"In the alleyway!" Albert called in between staggered breaths, his chest puffing in exertion and his feet slapped against the pavement with heavy thuds.

I glanced ahead to my left, realizing that it wasn't really an alleyway, but rather a sliver of space in between an open clothes shop overrun with an array of racks cluttered with a variety of mismatched apparel, and a tattered apartment complex with looming, cylindrical towers next to the main body that spiraled up like the frosting on a cake.

Except it was like someone had taken a lick on the side, some of the bricks and windows crumbling.

One by one we shuffled into the alleyway, Matilda and Ken first but as I took a long stride forward, a puddle grasped at my feet and slammed them against the wet pavement. My hands shot out instinctively, but I recoiled and landed with a thud on my chest, eyes bugging out and gasping for air like a deflated balloon.

Albert had just rushed into the alleyway, a wild expression flickering on his face, but seeing I had slipped he immediately hurried to my side and offered a hand.

I wanted to scream they're after you, not me, but I didn't need to whip my head around to know it was too late to do so. The scattered footsteps had grown to jumbled thuds that sprinkled a shower of water droplets over my head as I shakily stood up.

"C'mon, let's go—" Albert's voice was cut short as my feet fell out beneath me, but not from a mischievous puddle on the ground.

A firm strike sent me tumbling into the clothes shop, and I landed headfirst into a cushion of woolen sweaters that clung onto my shirt like a colony of bees swarming a luscious meadow adorned with colorful flowers and trembling grass. Flailing at the sweaters frivolously, a golden beak peeked from between the folds of clothes and tugged the fuzzy sweater off my head, my gasps for air interrupted by a shrill cry that could have shattered windows.

Camila froze, the whir of grinding gears diminished to a gentle hum as she located the source of the screams. Following her gaze, I nearly choked on my tongue as quiet sobs escaped from Albert's disfigured form, the tattooed man planting a fist into his already purple face.

"Where is the money?!" He shouted, landing a flurry of punches and a firm kick to the groin that accentuated his booming voice. Spit spewed from his bloody lip as he jutted out his ragged face, sprinkling a bit of salt on the many wounds that bound Albert in a fetal position.

"I-I swear I'll have it by next week," A tremor overtook him and hot tears sprang from his eyes, smearing his bloodied face as they streamed down his cheeks. "I have plenty of buyers that I just haven't had the time to reach out to—"

"Liar!" The man snarled, twisting the word so much that seemed foreign to me. He raised his boot, an ironclad beauty that had seen the world on what it stood on, and drilled it into Albert's exposed side. "That's what you said last week, and here we are."

A sickening crunch racked my head as the man continued his pummelling, a blur of punches and kicks accompanied by splotches of blood and cries of agony straight from the heart. From the heart! The man leaned back, flexed his bulging arm strewn with pulsing veins, and aimed it at the center of Albert's crumpled form.

I couldn't watch, I knew, but...

Before I could stand up, the whir of gears next to me grew to a deafening whir as red and gold streaked through the air; Camila was an arrow that had her sights on one target: the smug grin on the man's face that begged to be wiped off the face of Attera.

The man shot out his fist, only to be stopped by a flash of gold: the cardinal chomped down on his meaty finger with all the strength her gears could muster and the man yelped in pain, swinging his swollen finger wildly.

"Get this stupid bird off of me, you idiots," he glared at his wide-eyed cronies, who scrambled to wrench his finger from Camila's iron grip.

Yet the skinny one, a batch of neatly cropped brown hair, managed to free the man from Camila's clutches with a firm tug and swatted her to the side like a pesky fly. She skittered along the pavement, stopped by the scattered clothes along the shop floor. The amber glow in her eyes had diminished, and as she stood up shakily, she wrapped her feathers protectively around her body and her beak seemed to quiver in fear.

The man grunted, a minimal means to thank his friend, before a callous smile tugged at his lips when he returned to Albert's retreating form. Rubbing his swollen index finger, bite marks etched deeply into the flesh, he curled his fingers gently into a brawny fist coated in a layer of thick hair.

No! I lunged forward, only to trip as Camila's beak caught the hem of my pants.

"Let me go!" I screamed, a boiling heat coursing through my veins allowing me to free myself from her grip—or perhaps it was because I outweighed her a hundredfold.

Limping towards the man, the heat pulsing in my arms spread to my wrists, the familiar tingling sensation pricking my skin. Just let it all go, I thought, closing my eyes and extending my hands so that a flame could engulf the man and send him to rot in the pits of hell, where fire raked at your skin and tiny mouths lacking a body nibbled at your smoldered soul.

