The day was thick with swarms of mosquitos, the stench of trash and feces, and the annoyance of peasants yanked from their jobs only minutes ago to attend the proclamation from the castle.

When the Town Crier stepped up on the tall wooden box, a wave of whispers crossed the crowd. Some nudged their friends; others pushed forward. Though they couldn't afford this time away from their jobs, they still were hungry for news from a life they'd never know. It had been months since the last message came straight from the castle, and they were hoping for some juicy gossip that could break up the monotony of their life.

The crier rang her bell, effectively silencing the crowd without a word. She made a big show of unrolling her scroll, letting the silence stretch on and on and on.

"Hear ye, hear ye," she finally began. "Our beloved ruler and leader, His Highness King Rupert the Brave, has died two days past."

She paused, maybe waiting for cries of mourning, or perhaps dramatic effect. All she got in return was a stunned silence. Pan surveyed the crowd from his position smack dab in the middle, somewhat uncomfortable to be out in the open without a covering. He forced himself to relax, reminding himself that he'd never be seen.

Most of the people around him were smiling at the news, but the smiles were hidden behind coughs, hands, or a quick duck of the head. Someone let out a wail, which seemed to make the crier feel better, for she held her scroll up again and continued.

"After mass on the morrow, an heir will be chosen from the King's will. He will be crowned quickly – "

Something sailed through the air and struck the crier right between her eyes. All was quiet for a second, and then she began to bleed, great rivulets of blood that streamed down to her lips. She gasped, her eyes wide, and she dropped her scroll, jumping off the pedestal and ducking behind the knights sent to guard her.

"It's about time!" someone yelled, and another rock flew. This time it crashed into one of the knights, straight on the nose, sending a gushing stream of blood down his chin.

Pan spotted the instigator within seconds; he was already pulling his arm back for another throw. The boy was only a couple of people behind him, wearing a black cloak with the hood pulled low over his eyes. Even with the hood on, Pan could see traces of wild red hair, so bright it was painfully obvious that it was not natural.

The redhead let the rock fly, but this time the knights were ready. All four dropped as one, unable to accurately determine which knight it would hit next. Instead of striking one of the knights it sailed harmlessly over their heads and crumbled against the wall of the inn behind them. With a quiet gasp, Pan realized the redhead had been shooting to kill this time.

The third rock was like a trigger. Someone screamed. Another shoved Pan.

All hell broke loose.

Chaos was the only word Pan could use to describe the scene. Most people were trying to leave the town square, but Pan could see people taking food, throwing rocks, and breaking the few windows that graced the town square. Horror squeezed his insides. The people couldn't afford to repair the damage, especially not after the obscene new tax law.

One of the citizens shoved Pan out of his thoughts. A bolt of adrenaline shot down Pan's spine and he swung a fist at the random man without thinking. In the split second before his fist made contact, Pan thought what the hell am I doing? He was able to pull his punch enough that he only grazed the man's cheek.

Before the man could retaliate, Pan ducked into the crowd, beginning to make his way toward the edges of the violent mob. He was largely able to slip through the gaps between people unscathed. Being shorter than average sometimes did have its advantages.

He was almost at the end when a little girl fell next to him.

Trying to get to her was like moving through molasses. Pan could still see her, only inches away from him, but every time he lunged toward her, he got shoved back. He was so close that he could see tears snaking down her face, and he saw the moment she spotted him. Her eyes lit up and she desperately shoved herself up to her hands and knees.

Pan reached out for her. She was kicked back to the ground.

So small. So weak. Unable to fight against her oppressors.

Her mouth stretched open in a silent scream. Pan began kicking and punching the people around him, helpless as blood dribbled out of her mouth.

He was close enough. He reached down; his fingers closed around her wrist...

The crowd was getting desperate. Shrieking echoed throughout the square. And as his fingers closed, he was shoved back again, pulled along with the mob as they stormed toward the exits behind him.

The redheaded instigator burst through the crowd on the other side, moving along with the ocean of people, unlike Pan. He was screaming something unintelligible as his wild, light green eyes met Pan's. Pan waved his arms, then pointed at the girl, who he could no longer see.

He looked down. His wild look softened almost instantly to dismay, and then he disappeared.

