Their Perfect Soldier

by VanToRia

Summary:

Ainchase Ishmael was born to serve the goddess of the El. He was born to be her best, strongest soldier. When he’s sent on his second mission on Elrios, he begins to have visions of a time before his first mission, an era of sacrifices and glory that the goddess urges him to forget. If he digs deeper, would he forsake his reputation and his mission?

Notes:

Disclaimer: This is a collaborative endeavour between a friend of mine (SolarAndFire on fanfiction.net) and I. They don't have an AO3 account, so I can't properly credit them here.

Chapter 1: Punishment and Redemption

He held her as she silently cried. This was the point of no return, and both knew it. Even so, he had to march on.

“Ru,” he softly called her name, and for a moment, she lifted her head to look at him. Her beauty was hardly affected by her puffy eyes and the tears that still streamed down her face. A pair of blue horns crowned her head, complementing her wavy white hair and ice-blue eyes. Though her regal outfit was hidden by a dark cloak, he could still see the elaborate silver choker he had gifted her on her neck.

“Please don’t go,” she pleaded as she grabbed both of his wrists. Her gloved hands held him so tightly he could almost feel her claws dig into his sleeves. “There has to be a mistake. You aren’t meant to go over there. Not without us.”

Part of him wished to believe her without question. However, there could not be any mistakes about it. His powers had always been different from the rest of his tribe, and this was why. He was meant to bridge the differences between Celestials and Demons. Ishmael had appointed him as her new warrior in exchange for peace. Now, this was the time to fulfil his destiny.

“I wish I could bring you and Belegor with me,” he confessed, lovingly cupping her face. “But I need to respect Ishmael’s terms. It’s the only way to reclaim our ancestral land without shedding more blood. I want our son to grow up in an era of peace, and I know you want that, too.”

“I don’t want to forget you, Zeral,” she sobbed. “I don’t want you to forget about us. I can’t stand having a god stealing everything we’ve shared. I can’t live knowing that I’ll be unable to tell Belegor anything about you.”

“No god in our world or this one can erase our memories. We’ll both remember, one way or another. So, don’t worry so much, Ru. I’ll come visit you both whenever I can, I promise.”

She buried her face once more in his chest, trying to muffle her sobs. It pained him to leave her, but he could not allow his doubts to ruin the future he had promised to bring to everyone, be it her, Belegor, or any other demon who had suffered throughout this endless strife.

He kissed her one last time. It was a chaste kiss, but he could almost taste her fears, in all their unfathomable depth, on her lips. He opened his mouth to try and reassure her again, but, to his surprise, she was the one to push him away first.

“I’ll find a way to drag you out of heaven if you don’t come visit soon,” Ru swore as she swept her tears away. “Go, now. Go before I stop you.”

“I’ll always be the first one to find you, Ru,” he said with a rueful smile. “No matter where you might be.”

With those words, Zeral turned towards the imposing temple of the El, where the goddess was said to reside. As he climbed the stairs that vanished into the sky, the demon warrior only felt his doubts grow and fester into full-blown hesitation. What if he was making a mistake? He glanced back, but he was so high up that he could no longer spot where Ru was. Maybe she was already gone.

The thought of his only love leaving him made his heart ache, but it was also a reminder of the weight of his decision. The demon turned back and continued to climb, even as the wind uncovered his hooded head. His silver hair flew free unto the wind, and his black, ram-like horns were now fully exposed. He felt the threatening presence of dozens of Celestials above him. Zeral looked up and flinched at the endless circles of Ishmael’s warriors looming over him. They reminded him of vultures.

Though it was only for a moment, the demon’s aquamarine gaze met a Celestial’s. Their blue sclera and white, empty irises were as unsettling as their presence alone.

That was what he would turn into for the good of his family and his people. Was it the right choice? He contemplated flying back to the ground but also suspected that his future brothers-in-arms were not merely circling above him to welcome him into the temple.

‘It’d take one word from their goddess to send them on a rampage,’ he reasoned as he saw the Celestials stare back at him. ‘If I went back, who’s to say that they’d content themselves with taking my life?’

Zeral marched on until he finally reached the top of the staircase. He faced a long and mostly empty corridor where dozens of Celestials lined on either side. Each of them had their gaze hidden under a set of crystal wings. Even with their blue cloaks, their marble-white body stood so still that, if he did not know better, Zeral would have assumed all those divine warriors were merely statues. At the end of the hall, a white-haired human girl with turquoise eyes stared at him with a faint smile.

Judging by her elaborate white and golden dress, Zeral presumed that she had to be the El Lady. This priestess was the incarnation of Ishmael, whom the Elrians always talked about with great pride. Zeral had presumed, judging by the legends about her, that the El Lady would be as imposing and powerful as the Suzerain, the chosen vessel of the Demon God Sult.

However, to his dismay, this poor girl was a pale-looking teenager who seemed to have one foot in the grave. Zeral wondered if the goddess felt her divine powers crushing her chosen vessel.

“Welcome, Zeral,” the girl greeted him with a smile. “I’m glad to see that you accepted my terms. I have had enough of these senseless and brutal wars between my forces and demonkind.”

“I’m glad you still see it that way,” he said to the incarnation of the goddess that slowly approached him. The demon tried to ignore Ishmael’s shell’s unnatural, puppet-like movements, but it was impossible.

The girl’s body would not last long if it had to host the goddess’ soul for any significant amount of time. Zeral feared he was witnessing the girl’s final moments in this realm. He furrowed his brow, wondering if he should intervene at all or if he could even do so in the first place. Zeral’s magic could interrupt Sult’s hold on the Suzerain, but the spell took quite a toll on him. Besides, he was unsure if the spell would work on an Elrian.

“What is it?” the El Lady asked as she stopped only two steps away from him. “I hope you aren’t having second thoughts now.”

“No, you’re mistaken,” he half-lied. “I just worry about the Elrian girl you’ve possessed. I’m afraid your power is far too much for her. She will d–”

“You’re such a kind soul, Zeral,” the goddess praised him with a bright smile. “You’re right. This girl won’t feel good if I possess her for too long. But that’s all the more reason for your initiation to begin without further delays, don’t you think so?”

“...I suppose so.”

“Perfect! Then, please kneel before me.”

Zeral did as she asked and his mind went blank.

In a way, he had died that very night. His loved ones forgot him and, most worryingly, Zeral lost the memories he held of them and himself.

---

Ainchase slowly regained consciousness in a freezing cold void. He felt so weak that he considered himself lucky when he noticed he had kept his humanoid form. As the Celestial looked around him, he saw the eviscerated corpses of many citizens of Elrianode diving further down the dark abyss of Henir’s dimension. Guards, clergymen, priestesses, and more civilians than anyone would have liked to count drifted into the same void he found himself in. They were all headed towards their total annihilation. The buildings and statues that were thrown alongside him and the countless victims were slowly crumbling as they drifted further into the void. A strange, blue glow formed where the cracks on the objects appeared, giving only the faintest of lights inside the otherwise woefully empty dimension.

The Celestial turned around and found himself staring into a gargantuan orb of darkness whose blue halo twisted in a spiral-like motion. It was the heart of the abyss, and he was flying right towards it. If – or rather when – he drew close enough to it, he would spiral around the vortex again and again; his body, his very essence, would be twisted until his light was devoured by that pitch-black sun. This was the inevitable demise of everything and everyone who came into contact with Henir’s dark and chaotic world.

Yet, he refused to accept that inevitable fate. Even if he had failed his mission, there had to be something he could do to try again. The rift he had come through closed. It was the final nail in the coffin, but Ainchase refused to accept defeat.

“Goddess Ishmael,” he cried to the dark dome above, raising his hand towards it even if the goddess’ light could never reach him. “I can still fight! I will find that traitor and kill him! I’ll retrieve your vessel, too. I know the darkness of Henir is weaker than your light. Please, goddess Ishmael! Please, get me out of here! I won’t fail you again!”

There was no answer, but he kept trying. He climbed higher and higher, trying to break through the dimension of darkness. The climb was long, and his strength waned for each flutter of his wings. He had grown too weak to pierce the upper boundary when he finally reached it. His fingers slid off its black, icy surface, but not much more. The darkness bit onto his flesh and began to spread from his fingertips. The intense cold burned through his entire being, making him cry out in pain. He had no strength to keep himself in the air, so he fell back into the disorienting abyss. No matter where he looked, the only destination he could reach was the black sun that would devour him whole. Ainchase tried to use any structures he could to at least delay the inevitable. However, the pain was eating away at what little divine energy was left within him. He had to choose between maintaining his humanoid form or forming a sword. If he chose the latter, it would make his destruction all the faster.

Then, he saw a roof right in front of him. The landing would hurt, but he thanked his creator for putting at least one obstacle between him and the black sun.

He crashed on his back on the roof, breaking through its crumbling surface. Ultimately, the wooden floor of what he assumed to be the home’s attic stopped him from falling further down. Ainchase coughed and gasped for air, but once he knew he could still breathe, the first thing he did was scream in frustration. There was no way he could climb back up now. The Celestial looked at his hand. It had turned a worrying shade of indigo while his veins were now the same colour as the halo around the black sun. The burning pain was nothing compared to the realisation that he was losing himself to the corrupting power of Time and Space. Worse still, he felt the burning sensation climb rapidly over his elbow and shoulder until it ate away at his face.

He repeatedly called his goddess’s name, but silence was the only answer to his plights. Ainchase eventually grew too tired to scream. He was confined to his fleeting thoughts. He thought about death, about the black sun, but his mind did not linger on the fate that awaited him. Ainchase began to wonder about his life as a Celestial. He remembered very little of it.

‘There’s surely something. I wonder why I can’t remember it,’ he pondered. ‘I should remember what it was before I die…’

Ainchase closed his eyes and tried to remember anything about his life under Ishmael’s banner before he and a dozen comrades were sent to Elrios to contain the El’s explosion. He remembered kneeling before the goddess when he accepted his mission but not much else.

There was nothing. Ainchase had no achievements to his name other than Ishmael’s empty praises. He could not recall anything that would justify his status as her strongest warrior. The dying Celestial felt the ground start to spin, and that is how he knew his end had finally come.

Just as the ground beneath him finally gave out and spiralled into hundreds of shards, a strange dream began to form in his mind. He was trying to comfort a beautiful woman with icy blue eyes. Strangely, her pupils had the shape of a four-pointed star. Though she spoke through her sobs, he could not understand what she was saying at all. He felt her growing despair. She did not want him to go; truthfully, part of him also wanted to stay. And yet, she got inexplicably further and further away from his reach. It seemed like she was being pushed into the black sun, even if he could no longer see it.

‘Wait,’ he hollered at the woman fading away from his dream. ‘Don’t leave! Don’t leave, please!’

The woman seemed to notice him, and she spread her cobalt-blue wings. Ainchase was not even disgusted at the sight of the horns on her head nor how her wings looked like those of a bat. This demon woman held the memories he wished to have in his last moments.

Their fingers grazed each other, and any semblance of reality faded away. Ainchase saw boundless farming fields burning around him before they turned into hundreds of demons falling dead from the sky. He walked over to the dead enemies to see their faces, but Ainchase noticed they had no faces as he approached. He looked above and saw the sea and a rocky beach where two demons walked alone. Ainchase opened his wings and flew towards them, but he did not get far before something yanked him back down. He looked at his feet and saw that the dead, faceless demons around him had turned into long, heavy chains that coiled themselves around him. He did not try to break them; he continued to observe how they pressed against him and eventually covered him whole.

Ainchase’s dream faded into white, and he opened his eyes again. He felt warm. Some tears were rolling down his cheeks, but he did not care. The sacred light of the El was all around him, and he could feel the hands of the goddess cradling him, cleansing the darkness he had been infected with.

“I heard your plight loud and clear, Ainchase,” the benevolent goddess of all creation said. Her voice enveloped him like a warm blanket. He was safe now. Ainchase figured he had woken up crying tears of joy from being saved by his creator, his goddess.

“I’m glad you didn’t leave me,” he breathed as his strength returned. “I’m sorry to have failed you, but I will–”

“Ainchase, it’s alright. You don’t need to apologise,” the goddess reassured him. She carefully put him on the ground of the most sacred temple within her realm. The temple was a large corridor made of pure crystals, and the goddess floated at the end of it all. Her face was hidden by a piece of cloth held by an intricate golden crown. Her white hair cascaded over her back. While she wore an equally white robe that hid most of her body, her crystal arms – as blue as the gem she had created – were in full view and decorated with delicate golden bracelets. Seeing the goddess in all her splendour was a privilege not many Celestials had. It inspired such awe that Ainchase immediately knelt at her, ready to receive her new orders.

“The El has shattered,” the goddess informed him with her ageless and motherly voice, “But it wasn’t your fault. You did the best you could, given the circumstances. Elrianode would’ve been destroyed if it wasn’t for you.”

“Even so, Ishmael,” Ainchase insisted, “Elrios can’t prosper with a shattered El. I beg of you, let me fulfil my duty as a Steel Cross. I won’t fail you.”

‘You left me in that tower last time. You’ll leave me again if I fail, won’t you?’ Ainchase thought. He was not sure why he doubted his goddess in the first place, nor what tower he was referring to. He had not made it to the El Tower in Elrianode before the dimensional rift appeared and sucked him and half the town into Henir’s realm. Was it because of his dream? It was incredibly idiotic to harbour doubts about his creator, regardless of their source.

“I’m glad to have saved my strongest and most devoted soldier,” she flattered him.

The voice of the goddess had changed. She sounded like a young woman. Something about that particular voice made him yearn for her touch. He felt Ishmael’s hand over his shoulder, and he grew anxious. It started like anxiety, but it soon morphed into a powerful yearning. He wanted the goddess to embrace him like that woman in his dream, even if he knew that wishing for that was unbecoming of him. Ainchase did not want her to go, not again. He wished to tell her so much, and, most importantly, he wanted to do so much for her sake. He craved to build back what he had lost.

‘What have I lost?’ he asked himself, ‘I failed my mission, but I haven’t lost anything, have I?’

“I would never abandon my valiant, selfless knight. It would kill me to lose you, even for a moment.”

Her cold, crystal fingers now felt warmer, almost human-like. Her touch felt velvety as if her hands were covered by gloves. Ainchase closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind of the sensation, to no avail. The more he tried to focus on what he was truly seeing and feeling, the more he felt his unnatural desires grow. The Celestial felt his face growing hotter and hotter. It was rather strange, considering he was not near any flames or anything that could have raised his temperature like that.

“Well, uhm, thank you. But I’m, uh, I’m merely doing what any other Steel Cross would’ve done. It’s really, really nothing much. Anyone would, I mean, well, the other retainers would do the same,” he spluttered.

Ainchase briefly questioned his own words. Ishmael had no retainers. The gods did not see their soldiers like human nobles saw their warriors. Yet, even those doubts completely vanished from his mind as he grew increasingly aware of how the fingers from the goddess ran up the side of his neck and cupped his cheek. If he had lowered his gaze out of respect before, now he felt that the goddess’ touch had frozen him in place. Or was it merely that strange urge to have his creator continue to touch him that had paralysed him?


“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Z̸̛̛͎͙͈̙̳͚̯͖̈́͋̌͂̅̈́̅̎̽͜͝ê̴̢͚̹̬̱͎̙̼͙̖̼͕̹̺̮͍̂͒͗̈́̋͛̐̃͒̌̈́͑̉̕̕͠r̵̤̮̺̻͕̰̔̓͐̄͘ȃ̵̢̛̳̦̥̱̖̱̱͐̔̿̿͋̊̚̕͠͠l̸̨̢̛̛̳̩̜͙̥̼̲̜̣͔͖̩̥̱̀͂̇̆͊̓͗̓͗́͐̕̚͝͠ͅ” the young woman with white hair cajoled him.



The goddess’ hand finally forced him to look at her veiled face. Though he had not understood her last word, it reverberated in his mind until it cleansed it from all his previous doubts and indecent thoughts. Ainchase remembered desiring to be touched by his goddess and the physical symptoms of such desire. Still, those sickening emotions were so distant that they might as well never have been truly his. He was disgusted even to remember ever having thought such things in the first place. Perhaps that had been the last remaining side-effect of staying in Henir’s void for as long as he had. There was no other explanation for those unbecoming thoughts to plague his mind out of nowhere. His mind was clear; he knew he neither desired nor deserved to be so close to the goddess. Such desires were born out of the sinful imperfections of mortal souls, and Ainchase knew that he had nothing in common with them.

He distanced himself from the goddess and bowed at her.

“Please forgive my disgraceful thoughts, goddess Ishmael,” he calmly pleaded. “I let Henir’s darkness linger far too long inside your light.”

“At ease, Ainchase,” Ishmael sternly stated. “I have a new mission for you. From now on, you shall bear my name as part of yours. Your name will be Ainchase Ishmael, my last and strongest warrior, and you will restore the El. You must not interfere with human matters. Do not fail me again.”

“As you command, goddess Ishmael,” he acknowledged her command immediately as the ground beneath him shattered into a hundred pieces, revealing an unfathomable darkness underneath.

However, he no longer feared that void nor the vortex at the very end of it. He could feel the goddess guiding him through Henir’s domain, filling his mind with all the history and new dialects that had appeared since Elrianode fell. The explosion generated by the El was so great that the land had separated into two continents. While some regions fell into chaos for centuries to come, others had found relative peace. That was, of course, only thanks to the strong presence of the devout and brave mortal souls who guided their land towards a peaceful era. All heretics and bandits were purged, leaving only the righteous to build the empires of Senace, Velder, Feita and Xin.

Elrios was, unfortunately, no longer as peaceful as it had once been when the four most influential empires were created. Mortals lived so little that they forgot the wisdom of their ancestors. The greedy uncovered old banned magic, and while the humans had formed their own Steel Cross forces to hunt down the wicked, it was hardly enough to correct the course of this decaying world. No Celestial since the fall of Elrianode had set foot on Elrios. However, Ainchase was going to change that.

The darkness around him shattered, and a forest welcomed Ainchase. The quiet buzz of all sorts of insects and the melodies the birds offered was an orchestra enhanced by a cool summer breeze.

Ainchase heard a bird take flight and looked up, spotting a rather large, red bird of prey. Considering the bright, multicoloured plumage on its tail, it was a Ruchi, probably a male. The bird landed a few paces before him and tilted its head at him. The Celestial understood that he was in the northmost part of Lurensia: Ruben's Forests. Though the scenery was very peaceful, his skin crawled with disgust. Henir’s chaos had managed to follow him here, of all places. He could sense it.

The Celestial looked around him, and only after he completely turned around did he see the small rift that broke the world around him as if it were merely a broken window. The dark, insidious energy had already crawled out, threatening to slowly consume the entire forest. Ainchase Ishmael would not allow such a thing. He called forth a blade from Ishmael’s divine armoury. The weapon was a bastard sword made of hundreds of tiny threads of energy that housed a fraction of the goddess’ might. He slashed the opening to Henir’s realm decisively and left a mark of light across the toxic darkness. The portal writhed and spiralled as it agonised under Ishmael’s light. Then, it finally closed.

However, to Ainchase’s disgust, some of that impure, outworldly energy was still crawling around the forest. Some of it had already infected the trees and, most worryingly, the animals. The Ruchi he had seen had fallen prey to bone-twisting spasms until it grew deathly still. However, instead of dying, the bird was swallowed by Henir’s miasma and transformed by it. Its vibrant plumage was dyed black, and its sharp beak was deformed into a crooked saw-shaped blade. Once the corruption reached its eyes, they lost all their orange vibrancy and turned into a sickly blue shade. The creature got back on its feet and screeched at him.

‘I ought to deal with this quickly’, he thought as he cut the contaminated bird cleanly in two. He barely noticed the blood that spurted out of it. In his Spiritual form, he was invisible to all mortals. His snow-white skin and blue cloak could not be stained by anything from this realm. The tainted blood from the animal simply went through him, landing somewhere behind him. Ainchase glanced at the extent of the contamination and flew from place to place, purging the darkness with his blade. A dozen swift and methodical slashes from his weapon left ribbons of light as they cut through the darkness around him. It was a deadly, elegant dance that no one would see.

The forest returned to normal, and Ainchase decided it was a perfect moment to forge his human shell. He focused on the divine energy on his sword and poured a steady flow of his divine essence into it. The weapon began to transform. The handle grew longer and thinner while the blade shattered and reforged itself into a lamp-like shape. Ainchase’s divine energy gave his weapon the shape of a white and green pendulum, and his otherworldly appearance became far more normal. His pristine white robe turned into three pieces: a shirt, pants, and a long, hooded cloak. His paper-white skin took a still pale but human-looking shade. His white hair turned into a grey mane with blue highlights, and his unnatural blue sclera turned white while his irises became green.

Satisfied with his mortal appearance, the Celestial put the hood of his white cloak on and began to walk on a path to the northeast. The local El Shard was his first objective. He had to convince the local knights to give it to him or take it by force if they refused.

Chapter 2: Lonesome Knight

Elsword swept the sweat off his brow with his forearm and took a deep breath. He could feel his red hair sticking to his neck just as much as his clothes. The scorching sun above gave him a headache, and the humid air around the training grounds made him dizzy. The boy furrowed his brow, urging himself to keep standing. His legs and arms were extremely sore, but he had to keep his combat stance. Elsword could hear the tired groans from the thirty or so recruits around him; they were all young men as old as his sister but far weaker than her. Some of them even dropped on their back to catch their breath. As much as Elsword wished to join them, he could not falter. He held his trembling legs steady by using his training sword as a cane. His sister would have never faltered.

“Excellent job, lads!” a man’s voice bellowed behind them. Elsword immediately forced himself to turn around and salute his captain. Most of the other recruits followed his lead.

The captain of the El Search Party was an imposing, tanned man with messy but short chestnut hair and sky-blue eyes. His grin was as confident as his stride, and the sword he carried on his back was as tall as he was. He dressed purportedly like the other recruits: a black shirt, puffy white pants, and black leather boots. The only way to truly distinguish him as the captain was the red cape he kept tied over his pants.

The blue-eyed man clapped once, then began to walk around his recruits, eyeing them all with his arms crossed.

“I see that some of you are still on the ground,” he noted before he dismissed his remark with a swat of his hand. “But that doesn’t matter; you did a great job today. Rest and let your comrades take care of you.”

Elsword looked around him and saw that he was right next to a teenager who was still out of breath. His curly golden mane was tied in a messy bun. The locks of hair that escaped from it were glued to the sides of his face. The teenager’s brown gaze was fixed on the sky above. He looked disoriented, almost on the brink of passing out. The red-haired boy rushed to his side, knelt beside him, and began looking for the tiny water disk they had been given when the training started in his left pocket.

Once he had the ice-cold saucer-shaped gem in his hands, Elsword lifted his companion’s head just enough to place the water disk over the nape of his neck. Then, the boy stood back on his feet and made it so that his shadow covered most of his comrade’s upper body. The most important thing was covering his head from the unforgiving sun; Elsword had that more than covered. However, it was getting harder to keep himself steady, even through sheer willpower.

“This summer’s gonna feel like we’re facing the goddess’s wrath, lads,” the captain added. “And it’s just getting started. Don’t forget your water disks; don’t let those waterskins run empty. Tomorrow’s an important day for all of you, so get some rest!”

“Roger that, sir!” The trainees answered in unison.

Elsword turned his attention back to the blond teenager in front of him and offered him a reassuring smile.

“Thanks, kid,” the blond sighed. “But you should take care of yourself first. You don’t look good.”

The teenager took out his water disk from a small bag next to him and offered it to Elsword.

“Here,” he offered. “You can take mine.”

Elsword accepted his offer with a nod. The ice-cold feeling that spread over the nape of his neck was nothing short of divine. The boy sighed in relief, basking in the wave of cold that spread throughout his body. His dizziness was subsiding, and only then did he realise how thirsty he was.

“You chose a tough time to begin your training, kid,” the teen said as he sat down. “Summer’s the worst, especially without a waterskin.”

The brown-eyed teen took out his waterskin from his bag and offered it to him, too. Snatching it and drinking until the last drop was tempting, but he had heard that his sister had completed her training without drinking a sip during or after her training. Elsword knew he had to do the same.

“I’m fine,” Elsword lied. “You should keep that water for yourself.”

“Are you sure?” the teen asked as he got up. “Well, then. Do you mind if I accompany you out of the base?”

“Sure!” Elsword beamed. He loved the company but had to try his hardest to avoid looking at his comrade and enviable waterskin. He had already declined his offer and could not steal from him. Still, the red-haired boy found himself glancing at it from time to time.

After they left their training weapons in the designated box, they scurried away from the burning sun into the barracks where the showers were. As expected, the line for the showers was incredibly long due to the heat. The two eyed each other and decided to head into the changing rooms to pick up their regular clothes. The room was bizarrely deserted, but the stench of sweat still clung to the room’s wooden walls.

“Oh, I forgot to ask,” the blond chimed in as he took a cloth bag from a shelf a few paces to Elsword’s right. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Elsword,” the redheaded boy answered as he flung his bag over his shoulder. “Elsword Sieghart.”

The teen’s brown gaze widened for a moment, and the glint in his eyes was unmistakable. The blond had heard about his sister, Elesis. The boy smiled with pride, his thoughts racing with all the stories he could tell him. No one but Elsword knew how she had fought against monsters of all kinds.

“Sieghart?” the teen gasped before a huge grin formed on his face. “Oh, so you’re Elkashu’s kid? I’ve heard he’s still a living legend, even as a Free Knight! Ah, I should’ve suspected that you had to be related. Your hair is just like–”

“Who?” Elsword questioned, tilting his head at him. The boy’s pride had been utterly deflated. “Haven’t you heard of my sister? You know, Elesis Sieghart, the Legendary Red-Haired Knight.”

The blond’s excitement slowly died out as he repeated Elesis’s name and title. His eyebrows furrowed, and his gaze sank as if the floor held the answers he sought. Thankfully, it did not take too long before his brown gaze lit up again.

“Oh, her!” he exclaimed with a smile, “Ah, sorry, I was still living back home when she completed her training here. My brother was the one who trained by her side.”

“Really? What’s his name?” Elsword asked, his curiosity piqued. “And what’s yours?”

“My brother’s Liam,” the teen answered. “And I’m Wyll.”

“Wyll and Liam…of what house?”

The blond began to walk out of the dressing room with Elsword in tow, though a frown on his face soured his otherwise friendly demeanour. “Uhh, we aren’t high nobility.”

Elsword raised an eyebrow at them. “You aren’t? Then, you have a surname from a minor house, right?”

“Well, we do have a surname,” Wyll said through his teeth, “It’s Gesson. Wyll and Liam Gesson.” He sighed and looked at the boy, looking a tad less tense than he did at his previous questions.

“But, please,” he added with a complicated look. “Don’t call me or my brother by our full names. We, uh, don’t care for proper etiquette.”

“Oh, alright,” Elsword agreed, though he was not thinking about Wyll anymore. Instead, his mind was occupied with his brother’s name.

Liam Gesson. The red-haired boy tried to remember if his sister had ever mentioned a name like that, but nothing came to mind. Maybe he could ask her when she came back home.

‘Maybe this year she’ll come back…She has to come back, right?’

The boy’s gaze sank, but he quickly dismissed the thought that weighed his mood down. He was finally accepted as a recruit for the El Search Party; he would make his sister proud once she returned. There would not be many days where he would feel alone in that big, empty cottage. After all, he would be coming to the base every day from now on. Wyll was his first year-round friend; they surely had a lot of things in common, and Elsword was all too eager to find out.

“Say, Wyll,” the redheaded boy asked, extirpating himself from his thoughts. “Where are you from?”

“Resiam,” He answered dryly. “Why are you asking me all this all of a sudden?”

The tinge of anger in his voice was not lost to the boy, nor was the subtle scowl that soured Wyll’s face yet again.

“Ah, I’m sorry. I just…” Elsword faltered before coming to a halt. The thought of ruining his first friendship with someone close to his age paralysed him. He thought Wyll would storm off and leave him behind or just show him the entrance to the base, considering they were headed straight toward it. Instead, the blond realised the boy was no longer by his side and turned around to look at him again. Wyll’s coffee-coloured eyes met Elsword’s, and the blond teenager took a deep breath before walking towards the red-haired boy.

“Sorry about that, Els. It’s just that…” Wyll paused, passing a hand around his neck before murmuring as if confessing a big secret. “It’s just that, my brother and I want to be recognised for our skills here, not our past or titles.”

Elsword furrowed his brow at him for a moment. It was hard to believe people would care about status when they were the guardians of an El Shard. On the surface, it seemed impossible, but he had heard Elias Felford sometimes badmouth people from the lower houses. His parents corrected him, of course, but maybe not all parents did.

“I get it, Wyll,” he said apologetically. “Sorry to have stepped over the line. I, uh, well, I didn’t think you’d mind me asking.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the teen said with a smirk. “You live in the village, don’t you?”

Elsword nodded.

“Then, you better get going. The road’s long enough as it is, and this heat is gonna make it worse.” Wyll said before offering him his waterskin again. “Here. Take it for the road, Els.”

“No, I’m fine. Really,” Elsword insisted, shaking his head at the teen’s offer.

Wyll only put the waterskin closer to him. “C’mon, I don’t want you fainting on the way home. You can bring it back to me tomorrow.”

“But, you need it, too…”

“Nah, I can borrow my brother’s,” Wyll chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. Just head home safely, okay?”

---

Elsword walked down the narrow roads of the village. Summers were always hot, and even though it had cooled down with the sunset, the heat was still intense. Usually, the road between the El Search’s Party base and the village only took an hour by foot, but with the heat, Elsword made a detour and bathed in Lake Noahz. It had been so pleasant that he had dozed off after changing into his usual white tank top and red shorts.

While the residential roads were deserted, Elsword could hear the cheers and applause from the village’s plaza. There had to be a new acting troupe in town, and maybe he could convince the Felfords to come watch the next performance, assuming they had arrived.

Elsword finally reached the door of the spacious cottage he shared with the Felfords and knocked twice. No reply.

‘I guess… they’re still on the way from Velder,’ he thought while sighing.

Elsword opened his bag and took out the keys to unlock the door to his home. It creaked open, revealing the dark dining room and the kitchen, and it gave a small glimpse at the corridor leading to the other rooms. The dying sunlight still piercing through the open door let him glimpse three pairs of slippers, and the smell of a vegetable stew still lingered around the home. The boy smiled. The Felfords were here; they were probably just enjoying the play in the plaza.

The boy left his shoes at the entrance and stepped into the home, picturing what he would add to the stew to make the Felfords a hearty meal when they returned.

An ashen-blonde boy emerged from behind the kitchen counter, his short wand high up in the air. He dressed in a red t-shirt and black shorts, emulating Elsword's style. Unlike the red-haired boy, however, the blond’s hair was too smooth to form any spikes on his head. Instead, it fell flatly to the middle of his neck.

“Luminous!” The blond exclaimed before dozens of small orbs of light, barely bigger than fireflies, began swirling all around the home, giving it a cosy but festive look.

Two other people emerged from behind the counter. One was the boy’s sister, Amelie. She was a honey-blonde girl in a white summer dress. She held a big gift box – enough to almost eclipse her completely. The last one was Lady Seris herself. The honey-blonde, green-eyed woman wore a short-sleeved white shirt and a pastel-yellow skirt. Unlike her daughter, she kept her silky hair in a high ponytail. Seris carried a small white cake with thirteen unlit candles that she set on the counter.

“What’s all this about?” Elsword asked with a chuckle as Amelie rushed to him with her gift.

“Your birthday,” Amelie answered as she raised herself to the tip of her toes to hand over his gift. “Eli was worried you wouldn’t come back at all, but I knew you would!”

Elsword thanked the blonde girl with big, round, violet-red eyes as he took the gift from her. She was almost an exact copy of her mother, save for her eyes. She had gotten those from her father, just like her brother had.

“Nuh-uh! I– I wasn’t worried!” Elias pouted before he dramatically turned away from everyone else, arms crossed. “Wh– Who cares if he’s late! I wasn’t caring about big br– I mean, Elsword at all!”

“Elias,” Seris calmly called his son, and one gaze from her was all it took for the boy to listen. “Please help me set up the table. You too, Amelie.”

“Okay,” the twins said in synch as they walked to the kitchen. Amelie took out a varnished wooden box with cloth napkins while her brother took out enough utensils for four people.

“Is Lord Felford not joining us today?” Elsword asked as he put his gift aside to help the other kids. He took out the tablecloth and set it before Elias Felford began setting each set of utensils around the table. His twin sister followed and set up neatly folded cloth napkins where the utensils were.

“Daddy’s busy teaching some mean marks a lesson!” Amelie chimed in as she looked for a candelabrum in one of the kitchen cabinets. “He couldn’t take time off work this time.”

“Marks? You mean mercs?” Elsword questioned, raising an eyebrow at Seris, “Which group?”

The woman did not bother to answer him. Instead, she asked him to help her take four cups to the table. As Elsword busied himself with the task, Elias stopped him and raised himself on his tiptoes to whisper in his ear.

“Dad’s gonna let us stay longer here,” Elias whispered, “He thinks it’s safer if we’re far from those marks.”

Though Elsword could not help smiling at the news, part of him wondered if he should worry about Lord Felford’s safety instead. The redheaded boy quickly shook that worry off. After all, his sister was the incredible Red-Haired Knight. She would beat up any troublemakers, regardless of who they were. Maybe this year, she would return with Lord Felford, and both would tell him how they put those mercenaries behind bars.

While the three kids finished setting up the table, Seris reheated and served the pottage for each of them. However, unlike in previous years, Lady Felford brought two different drinks to accompany the meal. One was the usual sweetened wine she enjoyed; the other was a sparkly neon-blue liquid stored in a round flask.

“What’s this?” the red-haired boy asked as Seris began serving the blue drink to her children and him.

“Desert Soda.” Seris smiled. “It’s very popular in Sander.”

“Daddy brought us some after talking with the grown-ups in Senace,” Amelie beamed. “It’s the best drink ever!”

“Oh, Senace? I made a friend who comes from there. His name’s Wyll Gesson,” Elsword chatted as he ate. “He has a brother, too, Liam. I can’t wait to meet him tomorrow.”

“Gesson?” Seris questioned him, her brow furrowed. “Where is he from, exactly?”

“Resiam,” Elsword answered. Lady Felford’s frown momentarily deepened, but whatever troubled her, she did not let it show for long.

“Resiam?” Elias asked, tilting his head at the redhead, “Dad told us that town doesn’t have any nobles.”

The thirteen-year-old shrugged, “Well, maybe there are just newer, or smaller noble houses in Resiam. Wyll even talked to me about some Elkashu Sieghart. He’s a so-called Free Knight.”

“A Free Knight? What’s that? Daddy’s never mentioned them before.”

“And he’s a Sieghart, too. Hey, big bro, is Elkashu your big brother?”

Elsword shrugged, “My sister’s never talked about him. I bet he’s just some mercenary who wants to pretend he’s a noble.” He shot a glance at Seris, who seemed oddly quiet. “What is a Free Knight supposed to be anyway? That title doesn’t exist, right?”

“Children,” Seris called them calmly but firmly. “I know this topic is rather interesting, but we’ll miss the last performance if we continue talking instead of eating.”

---

Ruben’s plaza was made of three stores around a large, stone-paved circular area that served many purposes throughout the year, and today, after nightfall, it was the centre stage for a bard troupe hailing from Velder. Elsword had donned his birthday gift on his hip; it was a red and white training sword that Amelie had chosen for him, and that Elias had enchanted to make it lighter and sharper than other swords of its kind. The twins had gone off to play with the other kids their age, some yelling, some singing along to the folk tunes the bards were offering for the night.

Lady Felford had remained by Elsword’s side, enjoying the spectacle and surely keeping an eye on her children. Despite the music, the songs, and the laughter from children and adults alike, the red-haired boy could almost touch the uncomfortable silence between him and Seris. It was a first, and, just like what had happened with Wyll earlier in the day, Elsword was unsure how to deal with it. Maybe if he kept quiet, Lady Felford would convince her husband never to return. The dreadful thought made him clench his new sword’s handle tighter. A hundred scenarios raced through his mind, and none led to positive outcomes. Though he tried to hide it, tears welled in his crimson gaze. The boy swept them away with a quick hand gesture as if to pretend he only had some dirt in his eye.

That, of course, would not fool Seris Felford. The blonde woman looked at him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her. Though Elsword sometimes thought it was wrong of him, he leaned on her, finding comfort in her warmth.

“I’m sorry I upset you,” he told her. He was staring at the dancing crowd but not paying attention to them. He only wished to mend his relationship with the only family that always cared about him, even when they were far away. If he lost them, the world might as well cease to spin.

“I shouldn’t have talked about my friends. I’m sorry, Lady Felford.”

“I would never be upset at you for making friends, Elsword,” Seris softly explained. “You need to form those bonds in the El Search Party. I’m incredibly proud of you for getting admitted, to begin with. You’re the youngest recruit in their history, you know that?”

A small smile curled Elsword’s lips. “I didn’t. I should tell my sister about it. The training she made me do paid off, even if it was three years ago…”

“You know, Elsword, you could write to Elesis, too,” Lady Felford suggested, “Owen is quite close with a lot of the Red Knights. I’m sure your letters would reach her desk first thing in the morning, even if she’s a captain.”

Elsword shook his head. “I can’t write to her. If I do, she’ll have no reason to visit anymore. She told me she’d come back to hear how I’ve been doing and tell me all about her adventures.”

His voice broke under a new wave of tears he was less inclined to clean away. “I didn’t know she was a Red Knight captain now… Lady Felford, I can only write letters to you because you’re the only family that always comes back.”

The blonde woman hugged him, letting him cry what few tears Elsword would allow himself to shed. There were not many, but it was enough. Elsword stepped away from the green-eyed woman who looked at him with the same concern she would direct at her children when they got hurt or sick.

“I’m okay now, Lady Felford,” the redhead reassured her with a nod and a bright smile. “Ah, I’m so tired from training that it’s also affecting my mood.”

“Elsword,” Seris was still worried, perhaps even more so at his act, but Elsword knew he could not allow himself to be weaker than Elesis was. He was sure his sister had moments of doubts and weakness, but she never dared to burden him with it. He owed the same courtesy to the Felfords.

“During dinner, I wasn’t upset. I was just a little worried. You see, Elkashu…” She paused, combing her hair behind her ears. “Elkashu Sieghart is no impostor, Elsword. He is your father. I know it pains him not to be there for you and your sister just as much as it’d pain me if I had to leave my children behind.”

“Free Knights maybe don’t always live up to their name, huh? They’re all tied up in their work!” Elsword joked, but it did not ease Seris’s saddened expression. That alone was enough for the boy to drop his facade.

“That title, Free Knight…” She sighed. A slight frown made her expression look more sombre, far more fitting for a soldier than the kind woman Elsword had always known. “It’s simply a more honourable way to refer to soldiers who ran away. But that title alone doesn’t come close to defining who your father is, Elsword.”

Her motherly smile returned, even if it carried some sadness. “And I know that because, even if the goddess’ will didn’t allow him to be with you, your father moved heaven and earth to make sure you wouldn’t be abandoned. And I’m glad he trusted us to be part of your life, Elsword.”

Elsword took a deep breath, finally taking in the magic of the evening dance. The lamps and their warm, golden glow pushed the darkness out of the village. Perhaps deserters like Elkashu were among the travellers, and maybe even some of the bards had been knights or mercenaries at one point. None of that mattered at all. They were all enjoying the moment without caring for yesterday or tomorrow.

He ought to do the same.

The red-haired boy thanked Seris for her words and headed out to dance alone. Each clap and clumsy step played their part to stop another wave of tears. He spun between couples dancing, trying to bounce off them to reach the southern entrance to the village. Elsword knew it was selfish; he knew he would make the twins and Lady Felford worry, but he wanted to be alone.

He was almost out when he bumped into a woman. As he looked up to apologise to her, he froze for a second. Her long, blonde-ish hair and bright green eyes were almost a perfect match to Seris’s. This woman, however, was not Lady Felford. Her long, pointy ears were a clear sign of her nature. She was an elf. She was effortlessly carrying six wooden crates in one arm, for some reason.

“Hm? Oh, are you alright?” The elven woman inquired as she turned her attention to him. “Are you hurt somewhere?”

She crouched slightly to look him eye-to-eye and looked at him more closely. Elsword turned his face away because he suspected she was close enough to tell that he had been crying.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled as he stepped away from her. “I gotta go.”

“Ah, but the forest is dangerous at night! Let me leave these in Ann’s shop, and I’ll come with you, okay?”

Elsword nodded and watched the elven woman expertly navigate the moving crowd as she made her way to the tavern. There was no point in trying to sneak away from an elf; they could track anyone and everything in the forests. As much as it annoyed him, the red-haired boy bid goodbye to his moment of solitude.

Notes:

Note from Solar: Apparently, Fanfiction.net has finally decided to unblock this fic on the elsword archive. I will post this on that site as well, from now on.

Chapter 3: Convergence

Elsword did not have to wait long before the elven woman re-emerged from the crowd, carrying an oil lamp. With a new light source closer to her, the boy noticed that her hair tended towards an ashen shade of green instead of blonde. The elf slung a bow on her back, but she was unencumbered aside from her weapon and the lamp. Her green and blue top and skirt looked practical yet stylish, though not all her outfit seemed to be tailored to the conditions on the road.

‘She won’t get that far in those, will she?’ Elsword thought as he looked at her long, heeled boots. Then, he began to make his way down the dark path. ‘This is my chance to leave her behind.’

Thus, he set off into the darkness, accelerating until he comfortably jogged. The elf, being a head and a half taller than him, only had to walk briskly to keep up. Frustrated, the boy decided to sprint as far as he could. The cloudy, moonless night was far darker than he had anticipated, but even if he could not see past a few steps ahead, he knew more or less where the path lay.

To his dismay, the elven woman managed to keep up, doing so with such ease that she was not breaking a sweat. Elsword was the one who tired first; the boy came to a halt to catch his breath, begrudgingly accepting that elves were indeed as agile as the legends said they were.

“Where do you need to go in such a hurry?” She asked him, gracefully stopping by his side.

‘She’s not even a little winded, dear El…’

“To the Spirit Falls,” he grumbled, not giving her as much as a glance. He took a deep breath and began to walk again, this time very slowly. He was not feeling sore, but he remembered he had to conserve his energy for tomorrow’s expedition. Elsword reminded himself that his walk was just an excuse to clear his head, not to reach any destination in particular. However, he was not going to explain himself to a stranger because he feared the inevitable questions that would come with a truthful answer.

“The Spirit Falls?” she asked, easily keeping up with him without losing her balance for a moment despite the multiple tree roots that made the road uneven. “That’s a long way from here. Are you planning on camping out like that?”

Elsword looked at her, somewhat taken aback by how casually she had accepted his unreasonable destination. However, he chose the wrong moment to take his attention off the dark road ahead. Something soft was crunched by his foot, making him slip backwards. The boy soon found himself on the ground, barely catching himself with his left arm. A dull pain spread from his wrist, but he paid it no mind. As the lamp drew closer and illuminated what he had tripped over, the dull pain in his arm became an afterthought.

“What in the…” Elsword gasped. His crimson gaze grew wide with shock.

The boy immediately leapt back, horrified at the bizarre sight that lay ahead.

The corpse he had stepped on was that of a bird whose beak was sharp, curved like a scythe, and whose plumage was covered by a strange, black, sandy substance. The boy could spot glimpses of red feathers underneath. Jagged bones jutted outward from the tip of its broken wings to antennae that grew over its dead, blue eyes. There was no blood, or at least no normal blood. The only thing that pooled underneath the corpse was a gooey, cobalt-blue substance. Some parts had cracked and turned to dust, especially around the edges. He had never seen a carcass of such a creature before.

Elsword rubbed his feet frantically on the ground, afraid to have any of the creature’s remains on him. While he was busy inspecting the soles of his feet the best he could to see if he was clean, the elf approached the corpse and knelt in front of it. Only then did the boy see it was cut in half, with the other half missing. He shuddered at the thought of some animal eating the creature’s corpse or, worse, hunting it down and eating half of it. What was more unsettling than the carnage was that the corpse did not smell, nor did it attract any of the bugs that were abundant deep in the forest.

“I’ll lead you back to the village,” the elf calmly said. “Come on, let’s go.”

She had to grab him by the shoulder to break his focus on the corpse, and even then, Elsword was only keen on going after getting some answers on what he had seen.

“What was that?” he asked the elven woman as he dug his heels into the ground, trying to get her to slow down with little success. “You know what that was, right?”

“Yes, I do,” she sharply answered before stopping. Her green gaze briefly narrowed on something to their right before she turned her eyes back to the boy.

“It’s nothing dangerous for you,” she assured him, “It won’t be there tomorrow, but for now, I need to escort you back to the village just to be safe. Okay?”

He squinted at her, though she paid him no mind. “Nothing dangerous?”

“It really isn't. Trust me.”

“I trust my eyes more than I’d trust you!” Elsword countered, his fear quickly boiling into anger. “It looks very dangerous! So if it isn’t, then what in the El’s grace is it?!”

The elf pondered his question for a moment. Ultimately, she decided to drag him along, telling him to hurry back to the village.

“What is it?” Elsword insisted. “I have to know!”

“It’s a curse,” the elf finally replied, letting him go. The boy followed her pace, feeling more at ease to have answers. “It’s already purified, so it’s not dangerous for you or anyone else. It’s just ugly to look at.”

“What kind of—?”

Elsword paused. The memory of his sister fighting against a grey-skinned man with animalistic fangs and black and blue horns came rushing back to his mind. The bird was covered in a substance similar to what the man’s horns were made of. After Elesis had defeated that man, she had called it something very specific.

“Is it a demon?” Elsword asked and noticed the elf tense ever so slightly.

“It might be a demon’s doing.” She sighed. “But it’s nothing you should worry too much about. Your father and your mother will keep you safe at home.”

Elsword glared at the sound of the word ‘father’. He had no intention of being protected by a deserter he had never met, not now and certainly not later in his life.

“What do you know about me?” He hissed. “I’m a member of the El Search Party! I’m the one who’s going to protect others.”

The elven woman raised an eyebrow but still took him at his word. The bright lights of Ruben Village appeared through the dense forest, but the festivities had already ended.

“I see,” she acknowledged with a slight nod. “I’ll be around the Tree of El tomorrow. If we see each other again and you need my help, just call me. My name is Rena.”

Once they reached the entrance to Ruben Village, the elf vanished, leaving Elsword with the lamp to find his way back home.

---

Rena enhanced her speed with the help of the spirits as she sprinted back into the dark depths of the forest. She had seen the silhouette of a demon near the corrupted corpse of the Ruchi. As unlikely as seeing a living demon in this era was, it was not the first time one of their kind had approached the location of the El. The elven ranger reached the area where the bird was in a matter of minutes and decided to hide in the foliage as she waited for the two people she had seen far in the distance about half an hour ago to emerge onto the main road. Luckily, she had been right to assume they had been resting.

The peridot-eyed elf hid in the tree branches, with her bow ready to strike the tiny demon she had seen. Two figures emerged from the other side of the road; one was a tall, indigo-haired man with twin swords on his hip, and the other was a girl, barely a teenager. Her snow-white, wavy hair was not what betrayed her true nature. The crown of black and blue horns that rose above her pointy ears was the only sign the elven archer needed to know she had been right; this girl was a demon.

Rena took aim, forming an arrow with her mana. The demon girl crouched in front of the Ruchi’s corpse. Her hands called forth blue flames, and she hovered them over the antennae, perhaps expecting her flames to consume them. Rena knew it would not work, but she would take advantage of the demoness’ confusion to strike from behind. She had the perfect angle to shoot her right through her head.

Her arrow flew, whistling through the cool air of the night. Rena barely heard the sound, so she was shocked when she saw the demoness leap away from the arrow’s path. The man to her side took his weapons and aimed straight at her. The musket barrel underneath the blade weakly shone as the weapon fired. Without hesitating, she called forth the spirits again to leap away in time. The shot echoed to her right, sending splinters around her as the bullet pierced the tree branch she had been standing on. Rena counted herself lucky; should she have taken a second longer to act, she might have been killed or lost a limb.

Her respite did not last long after she landed gracefully on the ground. The demoness had donned gauntlets that made her hands look at least four times their normal size. The white-haired girl pounced on her, ready to grab her head, perhaps even crush it in the process. Since the spirits around her were still keen on aiding her, Rena used them once more to leap away from the demoness and evade another deadly shot from the enemy marksman.

The spirits created a wind current that helped her reach yet another tree she could stand on to fire three arrows. She let them fly towards the demoness, who had briefly lost sight of her. Yet again, the girl’s senses were even sharper than Rena’s. It was hard to believe a child of any species could have such a keen understanding of the battlefield, and this girl looked barely as old as the red-haired boy she had travelled with earlier. The demoness leapt right towards the arrows, setting her gauntlets ablaze with her blue flames. Rena saw the girl’s gleeful grin and her ice-blue eyes; her pupils were shaped like a four-pointed star, giving her a surreal, almost beast-like beauty.

Rena’s mana arrows disintegrated when they grazed the flames, and time seemed to slow down. The gauntlets grabbed her by the shoulders, and though the fire still burned quietly, it did not feel hot. Every bit of skin they touched felt increasingly cold, almost cold enough for frostbite to take over her shoulders. Yet, the flames waned, and only the icy touch of metal remained. The demoness and the elf fell, and the girl had kept Rena pinned to the ground. The elf could not see anything past her ribs, but she felt that the girl was using both arms, her legs, and her tail to keep her immobilised. No matter how much she struggled against the demoness’ grip, Rena could not move an inch.

The girl’s pupils widened, almost consuming her irises entirely. She seemed surprised to see Rena at her mercy.

“An elf?” the girl huffed before turning her head to where the man was. “Ciel, is this the target that the half-breed wanted you to kill?”

‘She attacked me without seeing me?’ Rena thought as she tried one last time to break free. It was as useless as she should have expected it to be. ‘That’s impossible.’

“Does she have purple eyes? Pink or silver hair?” the man inquired as he walked towards them.

Rena’s eyes briefly widened at the mention of those features. She could have sworn that she had done everything to prevent the prisoner in the Forest Ruins from running amok.

“Not in the slightest,” the girl sighed in defeat. “May I still crush her to pieces?”

“Nope,” the man said as he finally emerged into the elven woman’s view.

The armband on his sleeve identified him before he presented himself:

“I’m Ciel. The twenty-first Steel Cross from Fluone. Sorry for all this. We're a bit on edge on this road, y’know?”

The white-haired girl finally let the archer go and walked to Ciel’s side, arms crossed and utterly indifferent to her. Rena dusted off her short, white skirt as she got back up, eyeing the white-haired girl apprehensively. As far as Elder Branwen had told her, demons only aged until they reached the peak of their power. For some, that meant their early adulthood, though some reached old age. After reaching their peak, all demons died of illness. This girl was accompanied by the twenty-first of Fluone. She still had the potential to become even more dangerous than the demon who had appeared three years ago.

‘I wonder if he’ll be strong enough to control her once she ages,’ she wondered. ‘Maybe he’s ready to kill her soon.’

“If you’re the twenty-first, then that means…” the elven archer mumbled to herself before turning her attention to the indigo-haired man. “What’s the best of Fluone doing all the way here? And with a demoness in tow, no less.”

“I suggest you keep your questions about my presence to a minimum,” the teenage demoness snarled. “You would detest having your hands burned to a crisp, would you not?”

“Lu…” Ciel sighed, rolling his eyes. “We don’t need to make enemies out of elves.”

“I know her kind from my world,” the girl grumbled. “Lawless savages, the lot of them...”

Rena’s eyes narrowed at the demoness’ remark. It seemed unlikely that any elves could survive in the Demon Realm. After all, the goddess had only banished foul creatures from Elrios into that realm two millennia ago. Elves were not on the list.

“Lu, don’t lie. They’re not the same kind.”

“Same pointy ears, same annoying arrows,” the demoness shrugged before she turned her back to Ciel. “They’re similar enough. Make your talk quick, will you? My feet are sore, and we’re both in dire need of a bath.”

The demoness walked a few paces away before sitting by the edge of the dirt row, staring at Rena from a distance like a predator, ready to pounce at Ciel’s call.

“I’m sorry about her,” the Steel Cross apologised, turning towards the demoness and signalling her to calm down. “It’s a long story, but we’re here on a mission.”

“Can you tell me what your mission is?” Rena asked, crossing her arms as she tried to ignore the demoness’ cold stare. It was less menacing, but her piercing blue eyes and oddly shaped pupils were unsettling to look at in the dark.

“Yeah. You and your people need to know, anyhow. We’re here to investigate a series of disappearances in the forests. Our only lead is a pile of complaints of creatures who’ve been attacking everyone on this road,” Ciel explained before scratching the back of his head. “We also got attacked on our way here, and… Heh, well, those things are tougher than they look.”

Rena did not fail to notice the glint of amusement in his eyes nor the tiny fangs in his crooked smile. Ciel was not too far away from enjoying violence in the same way a full-fledged demon would.

“But what’s interesting is that when they flee,” the Steel Cross added, “those creatures can cross the frontier of your territory.”

“So, do you think it’s an elf’s doing?” Rena asked.

“We think a dark elf is doing it,” the Steel Cross clarified. “I know it sounds like a long shot, but if demons still live on, then…”

He gave her a slight shrug, gesturing with his hands what he wanted to imply.

“That’s horrifying to think about,” the green-eyed elf noted, forcing herself to hide her genuine emotions. It seemed that the prisoner she had shackled herself was pulling on his chains yet again. As much as she was reluctant to deal with him again, she did not want Elder Branwen to discover her lie.

“Of course,” Ciel added. “That’s why I want to meet your Elders. I must get their permission to enter the Forest Ruins and eliminate that dark elf.”

“I’ll see to it,” Rena lied with a nod before leaping into the wilderness, leaving the Steel Cross and the demoness behind. She relied on her own speed and strength this time; she knew the spirits would not respond well to the complicated mix of sadness, joy and shame that threatened to consume her heart again.

---

Elsword was already on the way to the El Search Party’s base when the first rays of sunlight hit the hill. He had not slept well, but Lady Seris’ special tea had pushed his sleepiness away. He was thankful that she did not question him at all for coming home that late, though explaining himself to the twins had been quite a challenge in and of itself. He regretted making the twins upset, but he promised to apologise when he got back home. Today, however, was too important to be weighed down by his thoughts. Thus, he focused on the road ahead.

In the distance, he saw two others emerge from the heavy, iron gates separating the dozen interconnected buildings that made up the base from the forest.

The two men were a knight and a recruit. They walked for a moment before the tallest of them – a dark-haired man from what Elsword could tell – yanked the other by the shoulder, forcing him to face him. Judging by the taller man’s uniform, he was a proper knight instead of a simple recruit. His red shirt and the claymore he carried on his hip testified to his status.

The dark-haired knight was not yelling at the blonde recruit, but his threatening gestures were enough for the red-haired boy to understand he was far from praising him; the blonde meekly accepted the knight’s harsh words, barely shaking his head or nodding now and then.

As Elsword approached, he began to distinguish the knight and the recruit better and even catch their conversation.

“And you think he’s not gonna spread the word? Who do you think he lives with, huh? You never think things through!” the dark-haired knight exploded. “You just make everything worse for us!”

Under the sunlight, Elsword saw that while most of the knight’s short hair was jet-black, some of it – especially around his temples – was lighter. His sapphire eyes were burning through the blonde’s brown gaze. The boy recognised who the blonde was. It was Wyll.

The teenager looked at Elsword, and the older knight also turned towards him. Though their hair and eye colour differed, their long, slim noses and thin lips were similar. The blue-eyed knight scowled at Elsword before muttering something to Wyll that made his eyes widen. Then, the black-haired knight walked back to the base without another word.

“Hey, Els,” the blonde weakly said as he passed his hand over the nape of his neck. “You’re here way earlier than everyone else. Did you rest well?”

“Yeah, but what’s up with you?” the boy asked. “Why was that senior so angry?”

“Ah, it’s nothing serious,” Wyll chuckled. “It’s just a brotherly disagreement. You know how it is, right?”

“Ah, yeah,” he answered with a forced chuckle. “It happens all the time. By the way…”

Elsword opened his bag and returned the water disk and the waterskin to Wyll.

“Thank you, Wyll,” he grinned. “It saved my life on the way back. Don’t worry about the waterskin; I made sure it was squeaky clean.”

The blonde took the two objects, gave a grateful nod, and invited the boy to head into the base. After a couple of minutes, Wyll broke the peaceful silence between them:

“Els, do you live on your own?”

“Hm?” Elsword tilted his head at his friend, “Well, for most of the year, yeah. But I get to spend the summers with the Felfords, so it’s not too bad.”

Wyll furrowed his brow. “Ah, the Felfords. Isn’t Lord Felford the Grand Admiral of the Centurion Guard?”

“Yeah, Lord Owen is amazing! He’s helped me train when my sister wasn’t there. He tells me every time he used to be really sickly and frail when he was my age, but you’d never guess it from the way he fights,” the boy rambled with a proud grin. “They call him the White Hawk for a very good reason, you know?”

Though he had expected Wyll to share his excitement again, the blonde seemed lost in his thoughts as they crossed the camp gate.

“Wyll?”

“Hm?” the blonde finally snapped back to reality and offered him an apologetic smile. “Oh, sorry, Els. I’m just a little tired. I think I’ll head back to—”

Right then, the loud horn signalling the start of the day for knights and recruits drowned Wyll’s words. Their free time was over. They both had to head to the central training grounds to begin their day.

---

When Wyll and Elsword entered the primary training ground, most other recruits and knights were already there, at the ready. They were divided into two clear groups. The one to the left comprised all the knights and low-ranked officers. Their red capes and shining metal armour distinguished them as accomplished soldiers. Elsword spotted Liam right on the second row from the front, just behind Lieutenant Lowe. The boy supposed it was unsurprising that the black-haired man was of a higher rank, perhaps a Sub-Lieutenant.

Liam perhaps sensed his stare and glanced at him, furrowing his eyebrows. His glare was brief yet scarier than Lady Seris’ rare moments of anger. The crimson-eyed boy turned his attention back to the front, expecting the Captain to leave the officers’ barracks. However, the three people who emerged from the door and sat on a nearby bench were outsiders.

First was a silver-haired priest with a long white cloak decorated with a golden hem on the sleeves. His pants and shirt underneath looked to be made from thick fabric. Elsword pitied him; that priest would pass out from the heat hours before noon. Next was an indigo-haired man with sapphire eyes and pointy yet stubby ears. His long, black coat and pants were also not made for the heat to come. Elsword’s attention was not drawn to the twin gunblades on his waist but rather to the man’s armband. The eight-pointed cross of Illipia was embroidered in its centre, circled by a ring of flames. The indigo-haired man was a Steel Cross, likely from Lanox. The boy presumed the land of the Fire El was probably hotter than Ruben, so he wondered if the Steel Cross felt cold instead of the lovely, warm temperature he felt.

The last outsider was even stranger than the two men. It was a girl his age, her hair hidden under a long, black veil decorated with horns. Her sleeveless indigo dress was split on the side, revealing her thigh-high stockings. Her attire was complemented by strange gloves that went up to her elbow; whatever they were made of, they looked almost as shiny as metal.

“Who are they?” Elsword whispered, glancing at his friend. “Did they come here last night?”

“The priest came first, right before nightfall,” Wyll whispered back. “Apparently, he’s a pilgrim. The other two, well, he’s clearly a Lanoxian Steel Cross, but who knows what he’s doing here with that creepy girl. Her eyes are weird.”

“Huh? How are they weird?”

Wyll shrugged. “Her pupils are, I don’t know, shaped weird. I didn’t get a good look last night, but they’re not round, that’s for sure.”

Finally, the Captain emerged from the officers’ barracks, donning pauldrons and a grey gambeson over his usual uniform. Elsword also noticed he wore thick, steel bracelets; they almost looked like cuffs. Lieutenant Lowe walked forward, as he usually did once Captain Evans appeared.

“Attention, soldiers!” the grey-eyed Lieutenant hollered as he took his place to the Captain’s right.

Like clockwork, all the knights and recruits present straightened up, their chests puffed outwards while they kept their feet close together at a small yet precise angle. No one spoke; their eyes were fixed on their Captain, and all emotion left their faces.

“Good morning, lads,” the Captain greeted them with his usual, confident smile. “I’ll be honest with all of you. All these formalities bore me to no end, but it can’t be helped.”

Lowe frowned at his Captain’s usual easy-going attitude but did not interrupt him. The Captain scratched the back of his head before gesturing vaguely at the three outsiders behind him.

“There are some important visitors with us,” he announced. “The first is Ainchase, a pilgrim from Hamel. I know all of you can guess what Ciel’s job is. What you may not know is that he’s the strongest in Fluone. As for the girl here, she’s the Steel Cross’s assistant. If you feel like pulling pranks on any of them, please reconsider. I don’t wanna be forced to kick you out for having a sense of humour.”

“Now,” the Captain continued with a single clap. “With that out of the way, you all know why today’s an important day, don’t you?”

“Sir! Yes, sir!” the troops said in unison.

“Alright! Squad Three, you’ll take the youngest half of the recruits under your wing,” the Captain ordered. “Squad Ten, you’ll take the other half! Lowe and I will give all the Debrians and Rubenians a pair of these!”

The Captain pointed at one of the cuffs on his wrists, “The El exudes a lot of energy. These will help you keep your strength and mana for those who are magically inclined. That’s all! Let’s get going, lads!”

---

While Elsword was glad to be marching alongside Wyll, his enthusiasm was diminished whenever he looked at who the leader of squad three was. Liam Gesson led the group of twenty-five with a stern expression, and Lowe did little to break the tension.

‘If I was my sister’s age,’ Elsword thought as he looked around the peaceful forests. The day was already warming up quite fast. ‘I would’ve at least gotten to be with the Captain’s group.’

A gust of wind blew in front of them, lifting a curtain of dust, dead leaves and small branches that forced the group to a halt. Elsword put his arm in front to protect his eyes, but even then, he had to close them and look away as the wind passed. He heard someone groan in pain to his left, and when he could finally look at what had happened, he saw that it was Wyll who had gotten hurt. A strange creature – a mix between a bat and a lizard – was biting on his arm, flapping its fleshy wings as hard as it could as if it was looking to snatch him up into the sky. Its fangs were so sharp that it tore through the teen’s gauntlets and gambeson, making him bleed.

Without a second thought, Elsword swung his red and white sword to knock the creature out. To his surprise, he managed to cut one of its wings off. The flying monster screeched in pain, letting Wyll go. Another recruit approached the wounded blonde and immediately used a healing spell on his wound. The creature that had attacked them slithered away into the forest, but it did not get very far before breathing its last.

Every member of Squad Three took their combat positions: the knights on the front and the recruits on the back. The El Search Party faced the direction the creature had come from. The Ruchis screamed as they fled into the sky, and the bushes swayed and crumbled under the march of a dozen monsters. Their grey skin looked lustrous like a toad’s, and while they stood on two legs, wore armour and wielded spears and swords, those were the only human traits they had. Their faces were more akin to the snout of a crocodile; their hands only had three thick and clawed fingers, and their golden eyes stared viciously at them.

“Goddess help us,” Wyll muttered.

One of the armed monsters in front of them screeched, and the rest charged at the group, weapons raised and ready to strike.

Chapter 4: Revelations in the Battlefield

Elsword was unprepared for the chaos that unfolded around him. The enemies dodged the knights' spells and arrows just before being hit. Despite their bulky build, the monsters were surprisingly agile, with some even leaping over the defensive line to attack the unarmed trainees. The red-haired boy did all he could to defend Wyll, whose wounded arm was still bleeding. The enemies' constant movement made it hard to keep track of them.

The boy lost focus and glanced at a fallen comrade, a copper-haired teenager about Wyll's age. The copper-haired recruit fell to the ground like a ragdoll, as did a few knights who had turned their focus away from the battle. Whatever the enemies' spears were made of, it was an alloy strong enough to break through steel.

Limbs and heads went flying, and the blood rained over those who were still standing. Elsword caught a glimpse of one enemy spearman to his right and turned just in time to dodge the vicious swing of its weapon.

He evaded the hit but was easily pushed to the ground by the beast that resorted to biting through his sword, only making minor dents. His grip began to falter, and fear slowly devoured his mind. This monster would kill him.

“Explosive Fist!” Wyll shouted as he slammed a flaming fist over the monster's head. The flames faded quickly, but their heat was enough to melt through part of the beast's skull. It yelped in pain and swung its weapon wildly at Wyll. Luckily, it missed the blonde every time. Elsword stepped in to deflect the spear shaft, but the swing was so strong he was sent rolling back to the ground.

He hit the ground with his head and was stunned for a moment. He could only watch as the recruits around Wyll fell one by one. Some were eviscerated, others evaded the first hits but found themselves being little more than a meat shield for Wyll. Even as parts of its brain spilt along the guts and blood it drew from its victims, the monster was unstoppable. It twitched and let go of its spear, but its unfocused golden eyes set on the blonde recruit.

Wyll screamed his brother's name as the bloodied demon leapt on him. A golden blade swooped in before Elsword could think of running to help his friend. It cut the creature cleanly in half, spraying its black, gooey blood onto Wyll and other knights who could still stand despite the bite wounds on their arms and legs. The able-bodied knights rallied together as the remaining grey creatures approached them.

Elsword leapt back into action, stepping forward with four other knights to defend the injured, but he was yanked out of the way by a knight with ashen hair. It was Lowe.

“Armageddon Blade,” the grey-eyed Lieutenant said, calling forth a spell that covered his weapon with a ghostly red and gold blade, extending the reach of his greatsword by three.

He slashed the remaining enemy forces in one swoop and was soon joined by Liam. The black-haired knight had a similar enchantment on his blood-stained blade. Elsword assumed he had been the one to save Wyll from death.

In this rare moment of respite, the remaining recruits and knights gathered around the two leaders. Out of their group of twenty-five, only ten remained standing. Of those, Elsword could only see Wyll as the only recruit besides himself. The red-haired boy had gotten back up, but the scent of blood and carnage froze him in place. The sun was higher up in the sky, unveiling the terrified expressions of the unarmed recruits who had been massacred. This was their first expedition. It was supposed to be only a routine where they would take turns familiarising themselves with the route and defence positions within the Tree of El.

They were barely halfway to their destination, and more than half of their unit had died. Elsword dared to hope that the unit under the Captain’s command had not suffered any losses.

The buzz of the flies soon made itself present, overbearing and unstoppable. Elsword's stomach churned when he turned his attention towards the copper-haired recruit he had seen die first. His blood pooled massively under his body, spreading and mixing itself with the blood of others and the black blood of the monsters. The boy could still picture the moment his comrade's blood had begun to pour all over. It was so vivid it might as well be happening all over again. Elsword took a shaky breath in, then another, shorter, faster. Breathe out. Then, in. Out and in. In. Out. His ears rang, and the only thing he became increasingly aware of was that he had let all these people die. He could not even save Wyll on his own.

