The world had frozen around Storm Veritas, and his universe ebbed and flowed in a sinusoidal wave of the impossibly fast and eternally slow. The image of Shinsou falling stopped the wizard in his tracks, blood spilling from the mouth of his one dear friend as though he was already dead. A flood of emotions and images came in waves.

Guilt for the thousands killed in Radasanth.

Helplessness surrounding the moment.

Guilt for his ignorance – a metal bullet had sailed past him, into the soft flesh of his last dependable friend.

Hate.

There were things he could compartmentalize; elements that would have to wait for more existential second-guessing. For now, it was his to serve two masters; one which had him tend to Shinsou, another to seek justice for him. In a moment he was by his friends side, instantly extracting the metal round from the Telgradian’s chest with a magnetic pull of his left hand, grasping the crimson soaked round as those same fingertips cauterized the wound. Vaan Osiris wouldn’t notice the maneuver, as he was going into shock. With no exit wound where his right arm was wrapped beneath him, no blood or wetness accumulating.

“Fuck Shinsou, hang on. Who did this? Did you see him?”

Based on how Shinsou was standing, the electromancer could triangulate a guess from where the bullet came. The round had come past Storm from the left, his ten oclock as he was facing the wheat stand. A glance in that direction yielded nothing but bedlam, as the white noise around them began to distill down into discrete sounds. He listened briefly to the shrieking of women, the raucous yell of both angry and elated men, the frenzied rush of onlookers fleeing the scene. Before him, the pleading whispers of the handsome salesman coupled with his open, apologetic hands.

To hell with him. He knows more.

With a flick of his fingers, Storm had summoned the metal spool of baling wire upon the table, pulling at it violently from ten feet away. A cobra, the wire raced around the feet of the shocked salesmen, knocking his ankles as they bound his feet in less than a second. Twisting itself into a taut knot, the wire was broken with a snap of the magician, and a second coil wasted no time in binding the man’s wrists.

“Stay put. Try and free yourself and I swear by the FUCKING GODS I will flash-fry you where you lie.”

Desperation. Shinsou was staring off now, looking for answers.

“Doctor! Get the doctor!” People were moving in on him now, familiar faces that he couldn’t name in the heat of his wrath. They were desperate to help, but approached as the mouse, removing the splinter from the lion’s paw. One threatening gesture was death, and the tradesmen knew it.

Shinsou was growing pale, blood steeping from his mouth and eyes dilating. The on-the-spot first aid Veritas had applied was proving unsuccessful, for all his time learning from Karuka in the jungles of Dheathain, he had likely cauterized the skin over ruptured organs. It was a lesson in futility.

Stay with me. Don’t you die, too.

In moments Storm had released his grip about his friend, watching as the young man was hoisted atop a stretcher. Now it was the eyes of the older wizard, paled with time and pain, which were as the falcon’s; peering atop every roof for dust or commotion. Someone had seen this. Someone would know the identity of the attacker.

How did we both miss this? How did we not sniff this out?

The group of men and women carrying Shinsou were marching into a large, white Stucco building, with well-sealed glass windows and a red cross above the door, painted squarely and cleanly in neatly cut pine. With the slight salesmen flipped over his shoulder like a prize buck, Storm walked with them, the once legendary adventurer now just more heavy feet in the crowd.

For all of the travels the tandem had shared, they had earned a sense of entitlement; a belief that they were in fact invincible. Dealing death, and cheating death themselves enough time had spoiled the two, an overconfidence which they now repaid in spades. They had walked into the trap, confident fools feeling themselves invincible. For his brazen idiocy, Storm Veritas felt hopeless to walk alone in the world.