See what your actions have done, Pan thought bitterly as though the redhead could hear him, his stomach and eyes burning. The mob pushed him through one of the many streets branching out of the town square. Shoving through the crowd sideways was easier than against, and he managed to yank himself away and duck into the doorway of John's butcher shop.

The boy wasn't very tall, but Pan spotted him easily through a crowd full of darker hair. He was holding onto the girl with a death grip, knuckles white against her arms and legs. Thankfully, he wasn't deep in the crowd, and Pan was able to reach out and pull him into the doorway.

He shifted the girl over into Pan's arms, and Pan tried not to think about how still she was as the redhead kicked John's door open.

"Bring her in," he shouted, keeping the door open for Pan.

Pan set her gently on the table, brushing her dress down and pushing the hair out of her eyes. He forced himself to focus, ignored the dark bruises coloring her face, and tenderly swept his hand up and down her body, searching for broken bones.

With each sweep of his hands, his eyebrows fell lower, until he was glowering at the girl unintentionally. Both arms were broken. Ribs? Very much so. Legs? Undoubtably.

Pan was surprised she was even breathing. He took a long, slow, deep breath to focus himself.

"Stop pacing," he snapped, staring at the little girl in front of him. She had to be six, maybe seven, and Pan raked a hand through his hair.

The redhead didn't stop. He only muttered something explicit and continued his trek, his breathing quickening with each step.

Magic could work, Pan thought, eyeing the girl, who had decided to become blurry. Pan quickly wiped his eyes before the redhead could see and he lay his hands softly on the girl's legs. She didn't even flutter an eyelash.

Magic was folly, and he knew it. Still, he took a deep gulp of air and closed his eyes, focusing on the bones he could feel under his hand.

As he felt her bones knit back together, he felt his strength leave him. He was only seconds in and his arms wobbled like wet noodles; pain shot up his legs, giving him a small fraction of the girl's pain.

"What are you doing?"

Pan's eyes flew open and he jumped, stumbled, and fell to his back. His entire body was trembling, and his stomach turned.

He didn't have to look at the little girl to know his plan had failed. Instead of taking the redhead's proffered hand, Pan rolled to his side with a low snarl, punching the ground as hard as he could. Then, frustrated with his lack of magical strength and inability to hit the floor hard enough to hurt his fist, he punched again.

It wasn't even enough to scratch his knuckles.

Burning with resentment, Pan smacked the boy's outstretched hand. "This is your fault," he snapped, struggling to pull himself to his feet and ignoring the boy's attempts to help. "I'm fine! Leave me alone."

"I'm –" the boy began, but Pan, already annoyed at his voice, popped him straight on the nose. Pan shook his hand as the boy stumbled back, eyes wide, cupping his nose gently.

After Pan gave him a few seconds to recover, he clenched his fists. "Come on, coward," he snapped. "Fight me."

The boy didn't answer; he only wiped the blood off his lip.

Pan lunged forward, slower than usual because of the magic he'd used, and the boy dodged to the side, easily slipping past Pan's outstretched arms. With a curse, Pan turned and followed him. This time he didn't give the boy a chance to dodge; he tackled him with a flying leap.

They hit the floor hard. Pan quickly blinked the disorientation away and straddled the boy, his fists a hurricane of violence, hitting anywhere and everywhere he could as the boy threw up his arms to protect his face.

"Fight back, damn it!" Pan yelled, finally managing to land a solid blow near the boy's eye, finally eliciting a cry of pain from the boy.

Hot tears streamed down Pan's face before he could stop them and he dropped his head into his hands, chest heaving.

Seconds passed, each one as slow as a year as Pan's tears mixed with the boy's blood, painting the butcher's floor. Neither of them seemed to be able to catch their breath, filling the achingly loud silence with their panting.

"She's dying," the boy whispered, slowly bringing his arms down as though he was afraid of startling Pan.

Pan's eyes burned and his throat closed as he glanced over at the girl, every inch of him furious that he couldn't do more. What was the point of having magic if he couldn't use it?

The boy shifted underneath him, and with a start, Pan realized he was still straddling the boy. Immediately, Pan slid off him, his face burning.

"We should be with her," Pan murmured, oddly worried that if he spoke louder it would hurt her more. Sluggishly, Pan pulled himself to his feet, then reached down and helped the boy up. Though Pan was still angry, he didn't want to face her pain alone, so he held the boy up and limped over to her.