A knight stepped in front of him and crouched down to his level, putting his hands over his shoulders. It was Lowe. His usually cold grey eyes looked far more understanding.

“You protected who you could, and you're still in one piece,” the Lieutenant told him. “Those are the most important things you can do on the battlefield.”

“I didn't protect anyone,” Elsword whispered, shaking his head as he felt the sting of tears again. “I was protected by everyone.”

“You killed that Gargoyle when it bit your comrade. You did well by bringing a weapon with you, even if it wasn't required.” The Lieutenant got back up but stood close enough to block Elsword's eyes from most of the carnage. “Come with the rest of the group, and don't look back. It won't do you any good.”

He weakly nodded and rejoined Wyll and the other injured knights. Liam stood beside his brother, lending him his shoulder and almost holding his entire weight as they walked. Wyll's hands were trembling, and he looked terrified as if more monsters were going to leap out of the trees. By contrast, Liam, Lowe, and the surviving knights had far more stern, distant looks on their faces.

‘Does being a knight mean that I'll have to see these things over and over again?’ Elsword wondered before dismissing his own question. The only answer he could come up with scared him just as much as what he had seen. Elsword concluded that he had to have come to the wrong answer because his sister never spoke of anyone being gutted or decapitated by the monsters and evil people she fought. This terrible outcome was only the result of his weakness.

He had much to learn before aspiring to be as strong as the legendary Red-Haired Knight.

---

Ainchase read through a modern El Search Party training manual as he sat in the shade where the other two visitors had been. The demoness and her servant – who dared to sully the holy legacy of the Steel Crosses without a care in the world – were sparring nearby. The Celestial kept an eye on the two pieces of scum as he continued to skim through the book. He was almost two-thirds through it, and this book did not mention demons or their ilk. It was perhaps little wonder that these knights had never questioned the demoness' pupils or her strange veil. Five hundred years – nay, even two hundred years ago – they would have burnt that sinful Steel Cross and that demoness on the stake.

‘They protect the El, and yet they have no plans or understanding of the biggest threat of all,’ he thought as he flipped through the remaining pages. On the last sheet, he saw something interesting: a hand-written entry on demons.

The first half was written perhaps a few decades ago. The ink was fading onto the paper, and it did not look as fresh as the second half of the entry. Judging by the differences in penmanship, two different people had written this entry. The first half had nothing too special on it; if anything, it read more like a report on how the author faced a group of Glitter Panzers on his own. He described how he made a report to the Church after his battle. Thus, he learnt the name and nature of the enemy he had faced. At the very least, Ainchase had to commend the man for having a modicum of common sense.

The second half, however, was more recent and more intriguing. First, it identified the author as the daughter of the knight who authored the first note. She described facing a greater threat: a demon commander. The female knight even proposed a defence plan against such threats, crediting her father for giving her the idea in the first place. There was even a mention of more strategies and information on different types of demons in her father's journal, which she left in the care of the Captain of the El Search Party, Banthus Evans.

‘It's not that bad for an ignorant human,’ the Celestial thought as he flipped the page and found a graphical representation of the strategy the female knight had alluded to in words. ‘Hmm, she's underestimating the demons' agility, but if the other knights are skilled enough with spells, then the casualties from those at the rear shouldn't be too high.’

The green-eyed priest heard a group of knights rush toward the gate where the two squads who had left earlier that morning had passed through. He glanced at the Steel Cross and the demoness. They, too, had noticed. He let them get ahead to where the commotion was coming from, contenting himself to follow them from behind. Should they try and run for the El, he would execute them both on the spot.

“Medics! Call for the Medics, now!” a brunette hollered from the crowd of knights that gathered around the returning troops.

Since he stood taller than most men, Ainchase had no trouble seeing why they were calling so desperately for medics. Out of the group of fifty that had left, only a few had returned. And out of the survivors, only two recruits remained. The priest focused on the youngest survivor. His aura was not like those of other humans.

‘He is probably a Rubenian’, Ainchase surmised, ‘But even for a Rubenian, this boy is exceptional…’

Even if he was injured, the imposing Captain merely took bandages from the incoming medics and wrapped them hastily but efficiently around the deep claw gashes on his arms.

“Listen up, lads!” the Captain, Banthus Evans, hollered. “I want every Sub-Lieutenant who has mastered second-class spells with me and Lowe right now! The rest, remain on high alert and defend the fort with your life. It’s all hands on deck, or we’re toast.”

A unified ‘yes, sir’ echoed as every knight began to get in position. All the Sub-Lieutenants who filled the prerequisites and were not injured formed a group of three. Curiously, the red-haired boy had not moved from Banthus’ side, making him the unofficial fifth member of the group. He looked reluctant to leave but was also terrified of staying. Judging by how bloodied his uniform was, it was easy to tell he had probably seen things no child his age should be exposed to.

‘And yet, he chose this life. Is it because of his naivete, or is it his destiny?’

The Steel Cross approached the group as if it were the most natural thing to do and offered his help to bolster their numbers. Banthus readily agreed and told the boy to go and help the healers with the injured. Ainchase stepped forward, too, fuelled by both his curiosity about the boy and his duty to keep a tight leash on his two assassination targets.

“I have a bad feeling, Captain! I need to know what those monsters are up to!” The boy protested.

“Lad, those monsters are demons. They're up to no good, and we all know it. But trust me when I say you still need to train to get what it takes to accompany us. You'll get there. I’m sure of it, but not today.”

“But—”

“These are direct orders,” Banthus Evans coldly countered. “Your comrades here need you more than we need you.”

The boy's gaze sank, but before he walked away on his own, Ainchase stepped in.

“Ah, don't be so strict, Mr. Captain. The boy wants to go. If the strongest Steel Cross and I accompany you, does he really have anything to fear?” Ainchase said with a reassuring smile and a short demonstration of his power. He formed a single blade from pure mana, being extremely careful to only imbue the bare minimum of his heavenly power into it. He did not wish to alert the demons about what he was.

Banthus' blue gaze narrowed. “I didn't know priests were so willing to put children at risk in battle.”

“Oh, but there's no risk, I assure you. Being stubborn against a member of the Church is not in your best interest, is it?”

Banthus did not answer; he merely clicked his tongue and muttered an insult at him, saying something about the clergy always being unreasonable. Ainchase did not let his friendly smile falter as Lowe took out a teleportation scroll and cast a portal spell. According to the Captain, it would take them as close as possible without interfering with the magical barriers that protected the Tree of El.

The portal opened, and the group stepped in, their weapons ready.

---

The Tree of El was within sight, though its grandeur was eclipsed by the surrounding trees and a horde of Glitter soldiers rushing through every corner of the path. Ainchase furrowed his brow at their formation. Though the grey-skinned, lizard-like demons were not known for their wits, their barbaric attacks followed basic strategies, mostly centred around ambushes. Surprisingly, these Glitters were scrambling to defend themselves from something they had no idea how to attack.

Their numbers were thinning fast, and it was quite evident why. A fireball and a gale of wind scorched a dozen Glitters, giving the soldiers an opening to charge and deal with the thick wave of enemies. The Steel Cross and the demoness charged in first. Her gloves transformed into metallic gauntlets she used to slice cleanly through the demons, unfortunate enough not to notice her before she cut their necks almost to the point of decapitating them. A burst of gunfire echoed through the forest, and six Glitters fell dead. The knights of the El Search Party pressed forward. First was the black-haired Sub-Lieutenant with blue eyes. He deflected the overwhelming strike from his opponent to make it lose its balance before pivoting in a circle. The spell he cast was inaudible due to the chaos of the battlefield. Still, the Celestial could feel the mana particles electrify the air.

The power of his strike charged up, leaving a trail of fiery energy that burned through a dozen enemies, charring their flesh and armour where the blade hit them as the Sub-Lieutenant spun five times, thinning the enemy's rear guard to only a dozen soldiers that his comrades and the demoness had no trouble killing without using any magic at all. Ainchase glanced at the boy by his side. He had not moved; his eyes were wide with fear, and he clenched his wooden sword with shaky fists.

‘Perhaps I misjudged him,’ Ainchase thought as he exhaled. ‘But it’s too early to be sure one way or the other. I’ll give him one more chance.’

Once the demons were cleared up, the warriors saw the source of the chaos among the enemy soldiers. It was an elven woman and a purple-haired magician who looked barely older than the red-haired boy. They were out of breath, but besides a few scratches and bruises, they were unharmed. As he took a better look at the magician’s equally purple dress, Ainchase concluded she had to be Sanderian. Silk was rare anywhere in Lurensia, and enchanted silk was something only royalty could afford. The girl’s dress would still have cost a fortune in Fluone, but it was something elite magicians, like the Landars, could easily afford.

‘But what’s a Sanderian mage doing here?’ He wondered, furrowing his brow at the young magician. ‘Not even the Landars have gone this far away from their native lands.’

“Rena? Is that you?” the red-haired boy asked as he approached the woman and the girl.

“Hm? Oh! Hello again!” The elf greeted the boy with a friendly wave and a smile. “Thanks for bringing your comrades with you. The two of us would've been done for without your help.”

“Aw, no greeting for us?” the demoness pouted as she turned her gauntlets into ordinary gloves. “I hope you are not the kind to hold grudges even after owing us your life”

The green-eyed elf shook her head, offering the enemy a strangely friendly smile. Ainchase could understand why humans no longer killed demons on sight now, but elves acting friendly to them was unthinkable.

“It's not like that at all, Lu,” she chuckled. “I'm grateful to all of you, and so are you, right?”

The name of the demon was unusual. Ainchase wondered if it was perhaps a pseudonym.

She turned towards the purple-haired mage, who still struggled to catch her breath.

“Yeah,” she panted, “As if it's that big of an achievement to kill some walking frogs. Congrats, you guys.”

Elsword furrowed his brow at the girl's sarcastic tone, but before he could open his mouth to argue with the girl, Banthus stepped in.

“Ranger,” he called to the elf, “Did you see any demons approach the Tree of El?”

The elven woman gravely nodded. “Their commander continued alone. He'll be slowed down by the magical barriers, but we should press forward.”

“Any idea what kind of demon that commander is?” the Captain asked as he crossed his arms across his chest.

“A beast-type. It has some mastery over ice, but that's all I could see before I ran into this girl here, and we found ourselves surrounded soon after.”

“That's good enough intel for us,” Banthus said with a resolute nod. He looked at his men, “Liam, Orpheus, you're gonna escort the mage kid back to base. Do you have a teleportation scroll with you?”

“I do,” Orpheus said with a resolute glimmer in his amber eyes. “I’ve got enough mana to cast it and keep fighting, Captain.”

The blue-eyed Captain looked at the knight by Orpheus’ side. “How about you, Liam?”

“I’m afraid it’s quite low,” the black-haired knight sighed. “I’ll stay in the base and defend the recruits.”

“Your plan’s smart, lads. I approve. Lowe, how's your mana?”

“I can still pack quite a few punches even with the El's interference. What about you?”

The Captain chuckled, “It's not too good, but not too bad either. If it starts going south, you cast Gigantic Slash and retreat with the rest. Got it?”

The grey-eyed Lieutenant was surprised by the Captain's request but acknowledged it.

“Alright, lads, it's showtime,” Banthus Evans announced with a confident grin and a single clap of his hands.

The group split according to his orders, running in opposite directions. As they approached the Tree of El, the overwhelming energy that the El Shard exuded charged the air with the sharpness of winter nights. The demoness was the most affected, as she had to resort to piggy-back riding on the Steel Cross to keep up with the group. However, the red-haired boy kept pace and eventually outran every knight, including Lowe. The only person ahead of all of them was the elven Ranger.

“Get back to the rear, lad!” Banthus hollered as the boy only sped up even more, subconsciously using the same energy that weakened the others to enhance his body.

“The El is in danger, Captain! You said that a demon is going for it, so, wait—” the boy yelled back, “Why are you guys the ones slacking behind?”

“Lad, we’re a bit old to run as fast as someone as young as you. Our knees are hurting a bit, y’know?” the Captain chuckled.

The explanation seemed to satisfy the boy and even boosted his confidence, as he assured them he would be in charge of the team.

“Just stay close to the Ranger, will you, lad?” Banthus counselled him. “Your sword might have a decent enchantment, but it’s still just a wooden sword.”

“Yes, sir!”

‘I knew this boy was special,’ Ainchase thought with a smirk. ‘My mission will be a breeze if I make this boy realise his full potential.’

---

Aisha Landar was not happy being escorted back to some stinky fortress when she was so close to testing new ways to recover her power. She had to reach the Tree of El and get a good chunk off the El Shard for her ritual. There had to be a way for her to escape. She figured the easiest way would be to distract the two knights who walked by her side while she recharged her mana. The one on her left looked somewhat familiar, though she could not place where she might have seen him.

‘He’s conceited enough to dye his hair black, huh?’ she thought as she noticed the small golden roots peeking from his temples. ‘I wonder why he’d dull his looks like that. He should let his hair grow, too. I bet it would curl beautifully.’

Aisha had to admit that – despite his odd choices when changing the colour of his hair and his militaristic hairstyle – the knight was handsome, especially with his sapphire blue gaze. She could not say the same thing about the orange-haired knight to her right. His high, prominent cheekbones matched poorly with his tiny, crooked nose. The freckles that polluted his face did not make his sunken amber eyes look any better.

‘Orpheus and Liam. Hmm, I got a fifty-fifty shot of getting it right…’ she pondered as her brow furrowed. ‘Ah, if only I had listened to Yuria when she talked about Lurensian naming conventions I wouldn’t be debating this! To hell with it! Orpheus should be the correct name!’

“Hey, you're Orpheus, right?“ She asked the young man to her left. “Have we met before?”

“If we had, you'd know that isn't my name,” he answered coldly. “Keep walking and talk less.”

“Girlie, did you think that was his name because it sounds more prince-like?” the other knight guffawed. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Well, it sure seems you Lurensians don’t know how to name people,” the mage grumbled as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re from Sander, aren’t you, girlie?”

“Yeah,” she proudly answered as she flicked her twin purple braids over her back. “Our beautiful hair is enough to tell, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Orpheus agreed. “Liam here is from Senace. You’re practically neighbours, right?”

Liam clicked his tongue and threw his colleague a disapproving look.

“Aw, come on, Liam. Isn’t it great to see a fellow Fluonian so far away from home?”

“I don’t care where this girl is from, and I would rather have both of you shut up. The more we talk, the slower we walk. I need to make sure Wyll is doing alright.”

“Was he injured that badly?” Orpheus’ light-heartedness was almost completely gone now.

“It’s not about his physical injuries. I don’t want him to be alone for too long after what he saw.”

“And you’ll apologise for dragging him out at the crack of dawn to discipline him, right?”

Liam sighed. “Yeah, that too. I wish I knew how to talk some sense into him without yelling at him. It just… happens before I can think of a better way to say things.”

“I've always told you to not say a thing as long as you don't feel calm.” Orpheus sighed as he shrugged. “You still haven't listened.”

‘These guys… are they ignoring me?’

“Ahem! Well, isn’t this hypocritical of you, Liam? You’re talking a lot while you’re forbidding me, your guest, from talking at all,” the purple-haired girl countered as she emphatically put her hand over her chest. “Why am I not allowed to speak with you when I’m your guest?”

Liam barely gave her a glance. “Go ahead and talk, then.”

“Well, I’m curious about you, Liam.” The girl announced, “I’ve told you that I’ve seen you before, so I want to know who you are.”

Liam did not reply, and Orpheus simply shook his head at her as if trying to dissuade her from questioning his comrade on the topic. Aisha would not simply drop the matter. Her curiosity needed to be sated.

“Hello? Are you ignoring me?” Aisha asked, already getting peeved at being so openly ignored.

“Yes.”

A frown began to form on her face. “Well, that’s very rude. Is this how a knight treats his guest?”

“Let me ask you this, girl: Why do you care so much about who I am?”

“Well, regardless of the reason, you should feel honoured about it,” Aisha countered. “I'm from the Landar Family, you know? I’m a genius even among the rest of the Landar. I can recall anything I've seen, so I know for a fact that I must have seen you. I’ll have you know that I don’t speak to just any Senacian. In fact, I only accept commissions from the Rod—”

Liam stopped and drew his sword. Orpheus took out his weapon, and Aisha's heart skipped a beat. She put her wand up defensively, expecting the two men to strike first. Instead, Liam leapt into the forest and impaled something that groaned on the ground beneath him. It continued to gurgle and screech until the black-haired knight swung his sword at it one last time. Black blood squirted all over his face, and Orpheus finally relaxed. Aisha, however, was quite shaken up when she saw Liam's sapphire eyes stare at the monster he had killed as if it were nothing more than an insect he had squashed. He wiped his face off with his sleeve and returned to her side.

“The Rod family? Is that what you were going to say?” he asked in the same even, dispassionate tone that now sounded far more menacing with the demon's blood still running down his temples and forehead. “I’m just a peasant. I don’t even have a surname. If you only deal with the royals, then we couldn’t have met. Did you have any more pointless questions in mind, Landar girl?”

Aisha vigorously shook her head. She figured she should let the two knights talk among each other instead of interjecting.

“Great. Now, try to walk a little faster.”

Orpheus sighed. “You're too much sometimes, you know?”

“I'm fulfilling the mission. Is that too much?”

“Don't play dumb and just own it, Liam. I get you're in a rush, but there's no need to be rude. She's a kid.”

“A kid? Her entire clan clearly treats her like an adult already. I don't owe courtesy to nosy and ungrateful people like her. She should know better at her age.”

Aisha frowned. ‘You should also know better for a knight! You owe every damsel at least some courtesy!’

“Look, I know you hate that sorta question,” Orpheus dejectedly noted before he let out a long sigh. “But if you never practise talking calmly to people you don't like, how are you gonna get any better when talking with Wyll?”

The two knights continued to banter between each other, leaving Aisha the chance she had been waiting for. Sensing the surge of mana within her, she realised that she could channel it to temporarily incapacitate the knights. Although the electricity coursing through her veins wouldn't cause them any harm, it would certainly stun them. Aisha knew that their heavy armour would conduct the electricity, effectively incapacitating them without causing lasting harm.

“Lightning Bolt”, she whispered as the mana she had gathered at the tip of her hands left through her wand. A crackling bolt of lightning burst forth, searing through Liam's gambeson before arcing toward Orpheus's shoulder. It happened far too quickly for any of them to react. The shock made them tense up and shake for a moment, their eyes staring at her in disbelief before they both crumbled to the ground with their eyes closed.

The purple-haired mage put her hand over their neck and felt a steady pulse. To be sure that they were just stunned by the shock, Aisha also put her hands close to their noses. Their breathing was steady enough, so she assumed they would recover from it.

‘Back to the Tree of El I go,’ she thought as she searched through Orpheus’s pockets and got the teleportation scroll out. After reading it, she realised the object was useless in her hands. It would only work if the caster had been to the destination before.

She threw the scroll away and charged more mana in her wand. Her teleportation spell would take her only two dozen paces forward every time she cast it. Still, it was better than walking all the way.

Chapter 5: The Tree of El

The Tree of El was immense and as old as the world. Other trees around it looked like measly twigs. Climbing through the grassland that flourished on the ancient tree’s roots was as challenging as climbing an uneven, narrow hill. Ainchase looked up and saw frost on the leaves and singed branches. The demons were already there.

“Ciel,” the demoness said, “I need my strength.”

“Fine,” the Steel Cross grumbled. “Can you promise me to use it only when it’s a matter of life or death?”

“You have my word.”

‘The word of a demon is worthless. He should know that better than the rest,’ Ainchase mentally noted, wishing he could voice his immediate concerns without derailing the group’s mission. The priority was keeping the El Shard away from the Glitters’ hands. He would only act against the demoness if she acted to aid her compatriots in any way.

The entrance to the Tree of El was only a few paces away. A massive wooden gate was carved within the trunk, swarming with Glitter archers and their famous red Gargoyles. The demons sensed their approach, but the elven woman was even quicker with her bow. She charged an arrow and imbued it with the strength of dozens of wind spirits. The resulting wind current deviated the first volley of enemy arrows and made it impossible for the Gargoyles to fly towards them.

“Rail Stinger!” The Ranger shouted as she let her projectile fly. It was no longer a mere arrow. It was akin to a flying drill ready to shred everything in its path. It forced the Glitters and Gargoyles to flee, though most were too close to the path of destruction to do much before being turned into mincemeat by the Ranger’s attack.

The Captain unsheathed his sword, revealing an obsidian blade carved with runes. A burst of mana rushed into his body, enhancing his speed. He leapt next to the elf, entering the tree’s base before all else. Ainchase had never seen such a strange enchantment on a weapon before, but it did not seem to be made of heretical magic. He could not say the same of the Steel Cross’s mana, but that was to be expected. After all, that man was slowly but surely getting turned into a demon.

The rest of the squad of warriors burst into the imposing, hollowed-out entrance of the Tree of El. Ainchase felt lighter, far more alert, and stronger than before. The El Shard had to still be within the Tree of El.

The Celestial looked around the base. Though the demons had put their disgusting flags over the El Search Party’s banners on the wooden walls, the stone-paved halls and central plaza that led to the stairs were mainly free from the demons’ corruption.

A shiver ran down Ainchase’s back, and he turned his gaze above, where a set of wooden stairs that led to the floors above was overcome by a wave of Glitter spearmen and swordsmen rushing down to where they were. The few unlucky survivors from the Ranger’s attack had been quickly dispatched by the Steel Cross's bullets. Banthus took the lead and was soon followed by the rest of his men while the elven Ranger and the Steel Cross fired arrows and bullets to guard the knights. The red-haired boy hesitated to step in, and an enemy arrow nearly hit him.

Though the foliage hid most of them, the Celestial could feel the foul mana of four archers peeking from the mezzanine that hung from the third floor. He charged a blade with divine energy in his hands and aimed right towards it.

“Primus…Tenebra,” he muttered as the projectile elongated into the shape of a slim, diamond-pointed spear. Ainchase did not need to even throw the weapon for it to charge straight to where the hidden enemies were. It pierced the skull of one of the Glitter archers and continued forward. Before it lodged itself against the wall of the large weapon storage room the archers now occupied, Ainchase teleported to his weapon’s location. The enemy scrambled to aim at him, but they were too slow.

He leapt towards the closest demon, grabbing its ugly, slimy head with his right hand, using his weight and momentum to slam the creature to the ground before slitting its throat. He glanced to his right and caught two other archers aiming at him. Ainchase opened the palm of his hand, conjuring a summoning circle in the blink of an eye.

“Disruptio,” he called. The summoning circle unleashed a flash of light. Though the demons had managed to fire two arrows towards him, they were trapped within a prison of Celestial energy that was slowly crushing them to death.

Ainchase figured he would unleash his divine form again just before the arrows hit him. Just as he began to transform, A flash of blue flames and a long mane of white hair briefly hid away the demons. The arrows that the enemy had fired burned to a crisp.

The Celestial blinked, reversing the process he had started and turned his attention to his left. An adult, white-haired demoness was holding the last remaining archer from the throat, squeezing his last breaths out with her gauntlets. Her navy blue dress had a smoke-like feel, just like her horns seemed to be covered by dark smoke. Two parallel scars marked her back where her wings should have been.

“You owe me one, priest,” she said, turning her ice-blue gaze towards him before she crushed the Glitter’s throat. It snapped like a twig under the extreme force of her gauntlets.

Ainchase returned his attention to his spell, clenching his open hand into a tight fist. The summoning circle changed, expanding before contracting. The prison did much the same, crushing and twisting the enemy’s bones as it contracted. When the spell vanished, the only thing left of the archers was a pile of gore.

Ainchase got back on his feet, dusting off his robes as he supposed humans would. He could conjure a brand new set of clothes, but he suspected that would blow his cover. The Celestial assumed the demoness had not seen his real form, though he figured it would be advantageous for him even if she had.

“Where are the others?” he asked her.

“We spread out into groups. It's the best we can do to reach the El Shard before they steal it.”

The door to the room came crashing down with a loud thud, revealing yet another wave of Glitter soldiers that rushed towards them. Ainchase covered his hands with divine power, forming spheres of energy he could create and throw in seconds. He launched a volley of attacks at the enemy, killing at least seven. The demoness had also entered combat, launching orbs of blue fire to deal with the first wave of enemies.

Though they were completely different beings, Ainchase and the demoness’ hand movements were almost identical, from how they charged their spell to how they threw it at the enemy. The Celestial was briefly intrigued by it, but he soon focused entirely on the battle as more and more waves of enemies burst through.

Though the combined strength of their unlikely duo was ferocious, Ainchase noticed the enemy was gaining ground solely due to their numbers.

“Shit!” The demoness hissed as she looked at her empty hands. She could no longer use any mana.

“Cover me!” She ordered him as she rushed to fight the enemy with her gauntlets as her sole means of offence and defence.

The command took him aback. He could hardly believe a demoness could be so entitled as to ask her people’s sworn enemy to defend her in any way. Yet, that alone intrigued him. Ainchase wondered if the demoness had grown conceited enough to believe everyone would protect her or if she was one of the cockroaches in the North who thought they could live peacefully in Elrios.

The idea that she would be fooled by his human appearance suddenly crossed his mind.

‘Could that really be it? Could she be so clueless?’ the Celestial wondered with a smirk as he continued his attacks. He modified his spell so the orbs would expand and explode, maiming far more enemies unfortunate enough to come into contact with it.

He threw another barrage of energy at the incoming soldiers. Twenty Glitters fell dead with a sizable hole in their chest or half their skulls blown to atoms. They were replaced by twenty more screeching demons ready to skewer them both. The demoness was also killing demons by the dozens, but for every soldier she beheaded, two others rushed towards her.

They were hardly making a dent in the enemy’s number now. At this rate, they were going to be run over. The enemy had sensed his true nature and was prioritising him. If it meant the other knights would get to the El Shard sooner, Ainchase would gladly give every Glitter an excellent reason to come running towards him.

‘There’s no other choice. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.’

The Celestial grabbed his pendulum and shattered the crystal within. A wave of El Energy spread throughout the room, blinding every enemy who found themselves looking directly at him. He could levitate in his Celestial form, and his crystal wings hovering over his back allowed him to fly. However, he did not need any of it. The light still dazed the enemy, and Ainchase would fully take advantage of it.

He drew a circle with his hand, conjuring a hexagon of pure divine energy. He held his right fist in the middle as if grabbing a bow and pulled his other arm backwards, forming a slender arrow. The hexagon grew until it was almost as tall as he was, and thousands of other arrows began to form around the edges of the hexagon he had summoned.

The moment he let the arrow he had charged fly, the countless others that had formed also shot towards the enemy. He pivoted left and right, and hundreds of new projectiles created and fired themselves in the blink of an eye. The seemingly endless waves of enemies were mowed down in less than a minute. Ainchase initially felt proud at the result of his actions, though a cursory glance at his surroundings made him painfully aware of his failure.

“You’re still here?” He asked the blue-eyed demoness behind him. She had taken back her child-like form.

“Of course I am,” she answered. “I will admit your spell was more effective than anything I could do with my current level of power. I’m unsure why, but I expected that much from you.”

Ainchase tilted his head. “You’re unsure why you expected me to do…what?”

“I expected you to resort to an indiscriminate attack,” she explained. “I would’ve suggested it myself if you had not been so quick on your feet. Honestly, you read my mind faster than Ciel does.”

She offered him her hand and a grin that could almost be mistaken for a smirk. “Let’s continue to fight together, your Holiness.”

Ainchase looked at her hand, then at his paper-white hand. She had to be seeing him in his true form.

“You must instinctively know what I am. Why are you willing to trust me?”

He formed a dagger, ready to exploit the demoness’ foolishness. His grip on his weapon faltered. He clenched it tighter, but his hand shook despite that. He wondered if there were still remnants of the corruption of Time and Space within him. It was the only explanation as to why he could not bring himself to kill her.

The demoness looked down at his hand, then back at him.

“I know what you are, but you don’t seem to be a murderous zealot like your brothers,” she told him. “You have missed too many attacks for it to be due to incompetence.”

She pointed right at his weapon. “And even now, you’re hesitating.”

The Celestial did not have to look down to see what the demoness meant. She was utterly delusional, of course, but it was only a matter of time before he regained his strength. He would kill her then.

He sighed and conjured a gigantic sword from his reserves of divine energy. He swung it twice, and the pile of bodies that were trapping them were pushed to the sides, leaving them a barely functional corridor out to the upper floors.

“Believe whatever nonsense you wish, demoness,” he scoffed as he walked away from her. “I will not hesitate to kill you the moment you touch the El Shard.”

“Oh, don’t fret,” she replied as she caught up to him. “That double-edged sword is of no use to me.”

‘This demoness…’ he bitterly thought, throwing her a distrustful glance. ‘She knows no Celestial would ever trust her at her word. What is she hoping to achieve?’

Ainchase returned to his human form in case the others were around. Humans could not see him in his true form, and – considering their current ignorance – the Celestial did not wish to scare them into thinking he was an invisible enemy.

---

The chamber of the El was right at the top of the ancient tree, two floors above where Ainchase had fought against what he assumed to be the bulk of the Glitter forces. It was a vast, oval-shaped room with only the tree branches and the sky as its ceiling. Most of the branches, however, were unceremoniously spread on the floor. Ainchase could spot the elven Ranger to his right. Her limbs were entirely encased in ice, and she looked worriedly to the front.

There, a gigantic Garen commander stood right next to the Altar of the El. The gem was untouched, which was odd. The blue, hound-like demon stood as tall as a two-storey house, and his muscular, clawed limbs could have easily reached the El Shard. Instead, the beast growled at something in front of him.

He ran forward, forming two daggers in his hands. Ainchase was aiming to cut the demons’ slim, forked tail. Perhaps he would get lucky and get enough momentum to cut the tendons of the Garen’s legs.

“Ciel!” The demoness yelled as she leapt right after him.

Just as he had expected, the Garen commander turned his attention towards them. His long, canine snout revealed a set of razor-sharp fangs, each was almost as long as a short sword. His blue eyes had no visible iris, only a white pupil.

The demon spun around, swinging an ice-covered fist towards them. It was big enough to send them flying. With an annoyed groan, Ainchase threw his daggers towards the enemy’s claws. The blades dug themselves into the flesh, lifting part of the nail. An audible crack preceded a torrent of blood coming from under the nail. The blue demon roared in pain, quickly deviating his attack.

The white-haired demoness glanced at him and gave him a nod in gratitude before she stepped forward. The Celestial’s frown deepened at the thought that she was thankful to him. He had not attacked the Garen to protect her. He was doing it to protect himself and the El.

The gigantic beast had stepped aside to lick its painful wound, allowing Ainchase to see the unconscious Steel Cross and the red-haired boy. While the boy was shaking like a leaf, he had no injuries. It could only mean one thing: the boy had become deadweight during the most crucial fight of his life.

The demoness rushed to her servant’s side and hissed something at the injured demon commander. Though Ainchase did not understand her, a word caught his attention.

‘Berthe,’ he noted. ‘That does sound like a demon’s name.’

The beast replied in his native tongue, but he stopped when he set his eyes on Ainchase. The Garen commander let out a low, menacing growl that made the ground tremble.

“You are a disgrace, Steel Queen,” the blue, horned hound seethed in Elrian as he began to pace around on all fours. The fur collar around his neck grew as the demon’s hair stood on its end. “I’ll kill you and the Celestial right now!”

The demoness laughed as she charged her gauntlets with her cold, blue flames. “Those are bold words coming from Aegirp’s little lap dog. You can’t even handle having your nails trimmed, Berthe.”

Berthe howled as he charged at them, enraged like the beast he was. Ainchase unleashed his Celestial form, but instead of feeling the power of the El flowing unrestricted into him, his power was absorbed by something else. It was shocking to see his power slip away from his hands to the point he had no choice but to return to his human shell to preserve his strength. Ainchase looked to his left, where the red-haired boy was. He was absorbing pure El Energy from him and the El Shard itself.

The boy turned his attention towards Berthe, and a wave of El Energy coursed through the Tree of El. In the blink of an eye, the red-haired boy had his blade only inches away from the Garen’s neck. The beast’s eyes widened as it used his every muscle to avoid imminent danger. Berthe ducked the hit and rolled away, only losing a tuft of his fur instead of his head. The boy’s attack landed on the stone-paved floor, sending debris around him as the ground quaked under the sheer force of the hit.

A fireball came crashing down, creating a small curtain of fire from the cut branches between Berthe and the rest. The blue demon growled, and neon blue marks appeared under his eyes. He used his claws to call forth a portal, which he used to flee.

The magician was back, and she made her presence known with a haughty laugh as she stepped as close as possible to the fire she had caused.

“And don’t you dare to come back, you filthy beast!” She hollered at the portal that was slowly closing. “I’ll burn you to a crisp!”

Ainchase had to control his urge to roll his eyes at the purple-haired girl. He had thought there had to be a limit to a human’s hubris, but the Sanderian mage was dead set on proving him wrong.

The Steel Cross woke up. His face was bloodied, and he let out a soft groan. The demoness put her hands over his shoulders and asked if he could stand. The half-demon softly shook his head and sat down with some difficulty.

“Give me a moment, Lu. I’m still dizzy,” the Steel Cross mumbled.

The Celestial approached the red-haired boy, who had not moved since his sword cleaved the ground instead of decapitating a demon commander. The El Energy he had absorbed was still flowing wildly within his body, but it was not going out.

“Are you alright?” he asked the boy as he walked before him. The young trainee looked dazed, and he was shivering. Blood began to run down his nose and his ears; the El Energy he had absorbed was threatening to consume him inside out.

Ainchase had to get the excess energy out of him, though the spells to do so would betray his true nature to more people. Saving the boy from certain death was more important for his mission than having an elf and possibly a half-demon ask questions about him.

“Dirumpamus vincula eorum,” he whispered, summoning a complex magical circle at the boy’s feet.

The ground lit up with ancient glyphs as they absorbed the El Energy within the boy. Thankfully, the process was going far smoother than what he had anticipated. The red-haired boy returned to normal in a few minutes, although he collapsed soon after asking where he was.

Ainchase caught the boy before he fell to the ground. His even, regular breathing was reassuring, though it was hard to tell when he would wake up. The Celestial saw the elven woman looking at him from the corner of his eye.

“Will he be okay?” The peridot-eyed elf asked as she slung her bow over her back.

“His life isn’t at risk anymore, Miss Elf. He just needs rest,” he reassured her with a grin. “By the way, where are the other knights?”

Almost on cue, Captain Banthus, Lieutenant Lowe, and the three other Sub-Lieutenants emerged into the room. They were battered and bloodied, but – as expected of hardened soldiers – they were all still standing despite their injuries.

“What happened here?” Banthus asked as he looked around the messed-up chamber. Besides the burning tree branches, the place looked ransacked. Bullet holes caved every wall, ice shards were still clinging onto some furniture, and the floor was cleaved by claw marks and sword slashes of all sizes. The only thing left intact was the El Shard.

The Sanderian mage proudly walked forward, clearing her throat to catch the Captain’s attention.

“Well, I, Aisha Landar, defeated the beast demon single-handedly,” she announced as she puffed her chest. “Captain, I’m sure you know of my clan and how pricey our help is. But rest assured, I am extremely generous; I only ask that you grant one request. I want you to let me take a piece of the El—”

“You did not save anyone, Miss Magician,” Ainchase interjected. He had had enough of the girl’s antics. He looked at the red-haired recruit resting in his arms before turning his attention back to the girl. “This boy was the one who saved us. Had you not intervened, perhaps that demon commander would’ve died instead of getting a chance to flee.”

“I second the priest’s opinion,” the blue-eyed demoness chimed in. “The boy gave us a golden chance to counter-attack. We could’ve killed that demon had she not set those branches ablaze.”

The Celestial looked disapprovingly at the demoness, which, paradoxically, only drew an amused smirk from her. She was playing with him. Ainchase should have expected her kind to disrespect his authority, but he had not expected her to be so brazen. The blue-eyed demoness was frustratingly puzzling; he was growing more curious than annoyed at her bizarre moves to provoke him. It was perhaps strange for him to be intrigued by any demon, but he had to admit that she was unique among her kind.

She fought very similarly to him, and perhaps that explained her lack of wariness towards him. If she could copy his movements, he would have to understand why she could do that and counter that suspicious ability of hers to kill her.

“Captain, this girl released me from the ice spell the demon commander trapped me in,” the elven woman explained before the silence grew tense. “She might not have saved all of us, but this girl saved me.”

“What happened to the men escorting you back to our base?” The blue-eyed Captain asked. His authoritative tone deflated the mage’s ego like a needle popping a balloon.

Aisha gulped, showing a dangerous glimpse of her nervousness to a veteran. Ainchase could tell that whatever she would say next was going to be a lie.

“We got separated,” Aisha explained as she scratched the back of her head. “Some demons were there, and, uh, I lost them in the chaos. They last told me to come look for help, so here I am.”

“That’s odd,” the blue-eyed Captain noted, his eyes narrowing at the purple-haired girl. “Neither of them would’ve been overwhelmed that easily. And you’re a Landar. If you're powerful enough to defeat a demon commander without breaking a sweat, you three could've handled an entire demon army. How many demons were there for all of you to be overwhelmed by them?”

The girl fidgeted in place, swallowing hard at the Captain’s question. Her lies had caught up with her. Oddly enough, she preferred to remain silent than admit whatever she was hiding.

“Lass, you claim to be the heroine. You want us to give you a piece of the El, but you can’t answer this simple question?”

“I, uhm, I just don’t know how to—”

Banthus glanced at his Lieutenant. “Lowe, she’s all yours.”

The grey-eyed knight nodded. “As you wish. Soldiers, restrain her.”

The mage raised her staff, but before she could charge another spell, the knights had forced her staff out of her hand and restrained her. Lowe stepped in and forced her arms behind her back to cuff her.

“Hey!” The mage protested as she tried to break free. However, no mana flowed from her hands. The cuffs were undoubtedly enchanted to nullify magic. “What are you doing? Release me!”

“Lass,” Banthus called to her, “It’s nothing personal, but I don’t believe a word you said.”

“I’m not lying!” The mage protested. “How dare you suspect me when I’m the one who saved everyone here?!”

The Captain sighed. “You may be a strong mage, lass, but you’re certainly not strong enough to defeat a demon commander. I’m not sure I fully believe the priest’s story either, but I have to ensure you stay put while we investigate.”

“You could just ask me to, and I would stay!”

“I asked you to remain with my men and return to base,” Banthus countered. “You disobeyed. I won’t put you in a cell unless I have to, but you’ve left me no choice, lass. The cuffs will stay.”

---

Ainchase carried the red-haired boy on his back to the base. When they returned, the air was thick with tension. No soldier spoke as they crossed the gate, but they all glared at the mage. A couple of them even spat on the ground when they saw her pass. The Celestial expected her to raise her voice and demand respect from the knights, but she was oddly quiet and held her head down.

The black-haired knight, Liam, greeted the group once they reached the main training grounds. He was closely followed by more than two-thirds of the rest of the knights. The sapphire-eyed knight had to use wooden crutches to approach them, but despite that, he did not look weak. His gambeson had been burned by something, and he had fresh wounds on his arms and legs, one directly on his knee. His injuries were all bandaged, but blood was starting to taint the clean, white bandages that covered them.

“Welcome back, sir,” Liam greeted with a slight, respectful nod. “I hope the mission went well on your end.”

“It did, Liam,” the brunette confirmed as he glanced at the mage every soldier but Liam was staring at. “Can I get a quick report on what happened on your end?”

“Certainly. Sir, The Landar girl electrocuted us while we were still en route. When I woke up, two injured Glitter soldiers were attacking Orpheus. They had taken both of our weapons, and he protected me from their attacks. We didn't sustain any injuries from the electrocution itself, but the shock depleted our mana. It was a hard battle to win, but we eliminated the threat.”

Banthus glanced at Aisha. Lowe and the other knights that had accompanied them to the Tree of El glared at her.

“N-No, no, no. This is a misunderstanding. I, uh, I didn’t mean for that to happen. Please, you have to believe me!” the girl pleaded. “I just did—I made sure my spell would only knock them out. I didn’t want to hurt them, I—”

“I brought Orpheus back, but he remains unconscious and critically injured,” Liam informed them. “You can ask the medics for his prognosis, Sir. I will write a complete report about the incident from my perspective as soon as I can.”

“Lowe, take the girl to a cell,” Banthus grumbled. “Regardless of her intent, she attacked my men without provocation.”

“Roger that.”

Chapter 6: Dreams

Ainchase felt light-headed, and his arms were growing tired of carrying the unconscious boy. After the mage girl was out of sight, he asked the Captain where he ought to take the boy. Before Banthus could give him directions to the medical ward, the injured knight who had sealed the mage’s fate stepped forward.

“I’ll take the pilgrim to the medical ward, sir,” the black-haired knight said. “He can leave the recruit there.”

“Alright,” the Captain acknowledged. “I’ll leave that matter in your care, Liam. And, friar…” Banthus’ eyes turned towards Ainchase. “You should check on the El ‘n see if it’s still alright.”

Ainchase nodded. “With pleasure, Mr. Captain. I will be on it as soon as possible so you can rest easy.”

Banthus chuckled. “There’s no rest for the wicked, friar, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

With those last words, the priest and the knight took off to the medical ward.

If the Celestial had to guess, Liam was barely any younger than the Steel Cross, though his cold gaze and stern expression made him look older. Despite his injuries, the young black-haired man did not let his pain or exhaustion show. It was plain to see that he placed his duties as a knight above all else.

Seeing the knight’s devotion made Ainchase wonder about his fellow Celestials. The goddess had told him he was the first in five centuries to walk on Elrios, but he had a hard time believing that. Celestials had the duty of being the Memory of Mankind. Humans had not completely forgotten about demons, but it was out of reach for most common folk.

‘I wonder why my brothers would abandon humanity like that,’ Ainchase wondered. ‘We are supposed to be the ideal humanity should follow, yet this human is showing more principles than my brothers.’

He frowned at the thought. It was perhaps unbecoming of him to doubt his fellow Celestials, but this was a legitimate problem.

Ainchase’s vision blurred but returned to normal after blinking several times. His dizziness only worsened by the minute, but he could not let it show.

The Celestial figured it was simply due to the energy he had lost because of the boy. The redhead’s affinity for the El was phenomenal, but underneath his admiration for the recruit’s talent, there was a tinge of fear. This boy perhaps could weaken Ainchase to the point that the corruption of Time and Space would reawaken. The priest had no way of knowing for sure, but the weakness he felt was a worrisome symptom.

“Friar,” the blue-eyed knight called to him, pulling Ainchase out of his thoughts. “May I know your name?”

“Sure,” the green-eyed priest replied with a nod and a faint smile. “I’m Ainchase Ishmael. Nice to meet you.”

The injured knight repeated his name a few times under his breath. A frown soured his otherwise calm expression, and each time the blue-eyed knight muttered his name, his frown only deepened.

Ainchase tilted his head at the young man. “Is something troubling you, Mr. Knight?”

“Your name is strange for a Senacian,” the blue-eyed knight answered matter-of-factly. “That’s all.”

The priest chuckled to hide the burning sensation that was spreading over his face. The curse of Time and Space was reawakening, just as he feared. It was nothing too alarming yet, but Ainchase knew he had to find a way back to the El Shard soon.

“The monastery I’m from requires us to take up a holy name,” Ainchase explained. His eye continued to sting, but he decided to tune out the pain receptors of his human shell to hide his ailment. The Celestial did not have enough energy to delay the corruption from spreading, so it was crucial not to drag mortals into his struggle.

After all, the goddess said he should not meddle with mortals too much.

“Ainchase was the name given to the—” The Celestial paused. A foul thought had crossed his mind, and – to make matters worse – he had almost voiced it to a human. He had to reach the goddess as soon as possible. His weakness, his hesitancy to kill the demoness, the pain, and this new intrusive thought were all warnings he should heed; there was something very wrong with him. The goddess would surely know what he ought to do to cleanse himself from whatever remnants of Henir’s power he still carried.

“The name given to whom?” Liam asked.

“A decorated soldier who fought in the name of Ishmael during the early days of the Elrian kingdom,” Ainchase lied without a hint of fear or hesitation. “I ended up taking his name when I was ordained.”

“I see. I may be out of line for asking, but if Ainchase is not your birth name, what is it?”

The green-eyed priest shrugged. “I grew up in the monastery. For as long as I can remember, everyone has called me Ain.”

“Ain it is, then,” the knight nodded as he came to a halt. He looked to his left towards a limestone building with a tile roof. “There’s the medical ward. Follow me closely. It’s a tad chaotic inside.”

---

‘A tad chaotic’ was an understatement to describe the commotion inside the medical ward. From the medics and healers coming and going to the screams and groans of pain from the injured soldiers that lay on the corridors and occupied every bed and the orders for more bandages or medicine that echoed all across the ward, the state of the medical ward was akin to that of a battlefield.

The small facilities lacked beds and personnel. The El Search Party was woefully unprepared for a demon attack, let alone any serious threat to the village. Ainchase refrained from saying anything, but he did not believe all of the injured soldiers would return to fulfil their duties anytime soon. Some might not even survive if the scarcity of medicine continued. After squeezing past a couple of female healers on their way to an adjacent bed, Liam turned towards a closed door and asked Ainchase to help him open it. The priest did so, and the door creaked open, revealing a private room with two beds, one closer to the half-open window on the wall and the other to the wall where the door was.

A blonde teenager – who looked to be sixteen, perhaps eighteen at most – sat on the bed closer to the window. The teenager had long, curly hair that reached his shoulders, and his brown gaze focused on a book he held over his lap. His left arm was heavily bandaged, the other bruised, and his forehead wrapped in bandages.

Although it took some effort, Liam closed the door with his crutch. The blonde turned his attention towards them, and his round eyes filled with worry. “Brother!” he exclaimed before slamming his book shut and rushing towards the black-haired knight. “You should lay back down. I’ll call the healers right away, so come on…”

The blonde gestured towards the only other bed in the room.

“I have a report to make,” Liam informed him. “Your friend needs a warm bed more than I do.”

Liam’s younger brother furrowed his brow, but no words left his lips.

The blue-eyed knight glanced at Ainchase. “Ain, please put the boy on the bed.”

The blonde’s gaze widened when he saw the red-haired boy. He stepped back, his coffee-coloured eyes fixated on the boy, scrutinising his every injury, or lack thereof, visible injuries besides some minor bruises.

“Els…” the teenager gasped before turning towards Ainchase for the first time. “Will he be okay?”

“Of course. He overexerted himself,” Ainchase explained with an understanding smile. “But it’s nothing some rest can’t fix.”

The blonde teenager nodded but soon was preoccupied with his older brother again. He put his hands gently over his shoulders.

“Liam, brother. Please come back to rest. I can sleep on the floor, but you need—”

“Wyll. Listen.”

For the first time Ainchase had seen him in a short time, Liam’s cold gaze seemed to reflect a glimpse of emotion. It could have been shame or perhaps sadness. It was hard to tell compared to how openly Wyll wore his feelings. The black-haired knight glanced at Ainchase, and it was all the priest needed to know that he was no longer welcome.

It was all the better for him. The priest nodded to the two brothers and excused himself from the room. He left the medical ward and roamed around the nearby paths. Midday had already passed, but a few hours remained before dusk. He spotted the elven woman standing under an old oak. She was examining the bruises and cuts over her arms, and the spirits of the forest swirled around her. They were the best medics an elf like her could ask for.

Ainchase squinted, and the ground beneath him swayed up and down, falling prey to invisible waves. His vision blurred again, but he forced himself to focus. He had to reach the goddess to cure himself. At the very least, returning to the Tree of El would give him enough El energy to recover from having almost all of his power absorbed by a human child. His chest tightened, and a jolt of pain that spread from his face down to the middle of his back made him lose his balance.

Ainchase tripped and fell to his knees as he gasped for air. His entire body was burning, melting his very sense of self. He could almost see himself trapped in the darkness of Henir’s dimension. The green-eyed priest forced himself back up but could not make another step. The greenery around him twisted into a spiralling mess, the sunlight felt more distant, and so did the voices around him. It was all a blur converging into a single point.

A blanket of warmness soon enveloped him, and the sensation subsided. The worried face of a nymph was the first thing he could see with clarity. The tiny, blue-skinned fairy stared worriedly at him, humming a sad melody that carried her thoughts far more clearly than any human language. Her only question amidst her efforts to cure him and her tearful concern was a question in an ancient language only known by spirits:

How did such an illness befall an extraordinary Angel like yourself?

Angel. He was taken aback by the word the nymph had used to address him. Although Ainchase was curious to understand why the nymph had mistaken him for an Angel, he could not answer her question. The existence of Angels was a secret that no god or spirit could ever reveal to mortals. In his human form, Ainchase could never hope to answer the nymph in the dialect she had used to talk to him. Leaving his human shell here could be dangerous, not only for himself but also for all the living beings around him. Ainchase could not estimate how far the corruption had spread nor how virulent it would be to the mortals around him.

Thus, the green-eyed contented himself to give a grateful nod to the spirit before sitting down. The elven woman was sitting beside him. She set her peridot eyes on him with a hint of worry.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m better now, Miss Elf”, he assured her smiling politely. “You have quite a few powerful helpers among all these spirits. Your control is impressive.”

“Oh, I don’t…control them,” the Ranger informed him, averting her gaze as she combed her hair behind her ears. “They all come on their own to help me and, well, you, for obvious reasons.”

“So, you’re an elf loved by the spirits,” he remarked, his grin briefly shifting into a smirk, but not for long enough for the elf to notice. “That is even more impressive. To be born as a soul loved by the spirits is a miracle for all elves, isn’t it?”

The elf forced herself to chuckle, but her eyes betrayed a hint of annoyance. “Of course. It’s a rare occurrence.”

Ainchase found that contradiction rather odd. A Ranger who claimed not to control the spirits was impossible. Either she was more than she claimed to be or could only control the spirits.

“Is that so? Then, surely you’re on your way to becoming someone more important for your village, no?” he quizzed with his ever-so-polite smile, “There is no way your Elders would waste your talent by appointing you as a Ranger permanently.”

Her expression soured, her lips thinning before she answered in a cold but even tone. “Rangers are more important nowadays. I’m happy to stay as one, regardless of other circumstances.”

She sharply turned away, making her way out of the camp.

‘Other circumstances, she says,’ Ainchase noted. ‘I wonder what they may be…’

---

When Ainchase returned to the Tree of El, the sun was already setting. Without a teleportation scroll or a way to safely leave his shell without compromising the environment around him, there was little else he could do but walk all the way there.

Masses of slowly moving vines claimed the corpses of the fallen soldiers. Their leaves shimmered as they absorbed tiny drops of El energy from the bodies. As disgusting as all demons were, Ainchase had to admit that even demons could ultimately serve the goddess in death. Even as he passed through the main hall and went up the bloodied stairs, the sacred vines were already cleansing the Tree of El from the scum that had come to steal the Gem of All Life.

Ainchase saw an overflowing mess of vines coiled around a mass of dead Glitter soldiers in a storage room. His thoughts wandered to the demoness again. The Tree of El would be the perfect burial place for her. Her combat prowess and strength would give Ruben’s El Shard at least double the energy that that pile of soldiers would provide. He tried picturing her lifeless body eaten away by the goddess’ creation, but instead of satisfaction, he felt his throat tighten and a strange, sinking feeling on his chest.

The world was spinning again just as the burning feeling around his face became unbearable. He had to get out of his shell, lest he corrupted that, too. The moment he regained his Celestial form, Ainchase heard a bell bellow in the distance, followed by a whisper that echoed in his head, though he could not understand what it had said.

“Who’s there?” he asked, only to be met by silence.

The Celestial looked down at his hands. His fingers and left palm had turned the same indigo shade as the night, and neon blue streaks slowly appeared on them as if to simulate veins. The bell tolled again, and the whispers began to form words he could understand.

You…know…she…lies to you…

Ainchase grit his teeth and flew as fast as he could to the chamber of the El. As he got closer, the whispers became unintelligible again, then, they faded away completely as did the bell. When he reached the chamber, his eyes immediately darted towards the direction of the El Shard. The blood stains, broken arrows, bullet casings and ice shards that littered the ground were of no consequence.

The cool, electrifying sensation of being where the El Energy was the strongest soothed him. The pain was subsiding, and the mesmerising blue glow emanating from the backpack-sized gem lulled him to sleep. Then, a dream slowly formed in his mind.

He first saw a rural village in the distance. The fields of wheat that enveloped his legs swayed under the wind like ocean waves.

“Ainchase,” his brother called him. He looked virtually the same as he did, save for his shorter hair and hexagonal pupils. “You are too close to the target.”

“Is it not my duty to infiltrate their defences first, Ozirion? There’s still five hexes left.”

“I shall take care of those, brother,” Ozirion told him, a small frown souring his otherwise calm expression. “Go back.”

Ainchase frowned and grabbed Ozirion’s shoulder, forcing the Celestial to look at him.

“Do you still not trust me, brother?” Ainchase asked, looking at his brother right in the eye.

“This is not and has never been a matter of the fickle, mortal concept of trust,” Ozirion explained. “You are still an Angel. You will jeopardise this mission should you venture further into the target’s location.”

Ainchase scoffed. “You can’t be serious. What could I possibly have in common with that scum?”

“More than you think.”

Those words puzzled Ainchase, allowing his brother to break free from his grasp and throw him a disapproving look.

“Go back, Ainchase,” the Celestial ordered as he walked away. “If you disobey, I will use any means necessary to incapacitate you for the century to come.”

Ainchase observed his brother striding further into the fields. Each step Ozirion took seemed to ignite the ground beneath him, leaving a winding trail of roaring fire that set the wheat fields ablaze. As he moved towards the peaceful horizon, Ozirion outstretched his arms, summoning a curtain of fire that swiftly enveloped the village. The smoke billowed into the sky, and the screams of all the heretics pleading for mercy rose above the quiet crackling of the blaze.

Then, black rain fell from the sky. The Angel felt every drop, warm and carrying the smell of rust. It was blood. He looked up at the clear night sky above, reaching out for an explanation that soon came when he saw a bloodied blade in his hands. In the reflection of his weapon, he saw himself lifting the severed head of a faceless demon.

“Good job,” Ozirion’s voice echoed in his head. “You are one step away from becoming a Celestial.”

“Ainchase!” The voice of the goddess called him.

He turned to his right, and the carnage around him vanished under the goddess’ light. Ishmael appeared in all her splendour, sitting on her ivory throne. Her long, neon blue hair flowed free from her veil, almost touching the floor.

“What happened to you, Ainchase?” she demanded, her fists clenched over the armrests of her throne. “Why did you do such a thing?”

“My divine energy got absorbed by a Rubenian boy,” he informed his creator after kneeling before her. “Forgive me for that oversight, goddess Ishmael. I should have predicted that the boy’s exceptional aura—”

“That is not the main issue at hand,” the goddess interjected. Her tone was a slap to the face. “Why are you seeking those memories?”

Ainchase furrowed his brow. “Memories? I can hardly believe the vision I had is anywhere close to reality, be it in the past or present. It was akin to a dream, was it not?”

“Ainchase,” Ishmael sighed as she got up from her throne and approached him slowly but purposefully. “Celestials do not have dreams. You are, and always have been, a Celestial.”

She raised his head with her left hand and approached the index of her other hand right over his eye. Her claw-like fingernails grazed his eye, which he could not close. Ainchase grimaced as her touch became liquid fire on his skin. Yet, he could not deny her. She knew what was best for him; he only had to endure it.

“Follow the boy,” she ordered him. “Make him fulfil his destiny, but do not dare to dream again. You are a Celestial. You have always been one.”

Ainchase awoke at the feet of the Altar of the El in the middle of the night. He was back in his human shell. The green-eyed priest slowly got back on his feet as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He felt stronger, and his mind was as sharp as ever. He bowed at the El Shard, thanking his goddess for cleansing the remnants of Henir’s energy within him. He had all but forgotten what she had said and what he had dreamt about.

Ainchase felt like a brand new soldier of the goddess, ready to do her bidding. He set towards the El Search Party’s base in his Celestial form to shorten his journey.

---

Elsword was back in the middle of a bloodied road. The horrific screeches from the crocodile-like monsters echoed through the forest on the road to the Tree of El. They were fast approaching, their steps shaking the ground beneath him. He could do nothing but watch as the mud turned red with rivers of blood.

The first monster came for Liam, slashing his arm cleanly off before biting down on his throat. Time froze as Wyll’s eyes met his crimson gaze, horrified, pleading for the boy to save him. By the time Elsword raised his sword, it was too late. Blood sprouted from his friend’s neck like a fountain, dyeing the boy’s clothes crimson.

Elsword heard the blue beast demon chuckling behind him, its gigantic claws only inches from his neck.

“You’re worthless, boy. That’s why everyone leaves you behind,” the demon whispered with a low, feral growl before swinging the killing blow.

The red-haired boy woke up with a gasp. He could feel his heart pumping hard, and although he tried not to, Elsword could only take fast, shaky breaths as he sprang back on his feet. He had no idea where he was, but it did not take long to get used to the dimly lit room.

The first thing he saw was the two Gesson brothers sleeping peacefully despite how they barely fit in the single bed. Liam’s arm was wrapped around his younger brother’s shoulder, seemingly holding him from falling off completely. Wyll’s head rested comfortably over his brother’s shoulder. They looked peaceful despite their injuries. Perhaps it was just because he was asleep, but Liam looked more gentle, almost caring.

‘I guess Liam protects him from nightmares, too,’ Elsword thought as he silently made his way out of the room, biting his lip as tears threatened to stream down his face.

He closed the door behind him as softly as possible, took one of the oil lamps from the corridor, and snuck past two medics who were dozing off. Once outside the medical ward, Elsword noticed how quiet the base was. There was not a single soul in sight, and all the surrounding buildings had no lights on. He had no reason to continue to hold back his tears.

The boy went to the village after telling the knights stationed at the gate that he wanted to go home. None of them opposed his choice, leaving Elsword to run down the hill until his feet ached and his legs trembled. From then, he trudged himself to his home as the sky lit up with the promise of a new day.

He knocked on the door. No answer. Perhaps he was being bothersome. It was too early, so he could not expect anyone to be up. The demon’s words in his nightmare echoed once more in his head. The Felfords had probably left. It was not surprising at all, of course. If monsters were roaming and gutting people left and right, anyone would evacuate. He could do nothing to stop Seris and her family from leaving.

‘And why should I? I can’t protect them. They’re not gonna stay and put themselves in danger for my sake.’

Elsword knocked again, this time more softly, fully expecting to be met by silence again. The boy’s crimson gaze sank to his feet and so did his hopes of comfort.

The door creaked open.

He looked up and saw Lady Seris in front of him. Her hair was still damp, but she looked ready to tackle the day. Her emerald eyes widened when she saw him, and she immediately crouched at his eye level before putting her hands over his shoulders.

“Dear El, what happened to you, Elsword? Are you hurt?”

Although he knew he should not do so because Seris was not his mother, he shook his head, hugged her, and let his tears fall uninhibited.

“They got killed, and I couldn’t do anything,” he quietly sobbed. “I can’t protect anyone. I’m afraid of fighting those monsters. I don’t want to fight them. I don’t wanna go back.”

The blonde woman hugged him back as lovingly as a mother would. “You don’t have to go back now, Elsword. We all need to take breaks sometimes. Let’s take it all one step at a time, alright?”

The boy weakly nodded, sniffling and drying his tears away. He had to calm himself down. Seris cupped his face, combing some spiky hair strands behind his ears.

“Do you want to eat something, or do you want to rest up?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled before his gaze wandered to the small wet spot on Seris’s shoulder. He had ruined her outfit. “Sorry about all this. I, uh, I shouldn’t be bothering you at all with—”

“You never bother me, Elsword.” Seris calmly interjected with a soft smile adorning her lips. “You’re family.”

Family. The word itself was almost foreign to the red-haired boy.

“I’m family?”

“Of course you are,” Seris answered. “You are a son to me and Owen as well. My children see you as their big brother, too. We will stay here for as long as you need us, Elsword. That’s what families do.”

Though Elsword had not meant it, the memory of his sister leaving without a word three years ago crossed his mind. He felt a tinge of hatred tug at his heart but quickly shook the thought away. Elesis was not like Elkashu. She was an honourable knight fighting for justice all across Lurensia. He just had to be patient. She had to come back someday. He dared to hope it would be tomorrow.

“Thank you, Lady Seris,” Elsword said, trying to force a smile by holding onto the hope of seeing Elesis again. “I’m hungry, but I need a shower first.”

The blonde woman nodded before standing up and giving him the way into the home.

“Alright. Breakfast won’t be ready anytime soon, so don’t rush.”

“Got it,” Elsword agreed with a nod.

As he went down the hall, Seris called him again. He turned his head towards her, expecting to have to set up breakfast, but Seris only had one thing to tell him: “I forgot to say it, but welcome home, Elsword. I’m glad you’re safe.”

A bubbly feeling blossomed within him; without realising it, a natural smile had crawled on his face. Elsword quickly turned back around and rushed to the shower.

Chapter 7: Duel

The morning rose again, and Ciel’s wounds were healed. The indigo-haired man rose from his bed, scarred torso and the mark of the contract that covered his chest wholly exposed. Ciel yawned and scratched the back of his head. His brow furrowed when he felt the sting of a fresh wound in his scalp. The Steel Cross brought his hand before him and saw that dark, sharp claws had grown over his fingers again. He turned towards the sleeping, white-haired girl who was curled into a ball on the couch.

"Hey, Lu," he called her, knowing he would not have to raise his voice to make her wake. "Could you pass me my bag?"

"Not if you don't say good morning first," she answered as her eyes opened without a hint of sleepiness. She was always like that. Her beastly eyes opened so easily every time that Ciel wondered if she ever actually slept.

"Good morning, Lu," he sighed before reaching out his hand towards her. "Just toss the bag over; I need one of those potions."

The demoness eyed his clawed fingers for a moment, tilting her head at them before she got up and opened the cloth bag at her feet. She searched it and tossed a potion with a thick, lilac liquid to Ciel's open hand.

"Thank you," he said as he grabbed it before pulling the cork out with his teeth. He threw the cork away and let the minty aroma from the potion bring a pleasant freshness to the otherwise stale air in the room.

He took a sip and looked again at the demoness as she combed her long, knee-length hair.

"You didn't hold back, did you?" he asked.

She glanced at him. "Was I supposed to hold back when I was being attacked by hundreds of Glitter soldiers?"

"You put yourself in that situation," he told her firmly. "I want to know why."

She shrugged and continued to comb through her wavy hair delicately. Her silence, however, was an answer in itself. Ciel could remember how excited she was when she saw the priest teleport upstairs and behind the snipers.

"Does beheading demons turn you on or something?" he asked her, but she did not react at all. "I should know that so that next time, I won't get thrown around like a ragdoll by the next demon commander who's gonna come for our heads."

She stopped combing her hair, and her icy gaze narrowed at him. "There's no way Berthe would've been a threat to you. The El weakens us more than it weakens you humans."

"That's exactly my point," Ciel answered before taking another sip. "We share our mana, don't we? You left me with nothing to fight that monster with."

Her gaze softened, but she still crossed her arms at him. "Fine. You're right. I should've held back."

"Glad we agree, but I wanna know why it happened. You're usually good at controlling those urges."

"The way that Celestial fought was unusual," Lu explained as she looked for her veil. "My curiosity got the better of me, and I'm sorry for that."

Ciel chuckled. "You weren't just curious. You were excited. Bloodthirsty, even. Way more than you've ever been since we forged this contract. C'mon, tell me what it is. I won't judge even if you admit he's your type or that sorta thing."

She turned around, veil in hand, and glared at him. "You should learn to shut your mouth instead of spewing idiotic speculations. I already apologised; what more do you want?"

Ciel sighed. "I would've died there if it weren't for the elf. You owe me the truth and an apology."

She seemed to clench her jaw tighter as she stared at him. The silence between them grew thicker, but her emotions still slipped through. He felt her confusion eating up his heart. Guilt. Fascination. The swirl of emotions that stirred her soul was indescribable.

"I don't know why I did it other than curiosity," she admitted. "It’s not the beheading itself that intrigued me. I don’t know how to put it into words, but…"

A grin briefly lit up her gaze, and her memories of the bloodbath she and the Celestial created floated back to the surface so vividly that Ciel could picture them in his mind, too. More memories floated up to the surface: battles in barren lands, luscious forests, and wintery mountains where Lu slayed her enemies until their blood ran up to her ankles.

"It reminded me of the days when I had the power to subjugate anyone who got in my way," she continued, still lost in her thoughts before she swept all those memories under the rug. Lu approached him and sat by his side before leaning on his shoulder. "I'm still curious about him, but I promise I won't put you in danger anymore, Ciel. I'll find other ways."

He put his hand over her head, lamenting that he could not ruffle her hair over her veil. "Like what?"

The demoness grinned at him from ear to ear. "I can get him to spar, or at the very least, play a game of chess with me. I think he'll agree before that elven girl comes back to guide us towards the source of those rat people."

Ciel nodded at her suggestion. He still had half the potion, but his nails had already returned to normal. Though the fact that he had to increase his dose to have the same effect worried him, he knew he still had at least ten flasks left. Now that the El was secure, there would not be many fights ahead until the elf came back with news from her Elders. In the meantime, he still could make himself useful around the base.

The biggest priority was a certain prisoner.

---

Aisha had already cried and yelled all she could when the sun had gone down. She was confused to find herself imprisoned as a Landar. It made no sense, but she had understood that the people around her would not listen to reason. Who knows when she would see the world outside that tiny, barred window that brought mosquitoes and flies inside. She had not slept – how could she, considering how hard the bed was and how bland her meal had been? – so when the purple-eyed mage saw a butterfly enter her cell, Aisha thought she was dreaming.

The insect fluttered its blue wings as it swirled around her room before leaving from where it had come. Dream or not, the purple-haired mage wished at least it had stayed longer.

Aisha heard steps and mumbling voices coming her way – three sets of steps, seemingly all men, judging by their voices. She decided to peek through the bars to see who was coming her way. The knight who brought her meals was a green-haired woman, so whoever these men were, they were not getting her breakfast.

The men stopped, and the mage finally got a glimpse at them. It was the Steel Cross, the Lieutenant, and the Captain. Though she supposed the indigo-haired man would surely see reason and be on her side, the presence of the other two made her uneasy.

'What if they're here to deliver a sentence for heresy?' she thought as she bit her lip. 'Yuria did say that the regulations around the El here are more strict, but surely the ritual I had in mind isn't heretical.'

