CHAPTER 568: ANGELS WITH CLIPPED WINGS 2

Of the four, Lara acted first, her movements swift and fluid as a shadow cutting through firelight. She bounded onto the platform, the heat washing over her face as flames began to lick greedily at the straws and firewood piled beneath. At its center, a woman was bound to a rough wooden stake, her eyes wide with terror, smoke curling around her like a tightening noose.

Netser, Aramis, and Logan landed in front of Lara in a practiced formation, their stances sharp and defensive, encircling her as she drew her dagger. With one decisive sweep, the blade flashed—and the ropes binding the woman slipped free. Then they jumped into safety.

"You... who are you people?" the village chief bellowed, his face twisted with indignation. "Why hide behind masks? How dare you meddle in our internal affairs?"

"Why wouldn’t we?" Lara, in Kane’s deepened voice that was resonant and furious, shot back. "What you’re doing is barbaric. You’re supposed to be elders and role models, yet you can’t even tell right from wrong. The children see more clearly than you do."

"Audacious!" the chief roared, "Men! What are you standing there for? Seize them!"

Before any of the constables in the crowd could react, Lara, Aramis, Logan, and Netser were already mounted on their bicycles, the wheels skidding through dirt and smoke. Netser hoisted the freed woman onto the back of his bike, and the four shot forward like arrows loosed from a bowstring.

A handful of the constables gave chase, shouting threats as they sprinted, but after a grueling kilometer, their angry cries faded into the distance. One by one, they slowed, bent over, and panting, until they finally gave up.

When Lara noticed the silence behind them and the shadows no longer stirred with pursuit, she veered off the road and coasted to a stop under the broad canopy of a sprawling tree. The sunlight filtered through its branches, dappling her mask. She slipped it off, inhaling the morning air. The others followed, tugging away their own disguises.

Netser remained still for a moment—mostly because the woman clinging to him refused to release her grip. She clutched him like a koala wrapped around its favorite branch, trembling with lingering terror. Even when the bike had already stopped, she stayed glued to him as if letting go meant the flames might catch her again.

"Uhmm... you can let go now, Miss," Netser said gently. "You’re safe."

The woman blinked, realizing at last the compromising and thoroughly embarrassing position she was in. She scrambled to dismount, but the moment her foot hit the ground, her ankle twisted. With a soft gasp, she pitched forward—only for Netser to catch her before she hit the dirt.

"Thank you," she whispered, cheeks burning a deep crimson.

Lara stepped closer, her expression softening. "What’s your name?"

The woman stared up at Lara, startled. She glanced again, as if trying to reconcile the masculine clothing with the unmistakably feminine voice.

Aramis chuckled. "Don’t be fooled by his looks. She’s actually a woman. Her name is Lara."

"My... my name is Krista," she said, but her gaze remained fixed on Lara, wide with disbelief. "She... she is a woman?" Her voice trembled with confusion and awe.

She had never imagined a woman could dress as a man and still stand with such striking confidence and beauty. The idea itself seemed to unravel everything she thought she knew about how the world was supposed to be.

"You’re not locals, right?" Krista finally asked, still looking between them as though trying to make sense of this small group of impossibly competent strangers who had burst into her nightmare and carried her to safety.

Lara exchanged a brief glance with the others before answering. "No... we’re not from here."

Krista lowered her gaze, fingers curling nervously around the hem of her soot-stained skirt. Now that the danger had passed, her features were more visible: smooth porcelain skin, dark almond-shaped eyes glistening with leftover fear, and soft, ink-black hair that spilled over her shoulders in tangled disarray. She looked like a fair maiden carved from a painter’s dream, fragile at first glance, yet carrying a quiet inner strength that reflected in her posture.

Krista looked up again, her gaze flickered to the four before locking onto Netser’s. Her lips parting slightly. "I... I don’t know how to thank you. I thought I was going to die." Her voice shook, and the truth of what she had just escaped finally caught up with her; her eyes grew glassy, and she pressed a trembling hand to her chest as if to steady her racing heart.

Instinctively, Lara reached out—but stopped herself halfway, unsure if the comfort would be welcome. Still, Krista noticed. For a fleeting second, their eyes locked, and something unspoken passed between them—gratitude, disbelief, curiosity... perhaps even a fragile thread of trust beginning to form.

Aramis cleared his throat softly, breaking the tension. "Why were they trying to burn you? Was it truly because you taught the children?"

Krista’s shoulders tensed, her jaw tightening as though the words themselves were painful. "Because... in Westalis, only men are allowed to teach."

Logan blinked in disbelief. "Seriously? Westalis is still that patriarchal?"

Krista nodded, folding her arms around herself as if trying to hold her courage in place. "Yes. But I couldn’t accept it. I know I can teach just as well—better, even." Her voice dropped to a fragile whisper. "They called me a heretic for it."

Netser’s hands curled into fists, knuckles whitening. A shadow passed over his expression—an echo of old, unpleasant memories. "I thought things had changed," he muttered, bitterness bleeding into his tone. "But apparently... some things never do."

Krista’s eyes shimmered again—not from fear this time, but from exhaustion and the fragile relief of being believed. She brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, exposing the graceful curve of her neck, the morning light washing over her like silver paint. There was something heartbreakingly innocent in the way she stood—a fair maiden wronged by ignorance yet trying to remain brave.

Netser was momentarily dazed.

Lara stepped closer, her expression firm with conviction. "You’re safe now. No one will harm you while you’re with us."

Krista looked at her—really looked—her dark eyes searching Lara’s face as though trying to understand why a stranger would risk so much for her. "Why... why would you protect me?" she asked softly. "You owe me nothing."

Lara opened her mouth, then paused. She wasn’t sure how to explain the sense of injustice that had flared in her chest when she saw Krista bound to that stake—the anger, the need to act, to protect, to defy cruelty.

Instead, she said simply, "Because it was the right thing to do."

For the first time, Krista smiled—small, delicate, and filled with a warmth that reached even her sorrowful eyes. It was as if the night shifted then, becoming gentler around them.

"Thank you," she whispered again, but this time with deeper sincerity.

The group exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the same unspoken thought: rescuing Krista had pulled them into something larger than they had anticipated.

"Come with us," Lara said decisively.