Once Pan's eyes fell on the girl, he nearly forgot about the boy entirely. She was so delicate; so small; so innocent and undeserving of this brutal death. Tears sprung to life once more and he bowed his head, taking one of her small hands in his. If he couldn't heal her, then he could help her with her agony and let her pass peacefully.

To focus his magic he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it back out with a shudder as the rest of his strength left him. His knees buckled as her pain slammed through her hand and down his arm, pounding through his body like a rainstorm beating against mountains. Pan bit off a groan, dropping like a stone against the boy, who barely kept them both off the floor.

"Hey," the boy said, his voice strained. He shook Pan's arm urgently.

Pan opened his eyes and looked down, meeting the girl's open, cloudy gray-blue eyes. She appeared to be confused, staring at him with her eyebrows lowered, and Pan let out a choked sob, bringing his bloody hand to his mouth.

"Oh my god," he whispered. "You're okay. You're gonna be okay."

He knew it to be a lie, but she gave him a smile as small as she was, and he squeezed her hand gently. With a low grunt, he shoved himself off the boy to stand on his own, even as his legs shook like a newborn foal.

"We're here to help you. What's your name?"

"Cecily," she murmured, closing her eyes again with a little sniff. "I like your hair."

The boy dropped his head at her voice. "My name is Phoenix," he said, his voice shaking as hard as his body. "We'll take care of you."

She didn't open her eyes, but she smiled. "Okay."

With one last shudder, she stilled. Pan fought to catch his breath as his connection with her was brutally severed, and he grabbed Phoenix's shoulder, fighting to keep his feet underneath him when the floor began to sway. Distantly, he watched as Phoenix frantically check Cecily's heart.

He watched as Phoenix's mouth opened. Though Phoenix's voice was as warped as wet paper, Pan could read his lips.

"Cecily."

"Cecily."

"I'm sorry."

He watched as Phoenix's shoulders slumped.

He watched as Phoenix smashed his fist against the wooden table, sending splinters and a spray of blood through the air.

He watched as Phoenix's eyes darkened.

He watched as Phoenix spun toward him, and then he realized he was not standing anymore. And as Phoenix slid to his knees next to Pan, Pan's eyes shut.

"Come on, Drian, it's time to strike! We've barely got any time before they appoint the new king. The kingdom is unstable. It's now or never."

Marcia was leaning forward over a table in The Bearded Mouse, the best local pub in the city. Her voice was quiet, but Adrian still flinched at her bold words. Marcia knew that Adrian wouldn't like her plan and would probably shut her down, but she still wanted to push him forward. I bet he's regretting his decision to come into town today, she thought with a smirk.

Adrian didn't speak as he nursed a small cup of thin ale. Marcia could tell he wasn't really listening to her, and so she smacked his arm.

"Adrian, stop ignoring me."

"I'm not ignoring you, I just. . .think we should have at least a small plan, don't you?"

"I have a plan. Sneak in, kill anyone who looks royal, then take over. I think it's great."

Adrian gave her his best "shut up or I'll punch you" look, which they both knew was an empty threat, but she still slumped in her chair.

"That's a great joke," he said with a loud laugh, then leaned in. "Marcia, we are in public. Keep your mouth shut. We'll talk about this later."

Marcia rolled her eyes, but her mouth twisted in embarrassment. Sure, she was whispering, but she knew that it was still safer to be quiet.

"I wonder how the mob started," Adrian muttered, changing the subject with such finality that Marcia knew her debate was over. She let it go for now, following Adrian's eyes toward a small group of people with ripped and bloody clothes. Though it had been a day since the riot, they hadn't been able to buy new clothes, or wash the ones they were wearing. Honestly, they probably didn't even have a change of clothes. Marcia's heart broke for them and she forced herself to stop staring.

All she knew for sure was that the town crier had been speaking about the death of the king, someone threw some rocks, the crowd went crazy, and two of the knights died fighting their way out of the thick of it. Rumors were everywhere – the people believed that this was the rebel's doing, which would have been a great idea, except that they hadn't planned a riot. She even checked with Adrian, who assured her he had sent no one to stir up trouble.