Every Elrian mage in Fluone travelled to either the Wind Temple, the Water Temple or the Fire Temple to receive the blessing of the El. Aisha had secretly gone to all three temples to cure her problem but with no luck. Obviously, she had kept her failures to herself. Still, the Sanderian mage had come here to see if the El she had used to recover her mana reserves was too distinct from the Primal El. As far as she knew, Ruben's El Shard was as close to the Primal El as she would get. She had tried to explain it so many times but to no avail.

The two knights still looked at her like she was a criminal, but she found solace in the Steel Cross' blue eyes. He offered her a friendly nod and a smile that reassured her. He was undoubtedly on her side.

"Good morning," the Steel Cross greeted her. "Did you rest well?"

She shrugged, trying to hide the fear eating away at her every time she glanced at the two knights.

"I guess I did," she mumbled, trying to ignore the less-than-friendly stares from the Captain and the Lieutenant as much as she could.

The Steel Cross turned to Banthus. "It's like I said, see? It's best if you leave. The poor girl is terrified."

Lowe huffed. "We won't leave. I'm sure you'll be lenient with her when we can't hold you accountable."

"It'd ruin my reputation if I were lenient," the Lanoxian man answered. "But I don't think I can get her to answer any questions with both of you here."

Banthus sighed. "Lowe, let's do as he says."

The Lieutenant furrowed his brow. "Captain, we can't leave. Those two are—"

"Are what?" Banthus firmly cut his subordinate's protest short. "Fluonians? So what if they are?"

"You know what they do over there, Captain."

The Lieutenant's tone was low and full of venom. Yet, the brown-haired knight captain remained firm. He shook his head. "I didn't make you my right hand just to watch you hold on to an old grudge. Let's leave it to him, Lowe. We'll negotiate her sentence if it's too lenient."

The brown-haired Captain turned his attention towards the Steel Cross. "You'll listen to our concerns too, won't you?"

The Steel Cross nodded, but it did not soothe the Lieutenant's suspicions.

Lowe briefly cast his gaze down, but his hesitation did not show more than that. He faced his Captain defiantly. Banthus crossed his arms and kept his stern but cold look on his face. Whatever the Lieutenant was going to say, Aisha was sure the Captain would have a way to counter it.

Lowe clicked his tongue and hurriedly left. The brown-haired knight captain sighed and calmly followed his subordinate. Though Aisha was always looking for gossip everywhere she went, she told herself it was perhaps not in her best interest to discover the details. She knew some things about the war between Velder and Senace, but to see that both sides still hated each other to this very day seemed so childish.

"So, I'm just gonna ask you some questions, okay?" The Lanoxian man began. Aisha welcomed his new and, quite frankly, friendlier demeanour. Despite his slightly longer ears, the Steel Cross was not as scary as she had feared he would be.

She smiled back at him and nodded. "Sure! I'm Aisha Landar, a genius magician, and I'm fifteen years old!"

"Oh, so I'm talking to the famous granddaughter of Kuenbaran Landar?" he asked back before quickly writing down her name, age, and occupation in his notebook. "I'm very honoured to meet you."

"You know my grandpa?" she gasped, already excited to see someone who finally seemed to acknowledge the importance of her clan in this backward land. "How did you two meet?"

"Oh, it's a long story. I'll tell ya another day. You can call me Ciel, by the way," the Steel Cross explained as he finished writing down her basic information.

"Now, first things first," he added. "What is a Landar doing so far from home? It's not easy to cross from Hamel into Velder nowadays."

The first question was already hard to answer. Aisha tensed a little, but he looked to be genuinely curious about her journey. It did not seem like he would sentence or judge her. Most of all, he knew her grandfather. Ciel would surely not punish her for sneaking into a merchant ship after Hamel's Imperial Navy refused her application to leave the continent thrice. For every answer she gave, Aisha grew more and more confident that Ciel would get her out of her cell very soon. She was not afraid to tell him anything as long as it helped her find her freedom.

Once she was out of her cell, Aisha pictured herself returning to Sander and publicly undergoing the ritual in the Air Temple. Whatever reputational damage she or the Landars took from it would be better than spending more time in Lurensia with its dull, hateful people.

---

Ainchase did not know how to answer the demoness' proposition. She had tossed a wooden sword towards him, but he had not picked it up.

"Come on," she urged him, waving her wooden greatsword. Seeing her wield a weapon almost as tall as she was with ease was strange. "Pick up the sword, and let's get started!"

"Why do you want me to spar with you?" he asked, his surprise too great to make any sort of move. There was something the demoness was planning, or perhaps she was only being reckless.

"Because I'm bored," She groused. "You're the only one besides Ciel who looks remotely interesting to fight, so come on!"

Ainchase took a deep breath and grabbed the wooden sword at his feet. With his mind now cleansed from Henir's infection, the Celestial saw no point in rushing her execution. The goddess would give the word when the time came. In the meantime, he would do well to remind that demon scum that her days were numbered. He picked up the sword the demoness had tossed his way. Immediately, it answered his divine energy. The wood began to glow, and he instantly unveiled his true form to leap right towards the white-haired demoness. She lifted her sword to parry, but he easily got through her rushed defence, and his blade touched the middle of her chest.

She stayed frozen for a moment, her eyes wide as she took in how fast everything had ended. Ainchase returned to his human form, signalling the end of the fight.

"I win," he announced with a cold expression on his face. "Are you entertained now?"

"How could I be?" She hissed as she leapt back and summoned more of her power. She unveiled her full strength once more. As an adult, she was now tall enough to wield her blade as if it were an extension of her body.

"What happened to you?" she asked him as she readied her stance to attack him. "You fought better yesterday."

"Are you unafraid of the consequences of unveiling your true form here?" he asked as he, too, unveiled his spiritual form once again. The wooden blade in his hands transformed into a divine weapon. The energy within it burst through, reducing the wooden exterior to atoms.

To his surprise, the demoness threw her weapon away and began to approach him. Perhaps the demoness sought to provoke him. However, she would need far more than that to get him to expedite the goddess' order against her kind.

"I made a promise this morning," she told him as she approached. Each step was confident, yet her gaze was fixed on him, studying his every move so she could retreat if needed. "I will not hurt anyone, including you. You know, Mr. Celestial…"

She was now only a step away from him, and strangely, Ainchase felt his grip on his blade falter. It had to be a message from the goddess. He was not meant to kill her yet. She leaned in closer, and though her body went through his ghostly form, he could feel her warmth and her heartbeat resonate within him as if they were part of him.

"You're interesting. I would hate to hurt you," the blue-eyed demoness whispered in his ear before stepping back.

"Can't you fight like you did yesterday?" she added with a small pout. Her tone was far more childish than it had been only seconds ago. "Please, it'd be so much fun!"

Though the demoness' attitude seemed more childish, her eyes still gleamed with bloodlust. She was asking nicely now, but should Ainchase continue to refuse, she would do anything to get him to spar. He could picture her going on a rampage against the knights. If so, whatever followed would involve him far too much in mortal matters.

"You want me to fight like that?" he scoffed at the suggestion as he regained his human form. "I suppose that is the only way you would stand a chance. Fine, but we will fight with real weapons."

"Oh, that's fine by me," she assured him. "Make those blades as sharp as you can, Priest."

"Are you giving me orders?" he asked, amused by how her natural confidence overtook her words and actions towards her natural enemy.

The demoness chuckled at his remark before picking the wooden sword back up. "It was merely a suggestion. I can fight against anything you wish to use."

There was no doubt in his mind that she had most likely faced low-ranked Celestials and lived to tell the tale. That had to be the reason behind her attitude towards him. Though it was unfortunate that his brothers had not managed to kill her before, it made her far more intriguing than the rest of her species. Perhaps that was why the goddess had not yet given him the word to kill her. He had to gauge her strength before executing her.

She leapt forward, swinging her blade, aiming towards his ribs. Ainchase already forged twin blades to deflect her hit and met her weapon mid-way through her movement. Indigo sparks mixed themselves with a flash of neon blue. Demonic energy was clashing in full force against his divine power. He easily overpowered her and her sword dug itself into the ground. The demoness’ stance faltered for a moment, giving him an easy angle to aim for her neck. Before his blade grew too close, the demoness pivoted away from him, summoning her gauntlets to intercept his attack. Her grip threatened to shatter his blade, so he had no choice but to step back. She recovered her sword and swung it back at him.

Her every movement was calculated not to finish the fight quickly but to provoke a counter. The grin on her face lit up her eyes with an almost playful joy. Strangely enough, Ainchase found himself looking forward to how she would try to lure him into prolonging their fight for another second. The dance of their blades grew faster, inhumanly so. The demoness had a delightfully unique way of fighting, seamlessly switching between her sword and her fists to keep him on his toes even as he, too, switched weapons from bastard swords to knives to halberds.

Theirs was a battle of skill and instinct, where the world narrowed to only the two of them. They sought every little hint that could help them predict the next move in the nick of time to parry and counter.

The Celestial did not notice it at first, but he found himself smirking when the demoness had almost pierced through his defence when her blade crashed against his halberd with full force. He suppressed that unnatural expression and pivoted his weight back to make the demoness fall.

Before she had the time to catch herself, he cut her weapon in half with one sword and pointed the other only a hair away from her neck.

"Enough," he ordered, his voice even and expression unreadable. "You lost."

He threw a cursory glance around them. Lieutenant Lowe and a dozen knights were looking at their fight. Ainchase spotted the characteristic purple hair of the Landar mage and turned towards her. The Steel Cross was by Aisha's side, furrowing his brow at them.

"What are you, girl?" the grey-eyed Lieutenant asked the demoness.

"A woman who was cursed by a demon", the demoness confidently lied before pushing her long hair over her shoulder. Then, she turned around and showed a four-pointed star mark that covered her entire back. It was most likely her mark of the contract between her and her servant.

"Can you see this mark?" she continued. "It's a seal the Church put on me and the Steel Cross I serve. Think of it as a last resort. Only he can activate it to kill me if my curse gets out of control."

She pushed her hair back to cover the mark and turned back around. She offered the knights a shrug. "I can't do anything to reverse the effects of demonic energy in my body, but I could activate the seal's maximum power again and return to a child-like appearance." The demoness tilted her head. "Would that make you feel safer?"

"It would," Lowe immediately answered. "Keep the seal up while you're within the base."

Ainchase was somewhat surprised that the Lieutenant had not asked for anyone else's opinion. What was more curious was how readily the demoness accepted the Lieutenant's order and joined the Steel Cross's side without a word.

The Celestial had not noticed the crowd around them. Now that it was dispersing, he counted at least thirty young men who had come at some point to observe their fight. Losing sight of the bigger picture was a grave mistake; he knew that better than anyone.

Ainchase looked at his weapons and the broken piece of wood in a patch of grass. A battle was only a task like any other. There was no reason to enjoy it, yet he had immersed himself in it to the point of forgetting his surroundings. He had immersed himself in the fight to the point he had smirked when his opponent had managed to break through his defence.

'How unsightly', he scolded himself.

Ainchase kicked the broken piece of sword further away and decided to spend the rest of his day meditating.

---

Aisha told herself that she was perhaps being too optimistic. On one hand, being out of jail was a blessing, but on the other, being stuck among low-rate healers and making potions for them was just as tedious as being behind bars.

She ground the Ruve Herb leaves, oil, and alchemy powder into a thick, red-ish paste. Her hands hurt, and she still had two more batches of potions to make. Her atelier was thankfully in a well-lit room. However, her joy at being free plummeted every time she looked at the magic-suppressant bracelets she was forced to wear. They were shackles, in all but in name.

She walked down the corridor, passing by the dorms of the female healers before heading out. She had to leave the potions in the healing ward before it got dark. As she made her way to her destination, she passed by different knights, though none she could recognise.

"That priest is really something else," an ashen-blonde teen with grey eyes said to his other two friends. One was a short, silver-haired knight, and the other had copper hair and lilac eyes. "He must've been a Steel Cross before."

Aisha stopped to eavesdrop, hiding behind a tree so she would not be seen. She had almost completely forgotten the fight between the white-haired woman and the priest. Still, she also needed an explanation for how both were so skilled.

"I don't know. I've heard that the Sun priests of the Order of the Golden Falcon train in martial arts," the silver-haired knight replied. "My uncle went to one of their monasteries in Xin before the war. He said that they can conjure thousands of light swords in the blink of an eye. He was going easy on her."

"Well, the Captain said he's a pilgrim from Hamel, so he can't be a Golden Falcon," the lilac-eyed knight countered. "But you guys are focusing on the wrong person. That cursed woman is too strong. She's a threat."

"She's strong, but she's not a threat. Come on," the blonde knight sighed. "I just visited Vincent in the med ward. He told me the woman and the priest dealt with most of the demon forces in the Tree of El. They exploited those beasts' need for bloodshed and made it easier for the rest to protect the El before it was too late."

"I'm just saying she could be a problem. I don't like how she was grinning throughout her fight against the priest," the copper-haired priest grumbled. "Do they think that fighting is fun? They could've killed each other or hurt us."

"I don't think they were fighting seriously," the silver-haired knight pointed out. "Did you guys ever get to read those tales of the Old Kingdom and their heroes?"

"Yeah, and what about it?"

The silver-haired knight chuckled. "I'm saying they're probably on the same level as the people back then. And if they are, they showed restraint. It was just a spar."

The Old Kingdom. Aisha furrowed her brow as she decided to continue her way to the medical ward. They were referring to the Elrian Kingdom and the Old Lineages, which was something she had not considered. The El Explosion was devastating for the world's mana. No one, not even her, could hope to come close to the level of the El Masters or Elrianode's High Clergy. Still, while the sheer level of power both fighters displayed was on the High Clergy's level, it left an even bigger question: Why were they so powerful? Curses and divine blessings were all affected by the weakened El. That was why one's inner mana could never be increased or reduced. The El Energy within all things – which depended directly on the strength of the El – was constant, for better or worse.

However, she had met an exception to the rule. The Ring of Mimir.

'Could it be?' she asked herself as she opened the door to the medical ward. 'They must hold the answer. They must! I need to talk to them.'

As she looked ahead of her once more, she almost jumped back when she saw a wounded recruit – a young man around her age with curly blonde hair and expressive, chocolate eyes – who also jumped back when he saw her.

"Oh, sorry," he excused himself with a small bow before stepping aside to let her through. He gestured with his bandaged arm for her to come in.

"Thank you," she said, somewhat surprised by his strangely polite gesture. Besides the Captain and Ciel, nobody even pretended to be courteous towards her. As she walked in, he followed her with his eyes, curious yet hesitant.

"Do you need something?" Aisha asked as she looked over her shoulder to look at him. "If you need a potion, you'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"Oh, I wondered if you'd seen a boy a little smaller than you. He's got red hair and red eyes. He's a recruit, like me."

Aisha's eyes narrowed. She knew who he was talking about, although she wondered why he would worry about him.

"I haven't seen him since yesterday," she answered. "Is something the—?"

She did not have the time to finish her question before he rushed out of the door, barely muttering a 'thank you' before closing the door behind him. Aisha frowned at his rudeness but ultimately decided that worrying too much was not worth it. Lurensians clearly had other customs, and getting used to them would be a boring yet necessary challenge.

However, his face seemed familiar. After she left her potions with the night healers, Aisha thought about where she could have seen him before. When she found her answer, she came to a halt. She hoped she was wrong, but that recruit looked like he could be related to Liam.

'Doesn't he know by now?' she wondered as she rushed back towards her atelier. 'Is he playing dumb? And if he really doesn't know, how will he react when he hears about it?'

Just as she saw her dorm in front of her, Aisha noticed the same blonde recruit wandering around the camp, looking for the other recruit.

"Hey, you," she hollered at him as she approached the blonde teenager.

He flinched before turning around. The Sanderian mage found his brief, fearful reaction rather odd. He probably was still afraid of the dark like a kid, but it was surely nothing more days of rigorous training could not fix.

"You're still looking for that little brat, right?" She asked him.

His eyes narrowed at her words. "He's not a brat." he countered, "If you're going to call him anything, use his name. It's Elsword."

"Elsword, I see," she echoed. "Well, the base is pretty big to search on your own. How about I help you, uhh… What's your name?"

"Wyll. How about yours?"

"I'm Aisha," she muttered, expecting his rightful anger to explode. She had already planned some form of apology but feared it would not be enough.

"Aisha, huh? Is that a foreign name?" he asked her, his eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity.

'Nobody told him…' she mentally concluded, relieved and puzzled at his ignorance of her actions.

"Yeah, I'm from Sander, actually," she told him. She was uneasy about saying too much about her. Helping him out was not part of her sentence, but it was at least a more useful way to make up for her actions.

Aisha looked around them and found the perfect chance to redirect the conversation elsewhere. "It's getting dark, so how about we get an oil lamp to light the way in our search?"

Wyll nodded at her suggestion. "You're right. Thank you so much for helping me, by the way. You're too kind."

His smile was a knife to her heart.

Chapter 8: Foreseeable Return

The Sanderian mage was unsure if she preferred the silence over a conversation with the blonde recruit. They had searched most of the camp without saying much after introducing themselves. Their sporadic discussions centred around the following spots to look for Elsword. The night had long since fallen when they reached the main entrance to the camp.

The station at the base’s main entrance was the only place left to ask about Elsword’s whereabouts.

“What if he ran away?” Aisha asked as she eyed the entrance that he was seemingly set on ignoring. “He didn’t look strong enough to wave a sword around.”

“He was strong when it mattered,” Wyll answered, putting his hand over his bandaged arm. His eyes finally set on the entrance, and he let out a long sigh. “If I were him, I would run, but…I can't.”

Aisha tilted her head at him. “Are you too far away from your folks?”

He gravely nodded. “My older brother is all I have left; for better or worse, this is his new home. I’ve got to adapt to it, too.”

The mage blushed, suddenly realising she had asked something out of line. “Dear El, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

He made a hand gesture as if to dispel her worries. “No, no, you couldn’t have known, Aisha. It’s okay. Let’s ask the guys at the entrance if they saw him go out.”

The mage’s eyes widened before her gaze sank to her feet. Wyll did not know what she had done, but those knights did. They would expose her crimes to him. “I think you should go ahead. I can wait here.”

The blonde’s gaze narrowed. “Did those guys bother you? You know you can talk to the Captain about it, right? He’ll discipline them. This is no place for harass—”

“No! It’s nothing like that. I just…” Aisha interjected, only to lose the will to continue to lie by omission. She pinched the bridge of her nose as she took a deep breath. “I hate this,” she mumbled before she found the courage to look Wyll in the eye. “But I guess you’re owed the truth.”

She paused, only growing more anxious as she noticed the confusion in his eyes. He was waiting for her explanation, and she had said too much to simply avoid the topic at this point. After spending an hour in the medical ward earlier in the day, Aisha understood how serious her actions had been.

The handful of healers the base could afford were barely novices from the Church. They were very ill-equipped to deal with even minor injuries. Orpheus, in particular, proved to be quite a difficult patient to keep alive. The worst part was that – because he was the highest-ranked knight among the critically injured – his treatment often came at the expense of others. Aisha had seen two knights covered with white cloth and carried out. For the first time in her life, she lamented turning down Mathi’s help when they met in Hamel. He would have saved the lives of most knights here; she was sure of it.

“Your brother, Liam, got hurt because of me,” she softly confessed.

His gaze widened in shock at her words, but there was no explosive anger, disdain, or hatred. At least, not yet.

“What did you do, exactly?”

“I electrocuted him on our way back to base,” She explained slowly, painfully. “I wanted to go back to the Tree of El because I need to research the El Shard. It’s for an important project of mine. I need to get it done.”

Her heart sank when she saw the first sparks of anger change the glow in his eyes, but he did not lash out at her even then.

“But, why would you resort to that?” he asked her, his tone a bit harsher than before. “We could’ve all worked something out if you had said something. I was still at the gate when—!”

Wyll was on the verge of screaming at her, but he bit his tongue as his calm expression fully transformed into a scowl. The wave of anger that had drowned his expressive chocolate gaze subsided, leaving only a hint of grief in its wake.

“Just…” he softly said. “Tell me why you did that.”

She had no good answer for him. There was no way to twist the truth into something less hurtful. Wyll was hurting enough, and she could understand why, to an extent. Though the Landar family was huge and seemingly very close with each other, they often were a family in name only.

‘It must be nice having siblings you’re this close to,’ she thought as a thick silence between them settled in.

“Why did you electrocute my brother?” Wyll insisted, breaking the silence. His tone was even calmer, but there was no mistaking his new attitude. The blonde’s cold gaze set on her like his brother’s sapphire eyes had looked at her from the beginning.

“The truth will probably make it worse for you,” Aisha warned him. She set her hand on the middle of her chest, trying to stop the sinking feeling in her heart. “I’m sorry about what I did. I truly am.”

“Nothing you say can hurt more than what you’ve already done,” Wyll hissed. “Tell me why you did it.”

Aisha tried to find some kind of gentleness or understanding in him, but he offered her no such thing. Remaining silent or evading the question would make his anger worse.

“Asking anyone to help me with my research was the last thing on my mind,” she finally answered. “I didn’t think your brother would’ve tried to help me, even if I had asked. He was rude. And, look, I know I’m not wanted here, so I’ll leave as soon as my sentence is over.”

“I see,” he noted as his gaze lowered. He pondered something silently for a minute before he looked at Aisha again.

“So, are you helping me out just to get your sentence over with?”

She frowned at his question. It sounded like he assumed she had no remorse.

“Wyll, I’m helping the healers out because that’s part of my sentence,” she answered before combing her braids behind her ears. “But I offered you my help because I wanted to.”

His gaze briefly widened, softening the stern expression on his face before it returned to his Liam-esque coldness.

“I’ll escort you back to your dorm,” he offered her. “It’s getting very late.”

He walked past her, expecting her to follow immediately, but she stayed behind. Wyll was quick to notice her absence and turned around. The torch in his hands cast heavy shadows on his face, making it harder for her to tell how he felt.

Aisha looked one last time towards the gates that were only visible because of the torches laid to both sides. “You’re not going to continue looking for Elsword?”

“I will do so without you.”

She had expected that reply to eventually come, but it still stung. The mage gravely nodded as she caught up to the blonde and let him guide her back to the healers’ dorms.

---

The night had just covered the sky, but Elsword’s home was already pitch black, thanks to the surrounding trees. The red-haired boy often woke up in the middle of the night, and walking around the house was usually his preferred method of calming himself down after a nightmare.

Keeping himself busy by playing with Amelie did wonders to keep Elsword’s darkest thoughts at bay. Even so, he worried about the mysterious sickness that had befallen Elias after he had failed to use a healing spell two days ago. The blonde boy had gotten better since, but Seris had remained strangely anxious.

Elsword drew closer to the master bedroom, somewhat surprised to see a sliver of candlelight slip out of the half-open door. He stopped to see if Seris needed anything to care for her son. Instead, he heard Seris talking with Owen through a communication orb. Elsword sat down, his back leaning on the wall and began to listen to her conversation.

“I doubt it,” Owen softly said. “The prisoner isn’t really human. He’s a corpse fused to Nasod machinery. Nothing we do can put him down for more than a few minutes. I’m sure all the rest are just like him.”

“I doubt they’re immortal. Golems and the undead have a control gem. Nasods must have something similar.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Unfortunately for me, the prisoner has more oil than blood in his veins. I can’t find the control stone, so I’ve left the matter to the Steel Crosses.”

“Oh, so that’s why you got sick. Think of our son first before you flaunt that power again.”

Owen sighed. “The Steel Crosses we’re with insisted that I use my expertise, as they called it, to pinpoint where his control gem was. I hate—”

A fit of coughing came from the other end of the line. It was so loud and gurgly that Elsword wondered if Owen had spat blood.

“I know you hate using your power, but…Are you sure that our son will be safe?”

Owen fell silent, leaving Elsword wondering if it was because he had grown too weak to speak. The sound of a cork popping briefly interrupted the eternal silence.

“I can ask Lady Artea a favour if they start asking you too many questions,” he finally said. His tone was firm, full of life. Perhaps he took a recovery potion – a miracle remedy that healed most ailments.

If only Elsword had one when…

Elsword tapped his head against the wall, trying to physically erase his dark thoughts.

“I need to borrow half of her healers since all of ours are overworked or injured themselves,” Owen continued. “That's why I'm heading back. I should be at the Earth Temple in two hours.”

“You’ll be back in Velder in two hours? Are you on an airship?”

“Not just any airship.” Owen chuckled. “We’re on the Ignition Caligo.”

“Wow, that brings back memories,” Seris sighed. “Is it still the fastest in the kingdom?”

“Of course it is, thanks to you.”

“Oh, flattery won’t get you very far, Mister Felford,” Seris said playfully before briefly pausing. When she continued, her voice was barely a mutter. “We all want you to return home soon, safe and sound.”

Silence lingered on the other end for a long minute.

“You know I’d do anything to end this mess right now,” Owen yawned. “I don’t want the kids to grow up in a world as cruel as the one we grew up in.”

“I know, Owen. You’ll achieve that, I’m sure of it. If anyone can pull off miracles and bring hope to the kingdom, it’s you.”

“I won’t disappoint you.” Owen’s quiet voice sounded hopeful yet melancholic. “According to the prisoner, they’ll strike the outskirts tonight at midnight. I’m planning to round them all up before they slaughter the survivors of last week’s raid.”

“What’s their obsession with attacking our poorest citizens?” Seris hissed. “They have nowhere else to run to! Those scumbags have no honour.”

Hearing Seris swear was strange, but Elsword agreed with her. Those scumbags were as bad as the demons that–

Slam!

Those thoughts were useless. Lowe had told him to stop thinking about it, so Elsword wished to do it at any cost. He continued to softly tap his head against the wall, holding onto the Felfords’ conversation and the pain to occupy his mind.

“Well, it might just be their twisted brand of irony. You hit the mark with your previous report. The prisoner swears that he’s part of the Black Crow Mercenaries.”

Seris groaned. “I had hoped to be wrong, for once. Whoever is tainting his legacy like that is sick.”

“If you asked me,” Owen’s voice was down to a whisper. “I think Rod Ross and his faction are behind this. He may be a puppet king, but—”

“Owen, give me a minute.”

“Sure.”

Elsword heard her get up and scrambled to escape, but by the time the blonde woman looked at him, he had barely managed to get back on his feet.

He offered her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Lady Seris.”

She crossed her arms, still looking at him disapprovingly. However, it did not stay that way for long.

“Dear El,” she gasped, “your head is bleeding…”

“Elsword, are you alright?” Owen asked. “Seris, what's going on? How bad is it?”

“It's not too bad, but—”

“May I come in?” the boy asked. “I’d like to talk with Lord Owen.”

“Of course,” the blonde woman said as she ushered him in. “I’ll patch you up in the meantime.”

“I don’t think I need that much,” the red-haired boy admitted as he entered the room. “You said it wasn't that bad, right?”

“If we don't do anything, it'll get infected,” Seris reminded him. “It won't hurt, I promise.”

Once inside, Elsword first noticed Elias lying on one side of the bed. His cheeks flushed from the fever, but he looked to be in deep sleep. Elsword looked to his right and saw the communication orb on a small pillow on the desk facing the wall. It shimmered gold under the candlelight, and its sandy contents softly swirled around the glass as if it were alive.

The red-haired boy pulled up the chair and sat beside the orb. He had thought of what to say to Lord Felford before, but now, his mind went blank.

“Good evening, Sir Felford,” he began. “Uhm, I’m sorry for eavesdropping. I really shouldn't have, but I couldn't sleep and—”

“It’s alright,” the Grand Admiral reassured him on the other end. The sand within the orb stirred up and down at the pace of his words. “Don’t go talking about it to your brothers-in-arms, though. Everything you heard is only privy to some senior officers and only a handful of captains.”

“Ah, well, about that.” Elsword shifted in place, struggling to get his words out. He had thought about telling his plans to the head of the Felford household, but now he hesitated. He could not ask that now that he knew the Felfords were a military family.

Seris had begun to treat his injuries using magic, perhaps, because instead of any sting, he only felt a comfortable warmth on the back of his head. Then came the cool touch of the bandages. It could almost lull him back to sleep. If only the nightmares went away…

“What’s the matter, Elsword?” Owen asked with a hint of genuine concern peeking through the buzz of the sound transmission.

“I, uhm, I don’t think I have what it takes to become a knight,” he admitted. “I haven’t slept much because of the nightmares. I’m too weak, Sir Felford. I’m sorry for wasting your time. I can’t put into practice anything you taught me.”

“What did they do to you?”

Owen’s tone was stern but different from how he talked with his wife over military matters. Elsword could not quite put his finger on what the Grand Admiral was feeling only through his voice.

“It was my fault,” the boy lowered his head, urging the familiar sting of tears to go away somehow. He did not want to wake up another day with puffy eyes. “It was all because I was weak. I can’t be a knight.”

Before he realised it, his tears and words were pouring out of him, uninhibited. He recounted everything. Elsword could not remember anything that happened after they reached their destination, but his nightmares filled that gap with horrific visions that all seemed very real.

A seemingly eternal silence settled in, only sporadically interrupted by his sniffles. Elsword had grown more comfortable accepting Seris’ motherly embrace when he could not calm down alone. Today was no exception. He welcomed her arms and let his tears fall over her shoulder.

“You shouldn’t have been exposed to that, Elsword,” the blonde woman softly said. “You’re not weak at all, my boy. You survived all of that. You did everything you could.”

“I should’ve done more,” he muttered, wiping his tears. “I should’ve done more to deserve having you as…”

‘As my family,’ he thought but could not say it. Elsword still had his sister, wherever she might be. Elesis was his family, and he should never forget that.

“Elsword,” Owen called his name; he seemed serious but gentler than when he had asked him what had happened to him. “You did more than I did when I encountered demons for the first time. Those monsters have no mercy, so you did great, fighting back and coming back unscathed. Every moment spent training you was not a waste of my time.”

“But I was wea—” Elsword wanted to protest, but the head of the Felfords did not leave him such a chance.

“If you were weak, you would’ve died.” The waves of sand rose so violently that Elsword thought he had perhaps angered the man, even if he still spoke calmly. “Demons have no prisons, do you understand? They don’t capture the enemy like we do. They exterminate them. You lived through that. You’re more than deserving of being a knight and having us cheer you on every step of the way.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Elsword breathed out, feeling a knot in his throat at Lord Felford’s words. “I’ve had enough. I don’t want to be a knight.”

“How much of our conversation did you hear?”

Elsword blinked at the sudden change of topic but explained what he had overheard.

“I will be honest with you, Elsword,” Owen said; his tone was calm but firm, similar to Lowe’s. “The battle against the Black Crows is not an easy one, and the Crown is getting desperate to replenish the Centurion Guard’s ranks. They may use old military laws to bring all known deserters to the frontlines. If you don’t come back to base, you’ll be on that list sooner rather than later.”

“What?” Elsword gasped. His voice quivered. “W-Why? I-I’m not a knight yet.”

Owen took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter to them, Elsword. You’re officially part of the El Search Party, and that’s good enough for them.”

Elsword felt a shiver run down his spine. Should he face the Black Crow Mercenaries – those immortal and cruel soldiers – Elsword knew he would die.

“I don’t know Sir Evans personally, but,” Owen continued, breaking the tense silence, “I’ve heard he’s not the kind of man to put his recruits on a battlefield. As much as I’d like to, I can’t afford to do the same for every new batch of men the Crown gives me, regardless of their age.”

“I understand,” the boy finally capitulated. There was no escaping the constant reminders of what he had gone through. “I’ll go back once Elias recovers. I’m worried about him. Would that be okay with His Majesty?”

“I’m not sure, but I promise I'll do everything I can to keep the Crown’s eyes off you,” Owen vowed. “It's very noble of you to take care of Elias, Elsword, but take care of yourself first, okay?”

“I…I'll try, Sir.”

“Let's start with a good night's rest, hm?” the Grand Admiral suggested. His tone carried the impression of his soft smile – one that Elsword could picture very clearly in his head.

“Yes. Good night, Sir Owen.”

---

Ainchase was returning to the base with a bag full of medicinal herbs he had picked up around Lake Noaz, about a twenty-minute walk from the village. He looked around the different cottages that stretched along the road that would eventually lead him to the El Search Party’s base. The Celestial wondered which one Elsword lived in. He doubted the boy lived in the village’s square, but perhaps he was mistaken.

Today marked a month since Elsword was last seen in the base. Truthfully, the priest had hardly any time to worry about him until now. He had been swamped rebuilding the barriers around the Tree of El, recording many of the moribund knights’ last words, and performing their funerals. His busy schedule should have also meant that he saw the strange demoness less. Alas, she persistently managed to approach him in hopes that he would accept another spar against her. So far, she had not succeeded, and he planned to keep it that way.

Ainchase stopped in front of one of the houses. It was a bright red wooden cottage right at the foot of the hill. There seemed to be no one home. The Celestial wondered if it could be the boy’s home, but perhaps that would have been too great of a coincidence.

‘If he doesn’t come back today,’ Ainchase thought, ‘I’ll have to find a way to drag him back.’

He heard the leaves rustle behind him and turned to see the last person he wanted to see. With a few leaves tangled in her white mane, a girl emerged from one of the many bushes along the way. She had brought two wooden swords with her.

“No,” he told her before she even thought about giving him one.

The Celestial fled, taking long and fast strides to put as much distance as possible between him and that accursed woman.

“Aw, come on!” she protested. Judging by her timbre, she had revealed her true form once more. “I’ll leave you alone next week. Promise.”

“I’m not as naive as your slave,” he grumbled as he saw her catch up to him from the corner of his eye. “Your promises mean nothing.”

“How impertinent of you, your Holiness!” She feigned her outrage with a shocked gasp and dramatically placed her clawed hand over her generous chest. “To doubt the trustworthiness of a humble, delicate maiden like myself! I’m wounded.”

“You? A humble, delicate maiden?” Ainchase could not help but roll his eyes at her. “If there’s any truth to that at all, you’re a disgrace to all demonkind.”

“I’ll have you know that not every demoness is as lustful and proud as a succubus,” she pouted. “Nor as strong as a Garen woman. I’m being honest. I would never dream of sinning in front of a holy man.”

“You have sinned plenty already. You’d be better off repenting and leaving me alone.”

“Oh, forgive me, Friar, for I have sinned.” She put her hands in prayer, but her awkward grasp on the weapons she had brought as she feigned to pray only made it more apparent that she was mocking the faith. “Allow your humble Daughter to indulge one last time in the sin of battle before seeking true repentance in the eyes of the goddess.”

“Battle itself is not a sin,” he grumbled, hoping she would stop talking before he seriously considered accepting to spar just to shut her up. “Being a demon is your biggest sin. I can’t forgive that, even if I was crazy enough to consider it.”

“Well, that settles it, then. I have nothing to repent for!” The demoness beamed before she offered him a wooden blade once more. “Come on, priest. I know you had fun last time, too. You’ll grow old and grey if you’re all work and no play.”

Her knowing grin and her stupid rhyme were enough to make him frown. “I refuse.”

“But why?!”

Ainchase knew he should ignore her, but she made it unreasonably troublesome with her carefully calibrated nagging that always managed to get under his skin. The demoness was set on following him around, and in her adult form, no less. His divine energy was recoiling in disgust within him. Her demonic energy was powerful, so much so that he had half a mind to indulge her only to kill her in the end.

Thankfully, she had grown quieter, and her foul power slowly waned. Whether that was due to her so-called seal or her conscious effort to hide her nature, Ainchase welcomed it regardless.

“Celestial,” she called him calmly, softly. For once, her voice held a level of maturity proportional to her age. “Aren’t you curious to know why you can fight like a demon?”

“I don’t fight like a demon,” he coldly dismissed her, though his jaw clenched at her words. He had wondered why he had enjoyed the fight as demons did, but hearing her call his way of fighting similar to a demon’s was downright insulting.

“I doubt you truly believe that.” She sighed. “But I suppose you don’t have to worry about it for long. You’re returning to the Tree of El next week, right?”

“Yes,” he cautiously answered, wondering where she wanted to go with that conversation. Hopefully, she would not bring her childish pleas for a fight to the forefront.

“Well, once you return, I probably won’t even bother talking with you like this,” she added wearily. “I have a good sense of self-preservation, believe it or not.”

Ainchase paused at the strange sincerity in her words. He stopped and turned towards her. His emerald gaze met her unique arctic eyes as she stopped and turned to face him. He had a hard time believing what she was implying.

“You and I don’t look all that old, but,” she continued as she briefly averted her eyes from his inquisitive stare. Her long, delicate eyelashes almost gave her regal face a vulnerable look, especially with how she lowered her head at him. “I’m sure we’ve both lived enough to know a few secrets about each other’s kind. It's not that difficult to see why I'll start avoiding you, is it?”

When she looked back at him, Ainchase surprised himself by noticing how the rare sunlight that filtered through the leaves gave her gaze a neon-blue hue that resembled the sacred glow of the El. Her faint smile was tainted by the dejection overflowing from her eyes, but it hardly affected her oddly captivating looks.

“Do I have to spell it out for you, Celestial?”

He remained silent. The demoness continued.

“Your goddess can mould you back to normal, can she not? The only thing she needs is for you to be right next to her little gem for a long enough time.”

“I thought you had something more interesting to say.” He scoffed. “How can you call something so obvious a secret? Of course, the goddess strengthens me; that is precisely why I’m her envoy.”

“It isn’t that well-known among demonkind,” she mused. “And, if we really think about it, our people have hardly spoken to each other. You don’t even bother to face us honourably in battle and talk with your weapons.”

The white-haired demoness turned around and continued her way back to the base first. The breeze that made the trees sing along its calm rhythm combed some locks of her hair to the side, revealing parts of her contract mark. What it mostly unveiled, however, were the two vertical, parallel scars on her lower back. He looked at them, noticing how messy they truly were. Someone had torn her wings off her. Though he felt no sympathy for her, he could easily picture the excruciating pain such an injury would provoke.

The demoness stopped for a moment and looked over her shoulder. Her fascinating eyes caught him staring at her scars before Ainchase met her gaze. “If I were you, I would try and correct that by giving my targets one last fair fight.”

Before he could remind her that scum like her had no true concept of fairness, she leapt away, vanishing from his sight. This new facet of hers was entirely foreign, unexplainable. The more he thought about it, the more his mind recalled her eyes, her scars, and the strange allure he had momentarily seen in her. It was a conundrum, and he dismissed it entirely. While the goddess had been silent during his last few visits, she would surely answer next time.

Ishmael would clear his mind and help him see through the demon’s strange game of deception.

The silver-haired priest heard a set of steps behind him and turned around to see who it could be. His expression lit up with a gentle smile as he spotted the red-haired boy he had thought about looking for before the demoness ruined his day.

“Good morning,” he warmly greeted the boy, “How have you been?”

The boy looked up to him, and although he smiled back at him, his smile did not quite reach his eyes.

“Good morning, Friar,” the boy greeted him back. “I’ve been doing really well.”

The red-haired boy could not have fooled anyone over the age of two with his lies, but Ainchase could pretend otherwise. He figured it would be an excellent way to nudge the boy back on the right path.

“Is that so?” Ainchase asked. “I’m glad to hear that. You have so much potential that some wondered where you had gone.”

The boy tensed at his words. “Oh, they did?”

“Of course. You’re almost as strong as a knight.”

Elswoed paused for a moment, growing increasingly pale. It was an odd reaction, but Ainchase trusted that he could use some of his power on the boy to keep him from running away from his destiny.

Luckily, Elsword decided to run in the right direction.

“Well, I’m gonna go, like, uh, running!” he sputtered as he dashed past him. “I can’t keep making them worry! See you, uh, see you at the base!”

Notes:

For those who are curious, Owen is currently around the Bethma Area, where Raven also is supposed to be - at least according to the side-story. I have my own headcanons around Owen, most of which stem from my understanding of Raven before the retco- I mean lore revamp. There was a time where Raven was a regular man who was given a noble title and got most other nobles very jelly, hence his downfall and subsequent alliance with Adam to terrorize the nation that betrayed him. I hate the new lore with a vengeance and I do not acknowledge 99% of it unless it's to call Raven (affectionately) a fucking idiot who deserved his downfall.

Chapter 9: Knighthood

Elsword reached the base, out of breath. The senior knights were already training. Some practised fire spells on stone dummies, while others practised enhancement spells on their weapons, coating their blades with mana to extend their reach and lethality. In the latter group, he spotted Liam going through fighting stances with such ease that it was hard to believe he had shattered his knee a month ago.

Only as he walked into the empty changing rooms did he realise how empty the base was compared to his first day. Most knights were there, but the recruits…

‘Where should I go training now?’ he wondered as he left his meagre possessions and headed out, roaming about the camp, looking for any familiar face.

Elsword eventually found himself around the medical ward.

He saw the purple-haired mage sitting close to the edge of the building. Eye bags marked her closed eyes heavily. She seemed to have dozed off while reading an old and heavy book. Next to her was an orange-haired knight bound to a wheelchair and a nobleman dressed in all black whose face was hidden under his cavalier hat. The knight had dozed off, while the nobleman seemed to be staring at something in his hand.

As the boy approached the odd trio, the knight awoke. Elsword recognised him. He and Liam had returned with the mage, though the red-haired boy could not recall his name. The crippled knight offered him a welcoming nod, which Elsword reciprocated.

“Welcome back,” the knight’s amber eyes, though somewhat small and sunk on his face, were full of kindness. “You must be Elsword, right?”

The nobleman put whatever he held in his hand back in his pockets before looking up at him. Elsword finally recognised the man. It was Wyll. His brown gaze lit up when he saw him.

“Hey, Els,” he greeted the boy warmly, reaching a hand out for an informal handshake that Elsword immediately took. “How has life been treating you?”

“It’s been a bit rough,” he admitted with a shrug, smiling back at his friend’s infectious joy. “But I’ll manage. What about you? What did you get that fancy suit for?”

“Oh, right, you wouldn’t know what’s going on today,” Well muttered. He searched his pockets and got a folded piece of paper from it. He offered it to Elsword. “The Captain didn’t know when you were coming back, so they didn’t give one to you, yet. But every letter says the same thing.”

Elsword took the paper and unfolded it. His gaze widened as he read through every line. This was an invitation to a ceremony in Elder. Every knight who had played a role in defending the El Shard had to attend, and the Captain of the Red Knights, Elesis Sieghart, would give them a reward.

 

---

It had been years since Wyll had last been in a carriage, so many, in fact, that he struggled to remember where he had been going last time. However, he remembered his father’s tired look as he let Liam sleep on his lap while Wyll was comfortably snuggling with his mom. He did not sleep that night. The blonde remembered being confused by the sudden trip and somewhat uncomfortable under the long, worn-out cloak hiding the fine silks he and his family wore. The teenager closed his eyes and let out a short breath. Reminiscing about their old life at such a crucial moment made him nervous.

The blonde teen looked to his left, where his brother was. He could tell Liam was only pretending to sleep, but maybe he would doze off at some point during the two-hour-long ride, just like Elsword had done. The red-haired boy was already snoring, though he frowned and stirred in his sleep. Elsword was given a red uniform with golden patterns, a decorative blade, and golden epaulettes embroidered with Velder’s coat of arms. It was a bit less ostentatious than Wyll’s outfit, which the Black Mass Boutique had tailored at the behest of his mother’s family.

“Hey,” he called to his brother, keeping his voice down so as not to disturb Elsword’s rest. “Are you sure you want me to take it? You’re the firstborn.”

“Who did the Cronwells send the suit to?” the black-haired man asked without even opening his eyes to look at his younger brother. He was dressed no different from Elsword, save for a red cape that distinguished him as an El Search Party Officer. “Father didn’t write in his testament which of us he’d prefer, so the General chose for him. I can’t complain.”

Wyll sighed. “That’s not what I asked.”

Sapphire eyes briefly met Wyll’s, studying him for a minute before they closed themselves again. Liam crossed his arms. “I think it’s your only way out of a life on the battlefield if you want to quit.”

“But that’ll only happen after I take over our half-brother’s position,” Wyll countered. He paused for a moment, staring at Liam until his brother had no choice but to look at him. “And the road there won’t be peaceful, will it? Mom was only the third wife, and the Empress still wants us dead.”

His older brother did not answer.

“I don’t mind being a knight. I can get used to the idea of killing demons or whatever other monsters lurk around,” Wyll said, determined to show his brother that he meant every word he said. “But I can’t stand the thought of killing people, not even the Empress.”

“Whether you leave the throne up to me or not,” Liam muttered. “You’ll have human blood on your hands, eventually.”

The blonde looked down. “Well, if it comes to that point, I’m sure Uncle Robert will give us—”

“General Cronwell will only give us what we need so we can be useful to him,” Liam coldly cut him off. He had turned his attention away from his brother, and a frown soured his expression briefly. “He never approved of Mom’s marriage, but he’s not stupid. He knows how useful it’d be if he could control the Senacian Empire through us.”

“Well, wouldn’t that be better to unify Elrios?” Wyll offered, trying to pull his brother out of his unreasonable hatred for the man who had protected them from the Empress of Senace and her faction. “Brother, you could take the harsh decisions that every sovereign has to make. I don’t think I could do it at all.”

Liam’s gaze narrowed. “You underestimate yourself.”

Elsword woke up screaming in front of them. The two brothers turned their attention to the pale-looking boy whose eyes were widened by sheer terror. It pained Wyll to see him like that; it brought up memories of the past that, in hindsight, were some of the reasons why Liam became who he was. Elsword took a few deep breaths, slowly calming down before passing his hands over his face.

“Are we there yet?” the red-haired boy whispered; his every word was still dripping with fear that only subsided after he looked out the window.

“No,” Liam answered first. “But I suggest you stay awake.”

Elsword yawned and turned his attention back to them, scratching his head. “I’m so tired…”

Wyll saw his brother clench his fists, and before the black-haired knight spat out some insensitive remark, the blonde butted in.

“We are all tired, Els,” Wyll chuckled. “But it wouldn’t do us any good to go to a ceremony with a bedhead and drool on our uniforms, right? Your sister might nag you about it.”

“Oh!” Elsword exclaimed, immediately turning to his faint reflection on the glass and arranging his spiky hair the best he could with his fingers. “I almost forgot she’s a Captain now. I can’t embarrass her.”

“She wouldn’t care,” Liam droned as he put on the red peaked cap he had left to his right.

Elsword furrowed his brow briefly, but his crimson gaze soon softened with wonder.

“You trained with her, right?” he enthused. “You must know so much about my sis! Do you know when she became Captain? She must’ve worked so hard for that! Please, Liam, I want to know everything!”

“You want to know everything?” Liam studied Elsword like a hawk. “If one battle against demons at your age is enough to make you scream in your sleep, you should reconsider what you think you want.”

All the joy in Elsword’s eyes collapsed, and his gaze sank to his feet.

“Liam!” Wyll elbowed his brother.

The sapphire-eyed man did not budge. In fact, he leaned closer to Elsword.

“What do you want me to tell you, kid?” he murmured. “The truth?”

“Yes. I want to know what she went through.”

Liam scoffed. “I don't think you do. But, fine. I can tell you about that time she left her comrades to die to chase after her father. She couldn't find him, in the end. I was lucky to have found a place to hide from the hordes, but I can't say the same for the fifteen others who were with us.”

“She wouldn't do that,” Elsword grumbled. “She always protects the weak and her comrades.”

“Well, she did value her comrades, a long time ago,” Liam continued. His tone was growing so venomous Wyll knew he was fishing for a reaction out of the boy.

‘Is it out of guilt?’ the blonde wondered. ‘What kind of relationship did he have with her to act this way?’

“Perhaps I should tell you about the time we set an enemy fortress on fire and dug trenches around it with earth magic so nobody could escape. Not even the rats in the cellars,” Liam continued. “It was the last battle of the war. It was quite tame in comparison to other things we did. You see, there was this other battle where she—”

Elsword clenched his fists and swung one at Liam, which he quickly caught in his hand.

“Shut up!” Elsword raged. “You don’t know her! You don’t know anything, you—! You scumbag!”

“I’m only warning you, boy,” Liam sighed as he leaned back and let Elsword’s hand go. “She’s not someone you should idolise so easily. And I don't say it only because of the things we did during the war.” He paused for a moment, looking briefly away from Elsword.

“Elesis has forsaken too many people for her ideals,” the blue-eyed knight continued, letting out a deep breath. “Remember how she was like three years ago, and ask yourself if she's the one you want to admire for the rest of your days.”

Elsword gritted his teeth, but besides glaring at Liam, he did not do much more. The remaining quarter-hour in the carriage was filled with a thick, tense silence Wyll no longer dared to break. There was no way of doing so without exposing things about their past that Liam forbade him from revealing.

 

---

The Castle of the Lord of Elder was at least four times bigger than Ruben’s village. Its stony walls stood as tall as the Tree of El, and the interior gardens alone were as big as the entire base of the El Search Party. The size of it all was dizzying, but it made Elsword believe that the Felfords were not exaggerating when they said Ruben was barely as imposing as a newly anointed Lord’s castle.

The city guard welcomed them at dusk with fireworks, music and dance before guiding a dozen attendees to the ballroom, where at least a hundred Red Knights lined up on either side of the main entrance to welcome them with cheers and applause. Elsword waved at them, as did the other knights who were invited. At the end of the room, Elsword saw her, at long last, after three years.

Elesis had let her wavy, crimson hair grow even longer and tied it in a low ponytail. Some of her locks had curiously turned white to match her pure white attire. The only other red highlights in her formal military outfit were her bright red boots, as if to suggest that anything that made her the Legendary Red-haired Knight would slide down and one day leave her altogether. Her eyes, still as crimson as his, looked blankly at them. She was physically there, but it seemed her mind was somewhere else.

Next to her was an older, tan knight with amber eyes. He whispered something to Elesis’ ear; she blinked and said something in return before turning her attention back to the El Search Party. Her eyes had ignited back to life, but not really. Something about her smile felt off or, at the very least, different from what Elsword remembered. With only a hand gesture, she silenced the Red Knights.

“Welcome, dear heroes!” Elesis announced. “The news of your valiant fight against the forces of darkness has travelled far and wide across the realm. Your flawless victory is the standard all of us should strive for. As the Captain of the Red Knights, I’m proud of you.”

‘That can’t be her,’ Elsword thought. ‘Flawless victory? She wouldn’t say that when she can see that most of us are injured. And all the people we lost…what about them? Do they not matter?’

His sister’s speech, while it made the other knights nod, clap and cheer, only left a bitter taste in Elsword’s mouth. One by one, the knights of the El Search Party were called to receive a medal of bravery. The names were a blur of injured knights, some with missing limbs, others with a missing eye or a chopped-off ear, but all were encouraged to continue to serve the Kingdom until their last breath.

Elesis, the heroine who had always defended the weak, encouraged them all to continue to get hurt at the hands of monsters with a smile.

Whenever Elsword heard her order a new knight to fight to the death for the so-called good of the kingdom, a knot tied in his throat. His stomach churned to the point he was afraid to throw up. Liam’s name was called a few times, but it seemed the knight had vanished. Elesis shrugged it off and continued.

“And next is…The youngest recruit in all the El Search Party’s history!” The female Captain clamoured. Applause roared for him, but Elsword could only feel his heart sink deeper and deeper.

“Elsword Sieghart! Is he here?” Elesis asked, looking around the thin crowd that soon parted to let him through.

“I’m here,” Elsword whispered as he dragged his feet forward. He paid no mind to the lavish, empty praises his sister gave him.

He looked her in the eye when he knelt to receive his prize. “Sis, what happened to you?”

“It’s a bit too early in your career to speak so casually to your superiors, soldier,” Elesis chortled. “Please lower your head so I can give you the medal.”

“Right…” Elsword breathed out, frozen in place.

“Come on, Soldier!” she playfully urged him on. “I know it’s a great honour, but I assure you, you deserve it!”

Her words took Elsword out of his stupor; he lowered his head, just like she had asked him to. He wanted to hit her. Consequences be damned, she deserved to know how he felt.

Once he got back on his feet, before she could tell him to continue fighting until he dropped dead, Elsword slapped her hard. Elesis’ head swung to the side, sending her white and red mane flying. And yet, it did little to cool the anger that was palpitating throughout Elsword’s heart.

The crowd audibly gasped, but surprisingly, nobody came to pin him down or hit him in retaliation. Elesis seemed confused by his action, but her eyes still looked at him as if he were a stranger. That look was enough to disarm him completely. There was no point in explaining to her why he had hit her.

“It’ll be Elsword Felford from now on, Captain,” the boy hissed. “Don’t forget that.”

He turned sharply away from her and stormed away from the ballroom. He would have continued to flee if Liam had not been blocking his exit. The knight had no medal, and his inscrutable blue gaze was fixed on him.

“Well?” Liam asked. “Do you understand what she’s like now?”

“What happened to her?!” Elsword barked as he continued to get closer to the castle’s doors. “Why didn’t you tell me beforehand?”

“If I recall correctly, you were under the impression that I didn’t know anything about her,” the knight coldly answered. “Explaining the details would’ve been a pointless endeavour.”

“You really are a scumbag,” Elsword grumbled. “You know what’s wrong with her, don’t you?”

“I do. But what will you do if I tell you?” Liam questioned him, his timbre low and perhaps a tad resentful. “Run back and grovel at her feet because she used to be your darling sister?”

Elsword’s eyes widened. He wondered if he had yelled loud enough for Liam to hear him back in the ballroom.

“How do you even know I rejected her as my sister?”

“I didn’t know, but it’s a wise choice, coming from you,” Liam answered, tilting his head slightly at him. “I presume you’re rejecting her in favour of the Felfords, correct?”

Elsword nodded.

“That will make you our enemy,” Liam dispassionately answered. Had it been anyone else, Elsword might have thought that he did not mean it. “Don’t even think about being chummy with my brother once you’re officially part of that cursed lineage. It'll be better for all of us, trust me.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry about it, just accept it. Besides, as long as you’re here,” the knight’s tone shifted from utter indifference to showing a hint of kindness. “You’re still a Sieghart, aren’t you?”

It was best not to pry too much about why Liam considered the Felfords his enemies. Elsword did not know much about the war, but he knew there was still some tension between Senace and Velder. It was not hard to imagine that perhaps the Gessons – as insignificant as they were in Senacian nobility – held some grudges against the Felfords.

Elsword decided to hold his tongue and merely nod at Liam’s question.

“Good,” Liam said as he adjusted his cap. “Then, consider this the first and only favour I will ever give you, Elsword.”

“Elesis Sieghart, to put it simply,” the knight explained, “is slowly ceasing to exist. She has a higher purpose now, and she's sacrificed everything to attain it.”

“What is it? What's so important to her?”

“The fate of the world. She was offered an old, divine weapon by the Church. The Divinus Manus. Rumour has it that only the next El Lady can wield it to protect the world from calamity,” Liam explained before shrugging. “She accepted it, and now, well, you see what she's turning into.”

“Okay, but the El Lady is supposed to be the beacon of hope for Elrios. She's strong, pure and fair. My sister is losing her, ugh, I don't know, her soul? Why is this happening to her?”

Liam sighed. “Have you ever read The Tragedy of Solace?”

Elsword had barely read a few children’s storybooks, but he supposed that would change once he was officially a Felford. He informed the knight that he had never read it.

“You should read it. It’ll make you understand why I suspect Elesis is becoming the El Lady,” Liam yawned and got a small, worn book from the inside pocket of his coat. He flipped through it and stopped on a page around the middle. “Here. This edition should be easier for you to read. Pardon my notes, but you should read the paragraph in the middle…”

Elsword took the small book and began to read from the beginning. It was retelling the story of Harnier Solace, the last El Lady from the Old Kingdom. The passage Liam had circled immediately made Elsword's eyes widen.

Harnier, when your hair turned white as snow, your woes, joys and grudges were purged from the depths of your soul. You are now pure, as the goddess commands. She shall be reborn from your ashes and benefit us all.

 

---

Aisha expected that the day after a celebration would bring a long, quiet morning where she could focus on her studies. She had grown used to alchemy, and while most of the craft was obscure to her, she saw it as a challenge. Her main objective – creating a potent recovery potion to regenerate damaged nerves – was still far from reach.

She was deep in thought, analysing old books she had brought from home and the few reference manuals the knights had let her borrow.

Then, a loud knock on her window made her spill half a pot of ink on her notes. Furious, she grumbled a seemingly endless string of insults as she tried to clean up the mess and lessen the amount of work that was now completely ruined. Once she had wiped most of it away – ruining her sleeves and only silk handkerchief in the process – Aisha stomped to the window and slammed it open.

“You owe me three new notebooks, dummy,” She growled at the red-haired boy, who had almost jumped back in surprise.

“Sorry, I just asked around, and the healers told me you’d know where Wyll could be,” Elsword explained, scratching his head.

‘Oh, here we go again,’ Aisha thought, letting out a long, deep sigh. ‘I guess Grandpa was right when he said history doesn’t repeat itself. It simply rhymes…’

“No, I haven’t seen him since he came out donning that Black Mass outfit,” Aisha informed him. “Shouldn’t you ask the Captain about it? He went with you, too.”

The red boy looked to the side, visibly uncomfortable with her question.

“What? You didn’t think about it?”

“No, I did. It’s just that everyone is looking for him, too. The Captain, Liam, and Wyll just vanished after the feast,” the boy explained. He pressed his lips for a moment, and his voice was down to a whisper when he continued to talk. “The Lord of Elder called them to congratulate them personally, and nobody has seen them since.”

Aisha blinked. “Are they being held hostage by the Lord of Elder?”

“No, no, it’s not that either,” Elsword was almost visibly sweating. “It’s just that they all resigned. The Lord of Elder showed Lowe their resignation, but shouldn’t they come back for their belongings? I mean, everyone is worried.”

The mage furrowed her brow at the information. “Well, I don’t know more than you because of these,” she said, showing the shackles on her wrists. “I can’t really leave the base or anything.”

“The Captain is missing?” Ciel’s voice chimed in from the left, and Aisha almost had to lean over the windowsill to catch a glimpse of him, his so-called assistant, and the priest. “Where exactly did he go missing?”

The contrast between the expressions of the cursed woman and the silver-haired man – a beaming smile for one and a sour frown on the other – was bemusing. However, Aisha felt that it may have to do with the woman’s insistence on sparring against the priest. Perhaps he had finally caved to her demands.

Elsword turned his attention to the blue-haired Steel Cross and explained the situation. Somewhere on the way back, the carriage where the three missing men were deviated from the main road and were never seen again. The white-haired girl’s expression grew stern, and the priest’s eyes widened.

“Sounds just like those rat people, doesn’t it, Ciel?” the cursed woman asked, eyeing the man to her right.

“Yep. It does sound like those rogue Phorus,” the Steel Cross sighed, pinching his nose before turning towards Elsword. “Do you know where they went missing?”

The red-haired boy shrugged, “Not exactly, but I heard that they were last seen on an old road to the Tree of El. Apparently, pilgrims used to take it before the Phorus started kidnapping them by the dozens.”

“Phorus kidnapping pilgrims? It seems unlikely,” Ainchase butted in, eyeing the white-haired girl. “They’re too small for that.”

“Well, that's why we're calling them rogue Phorus. These pests are pretty big, and killing them is my job,” Ciel explained. “Can you guide us to that road, kid?”

Elsword looked down, fidgeting, “Well, yesterday I slapped a very important person, so, technically, I'm supposed to be running laps around the base and cleaning toilets for the next month or be jailed. But, uh, if they don’t see me leave, I can just say I'll start tomorrow, r-right?”

Aisha could barely believe her ears. “You’re serving a sentence, too?”

“Sorta?” Elsword tilted his head at the question. “I was told I couldn’t leave the base, and they confiscated my weapon. One of the Red Knights told me that they wouldn't accept me in their ranks, but it's not like they're the only knights around.”

Ainchase chuckled, “Ah, I didn’t expect you to be such a hothead, Elsword. Who did you slap?”

“The El Lady.”

All colours drained from the priest’s face. “I beg your pardon?”

The cursed woman erupted with laughter, bending slightly over as the priest seemed frozen by what Elsword had just said.

Aisha rolled her eyes once the girl’s laugh had subsided. “Dummy, she’s not even real! Who was it, really?”

Elsword’s crimson gaze narrowed at her. “It was just someone important to the others. It doesn’t matter, now, does it? We need to find out where these Phorus took the Captain!”

“We?” Aisha questioned, “I hope you’re not counting me in it because, unlike you, I don’t like bending the rules. You’ll get caught.”

“Tracking spirits down isn’t my speciality, so we do need a mage for this.” Ciel looked at her. “Don’t worry too much about getting caught, Aisha. I’ll handle it if it comes down to that.”

She looked down at her shackles. Freedom called, but she was not ready to leave so soon. There was still so much research, but she may find a breakthrough by stepping out of her atelier for once.

“Give me a few minutes. I’ll go get ready.”

 

---

Ainchase did not know how to feel about using his powers on the boy. On one hand, that answer had to be the truth, or at least the truth the boy wished to hide the most. To think that a human would be so brazen as to disrespect the reincarnation of the goddess was unimaginable. On the other hand, knowing that Ishmael was bound to walk on Elrios again reassured him. It explained her strange absence from the Tree of El and her waning power within the El Shard itself.

‘But now that the El is fragmented and there are no El Masters to protect them,’ the Celestial pondered, ‘the El will be at its weakest. It might no longer protect this world from demons.’

The possibility was so worrying it made him frown, though he did not let his displeasure show for long as he scurried along with the rest into the deep forests. If a Night of Ishmael were to befall this world, demons would never let such a golden opportunity slip through their fingers. Hundreds or perhaps thousands or, the goddess forbid, an unholy alliance between all their fragmented tribes would come to set Elrios on fire. He had to make sure the boy restored the El before the Night of Ishmael happened. However, the time they had left was impossible to estimate when he had not seen the El Lady for himself.

Though some demons had already stepped into Elrios only a month ago, it could be an anomaly and not a sign that the Night of Ishmael was fast approaching. Still, demons usually appeared in cursed areas far from the El. Something – or someone – had to have guided them so close to the El.

“You look nervous,” the demoness noted. “Is it because of the boy’s joke?”

“It’s none of your concern.”

She chuckled. “Well, it is when you’re the only one going in the wrong direction.”

The white-haired girl pointed at the group who had taken the left path at the fork in the road while he was heading down the right. They had seemingly not noted their absence.

Ainchase clicked his tongue. “Whatever happened to leaving me alone next week, I wonder…”

“Next week is only two days away,” she reassured him with a proud nod. “No need to get impatient, your Holiness!”

For once, the Celestial could agree with her. As they retrieved the right path, he looked at her one more time.

“Say,” he began, briefly eyeing the group. They were probably barely out of earshot. It was perfect. “How did you cross into Elrios? Were there other demons with you?”

“Oh, your Holiness,” the demoness sighed. “You have nothing to fear from me. To tell you the truth, I barely managed to escape here, alone, powerless and with no memories of who I am. That said, my detractors didn't forget about me. They've tried to hunt me all over the place.”

“Is that so?”

His frown deepened. Multiple demons appearing in a matter of years, or maybe even months, were ominous signs. Time was running out.

“I told you, Celestial,” the demoness shrugged. “There's no point in me lying to you. You're free to think I'm lying when I say this, but I like this world. I don't want it to fall under the clutches of the people who succeeded my throne.”

Ainchase chuckled. “Well, that is a little too hard to believe, I'm afraid.”

“Well, you're right that it doesn't sound like a typical demon’s words,” she conceded with a smirk. “But from my perspective, it's more interesting that way. Just like it's interesting playing chess against my sworn enemy.”

The silver-haired priest rolled his eyes. He had won that game, too, but the sheer joy that the match itself had drawn out of the demoness was sickening. She had been a tough opponent, but a loss was still a loss. Demons were supposed to be humiliated by defeat.

Ainchase reminded himself to get the El Lady to smite every memory of the demoness off his mind. It was better to forget than to deal with her.

Notes:

I've always regretted that the official translation of Harnier is "Hernia". Such an ugly name. Neither I nor Solar can bring ourselves to be canon-compliant in that regard lol.

That said, welcome to the end of Act 1! I wanna say that maybe this fic will be around 30-ish chapters long, possibly 32, but I'd rather not set in stone the chapter count in case we finish it before or after the 32 chapter mark. What I can tell you for sure is that this will be perhaps the length your average novel (100k), though it could be slightly longer (110-130k) but hopefully nothing over 150k. Hope you will tag along for the entire ride because we're excited to bring it to you, piece by piece :D

Chapter 10: The Ritual

The silence in the forest was deafening. The path was littered with dead insects and the mummified remains of small animals: bees, wasps, flies, birds, hares. The Celestial could not even see any spirits around. The El energy around them was so unstable that it was akin to walking through fine sandpaper. Ainchase could not explain why the El energy was in such disarray.

It was as if whoever was sowing chaos here was also overloading the El with something. Whatever it was, it was undoubtedly the same kind of power that had led the local fauna to its demise.

The further they headed down the path, the breeze was more crisp, almost wintery. Yet, every flower was in full bloom, and the trees still had all their leaves. Ainchase clutched his pendulum closer. Every creak, buzz, and shadow lurking outside of their path could be a sign of danger. The Steel Cross, the demoness, and the mage girl had also done the same. Elsword, on his end, stuck closer to Ciel.

A breeze made the leaves sing, but there was something else: rustling, twigs snapping, and a low, guttural huff—almost a growl. The group stopped, gazes darting to where the noise had come from.

‘To the left!’

Ainchase drew a halberd, and Ciel aimed and fired at the source of the noise with supernatural precision. The shot reverberated through the forest, followed by a shrill scream. It was far too unnatural to come from man or beast. It was something unsettlingly in between.

Ciel eyed Aisha, and the mage gathered mana within her staff, muttering a spell that made the El energy in the air become visible. The tiny ribbons of power that Ainchase instinctively felt were now dancing around them. What should be a steady, cyclical tensing and release of the threads – much like the waves reaching and retreating from the shore – was a disjointed discord of threads tensing and quivering until some inevitably snapped under the tension. The chaotic flow of El energy would have ripped the spirits apart had they stayed.

“Fuck,” Ciel cursed under his breath. “This is the kinda thing I thought only happened in the history books.”

Aisha broke her spell, an uneasy frown souring her expression. “Yeah, this is really dangerous,” She pressed her lips together, clenching her staff closer to her body before eyeing the half-demon. “I say we go back and, uhh, Ciel, can you contact the Earth Guardians? Or, even better, the Earth Priestess?”

The half-demon clicked his tongue. “Best I can do is contact the Ninth Water Guardian, but who knows if he’ll believe me.”

“Fair point,” the mage sighed. “If I were him, I’d have a hard time believing you, too.”

“What is it?” Elsword quizzed. “What’s going on?”

“The El energy around this place is collapsing,” Ainchase explained. “It’s quite a rare phenomenon; I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed it before.”

“Nobody who’s ever lived after the Old Kingdom was founded has seen it happen,” Aisha grumbled. “This sort of thing shouldn’t be happening. Ever.”

“Well, we better go and stop it!” Elsword urged them as he started to walk off the beaten path.

