A boy beat his fists helplessly against the rock. "Let us out! Please!"
But the soldier only laughed.
He took a step forward, raising his hand. "This next spell will melt your bones. I'll start with the slowest one first."
He gathered energy between his fingers, a malicious grin twisting his face.
But in that moment—before the spell could be cast, before the scream could leave the girl's throat, before death could claim even a second more of innocence—something shifted in the air.
A gust of wind. A flicker of orange light.
Then—bam—he felt it, a presence behind him, Cold. Calm. Furious.
"You're not touching them," a voice said—low and resolute.
The soldier froze, his breath catching.
He turned his head slowly… and there stood Jonathan. His eyes gleamed with unshakable fire. His body pulsed with orange energy that cracked the ground beneath his feet. And his fists—already clenched—were glowing like the wrath of a thousand storms waiting to be unleashed.
