They Betrayed Me So I Summoned The Leviathan

Katsu pushed himself up, his boots scraping the snow.

His breath came out in uneven bursts, every one shocking his lungs.

There was nothing left where the house had stood.

Just black.

Broken beams.

Ash still falling like a second snow.

Katsu stumbled forward. The world pressed in, thick with burned air.

Charred wood crumbled under his feet. The place where his father should have been was just a shallow hollow, rimmed in gray.

There was no body.

Only a deep, spreading scorch where the fire had eaten everything.

He moved without thinking, knees catching in the snow. He dropped to the ground and pressed his hands into the powder, digging, searching. Nothing but wet earth beneath.

He heard shouts. Sharp, clipped, too close. Footsteps in the trees, men moving quick.

Assassins.

His hand shook. He grabbed a fistful of snow, squeezing it tight. The chill bit deep.

He looked up at the fire. It was still burning, the heat wild, hungry. He hurled the snow at it.

The world shifted. He felt it through his whole arm, a bright ache. The snow hit the flames.

The snow turned into water, not by melting but by magic. Katsu's magic.

Frost bloomed out from where the snow landed, crawling fast.

His palm glowed blue for a second. It faded, but the numbness stayed in his fingers.

He pulled back. His thoughts caught on the edge of panic.

Don't use it. Not unless you have to. Never let them see you.

He wiped his hand on his coat, tried to steady his breathing.

The edge of the woods rattled with movement. Branches shook.

A man in black stepped out, sword drawn. Another followed, quieter, holding a short spear.

Katsu's body moved before his mind caught up.

He crouched low, sliding his foot in the snow, eyes on their hands.

The first assassin rushed him.

Katsu's fingers twitched. He gripped the cold, twisted his wrist, felt something snap in the air.

A line of frost streaked from his hand, catching the man in the chest. The man gasped, stumbled, dropped his sword.

Katsu closed the distance and struck him across the jaw with the flat of his palm. The body dropped, silent.

The second man shouted, rushing him with the spear.

Katsu sidestepped, ducked, swept his leg behind him. Momentum flipping the man down hard.

The spear snapped against a rock.

Katsu's palm hovered over the man's throat. He muttered words he barely remembered learning; his breath fogged out, wrapping the man's head in a white cloud. The man struggled, then stilled.

Another two came at him from behind.

Katsu spun, boots slipping. His hand shot out, palm flat; a rush of wind cracked through the trees, slamming into the first man, sending him tumbling. The other hesitated, blade shaking.

Katsu looked at him, feeling the old lessons rising up. Every motion fixed, remembered.

He took a step forward, set his jaw.

The man swung. Katsu caught the blade in his hand. Cold shot through him, and the sword's edge glazed over with frost, metal snapping.

He drove his fist forward, heat searing his knuckles; the man screamed as the blow landed, body jerking before he crumpled.

Silence followed. Only his own breathing, hard and ugly.

He looked down. Four bodies in the snow.

Blood soaked through white, steam rising from their wounds. The world smelled like iron and ash.

He stepped back. The snow crunched. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

He wiped blood from his knuckles, breath stuttering.

He remembered his father's warning. Never let them see. Never let them know what you can do.

He crouched, searching the assassins' coats for anything. A mark, a letter, a sign. Nothing.

His mind drifted to the names written on the paper in his pocket. He pressed a hand to his chest, making sure it was still there.

Wind picked up, carrying smoke. He glanced back at the ruins. No one would believe what had happened here.

He stood. Every muscle ached.

He moved toward the trees, keeping low, boots dragging in the old snow.

Behind him, the hut and everything in it faded into white and gray.

Katsu pressed his back to a tree and slid down until he was sitting. His gloves were stiff with blood, red already going dark in the cold.

The quiet felt wrong. Too wide, too hollow. He listened for more footsteps, but there was nothing. The world had shrunk to smoke and snow.

Somewhere above, branches shifted. A shadow darted from limb to limb.

Another followed, both moving too fast for his eyes to follow at first. Figures wrapped in dark cloaks, feet barely touching the bark.

They landed together, boots sending powder flying. One was tall, with a scar across his jaw. The other was shorter, eyes sharp, scanning the clearing.

They froze when they saw the mess.

The four dead assassins.

The taller one. took a step forward.

"Who—?" He stopped, eyes going from the bodies, to the ruin of the house, to the blood streaked down Katsu's arm.

He looked at the frost biting into burnt wood, steam still curling where snow met flame.

The other crouched to look closer at the dead. "These are courtsmen. The uniforms, the gear. This wasn't an accident."

The taller one turned, face tight.

"Did you do this?" His voice wasn't angry. Just cold, like the rest of the forest. "What happened here?"

Katsu didn't answer. He sat there, hands limp, eyes glassy. Grief ran through him in waves, dull and thick.

He blinked, tried to speak, but nothing came out. Kairos stepped closer, crouching to meet his eyes.

Virenth stood, watching the woods, scanning for more trouble.

The cold pressed in harder. The snow hissed where it met the last of the heat. Kairos reached out, not quite touching Katsu's shoulder.

The world kept shrinking, and Katsu just closed his eyes.

Kairos looked at Virenth, shaking his head. "Get him up," he said. "We're done here."

And in that, Katsu blacked out.