He barely made a step before Ciel grabbed him by the shoulder. “Don’t. We’re all too young to die. Well, most of us.”

Ciel glanced at his mistress as he said that last remark, which drew a smirk out of Ainchase. Any adult demon would be considered older than the world by human standards. His amusement did not go over the demoness’ head, who tried to slam her elbow on his hips. The Celestial was quick enough to evade her hit.

“But we can’t just wait for—!” Elsword protested.

The screech echoed again, and the El Energy grew stronger but unevenly. Ainchase felt empowered, but he could see that the half-demon and the mage were tensing under the strain of trying to use spells where there was no El Energy to power them. On her end, the demoness did not seem to be affected at all. She summoned her flames from her gauntlets with ease. It was hard to determine the effects of the El energy’s collapse on the boy since he was neither a trained mage nor carried any enchanted objects or weapons.

“I’ll go. You stay and protect Elsword,” he said, oddly in unison with the demoness, who had called him ‘the boy’ instead.

He blinked at the coincidence and looked at her, who, for once, looked as taken aback by how their thoughts had aligned.

“Lu, if you go,” Ciel warned her, “You know what you can’t do. I didn’t bring those potions with me.”

“Understood.” The demoness nodded as she glanced back at her servant and then made a sign to Ainchase. “Shall we go, Friar?”

“It seems you’ve learnt to not order me around,” he noted. “How pleasant.”

She smirked. “Expect more of that in exchange for chess games.”

Then, she leapt into the forests.

“Wait, but it’s too dangerous, you shouldn’t—!” the mage pleaded with them, but Ainchase cut her misplaced concerns off.

“Miss Magician, that, uhm, woman and I are different,” he assured her. “I’m sure you could see it during our spar. Trust me when I say that our lives aren’t at risk, unlike yours.”

“I’ve…wanted to talk to you about that, actually,” the Sanderian girl softly said, briefly casting her gaze down. She soon lifted her head to look at him and pointed at him with her pink and purple staff. “Don’t you dare die before I ask you some questions, you hear?”

Ainchase chuckled. “That is quite a shocking way of wishing someone good luck, Miss Magician. It almost sounds like you think I owe you answers.”

The girl blushed, and her gaze widened with indignation. “T-That’s not—!”

However, before she could explain herself, he was gone. Even through the chaotic flow of the El, tracing a demon’s foul mana was as easy as spotting an elephant in an open field.

---

Luciela, like all demons, was not dependent on the El’s energy to survive. In fact, it was more akin to a poison that eroded her power to varying degrees. She was at her weakest within the Tree of El, so much so that she had to resort to unlocking her full power to be at least capable of holding her own against all those Glitters. However, the overexertion of her already limited power was not something she had planned. It was simply a knee-jerk reaction to an overwhelming display of power.

Power was all that mattered among demons. Every last drop of water, every inch of farmable land, every village and city was mercilessly destroyed and ransacked from those who grew too complacent and did not show their might as a deterrent. As the Steel Queen, Luciela killed her enemies and conquered their lands until no one dared to challenge her might.

By comparison, Elrios was a far more peaceful land, and it was all thanks to the El. She had lost her will to conquer this world. The last time she tried, she failed. That said, she would not allow anyone – least of all the traitor who almost killed her – to invade Elrios.

The Steel Queen could not sense magic, the mana, nor the El Energy within all things, but she thankfully did not need to. She could recognise the power making her stronger the closer she got to the source of the unnatural screeches that could not have come from any demon, man, or beast.

“Barkat,” she growled in her native tongue, “I know you’re there, you filthy traitor. You can’t hide from me now…”

Luciela was tempted to reveal her adult form but refrained from following her instincts. Ciel knew how to play with the fine print in their contract. It would be incredibly shortsighted of her to tempt him to absorb an even more significant portion of her power.

The forest was a blur, but she could distinctly hear the Celestial following her. Strangely, she could feel her skin crawl from the power that emanated from him. The Steel Queen stopped dashing around and looked behind her. He still was in his human form, but seeing his strength grow at the same pace hers did was somewhat disconcerting.

“Did you lose its trace?” he asked as he caught up with her. He stopped with an unnatural ease despite how fast he had been leaping around to catch up with her.

Having him only a couple of paces away from her only cemented her impressions of his growing power. She was not mistaken; his strength was thriving in a way that should not be possible for his kind.

“Unfortunately, I did,” she lied as she turned away from him. She furrowed her brow, pretending to look around the forest for Barkat. In fact, she was just a tad uneasy having him so close to her. There was something abnormal within him.

A Celestial fighting like a demon was one thing. A Celestial whose power thrived in the absence of the El was an entirely different beast. It was a paradox—not the kind she liked to solve.

“Follow me, then,” he said as he dashed further west, following precisely the same energy she had detected. “I know where we’ll find that thing.”

“How do you know, exactly?” she asked as she dashed behind him. It would be impossible to fully catch up with him in this form.

“It’s quite easy,” he answered, creating one of his bastard swords. “I just follow the growing gap of El energy.”

“Won’t that make you weaker?” she asked. It was baffling how strong and stable his divine energy was.

“If that were so, we would’ve been incapable of banishing your kind once and for all,” he scoffed. “Please spare me the fake concern.”

His answer made her pause.

“You were around back then?” she gasped.

Luciela still struggled to remember her life before Barkat’s betrayal. The only thing she could clearly remember of that time – besides her conquests in the demon realm – was the end of her journey on Elrios. Some Celestials tore her wings off before letting her fall to her death. If Barkat had not been there to catch her…

She shook the thought of that traitor off her head. Whatever good that whore had done in the past was null and void. The moment Luciela saw her again, she would bash her head on the floor until her brains spilt out. That would only be the start of Barkat’s retribution. The Steel Queen knew full well that her former confidant’s regenerative capabilities would not allow her to die that easily.

The Celestial remained silent. Without seeing his face, his silence perturbed her all the more.

“Were you there?” she repeated. “Were you there when…when Elrios was fully isolated from other worlds?”

Silence.

He stopped at the edge of a clearing, leaving her finally the chance to catch up to him. She was set on grilling him until he answered her, but once she saw what lay ahead of them, all her senses geared for combat. The Celestial gritted his teeth and unveiled his spiritual form before her. She could only see his silhouette, but the wave of power that flowed out of him was enough to overwhelm her senses. She took a few steps back, watching him approach the gruesome scene.

Three rogue Phorus were feasting on the remains of four men; their beige fur was dripping with blood, as were their long, sharp claws. Their rodent-like teeth were mixed with sharp fangs they used to tear flesh from bone. One of the masked men was still alive, weakly groaning in pain as his guts were being pulled out and devoured by one of the Phorus. There was a fourth Phoru at the edge of the clearing, but that one had a bullet hole in between the eyes. It was the creature Ciel had killed.

Barkat was nowhere to be seen, but the traces of her power were so strong that it froze Luciela in place. It was subtly hidden under the foul energy that emanated from the tiny El shard on the Phorus’ forehead. Still, the demoness knew precisely what it was: Barkat‘s energy contaminated this clearing with her power. It oozed from the ground, swirling around the Phorus and, to a lesser extent, the dead men.

‘How is this possible?’ the demoness asked herself. ‘Her energy is everywhere, but there is no trace of her or her henchmen.’

“You dare put the goddess’ gift inside your foul bodies?” Ainchase growled as he leapt to behead the Phoru, who was feasting on the only living victim’s innards.

One strike was all it took for the three monsters to drop dead. Blood gushed out of their severed necks, making the pool of crimson underneath the men’s corpses grow wider by the second. The Celestial held one of the abomination’s heads up with one hand, grabbing it by its long, dirty, beige fur.

“You will return what you stole,” Ainchase hissed before his weapon lodged itself in the middle of the creature’s skull. He ended up splitting it to retrieve the tiny El shard within it. The Phoru’s brain and mangled head dropped unceremoniously to the ground with a mushy sound.

Once he had the shard, he materialised again in his human form. The Celestial looked at her; his emerald gaze was fixed on hers with a hint of malice bubbling under the surface. His smirk only heightened the similarities between his face and the one every demon harboured deep down.

“Come on, demoness,” he chuckled. “Make yourself at least a little useful and collect the remaining shards for me. Didn’t you say you wanted to protect Elrios? Prove it.”

Luciela quickly realised what was happening. It was not that he was, from the very beginning, an abnormal Celestial. Barkat’s power was insidiously poisoning him. Her chains appeared under his feet, as did a recognisable summoning circle. The blood of the men and the Phorus was moving as if it were alive. It formed old demonic glyphs that fed on his power to grow stronger. She clicked her tongue. Even with her growing power, dealing with blood magic in her current form could prove impossible. One wrong move, and she would end up accelerating the ultimate aim of the spell.

The white-haired demoness unveiled her adult form. Ciel would have to understand that she had no other choice.

“That’s it,” the Celestial chuckled, “Let’s deal with these heathens without holding anything back. I know where the others are. I’ll show you.”

“Let’s go get them!” She beamed, covering the sole of her feet and her hands with her flames. Luciela approached Ainchase, using her heightened strength as a radar to detect the movements of the demonic power all around them. It swirled around in an increasingly small circle. Should she take too long to cut the invisible chord that had turned him into the spell’s power source, his death would be the least unfortunate event that would come out of it.

She stepped left and right, avoiding the trails of blood that swerved around her, trying to latch onto her. Luciela played it off as a dance, swirling and pivoting rhythmically as she hummed. The last thing she wanted was to make it too apparent that she had understood the ultimate aim of the spell.

She finally reached him, and a close look at his face was enough to confirm that she was right. The light in his eyes grew dim, and he breathed more heavily.

“Ainchase,” she softly called him. She put out the flames around her hands and let the ones on her feet spread and devour the foul energy that threatened to consume him whole.

A curtain of blue fire surrounded them, and she delicately took the small, bloodied El shard from his hand. His coldness lingered on her fingers, but she did not let the sensation distract her from what she ought to do. She now had the right medium to absorb Barkat’s power out of him.

“Fight it, Ainchase,” she told him as she cupped his face. Curses and tainted mana usually resided in the head, as Ciel had told her. It was the best spot to sap it out of the Celestial. “Fight it because our lives depend on it. Elrios depends on it.”

“Elrios depends on it,” he echoed. His voice was barely a strained whisper.

Luciela began to feel the demonic energy coursing through the small El shard and into her veins. The traitor’s power had grown far stronger than what she remembered. It made her wonder how many centuries had passed since she was sealed away.

‘Power like this should only be in the hands of the Suzerain. But if Barkat’s power alone is enough to affect a Celestial like this, then she’s become even stronger than that. But how? Sult’s chosen one should be the strongest of all demonkind…’

The glyphs of blood that her flames had not burned away pulsated; some of them exploded into stains devoid of all magic. The chains wrapping themselves around the Celestial’s ankles crumbled into dust. She saw his eyes turn into a clear aquamarine shade. A brief memory bubbled to the surface of her mind. She remembered meeting someone with that same gaze but could not remember when or where.

“I’ll always be the first one to find you,” the Celestial murmured. His weak, trembling hand grabbed hers, and he closed his eyes. His touch was warmer.

The Steel Queen felt a knot in her throat, but she could not explain it. She let out a shaky breath, fighting her strange urge to cry. She had to focus on her spell. It was almost done.

The last blood rune exploded, and Barkat’s power vanished. Luciela’s flames disappeared with them, and the Celestial collapsed. She caught him in her arms, and her eyes widened when she heard a faint heartbeat in his chest. He was warm as if he were a real, living person.

Luciela exhaled and slowly knelt down to better support the man’s weight. She blinked a few times, and her arms tightened their grasp around him as she debated whether or not she should let him go. Any semblance of life vanished from Ainchase; he was once again just an imitation of life, as all his kind was. The bushes around the clearing rustled, and the demoness looked around her. They were surrounded by a dozen elven rangers. All of them were aiming her arrows at her.

“Foul demon!” an elven with lime-green, short hair hissed. “Your dark ritual ends here!”

The blue-eyed demoness sighed. “You elves are all insufferable.”

She gently put Ainchase down, and with Barkat’s power now coursing through her veins, her flames ignited brighter than ever. The first volley disintegrated with a flick of her fingers. The rangers were all throwing glances at the short-haired elf. She had deployed her green, crystal-like wings but was still hesitating.

“So, do you wish to continue throwing pathetic attacks at me, or will you allow me to explain?”

She charged an orb of fire in her gauntlets, and a crooked grin twisted her expression as she watched some of the rangers retreat. “Otherwise, I could always neutralise you. No need to worry. It’ll be over before you even notice you’ve been immolated.”

“Lime!” Rena’s voice chimed in from the right. “Wait! I need to tell you that—”

The elven woman’s peridot gaze widened when she saw Luciela. Her eyes drifted to Ainchase and then back to Luciela. The elf grabbed her bow but did not try to aim an arrow at her.

“What did you do, Lu?” Rena coldly asked her. “Why did you corrupt that shard?”

“To stop a ritual that would've not only killed this man,” she answered, pointing to the unconscious Celestial. “But also opened a permanent gate to the demon realm.” She furrowed her brow at the short-haired elf. “I know that gratitude is not an elf’s strong suit, but you could try it at least once.”

The demoness returned to her childish form once the elves slowly lowered their weapons. Rena was the first one among the elves to approach the scene of the carnage. She knelt beside one of the murdered men and took off his wooden, boar-shaped mask. The man’s face was scarred by demonic glyphs; most of the wounds were perhaps months, if not years old.

The short-haired ranger flew near one of the Phorus’ corpses and cut some of its mangled fur off with a pocket knife she took out of her skirt’s pocket. The texture of the creature’s bare skin was far too similar to the one of the murdered, masked men, and the scars on it were identical.

“This…this is a human,” the winged elf gasped. “They’re all humans. No demon could’ve…”

Her grass-green eyes turned towards her, looking for answers. Luciela herself was shocked to hear that those monsters had been human.

“No,” she replied. “We could turn humans into demons, but not, well, whatever that abomination is.”

Ainchase groaned. Everyone set his eyes on him as he stirred back into consciousness. His clothes and his hands were drenched in blood, but he did not seem to notice right away.

“Goddess almighty,” he whispered as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “My head…”

“Please excuse us, your Holiness. We couldn’t find a nice, cushiony pillow for you,” Luciela joked. “There were more pressing matters at hand.”

The short-haired elf furrowed her brow at her. “Your Holiness?”

“It’s her way of mocking the faith,” Ainchase sighed. “A demon would never respect the goddess or her creation, elf.”

The Celestial got back on his feet unsteadily, and a cursory glance at the scene around him made him fully alert.

“Why are there still blood mages living on Elrios?” His voice quavered with disgust. “To sully the paradise the goddess created for them like this…What are they thinking?!”

“Don’t be too quick to judge these puppets, Celestial,” Luciela insisted. “I know who’s behind this would-be portal. It’s the scheming, traitorous bitch I want dead.”

---

Night had just fallen around the base. The recent reports had everyone around scramble to man defensive positions and discuss strategies with Lowe and the other high-ranked knights, and some mages were busy broadcasting the terrible news to whoever they knew in the Church. The mess hall was, therefore, abandoned, only lit by the oil lamp Ainchase had brought and the small fire in the fireplace. He was still thinking about what the demoness had explained to him and the elves and then repeated it to the rest. But, above all, he mainly was asking himself what – out of everything he heard and saw – was real.

The green-eyed priest looked at Luciela, noticing she was setting up the chess board for the two of them far less enthusiastically than usual. She seemed to hesitate whenever she placed the pieces on his side.

“You didn’t tell us the whole truth, did you?” he asked.

The rook she had taken slipped from her hands, knocking over the pawn in front of it before both pieces rolled down the table. Ainchase caught them and put them where they belonged.

The demoness crossed her arms and sighed before resting her elbow on the table. She rested her head on the palm of her hand and continued to put the pieces absentmindedly.

The board was set. Luciela claimed the white pieces. As her opening move, she placed the pawn in front of the king two spaces ahead. Ainchase countered by advancing his pawn two spaces in front of the queen’s bishop. She freed her king’s knight, making it hop to her bishop’s column.

“What is it about this Barkat that scares you so much?” he continued to ask, moving the pawn in front of his king one position forward. “If she wanted to launch a full-scale invasion like you said, her plans are foiled.”

“I’m not afraid of her,” she finally answered, scratching her head before she made the pawn in front of her queen advance two. “I’m just bothered by another issue.”

Ainchase did not hesitate to capture her pawn with the pawn he had advanced the most. She replied by using her knight to capture his pawn in turn.

“Am I the issue?”

The Celestial made the queen’s knight hop over the bishop’s column. She drummed her fingers on the table’s edge, staring at the board for a long minute before she advanced her knight again. Now, her two knights were in the same column.

“I know I owe you my life,” Ainchase continued as he moved the pawn in front of his queen one step forward. “You were the one who told me to fight, right?”

Luciela was still set on ignoring him entirely, but he could see her jaw tensing and her blue gaze moving left and right of the board. She was usually more composed, taking in the board like a piece of art and not like a book she had to skim through. The game was probably the last thing that was making her so tense. She finally grabbed the pawn before her queen’s bishop and placed it two spaces forward to protect her isolated knight.

Ainchase had only heard her name once – the real one, not the little nickname her servant gave her. He figured he would use it to let her know he was sincere.

“Thank you for that, Luciela,” he said before bringing his king’s knight to the bishop’s column. His knights were now on the same row.

The demoness slammed her first on the table. The vibration knocked over a lot of pieces, including her king. Forfeit.

“Don’t call me that,” she breathed out. “Don’t make this more complicated than it already is.”

“I assumed I was the only one with more questions than I’d know what to do with, but if it’s the same for you…” he trailed off. His green gaze sank into the board, and he knocked his king over.

The fire crackled behind her; its orange glow made her white hair look coppery, and her wintery gaze, too, captured the pale light of the oil lamp that rested next to their board.

“What do you remember?” she wondered as she finally decided to look up at him. “Other than what you heard me say.”

“Now, I can’t recall. Everything is blurry,” Ainchase confessed. “But, after I heard you telling me to fight, what I was seeing felt like…” He clicked his tongue and exhaled. “I almost want to call it a stream of memories, but memories aren’t so flimsy.”

“You’d be surprised how flimsy they can be when you’re trapped for ages,” she remarked. “You grow so weak you forget it all. You can’t even answer the simplest questions about yourself, like who you are.”

He raised an eyebrow at her words. Though he was rescued by the goddess just in time, Ainchase had experienced part of that existential dread. He had wished to know all the exploits that made him into the goddess’ strongest soldier. Yet, his mind was blank.

“Forget it,” she scoffed, dismissing him with a hand gesture. “You wouldn’t get it anyway. Let’s start over. Right from where we left off.”

Luciela quickly placed their pieces where they had been before she knocked them over. Her memory was impeccable, even under pressure. Once everything was set, she freed her queen’s knight to secure the defence of the other one.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he chuckled joylessly. “It’s rather odd how similar we are. From how we fight to more personal things, like being trapped somewhere we can’t escape...if left alone, anyhow.”

He threatened her knight by moving the pawn in front of the queen’s rook two spaces. She recognised that she could not keep her knight so close to her enemy and retreated to her rook’s column. Luciela looked at him, expecting him to continue talking.

The Celestial took the pawn in front of his queen and moved it one space forward.

“Let’s just say, demoness,” he explained, “that I’m here more to correct a past failure than to hunt your kind down.”

“Were you there when that goddess of yours isolated Elrios from other worlds?”

He furrowed his brow at her question. It was utterly nonsensical. Elrios had always been protected from otherworldly invaders, though the strength of that protection varied with how close Ishmael was to reincarnate through the El Lady. It was the only flaw that demons like her could take advantage of.

“What are you talking about? The El has always—”

The door swung open. The half-demon waltzed into the room, armed and with a bag full of supplies. “We gotta head down the Tree of El. Now.”

The demoness immediately got back up and joined her servant. The Celestial followed suit, but he asked what had happened.

“A group of bandits is attacking the Tree of El,” Ciel informed him as they ran out of the base. “They’re only three, but two of them are highly skilled. Acting Captain Lowe thinks they’re after the El Shard, and he doesn’t have enough men to launch a counterattack. It’s up to us to stop them.”

‘This is the worst possible moment for the goddess to reincarnate,’ Ainchase gravely thought as they ventured into the dark forests. None of them needed light to navigate through the darkness around them. ‘What are my brothers doing? If any of the El Shards go missing…I can’t even imagine the disaster that would come from that.’

Notes:

Solar is a chess nerd. Ain and Lu's chess game is, move by move (save for the part of knocking pieces over), part of the 1985 game between Anatoly Karpov and Garry Kasparov. It's not a random choice either. The Karpov-Kasparov rivalry was huge and at Solar considers it the greatest rivalry of all time.

Chapter 11: Farewell, White Hawk

Notes:

Note from Solar: i had to rush this and the previous chapter or else VanToRia would've ended up obsessing over her side-story (the second part of this series) to the point it may have surpassed the word count in this.

The morning slowly rose around the Chamber of the El. The taste of defeat lingered in the Celestial’s mouth. Its bitterness was as high as his worry for the fate of this world. The El Shard was gone. The El itself did not give him the strength it was supposed to, and that half-demon had lured them all into a trap.

It was unfathomably shameful.

Ainchase leaned on a wall next to the demoness and her servant. He was the only one who could still stand – albeit barely – as he attempted to bandage the deep cut in his arm. The demoness was having her wounds treated by her servant, and she had treated his wounds first.

“Come here, Celestial,” Luciela said as she lazily motioned with her arm for him to sit back down. “You’ll bleed out before you figure out how to cover your wounds.”

“I won’t die from it,” he answered. “I can always make a new human shell.”

“Then you should do that instead of wasting my bandages,” the half-demon grumbled as he immobilised the demoness’ broken wrist. “And go disable whatever traps those thieves left behind if there’s still some.”

“Oh, is the demon slave demanding that I clean up after him?” Ainchase shot back, frowning at the Steel Cross. “You could at least own up for your lack of judgement, you freak of nature.”

The indigo-haired man glared back at him, grabbed his gun blades and aimed them at the green-eyed priest.

“Dontcha want to get that new body faster, motherfucker? Here, I’ll help ya out,” Ciel hissed before pulling the trigger.

Click. Click.

With his left leg broken, the half-demon had no way of getting on his feet to use the blades on his weapons against Ainchase. The Celestial summoned a lance, filled with all the divine energy he could muster, and pointed it at the half-demon.

“I guess today’s the day you find out why the simplest of weapons have withstood the test of time,” the Celestial growled.

Before Ainchase could pierce the blue-eyed man with it, the divine energy within his weapon grew so unstable that it shattered and then quickly turned to dust. He now had no power left to summon another one.

“Are you two done now?” The demoness groaned.

Neither of them answered. They simply put more distance between them, even if it was just a tiny step and a half.

“Great.” Luciela sighed. “Can we think like adults and consider our next move?” She paused, briefly grimacing in pain. “Besides getting treated, of course.”

The Celestial limped a few steps forward and found a crumpled parchment on the floor. As much as it hurt, he crouched to pick it up. His legs trembled, and he could not maintain his balance for long. A sharp, piercing pain that spread from his shins to his lower back drew out a groan from him as he crumbled to his knees. Ainchase could not stand up again, at least not until this new wave of pain subsided. He straightened the parchment and noticed a folded note slipped from it.

The parchment depicted a map detailing the secret entry and exit routes within the Tree of El, as well as the ultimate destination of the criminals. The note was stamped with Elder’s coat of arms. It detailed the identities of the bandits, as well as the reason behind the theft. Ainchase almost wished he could burn through that paper with his glare.

‘These corrupt humans deserve to be culled by my hand.’

“What does it say?” Luciela asked.

“That the bandits weren’t just some heretics playing around with Nasods,” Ainchase answered. “They’re traitors of the highest order.”

 

---

 

Elsword had not slept but still found it easy to practise his combat stances as the sun rose above the horizon. The red-haired boy sipped water and ran some laps around the base. Lowe had officially made him a knight of the El Search Party the night before, but Elsword had not been assigned to any unit; it was no different from being given some time off, except he could no longer leave the base as he pleased.

As he ran, the cold morning breeze kept him focused, though not entirely. When he reached the southern gate, he stopped. Half the knights opened the gates for two distinguished knights while the others were wordlessly saluting them. Elsword paid no mind to the tan, black-haired knight that accompanied the Grand Admiral. With a grin plastered, Elsword walked closer to the dignified White Hawk of the Centurion Guard.

Owen Felford was about an inch taller than Ciel. His slightly wavy white mane barely covered his neck, and his upturned magenta eyes pulled attention away from the royal blue uniform he wore. As the soldiers lined up to salute the Grand Admiral, Elsword squeezed between them to be in the centre of the line. The albino offered him a friendly nod before addressing the rest more formally.

“At ease,” Lord Felford ordered. “The Crown has received your distress calls. Commodore Asini and I wish to speak with Captain Evans to evaluate the situation.”

“Sir,” a silver-haired knight replied, “We forgot to inform you of this, but there’s a critical update you should know beforehand.”

Owen furrowed his brow. “What is it, soldier?”

“Some of our men, including Captain Evans, vanished on the road to Elder.”

The tan, black-haired man beside Owen glared at the knight who had just spoken. “You let your Captain vanish on the road?” He looked around at the rest of the knights gathered around them, glaring at them, too. “Are you turncoats, soldiers?”

Nobody spoke. Their gazes all sank to their feet. However, Elsword met Commodore Asini’s onyx glare head-on.

“Sir, with all due respect,” the boy began, “We’ve been dealing with many uhm, unpara, uhm…unparalah…”

He pressed his lips together, feeling his heart beat even faster at the thought he was making a fool of himself—in front of Lord Felford.

“Unparalleled,” Owen gently corrected him.

“Yes, many unparalleled crises,” the red-haired boy repeated. The albino’s nod gave him the courage to continue talking. “We do what we can to keep the main roads safe, sir, but our forces haven’t recovered from all the losses caused by last month’s attack. Our quick action to deal with yesterday’s crisis before it was too late should be all the proof you need to know that we aren’t traitors, sir. We’re just overwhelmed.”

The Commodore’s expression softened, and he glanced at Owen, “I wonder who taught this boy to speak like that.”

“I can’t take all the credit, Lento,” Owen chuckled. “Elsword’s a precocious kid. Rhetoric classes would be lost on him if he wasn’t.”

“I can see that,” Commodore Asini agreed with a tiny smirk before eyeing the other knights disapprovingly. “His seniors would do well to learn a thing or two from him.” Then he turned his attention back to Elsword. “Do you have duties awaiting you, soldier?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you shall escort us to your Acting Captain’s office.”

The red-haired boy proudly saluted him. “Yes, sir!”

 

---

 

Late morning rolled in, bringing a strangely dry and cold climate. Although Elsword was tempted to stay next to the door to Lowe’s office and wait for Lord Owen, getting praised by two flag officers made him want to continue training even harder. He had to prove they were not praising him simply because he was Lord Felford’s adoptive son.

‘Well, maybe not officially his adopted son,’ Elsword mentally corrected himself, ‘But I’ll soon be part of his House. I’ll make him proud!’

The boy planted his wooden sword on the ground, sweeping away the sweat on his brow and took a sip of water. He looked around him, and the vast, empty training grounds were a bad reminder of all those who would never return. It was here that he talked with Wyll for the first time. Elsword wondered if the blonde was caught in that dangerous El energy collapse that Lu and Ain stopped in the nick of time. He pushed that thought away, telling himself that Liam and the Captain would have never allowed him to get hurt.

“Ah, there you are, Elsword,” Owen’s voice called behind him.

The red-haired boy turned around with a smile, “Lord Owen! How was the meeting?”

“Very productive,” the man answered. “Like your training so far. Did you have breakfast?”

Elsword did not answer, but his stomach answered for him, loud and clear.

The albino shook his head at him, putting on a more serious face that the boy knew was not a sign of annoyance. “Soldier, what are you thinking? Running on an empty stomach and no sleep is unacceptable.”

“Was it obvious that I didn’t sleep?” Elsword asked, scratching his head. “I really don’t feel that tired.”

“Lowe told me,” Owen informed him before turning away. “Now, come along. You can’t skip lunch, too.”

“Is it already midday?” The boy gasped as he rushed to walk by the Grand Admiral’s side.

“It’s ten thirty, but the way back home is long,” the albino said. “We’ll be right on time for lunch.”

Elsword’s eyes widened, “Lord Owen, uhm, are you sure I can leave the base with you?”

The magenta-eyed Admiral chuckled. “I wonder who’d tell me that I can’t take my son out for lunch.”

My son. The boy felt his cheeks warm up at the sound of those words. “Then, um, should I start calling you Lord Father?”

“If that’s what you wish to use from now on, I’m fine with it.” He paused briefly, looking down. “But I don’t think Seris appreciates hearing that kind of etiquette very often.”

“So, should I ask her what she prefers?”

The Grand Admiral ruffled his hair. “Don’t worry too much about it. Whatever you choose to call her, it’ll make her day.”

Father and son left the base, not talking much beyond the burning questions on Elsword’s mind. He was excited to be officially adopted, though he also had questions about the deal between the Felfords and Elkashu.

“It was an informal arrangement,” Owen answered. “A friend of mine and I thought the Grand Admiral was only joking to get me and Seris to rest for a few months. I agreed to it, thinking my superior would only give me some time off instead.”

“Your friend, Commodore Asini?”

The albino shook his head, “No, Lento’s a friend, alright, but I met him much later. The man I’m talking about was exceptional. He rose through the ranks without any noble titles or money until he became a Vice Admiral. He even led his own mercenary company, but that’s a story for another time.”

Owen continued to retell the details of his arrangement with Elkashu. The head of the Felfords was recovering in a medical ward from some wounds he sustained after a battle next to Seris when a red-haired girl brought a baby boy to them. The girl said that she was Elesis Sieghart. The albino was shocked to see that the highest-ranked officer in the Centurion Guard was not only asking his daughter to give her brother away but that Elesis was a soldier herself.

“Things are different now,” Owen added, “But, back then, it was usually orphans or bastards that filled up the ranks as meat shields for the infantry. I hated the practice regardless, but most nobles were willing to turn a blind eye to it. When she came along, though, it caused an uproar.”

Elsword’s gaze sank momentarily, “How old was she?”

“Six, maybe seven,” Owen took a deep breath in, looking at the quiet, chilly forest around them with suspicion. “Elsword, is the forest usually this cold this time of the year?”

“Hm? Well, it’s my first time feeling it, but Lowe said yesterday that we shouldn’t worry if it gets chilly.”

“Is that so?” the Grand Admiral drawled. “He’s probably right. Come to think of it, fall should be around the corner. I’ll chop some firewood tomorrow.”

The red-haired boy tilted his head. “Are you gonna stay?”

“Just for a little while,” the Grand Admiral answered. He smiled at the boy by his side. “Say, do you want to train with me again? I think you’re ready to start practising spells.”

Owen did not need to ask twice for Elsword to enthusiastically agree.

 

---

 

A week went by, and Owen and his Commodore had kept an eye on the El Search Party. It was the last day of the week, which meant everyone got a free day. Owen Felford sat down with his wife and Lento around Lake Noahz on a picnic. The sun was hanging low in the sky, and the children were still toying around with their homemade fishing rods, explaining to each other how to put the bait properly.

They had not caught a single fish so far. Amelie was knee-deep in mud, explaining to the boys that they had to look in that spot to get the “good worms.” Elsword quickly believed her and started to look, while Elias hesitated far more to get his hands dirty.

“He’s taking it well,” Lento noted. “Elsword, I mean. Was he ever nervous about moving in with you?”

“Not really. We’ve raised him, more or less, since his birth,” Seris proudly said. “We couldn’t officially take him in because of his sister but, well, things are different now.”

The black-haired Commodore tilted his head. “What changed? Why would his sister let him go?”

“She’s the one with the Divinus Manus,” Owen explained. “I talked with her the other day. She was very emotional, but she remembered who she was. I got her permission, as the head of the Siegharts, to take her brother in. I think it’s better this way, for both of them.”

“Yeah, but, still,” Lento huffed. “Talk about a hard conversation to be having at her young age.”

Seris chuckled, “At her young age, he says…”

The Commodore frowned at the blonde, but refrained from saying anything, opting to take another bite off his half-eaten sandwich.

“Lento, you’re two years older than her,” Owen said with a smirk. “If she's young to you, what does that make us? We’re barely thirty-two, young man.”

The tan man swallowed his bite, shaking his head at his superior with a faint smile. “Okay, old man. It’s not my fault your hair’s already white.”

“Hmm…are we sure about that?” Seris queried with a smug grin on her face. “I remember someone who forgot to turn off the overclocking of the engine on his then-captain’s ship a few years back…”

“Oh, yeah, that definitely made my hair whiter than snow!”

“You will never let me live that down, will you?” Lento asked, chuckling at the memory even if he still hid his face behind his hands. “I was fresh on the job, come on, cut me some slack!”

“You’re asking me, the Chief Engineer, to cut you some slack? Never!”

The three of them laughed, continued to banter about the past, and shared some hopes about their future. Lento had thought about proposing to Vanessa, but he could not find the courage for it.

“Aw, why not?” Seris asked, “She’s waiting for it, but she won’t wait forever, you know?”

A chill breeze – colder and drier than it had every right to be – made Lento’s smile run away from his face. The two other adults also felt it, and their smiles too, quickly faded away. On their end, the kids only briefly stopped their play before going back to their innocent fun. They had seemingly given up on fishing rods and were trying to catch fish with their bare hands.

“That man is still denying that there's anything wrong,” Owen grumbled. “It's infuriating.”

“Lieutenant Lowe, at the very least, is responsible for his Captain’s disappearance,” Lento quietly said as he finished the last bite of his sandwich. “The soldiers told me he sent the priest, the Steel Cross and the shape-shifter to check on some bandits a week ago. The thing is, nobody else saw anything. There were no scouts out, nothing. Lowe made it all up.”

“Do we have to talk about work now?” Seris sighed. “I’m not denying it’s important, but, you know, it’s our only free day. Work could wait until tomorrow.”

Lento shrugged. “As much as I’d like to talk about other things, Commander, I can’t focus on them when the issues at hand are this severe.”

“Oh, don’t you Commander me here, Lento!” Seris pouted, tapping the tan man on the back of his head.

“Ouch! It’s just a habit, Com—Uhh, Chief Engineer Felford?”

Another tap.

“Stop being so formal.” The blonde giggled. “If you really can’t let go of those useless titles, just call me Lady Seris.”

“Okay, okay, Lady Seris, it is,” Lento capitulated, rubbing the back of his head, looking for any bumps. Owen already knew he would find none.

Seris acquiesced with a smile. “That’s much better.” Her smile went away with a heavy sigh. “Since we must talk about the issues at hand, as Lento put it, I think Lowe has a guilty conscience.”

“Why do you think so, love?”

“Oh, I’ve made some friends around town, including Chief Hagus,” she mused.

Seris explained that a few villagers, including Hagus and Ann, the owner of the local general store, had seen Lowe and the Lord of Elder meeting up incognito. Though their disguises were excellent, the village chief knew both men well enough to tell them apart. Their last meeting had turned into a rather loud argument, with Lowe arguing the loudest about how much the other man was taking.

“Taking too much, huh?” Owen echoed pensively. “There’s only one thing here that would be worth taking and that Lowe wouldn’t be willing to set on the table.”

Lento furrowed his brow, but before he found the words to say, Seris spoke again. “That’s why he couldn’t have made the theft up. He chose to send them alone because they aren’t loyal to Captain Evans, unlike the other knights.” She sipped on the wine that was still in her wooden cup. “Two birds with one stone. He avoids mutiny, and he ensures that Lord Evans has as little chances as he can get to survive a direct confrontation. The priest and the woman are stronger and more vicious than anyone else, or so I’ve heard.”

Lento agreed with Seris, adding that the knights were divided in two camps: those who admired the duo and those who feared them. He took the last grape from the basket and ate it.

“If the missing soldiers stole the El,” the black-haired man said before spitting the seeds in his hand, “it could explain the climate, but nothing’s dead yet. We’d see more of what those heretics caused if it was gone for good.”

Owen shook his head. “Not necessarily. If we assume Captain Evans is the thief, then he’s only biding his time to expose the traitor,” the albino looked at his wife. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but the El has a radius within which it’ll still sustain life to a degree, right?”

The blonde nodded. “You’re right on the money, darling. It’s strange to see the thief have more morals than a Lord and the new Acting Captain, right?”

“Indeed it is,” Lento agreed, “but can Lord Evans keep this up? As much as I’d like to stay and ensure his safety, we still haven’t caught the Black Crow’s Mothership. They may launch an unprecedented attack after their defeat in Clock Tower Square.”

“I highly doubt they have more than two warships left,” the Grand Admiral sighed. “Even if both Sander’s Emir and the Rod family combined the fortunes of their realms, there’s no way they could afford to rebuild everything we’ve destroyed.”

“That’s true,” Lento conceded. “And if one of their Steel Crosses is missing here, they’d have more incentives to stop their attacks and—”

“And what if they aren’t the ones behind it?”

Seris’s question caught both men off-guard.

“Huh? What do you mean, Com— Lady Seris? Who else would it be?”

The woman shrugged. “I don’t know, but if the Rod family had to be involved in anything, maybe it would be the El’s disappearance.”

She told them about Elsword’s friend, Wyll, and the elegant Black Mass outfit only he had worn for the ceremony. It was made of such fine silk that it had caused an impression in the village.

Owen furrowed his brow. “What did Elsword say that Wyll’s House was?”

“Gesson.”

The Vice Admiral and his Commodore looked at each other, their eyes briefly widening at the realisation.

“Gesson, huh?” the albino sighed, his head hanging low. “The sons of Gess; Rod Gess. Why didn’t I think of it sooner? Those kids are the perfect blackmail material.” He passed his hands over his face. “If they stay missing, or if they’re killed, that’s the second war knocking on our doors…”

“Owen,” Lento called him. “Should I contact the White Colossus?”

Before he could think of an answer, the three adults were interrupted by the shouts of victory from the children. They had caught a Lizard Bass. The pointy fish was still struggling in Elias’ hands. The boy was still not strong enough to hold it and had cuts on his fingers caused by the fish’s horns. Owen saw his son frowning at his sister’s and Elsword’s teasing. The blood on Elias’ fingers rolled into the fish’s eye and began to turn into small crystals that hurt the animal even more. The bass began to struggle even harder against his son.

Owen immediately walked towards the children. He had to stop this before Elias’ unintentional use of his curse became too obvious.

“What did you guys catch there?” he asked the three children with a smile. “Can you let me see?”

The fish slapped Elias and broke free from his grasp. Owen subtly used his curse to make it fall in his hands instead of the muddy shore. Both Elsword and Amelie gasped, amazed by his reflexes. The ashen-blonde boy, in turn, simply lowered his head and apologised.

“It’s okay, Elias. Fishing for the first time is always tough,” Owen reassured his son. “Go to your mother and tell her to patch up those cuts.”

Elias nodded and did as he had asked. The day was growing dim, and Owen still had a few things to investigate before he took his family back to the Capital.

 

---

 

After two weeks of rigorous training, Elsword had mastered a few spells. Lord Ow—nay, his father, was surprised by the result. The red-haired boy could not explain it either; he had never had a natural ability for magic, unlike his brother Elias. The night was waning, and the only people awake in the boy’s home were the Grand Admiral and Elsword. The albino man put two boxes in front of him; it was both his parting gift and to celebrate his ascension from recruit to a knight of the El Search Party.

Even if hearing about his family’s departure hurt a little, Elsword knew it would not be for long. Once Owen formalised his adoption, the boy would be flown into Velder without delay.

Elsword opened the boxes; in one, there were two twin swords, one red and another silver. In the other, there was only a gorgeously decorated sheath. The red-haired boy naturally took the red sword, expecting it to be lighter than his training sword. He soon discovered he was mistaken and thought it best to start training with one as heavy as this.

As he was about to place it in the Sheath Owen gave him, the albino stopped him. “The Sheath is a weapon in its own right.”

The red-haired boy tilted his head. “How?”

“Use your mana,” his father ordered. “Find out for yourself.”

With a nod, Elsword hovered his hands over the Sheath, closing his eyes as he guided his mana around the object. He did not get far before feeling a shock course through his fingers. The boy jumped back, looking at his hand and then back at the Sheath.

“That thing hurt!” Elsword murmured, doing his best to only grit his teeth instead of raising his voice. “Fuck!”

Owen frowned at him. “Where did you hear that word?”

The red-haired boy tilted his head, “You mean fuck? Is it a bad word?”

The head of the Felfords gravely nodded. Elsword gulped, pressing his lips together as he thought about what to say. He could understand it was perhaps not a nice word, but if a distinguished Steel Cross used it…

“Uhm, is it really that bad? Ciel used it, so…”

The Grand Admiral looked even less amused by that information but did not let it linger too long. “You shouldn’t use it, that’s all. Just like you shouldn’t be using the Sheath yet. Keep practising your spells, get used to the twin blades, and then, you’ll slowly get used to the Sheath. But don't go overboard, okay? I’ll help you carry it and your other things to the base.”

“Ah, okay,” Elsword said with a heavy heart as he closed the two boxes again. He felt Owen’s hand over his head and looked up at him again.

“We’re not saying our farewells just yet, Elsword. I said I’ll accompany you to base, didn’t I?”

The boy nodded and tiptoed back to his room to gather his things. Once father and son were out the door, Elsword looked back at the cottage. He would leave it for good this time around. The brief memories of his sister did not linger as much as those he shared with the Felfords. When, or rather if, he returned, would the memories remain as bright as they were now?

He hoped not. Elsword wished the new memories he would forge once he was a Felford would outweigh everything else. Once he set his belongings in his shared quarters with squad three, Elsword accompanied the Admiral back to the gate.

“See you soon, Elsword,” the Grand Admiral said before patting him over the shoulder.

“See you soon, father,” the boy said as he waved back at the albino.

The boy watched his adoptive father cross the door and walk downhill. Grand Admiral Felford – the White Hawk of the Centurion Guard, the pride of Velder’s fleet – took his last flight into the skies of Elrios.

Chapter 12: Alive

Lu woke up to the distant chirping of crickets and a warm breeze that filtered through a window, which was only a perfectly round hole in the wall to her left. The stars were still firmly clinging to the night sky, though she could see the glow of nearby lamps outside her room. The ceiling was made of tree branches that converged in a spiral held by a central column, mimicking the roots of a tree merging into its trunk.

The blue-eyed demoness stretched her hand above her head, feeling her still-sore muscles, but when a sharp, piercing pain spread through her back, she immediately stopped. Her wounds had not fully healed, and she hoped she had not reopened any. Luciela took a deep breath as she looked to her sides. Her arms were still bandaged, but she could move them with ease. The fractures were fully healed, at least. Once she sat down, she saw two other thin mattresses on a wood slab, but both were empty.

‘He didn’t leave me with enough power to heal, yet he has the gall to blame me for losing his humanity,’ the demoness bitterly thought as she got up.

The demoness let out a deep breath and noticed she had nothing but bandages on. Considering the state of her clothes after the fight, it made sense that whoever had taken care of her after she passed out from the pain had taken her clothes off. Still, she would have appreciated having something other than a blanket to wrap around herself. Once Luciela had covered her nude body, she got up and walked around the yurt she was in, but she could not find the door. The window she had seen was too small to squeeze through – even in her current form – without making her injury worse.

The Steel Queen frowned, opting to walk right next to the walls, sliding her hands around, knocking on some spots, looking for the smallest of cracks she could use to escape. There was nothing. The walls were smooth and solid, like a rock. Then, when she reached the window again, it closed on itself. Only a thick, continuous wall was left all around her. She did not have her gauntlets on her, and Ciel, wherever he might be, was not close enough to hear her. Luciela exhaled, falling to her knees before punching the wall where the window had been.

It was dark. Terribly so.

She threw another punch and another; there had to be a way for her to exit. The demoness pounded the wall to no avail. She sprang up and rushed to the opposite end of the perfectly round room, punching as hard as she could, yet refused to summon Ciel to her side. That man might be her servant, but last time she had trusted a servant to that point…

Ain’t this beautiful, Ruellia? Poetic, even?

The Steel Queen loathed to reminisce about that vile woman she had once called her beloved servant. Luciela’s power flowed through her veins wildly like untamed fire. She did not care for how her flames prickled the old burns on her arms or how the bandages stretched thin and ripped away from her arms as she regained her adult height. The blanket, too, stretched and ripped as she grew, but it still managed to hold on to where it mattered.

The demoness threw an orb of fire at the gate, using the pain that spread throughout her hand as fuel to fire another and another. Her fire extinguished itself when it hit the wall as if the wall itself dared to absorb her might. Just like Ciel, just like Barkat. She would show them what it meant to mess with her; she would show them all that she was not to be trifled with.

The pain was so maddening that she could no longer focus. Her spell went up in smoke, and the intense burning feeling she had inflicted on herself made the darkness all the more bitter.

She let out a sharp exhale.

There was no way out. Again.

She unconsciously took her head in her hands, sliding her fingers over her neck, then down her clavicle. Right at the centre – where her clavicles met the sternum – there it was. The mark of Barkat’s betrayal: a scar shaped like a four-pointed star. When she touched it, bitter memories floated back to the surface.

That scar was both an insult and a reminder that her own clan – the Soulscreams – never wanted to rebel against the previous Steel King, Bifron the Mad. Her scar was a reminder that Barkat had opened that shameful wound again to kill her.

The wound on her back had reopened; the blood pooled on the ripped bandages and slid down her back and onto the floor.

Luciela stared blankly at the darkness around her, resigned to her fate.

Then, there were three knocks. They came from the other side.

Her gaze widened, but instead of approaching, she retreated, putting herself as close to the wall as she could.

“Demoness, are you alright?”

She straightened up the moment she recognised the voice.

Luciela cleared her throat. “I’m alright. I think I did something to my back, but it’s nothing serious.”

Silence was her only answer for a long moment.

“Hey, Celestial? Are you there?”

The silence continued, which only made her grow concerned over whether or not she had hallucinated his voice. No, that was not possible. She had only spent a few hours, at most, unconscious. He was there. He had to be there.

“Celestial?”

Nothing. That Celestial was not answering her. She should have expected this, even after all that had happened. He would never help her, and why would he? Ainchase could have perhaps been the one to…

I’ll always be the first one to find you.

She still could not wrap her head around how different he had been that day. If Celestials, under the influence of demonic energy, could briefly become mortal…

She shook that thought off her mind. If that was the case, demons would have won in the end. Then why? Why did she feel so anxious knowing that Ainchase could be on the other side? She should expect this so-called betrayal from her people’s sworn enemy.

The room lit up with dozens of glyphs covering every inch. They were written in a language the demoness could not read, but she could vaguely feel their power.

A door finally appeared in front of her, revealing the green-eyed man standing in the middle of a group of three elves. It was Rena, the short-haired winged elf, and an old elven woman with long platinum blonde hair already greying.

“May I?” Ainchase asked the old elf, gesturing towards the entrance.

“She’s a demon. A Demon Lord, in all likelihood,” the old elven woman spat out. “She’s better off dead.”

“Look, she’s still injured, like her servant. If you let me talk to her like I did to him—” the Celestial countered.

“I don’t care if you got these two pests subdued,” the Elder immediately shot back, her amber eyes glaring at the Celestial. “This demonic scum is too powerful to be left alive.” Then, she eyed Rena and the other ranger. “I thought I had taught you two better than to trust a human, even more so when he’s an aberration of nature.”

“The goddess has considered the life of these two demons a necessary evil for the time being. If you’re unwilling to cooperate, it falls onto me to enact her will,” Ainchase coldly told her as he walked into the dark room. The three elves all remained at the door frame. While the Elder was still frowning, the two younger elves looked worried, and Rena seemed to want to follow the Celestial, but her companion stopped her.

The Elder swallowed, her gaze widened like gold coins. She seemed to want to speak, but her mouth only went wide with shock. Ainchase left her no room to gather her thoughts.

“Are you questioning her will?”

He took a box with various medical supplies from a shelf Luciela had not seen or felt until now.

The elven Elder quickly bowed at him. “N-No,” she stammered, grabbing her walking staff so tightly her knuckles went white. “No, I-I would never. Venerable One, please understand that I can’t allow such a dangerous being to roam free in the village.”

“Very well, mortal,” the Celestial said, in a low and almost menacing voice. “I shall tolerate your insolence. Pray that the goddess does, too.”

The three elves bowed deeply at him, asking the goddess for mercy.

The runes activated again, and they were both imprisoned in darkness. It was not hard for her to guess that everything Ainchase had said to the Elder was blatant lies. That old woman was surely not dumb enough to believe him so easily.

“You idiot,” Luciela hissed. “Not only did you throw empty threats around, but you messed up the only chance we had to get out of here! We’re trapped!”

The Steel Queen heard the rattle of a few glass flasks and then heard him gently put the box on the floor. Luciela watched as he made out a hollow blade with threads of mana, illuminating their prison with a gentle, green glow. She looked down at herself, adjusting the cloth that still covered her as best she could. His blade shattered in countless fragments, and they floated softly around the glossy walls that caged them.

“Their barrier is not that complicated for me to break,” he calmly told her as he picked up the medicine kit again. “As for my bluff, what she knows about me is enough to make my words absolute. And for your third point, are you sure you could go far in that state?”

She hated that he was right. Ainchase approached her, and once he was only a step away from invading her personal space, the Celestial looked her up and down. It was a tad embarrassing, even if he did not show any malice or lust. Instinctively, Luciela curled her tail around herself.

The Celestial tilted his head at her. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Your tail’s a tad sharp around the edges. You might cut what little cloth—”

“Oh, shut it,” she shot back as she turned her back on him. Just like he had predicted, when she uncurled her tail, the little cloth covering her breasts ripped and fell over her thighs. “If you come to treat my wounds, just do it fast and leave me alone.”

She sat down so he could have easier access to her wounded back and laid her tail lazily on the side. Luciela heard cloth sliding off. Before she knew it, she felt his cold touch briefly graze her shoulders, and his coat then covered her now nude chest.

“Don’t order me around,” he softly said, somewhat close to her ear. “I told you it’s unpleasant.”

Luciela’s blue gaze widened briefly, and she turned slightly to the side to look at him; Ainchase had quickly slid behind her and began to wet a few pieces of cloth and a flask containing a blood-red potion. It was the first time she saw him without his coat. The sleeveless, cool-green shirt he wore underneath revealed many scars, some so old they were almost invisible.

‘Why wouldn’t his goddess make them disappear?’

Her eyes rested on the deep cut he had still bandaged on his right arm. The bandages were still tainted by fresh blood.

“Please turn around,” he said. “And move your hair away. I need to clean the wound first.”

She did as Ainchase asked but voiced her biggest question so far. “Why are you doing this? You’re still injured yourself.”

“It’s my way of paying you back for what you did, and…” he trailed off.

He put the dampened cloth over her open wound. She furrowed her brow at how deeply it stung.

“And?”

Ainchase sighed. “And my injury is nothing.”

“Is it, now?” the Steel Queen huffed, flashing a brief smirk. “If only everyone else could lose half the flesh in their arm and call it nothing, by Sult, what a world it’d be! We’d all put our limbs in meat grinders without batting an eye.”

“As long as the goddess exists, so will I. Worrying about the state of my body is pointless.”

“And if she stops existing?” She challenged him, her blue eyes narrowed at how little he valued life—even his own. “What then?”

“Then, my mission will be over.”

She thought about that moment the day before; she had heard a heartbeat and felt a palpable, mortal warmth from him. She clenched her scarred fists, looking down before closing her eyes.

The damp cloth slid over her back, leaving a trail of fire from the nape of her neck to the middle of her back. It hurt, but the Steel Queen could tell the Celestial was exceedingly gentle with her. Why? Even among demons, this level of care was exceedingly rare. A Celestial should have no reason to be this careful with his natural enemy.

“Do you—” she began, only to press her lips shut again. She feared the answer to what she had thought about asking. Luciela opened her eyes again, eyebrows furrowed. No, she should never ask such a thing.

“Hmm?”

“Well, I hate sounding ungrateful, but,” she giggled with a hint of unease,“Do you know how to do this?”

“I’ve learnt how to, over the past two weeks,” he answered matter-of-factly.

Luciela gasped. “W-What?! Two weeks? How’s Ciel?”

“He woke up again yesterday, but he’s worse for wear compared to you,” he droned on. “That said, I presume he’ll be back on his feet when you are. Am I wrong?”

“Technically speaking, no, but… I don’t think he is doing worse than me,” she doubted.

The Celestial searched through the box of medical supplies, rattling the bottles as he searched for something else. “Well, he is. He first woke up a few days ago, and the moment he saw you, he transferred what I assume to be demonic energy into you. Rena and the other Ranger, Lime, helped him lie so their Elder wouldn’t kill you two on the spot.”

“Is that so?” Luciela wondered as she combed through the long mane she had brought over her right shoulder.

She pondered his decision for a moment. As good as it seemed to be at first glance, she could not trust it fully.

“Did he call me by a human name when he did that?”

“Yes,” Ainchase answered. He had taken out something metallic—scissors perhaps. The demoness assumed it was to cut bandages. “That’s the only reason why Elder Branwen let you live.”

Luciela scoffed, almost grimacing in disgust at the thought of Ciel calling her by his dead sister’s name.

The white-haired demoness felt the graze of his fingers and the touch of the bandages curling around her neck like a necklace. She held her breath, barely daring to glance to her side.

“Hey, wait a minute,” she said, forcing a chuckle. “You’re not thinking of wrapping all my torso just because of some tiny scratch on my back, are you?”

“It’s not just a scratch,” the Celestial answered. “You’re lucky that the stitches are still hanging on, but I can’t cover it if I don’t wrap the bandage around. You should feel the extent of the wound, right?”

“Of course—ugh! Listen, I meant to say you should let me wrap it on the front past a certain point, okay?”

“I was going to ask you to do so, regardless.”

She whistled. “Oh my, what a gentleman. As expected of a man of the cloth.”

He did not comment on that, curiously enough. The Celestial was astonishingly calm, yet not to the point of being coldly indifferent. Something was eating away at his usual self. Once he was done bandaging her back, she thanked him and turned around, still holding his coat close to cover herself. Ainchase sat before her, still rummaging around the medical supplies with his uninjured arm. His treatment had made the fresh stain of blood in his bandaged arm grow two-fold.

“Don’t thank me,” he said before he took one of those flasks with a red potion inside. “I told you I only did this to get even.”

“At your own detriment?”

The grey-haired young man tilted his head at her. Under the light he had created, his eyes almost looked aquamarine.

“Let me treat your arm,” she said, gently reaching for him.

He looked down at her arms and shook his head. “You’ve got burns. I forgot to treat them…”

“It’s alright. They don’t hurt, and they’ll heal fast,” Luciela smiled at him, still feeling that strange tug in her heart when she looked him in the eye. “Please, let me help you. It’s, uh, it’s rather strange to have you acting so selflessly without returning the favour.”

Ainchase’s eyes widened briefly, but his eyebrows furrowed soon after. He shook his head as if to shake an unpleasant thought away.

Though it was only a whisper, it was venomous, reflecting the strange swirl of confusion and anger in his eyes. Luciela expected him to get up and leave, but he only hung his head low, grabbing his head with both hands. His blood was now dripping on his clothes, yet he did not seem to care.

“How pointless…” the Celestial breathed out.

“I don’t think it is,” she whispered back, her gaze lowered. She pursed her lips as she wondered why he was so troubled—or the reason why. Still, she did not want to make it worse by directly asking him about it. “At the very least, I can still treat that nothing on your arm.”

He stayed like that, in a silence that said more than any words could ever express. Luciela reached for the box and brought it closer to her. She then took the flask and wet the remaining clean cloths with it. The demoness took the scissors and approached the Celestial, sitting to his right so she could cut the sullied bandages and replace them with new ones.

Ainchase did not push her away nor look at her when she put the scissors on his skin to cut through his soaked, old bandages. The quiet ripping of cloth was the only noise that cut through the silence of the room. When she unveiled the full extent of the cut, she froze. Most of the stitches had come undone, and his flesh was fully exposed. How did he just let her pass scissors over it without complaining?

“And this doesn’t hurt?”

“Yes. You could even cut my arm off there, and I wouldn't feel a thing.”

The way his eyes looked at her as he said that so off-handedly made her frown. “I would not do that to you.”

“Why not?”

She blinked at his question, but did not dwell too much on it.

“Because that’s not the treatment you need,” she explained as she began to disinfect the area, a pair of pincers she found in the box and gently took the open stitches out. “You don’t need to be a healer to see that, Sult almighty!”

Luciela searched through the kit and found something to stitch his arm up. Now that she had properly disinfected his gashes, she had to put in new stitches.

As she treated his wound, Ainchase finally spoke again. “Who are you?”

He had straightened up, letting her have a better angle to get started with the stitches, and looked at her. The desperate, confused, almost pleading look made her pause for a fleeting moment. He had been alive for a moment. And he was alive, somehow, now. He had to be. No Celestial would have such an expression on their face. They were only imitations of life, limited in what they could feel and express.

She could feel the warmth of his blood, yet that could be an illusion. Yes. It had to be. Celestials were created from Ishmael’s essence. This was an illusion.

She raised an eyebrow at him before continuing her task.

“I’m a demon,” she absentmindedly recited. “One of the former four demon kings, to be precise. I’m the all-mighty Steel Queen, the one and only Luciela R. Soulscream, here as your bonafide healer. Pleased to meet you, Ainchase Ishmael.”

Just as she finished, Luciela noticed she had to move back to the front for a better angle to make the last three stitches. She did so, careful not to let the needle and thread touch dirty surfaces.

“What does the R stand for?”

She chuckled. “None of your business. Nobody gets to call me by my middle name, your Holiness.”

“Is it Ruellia?”

Luciela almost dropped the needle when she heard him say her name.

“Wow, Celestial,” she muttered, quickly offering Ainchase a light-hearted laugh. “That’s a strange name you said there. Very demonic, for sure, but you guessed wrong!” She stuck her tongue out at him. “Bleh! Better luck next time, Friar!”

“Why are you like this?” He only seemed to be hurt by her answer. “Is this a joke to you?” His words got harsher, angrier, his emerald gaze ignited with a seething rage he was barely keeping under control, “Some kind of sick play you want me to act in, too?

Luciela’s smile vanished, and she lowered her gaze, finishing her task. With a single finger she covered in her cold flames, she traced the fresh stitches and cauterised the wound.

“Well?! Answer me!” he snarled.

She slid her hand over his, feeling just how cold he was. She must have been wrong when she felt the warmth of his blood.

“I told you everything Celestials would like to know about me.” She paused and picked up a roll of clean bandages in the kit. She began to wrap them around his injury. “What else would you have liked to hear?”

She secured the bandage and cut the excess cloth. When their eyes met again, the anger in his eyes subsided. His bright gaze was so expressive and vulnerable, it almost made her wish he did, in fact, have a soul—a warm heart beating in his chest.

“I don’t know. I just don’t—I don’t…” Ainchase softly confessed before looking down at his bandaged arm. He passed his good hand over the nape of his neck, his eyebrows still furrowed. “I keep having these dreams,” the Celestial said, hiding his gaze from her with his hand. “You’re sometimes there,” he added. A brief smile lightened his words. “Your wings…it’s like they carry the ocean, the sky itself, maybe…It’s simply an unforgettable colour.”

The compliment caught her off-guard, but Luceiela did not let it show.

He paused, took a deep breath and continued with a shaky voice. “I keep thinking about what you asked. A time when the goddess had not isolated this world. It’s utter nonsense, I think. I mean, it should be. The El has always protected this world. That’s what the goddess always says. She said that I was created as a Celestial, and that I shouldn’t have dreams, but now…”

Ainchase frowned, and though an unmistakable hatred was engraved in his eyes, she wondered if it was truly directed at her. “This is all your fault, isn’t it? You did something and sullied my connection with the goddess. Ishmael hasn’t answered me at all. How am I supposed to see the right path without her?”

His lips trembled as if he struggled to make anger continue to guide his words. Ainchase took a deep breath, and his true torment unravelled before her. Guilt. Bewilderment. Disgust. Those were only some of the emotions that were truly overwhelming him. Luciela wondered why she could see it all so clearly, almost as if she had seen it all before.

He was an abnormal Celestial, and though that had scared her at first, she knew all too well that an abnormality brought more misery to the one carrying it than to those who pointed at it. Perhaps that was why she wanted to ease his pain.

“I don’t understand who you are and why you make me act this way,” he continued. “I should not care whether you live or die, whether you’re hurt or not, but I—”

Luciela put her hand over his, cutting off his long, anxious tirade. “Ainchase, your goddess made you in the image of mortals, did she not?”

“Huh?”

“None of your kind has been walking so closely among mortals for as long as you have, have they?”

He seemed to relax a little at her words. “Yeah, you’re right. My mission is… unprecedented.”

‘This kind of turmoil… Why would Ishmael allow it to fester in the soul of her perfect soldier?’

“If you’re made in the image of mortals, would it not be normal for you to start developing a facsimile of a human soul after everything we’ve gone through?” she wondered. “Your dreams are maybe just the first manifestation of it.”

“But what about what you asked?” he countered, leaning slightly closer to her. “And your blue wings, they were torn and in—”

She put her hands around his naked shoulders and made him lean back. With a rueful smile, she said, “I’m sorry about that, Ain. I was only pranking you a little with that question. I didn’t think it would affect you this much. I would take it back, if I could. I swear it on Sult.”

He seemed taken aback by it, but he did not try to rebut her.

“As for my wings,” she continued softly, as if her lie were one of her deepest secrets, “My father tore them apart after I lost my first spar when I was just a little girl. They were black.”

Luciela could not help but trace one of the many scars on his arms. The Ainchase she was seeing now almost seemed like someone she could have known.

‘That’s why, I suppose, I don’t want to hurt him…’

“We haven’t met before, if that’s your concern,” she assured him before offering him a tiny smirk. “I’m sure I’d remember if I had met a Celestial as fun to fight as you are.” Luciela shrugged. “We’re just… companions. Of course, we’re concerned about each other because it’s normal for mortals to not want to see their companions get hurt. That’s all there is to it, Ainchase.”

He let out a deep breath and looked down. “Is that really it?”

“It’s my best guess,” she answered as she finally let him go. “I’m unfortunately not all-knowing, unlike your goddess.”

“Your best guess? You base all your conjectures on just that? A guess?”

“Of course. That’s all mortals can do.”

“How can you live that way?” he asked, finally looking at her with a pained smile. “Wouldn’t you prefer to know everything for sure?”

“No,” Luciela softly said, looking down at her burns. “I think some mysteries have an answer so terrifying that I’d rather never know it.”

The light around them dimmed, casting deep shadows over them until they were barely visible to each other in the oppressing darkness. The silence that separated them was impenetrable.

Their gazes met again, yet neither of them could see the expression the other made. Luciela welcomed it, for she feared that if he could see the face she was making now, he would leave her no choice but to admit that she, too, now wondered who he was.

“Can you stay for a while, Celestial?”

A pause.

“Did you not want me to leave once I was done?”

“I changed my mind. I… I don’t think I can go lay back and get some rest without some help. The mattress I was lying on is too small for me now.”

The floor creaked as he got up and walked. Ainchase dragged one of the flat, adult-sized mattresses on the other end of the room and left it in front of her. “There. I’ll go out after getting some rest, too.”

She touched the bed. It was cool but the covers were slightly warm around the upper edge. It had to have been Ciel’s.

“Will you come back?”

“Yes. I assure you that I will come check how you’re doing until you’re fully healed.”

“Well, I may not know when you come back. I might sleep for days on end.”

“So?”

Silence lingered for a long minute.

He sighed. “What would you have me do? Hold your hand while you count sheep?”

Ainchase’s voice still carried the levity of a joke, but the only answer to it was silence.

“Demoness, are you missing your stupid slave this badly?”

“I wasn’t thinking about taking you up on your unserious offer, Celestial.”

“Then why are you so adamant on having me stay?”

“My burns hurt.”

The light intensified again, letting her see the tiny furrow in his eyebrows, the blueish hue that made his green eyes take a similar shade to his shirt, and the light, almost silvery highlights in his hair. It looked darker than she remembered, but perhaps it was only due to the poor light.

The demoness lay on the side before him and offered him her right arm, the one where her burns were the freshest.

“Could I still ask you to treat them?”

Ainchase sighed. “Fine.”

He began to treat her. His touch was warm—alive. Tears silently rolled down her cheeks. Why? Why could she not place a name, a face or any memories at all to someone who felt so familiar? Did that someone even exist, or was he merely the bait that Ishmael and her little tin soldiers want her to take?

“Luciela, what—?”

“The burns fucking hurt, okay?”

“Right… the burns. I’ll try to be careful, then.”

Notes:

At first, when Solar told me this was going to be a slow chapter, I wasn't fully on board, but seeing the final result made me appreciate it all the more. Hope it's also the case for all of you.

Chapter 13: Winter Death

Aisha handed the purple gem she had created to Orpheus. The crippled knight looked down at it; his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand what he was supposed to do with it.

“It’s a physical enhancer,” the mage explained. “Leyla told me that maybe I should look into what I learnt before, and I remembered that my grandpa said that we could strengthen the body through magical crystals. So, this is the first successful prototype. Try to use it.”

The amber-eyed knight chuckled. “It’s a great piece of work, girlie. I can feel the power in it, but—” He handed the crystal back to her. “It doesn’t seem to be adapted to my mana circuits all that well.”

The mage almost wanted to scream at her failure, but throwing the crystal away was akin to throwing endless hours of effort down the drain. With a heavy sigh, she took it back and put it in her pockets. She clenched her hands into tight fists, gazing down at her latest failure.

It was another temporary setback. She would find other ways to overcome this.

“Well, I ran out of materials… I’m sorry, Orpheus,” she grumbled, cursing herself and the stupid, old Lieutenant who extended her sentence even more after her momentary leave with Ciel and the rest. “You’ll have to wait for a bit longer.”

“Don’t bother any longer, girlie,” the wheelchair-bound soldier sighed. “I’ve made my peace with my condition.”

Aisha straightened up, her soul stirred with indignation. With venom in her mouth and a fiery glare, she shot back at Orpheus’ pessimism. “Well, I haven’t! I’ve waged my pride as a mage on this, and I swear in the name of the Landars that I will find a cure!”

She turned away and rushed out of his room in the medical ward. Aisha closed the door softly when she noticed Leyla, the female knight overseeing her sentence, was in front of her, arms crossed, resting her back on the opposite wall. If Aisha had to guess, she was around her mid-thirties, but her face was still mostly flawlessly young, except for tiny wrinkles around her eyes that appeared whenever Leyla smiled.

“I take it that it didn’t work?” Leyla asked. Her long, elaborate earrings chimed when she tilted her head at the mage.

