"Got it," he says, making a mental note of the folks he's seen running in outfits that didn't seem to fit the setting. Probably people either in need of help or very, very capable of providing it. "Saw a few folks that looked like they were teleporting too, but didn't get a good eyeful of them through the fog."

The nightrender Stacia swept to the ground must have broken its neck or brained itself, because for the moment it doesn't get up. They might have a few minutes before it comes back to come after them, a few minutes to take care of the other one. Dan unloads another arrow into its neck and peels the horse around, ready to charge.

"I got a kid on my three." Dan catches sight of the little girl, still clutching the burlap dragon toy her parents bought her, huddled under a cart that was selling some sort of kebab. She's weeping through her terror, and Dan realizes that it's not because of the danger around her; it's because she's gotten flashes of Stacia and Dan's memories, flickers of things she's been too sheltered to be exposed to, the worst of cruelty that the world can offer.

He charges the remaining nightrender and then feints around it. "Keep that one occupied. Wouldn't rather have no one tackling that thing."