Only that it was like flame engulfed me, eating hungrily at my flesh and my... hands. My eyes sprang open, darting around wildly before landing on what remained of blood-stained bandages that had erupted into a volcano of blood and ripped latex-coated paper.

A searing pain ripped through the middle of my palms and a guttural cry escaped my lips as I staggered into the street, a trail of blood trickling behind me. My mind reeled as I groped for support, the world a blur of colors and shapes as I collapsed to the ground, my fall broken by Ken's firm grasp.

He fished what seemed to be a match out of his pocket, lighting it with one hand and shoving it into my mouth. I gagged at the coarse, bitter wood that scratched at the roof of my mouth but the flame slowly ate at it, turning it into a mushy goop of slightly smokey flavor that tickled my tongue and instantly lifted my head.

"What was that?" I murmured, licking the inside of my mouth as the fiery sensation melted on my tongue.

"The last of my emergency matches which happen to serve well as painkillers," Ken said as he helped me up. "Now, you must promise me not to use your magic with those hands of yours."

"W-why not?" I stammered, but a glance at my bloody hands told half the story.

"Magic courses through your bloodstream," he explained. "And without sufficient flesh to mitigate the intensity of the flame, the direct exposure in which it travels from the blood overwhelms the body—so much that one may succumb to death within a few seconds."

"Then can't you save him?" I spat, daring to glance at Albert's bruised figure, a mountain of purple bumps scattered along his face. "Your hands aren't a freaking blood waterfall!"

"That's not the problem," He muttered, but set a deadly gaze on the tattooed man. With a battle cry to rival the strongest warriors, he leaped forward and extended his hands, fueling a devouring flame that frayed the air and looked to have swallowed the man. Only that a sudden gust of air seemed to wrap itself around the flame, snuffing it out so that only wisps of smoke remained.

"You're newcomers, huh? If you haven't already figured it out, we rule the streets around here," The man said as he shoved him aside with a blast to the chest, Ken's back arching as he tumbled through the air and landed with a piercing crack on his side.

"W-hat happened?" I practically screamed.

"No..." he retreated, cowering under the overhang of the shop. "It's what I feared. He's an air mage, exceptional enough to counter a direct flame. I-I'm sorry."

"For what?" I hissed and hobbled towards him so that my face was only inches away from his.

I searched his dark eyes for a hint of sympathy, but he only gave me a glum stare that almost drowned me in sadness. "I wasn't able to fulfill your father's promise, to protect you despite anything."

Struggling to form coherent sentences, I grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to ruse him from whatever trance he was in, but only succeeded in making him collapse against a rack of clothes, clutching his bruised side. He shook his head disappointedly, perhaps in me, but something told me that he blamed himself more.

I shook my head angrily, spitting at the floor. If he couldn't, then I would. Forming a bloody fist, I lunged forward and landed a punch against a snake tattoo that stared at me with huge eyeballs, but my celebration was short-lived as the silver-haired man leaped at me and knocked a deadly wind into my stomach—and a wind out of my stomach. I stumbled backward, landing in someone's arms.

"Matilda?" She put a finger to my lips, shushing me.

"If we don't stay alive, how do you think we'll find the flame keeper?" She said, "Besides, we've already had enough trouble on our tails. Lie low, avoid confrontation, that's how we survive."

"Albert's our only way to get the passports, though!" I protested, but one look at her unwavering gaze that seemed to burn into mine told me she wouldn't budge.

"I suppose so... But, no guide will be any use to us if we're dead," She gave me a shrug, nudging the defeated cloud that hovered over us, and gestured for Ken and me to follow her. "We should get going before they set their greedy sights on us—"

Her sentence was cut short as the skinny man dashed towards us, a crazed grin plastered on his face, and he would have smashed my face had not Matilda shoved me to the ground.

I was powerless, Ken trembled as he clutched his wound, and Matilda barely held on as she parried the man's flurry of attacks, a hooked blast of air knocking her to the ground as he feigned a fatal punch.

A blur of brown skittered across the ground, landing at the man's feet. Matilda's eyes widened as he plucked the coin pouch off the stone, wrinkling his nose as he studied the contents.

"What's this?" He murmured to himself as he pulled out the emblem, then tucked it back into the pouch. "Eh, it'll sell for a few gold."

Matilda opened her mouth to protest that it wasn't just a pretty piece of metal; it was our ticket to the airship and to the flame keeper. Yet that would have only made him tuck it further away from our grasp.

"The emblem..." She stammered, reaching for my hand to steady herself. I looked over at Camila, as if her adamant pecking and clawing at the man's pocket would do any good beside being flung to the side like a worthless fly.

She could plow through rough waters and slashing rain, but this time, she was going against the very thing that made her soar. Her wings had been torn like our bodies had been maimed.