“No,” Aisha quietly admitted to the emerald-haired woman. “But I can’t give up.”

Leyla gave her an approving nod. “That’s the spirit. Can I let you in on a little secret?”

The mage tilted her head at her, and the female knight gestured for her to approach. After Aisha did so, Leyla took out a few folded sheets from her uniform’s left pocket and handed them to the young Landar.

“This is your ticket to get most of what you need,” Leyla whispered. “Got a map, a route, and the requirements for you to get Lowe to approve.”

Aisha’s eyes widened as she looked at what she had been given. The maps were impeccably made and more recent than those she had taken from her homeland. The route, list of spots of interest and how to claim enough rations for a week’s long trip were also included in the papers. The last one was a handwritten request to Lieutenant Lowe. It specified the rules and codes that could allow Aisha to escape the confines of the El Search Party’s base, including the approval of at least three high-ranking knights, a dozen knights and five non-combatant members.

“Leyla, you…” Aisha gasped, not knowing what to say or do to thank her and all the others who had left their signatures on the letter as a sign of their approval.

The first thing that came was a short chuckle and a smile she could not wipe off her face. Then, she looked back at all the signatures, which felt extremely heavy in her hands but also…liberating. The Sanderian mage took a deep breath, still trying to reconcile the meaning of what she was holding.

She let out a shaky exhale, and a familiar sting in her eyes made her preemptively wipe the corners of her eyes.

“Thank you,” Aisha finally said, her throat tightening. “Thank you so much…”

Leyla only gave her a friendly but far too strong pat on the back, as was her habit. “Thank all of us later with some good Sanderian food for the Harmony Festival.”

Aisha nodded.

“Let’s go see that cranky old man first. He can’t keep refusing now.”

The two women left the medical ward side by side and with high hopes.

---

Lowe barely eyed the letter before tossing it back on his desk. “You’re short of one signature. Was that all you wanted to show me?”

Leyla’s onyx gaze visibly narrowed, and she clenched her fists so suddenly that Aisha expected her to blow up in front of her superior.

Yet, she only briefly bit her lip, cleared her throat and calmly faced Lowe’s dismissive attitude. “Sir, I say this respectfully, but you should perhaps read the letter more carefully. There’s—”

“Tell me, soldier,” Lowe interjected, his grey gaze fixed on Leyla like a hawk. It was so intense even her anger seemed to flee from her face under his scrutiny. “If I called Wyll Gesson to testify that he supports your initiative, would he come? Is he even an active member of our base?”

Leyla remained silent, and Aisha, too, had nothing to say. It was perhaps not a written rule, but it was only fair to ask that all the knights required to support the request be on active duty and present on the premises.

Lowe sighed. “You should be glad that I only question you on that and not how disrespectful it is for you to ask for the signatures of high-ranking knights unrelated to our division. If that’s all, please go away now.”

“Well, that’s not all, sir,” Leyla clarified. “If you’re adamant about getting hung up on unwritten details of our code, then is it not right to give us a chance to rectify our letter to suit your new standards?”

The grey-eyed Lieutenant briefly narrowed his eyes at her but soon found his usual calm. “Fine. Get me the signature of one knight from Squad Three. That knight must be capable of using rank zero combat spells to accompany you on your journey.”

Squad Three. That was Liam’s Squad. Getting anyone from that division to approve of anything other than putting her back in a cell was impossible. Aisha looked at Leyla, who only seemed even more determined than ever.

“We’ll be right back, sir.” Leyla’s tone was firm, almost harsh.

The female knight grabbed Aisha’s hand and stormed out of the room with such big strides that the young mage had to run lest she be dragged like a piece of furniture.

---

Once they were mid-way to Squad Three’s barracks, Aisha called for her to stop. It was excruciatingly difficult to keep at her pace for longer than a few minutes. Leyla continued for a few paces before finally stopping and letting go of her hand.

“Sorry about this, Aisha,” the female knight sighed before putting her hands on her hips. “I thought we had it in the bag. But! Not all is lost.”

Leyla turned around and offered her a big smile and a thumbs-up. “I got some friends in Squad Three, y’know? It’ll all work out, trust me.”

“A-Are you sure?” Aisha stammered. The barracks right ahead already made her feel a pit in her stomach. Though she knew that not everyone had changed their mind about her, most were not openly hostile anymore. That is, most except the knights of Squad Three. She rubbed her arms, already feeling a shiver run down her spine at the idea of getting any closer to the lion’s den.

The green-haired knight gave her a nod. “Yes. Wanna wait for me here while I get their signatures?”

Aisha vigorously nodded. With that, Leyla dashed the rest of the way to the barracks, leaving the Sanderian mage to rub her magic-suppressant bracelets. She had first started by trying to see if she could break free from them, but she kept doing it even after figuring there was no way to bypass their control. It became a habit, something as natural as counting down or taking a deep breath to calm her nerves.

“What are you doing here? Did you get lost, too?” A boy’s voice chimed in from her left.

Aisha turned towards him and saw that it was Elsword, dressed in a long-sleeved red shirt that matched poorly with his white shorts. He carried two trunks, one in each hand, though one was bigger.

The mage furrowed her brow at her question. “I’ve been here long enough to know where I am at all times, dummy. I’m just waiting for someone.”

“Well, excuse me for asking,” he shot back. “If you know this base that well, can you tell me where Squad Three’s barracks are?”

The mage paused at his question. He was probably the only knight in that Squad who might agree to help her. Then again, he was the only recruit who had become a knight and stayed in the base. The chances he could launch any novice spells were nearly nonexistent.

“Aisha!” Leyla hollered as she dashed back to her. To the mage’s chagrin, the female knight was alone.

“Did anyone sign?” Aisha asked, daring to hang onto the last bit of hope. Yet, the green-haired woman shook her head.

“Sign what?” Elsword asked.

Leyla tilted her head at him, “Oh, you’re Lord Felford’s son, right?”

“Yeah, I am,” Elsword said, blushing slightly with a small smile.

Aisha almost stumbled at the reveal. She took a closer look at Elsword. His clothes were no finer than any other villager’s, although his luggage was more luxurious than those commoners could afford. Still, Elsword and the Admiral looked nothing alike. She figured that he took more after his mother.

“What Squad are you assigned to, kid?”

“Squad Three,” Elsword answered. “I just got—”

“Squad Three?” Leyla almost choked on her words. She grabbed Elsword by the shoulders, and her intense, black gaze lit up with hope. “Hey, do you happen to know grade zero combat spells?”

The red-haired boy raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“Flame Geyser, or Triple Geyser, or Unlimited Blade! Hell, even Mega Slash could work,” She excitedly enumerated the most common grade zero spells to the boy as she started to shake him a little. “Can you use any of those spells?”

“Uh, well, not Triple Geyser, but—”

Aisha could hardly believe her ears, but before she could join Leyla in her excitement and drag Elsword straight into Lowe’s office, the female knight took the boy to leave his belongings in the barracks. At the end of the day, Aisha supposed it was fair to let him settle into his new life before he could help them.

‘And maybe talk to him about how his Squad feels about me,’ she dejectedly thought as she found herself alone once more.

Aisha took a deep breath, and pain shot through her nostrils. The air got crisper and colder, like winter. Yet, there was a dryness to it that had never been before. It was not smokey like the one from a fire or the desert. The air was oppressing, burning her nostrils and spreading its biting, abnormally cold temperature into her lungs until it seeped into her bones.

The Sanderian mage coughed, worsening her pain instead of ridding her lungs from the discomfort. With nothing else to cover herself from the wind current, she covered her nose and mouth with her sleeves and took as little breaths as she could as she dashed to Squad Three’s barracks. Whatever they might say to her would be far less serious than ruining her lungs by staying outside.

The cold breezes usually passed by fast, but this one stayed. Every little breath was painful, like needles digging through her flesh. Aisha almost wanted to curse herself for being so far from safety.

The air carried death; it was not like the smell of corpses but rather the scent she would expect if she had to imagine what agony smelt like. Aisha felt her nose get stuffy, and blood came dripping off it, sullying her clothes. She did not even knock before opening the heavy wooden door to the shock of thirty knights – including Leyla and Elsword – who wordlessly watched her slam the door as fast as she had opened it.

Aisha collapsed onto her knees and coughed. She could not stop coughing and dry heaving from her short ordeal outside. The relatively stale air inside was a blessing compared to what she had just gone through. She heard the knights’ confused, perhaps disapproving whispers, but no one dared to move.

That is, except for the son of the Admiral. He pushed an old, rusty bucket her way.

“Here, just in case,” Elsword said. His ruby gaze barely lingered on her before he walked away. “I’ll go out the back and get some water for—”

“Don’t!” Aisha screamed, finally regaining her strength to stand up. “Don’t open any doors or windows. Don’t go out. Not for now.”

“So, are you here to boss us around?” A silver-haired knight asked. His crimson gaze narrowed at her. He looked to be slightly younger than Leyla. “Squad Three can’t do their duties until you say so?”

“Have some damn tact, Wayne,” Leyla shot back as she put herself between Aisha and the other knights. She looked defiantly at all of them. “And that goes for all of you. Is that clear?”

“You gave up your position in this Squad, Ley,” Wayne countered, giving her a dismissive shrug. “You have no say in how we treat that little criminal.”

Despite his arrogant gaze, looking around for support, Wayne found only avoidant gazes. Most of the other knights glanced or nudged their heads towards either Leyla or Elsword as if to give a silent explanation for their lack of support. It only made Wayne frown at them and clench his fists so tight his knuckles turned white.

“I outrank you all here,” the female knight reminded him. Her tone held a poised authority that seared away any ideas Wayne might have had to lash out at anyone. “Besides, Liam is gone, and none of you have half of what it takes to replace him. Is it not normal for your previous squad leader to take charge until Lowe sorts this matter out?”

The silver-haired knight only clicked his tongue and went away, muttering something under his breath.

When Leyla turned her attention to her, Aisha saw only her gentler side, inviting her to sit down and let her examine her. Leyla had some basic training as a healer, as was required for all sub-lieutenants.

“What happened outside?” The female knight asked her as she hovered mana-covered hands around the mage’s head.

“It’s the cold wind. It felt like breathing in poison. This isn’t your usual weather, is it?”

Elsword gravely shook his head, and so did many other knights.

“Your mana circuits seem to have been shaken up quite a bit,” Leyla told her as she stepped away. “But I doubt it caused permanent damage. One small mana potion and some rest should fix it.”

A pink-haired recruit, a golden-eyed man in his late twenties, or perhaps slightly past thirty, gravely shook his head. “Leyla, call me crazy if you must, but I think something’s up with the Cap. Something real bad.”

“Well, shouldn’t that be obvious?” Elsword bluntly said. “He resigned but never returned to pack his bags or say goodbye.”

Leyla chuckled at his comment. “Of course, rookie. But, see, when Robert is—”

“Wrong twin, ma’am.”

“Oh, right!” Leyla gasped before shamefully putting her hand over her face. “Darn it! I’m so sorry, Darren. I’ve grown used to seeing your brother around more in Squad Ten…”

Darren shrugged. “It’s alright, ma’am. It’s good to see you again and with a less foul mouth, too.”

Leyla smirked at him. “Don’t ruin your squad leader’s image to the Admiral’s son like that. I wanna get promoted one day, y’know?”

They gave a joking look to Elsword, who only seemed to step back in response to suddenly being the centre of attention.

“I, uh, if you train hard, you should qualify for promotions anyway, ma’am,” he said, giving the green-haired woman a hesitant yet earnest smile and double thumbs-up.

Aisha rolled her eyes at how the joke had gone over his head. Not only that, but his answer was insulting. The knights paused for a moment before Leyla let out a hearty laugh; some other knights followed.

“Ah, so the Admiral wouldn’t mind my lack of etiquette as long as I keep getting better with my lance?” she asked him, giving him a strong tap on the shoulder that did not put him too off-balance. “That’s a way better attitude compared to our Lieutenant.”

‘The perks of being a muscle-head, I suppose…’

Steps rushed from further down the hall, and Wayne erupted back into the room, his eyes wide with fear and with a nosebleed.

Leyla looked sternly at him. “Did you go outside to prove her wrong, Wayne?”

“No,” the knight answered. “I only contacted the men Lowe put to guard the northern entrance. They’re not answering. Neither are those from Squad One on the southern gate.”

The female knight furrowed her brow, “So, did you inform Lowe?”

Wayne shook his head. “Just connecting through the orb was exhausting. I got like this after failing to activate the orb once.”

He took out a flask of mana. The silver-haired knight pulled the cork with his teeth and chugged the contents in one shot. Then, he continued, “I only managed to activate it after holding a piece of processed El in my hands. I doubt it’s safe to use any spells with this winter breeze going around. It’s here to stay, in all likelihood.”

Darren clicked his tongue. “Winter sure is coming early and violently, isn’t it? I can’t believe we have to go along with that bullshit.”

“I’ve always thought he was only kept on a leash by the Captain,” Leyla spat out, “But that hardly matters now. We need to act before winter kills the entire village.”

“Wait, Leyla,” Aisha finally interjected. “What do you mean before winter kills the entire village? I get the weather isn’t normal, but—”

“Remember the area you discovered? The one with the blood mages and their ritual?” The female knight asked her.

The Sanderian mage nodded, and the woman continued, “Well, if you’ve read your history, you should know what these winter breezes actually are, no?”

Aisha furrowed her brow. The legends spoke of deadly winters where all life withered away in areas where the El Energy had fully collapsed. The forest had been colder around the area where Lu and Ain went to investigate, but if they had grown closer to the epicentre…

Her eyes widened. She almost wanted to slap herself for spending so much time neck-deep in research that she had blindly accepted Lowe’s asinine explanation of the massive collapse of El Energy.

The barracks were probably insulated from the effects of the collapse due to the pieces of processed El in the lamps and old equipment stored or hung all around. As far as she knew, the outposts around the gates had no such protection.

‘But if the El Energy collapses in such a big area, that can only mean one thing…’

The mage immediately shook her head when she realised what it was. “No. Nobody would be that stupid. Everyone knows that all life depends on the El staying where it is!”

“Maybe the demons did it,” Elsword offered.

“If you’re right, rookie,” Leyla sternly replied, “Then may the goddess save us all. Without El Energy, we can’t use magic against them.”

Darren gravely nodded, “And if that girl’s state is any indication, we might not even last long outside. I think it’s safer to assume that those on guard duty are no longer with us.”

“We’ll do what we can with all the processed El we can find,” Leyla solemnly announced. “Wayne, Darren. Get some pieces of El and come with me. We’ll look for our comrades at the gates and report to Lowe.”

“I don’t think he’ll listen, Ley. We can just stay here and—”

The female knight glared at him. “I will not let that man lead us any longer if he chooses to ignore the gravity of this situation. And you shouldn’t either.”

Wayne blinked. “You’re not suggesting that we…”

Leyla remained silent, but the fire in her eyes was enough of an answer. Darren got up and acknowledged her order, making Wayne more nervous.

“You guys can’t be serious! Mutiny? Seriously? Do you even know what that’s gonna look like on our records?”

Darren stopped and turned to look at his comrade. “I don’t expect a Hamelian to understand what honour is, but I hope you’re not callous enough to ignore that every second that passes, there are villagers that could be dying.”

“Darren, don’t put it like that,” Leyla immediately corrected him before turning towards the silver-haired knight. “It doesn’t matter where Wayne was born or what his morals are. He knows he’s my subordinate. And I know he’ll do what I ask because his job is following his superior’s orders. You’ll do your job, right, Wayne?”

Wayne pursed his lips for a moment but finally acknowledged Leyla’s orders and followed Darren down the corridor.

---

The three outsiders in the elven village were guided into an ample, almost regal room made of granite where vines gracefully grew as if to decorate its pillars and the edges of the ceiling. There were no windows, but the light of an El shard filtered from above, giving the room a warm, green light that spread like the blooms of a tree. Sigils and runes were carved on the walls, but their power dwarfed compared to the one emanating from the people sitting around a massive, round wooden table.

The table was nothing more than a giant, crystalised tree stump from where eight chairs made from vines almost seemed to sprout from the stump’s roots. Four chairs were filled with elves, including Elder Branwen. There were two men to her left, likely Druids, judging from their hooded cloaks and the spirit tattoos that marked their faces. The other two were winged elven women with bright green dresses adapted for combat. One carried a bow and the other a sword. Neither of them were Lime; they looked older, and their battle scars testified to their combat experience.

This gathering was unusual, but there was nothing to do but sit and listen to whatever the Elder needed to tell them.

Ainchase sat in front of Elder Branwen. Luciela chose the chair to his left, and Ciel took the one to his right. The vines on the chairs moved to bring them closer to the table, where the full force of the elves’ power could be felt in full. This display of power would have been insignificant in his true form, but now he could feel pins and needles in his hands, and a shiver ran down his spine. Though the two demons tensed at the feeling, the Celestial showed no discomfort. This sensation was expected when the most powerful elves in any elven village gathered in the same place.

In fact, the only thing that was bothering him was the timing of this meeting. They were only minutes away from leaving, as was expected of them. So far, the demoness and her slave had kept their mouths shut, and they sat appropriately for so-called tamed demons.

“May I know why you have delayed our departure, mortal?” Ainchase asked, leaning back on his chair.

“It’s not safe for you to leave unprepared. The human realm has become very hazardous,” Branwen calmly explained. “Our Rangers barely came back alive to tell us some horrible news.”

Ainchase immediately furrowed his brow. There was only one possible explanation for a situation that dire. Only one thing could kill elves in the forests, be it those in their realm or those in the realm of men.

The Elder gravely nodded, “I see you understand what I’m referring to. I called you here not to delay your journey but to illuminate it. I must tell you something we have shamefully kept to ourselves. May the goddess forgive us.”

“The goddess knows all transgressions from every mortal soul,” Ainchase politely reassured her. “And she forgives those who exalt her.”

Branwen shook her head, “No, she doesn’t know of this. The God of Darkness has a scion here. He has hidden her presence from everyone, forcing our people to silence until his scion awoke again. We have many reasons to believe they are the reason behind this disaster. We’ve seen it happen before.”

Ainchase clenched his fists. “Mortal, if you speak true, then I suggest you keep your explanations brief and to the point,” his eyes narrowed at her. “There is no time to waste dealing with a scion of Henir.”

The blonde elf sighed, her gaze sinking for a moment under the mighty burden of her guilt. “This is by no means a short or an easy story to tell. The scion used to be one of us…”

Notes:

So it's been a while, I know. Honestly, both of us were creatively ded this past month lol. Hope it's not too bad though. As a side note, I can't believe we're almost at 200 hits! Thank you all for reading!

Chapter 14: Reminiscence

Notes:

Because AO3 doesn't let me edit the chapter number (or at least not in the way Solar would like), we've decided to simply keep the chapter titles, regardless of enumeration. If anyone can help me find a way to start the chapter count at 0, it'd be greatly appreciated.

Isilad did not even let his daughter enter the village when she saw her next to Lua. As much as it pained him to stand against his own flesh and blood, the well-being of the entire village depended on it. With a swing of his staff, a summoning circle appeared between him and the two approaching women.

“Dìon,” the Druid whispered as his staff lit up with an emerald glow. A row of giant Tree Knights sprouted from the summoning circle. They barely looked humanoid enough to hold sharp, wind-enchanted blades made of leaves and vines.

His summoned knights pointed their weapons at the two returning women but did not attack.

“Dad?” Rena questioned him. Her voice carried so much hurt that it only made his regrets grow. “What are you doing?”

Isilad stepped forward, and his summoned knights let him pass, twisting their wooden legs so he could pass between their roots. His daughter had stepped in front of Lua, bow in hand, and eyed the Tree Knights apprehensively. When her peridot gaze met his golden eyes, she seemed to relax.

“Did something happen?” Rena immediately asked. “I swear on the El, I didn’t let any outsiders follow me while I was out.”

“I know that, Sweetie,” the Druid explained, finally pulling off his hood to free his long, ashen green hair. He looked past his daughter, and his fears were confirmed. “But you can’t enter the village with someone who’s irreparably corrupted.”

“Irreparably?” The young Ranger scoffed. “Come on, Dad. Mom came back with worse a couple of times, but you always—”

“It’s the nature of the corruption that matters,” Isilad immediately shot back as he crossed his arms, “not its extent. She must leave.”

“Then, I’ll leave with her,” Rena growled as she took her friend’s hand and walked away.

“Rena,” he called out to her, raising his voice only to make sure they would hear him. “She’ll die in a matter of days. It’s best if you part ways before you get corrupted, too.”

Both women stopped at those words. Rena clenched her fist at his words, but she calmed down at something Lua said. The two women then continued their way, dashing out of sight.

It took Rena years to return and even longer for her to mention that they had journeyed in the world of humans. The extent of their journey remained a mystery to everyone but Rena herself. The only hint was her old, childish promise to journey with Lua across Elrios.

---

Ainchase lifted his hand, signalling to the old, grey-haired Druid that sat immediately to the Elder’s left to stop his tale.

“When you said that she could not be healed, did you know that she was becoming a scion of Henir?” the Celestial asked.

“No,” Isilad answered. “At that time, she was corrupted by ancient demonic energy. If they really did travel across Elrios like my daughter promised to Lua, then they’d be easy targets for Henir’s cult.”

The Druid took a deep breath and glanced at his Elder, silently asking her to continue the retelling. Even though it was old history by this point, it still affected him.

“The two girls came back a decade later,” Branwen explained. “Lua had succumbed on the way, but it seems that her death throes were very long and painful. Rena asked us to give her a proper burial.”

The Elder paused to lick her lips before continuing more solemnly. “Lua’s mother and grandmother still lived at the time, so we didn’t refuse her request. But the moment we put her to rest… that’s when Henir spread his Darkness on our village.”

All the elves looked down somberly, some clenched their fists, others simply looked away, passing a hand over their necks. Ain knew how terrifying the experience may have been. The horrors born out of Henir’s chaos only knew how to absorb all that they were not.

Still, as tragic as it was, a question lingered in his mind. Why would they not call upon the goddess? She was capable of smiting the Darkness in a flash.

He clenched his fists in turn, eyeing every elf present with suspicion. “Why didn’t you alert the goddess?’

“It was all the previous Elder's fault,” Branwen bitterly explained. Her expression soured for only an instant as she adjusted the crown of leaves and vines that circled her head. “None of us knew at the time, but he had wagered our safety with Henir long before he manifested a scion in our lands.”

Ainchase leaned forward on his chair, setting his elbows on the table. “Are you saying that your territory is isolated from humans thanks to that god’s foul magic?”

“It’s isolated in spite of that,” the other Druid, a middle-aged man with platinum hair and lime-green eyes, answered. “Every day since that disaster, every Druid works to keep the curse of Henir at bay.”

The Celestial looked down and took a deep breath. Henir was an insidious entity that could bind entire civilisations to its will should his cult take over. A similar vow of silence was imposed on a Debrian research organisation a few centuries ago.

‘If Henir left his mark on this land,’ Ain reflected angrily at everything he had witnessed since he materialised on Elrios. ‘It explains how the demons got here and…why the goddess could send me here instead of the major cities.’

The goddess knew. She had to. And yet, she had chosen not to purge the mark of Henir. The mere thought made him frown. There had to be an explanation, surely. Once the goddess fully fused with her vessel, he would need to ask her why.

“What about the ruins that Lua mentioned?” the demoness asked. “Are they still around?”

The elves did not take her question kindly. They frowned at her, only offering silence before turning their attention away from her.

Ainchase glanced at the Steel Queen, noting how she hardly let any emotions show. Still, she persisted with her questioning, poised as ever. “I think that there should be clues on that scion’s whereabouts there, assuming you didn’t raze it to the ground.”

Elder Branwen’s lips thinned at the demoness, and Ainchase saw her mouth ‘insolent demon’ before she continued in an even voice. “We’ve only sealed the ruins. It should have been off-limits to both outsiders and our rangers alike.”

“Should have been?” Ainchase echoed the Elder’s words, tilting his head at them. “Who went in?”

One of the women, a winged elf with ash blonde hair and peridot eyes reminiscent of Rena’s, took a military decoration from the pocket of her black cloak. The piece chimed on the stone-like surface and slid until it was within the Celestial’s grasp. He grabbed it, recognising the small cross of Illipia carved on the centre, surrounded by Velder’s coat of arms—two cornucopias loosely tied together by a chain.

Though Ainchase could guess the nature of the artefact, he was entirely clueless about its origins or significance to humans. He slid it over to Ciel. “Do you know what order this belongs to?”

The Steel Cross took the medal and flipped it as his sapphire gaze took in every detail of the object before tossing it back on the table. “That’s a medal of valour. Courtesy of the Kingdom of Velder.”

Ainchase nodded, already certain that the same traitors who had injured them all in the Tree of El were taking their loot somewhere they knew, or at least thought, nobody else would follow them. There was only one more thing the Celestial wanted to confirm.

As the old blonde Centinel took the medal back, Ishmael’s Servant searched the pockets of his coat and took out the scroll containing the map and the note he had found in the Tree of El. He carefully straightened both documents and laid them at the centre of the table.

The four elves leaned closer, taking in the details and inscriptions of the map, some furrowing their brow and others merely tilting their head slightly at it.

“We were following three traitors that took the El,” Ainchase announced. “Their destination is the city of Elder. Are the ruins close to their route?”

Elder Branwen shook her head, “No. It's in the opposite direction,” she explained before pointing at the left corner of the map with her left index. “A day's trip further north from this spot.”

The information made his eyes widen. He leaned back in his seat, struggling to piece together the information he had just been given. Ainchase quickly shook his head and turned his attention back to the elven council. “Did they have the Shard with them?”

The grave nod from all four, older elves only bewildered him more. “What?”

“There’s a chance,” Ciel began, “that the Rogue Phorus made them get off-course.”

“With the calibre of Nasod artillery they had,” Luciela sighed, “I doubt they'd struggle against those rats.”

Isilad’s eyes narrowed at her words. “Nasod artillery? It can’t be.”

“It’s a good motive, though,” the blonde druid noted, rubbing his chin as he looked down at the map. “This patron of theirs, Lord Sunderland of Elder… he might be the one who gave them the weaponry in exchange for the gem.”

The only Centinel who had not spoken – a blue-eyed woman with honey-blonde hair who kept half her face underneath a scarf – finally chimed in. “I agree with the abomination.” Her voice was raspy, easily mistaken for a wheeze, but her eyes set on Ciel intently. “The scion may have been waiting for the El to be stolen and forced the thieves into her domain.”

The Celestial frowned. Though Henir’s power was antithetical to that of the goddess, he could use the gem to sow chaos and destruction on a massive scale.

They were in a race against time.

---

Lowe remained silent, clenching the El piece in his hand tighter than before. The silence in his office was thicker than the insidious, icy chill seeping through the cracks in the windowsill.

Even through the heavy interference in the golden communication orb before him, he heard Admiral Felford’s words loud and clear: “There’s no way this ends well for you, Lowe.”

“Sir,” the grey-eyed man began, passing a hand over the back of his neck. He briefly pursed his lips but found the strength to continue with a calm, firm voice. “This is Lord Sunderland’s fault. I told Captain Evans, but he wouldn’t listen—”

“Haven’t you lied enough already?”

That question was a stab to the gut. As expected of the White Hawk, Owen Felford always waited for the perfect moment to strike.

The Admiral used his silence to continue to talk, “Lowe, you’re young, but you’re too brash for your own good. I have no choice but to inform Lord Cronwell about what you did.”

The Lieutenant passed his free hand over his face and sighed. “How was I supposed to know they were Lord Cronwell’s nephews?”

Lowe huffed, feeling the bitter taste of guilt twist his lips into something akin to a smirk. “I can tolerate having Hamelian refugees, but Senacian Royalty?” The Lieutenant scoffed. “Lord Felford, even you can see how dangerous it’d be for the two princes to remain here. It’d be a disaster! I had to get them back home.”

“Is the disaster you’ve just caused less concerning than some diplomatic spat?”

Another question, another deadly strike he could only answer with silence. Lowe sank into his chair, covering his face with both hands. The small, powder blue crystal in his hand rolled out from his grasp and fell onto the wooden floor. The orb immediately disconnected.

Each breath was slightly painful, burning through Lowe’s chest like the heat from a forge. He coughed and ended up spitting blood. His chest felt crushed under some invisible weight; he was tearing up, and pins and needles rapidly spread through his arms.

Instinctively, he lunged for the piece of El he had let fall and immediately felt better. With a big sigh of relief, he got up to grab a handkerchief and a mana potion. Lowe wiped the blood off his mouth and just as he was having the first sip of his potion, his office door opened.

Leyla and Darren entered, carrying a wheezing, black-haired knight while Wayne lagged behind.

The wounded knight was in his death throes. His sclera had turned red, making his blue irises seem almost white in comparison. His uniform was stained with blood, which was visibly dripping from his eyes, nose, and ears. The skin on his arms was raw, and his fingers were gangrenous. The soldier’s face was so swollen it was impossible to recognise who he was. To Lowe, it was a reminder of something he would rather forget.

Leyla spoke first. “He’s the only man on guard duty who hasn’t died yet. He wanted to report to you.” Her onyx gaze set on her dying comrade, and she gently told him that they were in front of the Lieutenant.

“Lieutenant,” the soldier wheezed before coughing up thick, almost slimy black blood. “We aren’t safe…outside. What’s…going on?”

He gasped for air, almost gagging on his own bloody spit. Even if it was only briefly, Lowe saw the soldier’s blackened gums. He was missing teeth, and those that remained were rotten. It was a grisly sight that made him cringe.

“Take him to the medical ward, now!” Lowe barked at his soldiers. “Get him out of here.”

“Not…outside,” the soldier croaked as his strength left his legs. The other soldiers struggled to support his weight, but Leyla quickly pulled out a chair to help him sit down, leaving Wayne to help Darren support their comrade.

“I can’t see…I don’t want to go out,” the black-haired soldier weakly continued. Despite his pitiful state – or perhaps because of it – his unnatural gaze drowned in fear. “I don’t want to… don’t want to.”

“Soldier, listen,” Lowe calmly insisted. “If you stay here, you’ll die.”

The soldier weakly shook his head, “Let me stay here…”

“I’ll bring medics here, sir,” Wayne quickly offered before storming off the room.

When the door closed, a thick silence remained, only briefly interrupted every now and then by the black-haired knight’s quiet pleas to stay.

“Is this what winter does to our men, Lieutenant?” The female leader of Squad Ten hissed, gesturing towards the dying soldier. “Are we supposed to fall in line after your decisions ended up causing this?!”

Darren nodded before setting his golden gaze on the Lieutenant. It asked a simple yet impossible question to answer. One Lowe never expected he would ever have to face. Still, he had to find the answer, did he not?

Lowe’s brief moment of introspection ended when he heard the small chime of mail and armour coming from the remaining knights. Leyla and Darren had donned chainmail under their uniform and carried their weapons – unlike him.

“What do you want?” the grey-eyed Lieutenant cautiously asked, clenching the El stone tighter to get as much mana as possible.

“We want you to act like a real leader or step down,” Leyla calmly told him. “I could bring everyone who’s also sick of you here if you really need confirmation.”

The door opened. The wounded soldier collapsed. The two healers Wayne brought immediately rushed to the soldier’s side, their healing magic glimmering on their hands. However, the oldest healer gave up, her callous hands finally losing their shimmering glow, and her gaze sank. The younger, a novice, only strengthened her focus, but she found herself coughing and with a nosebleed. Her spell immediately dissipated.

“He’s gone,” the older healer sighed, taking the white hood off her head to reveal a greying pink mane tied in a clean bun. Her junior also removed her hood, revealing curly, strawberry-blonde hair. She was the youngest of all the people gathered there, but the bags under her emerald eyes made her look older. The young healer put her hands together and muttered a prayer for the fallen soldier.

The pink-haired healer looked at Lowe, and her copper eyes silently accused him of his death. “He’s gone, sir.”

“Yes, he is,” he gravely admitted. “Inform his family and prepare his body for cremation, please.”

The older healer’s gaze narrowed. “You’ll be the one to inform the families, sir. I’ll give you the list of the ten boys who died today in an hour.”

She turned towards Wayne. “Young man, could you help us carry the body?”

The silver-haired knight acquiesced and was promptly out once more.

“You can’t even take responsibility for those deaths, can you?” Leyla scoffed, rolling her eyes at him.

“I didn’t refuse the healer’s request, did I?” he asked, his voice tethered on the edge of anger. “Let’s be clear about one thing, soldiers.”

Lowe poured all the mana he could gather into the shard he held. The dull, powder blue gem shone with a bright, electric blue light. Soon enough, his mana formed threads around the crystal, extending its reach until a blue and golden blade appeared in his hand. His nerves were on fire under the strain in which he was putting his mana circuits. He clenched his teeth as hard as he could without giving too much of his suffering away. Although his vision was blurring, the Lieutenant stood his ground firmly. Lowe knew his magic was mightier than theirs; he had a purer Elrian lineage and the better mana circuits that came with it.

The Lieutenant frowned at his subordinates. “I’m not going to make mutiny easy for you.”

“We’re not planning on killing you,” Darren coldly said, taking his bastard sword off his hips and letting it fall. “It’d be hard for two peasants like us to win against the Asinis’ bastard son.”

Had Banthus not taught him to be a little less hot-headed over the years, Lowe would have cut Darren’s head off when he uttered the name of his mother’s House. Instead, he only clenched his sword tighter, letting the El Energy burn the palm of his hand.

Leyla hit her comrade with her elbow before tossing her spear aside. “I’m as mad as you are, but there’s no need for low blows. Return to the barracks and organise everyone to check on the villagers.”

Darren saluted the green-haired woman, apologising before picking up his weapon and leaving the room. Lowe dispelled his mana blade, and his vision slowly returned to normal. He briefly looked down at his hand. It was bright red, and the pain had not subsided at all. Still, the burn had not caused any blisters, or at least none he could see. It would be easy enough to treat it on his own.

“So, Lowe,” Leyla sighed as she sat down. “I just want to be clear about something; we want to give you a chance to leave gracefully if it comes down to it. I hear your half-brother, uh…he has glasses, right?” She clicked her tongue, her onyx gaze briefly lifting up as she struggled to recall his name.

“Yes. His name’s Allegro.”

Leyla nodded, offering him a smile he did not reciprocate. “Right, right. Allegro. Well, I heard from Commodore Asini that Allegro works for the Council of Feita now. He might be able to give you a position as a City Guard.”

The Lieutenant kept quiet. Commodore Asini. The name and position alone awoke bitter memories. Seeing that man again, dressed in glory and riches, was a stab in the gut.

Leyla dropped her smile and simply told him to tell her whether the El Shard had suffered the same fate as the one Feita or not.

“No,” Lowe told her. “It was stolen.”

“By who?”

The Lieutenant passed his free hand over his receding brown hair, looking down at the multiple reports on his desk. He thought about what he ought to say. Leyla was not as observant as Owen Felford, but she had a short temper – despite her assurances to the contrary – and a very strong intuition.

“Who did it? Do you know where it is?” Leyla insisted, yet he remained silent. “Goddess above, come clean already. This isn’t a drill, Lowe! People could be dying at this very moment!”

The Lieutenant slammed his fists on the table, making her flinch. “You have no right to even insinuate that I don’t understand how serious this is, Leyla.”

The woman’s gaze ignited with anger. “Oh, really?!” she sneered, “Well, I’m not the one who’s been recalling the expeditions to the Tree of El using every excuse in the fucking book.”

“We can’t risk our men—”

“We can’t risk our lives for what, the safety of the El?” Leyla shook her head disapprovingly. Though her tone was even, the look in her eyes revealed her outrage. “We all swore an oath to do just that.” The green-haired knight clicked her tongue, almost as if to refrain from losing her cool once again. “All you’ve done as a Captain is break that oath. Hand over your position and get over yourself already.”

Lowe got up and leaned closer to her; his silent rage was finally emerging through the veneer of calm indifference he usually donned. “Get over myself? You think I’m like that Commodore who came here looking down on us?” he spat out. “I know my oath. In fact, I’ve been fulfilling it long before I even took it.”

The woman’s frown grew deeper. It disgusted him. Lento deserved no medals or respect, and he certainly did nothing to deserve being a Commodore when he was two years younger than Lowe.

“I saved my ungrateful cousin and my half-brother,” the Lieutenant softly said. His voice was down from an angry roar to the thin yet deadly edge of a sharpened razor. “I saved them from the clutches of those Sanderian dogs that almost wiped Feita off the map.”

He let the weight of his words sink into the already tense moment. Leyla kept her cool, and her dark eyes, so expressive just a moment ago, were unreadable. It bothered him, but he had no intentions of continuing to lash out any longer. Lowe was already exhausted from both his miraculously successful attempt at using projection magic without his enchanted greatsword and his exposure to the lack of El Energy.

Lowe scoffed. “So, don’t you dare question my resolve to protect the El and the innocent.”

“Then why would you lie about the theft?”

The young Lieutenant leaned back and sat on his chair. “Because most of you would rather put my head on a pike than accept that Captain Evans betrayed us all.”

Leyla blinked, furrowing her brow immediately after that. “What?”

“If you had not interrupted me before,” Lowe explained, “I would’ve said that I don’t want to risk having our men join the side of the traitor.” Lowe licked his lips before continuing to tell the truth, at least the convenient part for now. “That’s why I asked the Steel Cross to take that woman and the priest with him to retrieve the El.”

He paused briefly, licking his lips. It seemed that he had convinced her for now. “The best we can do on our end is to protect the village at all costs. You already put Squad Three to work on that, so I’d like you to help me get everyone else’s help.”

---

Elsword never imagined that his first duty as a knight would be to return to his village. Like the other two dozen knights, six healers and Aisha, he was carrying a pendant with a small piece of El. It had to have direct contact with their skin to work. Still, he was winded and lagged behind his group. The air was thin and cold yet burned through his lungs at every breath. He felt the ground spinning around him, and he found himself staggering as every sound around him echoed, and every silhouette seemed to summon countless mirror images of itself to the sides.

The boy felt something catch him – a blur of purple and pink he vaguely recognised as Aisha. She slurred something to him: a question, surely.

“Huh?” he asked the increasingly bizarre, kaleidoscopic scenery that unravelled before him. “What’s going on?”

The young knight felt her fingers forcefully put something in his hands. Its power was a balm on an ailing wound, and in only seconds, Elsword was back to normal. He straightened up and looked at the finely chiselled gem in his hands.

“Thanks, Aisha,” he said to the mage, who was still weaving the threads of El Energy like she had done when they headed into the forests with Ciel and the rest.

However, unlike that time, only very faint threads flailed into the wind, some of which originated in the pendants they all wore.

The purple-haired girl did not immediately answer, though she kept staring at him with a mix of concern and fascination, which made him uncomfortable.

“Dear El, what’s wrong with you now?” he grumbled as he turned away from her scrutinising gaze.

“What House are you from again?” she finally asked him.

“Felford,” he maintained. It was getting easier and easier to see himself as part of Sir Owen’s family. The more he repeated it to others, the easier it got.

“Hmm, that’s strange,” Aisha mumbled, but it was still loud enough for him to hear. “Your mana circuits are nothing like those of the Admiral.”

The red-haired boy frowned. “Oh yeah? So what! I’m still—”

“Soldiers, halt!” Darren barked. He led the march to the front, followed by Wayne and two female knights that Elsword had not heard the names of. The troops stopped, and Elsword stepped to the side to glance at the reason behind the order.

He immediately regretted his decision. It took all he could to keep his breakfast down when he saw two old villagers lying on their backs at the edge of the road. They had one foot and a half in the grave; their flesh had rotted from the tip of their fingers up to their elbows. Elsword thankfully did not take in more details than that, as the group of healers immediately eclipsed his view. They were quick to determine that there was nothing they could do.

“They still have a few hours left,” a young healer with strawberry blonde hair said, her voice quivering as tears streamed down her face. “There’s no saving them, nor easing their pain…so— so—”

“Understood. Soldiers, lower your heads,” Wayne solemnly ordered the troops. “Close your eyes and pray for their souls; may the goddess welcome them in her eternal light.”

Elsword did as his senior asked, but the prayers did little to distract him from what Wayne had to do. His prayers quickly diverged from wishing the dead a peaceful rest to wishing Squad Three would not have to kill anyone else to put them out of their misery.

Chapter 15: Requiem Lullaby

The forests withered all around them. The pungent stink of charcoal lingered on the back of the nose, and the chill of every breath seeped down to the bone. The shrivelled leaves turned grey; some even turned to dust when Ainchase stepped on them. The trees were not doing much better; some were crooked, and some fell with only a gust of wind.

“I hope we’re not too late,” Luciela mumbled as she crossed her arms.

Ainchase glanced at her, noting that she still kept her adult appearance. A quick look at her slave was enough for him to tell that the Steel Cross was less than pleased. However, it was hard to tell whether it was out of worry for the catastrophe unfolding before them or something else.

“If it was too late now,” the Celestial said as he looked back to the road in front. “They would’ve sent us out earlier despite your injuries.”

The white-haired demoness furrowed her brow, glancing at his arm, but refrained from saying anything. Her uncharacteristic display of tact surprised him. It was as strange as how the simple elven dress she was given looked on her. Pastel green clashed harshly against her black and blue gloves and boots.

“We have about two weeks to save the villagers,” Ciel informed them. “The guys in the base have a little longer with the El stones they can get from the equipment they don’t use.”

“How curious,” the grey-haired Celestial huffed. “I didn’t think you’d be an expert on the matter.”

Though he could not see it, Ainchase could feel the half-demon’s glare burning through the back of his head.

“I had to learn it due to the war,” the Steel Cross spat out. “I would’ve expected the Venerable One to know the Church’s been hunting down some nasty war criminals.”

Ainchase furrowed his brow. The goddess had not given him any knowledge of the conflict the blue-haired man was referring to.

“Hunting down the wicked is only a fraction of your mandate,” the Celestial replied before looking over his shoulder to see the half-demon who looked far calmer than he had expected. “Why should I or the goddess supervise you while you fulfil the most mundane tasks?”

Ciel sneered. “Well, if you had, maybe you would’ve stopped the crazies before they blew up Feita’s shard.”

The Celestial frowned at that information. Though he understood human greed and its disastrous consequences, he wondered why the goddess had not shown him the extent of the war. A destroyed El Shard could open a portal to Henir’s domain or even to other realms, including the demon realm.

“What?” The half-demon chuckled. “Glaring at me won’t glue it back together, y’know?”

“Who destroyed it?” Ainchase asked, speaking with a low yet even tone.

Ciel shrugged. “If ya really feel like chasing the culprits down...” He paused and took a deep breath, sweeping their surroundings with a glance. “I could give you the leads I found, assuming we bring this place back to what it used to be before it’s too late.”

Ainchase nodded and turned his head to the right, then to the front, looking for potential threats, though he assumed there would be none other than the absence of El itself.

‘The more time I spend here, the more blindspots I discover…’ Ainchase bitterly thought, ‘And I still cannot find a reason why.’

“Hey, Ainchase,” the demoness called him. When he turned his eyes towards her, she pointed to their left, towards a couple of Phorus. “We got company.”

“Strange,” the Celestial said, forming twin swords in his hands. “I had hoped those beasts would shrivel up and die.”

Luciela summoned her gauntlets, and Ciel unclicked the safety of his gunblades. The rat-like creatures seemed in a daze, staring at something ahead of them.

“Flick Shot.” Ciel cast a brief summoning circle on the barrel of his weapons and fired thrice, alternating between left and right. The bullets, covered in mana, hovered and tracked down their targets, piercing their skulls. The mana enchantment made the bullet explode on impact, taking most of the creature’s heads.

And yet, they did not bleed. Their corpses vanished, and a thick wall of fog replaced them.

The fog started spreading. With the swiftness of an avalanche, it barrelled down on the demons and the Celestial. Ainchase used the mana he had crystalised to form his weapons and slowly weaved it into a barrier.

“Get closer,” he ordered Ciel as the impact with the mysterious fog seemed imminent. The half-demon did so. Ancient runes spiralled around the barrier as it took a spherical shape that encased them all into safety.

“Exitus,” Ainchase whispered as he extended his arms to stabilise the barrier. Circles of runes orbited around them. Astonishingly, the barrelling fog began to shatter the stabilising runes. The Celestial put more of his mana into it, but it only seemed to slow the rate at which his spell would dissolve.

“Ainchase,” Luciela called him again. Her demonic energy oozed out of her fingers, and the smoke that usually covered her crown of horns became a blue blaze of flames. “I need you to shrink your barrier.”

Though the Celestial raised an eyebrow, the demoness seemed determined. Her power was burning so bright that the flames almost threatened to consume her whole. His barrier would not hold with her growing power and the threat from the outside.

“Lu,” Ciel immediately protested. “What are you thinking?! This amount of power—!”

The woman looked back at her servant, frowning at his words. “You still have enough potions to deal with it,” she told him before turning her attention back to the front.

An imposing, hexagonal summoning circle appeared behind Luciela, and just as his barrier closed back on Ciel, the man slammed his fists on it. Blue embers gathered around her, forming a semblance of armour to protect her, and the demoness even began to levitate as her summoning circle divided itself into six smaller ones.

“Abyssal Gate,” she chanted as a volley of gigantic spheres of demonic energy burst through each circle, consuming the fog. Ainchase had to look away so as not to be dazed by the blinding blue light, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, and Luciela had reduced the fog to smithereens.

But the corroding force around them crept again on the horizon.

Ainchase and Ciel watched her as the overwhelming power she had summoned did not dissipate as it would with most spells. No, she absorbed most of it. From where her wings should have been, the mana ashes gathered and crystallised, forming two semi-circles that hovered over her back with spikes so long it was as if they tried to emulate the skeleton of her lost wings.

Luciela stood firmly and confidently as she summoned more of her raw power to push back a new wave of fog before it drew close. For every wave, her spells grew in strength. Her mana was mutating into raw demonic energy—a feat only the most powerful demons could hope to achieve.

Ainchase saw pain briefly twist her calm expression.

He dispelled his barrier and grabbed her left arm at the wrist before she fired yet another burst of demonic energy. She looked at him, and though she frowned, something told him that she was not displeased, or at least not towards him.

“That’s enough,” he told her. “We can’t afford to get injured now.”

Luciela’s wings crumbled, and she cast her gaze down before breaking free from his grasp.

“Fine,” she said as she slowly walked towards her servant. “Ciel, how are you feeling?”

Her tone carried her smile, though it was not as bright as usual. She had something in her mind. Ainchase looked down, remembering that Luciela had changed ever since the night he had treated her wounds. Not only had she refused to return to her childish form, but sometimes, he could swear that she wished to tell him something. The more he pried, the less she opened up about it.

Truthfully, he was not much better. Yet, he did not let his doubts cloud his judgement for the mission. The demoness was not as level-headed.

“Surprisingly fine,” Ciel answered, “but what was that about?”

“I’m just itching for a fight,” the demoness playfully answered before giving her servant a shrug. “That’s all.”

From the look the Steel Cross gave her, Ainchase knew he was not convinced by her lies either.

---

The eerie calm of the forests was far too reminiscent of the storms Bifron’s machines powered all across the Land of Steel. The maddened King poisoned every drop of water and every fruit on the earth. The only antidote was Serpentium—the blue mineral encrusted into her gauntlets. Lucilla watched as her gauntlets became the only thing that weakly cut through the darkness of the cloudy night. Ciel had fallen asleep a while back, leaving only Ainchase to stand guard.

“Are you sure you don’t need sleep?” the Celestial asked her, though he did not look at her. She lifted her gaze from her arms to look at him. He was spinning a mana dagger in mid-air, walking to and fro around their camp. “Your senses could grow dull if you don’t rest well.”

“I’m not tired,” she answered, combing through a lock of her hair with two fingers. “Sleeping for two weeks straight is more than enough for the month.”

Luciela stole a glance at him as he removed his hood, revealing a weary expression that was rather odd on him. “You look like the one who needs rest.”

He chuckled, but it was a dry, almost self-deprecating laugh. “If only sleep were the solution…”

She looked away from him, focusing on the supplies the elves had given them. Luciela got up and opened one of the bags, searching for one of those strange, crystal-like seedlings Isilad had created for them. The Druid had called them Eldrassil seedlings.

“The covers are on the other bag, Luciela,” Ainchase reminded her. “The one to your left.”

“I’m not…” she began as she scrambled through the bag’s contents. “Looking for one.” The demoness eventually felt the tiny sting of the El on her fingers and grabbed onto the small Eldrassil seedling.

With the Eldrassil sprout, she walked towards the Celestial and offered it to him. “This is what you need to recharge, right?”

His emerald gaze briefly widened, but he took the crystallised seedling with a small nod.

Somehow, she had expected it to work instantly, just like she had so easily regained control of her true power in the absence of the El. Yet, Ainchase looked no different; the gentle light only highlighted the eyebags under his eyes and how the cold reddened his cheeks and his nose.

Luciela sighed. “I’ll keep watch until dawn. Go sleep.”

“Celestials don’t sleep,” he told her as he began to walk around camp, continuing his watch. She followed suit. “They don’t need to.”

Luciela blinked at his words. “What do you mean, they?”

Her question was only a whisper, but he frowned at her questioning, and his jaw clenched.

“It’s nothing,” the Celestial assured her, shaking his head. “I misspoke, that’s all.” He denied it as he yawned. “I misspoke because I’m tired.”

“But you won’t sleep because you’re not supposed to,” She noted, rolling her eyes. Ainchase was surprisingly stubborn to his own detriment. “An idiotic dilemma of your own making…”

Ainchase sighed. “Sleep won’t fix anything,” he stopped walking and looked at her; it was almost a blank stare if not for the hurt she briefly saw in his gaze and how his lips thinned before he turned his attention back to the front. “Not until I figure out why I dream so vividly about…”

The Celestial paused, but he did not need to say anything else. He sighed and told her again that he did not need to sleep.

“You keep saying that,” Luciela noted, “but willpower alone won’t move your body when it’s overwhelmed by fatigue.”

“You speak as if I had a mortal body,” he mused. “How curious.”

“Would you have so many scars if it wasn’t acting like one?”

“They’ve been appearing the more I dream,” he shrugged before continuing to walk.

Luciela blinked. “What?”

“It was quite the sudden phenomenon,” the Celestial added, “but my true form has not been affected, so do not worry. I am fine.”

Luciela’s gaze met his; although his even, almost monotonous voice suggested one thing, his eyes showed her another. On that night they had treated each other’s wounds, she had come to fully acknowledge that she had an almost instinctive drive to aid him, just like he lacked the will to hurt her from the very start.

“Ainchase,” she called him. The demoness’ gaze followed the Celestial as he sat by the dying campfire, with his back leaning on the only tree that had not been affected too much by the lack of El. “You can’t keep going like that.”

“Perhaps,” he softly said as his eyelids finally hid his gaze. “But I need to try. My brothers and the goddess would expect that of me.”

Luciela circled the camp to keep watch, releasing a long, heavy sigh. After a few steps, she stopped and looked at the sky above. The chilly winds pushed the clouds away, and the moonlight drizzled on them through the naked branches of the greying trees.

She took in the sight of the night sky; it was as breathtaking as the first time she had seen it. The stars seemed to spread around the moon from a long splash of silver peppered with blues and greens. The deathly silence only made her want to fly up into that heavenly sea and feel both the frost and the warmth of the stars. However, the very same silence that had made her mind wander forced her to crash back into reality.

Though she wondered who Ainchase reminded her of, the Steel Queen now knew that it was best for him to be more like the man he had been when they met instead of the man who had come to treat her injuries. Things would be simpler that way for both of them.

“As long as you fulfil your mandate, Ainchase,” she finally said, looking at the quiet forests. “I don’t think that stupid goddess should care about the rest. So, focus on what you came here for.”

Ainchase did not answer, but the soft ‘thump’ coming from the camp immediately turned her attention back to where the Celestial was. He had fallen asleep with his head resting on a rolled-up sleeping mat. Luciela approached, somewhat bemused to see how deep his slumber was.

For the first time since she had met him, he looked serene. She went to search for a cover for him. He perhaps did not need it, but it would hopefully make his rest more comfortable. When she returned with the thick bear fur, Luciela saw that his bangs covered his eyes; they had grown long, much like hers.

Luciela reached to comb his hair back, but she paused when she grazed his cheeks, soft and reddened by the cold. She wondered why Ishmael would make this soldier so different from the rest. His warmth, as fleeting as it was, was unlike the stone-like coldness Celestials were known for. His emotions, too, were no mere simulation. There was no way Ainchase could have talked the way he did when he came to bandage her wounds if he was merely imitating emotions.

Ainchase perhaps had not misspoken when he excluded himself from his fellow Celestials. He was right, in a way, though what made him different was more akin to a sickness, one she wished he could keep forever.

Luciela pulled her hand back, feeling that pit in her stomach at where her thoughts had so easily led her. It was an unconscionable, extremely dangerous impulse to wish for such things. Not to mention that it was pointless to hope for his sickness to persist.

She knew that everything he had lived through in this world, everything she had come to see in him – his weaknesses, his scars, and his heart – would be swept away with a snap of his goddess’ fingers.

His mouth briefly twitched, and his expression soured. It was too early for him to wake, even from a nightmare. The demoness finally decided to comb his bangs back, and the smoothness of his fluffy hair was curiously pleasant. It was satiny, almost enviably so. The thought of playing with his hair briefly crossed Luciela’s mind, but she pulled her hand away. Luciela sat beside him on her right hip, curving her legs to the other side.

“Slumber is your only friend,” she softly murmured, knowing he would not understand her. The demoness pulled the bear fur slightly above his shoulders, and her thoughts wandered back to all the scars he had. The corners of her mouth turned slightly downward, and she closed her eyes, letting out a short exhale before continuing, forcing herself to at least harbour a serene smile. “You must remember that from the depths we are born and…”

She forgot how the rest of the lullaby went, though she hummed the notes to him, her eyes half open but entirely lost in the beautiful contradiction that his presence alone triggered within her.

Ainchase stirred in his sleep, but besides an almost inaudible ‘hm’, he did not show any signs of waking, although the frown on his face was evidently the fruit of a less-than-pleasant dream.

His hand emerged from under the cover, clenched tightly in a fist. Luciela put her hand gently on it and repeated the part of the lullaby she remembered a couple of times; with each repetition, she saw that the Celestial relaxed more and more until the palm of his hand touched hers, and his fingers almost interlocked perfectly with hers. The demoness pulled her hand back, reminding herself not to let her heart guide her too much.

‘Hopefully, those dreams he’s so afraid of will be more pleasant this time around’, she thought, repeating the lullaby one last time as she got back on her feet.

“...to Mother Darkness,” Ainchase weakly mumbled, making her snap her head back at him. “...our souls return…”

The demoness froze, her eyes wide at the words he had uttered.

“Hey, Ainchase,” She called him, but he did not answer. His breathing was slow and even, far from consciousness. That alone made the situation even more bizarre. What kind of dream could have made him speak that dialect? Was it even possible that Ishmael made a pawn that could speak it?

Luciela hastened back to her post to keep watch. Though she focused as much as she could on her surroundings, there was no easy way to keep her thoughts from what she had just heard.

Earlier today, she had wished to get her frustratingly unanswerable questions around Ainchase’s true nature out of the way by fighting to the death against the fog; now, she almost wished Berthe returned with a thousand more soldiers for her to burn to a crisp. Luciela donned her gauntlets, and her flames immediately roared awake, bathing her weapons in their glow.

“Someone sure is crabby tonight,” Ciel yawned.

The Steel Queen stopped and looked at her servant. He was still lying on his sleeping mat but had turned away from the fire to face her instead.

“What’s gotten into you?” her servant asked her. His sapphire gaze briefly turned towards the sleeping Celestial. “Did that guy spit on your mother’s grave or something?”

Her flames grew even brighter, almost bursting from her horns, but instead of exploding, she reigned in her fiery rage.

“Don’t you dare mention my family again, Caelum,” She hissed. Ciel frowned at the sound of his real name. “I don’t cross that boundary with you, so you better not start crossing it with me.”

“Shit.” He sighed as he finally sat down, scratching the left side of his head, a little further back from his temples. “Alright, my bad. I thought you’d never get this mad at him.”

Luciela scoffed, rolling her eyes at her servant before crossing her arms. “That man’s entire species kill demons with a smile on their faces. I have every right to despise him.”

Ciel lowered his gaze for a moment. “I might be way outta line here.” He searched his coat’s pockets, got his hip flask, full of Spirit Water, and opened it. “But from what I’ve seen…” He took a sip and shrugged before offering her the drink. His mana flow had remained still, which reassured her. “Demons are their own worst enemy most of the time.”

What her servant was referring to was an entirely different matter, but, as much as she would like to intimidate him into silence, if she continued using her powers without relying on his mana, she would undoubtedly get a headache. Luciela clicked her tongue and walked towards him to snatch the flask off his hands. She drank almost all of it in long gulps, relishing in the burning feeling it left down her throat and how it heated her face before handing it back.

“And you know why that is?” she asked him, watching him check that she had not drunk what remained in his flask before storing it in his coat. He was listening, but, as usual, he was detached from everything. Every friendly gesture or look he showed was simply emulated to perfection. It revolted her.

“It’s because of that crystal goddess of yours. What you call Elrios was our land,” Luciela growled, tapping her chest with her palm twice to emphasise her words. “We shared it with you humans and the elves until she came around and gave us two choices,” the demoness accentuated her words with big gestures that carried her increasingly venomous tone. “We could either be exterminated at the hands of her soldiers or go to a cursed realm where almost nothing grows!”

Her servant kept quiet, tilting his head slightly to the side to rest it on the back of his knuckles, looking away from her. She glared at him. He was surely bored with what she had said. Not that it was unexpected, of course.

“I’m not bored,” Ciel clarified as he looked back at her, “I’m just thinking.”

The Steel Queen huffed. “What’s there for you to think about? You’d never help me conquer Elrios even if I beat you half to death for disobeying me.”

“Eh, it’s not what you want anyway,” Ciel said with a dismissive shrug. “I’m thinking that you actually love that bastard. I’ve known you for longer than he has, so it kinda sucks to see.”

Luciela laughed, turning away from her servant. “Even if I was in love, didn’t you tell me you wouldn’t judge?”

“I never said that. So, are you in love? Is that why you decided to keep looking so…”

“So what?” the demoness challenged him, meeting his sapphire gaze with a cold look. “So different from the Terre in your mind?” She grimaced in disgust when he nodded. “Just so we’re clear, human, you don’t get to dictate how I use my power or what I’m supposed to feel about others. You are just a knife.”

Her servant said nothing in return, so she turned back and continued her rounds.

“I’m your lifeline,” Caelum coldly corrected her when she had barely taken a step in the opposite direction. “If that man is making you forget that, I will gut him.”

The demoness turned towards him and saw her servant lying on his back before letting out a long, tired sigh. “Well, it’s whatever,” Ciel began, with his usual, easy-going voice. “You know, it really sucks to see you drunk. It’s not cute at all.”

“You should watch your impudent mouth, human,” she coldly replied, speaking slowly to control whatever slurring she might not have noticed before. Alas, it was in vain. It was faint, but she was indeed slurring her words. “Ainchase is, whether you like it or not, our best way to shorten the list of people who want us dead.”

“It was just a joke, Lu.” Ciel yawned. “By the El, there’s no need for you to get so worked up about it.”

Luciela expected that answer; it perfectly reflected his rotten soul. Dawn was still far away, but she decided to keep her eyes on her servant, keeping her gauntlets on just in case Ciel reconsidered what was the best course of action for him to take. Though she could have directly peered into his mind, she would rather keep away from even grazing disgusting things as much as possible.

She heard the click of a pistol and immediately approached her servant, but he quickly hid his weapon, pretending to sleep.

‘And then you wonder why I don’t even really like you…’

The Steel Queen sat next to the Celestial again, knowing it was enough to deter Ciel from transforming his words into actions. Even if many demons were just like him, Luciela could feel that there was something even darker within his heart. Something that went far beyond what even most demons would think of.

She hoped to never find out the full extent of it.

Chapter 16: Nightmares

A swarm of crows spiralled down a dark cave. There, they nested and dropped the first egg down to the cavern’s pit. The bottom of the pit warmed them, comforted them, and nourished them with flesh, but only in exchange for the first egg the mothers laid.

One day, a mother laid two eggs. She pushed the one she thought she had laid first out of the nest and into the pit, but it fell short of rolling down the edge. A tiny, silver hatchling emerged only an inch away from his demise.

The pit grew angry, making the other crows sick, so the mother rolled down her second egg and rescued her firstborn son.

The pit was pleased, giving the crows even more power than before.

The mother was praised, her son exalted for his unusual plumage, but her guilt would never truly fade.

The mother raised her snowy son, showing him how to use his claws to mend all wrongs and use his beak to defend the weak. Her fellow crows began to notice that many differences separated them from the mother of the snowy chick. Their crimson eyes set on her, and the closer they looked, the more the mother tried to hide. Alas, she could not change the fact that her tail was pointy and not flat. Although her coat was black, she was the size of a hawk. Her son was much the same, and pale ravens were always a sign of Death.

‘Traitors! Traitors!’ cried the oldest crow of all. ‘These two are ravens, they must die!’

Mother and son fled from the cave, but the crows never forgave. The fugitives made a nest far in the black desert, hidden behind countless dunes.

One night, the swarm covered the empty sky; their wings flapped with the pace of murder, and their cries carried their promises of carnage.

Mother Raven saw them and hid her snowy chick, giving him the chance to flee.

The swarm saw her protecting her empty nest and spiralled down to where she was, bringing their reign of terror upon her. They ate Mother Raven’s eyes and pecked at her feathers until their beaks were crimson. They asked about her son, but she did not tell at all.

‘To the gallows, to the gallows!’ The swarm of crows chanted. ‘To the gallows she shall go!’

The hatchling, now a chick almost old enough to leave the nest, came out of hiding. He faced the hundreds of hungry, crimson eyes that raged at him.

The chick was not afraid; his mother had taught him to defend the weak, and a life of running from the vile swarm was no life at all.

Young and inexperienced as he was, the chick fought bravely, for he was Death, and Death feared none. For every silvery feather he lost, three crows died. But the swarm was made of thousands, and he was only one.

A howl made the presence of the wolf known; it would not tolerate intruders. The swarm of crows took flight. The chick lay on his back in the bloodied, black sand, expecting the wolves to tear apart what remained of him.

He saw a young she-wolf, perhaps as young as he was. Her fur was white like Death’s; a crown of horns sat on her head, and her eyes held winter within them. She was holding the oldest crow of all in her maw. It was dead. She snapped the crow’s neck, and the blood dripped all around the chick’s injured body. It absorbed the blood, gaining the strength of the swarm. It returned, screeching for revenge.

The swarm was right behind the she-wolf, merging into a monstrous chimaera with the beak of a crow, the eyes of a spider, and the body of a goat. The wolf attacked it, but she was immediately injured and left to roll on the sand with a deep wound on her front legs.

The chick attacked, aiming right for the chimaera’s eyes.

---

Ainchase woke up and, much like the silver raven from his dream, he saw a wintery gaze looking at him, but thankfully without a dead bird in her mouth. Though his dream had hardly been any less violent than the previous ones, somehow, he felt more at peace than when the bloodshed was inflicted on faceless demons.

‘There was no fire this time around…’ he noted as he greeted the demoness. Seeing Luciela donning her gauntlets put him slightly on edge.

“Is something the matter?” he asked her after she greeted him back. Sitting down, sore from sleeping on the uneven terrain, he saw another figure sitting beside the demoness’ servant. It was a cloaked person.

The grey cloak gave away the curves of a woman, and the ashen green hair that peeked from her hood were enough hints to know exactly who they were dealing with. The Celestial took a deep breath. He expected the Ranger to try to contact them, perhaps try to thwart their mission, but he did not expect it to be so soon.

“Nothing worrying,” Luciela said before sitting down next to Rena. The elf uncovered her face, and the demoness glanced at the elf before turning her gauntlets back into long, sleek gloves. “She just wanted all of us to be awake to talk.”

“Good morning,” the elven Ranger greeted him with a polite nod.

The Celestial contented to nod back before pulling back a fur that he could recall putting on when he fell asleep. The idea of the demoness being the one to cover him came to mind very naturally, and it did not leave a lingering trace of disgust. If anything, he questioned why, if his dreams were only figments of his budding imagination, she seemed to act as if there was something more to them.

He had many questions, yet he feared that some would hurt Luciela.

The last time they had openly talked, she cried over something he had said, and although Ainchase did not quite know what it was, the end result did not change, nor did his regrets over it. After all, the last thing he wished for was to harm her; that had been the case from the very start, even when he denied it. It was so ingrained in him that it must be the goddess’s wish for him to spare her.

He noticed that he had been staring at the demoness only when she turned her head away to yawn. From the angle he had, the Celestial could still see her fangs—sharp and long, enough to bite through flesh, much like her claws.

‘But why a wolf?’ he wondered as he, too, caught the urge to yawn. ‘So many other animals have fangs…’

“So,” Rena began after clearing her throat, “I’ll get straight to the point now that everyone’s awake.” She clapped her hands once to get their undivided attention. “I came here because Elder Branwen’s wasting your time.”

The Celestial stared blankly at the elf. Though her interference in this matter was perhaps inevitable, he had expected at least some credible lies to come out of her mouth. Something so easily proven false was either a testament to her simple-mindedness or that she had no idea they had not simply left to roam about the forests with some supplies in tow.

‘Or both. Mortals can be both stubbornly stupid and ignorant.’

“Really?” Luciela questioned the Ranger, crossing her arms. Her blue eyes set on the elf with disgust, and the slight twitch in the corner of her mouth only made her displeasure far more apparent. “I thought that creating puppets was at least a conscious effort. Did she dream the Rogue Phorus into existence?”

“Rogue Phorus are nothing new,” Rena answered with a shrug. “If anything, they’ve just been more active outside the ruins because of other threats to the forest. Namely demons. They’re like minor spirits, in that way.”

That answer finally settled the question that had appeared in his mind; Rena was clearly showing ignorance and stupidity, hoping she might convince them to abandon their mission. It only made the elf’s presence even more unwelcome.

Ainchase scoffed. “An elf loved by the spirits comparing the most horrific human chimaeras to minor spirits? Well, now I’ve seen it all.”

“They’re monsters, yes,” Rena argued, her tone growing tense, “but they depend on the forests, too.”

Though it sounded outrageous, the Celestial had to admit she was right, but only on a minor technicality. They depended on the forests because their creator was bound to them. It was why he was shocked to see them around yesterday, though he now supposed it had been a mirage. He still could not explain the fog, but it was perhaps just an effect of Henir’s unfettered influence on the land without the El.

“We killed some on our way here,” Luciela lied as she lazily combed through her hair. “It doesn’t seem they miss the greenery all that much.”

‘Though deception is not exactly condoned by the goddess…I think this is justified.’

The Celestial showed his silent approval with a nod.

