer worked for the Celestian queen.
Only one bandit remained the so-called boss, clever enough to slip her net, bold enough to keep moving while the rest of his crew fell around him.
The locals spoke his name in whispers: Brandt, a former mercenary who'd gone rogue after the last war, rumored to have a pact with the monsters that haunted the hills.
Lara doubted the last part. Monsters had no patience for bandits. Still, Brandt was elusive, leaving only rumors and footprints, smoke from dying fires, the occasional scrap of dark fabric caught on a branch.
Tracking him was tedious, and though Lara relished the challenge, she longed for a clean fight—something worthy of her fire, not just her patience.
Her yellow flames had been a blessing in the woods silent when she needed, bright and hot as sunlight when things grew dangerous.
The old trees knew her, bent around her magic as if reaching for a warmth they'd forgotten.
Sometimes, Lara wondered if she was more at home here, with the tangled green and sharp wind, than she'd ever been in marble halls or royal bedrooms.
A letter from Sarisa would have been nice just a word, a question, anything to make the world less silent. But she told herself she didn't need it. The job was enough.
It was near dusk, four days since the last capture, when Lara caught Brandt's trail. The clues were finer now—a patch of turned earth behind an inn, a stolen loaf from a baker's window, a new set of muddy footprints along the river's bend.
She moved through the day with relentless efficiency, her mind emptying itself of old hurt and new worry until only the hunt remained.
Her path led through a cluster of villages strung like beads along the forest road. She stopped at each in turn, asking sharp questions, letting the bandit's fear do half her work for her.
At one cottage, an old woman pressed a hand to her chest, eyes wide with awe. "You're the demon lady, aren't you? The one with the fire?" She shook her head. "You'd think that fool would know better than to run."
Lara gave a lopsided grin. "You'd be surprised what fools think they can get away with."
She thanked the woman, accepting a bit of bread and a copper coin for luck, and pressed on.
By sunset, the trail narrowed to a single cart track winding up toward a stone outcrop an old lookout, ruined and overgrown.
She slowed her pace, letting the hush of twilight settle around her, every sense alert. Her footsteps made no sound on the mossy ground. She drew her sword, letting its weight ground her.
A flicker of movement caught her eye there, beyond a tangle of briars, a flash of brown cloth. Brandt. He moved with the careless desperation of someone at the end of his rope, clutching a small satchel, his shoulders hunched.
Lara stepped out into the open, fire dancing along her palm. "End of the line, Brandt."
He spun, eyes wild, mouth twisted in a snarl. "You—devil! I'll see you dead before I let you take me."
She raised her sword, yellow fire gleaming along the edge. "You can try."
Brandt lunged, swinging a battered dagger. Lara danced aside, barely using her blade, letting him wear himself out with every reckless thrust.
She circled him, fire flickering at her fingertips, her body a study in economy and control. Brandt was strong, but his movements grew wild—he was desperate, no longer clever.
Finally, she caught his wrist, twisting until the dagger clattered to the stones. She forced him to his knees, binding his hands with a length of rope from her satchel. His curses echoed off the stones, more wounded pride than real rage.
"Why'd you keep running?" Lara asked, genuinely curious. "You could've saved yourself some bruises."
He spat at her feet. "I don't run from monsters. And you—you're just another one wearing a pretty face."
Lara smiled, sharp as broken glass. "Maybe. But I'm the monster that's letting you live."
She marched him back to the nearest village, where the grateful mayor promised to keep him locked up until the royal guard arrived.
The villagers gathered in the square, murmuring thanks and pressing gifts on Lara—a basket of apples, a tiny carved bird, a handful of wildflowers from a shy child.
She accepted each with a nod, feeling both awkward and oddly touched.
With the last bandit caged, Lara's shoulders eased for the first time in days. The job was done, and she had the letter to prove it—scribbled quickly in the mayor's office, sealed with the town's clumsy stamp. She sent it off with the first courier she could find.
Bandits gone. Coming home soon. Save me some of those honey cakes. — L
She stepped into the local tavern, grateful for the warmth and the chance to be still. The place was crowded but friendly, filled with laughter and the heavy scents of roast meat and mulled wine.
Lara found a seat near the fire, nursing a mug of spiced cider and letting the ache in her muscles settle into something close to contentment.
For the first time in a long while, she let herself relax, listening to the lull of conversation, the scrape of mugs on wood.
A group of children darted past, their eyes wide when they saw the demon lady with the yellow fire.
She grinned, waving at them. One dared to wave back before darting behind his mother's skirts.
Night deepened. Lara watched the flames dance, her mind drifting—Sarisa, Aliyah, Kaelith, the impossibility of coming home to something unchanged.
She wondered if anyone missed her, if Sarisa was waiting by the window, if Aliyah had tried to sneak a sword out of the armory.
She was halfway through her cider when the ground began to tremble.
It started as a low shudder, barely enough to stir the mugs on the table. Then the floorboards rattled, the fire hissed, and a collective hush swept the room.
Outside, a scream rang out. The villagers bolted to the windows, faces pressed against the glass. Lara was already moving, sword in hand, every sense thrumming with warning.
She burst out into the street. The night air was thick with smoke, and the sky to the north glowed with a sullen, unnatural light.
And then—she saw it.
A massive shape moved at the edge of the village, scales black as coal, eyes burning with sickly green fire.
The rogue dragon was twice the size of a house, its tail lashing, its jaws dripping molten flame. It moved with the terrible grace of a storm, each step sending fresh tremors through the earth.
Villagers screamed and scattered, fleeing toward cellars and doorways. Lara planted herself in the middle of the street, fire roaring along her arms.
The dragon lifted its head, nostrils flaring, eyes locking onto Lara's silhouette. For a heartbeat, time froze—the world reduced to the heat of her magic and the cold hunger of the beast before her.
Lara squared her shoulders, grinning despite the fear that raced down her spine.
"Well," she muttered, "guess the real fun's about to start."
The dragon bellowed, flame spilling from its jaws, and the night exploded into chaos.