Adrian continued with venom in his voice, bringing her out of her thoughts. "If I ever meet this person, I'll turn him in immediately. Because of him, they're going to crack down on us. I suspect they'll start searching tonight. Most of us will have to go back into hiding, and it's all his fault."

"Why do you assume this person is male?" Marcia asked, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair.

Adrian shook his head, taking another sip of his drink. "Why must you always be like this," he murmured. "Look, I don't care who did it, but they put us in serious jeopardy."

The bard in the corner began another song, and this one was mournful, sinking its claws deep into her heart and bringing up memories that she wished she could forget. Her eyes welled with tears, but she refused to let them fall, instead taking Adrian's ale and drinking the rest. He didn't say anything about it, but he did frown his patented puppy-dog look at his empty cup.

Just before Marcia decided to go tell the bard to play a different song, a woman slid into the seat next to her.

"Hello," she said, adjusting her red waistcoat. Marcia caught a glimpse of a gleaming sword pommel, and she paled. "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation –"

– Adrian glared at Marcia, who's face felt like it was burning up –

"– and I wanted to know if I could join you."

"I don't know what you heard, ma'am, but it was entirely wrong. You see, my sister hallucinates sometimes, and I go along with them, otherwise she could get violent. She has crazy mood swings." He sighed, far too dramatically in Marcia's opinion, and shook his head as though he was in pain.

Marcia's lips twisted, and she pretended she hadn't heard him. Better to go along with his story, she supposed, but she would get her revenge later.

The woman didn't seem to believe them, but she nodded gracefully. "Very well," she said. "Well, my name is Montgomery –"

Before Montgomery could finish her sentence, Marcia leaned over and took her hand.

"Ah, mother, you have returned, I see. Did you bring the radishes?"

Montgomery's eyebrows shot up and she pried Marcia's fingers off her hand. "I'm not –"

Adrian grabbed Marcia's other arm. "Yes, mother brought the radishes. They're outside waiting for us."

Marcia widened her own eyes and gasped. "Someone could steal them! We need to go get them."

With a nod at Montgomery, Adrian stood, bringing Marcia up with him. "It is getting late, ma'am. Thank you for your riveting conversation, but we must be going."

The bard's haunting music stopped just before the door swung open again.

Adrian sat back down immediately, grabbing his mug and ducking his head as six knights filed in. One of them was holding a scroll, which they unraveled and nailed to the wall, much to the pub owner's dismay.

The lead knight, a man with brown hair and a swollen nose, began to speak. "If anyone knows the whereabouts of the riot starter, now is the time to come forward! The reward is enough money to feed your family for an entire year."

The silence after he spoke stretched for an uncomfortable amount of time. Marcia gave Adrian a look, with her eyebrows raised, and he nodded.

"Any clues, to the man's location or his appearance, will get you a reward as well," the knight finally continued. As soon as the words left his mouth, people began to stand, shouting over each other as they rushed at the knights.

"One at a time!" the knight yelled, but the peasants were too excited to wait.

"Red hair –"

"– kind of short –"

"– thought he had black hair –"

"– he was male –"

"– I was right next to him; he was wearing a black cloak –"

"– an eyepatch –"

Adrian met Marcia's panicked eyes and he gave her a reassuring smile. "We'll have to wait this out," he mouthed, and she nodded reluctantly, turning back to watch the knight who had mostly regained order by threatening jailtime. Most everyone in the pub had lined up to give clues, real or fake, blocking the door and making for a suspicious exit if they tried now.

Marcia's gut twisted as she settled back in her chair, ready for a long stay.

Hello again guys! I hope I'm not rushing too much lmao I feel like I am. I know I just wrote a riot but man am I excited for the bar fight that's uhhh totally not happening nothing to see here move along. Anyway I love and appreciate you guys a whole bunch ❤❤❤ thank you for giving me attention I love you guys hahahahahahahahahahahaha okay sorry. Someday this story will be funny don't worry about that. ❤❤💕💕

Characters

Pan ~ dr0wning_in_w0rds

Phoenix ~ moi

Jenson Falkaner (cameo) ~ Ash_Black

Marcia Juavez ~ epicredpenn

Adrian Strider ~ Toilken4Life

Lilith Montgomery ~ Calliopes_Muse

Lucas Avftyr (cameo) ~ sapphire10fun