“And they’ve been attacking people before any demon set foot here,” Ciel added as he rekindled the dead fire. He only shot a casual, almost dismissive glance at the Ranger. “Rena, we talked about it when we met, didn’t we?”

The elven woman remained silent for a moment, casting her gaze down. Ainchase knew he had to trace a clear line on the sand; she was wasting their time, and he would not tolerate it.

His emerald gaze was pinned on the elf, unflinching, almost threatening. Just as Rena opened her mouth, he cut off whatever rubbish excuses she might have thought about. “You might be willing to ignore the disaster your friend caused,” he told her, “but no one will follow your lead.”

Rena frowned at him. “I’m not ignoring anything. You’re the ones who are ignoring the full picture.”

The elf searched the pockets of her coat and took out a rusty gear that reeked of El Energy—Ainchase could tell because of the slight boost of energy he felt when he laid his eyes on it. That piece of El had been refined to an impressive degree, something humanity had not achieved for centuries.

‘Hm, but maybe the heretics that destroyed another El Shard… Could they have—?’

Ainchase shook that thought off his mind. It was too early to make that kind of conjecture. Mortals rarely, if ever, attempted to revive dead languages. Besides, the Church would surely stop anyone from getting their hands on the knowledge of the Debrians.

“I found this near the White Mist Swamp,” Rena informed them, looking down at the piece before turning back towards the Celestial. “You said that you were attacked by Nasods, didn’t you? The real culprits could be long gone when you reach the ruins.”

“And why’s that?” Luciela challenged the elf one more time, crossing her arms. “Nobody can cross the White Mist Swamp by airship, and the road by land is treacherous. It’s a two-week journey at least.”

Rena tilted her head at her. “How do you even—?”

“Because,” Ciel cut her off as he got up and took out a pan, a sealed water jar, and some oatmeal out of their bag of supplies. “Making sure some merchants had safe passage over that road was part of my mission.”

He used magic to empower the flames, so the water boiled in a minute. “Wanna have breakfast with us?” the Steel Cross asked the elf as he poured the oatmeal into the now simmering water. “We need something a little more filling than a conversation to start the day, y’know?”

The Ranger did not answer, contenting to nod as Ciel stirred the oatmeal. Ainchase furrowed his brow at the half-demon’s casual acceptance of a potential hindrance to their mission, but the faint, devilish smirk on his lips made the Celestial pause.

The half-demon searched the bag to his right, took out a wooden spoon and began to stir the pot, whistling what Ainchase assumed to be a lullaby. Ciel lingered on some notes for far longer, rushing through others, creating a chaotic rhythm that made the Celestial question why he had assumed it was a lullaby. It sounded like a folk song, though perhaps not the kind people danced to.

“I’m not hungry,” Luciela informed them, turning her head to the side, seemingly looking for something on the horizon. She combed her hair back, but her hand lingered a second too long over the nape of her neck as if she wished to protect it.

Rena raised an eyebrow at her and put a hand over her shoulder, whispering something to her, to which the demoness contented herself to nod. They exchanged a few words, but Ainchase’s focus drifted towards the half-demon.

Ciel became expressionless all of a sudden. His blank stare towards his mistress made Ainchase shudder. Before he realised what he was doing, the Celestial sprang up on his feet and was firmly clenching two daggers in his hands. Then, just as suddenly, the blue-haired man donned a kind smile and acknowledged his mistress’ desires gleefully. Ciel then turned his attention towards Ainchase and chuckled at the sight of his daggers, praising him for how energetic he was. It was a light-hearted, amiable laughter that stood in stark contrast with the look in his eyes only seconds ago. Only then did Rena turn her gaze away from Luciela, and her eyes widened when she saw that Ainchase was armed.

The elven Ranger muttered a few words in her native tongue, and a handful of fireflies appeared around her before swirling away to circle around their camp. She had surely assumed he had sensed some outside threat.

“What did you create those for, Ain?” he asked, happily stirring the contents of the pot. It was already thickening nicely, and the smell was mouth-watering. Ciel looked around them for a moment. “I don’t see anyone but us around.”

His gaze narrowed at the overly familiar way the half-demon had addressed him but did not comment.

“There was something around here,” the Celestial calmly said as he disintegrated his weapons before sitting back down. “But it ran away.”

“Ah, it ran because you spotted it so quickly, right?” the Steel Cross wondered as he took out three wooden bowls, leaving the wooden spoon sitting still in the pot. “I’m glad you’re so focused on the mission.”

Though his words were full of friendly praise, Ainchase wondered if the half-demon meant it. Seeing Ciel’s empty expression, however briefly, had unsettled him far more than it should. It was perhaps what mortals called a primal fear, though it was most likely unfounded.

‘But that’s odd…I shouldn’t be so easily scared of a mortal,’ Ainchase thought as he stole a glance at the demoness, who was murmuring with Rena. He was relieved seeing Luciela calmer than before, though part of him wondered if that calm was only a front. Then again, she was perfectly capable of crushing that human, just like he was. The unease he had felt was completely unjustified, even assuming he had reacted out of concern for the demoness.

The Steel Cross served everyone a portion of oatmeal, but despite how tempting it was, Ainchase paused when he met the demoness’ gaze. She looked away almost immediately, announcing that she would pack their sleeping mats while they ate. Rena tilted her head but did not stop her.

Ainchase looked back at the bowl and stirred it with his small wooden spoon. The texture was fine, it was piping hot, and its aroma was a pleasant mix of apples and cinnamon.

Apples and cinnamon? He had not seen the half-demon add anything special to the oatmeal.

There was only oatmeal in the small bowl; there were not even chunks of dried apples or traces of cinnamon powder. Subtly, the Celestial traced a few protection runes on the bowl and the smell immediately changed. It was still pleasant but not as inviting as it had been before. Ainchase took the first bite, taking his time to chew carefully and probing if any traces of magic were left in the food. Fortunately, there were not.

‘This man could be dangerous,’ he thought as he swallowed the first bite. ‘I can’t leave him to his devices.’

Ainchase was famished, so he ate the now inoffensive meal, one careful spoonful at a time.

“Hmm!” the Ranger squealed as she wolfed down her plate. “This gotta be the best oatmeal I’ve had in my life!” she exclaimed, covering her mouth as she spoke and still savoured it. She pointed at Ciel with her spoon. “You have to tell me your secrets.”

“Aw shucks, Rena,” he simpered, blushing ever so slightly. “I’m glad you liked it that much, but I have no secrets to teach. I was just born with that talent.”

“You should open a restaurant, seriously!” the elf insisted as she scraped her bowl. “You’d have endless clients. Including people like us, right Ainchase?”

Her peridot eyes turned towards him, full of life and joy bordering on mania. Whatever charm spell Ciel had injected into the food was frighteningly potent. And if the charm affected an elf, then it had enough El Energy to kill a demon. The half-demon was not possibly dangerous; he was an unpredictable threat.

“Why did you put such a powerful spell on the food?” the Celestial asked, his tone just as cold as when he had spoken to the Ranger. “It has enough El Energy to kill a demon.”

The Steel Cross’ friendly grin briefly soured, but he picked back his act as naturally as ever before. “Wow, that’s a little harsh, Ain. You could’ve just said you don’t like it.”

Though the Ranger immediately agreed, Ainchase would not let the matter drop. His eyes narrowed at the Steel Cross. “Are you so incompetent with your magic that you can’t notice what you just did?”

“Why are you being so rude?” the entranced archer demanded, glaring at him. “Just don’t eat it if you hate it that much.”

The Celestial got another glimpse at that unfathomable darkness in the half-demon’s sapphire gaze, twisted further by how subtly the corners of his mouth turned upward. He slid his hand into his pocket, and before he took whatever it held within, Luciela came back into view, dropping their now-packed supplies between them.

“Enough, Ciel,” she snarled as she sat down. “Break that charm. Right now.”

The Steel Cross clicked his tongue. “C’mon, Lu. What’s wrong with using her?”

He weaved his mana into a small hexagon, and Rena’s lively gaze dulled into an absent stare.

“See?” He gestured towards the entranced elf and added, “She’ll do whatever we ask if I keep my spell on. We could even tell her to kill her family, and she’d go for it.” The Steel Cross turned towards the Ranger to prove his point. “Right, Rena? You’d kill—”

Once again, Ainchase found himself acting before fully understanding why. The Steel Cross’ assessment was correct; they had to manipulate the elf into not being a hindrance, but the idea of controlling her to the point she would kill her own people revolted him far more.

Ainchase unleashed his Spiritual form and pointed a halberd at the half-demon’s neck. For once, Ishmael’s soldier saw genuine fear in the Steel Cross’ eyes. It was a fear that Luciela mastered far more. In fact, Ainchase could not tell if she was afraid.

Though he should not feel any satisfaction from power, Ainchase could not help but smirk. There was perhaps something to feel satisfied about by terrifying someone who had also triggered a misplaced sense of dread in him.

“Know your place, abomination,” he ordered, pressing the edge of his weapon close to Ciel’s neck, barely enough to make a tiny dent in the skin. “You have no right to bend a mortal’s will to your liking. That is heresy of the highest order.”

Then, unexpectedly, Ciel smiled in turn. “Then, go ahead and kill me, O Venerable One.”

“Only if your owner permits it,” he said, looking at Luciela. She seemed surprised, though it was hard to tell if it was in a good or in a bad way.

The Steel Cross chuckled, bringing Ainchase’s white and blue gaze back to him. “You’re going to put the decision in the hands of your enemy? Come on, Ain. Don’t you have any pride?”

Ciel was still afraid; he could see it from his tense posture, even if his empty, blue stare might suggest the contrary. The idea of knocking half of his teeth, just for good measure, sounded very tempting. Yet, the Celestial had the impression that the half-demon was fishing for another irrational reaction on his part.

“My only purpose is to enact the goddess’ will,” Ainchase told him, speaking without a hint of emotion. “You should be glad she doesn’t want me to harm your owner. Otherwise, I would’ve killed you both the moment I saw you.”

Little by little, Ciel’s bravery crumbled there, but so did the fear, at least, to a degree.

“Spare him on the condition he dispels his charm in the next minute,” Luciela finally said, her expression unreadable.

Ciel glared at her before finally capitulating and doing as he was asked. He weaved his mana into a small circle of runes and let the spell silently dissolve around them. The elven woman blinked a few times as if awakened from her sleep.

“Wha–?” she muttered, looking around her. In his current form, Ainchase only had to glance at her to tell her what had occurred. The language of spirits transcended sound, words or anything that most mortals could comprehend as communication.

Rena’s gaze was set on her empty plate, and she weaved mana around the edges. A frown soon soured her expression. Her grip on the bowl tightened so much that she threatened to break it into countless pieces.

The Celestial returned to his mortal shell, dispelling his weapon soon after.

“Is this how you thank me?” Rena hissed. Fury ignited her eyes and hardened her expression so profoundly that she almost looked like a different person. “Is this it?”

Luciela did not say a word, even when Ciel looked at her for help. It was obvious that the half-demon had to answer for his actions, and she would not help him.
“What? Did she force you to do this?” the elf hissed.

The Steel Cross looked almost ashamed with how he lowered his head and nodded gravely. Rena got up, walking so fast it was as if she was running up to hit someone. The Celestial expected a slap, perhaps, or at most a punch to come flying Ciel’s way for continuing to lie.

However, he was the first one surprised to see her pull a powerful kick to his stomach. The Steel Cross put his arms to protect his ribs, but the impact was still enough to knock him over his back.

Ciel coughed, almost gasping for air as he slowly tried to get back up, but it seemed that he had also hit his head. His sapphire gaze was looking around, blinking and disoriented. He was practically stunned. Rena looked down at him, still furious.

“By rights, I should kill you! For lying, for poisoning me!” the elf growled. She took a sharp breath, glaring at the man she had knocked over with a single hit. “Don’t you dare to set foot in our land again. I will shoot you dead if I see you.”

With those words, Rena put her hood back and leapt away, and they soon lost her in the grey, monotonous landscape. It took Ciel a minute more to finally get the strength to sit down again.

“Bullets are faster than arrows,” the half-demon muttered, his eyes fixed on the horizon, zoned in the direction Rena took.

“And my fire turns your bullets into dust,” Luciela coldly told him. “Stop acting like an imbecile, pick up your bag, and let’s get going.”

---

Elsword felt sore all over, but he used one of the swords his father had given him to keep steady. Despite the cold, he was sweating so much that his clothes were glued on him like a second skin. Practice. He ought to continue practising. Practice and practice until he dropped into a dreamless sleep.

He exhaled, and his breath condensed, bringing a fleeting warmth to the otherwise bleak world around him. Just to his left were two graves, both shallow and hastily covered by his fellow knights.

The state of the corpses was far worse than what Elsword could have imagined. He swung his sword again, pivoting as he spun from left to right. A tiny spark of mana flashed from the tip of his weapon, immediately turning to ash as it cut through the dry, poisonous air around him.

Elsword felt his nose get stuffy. He passed his thumb near his nostrils to clean them, but when he looked at what he assumed to be some snot, it turned out to be blood. The red-handed boy clicked his tongue as he finally settled to stop training and head back home.

Home. The word was now hollow. The people who made that little cottage feel like home were gone, but that was for the best. Ruben was not the cosy, warm village where his family could stay.

The young knight sheathed his weapon over his back and picked up the torch he had left to his left to head down the now depressingly silent and abandoned roads that led from the town square back to his home. What once had been a peaceful, unpaved way surrounded by leaves and flowers was now mostly barren, with only some El Stones hanging around the few properties that still had people surviving within them.

What remained where the trees had once stood was only a dry, almost desert-like, silent land marked by a few mounds of dirt. Graves. Elsword counted six of them before he reached his home. It already had some El Stone lamps planted around the garden, replacing the flowers and spices Lady Seris and he took care of.

Aisha was sitting on the stairs leading to the main entrance, already dozing off over a heavy book. Her staff and bag full of knickknacks lay at her side, acting as a very unusual and uncomfortable cushion.

“What are you doing here?” he asked her, raising his voice to wake her up. The Sanderian mage jolted awake and looked around before she realised he was the one who had called her.

“I wasn’t assigned a residence,” she answered with a long yawn. “I thought I’d have to spend the night outside…”

The boy clicked his tongue. “Move your stuff out of the entrance to my house, will you?”

“Can I stay?” she timidly asked.

Elsword frowned. “Why should I let you? We were…” His expression almost crumbled, and he looked away, hating to remind himself of everything, but his crimson gaze met her amethyst eyes again, full of fury. “We were burying people, and you were just reading your dumb books!”

“My books aren’t dumb!” Aisha shot back. “I have been looking for ways for people to survive, you know?! We won’t last a week if I don’t keep looking for a solution!”

Elsword glared at her momentarily, but he soon realised that even if he wanted to kick her out, he was too tired to continue fighting. He sighed.

“And did you find a solution?” the red-haired boy asked as he sat on the other side of the stairs just to her right. Every muscle was screaming for him to rest, but he could not. At least, not yet.

“I… need to confirm my theory with a friend,” she softly confessed, holding her heavy book close to her chest. “He’s the best healer I know, so… he might know how to heal the sick here.”

Elsword sighed. “Fine. I’ll let you use my parents’ room. It has a communication orb installed in it.”

The mage turned towards him, her eyes sparkling beautifully under the weak light of the El Stones, but most of all, her smile.

“Thank you so much,” she said, offering him a small, tired smile that was brighter than anything he could express. “I promise it won’t take very long.”

Elsword’s attention drifted briefly back to the mounds of dirt. He wondered how she could smile like that after everything that had happened. The young knight slowly got back on his feet, muttering a half-hearted ‘You’re welcome.’ He envied Aisha for being capable of smiling like that, of being so bright.

It almost made him want to rip apart whatever made her so strong.

As he opened the door for the two of them, he shook the violent thought away. It was so strange and brief that Elsword dismissed that thought as a product of his fatigue.

Maybe this time, he would be tired enough to avoid the nightmares.

Chapter 17: The Scourge

Elsword’s home was far less grand than what Aisha had expected from a Grand Admiral’s house. It was very quaint, and what few luxurious objects there were, like a silver tea set, glass cabinets in the kitchen, or even an expensive-looking copper pan, were arranged in a way that was far more reminiscent of a cosy yet modest inn.

She was surprised to see Elsword light up the home with only one incantation, charging the El Lamps with enough mana to last hours. Yet, he immediately coughed, and some blood dropped on the floor. Aisha approached him as he headed down the kitchen, dragging his feet. He let out a long, tired sigh that curbed his back.

“Do you need help?” the mage asked, only to have him shake his head.

“Just go talk with your friend,” he mumbled. “The room is the third one to your left.”

His tone was dry, though it did not feel natural for a brat his age. It surprised the mage, but she figured leaving him to deal with his troubles was best. She turned away from him and followed down the hall he had directed her towards. Part of her wondered if it was all right to leave him alone. Aisha quickly shook her doubts away as she opened the door of her new room. She reasoned that, at his age, solitude was the best counsellor.

When she turned on the light, an old, El-powered lamp that barely did its job, Aisha was surprised at how open the Felfords seemed to be with kids around their room. She could spot a doll on the bed and a training sword neatly put next to the doll, almost as if she were supposed to grab it. There was a tiny note folded unevenly on the sword. It only took a glance for Aisha to tell that the note was the product of an even younger kid than Elsword.

A wooden sword and a doll… Was Elsword the oldest of three siblings, maybe two? Just thinking that an Admiral would let his kids roam about and play with each other’s toys was a rather odd assumption, but the only one she could come to, given how the toys lay about instead of being locked away or generally out of reach for children. Was it a last-minute punishment before they went away? It was likely, but…

Aisha shook all those thoughts out of her head, reminding herself that Mathi started his rounds early and that she only had an hour, or perhaps less than that, to reach him before his duties began.

Aisha grabbed an El Stone and poured some mana into it, lighting the room enough to spot the Communication Orb on the desk on the opposite side. The marble was exquisitely carved, and the silver claw that held the yellow orb had little pieces of purified El encrusted within it. The Sanderian mage could not help but gasp at the sight of such a powerful communication station. With something like that, she could even call back home and…

The mage’s gaze sank. She had spent so much time here that she had forgotten that her grandfather would never answer again. She closed the door to the room, locked it out of habit and decided to get down to work.

With a long sigh, she pulled the delicate wooden chair and sat in front of the orb, taking a small El Stone from her pocket and carefully focusing her mana so she would not start feeling the unpleasant effects of the lack of El seeping into her body. The orb glowed with such ease, and the golden swirls of sand were so finely tuned that they reminded her how perfect and refined magic could be. It was the first time she had had such ease weaving any spell in two years. The orb shone to life in seconds, and it did not take long for Mathi to answer.

“Oh, thank the El! Sir Felford, do you copy?” Mathi’s boyish voice came from the orb with a sigh of relief. “Did you return to Ruben?”

“Why would the Admiral return here, silly?” Aisha asked him with a smirk.

“Aisha?” He gasped, suddenly lowering his voice. “What are you doing in Ruben? Aunt Vapor didn’t—!”

Aisha rolled her eyes, kicking her feet under the table and almost wishing she had hit him on the shins for asking such a dumb question. “That old hag doesn’t get to tell me what to do. If you and Yuria can come here, why can’t I, huh?”

“Because your—!” His voice lowered by half an octave, but he cleared his throat. He was a late bloomer, but even now, it seemed he hated to adapt to the fact that he was finally starting to look and sound like a man. “We can’t just waltz into Lurensia, Aisha. Yuria and her research group have a special permit. I was offered a position in the Earth Temple, but how did you even manage to cross the sea?”

“Geniuses don’t need to explain their methods,” she huffed. “But wait, why are you worried about Sir Felford if you’re with the Church?”

“There’s been some, uhm, special circumstances. I’m temporarily working with the Centurion Guard as a healer.”

“What do you mean by special circumstances?” Aisha asked, tilting her head slightly.

There was some mumbling on the other end, most of which she could not understand. It lasted for a minute before Mathi’s voice came back to her, loud and clear. “Oh, well… I just wanted to help them out, and they let me. Uh, before I answer your question, could you tell me how you got into the Felfords’ summer residence?”

“The Admiral’s son invited me in,” she answered with a shrug. “I got manners, unlike your idiot friend… What was her name again? The one who thinks she’s an adventurer because she broke into the Water Temple once.”

“It’s Lithia, but that’s beside the point. So, Elias Felford invited you in? Is his sister with him?”

“Huh?” Aisha furrowed her brow at him, tilting her head briefly to the side as she tried to understand why Mathi asked about anyone but Elsword. “No. Elsword Felford invited me in. Who are you even talking about, Mathi?”

Before she could get an answer, the sands shifted unnaturally. The link was connecting elsewhere and transmitting her last message to a new destination. No matter how focused, she could not make the link return to what it was. The sands stabilized and remained still for a moment.

“Uhm, hello?” the mage asked, wondering how anyone could hijack such a stable link.

The sands shifted again, but Aisha did not stop them. Her orb was reconnected to Mathi’s, and his voice chimed in again, calling her name with a tinge of concern. As strange as the hijacking was, she assumed Mathi knew as little as she did about the hijacker’s identity. Asking about it was pointless.

“I’m here, I’m here,” Aisha sighed. “Don’t worry.”

He sighed. “Glad to have you back. The connection was cut off for a minute there… So, uh, are you with the Felford twins?”

“No, I’m with Elsword Felford,” Aisha corrected him. “Y’know, he’s loud and a redhead, like his mom, I suppose.”

Mathi remained silent on the other end, and it did not take her long to worry about him.

“Mathi?”

“Hm? Oh, sorry, Aisha. Uhh…” he apologized as the mumbling around him grew louder. Though most of it was unintelligible, the young mage could hear worried gasps and quiet orders to keep trying to locate the Admiral and his family.  “So, you’re with Elsword. Got it. What was it you wanted to ask me?”

Aisha bit her lip, looking at the door leading to the room. She hoped that Elsword had not heard anything so far. The mage combed her braids behind her ears and explained the situation to Mathi, including her theories on how she could perhaps reverse the effects of the lack of El on the people who were not too far gone. Before she could get through half of her theoretical hexes, Mathi interrupted her.

“Please give up on that,” he told her without hiding his more masculine voice. “Healing magic has its limits.”

Aisha scoffed. “Well, duh! But the limits the healers here have are only due to how weak their magic is!” She clicked her tongue, scanning over her work so far. It would require perfect magic circuits, and only high nobility or the Landars could cast them. She had to make him understand that they were only a step away from saving an entire village.

The mage licked her lips and put her hands together, almost in prayer. “If you or I were to figure out the real limits, we could save lives here.” Aisha paused, pursing her lips. “I need your help,” she whispered. “Please, Mathi. I promised to help these people. I can’t go back on my word.”

“There are only two types of healing magic, Aisha,” the healer on the other end of their link told her after letting out a deep sigh. “Neither can reverse what has been done to someone. Healing magic only speeds up the body’s natural recovery.”

“There’s a third type,” the purple-haired mage countered. “Don’t lie to me.”

“You shouldn’t use it, Aisha. Nobody would blame you for giving up now, so—”

The Sanderian mage frowned, gritting her teeth at how Mathi seemed utterly ignorant of the seriousness of the situation. “We’re at the end of the rope here, Mathi,” she hissed, clenching her fists tighter on the desk. Aisha exhaled, but instead of calming down, she grew more tense, and her voice grew louder. “What am I supposed to do, tell everyone that they’re just gonna have to wait in line for their funeral?!”

“The third method would kill them all the faster, Aisha,” Mathi coldly informed her. “To cure the incurable, you must transfer the damage to someone else. Someone who’s still alive. The knights won’t let you do that. I wouldn’t let you do that.”

At that information, Aisha almost wanted to crumble into a pile of dust, like the leaves and the trees around them. Her gaze sank to the floor, and she silently grabbed her head before covering her face. She let a shaky breath out, shivering at the memory of the bloated, rotting bodies of the villagers she watched the healers transport out of their impromptu healing ward.  The faces of the families, and their screams, fuelled by grief and the state of their loved ones were all etched in her mind. Six had died in a single day. 

The village did not look to have more than a hundred people, even with the knights now patrolling it. The number of days left before the village became a ghost town – if there was nothing she could do to slow the Withering down – was as crushingly depressing as it was fast to calculate for her. 

She hiccuped, feeling her eyes burn and sting under the weight of tears. Aisha sobbed quietly, assuming the silence on the other end of her link was because Mathi had left.

“Hey, Aisha, maybe there’s nothing you can do to save the people who’ve gotten sick, but,” Mathi quietly began, catching her off guard. Aisha wiped her tears off and looked at the still-active orb. “You can stop the healthy villagers from getting symptoms,” her friend explained. “Lithia’s mother developed hexes to reverse and stop the natural decay of El energy in most enchanted objects. If you use them in El Stones to strengthen them, then…”

“Wait, let me get out my quill and ink.”

---

Elsword awoke at dawn, curled on the sofa and smelling of his sweat from the day before. The house was silent, which probably meant Aisha had not woken up. He inhaled as he got up, scratching his head as his muscles, especially his arms, still screamed for him to rest. 

Yet, he could not. Elsword was a knight of the El Search Party and had to act as such. 

The boy groaned as his shoulder blades seemed to crack when he stretched, and he looked down at his calloused hands. His fingers were red, sore from swinging a sword or a shovel the day before. His nails were splitting; trimming them before they began to bleed would be best. The young knight headed to the bathroom, making a mental note to look at whatever was left in the pantry and only eat what was strictly necessary. The Withering had wiped down all crops, at least all those he could see. 

Hunger. That was what everyone would feel when the food reserves inevitably ran out.

As he stepped into the tiny shower and let a cold jet of water soothe his sore body, Elsword realised he had never gone hungry. Meals were always a certainty, just like the sunrise. He exhaled as he rubbed the bar of soap on his arms. His superiors would come up with something, surely, to ration the food that was left. To make sure the elderly did not die, nor the kids. 

‘We’ll be okay, right?’ the boy questioned himself as he bathed, ‘We’ll only be a little hungry for a few days…’

Surely, things had to get better. Even with his family gone, even with Wyll and the Captain gone, and all that death, tomorrow was always a better day. 

Once he had washed off his doubts and sweat, Elsword put on his spare uniform: a long-sleeved red shirt, white pants paired with his old leather boots, and a white gambeson instead of chainmail. 

When he stepped into the kitchen, a sugary smell hit him, making his stomach grumble with hunger. As inviting as the smell was, panic soon swallowed his hunger when he saw the dozen ingredients Aisha had laid out in a neat row of small bags and flasks of all shapes. The mage was humming along a song he did not know as she cooked.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

The Sanderian mage looked over her shoulder and shrugged. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Elsword walked up to her and began to grab everything she had taken, one by one, examining the weight. Whatever she was making, it was for more than two people. He saw about six wooden plates with pancakes and dried berries already set apart.

“You’re wasting our food; that’s what it looks like,” he hissed at her as he put each item – flour, sugar, honey, crushed nuts, butter, and salt – back in their place. “We can’t grow anything, and you’re here wasting what little we have!”

The mage frowned at him, and the flame that heated the pan where she was frying pancakes turned off. “Come with me for a minute,” she calmly ordered as she walked past him. “I found how to deal with that.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, watching her walk to the room he had lent her. Elsword shook his head, hoping she had not made a mess out of it. The boy jogged down the hall, and the sweet fragrance of Velderian Sentinels made him rush all the faster towards his parents’ room.

The sight was like something out of a dream. Aisha had taken some of the potted flowers outside and had revived them. The pots themselves glimmered with El Energy, and the previously wilted floral emblem of Velder was back in full bloom.

“I don’t think we have enough to revive an entire field, but,” the purple-haired mage said, caressing the soft, crimson petals of the Sentinel, “we could save at least part of the crops.”

Elsword slowly walked into the room and crouched in front of the potted plants, touching their blooms and leaves to ensure they were real. “This is what your friend helped you with?”

“Well, it wasn’t what I initially asked him for, but yes,” Aisha sighed. “As for the extra food I made… I thought the village kids who lost family needed something to cheer them up. You wouldn’t mind helping me deliver those, right?”

Elsword got back on his feet and gave her a nod and a thankful smile. “You’re surprisingly thoughtful.”

The mage blushed and turned away from him, storming out of the room as if he had insulted her.

The young knight tilted his head at the paradoxical reaction. Were compliments considered insults in Fluone?

It was a possibility he had never considered. He ought to remember it going forward.

---

Old Hagus was the village chief. Elsword had always known the man as a laid-back, round, bearded man whose brown hair had not greyed at all despite being almost sixty. His daughter, Ann, was equally cheerful as her father, with bright pink hair, round blue eyes, and the same hearty and loud laughter as her father, albeit less deep.

The Hagus standing next to Leyla now had nothing in common with the old man Elsword knew. He carried a portrait of his daughter as solemnly as every other knight carried their swords. She had not survived the night, and neither had three other villagers. Sadly, he knew about the latter victims first-hand.

Of all the pancake plates Elsword and Aisha had set to deliver, half caused more tears than they did smiles. The young knight glanced to his right and saw that the mage, while forcing herself to keep a straight face, still had tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Men,” Leyla solemnly began, “as it stands, most of our remaining Squad Leaders are injured, missing, or have unfortunately fallen in our battle against demonkind.”

The green-haired knight paused, eyeing the entire crowd, commanding their attention. “In this crisis, I can only ask that you remember your oath and do what you must to uphold it. No code or law has ever been put in place to deal with the hand we’ve been given, soldiers. I cannot stop you, should you choose your own survival over that of your fellow knights, of the innocents in this village. The only factor in that decision lies in your conscience. Yet, before you make any decision, I ask that you remain for now and listen to the truth. The cause of this catastrophe is, unfortunately, our burden to carry as an organisation.”

Elsword clenched his hand over the handle of his sword. Those who left would become the worst cowards the world had ever seen. Leyla called for Aisha, and the mage walked forth while Hagus took the stage.

The old village leader looked down at the painting he carried, remaining silent for a minute before facing the crowd of soldiers himself. “I trusted Lowe the same way I trusted your Captain.” Hagus licked his lips, glancing at the image of his daughter again before continuing. “I’m not a noble or a rich merchant; I’m… I’m just someone who’s gained the trust of the village to lead them. Maybe that’s why I can’t understand how Lord Sunderland and Lowe think.”

The bearded man let a shaky breath out, “My daughter, Ann… I welcomed her as my own, even if her real parents would have rather have her gone from this world. Your Captain also welcomed two sons, though you might have only known them as two of your comrades,” Hagus closed his eyes and shook his head softly, “I don’t know all the details, but what I do know is that Lowe wanted to make those boys disappear and that Lord Sunderland wanted something valuable from our village. In hindsight, I should’ve known it had to be the El Shard. They made a deal. The lives of those boys in exchange for the El.”

Low murmurs spread through the crowd of knights, some in disbelief, others seething angrily. Elsword, despite it all, could almost sigh in relief, knowing that the Captain had not been the one to betray them. Yet, he now had a clearer idea of why Wyll did not want to make his past known. Being the Captain’s son would have drawn scrutiny and envy from others. Gesson was probably a fake name. Still, with both Wyll and Liam gone, the boy now wondered if they were still alive. He hoped so.

Hagus continued talking, mentioning the village’s remaining grain and their best efforts to preserve some cattle and dried meat. The game was out of the question, as most of it had been affected by the Withering. Aisha then stepped forth to explain her solution to the dead crops. It was a process that mixed magic and gems and had something to do with rewinding time, though the intricacies of the process went over his head.

At last, Leyla retook the stage and called all the knights to order. All of them stood firm, looking up at her without question.

“Soldiers,” she announced, her dark eyes filled with determination. “There is hope at the end of the road. I vow to do all I can to protect you and to lead us to a better tomorrow, but I can’t promise that all of you will live to see it. Will you still follow me, men?”

“Yes, ma’am!” the knights roared in unison.

---

Ainchase spotted a trail of blood, footprints, and claws on the path ahead. It was awfully familiar to the one leading to the failed ritual they had uncovered almost a month ago. Luciela peeked out from behind him and furrowed her brow at it. Yet, when he used his powers to ascertain how much demonic energy they were dealing with this time, the Celestial’s gaze widened at the familiar sting he felt crawling over his fingers.

“It’s different from back then.” She sighed, furrowing her brow, “This is… What in the world is this?”

“Is it in our way?” Ciel asked, crouching over the trail of blood, looking carefully at where it led. “We could try to avoid it, whatever it is.”

Ainchase summoned enough energy to excise the corruption slowly taking hold of him, though the process felt different. What should have been a painless process brought a slight burning sensation, if only for a second. 

“Avoiding it isn’t an option,” the Celestial informed them, forming a halberd in his hands. Grasping it brought the same bizarre burning feeling, though it quickly subsided. “It will spread if we leave it alone.”

The Steel Cross sighed. “How can it grow with no mana? It’s not demonic in origin, so—”

“Exactly,” the Celestial cut the half-demon’s protests short. “It’s not demonic. It’s far worse.”

With that, Ainchase followed the trail of blood, soon joined by the demoness and her slave. The blood trail went off the beaten path and into the now desert-looking wilderness where the only signs of life were a few animal skulls and ashen twigs strewn about the dunes of ashes and dust. As they headed further into the arid land, the droplets of blood became full-on puddles and soon, they found a half-eaten human hand cut a little above the wrist. It had the same bracelet the knights often used, especially when venturing near the Tree of El.

The El could be closer than they thought, but that was all the more reason to proceed cautiously. The puddles stretched into thick smears of blood leading up to the last tree left standing. It had crystallised into a grey, ashen state, making it look like a granite statue. 

At its feet, an injured Lowe was sitting down. His ribcage had burst open, his beating heart was set right in front of him. The blood around him still flowed, following a complex rune pattern. It was a living summoning circle, one made with blood magic that was not powered by mana at all, but rather its ugly, chaotic, and heretical predecessor: Henir’s blight.

As they approached, the man’s unfocused grey gaze lifted up towards them, and a bitter chuckle escaped from his lips before he ended up spitting blood, which spread into more runes. It was a living spell, which only made intervention all the more difficult.

Even the demons could feel that what they were facing now was unnatural. They took a step back. The spell had a countdown rune, but Ainchase could not tell when it would trigger or what awaited them when it reached zero.

“So you’re the ones I’ll be seeing last,” the Lieutenant wheezed. “How unexpected.”

“How in Sult’s name are you alive?” the demoness asked, crossing her arms as her gaze sank to the beating heart and back to the gaping hole in Lowe’s chest. “Blood magic can’t even begin to explain this miracle.”

The brown-haired knight sighed, though it came out as a raspy groan. “If you were feeling the level of pain I’m in, you wouldn’t call this a miracle at all.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” Ciel scoffed. “I’m the medic you need.” He pointed his weapon at the beating heart, pulled the safety and shot it twice before Ainchase could think about stopping him.

The bullets slowed more and more as they approached the circle. Even the spark of the explosion that sent them appeared slowly, and then… It reversed. The half-demon was surprised to find himself doing the same movements he had done to shoot but in reverse, as well.

“Don’t bother,” Lowe croaked.

The Steel Cross shook his head and emptied both weapons, but the result was no different from the first time.

“What the fuck,” the Steel Cross cursed under his breath. “Time magic is fairytale bullshit.”

The dying Lieutenant smirked. “It really is. I don’t know how a spell this complex could be cast without a drop of El, but I guess I had to pay somehow.”

“Pay?” the Celestial questioned him, furrowing his brow. 

Lowe sighed and licked his bloodied lips. “Yeah. I bargained the El Shard in exchange for having two princes executed.”

Ainchase tightened his grip around his weapon, unveiling his Spiritual form to this mortal only after he confessed to his atrocious crime. The sentence was already set in stone, but Celestials always allowed sinners to confess. 

“To think a human would be far more foolish than a Glitter,” the Steel Queen scoffed. “I hope those princes are made of El so you can at least restore this mess with their blood.”

Lowe chuckled, only gurgling more blood out of his body, though he had lost enough already to be dead. Henir’s influence kept him conscious, yet not alive; the Lieutenant had become an undead.

Once he spat more blood, the knight took a sharp breath and said, “A certain Admiral would’ve probably told me the same thing, though, knowing my Captain… He will not let those two die so easily. Which is exactly why we’re in this mess to begin with.” Lowe briefly squinted his eyes at Ainchase. Black skin and blue veins spread over the Lieutenant’s cheek, but he did not notice.

Half of Lowe’s face turned black, and his eyes filled with blood; his pupils turned as blue as the veins that now marked his face. “Well, not that it matters now. The village will die in a week, maybe less.” The knight sighed. “Before you judge me too harshly, Lord Sunderland is building a lot of metal golems, some of which would’ve stopped this. The Captain probably did something to prevent the deal from going as planned.”

Ainchase furrowed his brow at his words. He remembered the chip Rena had shown them two days ago. Though mere Nasods were not nearly enough to replace the El, the quality of the piece of El in that tiny fragment of Nasod machinery could be enough to revive half a field of crops at least.

“Well, too bad your plan went south, heretic,” Ciel grumbled as he changed the bullets of his weapon to silver rounds embued with small pieces of the Earth El, the biggest and strongest Shard in the two realms. “Before we clean up your mess, how about you tell us who the necromancer is who put you here?”

“I wouldn’t know,” the undead replied, though his voice was now distorted, an amalgamation of those of women and men mixed with a guttural, inhumanly deep voice. “I was ambushed after I resigned from my position. Next thing I knew, I was here, watching my heart beat outside my body.”

The influence of Henir was growing, accelerating the erratic beating of Lowe’s heart. The countdown had started, and it was reaching zero fast. Ainchase unveiled his true form and pierced the vital organ with one swift strike. 

Alas, he had not put enough of Ishmael’s energy into it. The blackened blood exploded all over the circle, rising wildly into spikes only to slide back into the hole in the man’s chest. Lowe’s bloodied gaze widened, shedding tears of blood before his neck audibly snapped, his head tilting upside down. His arms dislocated as the corruption continued to spread all over his body. The once recognisably human body was twisting into a quadruped abomination, with long, ape-like limbs and a toothless jaw shaped like a lizard’s. Before the transformation was completed, the Celestial unveiled his true form, transforming his halberd into one of Ishmael’s sacred swords.

“Iuste iudex ultionis. Donum fac remissionis,” he chanted through the burning sensation that the sacred sword triggered on his flesh. “Ante diem rationis.”

He cut the vile creature in half with one strike, and not even the ashes remained.

“What was that?” Lu whispered, shocked at the ashes vanishing in the wind like the summoning circle.

“That is Henir’s scourge,” he coldly answered, regaining his human shell before turning around to face the two demons. “It’s what we’ll have to fight against when facing the Scion.”

Chapter 18: Obfuscation

Aisha watched three knights slowly carving the necessary runes to stabilise the summoning circle. The withered apple tree was at the centre, surrounded by a circle of El dust. They had to be very stingy with the raw materials, but she figured she could always increase the potency of her spell if the mana flow began to implode on itself.

“Done,” the blue-eyed knight to her left said. He scratched his short, wavy brown hair and clicked his tongue as he stepped back. His other two comrades followed, one of whom was Elsword. “This looks kinda clumsy… You sure it’s gonna work?”

The Sanderian mage nodded, looking at the minute details of the circle. The penmanship of Elsword’s runes had a lot of room for improvement, but they were distinct enough to avoid a misfire. She raised her staff, which she had embedded with a few small El Stones. Reviving flowers was easy, but a tree could use more mana. Aisha took a deep breath, slowly focusing on the El Energy within her staff. It was cold like snow, yet warm like the flame of a candle at the same time. 

The soft fire that crawled in her veins spread into a wave of heat within her body that sharpened every sense. Heartbeats, breathing, the sandy feel of the dust-filled ground under her feet, the stale, biting wind that entered her lungs yet could not damage them because of the warmth that protected her… It was only through magic that one could experience the bountiful beauty in the world, even when it was dying.

The purple-haired girl opened her eyes, and a wave of mana spread around her, lighting up the runes the knights traced in charcoal with a vivid blue light. Aisha channelled the wave, making it swirl and converge around the tree. The soothing, almost dream-like sensation of time itself coursing through her, slowing down everything around her, was exhilarating. Voices around her distorted, mana warped into finer and finer threads as the tree absorbed it. Grass began to bloom again where the runes had been. Life was regaining its foothold as the tree started to recover its foliage. Wildflowers even began to bloom against her feet.

Ice-cold fingers grabbed her shoulders, and dark swirls twisted the flowers, transforming them into pitch-black ribbons that crawled up her legs.

Aisha’s eyes widened, and she immediately cut off the mana flow, but the energy did not stop. The fingers around her shoulders became the same ribbons of darkness that felt slimy on her skin as they crawled up her neck and cradled her face. A foetid breath tickled her ear as the ribbons continued to crawl all over her figure, forcing her mana to flow into her staff. Life and death mixed into a distorted piece of time she was trapped in.

She had overdone it. The spell would go out of control and disfigure her if she did not find a way to stop the foreign energy from coursing through her veins.

The mage remembered Mathi’s warning. She scrambled to get the pendant of El she carried and crushed the stone with her mana-enhanced fists. An unnatural, ear-piercing screech rang loudly in her head, and a brief yet piercing sensation in her ears followed before everything turned to normal. The apple tree was in full bloom, and so was a small patch of grass around it. The El Energy was stable, stuck at the level it had been before the Withering took hold.

“Why did you stop?” Leyla’s voice sounded muffled, as if Aisha was underwater.

The Sanderian mage turned around and saw the new de facto leader of the El Search Party looking at her work with her arms crossed.

Aisha touched her ear and felt it was full of liquid. When she looked at her fingertips, she saw it was blood. The mage showed her bloodied fingers to the female knight, and she furrowed her brow.

“Figures it wouldn’t be that simple. There’s…”

The mage could no longer hear very well, and although she could sense that Leyla had asked her something, all she could distinguish was an incoherent mumble. Aisha tilted her head at the female commander, and she sighed. Her black eyes turned towards someone behind her, and she gestured towards the left. The mage blinked and felt someone poke her shoulder from behind. It was Elsword. He made a sign for her to follow him.

The mage nodded, but before heading away, she called out to Leyla. Even if she could not hear her own words, Aisha had a duty to inform everyone about the hidden danger of their only salvation.

“Leyla, the weakest mages should be the ones to cast this spell. It doesn’t need much mana, and it’ll be safer for those who haven’t unlocked their full potential to not overdo it.”

Though the newest captain raised an eyebrow at her, she ultimately nodded, acknowledging her counsel.

---

Elsword glanced apprehensively at Aisha’s bleeding ears as the head of the healers, an older pink-haired woman, slowly treated her. He had heard a blood-curdling scream coming seemingly from thin air before Aisha stopped her spell, but no one seemed to react to it. In fact, they all seemed overjoyed at the miracle and the glares some of his fellow knights threw at her…

‘I must’ve imagined it,’ Elsword told himself, shaking his head, ‘Of course, everyone would get mad… It almost looked like she could’ve revived the entire garden.’

The red-haired knight looked around the room, tapping his fingers over his lap. Considering the situation at hand, the room was surprisingly empty. A sick girl was lying to his left, being treated by a young, blonde healer whose green eyes were red and puffy, as if she had done nothing but cry all the tears in her body. Still, at least ten other healers were working for the El Search Party, and they all followed Leyla to the village.

“Where could they be?” he asked aloud, drawing a glance from the woman healing Aisha.

“Who are you talking about, child?”

Elsword blushed a little, realising he had spoken loudly enough for the old woman to hear him. “Oh, uh…well, the other healers. You guys are like a dozen, right?”

“We are twenty,” the old healer calmly said, “And, right now, most of us here are helping set up the barriers around the El Stones like Aisha wants.” She shrugged. “It’s quite a foolish task, but beggars can’t be choosers…”

“Saving lives isn’t foolish,” the boy argued, clenching his fidgety fingers into a fist. “Why would you say that?”

Aisha furrowed her brow at them, but the older woman waved her off before continuing. “I had a friend, quite a few years ago, who was desperate for a miracle. She used time magic in a very similar way to what Aisha showed us. Some shady people later got to her and made her disappear. They weren’t Steel Crosses, that’s for sure,” The old healer paused, briefly licking her lips as she strengthened her spell. “They wore black robes and covered their faces behind black masks. But that said, I would rather deal with the possibility of disappearing with those masked fellows a few years from now than be killed by the Withering.”

The hands of the healer stopped glowing, and she took a deep breath. “That should do it for today. Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Aisha said, giving the healer a grateful nod, “I can hear you, Lady Rosalie.”

The older woman chuckled. “Oh my, it’s been quite a few years since I’ve been called that way. You make me feel younger already, Aisha.”

The mage blushed, which prompted the healer to ruffle her hair as if it were her granddaughter’s. Aisha’s gaze widened, but before she could get a word in, Rosalie told her to take better care of her ears next time and to go back outside because she had to help the others with the other patients. 

“I can stay to—” Aisha offered, only for Rosalie to shake her head. 

“You’ll be way more useful helping the knights organise. We can manage the sick here.”

The door closed, and Elsword got back up, grabbing his bastard sword before sliding it back around his hip. He was ready to leave when he noticed Aisha was still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at her staff. 

“I will go,” he told her before turning away.

“Hey, Elsword,” Aisha yelped out, making him worry that she had somehow not fully healed or had injured herself again. She shivered, and he rushed back to her side, only to see her clench her staff so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She let the silence linger between them for a second that seemingly stretched for hours as her eyebrow furrowed, and she opened her mouth only to close it and bite her lip.

“What is it?”

At last, her eyes turned towards him briefly before she looked back at her staff. “Have you ever been afraid of what your weapon can do?”

The question caught him off-guard. He raised an eyebrow, pondering for an answer. Perhaps she knew that her method was dangerous, or maybe she had heard what Rosalie said. Still, she could not give up because of it. 

‘But what should I say?’ he wondered.

All he could think of was what others had said about swords and the magic one could wield with them.

“I mean, it’s a weapon,” he slowly began, scratching his head. “It’s made to hurt people…” His words only deepened Aisha’s frown, so he raised his arms slightly, gesturing to her to calm down as he scrambled for something more positive to say. “Ah, but, uh, it’s also good when you’re taught to use it for the right cause! Like, uh, protecting the weak!”

All that earned him was a light tap on the head with her staff. He glared at her even if it did not really hurt.

“Hey!”

“You said something so stupidly obvious, you dummy,” Aisha sighed, “that it helped me stop worrying about it. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome?” the boy guessed, watching her get up and straighten her dress. 

“Come on. Let’s go,” the mage said as she led the way back out of the empty yet small local tavern Ann used to manage before it got turned into an impromptu infirmary. 

The boy followed, and silence awaited them outside. Elsword tried to tell himself that it was all temporary, but he still struggled to accept that no more kids would play in the plaza, nor would theatre troupes or bards entertain the locals. It was nothing but a blank space in the withering village.

The thick fog quickly barreled in. Aisha raised her staff while he unsheathed his sword. 

A single figure appeared in the distance; barely a shadow that cut through the unnatural fog. It approached them, but after a dozen steps, it remained there, tilting its head before something whistled in the air. Elsword raised his sword defensively. A wave of heat rushed next to his ear, and he saw a fireball intercept and burn an arrow. The remains were a black and blue sandy yet gooey substance. 

“What is that?” Aisha asked, slowly approaching the remains before crouching to look at them more closely. “What in Behemoth’s name is this?”

Elsword was reminded of that half-eaten, deformed bird he had seen with Rena the first time they met. He wanted to believe that it had only returned because the El was no longer there. Rena had no reason to lie about the state of the curse.

“It’s that curse again,” he mumbled before rushing forward, all senses focused and enhanced by his shallow mana reserves. That shadow was surely the cause of the curse. He had to defeat it before it brought even more trouble to the village.

“Hey, Elsword, wait!” Aisha’s voice rang in the distance as he raised his weapon, sparks flying as he channelled his mana into a focused burst.

“ Mega Slash! ” 

A copper light covered his blade, igniting his weapon with the speed and destructiveness of thunder. The curved edge of a scimitar parried his strike. The clanging noise of metal against metal rang loudly in his ears, and his nearly invisible opponent’s fierce, almost supernatural strength made the strike vibrate in his bones. The gigantic shadow deviated his strike; the blades screeched as they scraped against each other, and sparks flew.

With no other target to hit, Elsword’s spell cleaved the ground when the blade hit it. A long, rodent-like paw stepped on his weapon, making him stagger as his fighting stance crumbled. He tried sliding his sword away, but his opponent was too strong. His only option was to step away and evade.

Elsword released his weapon and leapt back, barely avoiding a lethal slash. He could not see the entirety of the sword nor what his opponent looked like, but he could surmise they were as tall as two grown men and that their blade was old and chipped.

The wind whistled as the strike passed, and a new one came from his left. The claw still held his sword on the ground, but it moved slightly. All he had to do was lure the enemy away before dashing back to get it and use Flame Geyser to burn the giant to a crisp.

The second time the giant struck, he dodged the strike as quickly as the first, glancing at the weapon. Elsword had to lure the giant just a little forward and…

His muscles began to feel tense, almost painfully, especially his legs. Elsword only strengthened his body with more mana. He could not falter. He had to stop the curse. He was the only one who could.

The young knight feigned to draw the giant to his right before banking left. He slid on the ground, reaching out for his sword, grabbed it and tried to quickly rise back on his feet in a single jump. He managed to get up, but a jolt of piercing, unbearable pain in his left knee made him collapse to the floor.

Time seemed to crawl down to a halt, and all sound was fading except for his heartbeat. Elsword watched, horrified, as the rusty, chipped scimitar got closer and closer to his throat. That blade had to be as long as a tree trunk. Not even the Captain could have lifted such a monstrous thing.

He remembered his fight against the Glitters and how similar this was. Neither Wyll, Liam, nor Lowe would be there to save him now.

It was the end.

The blade began to cut through his messy hair, getting closer and closer to his ear. Even now, he had misjudged where the hit would land. His father had always told him to take a deep breath and think more about where his opponent’s blade could reach. If only he had thought about it this time…

If only he had not trained so much, his body would never have failed him right when it should not have.

“ Chain Fireball! ”

A wave of increasingly big fireballs barrelled in the direction of the shadow. An unnatural screech rang next to him, similar to the one he had heard last time he had seen Ain, Lu and Ciel.

‘It… almost sounds human.’

The fire briefly cleared some of the fog, just enough to see Aisha come rushing by his side, asking him if he was doing alright. He nodded when she was next to him and tried getting up, only for a deep, stabbing pain in his left leg around his knee to force him back down. Aisha frowned and gave him a hand to help him up, which he took.

“Let’s get you back to Lady Rosalie’s,” the Sanderian mage suggested. 

They slowly crossed the thick wall of fog, only to run into some invisible wall. The plaza was right ahead, but they could not advance any further. The Sanderian mage clicked her tongue and began charging her staff with mana. Unknown runes began to appear on the invisible wall. They all had the same black and blue shade as the arrow Aisha had burnt. They swirled and expanded until they formed the shape of a person, an elven woman, perhaps. 

The woman’s silhouette tilted her head at them as Aisha lowered her staff, and it lost its mana glow. The woman’s shadow spread into a whirlwind and finally dispersed, leaving nothing but the fog behind. Elsword reached out and found no longer an invisible wall impeding them from continuing. The red-haired boy looked at the mage, and after a second, she gave him a weak nod.

They stepped out of the fog, wary of any danger ahead, but there was no such thing. Instead, the first thing that hit them was a weak breeze of fresh air.  Its warmth and slight humidity were a strange summer breath Elsword had almost forgotten about.

In front of them, a stone-paved path led to a very recognisable wooden gate with a sign that read ‘Spirit Falls’. The wood was still alive, and while some grass had begun to erode, the area beyond the gate seemed as green as it could ever be, given the circumstances.

“Where are we?” Aisha muttered as her gaze widened at the desertic landscape around them. She slowly took him further into the only patch of forest spared by the Withering. Powerful blue crystals hung around the fence, and the El Energy within them was so palpable that Elsword began to wonder if they were parts of the stolen El. However, their vivid blue shade did not match the aquamarine colour of the El.

“That’s the local hot springs,” the young knight explained as he continued to slowly limp forward. “And our main source of water.”

The mage glanced at him, raising an eyebrow, “How come hot springs are your water source? The water comes in as cold as ice.”

Elsword sighed. “It doesn’t. It comes from nearby rivers, but it’s all managed by the owners of Spirit Falls.”

“I see,” Aisha mused. “Do they have beds or somewhere I could leave you to rest?”

“There should be some, but I’m not climbing any stairs like this.”

The Sanderian mage began to charge her staff, and a slight wind current began to crawl over his feet; it spun and strengthened until it was a whirlwind strong enough to carry him yet small enough not to affect the surrounding area too much.

Aisha flashed a smirk at him. “Now you can.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Elsword grumbled, turning his attention away from her.

They ventured into the last living piece of the forests and the deathly quiet establishment ahead.

---

Despite all the powerful El Shards around, there was nobody home. Still, there were some half-eaten plates of food, which were still warm. Perhaps the hot springs owners had left in a rush and would be back soon. When Aisha helped him lie down in one of the bedrooms, Elsword noticed that on the bed frame, there was a battered, black cavalier hat.

The young knight stretched until he got it and looked at it closely. Despite the mud and the bullet hole that ruined the top, he could recognise it immediately. Even a few golden strands of hair tangled around the now rough edges. Aisha gasped softly at the hat, her violet gaze wide, reaching her hand out timidly as if she, too, yearned to have it.

“They’re alive,” Elsword said as he passed Wyll’s hat to her.

The Sanderian mage took the accessory as if it could shatter in her hands. She looked at it from every angle, and her shock soon softened into a content smile.

“Yeah, they must be,” she muttered before turning her attention back to him. “Let me see your knee. I’m not much of a healer, but I can at least give you a prognosis.”

“A what?” Elsword asked, tilting his head at the word.

Aisha huffed, putting Wyll’s hat on before crossing her arms. “I can tell you how bad it is.”

“I think it’s not looking good,” the red-haired boy mumbled as he rolled up his shorts, revealing a swollen knee that had begun to bruise. “Yeah, it’s not that great, is it?”

He threw a glance at Aisha, who had immediately put a hand over her mouth, but her shock was short-lived. The purple-haired mage shook her head and looked around the room, tapping her foot as she furrowed her brow.

“Give me a sec. I’ll look for materials to make you a healing potion,” she told him before dashing away.

Now alone, Elsword let out a long sigh. His knee still hurt deeply, as if someone was pulling it apart with pliers from the inside. Though it had been a long time since then, he remembered that his mother had put his leg up with a couple of pillows when he broke it. The bed was big enough for two, meaning he had a spare pillow to use. Perhaps that would help. When he pulled out the pillow to his right, a notebook rolled to his side. The boy raised an eyebrow at it but first focused on using the pillow to elevate his injured leg. Carefully, he lifted it, despite how much it hurt and shook under the effort, but once he rested it over the fluffy pillow, he felt slightly better.

The silence only made the room feel gigantic and yet smaller than a trap. He looked down at his injury, calloused hands and sword resting next to the half-open door, forever out of reach in his current state. He was so weak and stupid for training to the point that he made his body much more fragile than usual. He laid down on the bed, letting out a frustrated sigh as he slammed his closed fist on the mattress.

His right hand met the notebook's hard cover, and his crimson gaze set on it. He could use it to avoid reflecting on decisions he could not change. He grabbed it and opened it, and a bunch of old, yellowed notes began to fall from its pages. Though initially surprised by the sheer amount – enough to form a small pile and make the notebook far thinner – the boy grabbed the closest note to his heart.

It was a letter.

---

Elesis forced herself to recall that day, especially now that Liam was no longer there. She closed her eyes and focused, muttering his name, the date of the battle, until she was fully immersed in her memories. She remembered waking up with bandages all over her body, or at least as far as she could see. The smell of ash and the heat of the explosion still lingered on her skin, even if she could recognise that she was weeks away from the disaster that she failed to stop in Feita.

The young, red-haired girl looked to the side and saw his peaceful, sleeping face. One she wished she could have seen more often before he parted. Though she never understood why he cut his hair and dyed it black, in her memories, Elesis only saw a young, blond Hamelian prince with bandages on his face, and his right arm was covered in plaster up to his shoulder.

Even with all his injuries, in her memory, the young prince held her hand as he slept. She clasped his hand tighter to silently thank him for all he had done for her, the Cronwells and the kingdom of Velder. But especially for her. Perhaps she had stared too much at him, or she had held his hand too hard, but Elesis remembered he woke up a second later. She still felt guilty about interrupting his sleep.

When his sapphire eyes met hers, he immediately looked down and apologised, calling himself a useless traitor. Those were the words her father had used when the prince had failed to use his position to recall the incoming attack from the joint fleet of Sanderian and Hamelian ships onto Feita.

She regretted not standing up against Elkashu then. Elesis hated herself for suggesting an almost suicidal mission to try and prevent a siege the small, fortified city could not stave off for more than a few weeks if left alone. Her plan had miraculously worked, but she miscalculated the real aim of a tiny, elite Hamelian force of mages who wore black robes and masks. They snuck into the small El Temple and completely destroyed the El Shard in a matter of hours. The explosion razed through the forests, vaporised rivers and made the sky pitch black, swallowing the stars for days, but that was only the beginning of the catastrophe that followed. The demons came soon after.

Elesis knew that both of them had left whatever remained of their innocence there, buried along the bloated bodies of those they could not save. Nobles, wealthy merchants, peasants, beggars, vagrants…the calamity came to claim their lives all the same. Those they could save from that were often killed by the demons. Maybe even Elkashu had perished, too. She had never found him after he went alone to close the portal the demons had opened.

But none of that was the prince’s fault. He was too young, as she was. Why would the enemy commanders, all those old men with their warring traditions and agendas, ever listen to a fourteen-year-old boy whose blood was, as they called it, tainted by the Cronwells?

She regretted not finding the time to say those words to him in person. Writing them out in a letter was perhaps cowardly, but it was the only way she had left to reach him. 

Even if no answer came, even after all these years, she still had to try. These letters were the little pieces she clung to whenever she finished training with the Divinus Manus . As much as she initially liked how it made her forget all the pain, she was also starting to forget the good. She had returned to Ruben recently, and somehow, she had taken a few minutes to fully recognise her younger brother. She had last seen him when he was five, but that did not explain how numb she felt when he came running to hug her. He almost felt like a stranger, and the Felfords had noticed she was acting differently towards him. Seris tried to probe her further into the matter, but Elesis could not tell her anything.

Perhaps it was not proper to tell him through a letter either, but if she left it all to herself, maybe she would reach a point where she would read her own words and mistake them for someone else’s. That was the only reason she kept writing to him.

Please, Liam, she concluded in writing. If nothing else, please find a way to always make me remember who I am. Or, if I can’t remember anything at all, keep whatever letters have reached you. That’s all that will remain of me.

---

Aisha returned to the room at dusk with a bowl of barley soup and a weak healing potion for Elsword, only to find a mess of papers all over the bed and around the floor, with Elsword seemingly sleeping in the midst of it, covering his face with an old notebook.

“What in the—?” She gasped as she walked in, trying to evade the loose and clearly old sheets of paper. She frowned and raised her voice when she saw Elsword take the notebook off his face and toss it aside like rubbish. “Elsword, what are you doing with Wyll’s stuff?”

“It’s not his. It’s a stupid book and a bunch of stupid letters,” the boy grumbled as he opened his eyes, almost glaring at her. “If he’s mad about it, he can tell me himself. Why do you care?”

The Sanderian mage frowned at him. “Because I have this thing called empathy , meaning I know he’d be mad about it because if it was done to my stuff, I’d be mad, too!”

She set the tray aside, putting it on the desk before picking up the letters. She glanced at some of them, the names and the dates. Some had the characteristic stamp of “return to sender” plus a date added in black ink. Others were signed with a woman’s name, Elesis, though the most recent letters had her full name and rank: Elesis Sieghart, Captain of the Red Knights. The ones returned to the sender had a signature, but it was hidden away by a spell. It was not a hard one to crack, but Aisha knew better than to snoop around someone else’s mail for too long. Each letter seemed deeply personal.

Once she had collected all the letters, she put them on the desk in a neat pile and put the book Elsword had torn through on top of it. Without a word, she left the food on the injured boy’s lap and walked away, trying to put her anger aside. As childish as he was, they still had to find a way back to Ruben, if only to get him proper treatment. The potion would do little else but soothe the pain without a healer to treat the injury.

The mage walked downstairs and let out a deep sigh, looking at Wyll’s hat, which she had set on the counter in the lobby. 

“When are you going to come back?” she muttered. “You, your brother and the Captain aren’t too far, right?”

Chapter 19: Past and Present

A fire raged through the night. It had grown into an inextinguishable inferno. He watched alone, shivering, muttering silent prayers that fell on deaf ears. Blood ran like a poisonous river, and everything he loved was either dead at his feet or dying in his arms. Her blood dyed her dress crimson, pooled in his arms and dripped on the ashen ground. Her heartbeat was a weak flutter, yet it still beat. She was alive. That was all that mattered to him.

He had to take his beloved away, far, far away from here. He ran, but the horizon only stretched further and further away. Eventually, he came to a halt, exhausted and weak. At that moment, he realised that running was pointless.

The bright, full moon above him cast a silver glow over the unconscious body he cradled in his embrace. He was surrounded by pheasants, all white like the moon, with neon blue eyes that glowed like stars in the night. One of them had a golden crown over its head, and its eyes were far more terrifying than the rest. With a flap of its wings, it summoned a gale that sent a knife flying to his hands. It looked at the woman he carried and then back at him.

‘Kill it. It’s your duty,’ the king of the pheasants said. ‘Kill it. You serve me, now and forever.’

He shook his head. The monarch tilted its head at him, angered that he had not obeyed.

His arm lifted, tied to golden threads that stemmed from the pheasants’ beaks. He cried for the one in his arms to wake. She had to leave before it was too late. Thankfully, he could avoid hitting her, and she vanished.

No blood spilt out of his self-inflicted wound, but he could no longer breathe. Fire was consuming from the inside out, tearing through every muscle, gnawing away at his soul until he had no choice but to wake with his mind blank.

---

Ainchase was out of breath, his legs felt weak, and the only reason he was still standing was thanks to his halberd. His hand was audibly sizzling as he clenched his weapon tighter and tighter. The entire world was swirling around him as if caught on eddies.

Sharp needles of pain spread through his head down to his nape. He looked down, seeing the pile of abominations at his feet. He blinked, and the mangled bodies became recognisable if he squinted his eyes. Bloodied, terrified faces, butchered horns, severed bat-like wings, and clawed hands, all of them pointed at him, accusing him of their cruel demise.

Traitor , they cried. Murderer , they screamed with their lifeless stares. He had to silence them once and for all. If death were not enough for them, then he would deform their corpses until they were nothing but an offering for the Abyss. He raised his weapon, but he was too weak to stab the dead again. His vision blurred as he dug his halberd back into the ground.

Ainchase blinked again, and the bodies returned to being the same quasi-human, monstrous black and blue limbs he knew he should be looking at.

Yet, one thought came back, insidious like poison: how was he so sure he had killed Henir’s Scourge? The Celestial knew he had fought from sunset to sunrise but not much more.

These beasts had come from somewhere, but where? His mind was blank. He had to focus. He had fought demons. No, monsters. But why? Why would he fight either of those things?

The burning sensation in his hand was searing his skin and wiping every thought from his head. He looked at his halberd and saw it was covered in blood and gore, both his and from his enemies.

‘But who were my enemies?’ He stared at the gooey mess beneath him that spread a dark, oily substance on the sandy ground. ‘What…am I doing here?’

A woman’s voice called him, though her voice was so muffled he could not be sure she had called his name. Yet, he knew her voice. He expected to hear her say his name and…

His ears rang, making his splitting headache unbearable. Though he tried to focus on what was happening around him, Ainchase could not think of anything but the unpleasant sensations assaulting his every sense. The woman’s voice echoed in his head; he finally found the will to follow it.

Ainchase looked back and saw the demoness’s blurry silhouette. Her slave was there, too, lying on his back, uninjured but exhausted. Seeing them made the pain an afterthought as he anchored his presence on Elrios again. The memories were cascading back into his mind.

They were only an hour away from the Scion’s lair, and all these abominations had attacked them in the middle of the night. He had taken care of the brunt of it, but even then…

The Celestial blinked a few times as his sight got clearer and his mind sharper. He had flirted with death again, in all likelihood. Celestials knew not of death as mortals did: they turned to a little speck of light, and their consciousness eventually vanished into the void. It could happen to any Celestial who did not sufficiently anchor their presence on Elrios. Ishmael was supposed to prevent any of her precious soldiers from facing death more than once.

But the goddess had not gazed at him. She had not uttered a word or held his soul together with her merciful touch. The creator of the El had left him to drift in and out of existence in his fight against Henir’s influence on the forests. Without Luciela, he was sure he would have died. It was odd to find himself anchored to reality by a demon, but he knew it was all part of the goddess’ plan.

‘She trusts me,’ he thought, ‘I’m her strongest soldier. I don’t need her help in this mission. The goddess trusts me. She knows Luciela is good enough as my anchor.’

He had told himself that so often by now that those words rang a little hollow. Still, he had to believe them. Not doing so would be antithetical to his nature.

“Thank you,” he told the demoness as he walked towards her and her exhausted servant. He looked down at Ciel, who rolled his eyes before moving to the side, making his intentions clear.

Arms crossed, the Celestial grit his teeth. They were only moments away from their objective, and this poor excuse of a Steel Cross refused to get back on his feet. He clenched his fists and was greeted by a sharp pain on the palm of his hands, going up to his fingers.

Ainchase looked at his hands, immediately noticing the scabs and red, bleeding skin that had charred some of his fingers roughly around the joints. The only cause he could recall for his injury was his weapon, but that made no sense. He was created to wield the power of the goddess; it would never hurt him.

Without a word, he modified his shell to create a pair of black gloves over the wounds and merely tuned out the pain receptors before grabbing the medical supplies for himself. He barely sat down to treat them when he felt a very familiar gaze on him. He looked over his shoulder and saw the demoness staring at his injuries.

“I can take care of it, don’t worry,” he told her before disinfecting his injuries. “We should be en route soon enough.”

“You should leave the fighting to us next time.” The demoness sighed. “You’re running out of divine power, aren’t you?”

Ainchase shrugged. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

The Steel Queen walked before him and slammed her fist on the ground, sending sparks of demonic energy as the ground cracked where she had hit it. She was now crouching in front of him. Her beastly blue gaze held a spark of anger threatening to consume her. Even so, he presumed she would not fight him if she lost control over her emotions.

“Do you take me for an idiot?” she growled. “You will not fight until you find a way to stabilise your divine energy. I will knock you out if you try to defy me on this.”

The Celestial smirked. “I’m the only one who can exorcise the Scourge, and you don’t want me to fight? That’s a foolish move, wouldn’t you agree?”

Her eyes narrowed at him. “Yes, we need you to kill those things,” she conceded, her voice full of venom. “So why do you keep fighting so recklessly – dare I say suicidally? The rational way to deal with the Scourge is to let us weaken them and then go for the final strike, is it not?”

“That’s less efficient,” he mumbled, looking away from her. “We’ve already talked about this, Luciela. You two are better suited to find the El while I keep the Scourge off your backs.”

“Yes, that was before you started vanishing into thin air!”

Her shout echoed around them, though no one but him and Ciel would hear her. All life had died, and the corpses of the monsters they had just fought were already turning into dust that the wind would carry away. Ainchase looked at her, and although he was initially puzzled by her anger, he somehow had the impression he had seen it before. It was strange, but that feeling of deja vu perhaps changed his expression because the anger evaporated from the demoness’ face.

“Just try to be more careful next time, Ainchase.” She sighed as she got back on her feet and walked away. “That’s all I ask.”

---

The rest of the way to the ruins was shorter than he expected. The eerie calm of the monochrome scenery had stopped bothering him. Seeing dull, empty husks of trees, the skeletal remains of all sorts of animals and grey, ash-like sand piling up in small dunes as far as the eye could see brought a strange sense of comfort. Something about this wasteland – a phenomenon that had no place to be nor remain on Elrios – made him feel nostalgic. Ainchase tossed those feelings aside, chalking it up to his strange dreams where he had seen a similar scenery. It was a figment of his imagination and nothing more. It would not sway him away from his mission.

Slabs of stone soon rose from the ground instead of trees, all cracked somewhere, blackened as if a fire had lapped at their edges. Ainchase took a deep breath, and the tangy scent of ash invaded his nostrils. He stopped and looked at the crumbled homes around them. There was no smoke or traces of an active fire anywhere. A rusty gate, covered by withered vines, caught his attention. Though time had eroded the runes carved on it, he could still read some of it. It was an ancient language, perhaps predating the founding of the Elrian Kingdom itself.

The sign also attracted the attention of his two companions, and they all walked carefully towards the dilapidated two-story building the gate led to. The first floor was intact, or as much as it could be. It would make for a good rest spot.

“East…ward Library?” Ainchase guessed as he touched the relief left behind by the missing runes.

“Eastwind,” Luciela corrected him, which made him turn towards her, raising an eyebrow at how she could read an inscription in Old Elrian. He dismissed her correction, thinking she was merely contradicting him for the sake of it.

“There may be maps in there we could use if we’re lucky,” Ciel deadpanned as he pushed the door and entered first. “I’ll set up some warding runes, so you two can go and hold hands, kiss or whatever you want to do in the meantime. Just stay the fuck outta my way.”

Luciela rolled her eyes at her servant but followed him, saying she would look for the maps. Though he had come to view the demoness in a more favourable light, Ainchase was taken aback by how casually the abomination she kept as a servant insinuated that a Celestial like him could be infatuated with a demon. Considering how Ciel treated Rena, it was understandable that he could assume any goodwill as romantic. The Celestial had no interest in correcting him.

Ainchase entered the dark building last and closed the door behind them. The demoness was lighting the old torches around them, navigating from one torch to another as if she knew the place inside out.

The room they had entered was surprisingly large, with a high ceiling held by dusty columns that had more carved into them. Every bookshelf was either empty or destroyed by the passage of time, making the central study area ahead look rather pointless. Its marble desk and rusty candleholders had perhaps once been elegant but now only cluttered the space. Ciel threw their bags over one of the tables, knocking the candlestick over the edge. It clanged as it fell and rolled on the dusty floor, breaking the white candle it had held for centuries, if not millennia.

The Celestial sighed and set his sights on the pillars once again. He carefully approached one of them and read the runes carved on it. It was a protection spell that combined an illusion that would only affect the appearance of the building.

‘But they’re not powered by mana at all,’ the green-eyed priest noted, ‘This energy is similar to the goddess’ but…’

He slid a finger over one of the runes, enough for the old spell to ignite. A wave of the same familiar yet foreign energy flowed across the room, lighting the remaining torches and the extinguished candles, summoning rows of books on the shelves until all those still standing filled from top to bottom. Ainchase looked down at his hand and back at the columns. He had not used a drop of his power, yet the spell reacted as if he had been its original caster. The Celestial shook his head, reminding himself that nothing but his mission mattered. Finding a map would help them find the Scion’s lair, and they were sure to find one among all the books that had appeared.

---

Rena woke up to the sound of a chair grating against the stone. She leapt away and drew her bow, only to find herself surrounded by the same fog that had clouded her path for the past two days. There was no trace of the Captain or the two young knights she was guiding back to the village.

The scratch approached from her left. Rena had packed a set of wooden arrows in her quiver and fired one at the source of the sound. The wind whistled before she heard a mushy sound. Her arrow had hit someone or something. The smell of rotten flesh overwhelmed her as a shadow of a winged throne appeared in the middle of the fog. Chains chimed as the throne continued to drag itself to where she stood.

“Ah, it’s been far too long,” a man’s voice wheezed as the chair finally came to a halt, though the chains still chimed softly, marking every syllable of his weakened voice. “I have grown too old to dodge your greeting, but here, take it back.”

A wet, squelching sound interrupted the man’s voice and his chains before her arrow appeared at her feet; impaled on it was a reddened human eyeball whose bright blue iris contrasted sharply with the crimson-toned sclera. The elf took a deep breath and faced the shadow again, clenching her fists at the figure of someone she had never expected to see again.

“How are you still alive?” she asked, “It’s been six centuries, Luther.”

The man laughed at her, and his chains did not follow, letting the hideous, guttural, and raspy tone of his voice come out in all its unnatural repulsiveness. It was enough for her to understand why Luther had laughed. He was not alive at all.

After a long, strenuous wheeze, the dead man continued to speak, with his chains chiming the same way they had done before. “Well, I suppose I can understand your surprise. I am surprised, too, old friend, to hear you say my name properly after all this time. It’s almost a shame… Luto had a nice ring to it.”

Rena huffed. “Archduke Luto Felford sounds horrible if you asked me.”

“Bah, it’s not like my full name nor my title mattered much to you,” the man on the throne replied, dismissively waving a decrepit, almost skeletal hand in the air. “Nor does my latest title matter either. You see, I’ve retired from that hell. It’s in younger hands now. More ambitious hands, might I add.”

“Right, and because you’ve retired, you kidnapped the humans that were with me for fun,” Rena quipped, putting her weapon away before crossing her arms. She carried no weapons that would work against whatever monster Luther had turned into.

“It’s precisely because I saw who took them away that I came to help you,” the decaying man said as he pushed his throne beyond the fog. “I have nothing to gain by lying to you after all this time.”

Rena had known Luther Felford as a young man with shiny copper hair and a crimson gaze. Tall and lean like a fencer, charismatic to nobles and peasants alike, and wise beyond his years, the Archduke embodied a golden age that the duchy of Velder did not get to enjoy for very long.

The man that came through was not even the shadow of what Luther had once been. He was chained to a broken throne made from his tombstone. The marble wings were still intact, but the cross that held them had fallen entirely to Henir’s corruption. The seat was a fusion of the more broken pieces of his mausoleum, and the same could be said for the armrests, which also bore marks of his House’s fall from grace.

The only life that still animated Luther’s body was the bright, blue light that coursed through his veins. His dry, gangrenous skin wrinkled unnaturally as if to make him seem far older than he was when he died. Luther’s hair was greasy and messy, cut in jagged layers that made it look even worse. His nails had long since fallen off, and his eyes were sunken in his scrawny face, frozen in a perpetual grin.

He could only hold a sceptre that looked more like a key. He kept it in his right hand, holding the shining gem that held the soul of the last person they had both cherished more than their lives. His kingly robes were replaced by a pitch-black robe, torn by time and carrying the dirt from his burial. Luther snickered, and his chains chimed around his sceptre.

“A young general of my organization captured them. As far as I know, he has contented himself to teleport them near the White Mist Swamp,” Luther informed her, but his lips did not move. Where his chains clanked together, the sound was overlaid with the voice Rena once knew. His bloodshot, unnaturally blue gaze fixed on her like a maniac’s, even if his voice was anything but. “That general is far more cunning than I was. It’s a shame he’s dedicated himself to destroying Elrios.”

Despite his appearance, his every word was the spitting image of the young leader she had known. The resemblance left a bad taste in her mouth.

“So,” she interjected, “Did you come to brag about your pupil?”

“No. I’m trying to put an end to his ambitions,” the former king said with a shrug that made his bones crackle. “But it’s exponentially more difficult to fight him from the inside. I’m always one step behind. In fact, I’m fairly certain that he may have pulled a few strings on both sides to make them a little more hasty than they should have been. Had your Elders known who the Scion was, they would have never allowed demons to get close to it, am I wrong?”

Though it pained her to do so, the Ranger nodded at his question.

Luther leaned back in his chair, looking down at his sceptre as if deep in thought before turning his attention towards her. Cackling softly as his chains chimed against the stone, he turned his attention towards her.

“I’m not judging your decision to lie about that,” he clarified. “In fact, it was a wise move at the time, far more than my own…” He wheezed before he let out a snicker. The chains chimed softly to mark his words. “As things stand now, it falls on the people who belong to Elrios to fight for their world. All I can do is point towards the path that will most likely lead to their salvation.”

His sunken eyes, dead and deformed, held a spark she had not seen in ages. It was a slap to the face.

“Where was this Luther when it mattered?” Rena muttered to herself, looking away from his decrepit figure.

His expression and shoulders shook as if he had fallen prey to laughter, but the chains translated it into intelligible words expressing no joy or madness: “He was young, stupid and crushed by grief, and so were you.”

The elf scoffed at him. “Don’t compare me to you. You were simply angry to lose something that belonged to you.”

“I can understand why you still cannot fathom that I loved her,” he chuckled. “Time can heal anything but the burns left by hatred… But back to important matters. You should protect the red-haired boy you’ve travelled with from Ainchase Ishmael.”

“You want me to protect a human child from a Celestial?” Rena chuckled joylessly, rolling her eyes. “ Sure, let’s protect the river from the rain.”

Luto’s gaze briefly narrowed as he was overcome with laughter. The chains clanked loudly against his throne, forming an angrier, almost hissing tone he carried in his voice. “The demons and that so-called Celestial are already in the Forest Ruins, right next to the Scion. Do you think they’ll get out unscathed?”

Rena paused, erasing the half-hearted smirk from her face. 

It was all Luto needed to continue to talk: “I don’t have that much time left here, Rena. Protect the kid and the El from Ainchase Ishmael. That’s all you have to do.”

“Why?” she asked. It was the only question she had left at how insistent Luther was. “No Celestial would hurt a human loved by the El.”

A new wave of fog barreled between them, reducing Luther to a shadow.

“Ainchase is an experiment born out of Ishmael’s hatred for demonkind. And it’ll take a miracle for the world to avoid the consequences when that experiment goes awry,” the man cursed by Henir explained with a sigh. “Well, it seems our time has run out. Elrios is rejecting my presence with all its might, and I’ve grown tired of resisting it.”

Luther’s shadow vanished, and so did the fog around her. Though most of the forest had died, Rena spotted a sign on the edge of the road she stood on. She approached it and saw she was only half a day away from Spirit Falls. The Ranger looked back, knowing that both the ruins were in a straight line, only in different directions. She remembered how the Steel Cross had used a powerful hex on her and turned left, walking towards the hot springs.

If Henir’s dimension swallowed those three whole, she figured that the first to die would be that half-demon. A Celestial, no matter how weakened, would survive and remain unscathed. Luther was probably less sane than he appeared; no Celestial was an experiment. They were all warriors of the goddess, created to protect the Elrios from the monstrosities Henir created.

All that talk about the world suffering the consequence of an experiment was nothing more than one of his many paranoid delusions, the same ones that had led him to commit an unforgivable crime after Lua’s passing.

---

Rena knocked on the door to the main building of the hot springs, hoping that maybe one of the knights had been teleported back to the starting point. When Aisha was the one to open the door, the Ranger took a small step back in surprise. The mage’s violet gaze also widened in surprise, but she invited the elf to enter.

As she feared, Rena saw no sign of any of the knights. After asking Aisha a few questions, it became evident that they had not seen the Captain nor the brothers he had taken with him.

“How long ago did you see them?” the mage asked her. “When we got here, the food was still warm.”

That information made the Ranger frown. She thought about what Luther had told her; even if he was wrong about Ainchase, she worried about that young general he warned her about. If the borders between the past and the present were getting blurred, he had most likely come into contact with the real Scion. In the worst-case scenario, the general had it under his control.

‘No,’ she reasoned, ‘The Scion is a small, confused child. He would be hostile towards that general unless—’

“Rena?” The mage called to her, taking the elf out of her thoughts.

“Oh, sorry, Aisha,” Rena said apologetically, “What were you saying?”

The mage sighed, rolling her eyes before putting Wyll’s hat over her head. “How long ago did you see them?”

“Oh, just a moment ago,” the elf lied. “I wondered if they had returned.”

“Well, at least there’s the chance the Withering hasn’t killed them yet,” the teen muttered to herself before looking at her. “Hey, and also, do you happen to know how to heal humans?”

Rena raised an eyebrow at the sudden change of topic. “Yeah, I was a war medic a few…” she paused for a moment, furrowing her brow. The Ranger quickly reconsidered giving away an estimate of her long lifespan to a human girl. “Uh, well, a while back. I still remember most of what I learnt.”

“Wonderful!” the Sanderian mage beamed as she clapped once. “Let me take you upstairs. Elsword really needs your help.”

“Elsword?” Rena tilted her head at the name.

“The loud redhead,” Aisha clarified. “I thought you knew him; he’s the one who greeted you when those demons surrounded the Tree of El.”

It took her a second, but Rena recalled who Aisha was referring to. It was quite a coincidence that Luther had insisted she had to protect that boy only to meet him hours later.

Chapter 20: Split

Elsword wondered how much time had passed since he dozed off. He blinked a few times, scanning the room as much as he could without moving. It took him a moment to remember why he was so far from home. His knee did not hurt, but he did not want to try to walk. His body felt heavy and warm, calling him to sleep. The boy closed his eyes again, lulled by the promise of a sleep so deep that he wished he could stay in it forever.

A speck of light disturbed his sleep, and he opened his eyes, barely distinguishing a familiar green gaze and blonde hair. He was glad to see Lady Seris again.

“Lady… oh, sorry, Mom,” he mumbled, reaching for the hand she offered him. She seemed to pause and pulled her hand away.

Elsword’s eyes widened, shocked by her strange coldness, but his shock was soon replaced by embarrassment. He was a little too old to be reaching out for her like he did when he was a kid.

He cast his gaze down before closing his eyes again. “I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered. “I know I’m too old for that, but I’m just…”

The gentle reassurance he needed was the warmth of Seris’ healing spell over his knee. She was not angry with him. Elsword offered her a tired smile as he closed his eyes. Fatigue finally dragged him into a dreamless slumber.

---

Rena sighed, eyeing the young mage standing behind her. The elven Ranger continued her treatment of Elsword’s injury in silence.

“Will he walk again?” Aisha asked in a hushed tone.

The elven woman nodded. “With me here, yeah, but I’ll need you to make a few changes to the potion you gave him.”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Less alchemy powder. No more than a quarter of a teaspoon,” the elf said, eyeing the girl behind her. “You will damage his nerves permanently with anything more than that.”

“Oh, is that why he was…” the mage ventured, though she did not finish her sentence.

“Yes, that’s why he’s hallucinating. I don’t see any nerve damage right now, so I hope his body can metabolise the extra dose over the next few days.”

“Duly noted.” Aisha sighed, circling the bed before sitting at its foot. She turned towards Rena, her figure hidden in shadow; the only way to distinguish her when she was so far away from the flame of the oil lamp was due to the piece of El hanging from her neck. Her purple eyes stared at the elf intently despite the mage’s visible fatigue.

Rena raised an eyebrow at her “Is something bothering you?”

“A lot of things, honestly,” she responded wearily, rubbing the corners of her eyes with the palm of her hand. “I didn’t come here for, well, for all this mess.” She threw her hands in the air before falling on the bed with a heavy sigh that almost sounded like an exasperated groan. Aisha covered her eyes with her forearm and clicked her tongue.

“All the talent… perfect memory… magical circuits,” the Sanderian girl mumbled, her voice sometimes growing so quiet that Rena could not hear everything she said. “Still garbage at the one type of magic that everyone here would need me to be decent at.”

“Nobody saves the world alone,” the Ranger mused. “I think you’ve done far more than people would expect of someone your age.”

Aisha uncovered her eyes and glanced at her, her lips thinning as her expression soured. “Saving a single village isn’t saving the world.”

“The scale of the area you’re saving doesn’t matter. It’s the issues you’re trying to solve,” Rena countered, furrowing her brow, more because she tried to focus on her spell rather than animosity towards the young mage.

The Sanderian shook her head,  “I just feel bitter about how… useless I’ve felt here,” she scoffed. “I wish I could use that time spell again and turn back the clock to… I don’t know, at least two years ago.”

Rena stopped her spell and stared at Aisha. “Come again?”

“What?” The girl quizzed, sitting back down. “Are you done with—”

“No, but tell me,” the Ranger snapped back. “What do you mean you used a spell to wind back time? When and where did you do that?”

Aisha scratched the back of her neck, “Hmm, well, last night. And today, too. It was the only way to keep the El Stones from decaying too fast.”

“You foolish child,” Rena whispered, hanging her head low as she pinched the bridge of her nose. It was no wonder Luther had appeared before her.

This human girl had played with Henir’s domain and invited its power to close its grip on the village now that the El could not hold it back. If that general took full advantage of what Aisha had just done… Just thinking about it gave her a headache.

The Sanderian mage got up and crossed her arms with a heavy sigh. “Look, I know it’s heresy, but Ciel wasn’t there to see it, and nobody got hurt, so get off my case, okay?”

“Are you sure nobody got hurt?” the elf grilled her, shaking her head before she continued healing Elsword’s leg. “The first thing those spells do is hurt those who cast them.”

Rena stared at Aisha, waiting for her to at least try to defend her decision to use such a foul thing, but the purple-haired girl turned her eyes away and then turned away, yet she did not walk out of the room.

“You have no right to judge me,” the mage hissed. “You weren’t there to see all those who died, nor their families. You have no idea how desperate everyone was. I saved lives.”

The Ranger sighed. “You’re right. You saved lives, but at what cost? You’re inviting powers into this world you can’t control with mana.”

“How would you know what temporal magic is like?” Aisha scoffed. “That’s high-concept and very new magic, even for me. It’s only because of the war that it started being developed.” She finally turned to face the Ranger again; her calm expression was betrayed by how she gripped her arms at the elbow as if she feared they would snap out at the joint.

The elven woman let the silence linger between them before answering. “I was friends with someone who became obsessed with it. It didn’t end well for either of us.”

“Well, you’re still alive, aren’t you?” the mage shot back. “It can’t be that bad.”

Before Rena could correct her, Aisha teleported out of the room. The door slammed behind her, waking the boy she was treating from his deep slumber. His spiky hair was unevenly cut, pooling around the pillow in a chaotic red sea. With so little light, it almost looked like blood. He seemed to be in a daze, and though he smiled again at her, Rena’s heart sank when she met his half-open crimson gaze. His smile betrayed his sorrowful resignation.

“Mom,” he slurred, “did… Sis leave already?”

The elf lowered her head, still putting her all into her spell. There was a chance he would fall asleep once more soon, and she was counting on it. However, that did not come to pass; instead, the boy straightened up, undoing bit by bit her efforts to repair his torn ligaments.

“Elsword, lay back down. You’re hurting yourself,” She ushered him back with her arm and held him there, even when he looked back at her, terrified, betrayed at her forceful gesture. Yet, he did not fight back. He looked at his destroyed knee, and silent tears began to stream down his face.

“She left because I failed her training, didn’t she?” the boy whimpered as tears gathered around his eyes. “Sis is disappointed in me, and she’s leaving me for good, isn’t she? She won’t come back anymore…”

He repeated that last sentence more quietly before breathing out something along the lines of how he was too weak to deserve a family. Hearing children left behind by war, famine, or sickness grappling with reality stung as much as it did the day she met the Scion. Back then, she had considered remaining trapped with him, if only to run from the tragedy Luther created. 

Rena combed the boy’s messy hair. “That’s not true. You’re very strong and very brave, too. Your sister is proud of you, as am I.”

“Hmmm, can you stay? With Amelie and Elias, too. I would feel safer if you stayed.”

‘Even though Elsword’s far older,’ she thought as she cleaned Elsword’s tears with her fingers. ‘The source of his hurt is the same as the Scion’s.’

“Of course,” she whispered to him, “I’ll stay right here.”

He reached for the sleeve of her cloak and tugged it. “Really? Will Sir Felford, uh, Father… stay, too?”

Felford. Rena struggled not to show her surprise at the mention of that name. However, that explained why Luther feared that Ainchase might harm him. Now that she looked at him more closely, Elsword shared a few similarities with the disgraced Archduke of Velder, namely his eyes.

“Mom,” Elsword called again, “Will Father stay?”

“Of course he will. He’ll come here soon,” the elf reassured him with a soft smile on her lips. “He’s very busy with work, you know? But he’ll come to see you.”

Those words brought a genuine smile to the boy, and he finally fell prey to a deep sleep. Now that she had all her focus on the injury she was treating, Rena assessed the damage. He was healing surprisingly fast, almost like his body was taking in ambient El Energy to speed the healing process. The elf blinked; such a miraculous ability was something only the El Lady was supposed to be born with. Still, he could not regenerate the broken tissue. Whatever replacement she made with mana threads would never be as strong as a healthy knee.

“I should make you a knee brace,” Rena sighed. “You’ll have to wear it for a long time.”

---

Ainchase was looking through the twentieth book on Demonic History, Hexes and Blood Rituals, all written in a language he could understand yet could not identify as any tongue or dialect spoken on Elrios, be it in the past or in the present. He closed it swiftly, and the slamming thud it made echoed in the room, startling Ciel. The Steel Cross threw a glare his way but went back to rest. He had used up all his mana, trying, in vain, to place at least one warding hex.

Luciela did not react to the sound; she stood before Ainchase, behind the biggest desk available. Like a general planning for war, she was using an old case of cartography tools as she scanned over three different maps she had laid on the desk. She measured here and there and took notes on a smaller, yellowed notebook on the corner of the desk with a measured and calm hand.

She acted as if she belonged to this place – as if she owned it. The Celestial sighed, rubbing his eyes as the truth became so evident it was no use denying it; the demoness knew of this place, and perhaps so did he. In fact, she knew far more about him than he knew of her; it was irksome, not only because she was a demon, but because he felt he was relying on her far too much compared to the goddess. He should never trust someone who had, for whatever reason, deceived him.

Yet, without a connection to the goddess, he had come to wonder if Luciela’s lies mattered as much as Ishmael’s. Ainchase could understand why the demoness had denied asking him about a time before Elrios and the Demon Realm were separated, but he could not explain why the goddess would hide the truth from him. The demons had to have an easy passage from their world to Elrios if they could build an entire citadel like this. His questions, however, did not end there.

Ainchase was just as clueless as to why he could read the language of demons, let alone influence some of their spells without trying. Though he could reasonably assume that all his brothers could do the same, that assumption raised more questions only his goddess could answer. She had not allowed him to understand Luciela from the get-go. It was only in Ishmael’s absence that he had unlocked a deep understanding of the demon language and he could not fathom why or how.

All those questions had no place in a Celestial’s mind. He needed to move on and carry out his mission. Ainchase reminded himself to trust Ishmael, but only half-heartedly. He needed a distraction, something to get his mind off these heretical thoughts.

‘It’s been hours, and there are no signs of life, be it Henir’s abominations or those Phorus,’ the green-eyed priest thought as he got up. ‘The elven woman was right; there’s nothing of interest here. We should leave and go South.’

He took some of the books he had brought to put them back on their shelves, and as he passed by the demoness, she called out to him.

“Could you read them?” she asked without turning her attention away from her maps.

He gave a joyless chuckle before venturing down one of the many aisles. “What difference would that make to you?”

“Enough to warrant a talk. Preferably in private.”

Ainchase glanced at her and caught her sitting sideways on the chair, looking back at him. Her icy blue eyes almost looked silver under the lilac and blue flames surrounding them.

“Will it be an honest one?” he asked, still busy placing the last couple of books he carried.

Her heels clacked closer with her every confident stride. She was right next to him when he turned to face her. Though the lighting behind her highlighted her silhouette, her face was hidden in shadows.

“That depends on you,” she said in a muted tone. Her head moved slightly to the side, letting him glimpse her long, curled eyelashes and the silvery contour of her irises. She turned back to face him, hiding her beauty in the dark before she took a soft breath that she released in a barely audible whisper, “ I don’t want to trust the wrong person again, do you understand? ”

He furrowed his brow for an instant, not quite sure of what the demoness was implying nor why she had chosen to speak a language so different from Elrian, be it Old or Modern. It had a far more noticeable lisp, and the vowels were muted as if it were meant to be the language of snakes; in her lips, it sounded like the melody of distant rain. Ainchase could guess she had spoken in her mother tongue, but he could not fathom why he was not repulsed by it. 

“I don’t understand,” the Celestial told her, shaking his head. “Isn’t trusting your natural enemy the same as trusting the wrong person? If that’s why you lied to me about what you told me back then, I — ”

Luciela’s hand grazed his, or rather, she reached for his hand yet dared not grab it. Ainchase looked down at it, and he slid the palm of his hand under hers, surprised by how soft her velvet gloves felt and how slender and long her fingers were. There was, without a doubt, a noble, graceful shape to her hand, befitting of her title. He clasped it, sharing the warmth of his gloved hand with hers, thinking very little of his duty, of what the goddess said, of what was right and wrong.

The warmth of her hand, the shape of her fingers softly interlocked within his, and the closeness they shared in the quiet, dimly lit hall all felt right on some level. They created a quiet sense of longing, one he had never felt before.

“ Have you ever wondered if you were alive, Ainchase? ” the Steel Queen whispered. “ If you were like every other mortal, like me… ”

The Celestial pursed his lips, wondering if he could speak the Language of the Rain just as easily as he could read and understand it when Luciela spoke it. He sighed and finally decided to at least try to. As much as he dreaded speaking in the demon tongue, he did not want Ciel to understand what he was saying.

“Not until…recently,” he muttered, afraid that his more hissing intonation was unnatural to her ears. “That night, in the elven village, after you fell asleep, I started to wonder.” He looked around them and sighed. “And the more this journey has gone on, the louder my doubts get. So, let me ask you again, Luciela, will you be honest with me this time?”

“ It’ll be hard, ” Luciela confessed. Though the shadows still hid her face, Ainchase could hear a sad smile in her voice. She closed the distance between them, resting her head over his shoulder. The scent of ash lingered on her, but not as much as the fragrance of wildflowers. “ It’ll be… very, very hard. ”

Though he should have told himself to stop and demand for her to get off him, Ainchase had already cast aside those thoughts. Part of it was due to curiosity; how far could this strange impulse go? Another part of it was the impulse itself. Wrapping his arms around her felt as natural as taking her hand. The curve of her shoulders, the line of her spine, and those painful scars where two wings should have been… He frowned when his fingers grazed them. His heart felt heavy with guilt. It reminded him of those dreams where he could only watch as hundreds of hands held her down and ripped her wings from her before throwing the unconscious demoness down into burning ruins.

“ It wasn’t your fault, ” the demoness whispered, nuzzling against his neck. “ I told you that much, didn’t I? ”

The library was cold, but perhaps because her warm breath was close to his ears, he felt his cheeks grow warm, too. Still, he needed to know the truth.

“ Yes, but I still can’t believe it. So, just tell me, Luciela: will you be honest this time? ”

---

Luciela stretched in her chair, deciding it would be best for her eyes to stop trying to adjust the old maps based on what she knew about modern Elrios. Ciel was still asleep, but Ainchase was not there.

“Ciel,” she called to her servant, who grumbled as he woke. “Where is he?”

“I thought he was with you,” he yawned. “Pretty sure I heard you two mumbling in the demon language on your way out.”

The Steel Queen’s gaze narrowed. “The two of us? Are you sure?”

“Hey, I know you’re old enough to be in a museum, but you’re not senile, right?”

Luciela rolled her eyes, deciding that trying to pry any information out of him was as easy as having the El Shard materialise before her. She got up and began cleaning up the desk, carefully rolling back the old maps and leaving the notes she had taken aside so the ink could dry.

“Lu,” Ciel called her, “Why bother? You don’t even know where to look.”

“Well, maybe if you were so kind as to tell me where he took off, I would know,” she quipped as she got up.

Her servant yawned, stretching his arms as he leaned back on his chair to put his feet on the table.

“I dunno, and I really don’t care,” he told her, punctuating his lack of concern with an exaggerated shrug before closing his eyes again. “Have you thought that maybe he really wants to kill himself? If you let him, that’s one less problem for both of us.”

The demoness scoffed at his reasoning as she walked down one of the halls. “Of course, but what if he dies like that Lieutenant? We can’t kill him a second time.”

“Fine, you got a point there,” her servant groaned as he finally got up. She heard his feet slam back against the floor and the chair creak under the shifting of his weight. “I’ll go look for the bastard. Happy ?”

“Very much so, young man ,” she replied as the corners of her mouth curved with a hint of wickedness.

She passed row after row of bookshelves and walked close to the walls, looking for something that might be protected by a hex. Though she doubted she could dispel them as easily as Ainchase did, it could give her a clue to his whereabouts.

As she glided her gloved hand over the cold, dusty stone wall, she noticed that one of the stones moved like a button one could push. Luciela stopped and faced the grey brick that she had moved. Ciel was so far away she could not hear his steps, but she could sense he was still in the same room. Taking a deep breath, she pressed on the stone, and a section of the wall rasped as it slid down, revealing a pitch-black hall. She headed down the darkness, squinting to get used to the obscurity, but to no avail.

The hall was cold and smelt of mould and rust. Luciela walked for a few moments before she got in front of another barrier; the stone felt warm under her fingers. She put both of her hands on it, oblivious to the dark runes that appeared beneath her feet.

---

The Iron Citadel, as they called it, was mostly made of stone and wood. The only iron in the Citadel’s infrastructure could be found in the underground passages that linked most buildings to a keep that was still under construction. Luciela was walking down one of those passages, her heels clicking on the metallic floor as her long silver gown fluttered behind her, only weighed down by her wings.

The peacefulness of the Ancestral Land and its bountiful harvests were unlike anything the Steel Queen had known in Serpentium, though she doubted it would last. That was why she had to talk with Zeral. Talented as he was, there was a limit to how much he could do alone to bolster their defences.

Luciela heard one of the hidden doors hiss as it opened, and childish giggles came echoing through before she listened to the two kids hushing themselves to silence as they went down the stairs. First was a white-haired boy with two pairs of horns, one blue and another black. He froze in place when he saw her. His clear, electric blue eyes widened in shock when she crossed her arms at him. He turned back to try to warn his friend, but the black-haired girl with white, goat-like horns was too busy running with a smile on her face that showed her razor-sharp fangs. She knocked both of them to the ground when she leapt towards the boy.

Luckily, she was there to catch them both before they slammed to the ground and maybe knocked some teeth out. The girl looked up; her bright fuschia gaze almost glimmered in the dark, but it still grew wide when she saw who caught her.

“So, you two are sneaking out of class again, aren’t you?” she asked the children as they straightened up, dusted their fine silks, and looked down. It was as if they expected her to behead them right then and there.

Luciela sighed, putting her hands on her hips. “Nilabi,” she called to the girl, who trembled like a leaf before she met her gaze.

Nilabi mouthed a ‘yes, ma’am’ before bowing deeply at Luciela.

“Go back to Madame Corae,” the Steel Queen ordered. “You will tell her what you did and inform her that my son will take all the extra homework she can give him for the month.”

Belegor audibly gulped, but besides a worried glance, his friend did not show him much more sympathy before darting back from where she had come from. Now alone, the Steel Queen eyed her son with annoyance.

“Why did you do it this time?

The young boy gave her a shrug, which only made her frown. “Mind your manners, child. Give me a proper answer, and look at me while you speak.”

“Yes, Mother,” he agreed with a trembling voice. His straight, silky hair fell over his forehead in flat, orderly bangs, making his eyes look all the more vulnerable. Had it not been for the shape of his eyes and the cobalt blue horns that peeked through the curve of his black, ram-like horns, Belegor would have been a perfect miniature copy of his father.

He fidgeted in place for a moment before explaining to her what had pushed him to neglect his studies and drag his friend with him once again.

“I just thought class was boring,” he weakly admitted. “You’ve already taught me to write the hexes Madame Corae showed us in class.” He pursed his lips for a moment and looked away from her before giving her puppy eyes. “Can you be my tutor?”

The Steel Queen sighed. “It’s could you , Belegor,” the demoness reached a hand out for him. “Come with me for a second. I’ll have to think about your request.”

“Of course!” her son beamed, putting his hand in hers. It briefly occurred to her how fortunate she was to have his tiny, warm hand still holding hers, but she dismissed the thought. It brought back memories of nightmares where she watched a Celestial kill him as the Citadel burned to ashes. However terrifyingly real they felt, all of those events were just dreams.

With Belegor in tow, Luciela was now more determined than before to reach her husband. Though Zeral was often a solitary man, he was far more effective than she was in persuading their son to stop clinging to them every day. The earlier he learnt to be independent, the easier she could rest. The Steel Queen did not know how much time she had left; her power was beginning to wane and poison her body.

“Mother?” the young boy called to her, “You’re holding my hand a little too tight…”

“Oh,” Luciela noted, seeing that she was indeed clasping her son’s hand a tad too firmly as they walked. “I’m really sorry. Are you hurt?”

“Nuh-uh,” Belegor shook his head with a small, almost melancholic smile on his lips. “You don’t have to worry about me nor the future, Mother. I’ll protect you this time.”

The Steel Queen furrowed her brow briefly before chuckling at the boy’s innocent yet genuine promise. “You’re a tad too small to protect me, don’t you think?”

“I don’t need to be big! I’m strong!” the blue-eyed boy pouted before Luciela activated the runes leading to the control room, where she was sure she would find Zeral. 

The door slid open with a hiss and, sure enough, there was her husband. The escapee from the Abyss was a tall man – almost abnormally so for an Abyssal demon. Zeral kept dressing in black garbs that gave him a priest-like appearance, even if his strengths lay far closer to those of an executioner. He was hunched over his desk, taking notes with quill and paper as he read over old manuscripts. The pillars of living spells around him were glimmering in a blue and purple light, as they were supposed to. It took a massive amount of power to keep the Citadel hidden, so much so that Zeral had little energy and often fell unconscious while he worked.

Yet, looking at him now, he seemed full of energy. What struck her the most was his hair. Zeral had kept his hair long, reaching down to the middle of his back; how he had trimmed and braided it to the side was far too foreign for her.

‘I’m overthinking this,’ she told herself as she shook her head. ‘It’s just a haircut.’

“Father!” Belegor beamed, taking advantage of her surprise to go running and jump to hug Zeral.

The Abyssal demon barely had the time to set his work aside before extending his arms to catch his son. He said nothing, but she could tell from the light in his eyes and how he combed Belegor’s hair that he was so happy to see him that he did not even question his presence.

“You got a haircut and didn’t tell me?” She teased her husband as she approached.

Zeral, now aware of her presence, put Belegor aside and leaned over his desk with a knowing smirk. “I thought you might like it like this. It’s fluffier now.”

“Is it now?” she questioned, reaching her hand over his head, though Zeral had to bow a little so she could touch his hair. She combed some locks of his hair, and the sensation was so new, yet strangely familiar, that she could almost imagine she had touched his hair like this before.

Luciela smiled. “It really is fluffier…” She removed her hand, and when Zeral raised his head, she leaned in for a short kiss. “And it suits you, dear.”

“Thank you,” he replied with a smile before turning his attention towards their son. “So, let me guess. Someone’s skipping school again.”

Under the scrutinising gaze of his father, Belegor blushed and lowered his head in shame, muttering an apology. Unlike her, Zeral quickly forgave him and told Belegor he was glad to see him early. It was strange for him to act this way, but Luciela shook that thought off. Her beloved had always been like this.

Their life had always been this way, and she dared to hope it would never end.

Chapter 21: The Fire

Ciel was about to head down what he believed to be a trap door when he felt a sting in his chest. The contract mark was prickling at his skin, demonic energy seeping into his body, bit by bit. He could feel his skin crawl as the unnatural energy oozed through his veins, making the darkness around him as bright as a cloudy day. The Steel Cross stopped and bolted down the other way, snapping his head left and right as he looked to get closer to Lu. Alas, he was alone and the sensation did not stop. His brow wrinkled as he continued to feel the Steel Queen’s power course through him.

That was worrisome.

The Steel Cross darted back to where he had put their belongings and searched his bag. Ciel carried some souvenirs from his interrogation victims. Most were useless, but one little trinket had become the exception to the rule: a seemingly broken compass that reacted to the Scourge. It always pointed in the direction where ominous energy was the strongest.

The Steel Cross scrambled through the bag’s contents until he got out a bloodied leather pouch, barely big enough to hold the tiny silver compass. Ciel got the artefact out, passing his thumb over the engraved emblem. The half-demon flicked the compass open and watched the golden arrow at its centre move far more than it had done before. It spun leftwards to about fifty degrees and stabilised. He imbued some of his mana into it, and all the spells around him, whether dormant or active, became visible. Ciel still could not decipher the scrambled mess of lines Lu called runes, but he could feel their aura. All of them were protection spells. However, he sensed traces of another type of spell: beacons; they were little crumbs of El Energy often left by adventurers when they explored a location for the first time.

Whoever had placed those had to be human. He ought to ask the unknown adventurer if they could bring him closer to Lu. Luckily for him, the beacons traced a path in the same direction the compass was pointing.

A cruel smirk lit up his expression as he skulked down the path of beacons. It had been far too long since he had hunted a person down without needing to keep up appearances. As long as he delivered a skull and enough blood to prove whoever had placed the beacons was a heretic, Ciel figured the Ninth Water Guardian would not give him a sermon over how he got the skull and the blood.

Though the indigo-haired man had no guarantee that he would get his hands on a heretic, he only cared about beating the truth out of whoever he would meet. Lu’s safety depended on it. His eyes were peeled, and his ears tuned in to the most minute sound as he advanced down the darkened alleys of books like a beast on the prowl.

The dark reminded him of childhood memories, but he no longer feared it. That fear melted away the moment he first killed a man, a piece of shit who had named him Caelum at birth. The moment that bastard tried to lay a hand on his sister, Caelum attacked him, cutting the right spot on his leg and watching him bleed out. It had been easy, no different than killing a pest, and that was already the boy’s job: slaying the stray cats, rats and the birds who stole their food. It just happened that their father was the first big rat he had killed, and the thrill of the kill never left him. Back in those days, Terre suggested he should become Steel Cross and only kill the “bad rats”. He was turned down because of his age. Still, he found his way into a local mercenary group that paid for his training. He never did officially kill for them, but he gained their respect by completing jobs he snatched away from their laziest members. He even snatched big bounties a few times. When he first saw what 100,000 ED could buy, he understood that money alone determined who the “bad rat” was.

His sister never knew the truth. Terre always prayed for his safety. She blessed him and reminded him to act in the good name of the goddess.  All he needed and wanted was to return home to his sister and be eternally blessed by that beautiful little girl. Lay in her arms, bask in her warmth and never let her go. She swore to never leave him, and yet she broke her promise. That was why he had turned to Lu. Whether she liked it or not, her role was to become Terre.

Ciel reached a dead end, but the compass was still pointing straight ahead. The Steel Cross crouched and put his hands on the ground before closing his eyes. The room was cold, but he could feel a weak air current right where a stone wall was. He got back on his feet and knocked on the wall; it was hollow, as expected. Plus, he could sense another beacon just behind it. All the half-demon had to do was find the right spot to open the hidden door. The blue-haired man slid his hands along the rugged, dusty wall surface until his fingers slightly sank when pushing one stone to his left. The lighting was too poor to help him see which rock it was, but when his eyes could not adjust to the shadows, Ciel began to suspect the darkness was of magic origin. The sigils on the walls could serve more than one purpose, and this magically enhanced darkness only made the quiet, unassuming library all the more sinister.

The stone rattled and ground together before him until a passage was finally open. The weak light of the beacons pierced the unnatural darkness like candlelight, but Ciel could still see a slim, crouching figure ahead, mumbling as if in a trance. The power of the Scourge swirled around her, casting shadows darker than a moonless night and colder than a blizzard. Still, with his weapons at the ready, Ciel felt confident.

The Steel Cross approached, glancing every now and then at the compass as it moved with the flow of the energy the figure was summoning. All he had to do was side-step until he was close enough to knock the person over. From how small their frame was, he assumed it was either a child or a woman. Perhaps it was some teenage girl. It would be an easy target either way. The soles of his feet had stealth runes carved so that no one could ever hear him approach. Ciel had long noticed that nobody could detect demonic energy until it was far too late, so he exuded more and more of it. He would confuse his target, knock them out and start the interrogation. This was only routine.

His target was mumbling in some old dialect, but he could still tell it was Elrian. He was close enough to breathe down the figure’s neck. It was a woman. She slowed down her enchantment. When she paused, he struck her hard with the grip of his pistol, sending her straight to the wall to the left before she fell to the floor, blood dripping fast down her head.

Ciel lost no time and lifted her by the throat before pinning her to the wall like a ragdoll, only to see a familiar purple gaze look back groggily at him as she coughed and spat bloodied spit on his hand. He was not choking her that hard, and yet she acted like she was dying already. Her croaking was unbearable, far too forced to be natural and yet close enough to being real that it reminded him of the worst day of his life.

“Shut the fuck up!” he growled, his blue gaze almost shining with demonic power and the rage he felt for the hooded figure. He let her go for a second, exchanging his grip by simply grabbing her collar with both hands and slamming the woman once more against the stone wall. “I wasn’t squeezing your bitch ass that hard.”

Those last words were low, searing with anger yet calmer than his previous outburst. He ought to remember to put on the usual act. Otherwise, interrogating the woman would take too long.

Her hood slid down, and as she gasped for air, he finally got a good look at her face. Despite the bruises and the blood running down her forehead, he could recognise the girl. That purple hair, tiny frame and those violet eyes were unique.

“Hey,” he grinned at the Sanderian girl, loosening his grip enough to seem apologetic yet not enough to leave her room to escape. “I’m really sorry about this, Aisha, but you scared me. Big time. Wanna tell me whatch’er doing here? Hm?”

“Let me go,” she slurred. “Please.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see her stretching her hand towards him, and though she had perhaps an excuse to have an unfocused gaze, Ciel could see her glance every now and again, just for an instant, to where his holster was. He hated those who wanted to play smart with him. Though granted, he preferred to let them think they had any chance to escape before he crushed them. That was always more satisfactory, especially for women like her, who were far past the age of being cute like Terre.

“Hmm,” Ciel pretended to think about his answer before shaking his head. “Well, I’d love to, but I just caught you acting like a heretic, so I have to treat you like one. Nothing personal. Just answer my questions, and I’ll patch you up real quick.” He gave her a reassuring smile and a wink. “Promise.”

“I don’t know,” the wounded mage wheezed before she coughed and spit out a bloodied tooth. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. You’re hurting me. I’m just a child, so just let me go…”

“Oh, sorry, but I can’t do that.” Ciel chuckled. “A heretic and all their lineage must be purged. Age doesn’t save anyone.” The Steel Cross whipped out his pistol and shot the girl right through her hand before she could grab his holster. She screeched as runes coursed wildly through her face until her disguise was all but gone.

The woman before him, trying to desperately crawl out of his grasp by squirming like a dirty worm, was older than him, but not by much. Her ash-grey hair was glued to her temples by the blood, looking messy but not unclean, otherwise. Her round, emerald eyes only shone because of her tears. Ciel threw her back onto the ground, laying all his weight on her so she could not budge, and placed the barrel of his gun point-blank at her elbow.

“But something that can save you is helping me. So, how about it?” Ciel calmly told the screaming woman as he pushed her head down as if to crush it. She noticed his intent and that he had the strength to do it, so her screams quickly became quiet whimpers. His victim understood fast. He liked how easily she cracked.

“Good,” the Steel Cross cooed. “Now, tell me who you are, or you can kiss your arm goodbye.”

---

Zeral studied the shields’ mana levels. The sensors indicated the same thing at all times: maximum output, operating at its best capacity, no intruders, not even a stray dog. It was ideal, so much so that it was almost troubling.

The door to his workshop slid with a hiss, and, to his surprise, it was Barkat. Though she was technically Ruellia’s second in command, Zeral seldom saw the steel-skinned demoness.

“Why, hello there, King Consort,” the Queen’s confidante greeted him, her tone far more sultry than usual, almost as if she was forcing herself to sound flirty. Her graceful stride and smirk only enhanced that impression.

He stared her down with only the slightest of frowns as she got closer and finally sat on his desk. To say her behaviour was unusual and inappropriate would be an understatement.

“What?” Barkat giggled, still with that perplexing, confident aura miles away from the quiet yet dignified woman his wife trusted almost as much as him. “Am I not good enough to be greeted by His Majesty?”

The moment she reached out to cup his cheek, Zeral conjured a dagger made out of Rau – a careful mix between his demonic energy and the Energy of the Ancestral Land – and cut her hand in one strike. His frown deepened, but even as blood gushed out of her severed limb, Barkat’s reaction was subdued to an extreme. Her eyes widened for a second, and then her regeneration capabilities began working wonders. In an instant, a brand new hand grew where her bloody stump had been. The only thing that drew his attention besides her strange attitude was how fast her pupils dilated, almost like they imitated the lens of a machine.

“Aw, you are still no fun, huh?” the crimson-eyed demoness sighed as she got off his desk. “If you asked me, it won’t do you any good to remain so hopelessly loyal to a single, dying wife.”

“I have no interest in you, Barkat,” he shot back. “Never have, never will.”

Barkat gave him a knowing smile before she leaned over his now bloodied desk, perhaps in an attempt to show her cleavage, though even in that regard, she was lacking compared to his wife. “Oh, if I were you, I wouldn’t say things like that so solemnly. I did you two a huge favour, so it’s only natural you ought to pay me back, wouldn’t you agree?” the grey-skinned woman tried to get close to him again, but he formed a spear to remind her to keep her distance. The gesture only made her grin even more.

“I’ll have you know that this little hidden paradise, this ideal, is only possible thanks to me.” She combed her hair behind her stubby, pointy ears and chuckled. “If marrying me is out of the question, you should still consider making me a member of your native clan. Perhaps through adoption, if you wish. Or anything the Old Sage will recognise as a legitimate union in the Abyss.”

It had been far too long since he had heard the title of the Head Priestess from the lips of anyone other than an Abyssal demon. Barkat was serious about her ridiculous proposal.

His mild annoyance morphed into confusion. “Why would you want to be part of the Abyss?”

“Because,” Barkat intoned as she ran her finger down the point of his spear, threading the blade’s edge down to the socket. “I need the power to make Ishmael pay for all she did to us. Don’t you want the same?”

Although he now knew what she was seeking, no outsiders should have known its existence. Though he may have renounced his position as an Old Sage, Zeral would never let an outsider get her hands on it.

Zeral rolled his eyes at her. “Listen, there’s nothing in the Abyss strong enough to kill a god. What fool told you otherwise?” Barkat did not answer, her expression unchanged. The silver-haired demon sighed, shaking his head at her. “We already have our land back. Can’t you be content with that?”

“No. Why would you be? Is it because you already accepted you’re worthless without Luciela?”

“Barkat,” Zeral huffed, “Can you remind me who was the one to grovel at our feet after I beheaded Bifron and his loyalists?” Her smile finally faltered, and a smirk lit up his face. “I think she was the very same person who licked the blood off our boots the second I asked.”

“Times have changed, Zeral. You and Luciela owe me everything now,” the demoness replied with a knowing grin. “Do you wish to know why?”

The door to the workshop opened with a hiss again, revealing his son, who was glaring at Barkat with such intensity that her grin vanished. The fire that burned within his gaze was unnatural, and the aura emanating from his tiny body was chilling and foreign, almost as if it were the embodiment of death itself.

“The rules also apply to you, Barkat,” the boy growled, his sclera growing red as his veins began to turn blue. Patches of skin turned a deep, raw red. Blisters grew over his arms and face, deforming the child’s body. Yet, his power was growing, stretching like a shadow until it covered the walls in a liquid darkness. “Get out.”

Barkat curtsied at him before vanishing into the shadow Belegor had summoned. “As you wish, young master Taris.”

Once she was gone, the shadow retreated, and the petrifying might that had come out of his son’s body vanished without a trace. Zeral exhaled, only realising then that he had been holding his breath. His mind was blank, but he could not stop staring at his son, the frail, short-haired little boy who had both the horns of his mother and his father crowning his head. Belegor was a sweet child, still far too young to display such monstrous strength. Too young to have such deep burns appear so suddenly all over his body. Yet, the horrific sight was not unfamiliar to him.

Zeral clasped his hands together and felt the rough touch of bandages. He had burnt his hands not too long ago, too. The fire that had burnt him was the same that consumed his son on that fateful night. Barkat’s words began to ring true in his mind.

This entire time, he was only living in a dream, a paradise that was never meant to be—a haven he had no right to be in if only justice truly existed in this world.

“Dad, Do you—?” Belegor blurted out before his gaze sank to his feet. All that malicious energy vanished, and his skin and eyes returned to how they were supposed to look. The boy’s shoulders began to shake under the weight of sobs. “I’m sorry. She told me she could bring you back to me. That’s all I wanted.”

“I… get that, but you know—” Zeral bit his tongue. The words he had thought of would do nothing but hurt him even more. He had already betrayed him in life; he would not do so in death.

The silver-haired man still struggled to gather his thoughts. Though it was now clear to him that he was trapped in some kind of illusion, the fact that Barkat had dared to show her face again and be so bold as to ask for an alliance boggled the mind. Then there was the power Belegor had displayed and the name Barkat had said. Taris. That was the name of Bifron’s eldest son, who had ordered Luciela’s clan to scar her neck. That had to be some kind of cruel joke made to make his wife act without thinking. It could be a trap of some sort.

Even if too many thoughts were racing through his head to make heads or tails about them all, Zeral had only one clear duty as a father. He got up from his desk, walked towards his crying son, crouched when he was right before him, and, without a word, took Belegor in his embrace.

Feeling his warmth brought memories of the night when a fire consumed it all, even his tiny body. Skin peeled off him as the boy died. It was such a terrifying sight that it briefly broke the spell Ishmael had put Zeral under.

That was the first time he remembered that his name was not Ainchase. Ishmael bound his soul even more after that. Her soldiers could not dare defy her, and yet… Zeral was doing so a second time.

Perhaps the goddess had grown weak. Weak enough for Barkat to wish to give the final blow. Part of him wanted to agree to help her right away, but a crusade of such magnitude would take far too long. The look in Barkat’s eyes told him enough; she would find a way to kill the goddess no matter what. He should try to stop her, even if that were another betrayal to demonkind.

Despite her ruthlessness against demons, Ishmael’s existence was essential to Elrios. He could not aid anyone to condemn thousands, or perhaps millions of fathers, to watch their children die the way he had, nor see their villages collapse into nothingness.

His heart grew heavier when Belegor returned his embrace. Zeral closed his eyes. “I should be the one apologizing.”

When he opened them again, Zeral saw who he really was: he dressed in clothes the old priests of the Elrian Kingdom would wear, though his were torn at places and bloodied at others. He lacked every mark of a demon except for remnants of his old powers.

Though he knew this was all an illusion, every sense told Zeral otherwise. He wanted to stop Barkat, but his resolve to leave his son again was eroding fast. In death, he could perhaps atone for the bloodbath he caused.

---

Ciel sighed as he kept his prisoner’s head down with his feet. He was drenched in her blood, and even after trying everything to kill her, she was just like Lowe; the killing blow would always come undone through time magic.

“This sucks,” he mumbled to himself as he rocked her head left and right as if it were a ball. Her wheezes and groans had become background noise for him. “She won’t take me to Lu, and she won’t die either…”

As he was about to give up, a cold, sharp wind whooshed into the room, coming from behind him. Ciel turned around and saw a portal opening behind him. It looked like a mirror made of obsidian, where blue light swirled into a spiral. From there, a demoness he had vaguely seen in Lu’s memories stepped out. Her crimson gaze and her smile made him respond in kind. She was like him; he could tell from how her eyes never truly shone and how her smile bordered on cruelty.

“Are you that human serving Luciela now?” the demoness asked, tilting her head ever so slightly, glancing down at the bloodied woman he had at his mercy. She had told him exactly who this demon woman was, the extent of her power and that the portal would guide him to Lu. This was his chance.

Ciel dug his heel even harder into the grey-haired woman’s head, making her yelp in pain again as he caved a new hole in her skull. “Maybe. You’re Barkat, aren’t you?”

“That’s right,” she answered before appearing behind him in the blink of an eye. Ciel saw the edge of her claws, and he leapt away in the nick of time. Her fist slammed into the wall, fracturing it where her fist had landed. “I don’t appreciate others playing with my toys. Even sturdy ones like her.” She glared down at her subordinate. “You ought to get up and run.”

Though her every limb trembled, the woman obeyed Barkat’s orders and limped away. Ciel put his hand on his holster to shoot her again, but Barkat forced him to dodge yet another one of her terrifying fists.

“You got good reflexes for a half-breed,” she complimented him with a grin brimming with mockery. “I don’t think you and I should be enemies, so let me show you a piece of my goodwill.”

Ciel chuckled. “If it’s not the secret behind the portal you just came out of, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Oh, well, you’re in luck. That was precisely what I wished to offer you.”

---

Activating the portal was far too easy. It was so easy, in fact, that Ciel wondered why every priest acted as if heretical magic was dangerous, unstable or even too difficult to handle. The moment he stepped through the liquid darkness, he felt as powerful as ever; every stride took him closer to Lu, yet it also felt as if the threads of time were winding backwards while he advanced. When the Steel Cross closed his eyes, Ciel could even glimpse events he assumed happened a few years ago. The half-demon caught glimpses of a copper-haired noble talking with Rena and a girl who looked like Elsword following a blonde boy her age and a red-haired knight captain through the forest. Then, he saw demons.

First, the demons attacked the knight captain, and, to his surprise, both the girl and the boy knew how to hold their ground. The scene faded in a flash. While the demons remained, the ones fighting them were a handful of elves, the copper-haired man and his troops. Their uniforms were unlike anything Ciel had seen before. They had strange, padded armour. Every soldier carried artillery that could fire concentrated rays of mana to obliterate their target in the blink of an eye. Every soldier was a marksman, and the closest thing to cavalry were men mounted on floating iron golems that somewhat looked like bicycles.

Light enveloped the Steel Cross, so he closed his eyes while advancing. The sounds and warmth of a summer night returned. The crickets chirped all around, and, for the first time in months, he could smell the forest’s earthy yet faintly floral perfume. He could also smell smoke and the scent of a meal. When the Steel Cross opened his eyes, he found himself in a garden.  Behind him was a home; the stone-paved street ahead of him had even more homes to the left and right. He could see taller buildings in the distance, if only from the light of flames that lit up their windows.

Given how every home was plunged into darkness, he assumed most households slept. Ciel sighed before stretching his arms. He could feel the weight of his arsenal on his back. Before Barkat had opened the portal for him, he figured he might as well take everything in case things turned sour. This village was not Ruben; it was far too advanced and too big for that. His best shot at taking Lu back was to distract the guards, so they all came out of the city’s centre. Ciel had never been a betting man, but he figured his precious replacement sister was being held captive in one of the buildings he had seen in the distance. That had to be the Lord’s castle and, of course, the dungeons. Lu would be there for sure.

The blue-eyed half-demon whistled a calm tune as he took out two fire orbs. He turned around to see the structure of the home. While it had some stone, it did not look thick enough to pose a problem.

‘Eh,’ Ciel thought with a shrug, ‘I’ll aim for the window just to be sure.’

---

The smell of smoke jolted Zeral awake. It was distant but far too strong to be coming from a bonfire. He swung his legs out of bed and ran to the half-open window.

As he pushed the curtains away, he heard Ruellia stir in bed, still groggy.

“Hmm, what’s wrong, dear? Come back to bed.”

In the distance, a pillar of smoke rose from the red glimmer of an inferno. There were no Celestials, at least none that he could see, but the attack had begun the same way it had started on that night. Yet, since this world was an illusion, Zeral figured he could use his current strength and powers to deal with whatever or whoever was responsible for the fire.

“The outskirts are on fire,” he informed her, his voice tense with urgency. “Get dressed, wake up Belegor and run. I’ll deal with this.”

“What?” She sounded fully awake now. Her voice carried a tinge of worry. “No, I can’t just run away when my people suffer.”

“It might be Celestials.”

He looked over his shoulder to see her visibly pause. She clenched her hands into tight fists but quickly shook her head. “All the more reason we should be facing it together. I’ll tell Barkat to organise the escape. All those who can’t fight will be safe in the crypt.”

Zeral’s eyes narrowed as she hurriedly rushed to her closet to get a gambeson to put on. “Do you think you can keep trusting her?”

She glanced at him, her brow furrowed with confusion. Zeral sighed. “Nevermind. I’ll go look for her, and we’ll organise the evacuation.”

“Thank you, Zeral.”

Seeing her smile and calling his name, the real one, awakened a rueful realisation: Ru could never call him Zeral outside this little dream world under Henir’s control. His real name was turned into a curse under Ishmael’s hands.

Chapter 22: A glimpse at Lost Time

Summary:

Small collection of deleted scenes that would have taken place between chapters 7 and 9

Notes:

April fools!

Solar and I had originally planned to make a silly kind of upload with three 4-panel comics that, while kind of canon, were basically parody. The issue was that...well, neither of us had time to actually finish them. But I could not let April 1st go by without making my silly little upload, so, I decided to take some drabbles I wrote that didn't make it into the actual canon chapters because they were mostly self-indulgent fluff and post them as the April Fools chapter instead.

So, here you go. A little fluffy, self-indulgent break for all of you. Hope you enjoy!

Ainchase had expected that his duel against the demoness would be a topic of discussion among the men in the base, but he had not expected to be an impromptu instructor. The Celestial glanced at the Captain, who had the gall to present him as Lowe’s replacement. It seemed the Lieutenant had some urgent matters to attend to and had forgotten to nominate someone to replace him for the morning drills.

“Alright, priest,” Banthus called him with a strong pat on the shoulder that could have counted as a slap given the man’s nigh supernatural strength. “Take it away. Teach this lot what you know of projection magic.”

There were several problems with that expectation, namely that no mortal, besides perhaps some elves and the El Lady herself, could wield raw El Energy as if it were mere mana. The other glaring issue was that Ainchase had never tried to use mana as the catalyst for his spells, but the stares of the eighty or so recruits were expecting, nay, demanding an answer.

And then, at the very back, there she was: the demoness sitting under the shade of a tree and eating berries from a wooden bowl as if she found the situation incredibly amusing. He would not give her the amusement she was so eager to have at his expense.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Ainchase began after clearing his throat. “I am honoured to be your instructor, but I must admit that I am not familiar with the catalysts you use for your spells. Would anyone mind enlightening me on the matter?”

A woman with green hair and grey eyes stepped forward and unsheathed her bastard sword. “We use our weapons. The Moonstone alloy they’re made with has enough El to help us gather mana.”

Moonstone. Though he had to suppress a grimace at such boorish use of the materials that had once been reserved for the highest members of the Church of the El, Ainchase could understand the logic behind it. It would perhaps not be impossible for him to handle it.

“Okay,” Ainchase clapped once. “Does everyone have such weapons for training?”

The silence and glances some of the recruits gave each other was a resounding no. Well, no matter. Now that he knew that Moonstone was the catalyst, he could cast an enhancement that could replicate the effect of the mineral on the crate of wooden weapons Banthus had left to his right.

He crouched in front of it and began casting the spell. Only a few minutes ticked by before every weapon in the crate had a blue shine around it.

“Alright then,” the priest sighed. “Whoever needs a suitable weapon to train with, you can grab them from the crate over here,” he informed the crowd of soldiers as he gestured towards the weapons. “The enchantment I cast on it should give you the same effect as Moonstone.”

The woman who had stepped forth squinted at him, and the eyes of most other members were glued to what she would do. It was clear that she was a leader in the El Search Party; perhaps she would be the drill instructor for the afternoon. She sheathed her weapon and grabbed a greatsword from the pile. Her eyes widened in surprise.

“What kind of spell was that?” She asked him, flashing a smile at him. “Care to teach it to me?”

Ainchase chuckled. “I could, though I’m afraid you would need a pure Elrian lineage to attempt it.”

“Daw, what a shame,” She whined, though it almost sounded as if in jest. “’Cause this is at least twice as good as the low-grade weapons we got.”

“Is that so?” the priest asked, though his polite smile hid his worry. “I’m glad to hear that my spell is that good. Then, let’s get started, everyone.”

---

Ainchase preferred to spend his afternoons in complete solitude. His body did not feel hunger or any of the weaknesses of mortal bodies, so, at lunch, he only accepted a piece of bread, some fruit, and water and wandered off to the shores of Lake Noahz to share most of the food with the local fauna. The summer breeze, the calm lapping of the water against the stony shores, and the chirping of cicadas eased his mind.

After the drill, He talked with the Captain about the base’s lack of equipment and combat readiness. Though he approached the matter with tact, Banthus Evans waved all formalities off and proved to be quite open with him. The Church was simply spread too thin now to keep up with the requests for equipment upgrades of what they perceived as a “safe zone”. The same could be said of the Kingdom of Velder, which was still consolidating its territorial gains over Ereda Island and the city-state of Resiam.

‘And yet, this could be the least safe zone of all,’ Ainchase thought as he watched a flock of ducks peck at the small pieces of rye bread he left for them. ‘Surely they must change that idiotic stance once word of Berthe’s attack reaches them.’

A branch cracked behind him, and he turned around, only to see the expected yet unwelcomed disruption to his peaceful time.

“Weren’t you told to keep your child-like appearance at all times?” He huffed towards the demoness before turning back towards the peaceful lake.

“The Captain doesn’t really care,” she said before sitting beside him. “And besides, how was I supposed to give a good lesson if I were in my weakened form?”

The revelation made him stare at her in utter disbelief.

“What?” she asked with a smug smile. “Surprised?”

Ainchase sighed, shaking his head, “Such heresy. If it were up to me, I would have that Captain hanged.”

His remark made the demoness laugh. “Well, let me tell you, with that attitude, you would have to hang more than three-quarters of Elrios.”

“I have more than enough time to do so once my mission is complete.”

“Are you certain that your goddess would like you going on that sort of rampage against humans?”

He did not answer, though he pondered her question. If he went culling the sinners and heretics all over Elrios, he would involve himself too much in human matters, would he not?

It was strange to see that the demoness had a point, but that made him wonder if she showed genuine concern for humanity. “Would you care if she did, demoness?”

The demoness looked at him, her tail curled like a calm snake behind her, and while her smile vanished, her calm did not. “Yes. I would have to worry about my useless servant being on your murder list.”

He scoffed, “I knew it. You couldn’t be truly worried for humanity. It’s all selfishness.”

“There was a time I wasn’t this selfish,” she replied before she stretched her arms and yawned. “But your goddess didn’t seem to care whether I respected the rules she set for me. She came to slaughter my people all the same.”

The look in her icy blue eyes hinted at her earnestness, but he ought to not fall for such superfluous trickery. She did not fail to pick up on his hesitation.

“I have enough enemies to deal with to even bother scheming against you,” she told him with the same earnest look that made him want to believe in her. “Besides, we both know how that whole story goes, do we not? Demons never win.”

“I know that,” he conceded, “but I cannot believe such tall tales. The goddess is merciful and just.”

“She might be,” she mused before lying on the grass and closing her eyes. “Though certainly not with demons. I’m surprised you’re this pleasant to be around with, all things considered.”

Ainchase was taken aback by the strange, undeserved and confusing compliment that had come out of her mouth.

“I’m just choosing to ignore you,” he grumbled before looking back at the nature around them. “I could end you at any moment.”

To his surprise, the only answer was a soft, steady breathing. He looked at the demoness; sure enough, she had fallen asleep. It was baffling to see her be so trusting, yet, as much as it pained him to admit so, it was beneath all morals to stab his enemy in their sleep. Even if it was a demon.

Ainchase took off his coat and placed it over her. For a second, it seemed to him that she smiled, but he chalked it off as a mere illusion.

“You better repay me the same kindness if I fall asleep next to you,” he murmured, knowing full well that such a thing would never happen.

---

Aisha had, to her dismay, grown used to a routine that brought shame to her pride as a Landar. She should have brought riches and honour to her clan by studying obscure grimoires, braving all sorts of dangers in a Landar’s perpetual quest for lost knowledge, developing new glyphs, rituals and potions…yet here she was, in the middle of nowhere, picking the most basic, boring and overly-studied medicinal herbs in the entire continent. Aisha should have been using her talents to bring knowledge to the world, not doing the menial tasks of every healer novice. She sucked at healing magic anyhow. It was the one thing for which she had not even an ounce of talent. Part of her wanted to believe that maybe she would learn a few things about healing magic the hard way if she kept working like this.

That was one of the reasons why she swallowed her pride. Although truth be told, the other reason weighed more heavily on her conscience.

Wyll, still healing from his injuries, was picking herbs beside her while Ciel was watching over them both a few paces away. The Steel Cross’ nonchalant steps and occasional yawns made the young mage think he would fall asleep at any moment.

“We’ll be done here soon,” the blond knight muttered as he picked a handful of Ruve Herbs that were so dry that they would only serve to feed cattle. “Don’t be so angry.”

To her shock, he inspected them and put them in his basket without much thought.

“Wyll, those Ruve Herbs…” she said, perplexed, her eyes wide as he took even more useless herbs and shoved them down without a second thought.

“Yeah, I know,” He shrugged. “They’re already dry, so I figured the healers would have an easier time making potions with them.”

His honesty could have been endearing if the situation back in the Healing Ward had not been so desperate.

“That’s not how it works!” Aisha exclaimed before taking some dry Ruve Herbs from the root on the patch of wilderness. It took some digging, and the nail on her index split at the tip, but she managed to dig it up in full with some effort. As expected, some white, parasitic worms were clinging and eating away at the plant’s roots. “Here, look.” She showed him the infected herb, and he grimaced with disgust at the sight of the squirming worms. “They’re dry because these guys have been eating away their nutrients. The first thing they lose is their medicinal properties; some can even lay their eggs on the leaves. The worms don’t do anything to cattle, but they can lead to nasty infections in infants…and probably adults, and kids, too.”

Wyll looked at his basket in disgust and let out a long, defeated sigh. “I…guess we still have a long way to go. I’m sorry.”

He was about to empty his basket on the ground, but Aisha put her hand over it. “Wait! Don’t!”

The blonde tilted his head at her, which left her the time to explain. “I overheard some knights say that the food for the base’s horses is low. You can bring this to them.”

“We haven’t used the horses for anything in years,” he countered, but she still had to stop him from throwing away his work.

“That doesn’t mean they’re useless,” Aisha countered. “Look, maybe we will have to send some of the injured to get treated in Elder, so, you know…”

Wyll chuckled, though his laughter held no joy in it; he accepted her argument and continued picking dry Ruve Herbs. “The Lord of Elder wouldn’t like us around for long, but… why are you so keen to not have me throw away my work? It’s useless, so I wouldn’t mind starting over.”

Aisha licked her lips and looked down at the dirty herb she had picked up. “Because… because I don’t think it’s the right thing to do.” Her voice was low, almost a whisper. She took the worms off the roots she had unearthed and cleaned the plant from the dirt the best she could. “It’s not because the herbs you picked can’t be used for potions that they’re useless.”

She put the dry herb she had picked in his basket before looking at him. “A, uh, cousin of mine wasn’t any good for the tasks the family wanted him to be good at, but he is a genius healer,” Aisha looked down at the basket of dry Ruve Herbs and sighed. “He tried to impress me by trying to teach me things he had learnt as a healer, and…well, now that I’m here, I’ve come to regret laughing at him and never taking his knowledge too seriously. It must’ve hurt him. He probably won’t ever speak to me again.”

“Is he older than you are, Aisha?” Wyll said as he picked up a healthy Ruve Herb. She nodded, and he continued examining the plant to make sure it was perfect. “Then, I believe he can forgive you,”  the blond set the herb in her basket and offered her a kind smile. “You’re putting what he taught you into good use, you know?”

Rena had donned a disguise to walk among the merchant alley in Elder. Though she had not set foot in any human towns in aeons, she remembered that most had never seen an elf before or were very wary of them. Only the Archduke of Velder was more open-minded. Still, given what he had done, the Ranger imagined that any acceptance human societies may have had towards elven people would have long since dried up.

---

The colourful stands of the city of Elder were as busy as the biggest markets of Velder had been back in its golden age. The rich and their servants, thieves, beggars, guards, bards, and children shifted around the giant plaza, with a statue of the Lord of Elder in its centre. Numerous merchant stands spread around corridors that crowds could shift in and out of.

She had no money for the thieves or merchants who hollered their offers at her and countless others. She was here to gather whispers from the taverns, travellers, and adventurers. The elven woman expected to hear something from the guards, but nobody had even heard that Ruben had fallen victim to a demon attack. It was odd, though she had a hard time believing any human would have an interest in keeping such dire affairs quiet for long.

Rena made her way out of the plaza and into the Adventurer’s tavern, only to find an entire squadron of knights staring her down when she pushed the door open. They all wore the same uniform, and their distrustful stares were a sign that she was not welcome.

“I’m sorry,” she said with an uneasy chuckle, “I hope you guys have a good time!”

“Wait,” a young red-haired woman whose mane was turning as white as her clothes called out to her.

The elven woman froze in place but still tried to seem calm and smiled at the young woman. “Yes?”

“You can come on in,” the red-haired woman said with a confident smile and a gesture with her hand to accentuate her words. “None of my men have seen an elf, and I’d rather have them know your customs before we make fools of ourselves in Ruben.”

She was shocked that someone had so easily seen through her disguise, but the woman had an aura different from most other humans. Perhaps she was attuned to the El like a high priestess, yet a priestess would not be the commander of a knight company.

“You’re travelling to Ruben?” she asked as she walked in, undoing the spell she had used to mask her pointy ears before sitting down. “What for?”

“Demons, what else?” the knight captain smirked before walking up to her and offering her hand. “My name’s Elesis. Elesis Sieghardt. What’s yours?”

It took Rena a second to remind herself that handshakes were a friendly gesture for humans and not a challenge to a duel like it was for elves. She shook Elesis’s hand and told her her name.

“Oh, so you’re the Ranger the ol’ Cap mentioned,” Elesis noted. “Good. So, tell me, how bad is it out there?”

An older, tan knight to her right cleared his throat, “Captain, need I remind you that we cannot act without the King’s permission?”

“Ruben’s where my kid brother is, and I won’t let him try to fight his way against demons,” she turned towards her fellow knights. “You guys also have families there, don’t you? Who’s the king to say whether we can protect them or not?”

Though there was a murmur of agreement among the knights, the tan knight with golden eyes did not budge. “You’re not just a knight captain anymore, Elesis.” His gaze briefly drifted towards the woman’s weapon, and Rena also turned her attention to it.

She could hardly contain her shock when she saw the claymore at her hips. “Uhm,” the elven began before clearing her throat, “I think your subordinate is right. Going to Ruben is not a good idea for you.”

Though she frowned at first, Elesis did not fail to notice where Rena’s peridot gaze had been set only moments before. “It’s been months, maybe years since I’ve been this lucid, Rena. It may be the last time I even remember he exists and what he means to me,” the young woman said, her voice tense with a muted anguish that could have paraded as anger. She clicked her tongue. “What could possibly deny me the right to tell my brother I love him one last time?”

Rena paused. The Archduke of Velder had told her what the El Lady sacrificed in exchange for her powers in passing, though the elf had never seen the Holy Maiden in person. It was unjust for the women chosen as Ishmael’s vessels, but it was a necessary sacrifice.

“There’s the remnants of an old god in the forests,” the Ranger confessed. “I don’t know if you still know of Henir, but…” she looked down and clasped her hands together before facing Elesis and her men again. Everyone but the captain herself seemed to be confused by the name. “It would be very dangerous for an El Lady to step into that land without at least three El Masters.”

“El Masters?” Elesis echoed with confusion before chuckling, “How long has it been since you’ve been in human cities, Rena?”

“A while,” the elf forced a smile. “You won’t hold that against me, right?”

“Of course not,” the captain lifted her wooden cup. “Us women, we stay young and beautiful forever. Care to join us? The mead and cheese are delicious.”

The Ranger accepted, knowing this would be a chance to learn more about the outside world. Even if Elder Branwen maintained an isolationist stance towards outsiders, Rena figured that she and the rest of the Elders would have to change their minds sooner rather than later.

Chapter 23: Kiss me Goodbye

Barkat looked at the ring the masked man had placed on the table before her. Though dusty and corroded by time, the power within it was undeniable. Within the quiet, dark ruins of the Citadel, the ring shimmered like gold under a midday sun. Its power whispered to her as it did for anyone who gazed upon it.

“So, is this the Ring of Mimir?” she asked casually. “I must admit, Hennon, it looks quite ordinary.”

The masked man, his right arm corroded by Henir’s power, uncovered his face, revealing his ashen skin and steel-grey hair. His eyes, a deep blue with pale, near-white irises, resembled those of a Celestial.

Hennon smirked. “Try putting it on then.”

“Why would you wish for me to lose my power?” She tilted her head at his suggestion. “I remember you begging me to use the Grand Scheme as I saw fit to achieve our goals.” The demoness savoured how his body tensed and the murderous intent in his piercing gaze. “How would I do that if I put the Ring of Mimir on, I wonder?”

Hennon swung his cape open, revealing his left arm, his only visible weapon. It was a mesh of corroded flesh and slick metal that looked like a shield and sword fused together. The pointed edge of the weapon charged itself with Henir energy, and she materialised the grimoire of the Grand Scheme before her. As expected, Hennon halted his attack and lowered his weapon.

“You crazy demon bitch,” he grumbled, his gaze narrowed at her, putting his cloak back on to hide his deformity. Despite all the power she had helped him gain, he was ashamed of the toll it took on his body. “You shouldn’t wave that thing around so carelessly.”

“Aw.” She giggled. “But you are so adorable when you get flustered.”

Hennon scoffed at her. “Yeah, right. Hurry up and get the transfer over with. We have to save Owen Felford and his son now.”

The grey-skinned demoness opened the grimoire and set the ring over one of the many hexes carved within its lustrous, quasi-ethereal pages. “Do we?” She sighed before biting the tip of her finger to draw blood. The second a drop of blood hit the page, the pages shone like a red moon. “One wrong word, one miscalculation on our part, and Owen Felford could burn the Grand Scheme once and for all.”

“The Felfords are hated by everyone, even themselves!” Hennon roared, slamming his fist on the table. “All we have to do is give them freedom and power. He won’t even think of betrayal. We need his son in case we need a spare. He’s young enough; moulding him won’t be hard.”

“You have a point for Elias,” she conceded, “but he’s barely awakened his power. Owen has everything he could ever want, and he seems to be a cunning man. Would you trust him not to betray us?”

The energy that swirled like rapids through Hennon’s veins grew so strong it could almost form a gale under his feet. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve kept an eye on everyone Luciela has met here,” Barkat smiled at Hennon’s confusion disguised as distrust. No matter how much that boy wanted to pretend he kept his guard up with her, she knew he trusted her more than anyone else, as all good pawns do. “The fragment under your care rebelled, you know? He was supposed to abandon Elria’s offering to die off in the wilderness, yet he gave it to Owen.”

She sighed, suppressing her glee at Hennon’s shock. Instead of mockery, Barkat gave him a motherly smile and got up to wrap her arm around his shoulders. “I summoned the Grand Scheme to deal with such wild, unexpected scenarios, and I found the perfect solution: death.”

Hennon pushed her away, his shock now transformed into fury. “Are you insane?! We can’t kill the fragment that was offered to Elria! And the Felfords—!”

“You sure are quick to panic.” The demoness pouted. “Is Owen still the best candidate?” She waited until her puppy nodded and continued with a calm tone. “Good. We will get Adam to order the Black Crow to kill Owen’s family.” She looked back at the grimoire she had left on the table. Belegor’s soul was being dragged into the ring, as expected. The little dream he had woven for his parents would crumble any time now. The thought made her giggle. “Then, all we’ll have to do is offer him revenge. Owen will not refuse. As for the fragment offered to Elria…”

She took the grimoire and set a piece of Dark El near the ring. The boy’s soul would flow into it bit by bit.

“Yeah? What do we do with the boy?”

Barkat looked back at Hennon with a wicked grin. “She only wants an unblemished soul. I’ve done a few things to wear him down, but it’s not enough. However, it would astound me if he remained unblemished after meeting the Felfords’ killer. I could arrange a few things to ensure he knows the full extent of what happened to his so-called siblings and mother.”

At long last, a spark of malice was back in Hennon’s gaze. He was determined to follow her plans without questioning her. “I’ll take care of it. What about that Celestial?”

A giggle bubbled from the demoness’ lips. “Oh, well, if Owen proves useless, Ainchase will be a wonderful replacement.”

“You still hate his guts, huh?” her human puppy said before laughing. “A Celestial becoming the Herald of the End… I like the sound of that!”

“I’m not doing it out of hatred,” Barkat replied, closing her eyes. “Ever since Friedrich gifted me this immortal body, all I’ve wished for is to bring Henir into this world, as the Grand Scheme demands.”

---

Luciela could not find Barkat anywhere, and, to add to her worries, her son was feverish and weak, and his breathing growing shallower by the minute. Zeral was following right behind her. Barkat had to be in Eastwind Library, perhaps taking care of some wounded or guiding the elderly down to the keep. Luciela kicked down the door to Eastwind Library, and she froze at the sight.

A human whose heart was fused with a demon’s power – an abomination that went against all natural laws – stood atop a pile of dismembered demons. Guards, women, children… that man had not discriminated on whose faces to riddle with holes, whose guts to spill on the floor and whose corpses to maim posthumously.

‘Huh?’ The abomination tilted his head. ‘What the fuck? Why am I back here?’

He turned towards her and looked down at her. His eyes had the same cross-shaped pupils as hers. His power… it was hers. Luciela could feel a fraction of her soul trapped within the monster. To her disgust, she noticed that her soul held a part of him.

She had made a Soul Pact with that monster.

The monster dared smile at her and walk down the massacre with open arms as if she were an old friend. No. That man did not think of her as a friend. Unveiling the true intent behind his friendliness made her squirm. Why would she ever form a pact with such a vile worm? Had she gone mad?

“Lu, there you are!” the monster exclaimed in a language so foreign to her ears she wondered why she understood it so well. The killer was all smiles until he looked at Zeral and Belegor. His smile died, and his eyes became as cold and empty as hers had been during Bifron’s reign. “Why are you surrounded by rats?”

He summoned a set of gunblades, and before he could fire the first shot, a flash of light, cold as winter and menacing like death, cut through the arms of the half-demon as if they were paper. The blue-haired killer stood there, frozen with shock. His flesh was seared where the light had cut it, and Luciela did not have to turn around to know why the abomination had made a sound.

A void that warped all light around itself had been given human form. It was a silent shadow whose presence could burn a demon to ash if it wished. Luciela trembled. She held her dying boy closer and closed her eyes. Death itself, the cruel executors in Ishmael’s service, had manifested before them. A warrior of Ishmael was standing right behind her where Zeral should have been. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she feared that the warrior had killed her beloved. A demon’s worst nightmare made a step forward, his heels echoing through the tense silence as he advanced.

Black robes turning neon blue, short, silver hair that grew pale until it was as white as marble, horns vanishing from his head, morphing into a crystal-like halo that floated on the back of his head… Zeral’s body had been deformed beyond salvation by Ishmael’s power. Luciela’s tears stopped. Her heart sank.

“Rejoice, Ciel,” the Celestial, whose voice was a wicked distortion of Zeral’s voice, announced, his arms open as the half-demons had been. The bloodied bastard sword he held in his right hand dripped human blood on the ground. “This is the only realm where no wound may bring about your end.” He dropped his arms down and clenched his sword even tighter. “Not even wounds made by my hand.”

A burst of light blinded her, but Luciela no longer had her wings to protect her. Belegor stirred in her arms and screamed. Luciela looked down and saw his skin rapidly gangrenising and his blood vessels glowing blue. It was a sickness she had never seen before. Belegor’s limbs were twisting into a beastly shape, and his voice grew distorted. Even so, he looked at her with teary, bloodshot eyes.

“ Run away, Mom, ” he begged her between his sobs. “ All this power will destroy every… thing… ”

The light vanished, and Celestial rushed to her side. Though she thought of fleeing, Belegor looked at the Ishmaelian beast as if he were still a demon. He even smiled at him. “ My soul is being trapped… ”

“ Don’t worry. Dad can help you, ” the Celestial said. When he touched the boy’s arms, the transformation stopped. Then, it started to reverse. Luciela looked at the Celestial. Despite how different he looked, she could see Zeral’s gentleness reflected in his eyes. “ Can you tell me where your soul is going? ”

“ The Dark El, ” the boy said. “ She… won’t let me go. ”

The Dark El. Luciela frowned at the mention. As far as she knew, the replica of the El that she tried to create for the demon realm had failed. She wondered how much her homeland had changed with the Dark El in their possession, but such thoughts left her mind when she looked at her ailing son. Zeral’s power was still too strong for her to move, but it seemed he was reining it in for her sake, bit by bit.

Zeral combed Belegor’s sweat-drenched hair away from his forehead, a rueful smile on his lips. “ I see. Who’s taking you into a piece of Dark El? ”

“ Barkat. I made a pact with her. She has something powerful, so I had to go along with everything. ”

The name of her confidante now evoked other memories in Luciela’s mind. Memories of chains, imprisonment, despair and hatred. That bitch had taken her crown, her kingdom, and now she was going to take her son from her? The Steel Queen gritted her teeth. No, she could not accept it. She looked at the Celestial.

“ Ze— ”

He put a finger over her lips. His touch was comfortably warm. “ That name is a curse on me, love. ”

“ How? ” she gasped. Her mind could not conjure a rhyme or reason for Zeral to renounce his name, let alone call it a curse.

He shrugged. “ It simply is. But the name Ishmael gave me is not. ”

“ I can’t call you that now, ” she confessed to him. Despite his body being deformed by the goddess’s power, when she reached out to hold his hand, and her gaze was set on his, she could only see Zeral as he had been long ago. “ I can’t go back to that name when I’ve finally remembered you. There are so many things we’ve yearned for, so many things that we’ve planned to live together… ” She looked down at their son. “ We were robbed a lifetime once, but we can make up for it now, can’t we? You’ll get our son’s soul, and then… ”

The world continued to crumble around them; shards of what she had once known as reality fell into a dark void, much like the prison Barkat had made for her. It was a reminder that she would rather ignore, just like Ciel’s terror filled her soul like toxic smoke.

All she wished was to remain here, where she had finally regained all she had yearned for.

Zeral’s hand cupped her cheek, and a light touch of his thumb was all it took to brush away the few tears that still clung to her eyes. “ I could try to fulfil that wish. ” He exhaled. “ I could keep Belegor’s soul from becoming Barkat’s puppet. He would still remember you, but— ”

“ What about you? ” Luciela cut him off with the only question burning her lips.

He paused, and when his gaze was again set on their son, she looked down. Belegor was clinging to life by a thread. With a trembling hand, he took a piece of El from his pocket and pushed it into her hands. She took it and held it, turning her gaze towards Zeral. He still harboured a small, pained smile.

“ Ru, you should use that piece of the El to help the villagers, ” Zeral muttered before leaving a chaste kiss on her lips that tasted like a farewell. “My soul will give it more energy, maybe enough to save Ruben. ” He licked his lips, casting his gaze down for an instant before offering her a smile that hid a dark truth left unsaid. “ I’ll do my best to buy them time. ”

She grabbed his sleeves and tugged at them. “ No. ” Her muscles tensed, and her gaze grew wide. “ No, I will not let you… ” Her words died in her throat, and even her breath was held back by the slimy grip of terror over her entire body. She shook her head, but it barely moved a few degrees.

‘You can’t ask me to let you die,’ she thought as only a shaky breath left her lips.

“ It’s well past my time, you know? ” Zeral tried to explain himself, scratching his head as if this was as trivial as being a few minutes late to a meeting. “ Ru, it’s been two millennia since I’ve saved you. ” He chuckled, though it was so dry and forced it was an admission to his regrets, even if he did not voice them. “ I’m content with seeing you and remembering you again for a moment. ”

“ I will keep this shard if that’s where your soul will go ,” she muttered. The library began to crumble into pieces of darkness, and Zeral’s body was fragmenting as if it had been made of sand all along, and a gale was eroding it bit by bit. “ I’ll hold onto it until I can call you back to my side. ”

Her words seemed like a blessing and a sentence to his ears, at least from how his mouth shifted from a weak smile to a tense, almost pained expression. His arm crumbled to dust, and cracks appeared on his face as if it were but a mirror. “ There’s no guarantee I’ll be who I am now even if, by some miracle, you get the El Lady to summon me back… ” The lower half of his face fell into countless shards that turned into dust, but somehow, even if she had never formed a Soul Pact with him, Luciela could hear all the things he could no longer voice:

“ Let me go, Ru. Holding onto hope will only bury you with me. ”

---

Elsword finished his practice as the sun rose. He still struggled to balance himself after he made heavy attacks or tried to parry and counter, but the pain had faded into a tingling sensation. He let out a long breath before he took a sip of water from his waterskin. As he gulped, he noticed a mark on its bottom. Wyll.

Seeing the name burnt onto the leather brought a small smile to his lips. He ought to thank him and return it to him, just like that day. Happiness was fleeting the moment he reminded himself that he had wasted precious days bedridden, taking both Aisha’s and Rena’s time when they should have left him to look for the El.

The leaves rustled nearby, and the red-haired boy turned around to see Rena returning with a few small metallic slabs with gold patterns and pieces of El, blue as the sea, clinging to them.

“Good morning,” the Ranger greeted him with a smile. “How’s the knee?”

He nodded at her and sheathed his sword. “Better.” He took a deep breath and looked down at the piece of armour he now had to wear on his knee. “This thing is hard to move with, sometimes, though.”

“Well, it’s supposed to, you know?” The elf chuckled. “You should rest up and let it heal. Come, now, let’s get you back to—”

“I can’t,” Elsword cut her off, his tone stern and his eyes burning with determination. “I have a duty to my village. I’ll go pick up those slabs of metal with you two.”

Her expression shifted from surprise to something softer, though Elsword wondered if it was because of what he had said or because she was remembering something. He had seen that expression on the faces of those who had lost someone dear whenever they remembered happier memories with the dead.

“Okay, but take it easy, Elsword,” Rena agreed with a weak nod. “Your injury could get worse if you push yourself too much.”

He grinned at her and gave her a big thumbs-up.

---

Rena guided both him and Aisha through narrow, ashen paths where the skulls of dead animals lay half buried. Elsword had to be careful not to trip on any, lest he fall and reopen his wound. Rena had brought them pendants made from a curious green amber she said only elves could make. It was far better than the El Stone pendants he and everyone else in Ruben had that took half a day to make.

Aisha, who strode by his side using her staff as a walking stick, squinted her eyes at the empty horizon as if it held secrets only she had uncovered.

“Where are we going?” the red-haired boy asked, looking around the now barren lands for himself, but all that got him was dust in his eye. “Argh!” He groaned as he rubbed his eyes. “Stupid sand!”

“The White Mist Swamp, silly,” the mage grumbled before rummaging through her bag and taking out a piece of black cloth. She handed it to him. “Here. It’ll help you not to get sand in your eyes.”

Elsword thanked her and took the cloth. It was a fusion between a hood and a scarf. It would have deprived him of his sight had it not been for the translucent cloth that acted as an effective filter even through the curtains of ash and sand that the dry wind lifted. Aisha and Rena seemed to be doing fine, which he chalked up to some spell. The boy focused on his breathing, just like his father had taught him, and soon, he perceived the weak mana flow around them. It came from some kind of warding spell the two women had cast on themselves. Rena’s was stronger than Aisha’s, but before he could focus on why that was, he fell prey to a fit of coughing. When Aisha looked at him, her eyes filled with worry, he dismissed her concern with a hand wave.

“Are you okay?” She asked.

“Yeah, I just forgot I can’t use magic without dying.”

Aisha raised an eyebrow at him. “Just channel your mana through the amber, dummy! It’s not that complicated.”

“It kinda is for me.”

“Well, that just means your mana is super weak.” The Sanderian mage scoffed. “That’s sad.”

Her words made a dry chuckle burst from his lips. It was funny, in a strange way, to remember his father telling him that he held so much mana it could kill him if he let it out all at once. It made sense. Elsword had hazy memories of feeling a surge of power in the Tree of El. It was so overwhelming he felt like he was burning from within. And yet, he was utterly incapable of channelling that power through anything but his own body. It was a matter of practice, or so he believed.

The boy had mastered basic spells in weeks, practising until he felt light-headed or his nose began to bleed, disregarding his father’s counsel, but it had gotten the results he wanted. The young knight figured he only had to practice the same amount of time to master mana channelling. It would have to wait until the El Shard was back in Ruben. They walked in utter silence for an hour, only taking a short break because his injured knee started to numb. After Rena cast a healing spell on him, Elsword was back on his feet and walking with ease.

The trio of unlikely adventurers smelt the White Mist Swamp before they saw it fully on the horizon. It seemed to still hold life within it. The animals that had failed to reach it in time were decomposing in chaotic trails before them.

The stench of death had not overwhelmed him since the day he faced the demon army. He placed a hand over the scarf part of his head covering, but it did little to dampen the stench. He sidestepped the drying, brownish blood that pooled under the corpses.

Then, the blood moved. Elsword halted, telling himself it was only something he had hallucinated from the corner of his eye. He turned to look at the gooey mess beneath a deer corpse, and besides a few flies buzzing around the exposed bone and rotten flesh, there was nothing.

“You saw it too, huh?” Aisha said, pinching her nose to escape the stench. “It’s blood magic.” She shuddered. “It’s awful, yucky, deadly. I’m heading back and you should follow me.”

“Let’s head back,” Rena ordered, echoing Aisha’s sentiment. “This route is no longer safe.”

Aisha gave a prompt nod at the Ranger’s command and followed suit, but Elsword remained where he was.

“Elsword!” Rena called him. It was an implicit order to follow them, but he could not. People depended on them, who knew how many had died while he was bedridden, but he could not turn back. There was no time to waste.

He clenched the red sword his father had given him and marched on. The swamp was rumoured to smell of Ruben orchids and have trees with roots that caged the water to the shores. Now, it was sullied with decay and rot, and the trees had all long fallen. Their roots only caged the dead fish to their graves.

“What do you think you’re doing, dummy?!”

Elsword gritted his teeth and snapped his head back at his two companions. “Saving my village!”

His roar echoed so loudly that the two women paused for a second. He did not wait for them and continued walking deeper into the carnage until the stench was so unbearable that he had to stop, tear the scarf Aisha had lent him off his face, and empty what little he had eaten.

As he heaved, wishing he had something else to throw back up, he heard a mushy crunch in the distance. It was like the sound dogs made when they crushed a bone to lick the marrow out of it. A pained, human wail followed it before the low growl of a beast cut it short.

Elsword hastened his pace, though he could not keep jogging for more than a minute at a time. Though he wished to ditch the armour that trapped and limited his movement, the boy knew the pain would paralyse him if he tried to move without it. He cursed his weakness but continued to follow the source of the sound. There was someone injured, and he would stop at nothing to help.

He passed by an old campfire and a trail of blood. It was only a few drops, which gave him hope. Elsword walked into the abandoned campsite and spotted a dusty red cape. He picked it up and saw the emblem of the El Search Party embroidered in golden threads. The memory of Liam wearing his ceremonial uniform only weeks ago came rushing back into his mind.

‘Could he be…?’

Another wail echoed deeper into the festering heart of the swamp. The cape fell from his hands, and he bolted down the foggy, narrow path ahead. His heart beat louder than his hollers calling for the two missing soldiers. The pain in his knee awakened again, slowing him down and making him stumble, but even if he felt red-hot knives digging into his flesh down to the marrow, Elsword did not slow down.

He could not understand why. All he knew was that he had to stop whatever was about to happen. The boy remembered the sensation. It was the same feeling he had when that demon put its claws on the El Shard. It was wrong . He had to stop it. The earth under his feet gave him that inextinguishable fire that burned brighter than anything and overwhelmed all senses until he almost felt like he was only watching his body dash faster than anyone could have ever run, even when using magic.

The swamp passed by him in a flash, and when his legs stopped running, he held his breath. He clung to the belief that he had fallen unconscious at some point due to the pain. He focused on telling himself that he was back in a nightmare. His belief became the truth.

What he was witnessing was not real.

“Ah….” The wail of a rat-like creature was both familiar and foreign. “Will… iam was hungry. We… William was hungry… that’s why…”

It was the first time Elsword laid his eyes on the rogue Phorus Ciel had mentioned. The creature was as tall as a bear standing on its hind legs, with wiry blonde fur that burst through broken seams of a red uniform tailored for a man half the size of the monster. The creature held a long, curved, chipped blade, the same kind as the Captain wielded. It was the sword Elsword had fought against. It was the cause of his injury.

Instead of ears, the Phoru had two rotting human faces, forever frozen in a scream on the sides of his head. Both were covered in mud and blood.

“Ahh…” came the wail from the face to the left. “But… we’re… William is still hungry.”

The Phorus’ faces slid with a slimy, squelching sound to the front to slurp on the marrow of a half-eaten arm from the corpse of a strong, tan man everyone used to look up to.

“Hungry…” the monster repeated before it raised its bloodied snout in the air and sniffed long and hard, like a wolf looking for prey.

The faces slithered to the back of its skull, revealing their every detail to the boy. He recognised them. All too well.

Elsword blinked, returning to the top of the hill, where the training grounds were; it was right where he should be.

“Elsword!” Wyll called him with his usual warm smile that could have easily bubbled up into a chuckle. “What are you doing, spacing out like that in the middle of a spar?”

The sharp yet dull crack of someone’s knuckles made the red-haired boy snap his head to the source of the noise, only to see Liam. Elsword wondered why he was so on edge. Of course, Liam would be here, too.

Liam clicked his tongue. “There you go again, being easy on him,” he grumbled, picking up the Captain’s gigantic scimitar as easily as one would pick up a dagger. “Hurry up, Felford kid. Your body can’t take it for more than a few minutes at a time.”

The young knight looked at himself. He was dressed in the same red uniform given to all recruits, had the same training sword as everyone else, and the summer was as sunny, warm, and full of life as it should have been.

“Elsword… Liam’s right, you know?” his blonde friend told him. His voice and his smile were a tad less cheerful than before. “You’re wasting mana with this; I know you need it, but you’ll be in real trouble if you take more than five minutes to end the fight.”

The boy clenched his sword, readied his stance and took a deep breath before flashing a confident grin at his opponents. “Five minutes is plenty of time.”

It was their last spar. Elsword could not let the brothers down.

Chapter 24: Guardian of the El

Every bone tingled; his muscles felt sore. The deep, stinging pain of gashes that tore through his gambeson, leaving it looking like a bloodied, muddy rag, only added to his torment. The sun fell like molten lead over his head, and the stuffy, humid air tainted with death suffocated every breath. The world spiralled in a storm of greens, murky yellows, crimson, and steel. Elsword blinked a few times, his mind still grappling with where he was and the state of his body.

He was not on the training grounds. He was in the swamp. Before him lay the body of a monstrosity. A rogue Phoru. William. Wyll. Liam. Elsword’s arms were still raised, his sword covered with this Phoru’s blood. There was something mushy and fleshy tangled in his blade, dangling in front of his eyes.

Guts. Pink and long. Human. He could tell. He had seen a fair lot because of the demons and the Withering. His sword was covered in blood, as were his clothes, his hands, his face.

He had done this.

Elsword tried moving, but only a jolt of pain answered, followed by a cold wave that numbed his limbs so thoroughly that the boy wondered if he would turn to stone. He hoped he would.

He had done this.

How could he ever raise a sword again? And for what?

He had done this. All for naught.

The world would continue to spin to its demise, waiting for someone better than him to save it. Someone stronger, more driven, someone like Lu, like Ciel, like Rena or like Ain. Wherever they were, they were most likely fighting all their enemies, determined to fight to the bitter end, no matter what.

That was what heroes were supposed to do. He had done nothing but cower in fear and crumble after every battle.

Liam’s face took a shallow, shaky breath in. “Brother,” it croaked, “I’m sorry…”

“Liam…” Elsword breathed out, but his voice was drowned by Wyll’s dying words.

“What good is being sorry now?” the blond wheezed. “We’ll die like this.”

Though weak, Elsword heard the sizzling edge of hatred in his friend’s voice. He did not expect that of him. The boy opened his mouth to scream that Wyll was wrong, but instead, he felt that wave of power again. All he was desperate to say died in his throat, and only a short, sharp inhale came out of his lips.

Wyll and Liam’s existence in this state was wrong. Their every breath was an insult to the world. Elsword trembled, urging his senses to focus on the pain, on everything that impeded his body from moving, no matter how much power was surging from the world and into his fragile body.

‘No,’ he thought as he took long, deeper breaths. His grip on his sword strengthened as if he had not fought at all. ‘Please, I can find a way to turn them back to normal, I—’

His body did not obey. Mana flowed through his tired muscles, giving him a second wind that should have been impossible for any normal person. The blade swung down once, overcharged with power, cleaving the brothers’ body clean in half and leaving a deep cut in the ground below. Mud splashed on his face, as did a new wave of blood. The ground boomed when his sword hit it, and the blade shattered into hundreds of shards. His knees finally gave out.

The boy fell, his mind went blank, and he stared at his shaky, blood-soaked hands. He clenched them into fists. Thousands of painful needles prickled at his hands. His body was his again, weak and shattered.

Elsword exhaled, a short, quick breath out that might have as well been a choked sob. Pain exploded in his torso, and he thought back to Elesis’s visit three years ago. She had fought a demon, and he had followed from afar. He screamed for her to get up after the demon knocked her down. She overpowered her opponent in an instant, even if he was twice as tall and muscular as she was back then. Her movements were graceful, precise and powerful beyond Elsword’s wildest dreams.

It was the same way he had moved just now. To think that he had once admired this kind of strength…

‘I guess I’m a freak like she is.’

The thought was bitter, harsh and heavy like a boulder, yet it had nothing to crush in his soul.

Curtains of fog circled around him, and he heard a cautious, low growl that made the earth tremble under his feet. Elsword raised his head and saw a white beast covered in fur, wearing pieces of a purple shell and a cloud-shaped pattern on its fur as if it were armour. It was as big as a house and probably weighed more than one. Its paws were shaped like a crude human hand. Every finger was armed with claws as long as greatswords. The beast gazed upon him. Its green eyes shone like gems under the sunlight. 

He was in no shape to fight, and that was fine.

There was nothing else to fight for.

“Go ahead,” he taunted the beast. “Do it.”

The beast approached its long, thin snout at him and huffed twice. His body felt stronger; most of his pain had subsided, and most of his wounds had closed but were not fully healed. The beast tilted its armoured head at him, and though its mouth did not move, Elsword heard its voice echo in his head:

‘Hm, so you are the Guardian of the El,’ the beast mused with an ageless, androgynous voice. ‘You have my thanks for destroying the last anchor of the spell the demons cast to seal me away.’

Elsword’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

Before the beast’s voice manifested again, Elsword looked down at Wyll and Liam’s corpse. Their fur was covered in dark scribbles that were vanishing into thin air. They were not made of mana, but Elsword could feel the power within them.

‘Ah,’ he noted, his mind numb. ‘So that was why their existence felt wrong.’

The green-eyed giant huffed at him. ‘Indeed. Guardian of the El, I am the Ancient Phoru, an old spirit and the protector of this region. I am still weak, but I will help you save the lives of the mortals living in Ruben Village.’

The boy scoffed. “What? Can you create an El out of thin air?”

‘Nothing comes out of thin air,’ the Ancient Phoru answered with a low, gentle growl. ‘Well… the goddess who marked you could create something out of nothing. But I digress. I have all I need to create an El Shard to save and protect the humans.’

The boy was about to question the spirit, but it unleashed a wave of power of its own, channelling raw El Energy into the bodies of the dead men. When the bodies began to glow, fur and skin turning shiny as gems, Elsword’s heart sank.

“Stop, no,” he pleaded, his voice choking as he saw limbs contract and bend into a clean and polished blue crystal. He shook his head. “No, you can’t do this!”

He screamed those last words with all the strength he could muster.

But the beast did not stop. Three bodies merged into a perfect, apple-sized El Shard. Elsword stared at it, understanding that whatever he was feeling before this moment was not even close to true despair. It did more than crush him. Despair froze all thoughts, cut his breath and zapped all the colour from the world.

The village’s salvation, at long last, was right before him, surrounded by a quasi-perfect circle of shards of his broken sword.

‘Why are you staring at the El Shard like that, Guardian of the El? Take it to the village right away. They need it.’

The boy looked at the beast, then down at the El Shard. “How… did you do this?”

The beast huffed. ‘It’s nothing special. Every mortal soul has a good amount of El Energy. The two humans whose bodies were encased in that abomination, hm, I have never seen lineages so pure before…’

Elsword was reminded of the letters he had read in the inn where the hot springs were. Elesis had mentioned Liam having some ties to the Cronwells and royalty. To think that this was the only way the two brothers had made their prestige known…

His guts churned, and he felt the bitter, almost acidic taste of bile in his throat.

This was all so sickening.

‘Sickening? Why?’ the Ancient Phoru tilted its head at him. ‘It’s nothing short of a miracle. With your blood as the catalyst, I was expecting to create a shard half this size.’

‘Ah,’ the boy thought, still drowning in the cold, dark ocean of despair. ‘So, that, too, is my fault.’

The spirit growled; its thoughts, soaked with annoyance, came to the boy’s mind. ‘I fail to understand you, Guardian of the El. You should rejoice.’

Elsword chuckled, sobbed, or perhaps scoffed. The boy no longer understood the sounds that left his lips, but had he ever truly understood anything about himself? No, of course not. He knew next to nothing of his blood lineage or those powers that made him stronger than anyone else. Crueler than anyone else.

Still, while he felt somewhat in control, he had to ask the Ancient Phoru one thing: “Can you return them to normal and create an El Shard with me instead?”

‘I cannot.’

The spirit had no compassion, no love for the beings it had twisted into something as cold as its soul. Yet, it continued to stare into his eyes as if it expected him to say something more. Perhaps he had to give it reasons to reverse its spell. He could give it that, of course. There were so, so, so many things he could say to justify having at least the bodies back.

“Please,” he begged in a hushed tone as if he were afraid of anyone else hearing him. “You said I’m the Guardian of the El or something. My body will make a Shard strong enough to revive the entire forest, no?”

‘Are you, a Fragment branded for Elria’s altar, asking me to go against her wishes? That would bring about the end of the world.’

The distant yet warm memories of Seris’ embrace, the twins’ laughter, and Owen’s strict but loving care were a brief reprieve from despair. At long last, the boy felt something: a heart heavy with grief.

“The real El Shard is still out there,” Elsword continued, his voice tense yet no louder than a mumble. He clenched his trembling hands on the muddy ground, ignoring the sting that such movement brought with it. “I’ll go look for the El Shard, and you can turn them back to normal. I’ll bring it back tomorrow, so you can turn them back…” his voice broke, trembling with dread. “Please… give them back…”

The beast growled; a rare, subtle sign of anger. ‘Tomorrow?! You are delusional. Ruben can only survive with this Shard while you search for the stolen one. Take it and leave.’

“No,” Elsword shook his head. “No, you… you have to give them back. There are people in the village who—”

The white beast growled, its front legs tensing as if it were considering swinging them at him. ‘There will be no people in Ruben if I do as you ask. Leave.’

Its green gaze remained peaceful, and it seemed it could not form a mouth to show fangs. The beast could not eat either, yet it could crush him anytime. The restraint it showed when Elsword wanted it the least puzzled the boy.

“No,” he said, his tone low, fuelled by anger, “I won’t leave until you give them back.” 

He demanded the beast for the same thing it would not do, over and over. Elsword hoped the Ancient Phoru’s patience would wear thin and that it would attack.

‘Hah,’ the beast huffed, ‘I will never react like a human. Stop this.’

Elsword wanted to raise his fist against the beast that mocked him without a hint of emotion in its face or in its voice, but before he could force himself back on his feet, he felt a hand tap his shoulder. It was rough, calloused by years of wielding a bow.

“Elsword,” Rena called him., “It’s dangerous to stay near guardian spirits. Come on, let’s go.”

The boy turned his head to see the elf, and from the corner of his eye, he spotted Aisha, out of breath and leaning against a tree log, already basking in the victory at the sight of the El.

“How long have you been here?”

Rena shrugged. “Just arrived. Can you move?”

Elsword pondered the question for a minute and found he was still clenching fistfuls of mud in his hands. He threw both of them at the beast. It did not react.

“Elsword!” Rena hollered at him, gripping his shoulder with a firm, almost forceful hand. He slapped it away. His empty eyes did not register the shock in her peridot gaze, nor did he hear Aisha’s gasp. The mud slapped back to the ground, never touching the beast. 

“I won’t go anywhere!” he raged. “Use my body, you stupid spirit! Drain half my blood if you need me alive, but give them back!”

Elsword did not notice that his outburst was meaningless, nor did he care. These fleeting white-hot embers of anger tainted by despair were all he had left. Once this last burst of rage died down, he would truly be empty. Aimless. Useless.

Aisha stepped forward, calling his name, something that was rare for her.

“Hey, Elsword, your wounds will get infected,” she said, her tone quiet, almost caring, but she did not touch him. “You’re delirious. You need to calm down, and we’ll—”

The red-haired boy glared back at her, and her expression shifted from pity to fear. Good. Nobody should be compassionate towards him. Though his joints cracked and he felt his muscles shake, the boy continued to scream and throw more mud at the beast.

“Take my life and give them back! What are you even supposed to protect if you can’t use someone like me to save those who deserve to live?!”

His hands bled; they trembled, but Elsword kept swinging more watery mud at the beast. His arms burned and ached to the point that the young knight feared they would detach. He coughed up blood. Rena took advantage of that brief pause from his pointless attacks to pull him away. Aisha bowed at the spirit and took the El Shard. The beast with the green gaze vanished; there went his last chance.

“Elsword, why were you asking a guardian spirit to take your life?” Rena demanded, arms crossed and with a frown that betrayed her worry. She crouched to his level, looking at him with kindness he did not deserve. “Your life is precious. They would never take it.”

His throat tightened, and his gaze sank. “They should.”

“No,” Aisha chimed in, her voice low and soft. “Elsword, don’t say things like that.”

“I… deserve it. That spirit turned Wyll, Liam and Captain Evans into the El Shard. I didn’t kill the Captain, but the rest…”

The truth squeezed through his lips as a whisper, but he could not finish it. It was too much for him, weak as he was. A long silence followed. Aisha spoke first.

“What?” She chuckled, though her laughter was full of unease. “Is this one of your jokes? Like the time you said you slapped the El Lady?” Elsword looked at her and was met with pity, perhaps bordering on disgust, overflowing from her lavender eyes. “The El is the sacred jewel of life. It’s not made out of people. Besides, Rena and I found traces of the missing knights.” Aisha’s expression softened, and she offered him a smile that was more reassuring to herself than it was to him. “They’re alive and well, Elsword. We’ll find them.”

“No, they’re not,” Elsword mumbled. “I kill—”

“They’re alive!” Aisha insisted, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. Elsword could see a tinge of acceptance in her gaze. That was the reason for her anger. He could see it, clear as day. “You’re… you wouldn’t have done anything to them, I know it. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

If only he could be as blissfully ignorant as her. He clenched his fists, his body tensing. Before he could lunge at Aisha to show her just how wrong she was, Rena put herself between them.

“Calm down,” the Ranger said, her tone soft but full of authority. Her peridot gaze set on him, a brief frown souring her expression. “Both of you, take a deep breath, okay?” She gave a demonstration and put her hands on her hips. Only Aisha obeyed. 

She continued, “We just got here, Aisha, and we don’t know what’s going on. We have a part of the El Shard, and that’s all we need to focus on for now. We can head back to the village and take it from there.”

“I’m not going back,” Elsword argued, his voice quivering. He tried to jump on his feet, but his limbs were shaking like pudding. He fell flat on the ground and clenched the grass and mud in tight fists. “The El… it wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. I killed—”

“How can some weakling like you kill two knights? You can’t even channel mana properly!” the Sanderian mage growled, her voice dry and doing an awful job of hiding her anger. She looked down as the first tears clouded her sight. 

She was right. If the world were fair, Elsword should have died at their hands. Not the other way around.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that,” she mumbled, wiping away her tears. Aisha gave him one last look. Her apologies were a lie. Not even Aisha would forgive him for this. Why should she? “I’ll just—” she sniffled, taking the El Shard.

The mage teleported away, leaving him alone with Rena.

A curtain of tears blurred his sight. “I’m not lying…” he sobbed, his voice cracked after all the yelling. “That beast… I killed Wyll and Liam, but that thing…”

“Elsword,” the elf sighed, putting her hand over his shoulder, “I know that fighting to survive is not always easy, especially against people you consider friends, but you don’t know much about the El. It doesn’t…”

Rena’s words fell on deaf ears. Elsword let his tears fall unimpeded and got on his knees, struggling against his ailing body. He felt half-dead. The elven woman with the peridot gaze was still talking, a smile on her lips. His gaze set on all the small, sharp shards of his blade scattered about. With his armour in tatters, even a broken bottle could wound him.

The anger that had been fueling him earlier was banked; all that remained was the body of a killer and the despair that filled it. 

‘If I only have the power to destroy, then I won’t destroy anything but myself.’

“Elsword, what are you–?”

In one swift motion, the boy lunged for the biggest one. Rena said something, but all Elsword could focus on was the disgusting warmth of his body, the loud, stubborn beats of his heart. The Ranger was trying to force open his grip on the only way out. He struggled against her, his movements sloppy yet frantic out of sheer desperation. He left superficial cuts on Rena’s hands and scratched her forearms and his legs with the fragment of steel.

His heart pumped even harder, rotten with desires it had no right to cling to.

They pulled, tugged, and yanked the feather-shaped piece of metal one way and the other; fingers slipped and gripped the blade to gain control. Rena would be the victor unless he fought with his entire body. Teeth. He had to use them. Her sleeves did not cover much skin, so he bit her forearm as hard as he could. A yelp, then, an instinctive, sudden move changed the outcome of their fight. 

Pain, sudden, deep and cold, pierced his gut. The boy fell on his back, showing the bright, mid-summer sky a weak, trembling smile.

Blood spread over his dirty clothes; there was no comfort in feeling his warmth spill out by the second. Memories of his family flashed by faster than he could process them. If only he could hold onto them one last time…

The world darkened, and doubt took over his fleeting thoughts.

Was this truly his only option?

---

His crimson gaze fluttered open to the blurry, warm ceiling of a foreign room. A humid breeze filtered through a window left ajar, and the white curtains waved in and out of his field of vision. Some insects were buzzing outside. Elsword saw a blue butterfly wander into his room, dancing in circles above him before going back out.

Against all odds, he was still alive.

The stillness of the room gave him a quiet, renewed determination. He could still fix things.

Elsword coughed and tried to sit up. The real El Shard was still missing. If he brought it to the Ancient Phoru, they would turn everyone back to normal. Sharp, tear-inducing pain followed every bit of effort he made, but he could not keep wasting time. Wyll, Liam and the Captain counted on him.

Two clawed fingers pushed him back down. Elsword saw long locks of white hair and blue eyes that had grown darker from what he remembered. It was Lu. The cursed girl had two pairs of horns instead of one crowning her head, and bone-like jewellery wrapped around her shoulders like someone’s lingering embrace.

“Easy there,” Lu said. Elsword noticed a thick, black necklace with an El Shard embedded within it, covering the base of her neck and her clavicles, seemingly fused like a set of ribs to her new dress; it was a revealing gown that, if it were not for her jewellery, would have easily spread to the sides and uncovered her tiny body from her lower ribs down to her thighs. “You’re in no condition to move.”

“I need to,” he gasped, trying to struggle one last time against Lu’s overwhelming yet restrained strength. “I need to get the El Shard. I promised I’d— ”

A jolt of pain paralysed him. Giving up the fight was the only cure.

Lu sat by his side, putting her small, clawed hand over his. “You need to rest.”

Her deep, cobalt eyes were lost in thought, meeting his a second later. The memories of his fight with Rena washed over him, making the boy wonder how he got here.

“Where’s Rena?”

“I’m not sure, but she did bring you back here and treat you,” the girl cursed by demons told him, combing a few locks of his hair back from his forehead. Her claws, sharp like knives yet gentle as feathers, swept away some tears he had not noticed in the corner of his eyes. “We’re all glad it wasn’t in vain.”

“Are, uh, are her wounds okay?” Elsword muttered. “I didn’t mean to hurt her. I just didn’t see the point in living after turning my friends into an El Shard.”

Luciela paused, her gaze growing wide. The boy scoffed. “I guess you don’t believe it either.”

“No, I do,” the blue-eyed girl shot back, her tone a tad too harsh. She apologised and cleared her throat. “The El takes life just as easily as it gives it, but…” She looked down at her collar and put her hand over it. Lu licked his lips and looked at him again, weary. “It doesn’t show its cruelty every day.”

The El Shard in her necklace was strong, almost to an unnatural level, despite how small it was. If she was carrying it so close, then…

Lu noticed he was staring and ruffled his hair again with a soft chuckle. “Don’t worry. Ciel is still around. Do you want some water?”

Elsword did not register the subtle disdain in Lu’s words when talking about the Steel Cross. He was too exhausted for it. His lips were cracked and dry, and his throat felt as if it had been stuffed with sand for days. The young knight agreed, and though he wished he could sit down on his own, Elsword knew he had to rely on Lu. She lifted him as if he were as light as a ragdoll. Yet, she was careful as any healer would be.

“Aren’t you afraid?” he asked as he settled on the soft, comfortable pile of pillows Lu had put to help him sit down. She raised an eyebrow at him but went looking for the water jug and the empty wooden glass on a small table in the corner of the room.

Elsword clasped his bandaged hands together, fidgeting with some of his fingers. Most hurt, but at least his thumbs and his index fingers moved like normal. “Of your power,” he continued. “Aren’t you afraid of it taking over?”

The water trickled into the glass, clear and pure, as Lu pondered his question. She set the glass on the table and closed the window. The white-haired girl let her hand linger on the windowsill and clenched it into a fist. She took a deep breath. “There was a time I believed it was my only tool to survive,” Lu explained, her tone far more serious yet almost subdued. She let out a small chuckle, her hand sliding back to the table’s edge. It crawled up to her collarbone again. “But someone taught me… restraint. He helped me understand that raw, unbridled power is a poison.”

Elsword could not see her face, but her gestures and pauses were enough. A fragile silence lingered, and the young knight dared not break it.

She drummed her fingers on the table before grabbing the cup of water, turning to him. Lu brought it to him and helped him take the first sip, but the boy took the cup from her hands and took a few more slow, careful sips on his own. The girl grabbed a chair with her long, bony tail and sat by his side. She combed some locks back from her pointy, stubby ears and sighed.

“I believe that only fools would not fear poison,” Lu began, pursing her lips for an instant. “You don’t strike me as one.” Her expression lightened up with a spark of kindness Elsword did not think he deserved. “Thus, you’re destined to control it.”

The red-haired knight smirked and took the last sip. “I don’t know. I… ” He looked down, but forced himself to admit to his crime, even if it was only a whisper. “I killed my friends. I couldn’t stop it.” He looked at Lu. “If my power is poison, I don’t have a cure besides—” Elsword exhaled sharply before continuing, his tone growing louder, almost to the point of a scream. “You’re cursed by a demon, so you know what to expect, but I don’t even have that. I don’t know who Elria is or why they marked me! I didn’t want this, so why—?!” He paused, pursing his lips before lying back down. Though his wounds stung, he hid his face with the back of his hand to whisper, “Why me?”

“I wish I knew,” her tone was soft, but the look in her eyes betrayed the wisdom of her years. Her reassurance came from something deeper, perhaps experience. “But I do believe you’ll find a way to break free.” A light chuckle bubbled from her lips, but it was weighed down by a profound sadness. “My beloved was cursed by a goddess, yet he broke free from her grasp twice,” she paused, as if reliving the memory, before continuing. “He and I are powerful demons; it should have made it impossible for him to dream of ever breaking free. But he did it. He clung to his soul and reclaimed it. You can do the same, Elsword.”

They studied each other, and Elsword was not too sure what to make of the revelation. Demons were evil, sure. They had killed so many of his comrades, but Lu… Lu was here, helping him. She believed him when he told her the truth; she understood its weight and, above all else, she gave him a thread of hope to cling to.

The demoness broke eye contact first. “I’ll go if you want me to.”

“No, wait,” he blurted out, reaching for her hand. She turned to look back at him, surprised and yet not guarded around him. Elsword pursed his lips for a moment. Pain shot through the side of his stomach, and he leaned back on the pillows.

“I’m not upset with you being a demon,” he said before he let out a dry, joyless chuckle. “I’m not the best guy to judge anyone for being monsters.”

Lu’s expression softened, but it held a tinge of worry deep down.

She returned to his side, urging him to rest a little more. Elsword obliged, closing his eyes. Perhaps it was a dream, but he heard her sing. Her voice was soft, quieter than humming. Every sound was foreign to him, but it was soothing, like the peaceful song of a summer breeze swaying the leaves to its tune.

The red-haired boy wondered if Lu was singing in her native tongue. If she was, it was a far cry from what he had imagined demons to sound like.

The young knight drifted back to a blank sleep. He was glad to know that he was not alone.

Chapter 25: A bloodstained letter

Notes:

Solar had to drag me out of my HSR brainrot phase to edit the final chapter. We've discussed a lot over the past month and, because I really want to put out stories for other fandoms, the second and final long fic for this series will probably not see the day until maybe late this year or, at worst, 2026. Still, I want to thank every single one of the people who've read it, who've commented and left kudos on this. I honestly didn't expect this much interaction and it's been a wonderful thing to see through from beginning to end.

Morning crawled back into his room, painting it crimson and copper. Elsword heard the door unlock and someone come in, bringing along the faint yet comforting smell of porridge. His stomach grumbled in anticipation. 

“Good morning, Lu,” he mumbled, turning his head gently to the left, only to see a familiar, loose mane of violet hair. 

Elsword froze. “Ah.”

Aisha wore a simple yellow blouse and skirt donned by many of the female knights, and she held a bowl of steaming porridge in her hands. 

No words came to him as the mage looked at him, her eyes marked by eye bags. She pursed her lips for a moment and looked to the side before she set the food aside to help him sit down again. 

“Lu’s talking with Leyla. They’re negotiating something,” she informed him as she set up a couple of pillows to help him sit down, just like Lu had done, but with less assurance. Her grasp on him was full of hesitation compared to the white-haired demoness, awakening so much pain Aisha had to let him rest for a few moments before trying to move him again. It took more time to sit up, but he could tell the mage was doing her best to be careful.

The mage passed him the bowl without a word. Elsword muttered his thanks, and when he tried to pick up the spoon, he winced as a dull, deep pain spread throughout his hand. Aisha sat by his side, offering to help him eat. 

“No, don’t worry,” Elsword assured her. “I’ll let it cool a little first.”

“Oh, uh, okay.”

Aisha looked to the side and took a breath in, almost as if preparing herself to say something; instead, she rushed to his window, turning her back to him. “It’s so stuffy in here. It’s not good for you.”

The mage took a deep breath and let it out. Her tense shoulders relaxed as she leaned on the windowsill. Her head hung low, her back curved as she grabbed her head and mumbled something he could not quite hear. He watched her, pondered if he could – or should – talk to her at all. The boy’s gaze sank again to the plate he could not eat from; there was perhaps no mending the grief he had caused her. Not unless he went for the El Shard. 

“I’m going to Elder,” he said, turning his head towards her. She straightened up as if his words had shot lightning through her body. She snapped her head at him, her brow furrowed, but her eyes widened into a paradox between anger and shock. “After I heal, of course. I think we still need to get the original El Shard back.”

Aisha let out a long breath, almost a hiss, her expression finally crumbling into a grief that he could not understand. She bit her lips, her amethyst gaze sinking down to her feet before she spoke.

“If,” she began, wringing her hands. “If—” Her eyes met his again, tears once again clouding them. “I want you to recover, but, Elsword, your body—” The Sanderian girl swept her tears, leaving her skin far more reddened than it had been, but she did not care. Aisha’s lips trembled, and the only words she whispered were apologies.

It was perplexing to see her cry and apologise, over and over, as if anything was her fault. Unlike him, she had killed no one. The boy looked down at his body. It still hurt all over. Even the sheets felt like a rain of needles prickling his skin. Any movement turned the needles into sharp, unforgiving knives that drilled down into his bones. 

Yet, he did not find it in him to cry. He had no right to do so in front of Aisha.

‘It’d be nice if I’m left too crippled to move normally again.’

He shook the thought away. Crippled or not, that power could overwhelm him and make his body ignore all its limitations. He had already lived it. Elsword looked away, reminiscing on the fight against Wyll and Liam. He could not remember much, except the speed, the power that he had coursed through him.

If only he had found a way to stop himself… 

But, more than that, he still had a mission to complete. He could not give up until he got the El Shard back.

“I’ll recover, Aisha,” Elsword comforted her, his tone as muted as the grey sheets that covered him. He tried grabbing the spoon again, but his first attempt was as unsuccessful as the first. “I just need to eat and rest until I’ve regained my strength. And for that…” he trailed off, flashing a grin he hoped would be believable to her. “I could use a little help.”

She nodded, smiling, but the curl of her lips was not the same. It did not light her eyes like her previous smiles to the kids they had visited, or when she explained her magic to others. Even the tiny dimple in her face did not fully form. It occurred to Elsword that she was smiling the same way he was. As much as he wanted to ask why, he could not find the words to say it. There was perhaps nothing to be said now. He watched the tiny shifts in her expression, how her gaze would darken when it glanced at his injuries, but then hid behind a timid smile. 

She would question his pain when he caught her looking. He kept saying he was fine. He insisted that whatever painkillers the nurses gave him were enough to numb the pain completely. Aisha frowned at that part, but only for an instant. The mage accepted all he said, but from her insistence on knowing if anything was bothering him, Elsword wondered if she was seeing through his lie. 

In truth, the pain was dull, but persistent. In a way, it put his mind away from what was still gnawing at his soul. There was no need for anyone to take his pain away.

“Are you—?”

“Stop asking me about the pain! You can’t do anything about it, anyhow.” Anger coursed through his body and made him spit those venomous words before he even had the time to think. 

Aisha’s gaze widened, her concern crumbling into something Elsword was no longer sure how to describe. He saw her pain in her gaping mouth, wrinkled brow, and held breath, though she didn’t cry. His words had hurt as deeply as a stab through the heart.

The mage’s gaze sank, and she took back the empty bowl. “You’re right. I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you be, Elsword. I’m sorry.”

She slunk out the door before Elsword could piece together an apology. 

Why was he still hurting people on a whim? 

He pinched and dug at the wounds on his right arm with the nails of his index and thumb, but even after he drew blood, the boy discovered he could not feel more than a tingle.

The pain came only from his movement and the position of his arm. 

---

Being alone, unable to move much, was far more taxing than he had thought. The silence would get to him. It would get him wondering if he was still alive, so he dug his nails into his bandages and scratched them away. The stinging pain—no matter how dull—was his anchor. 

If he was in pain, then it meant he was alive. It meant he could go to Elder. It meant he could atone for killing his friends.

It was almost impossible to keep track of time. He would wake up once or twice to the blurry faces of healers and then go back to slumber. His sleep was sometimes peaceful. Other times, he would dream of his body coming undone. The pain, perhaps, fuelled his nightmares.

He remembered dozing off at some point. Elsword was sure that he was awake, but his vision was even blurrier than before. 

He saw shadows around him. Healers, most likely. They all talked in hushed tones. 

“It’s… infection… bleeding too much… fault… demons. Don’t trust…” 

It was impossible to piece a sentence together from what they were saying. His head was spinning, and his body felt light, drenched in sweat. 

There was something else in the room. It called to him. It wished to help him. The boy refused, fearing it was once again that curse, that wave of power that urged him to destroy.

He did not need it. It was fine if he took longer to heal, even better if he never did.

‘It won’t happen this time, Elsword. I promise.’

The boy recognized the man’s voice, though he wondered why. It should have been the first time he heard it. The man laughed. He told Elsword that he was just too feverish to remember when they had met. He said that they talked little, but that he was one of the people he saw at the Tree of El.

‘It might be too late, but I want to make amends for taking you there.’

Elsword tried to remember if someone had forced him there, but nothing came to mind. The memories were still foggy, and he felt himself falling back into that dark pit, the same one he had fallen into after he dug that blade into his stomach.

No. He could not go back there. He had to correct his mistakes.

‘Please, let me help you.’

The boy relented and reached for the power the voice was offering him. A wave of cold spread through his body, and his vision focused. Lu was among the women around him, her necklace glimmering, while the healers and Leyla herself watched, their eyes wide as coins.

One healer—the same young blonde with curly hair Elsword had always seen by Rosalie’s side—turned towards Leyla. 

“Ma’am, he’s stable. Dare I say… far better than he should be, given the circumstances.” 

He looked at the injuries he had reopened himself. Like the healers said, they were closed. The only thing that remained of the pain was a light tingle, a shaking of his hand every time he tried to close it into a fist. 

Leyla patted her on the back. “Good job, Wilma.”

The other two healers, two brunettes around Aisha’s age, looked at each other and then at Wilma. The blonde herself paused and shook her head. 

“It’s not because of us, Captain. I’m not sure what happened.” 

The statement made Leyla furrow her brow. She ordered the healers to find an answer, something that Wilma readily agreed to. Then, the new Captain looked at Lu. Her expression was stern, demanding answers. 

Lu looked down at her necklace, covering the El Shard with her fist. “Fine. I will tell you what I know, but let the boy testify for himself before you condemn me.”

Elsword’s throat tightened at those words, and his heart sank at the hazy memories from before.

“Good,” Layla acknowledged, her voice as stern and authoritative as ever. “Wilma, do you have answers for this miracle?”

“To the best of my knowledge, ma’am, uh, I think this boy’s recovery depends on the demoness’ necklace. I think this miracle is… temporary, but he should be okay as long as the demoness remains here.”

“Alright, that settles it.” Leyla turned to the group of healers, giving them a brief nod. “Thank you for your work. You are dismissed.”

Some healers saluted the new Captain while others bowed and shuffled out of the room. 

Elsword cleared his throat, pulling the gazes of the two women towards him. He straightened up and clasped both of his bandaged hands together. The young knight avoided their eyes, opting to focus on the clean bandages that covered his arms. He could smell the pomades the healers had applied. It had a somewhat minty smell, one he vaguely remembered from a nightmare where he picked at his wounds until his arms fell off. 

It had, perhaps, not been a product of his imagination. He did not know how long it had been since Aisha visited, but he had scratched at his wounds since then.

“Lu didn’t do anything wrong,” Elsword muttered. “I scratched my wounds until they bled. I… wasn’t always aware I was doing it. That’s why I got worse.” The boy lifted his head to look at the Captain and clenched his hands together, ignoring the tingling that it brought. “Captain Leyla, I know demons have caused us too much pain, but Lu is the exception. She’s done nothing but help all of us. Please, let her continue to help.”

The green-haired woman sighed and turned her attention back to Lu. “You’re off the hook for this one, but you’ll have to explain what that El Shard on your neck can do.”

“As far as I was aware, Madam Captain,” Lu said, putting a hand over her chest, “it was an empty El Shard. I’m just as surprised as you are by what has just transpired.”

“Yeah, right.” Leyla smirked before she huffed. “I’m old enough to know your kind wouldn’t collect empty shards. Off with it, Lu. I’m not gonna say a word to the Church unless I absolutely have to. Like the Felford kid said, you’ve helped, gave us some smaller shards, so—” The green-haired Captain shrugged. “I can pretend those horns and that tail of yours are just accessories. Same goes for Mr. Steel Cross.”

Lu’s gaze narrowed, her tail curled, poised like a snake ready to strike. It seemed to the boy that she was ready to fight to the death to keep the soul of her beloved with her—and Elsword was ready to help. 

“Captain, may I speak?” the boy asked.

Leyla threw a glance his way. “Hm? Whatcha got to say?”

“I… I’m not a Felford by birth.”

The woman looked at him and laughed, though it did not seem like she was laughing at him. “Oh, pretty sure everyone who’s my age suspected that, kid. You look more like a certain young Captain. Was that all?”

Elsword clenched his fists and took a deep breath. “You know my sister is the El Lady, right?”

Lu’s gaze widened, and now Leyla looked at him more seriously, giving him a nod. He could not explain what the El Shard was, what it did, but he could twist the truth enough to get Lu out of any trouble. 

---

Elsword still felt wobbly, and he could see that much of the physique he had achieved through training had withered away. He clearly had stayed more than a few weeks in the Ward. The air had grown chill, and the trees had already shed all of their leaves. Only traces of snow piled up on the sides of the road, though there was plenty of ice that he had to be careful with. Even if he felt relatively safe grabbing Lu’s arm for extra support, the boy still felt lightheaded. 

The demoness, in her adult form, looked over at him after tightening his grip with all his strength to avoid sliding down the hill. She stopped, looked at the long road ahead, then back at him. 

“I-I can do it, Lu,” he said, doing his best to ignore how his legs trembled, both because of the cold and the weakness he felt after only walking for ten minutes. They still had half an hour of walking ahead of them. “It’s just slippery, but I can do it. I’ve done it a thousand times before.”

“Have you done it after breaking both legs so horribly that you still have five mana sutures keeping your kneecaps and your ankle bones where they should be?”

Elsword opened his mouth, but closed it and pursed his lips almost immediately thereafter, lowering his gaze. He looked down at the armour-like supports he had to wear on both legs, under the healers’ strict orders. He would be stuck with those for the next year, or so they said. 

“Thought so,” Lu sighed before walking a few steps ahead of him. She told him to climb on her back. The offer stunned him enough to make him pause. 

Lu glanced at him over her shoulder. “It will be easier for both of us. Unless you prefer to be carried like a sack of potatoes.”

The boy winced at the idea, bringing his hand over the healing gash he had on his lower torso.

“Uh, no. No. Not that. That’d be worse,” Elsword stammered before he accepted her offer. Lu did not look muscular from afar, but even though most of her strength was inhuman, he could feel the finely chiseled muscles on her arms and back from his vantage point.

And he saw the scars of war, too. The young knight could guess some had to be from arrows, while others might be from knives or swords. He had not asked about the two biggest scars on her back. They looked horrific, and he could not say what type of weapon would have left such deep marks. Or how she survived it. 

Being carried on her back was, all things considered, far more comfortable than he expected. Sure, his arms struggled to keep a good grasp on her without trembling every now and again, but he felt that Lu’s grip around his knees was strong enough to keep him from falling. She was also walking slowly, which helped him feel far more stable, even when going downhill on a dirt road. 

“Thank you,” he said in a soft tone, hanging his head low, almost reaching her ear level. “I mean it. I… don’t think I could’ve spent another day in the Med Ward.”

“No need to thank me.” Lu sighed. “I just need to know something. How much did you lie to your new Captain? Beyond your entire speech about how special you are, that you connected with some dead energy and—”

“That wasn’t entirely a lie,” Elsword cut her off, raising his head again. “I… heard his voice. I’m pretty sure he’s the only reason I’m in somewhat better shape now.”

Lu stopped. “You… heard Zeral talking to you?” Her voice was a trembling whisper, followed by a shaky sigh, before she cleared her throat and continued her way downhill. “What did he say?”

“That… he was sorry for bringing me to the Tree of El?” Elsword told her the truth, though he wondered if that was what Lu truly wanted to hear. “I can’t remember if I ever saw him, but his voice seemed familiar.” The boy fell silent for a moment, trying to remember everyone he had met, but he could not picture meeting any other demon besides Lu and the beasts that massacred his comrades. “Did I meet him?”

“Not really.”

Though the young knight asked her what she meant by that, the demoness did not answer, preferring to talk about what he wished to do after he recovered. 

“I’ll chase after the real El Shard,” he vowed. “I don’t care how far I have to go for it, I’ll find it.”

“And you plan to go to the ends of the world all on your lonesome?”

“If it comes down to it,” Elsword chuckled, though it was more out of resignation than any joy, even at his expense, “I’m prepared for anything. There’s… not much I haven’t seen.”

“Oh, is that so?” Lu challenged him, though she did not raise her voice. “Then, tell me: what’s your plan to get the Lord of Elder to give you the El Shard? Do you even know what types of defence he has in his castle, how many men he has under his service, or if you can exploit any weaknesses?”

“I have my power,” Elsword argued back, his eyebrow furrowed. “If I could fight that big demon commander all on my own with it, then there’s no way there’s anyone strong enough that I—”

“That you can’t kill? Does your plan comprise killing your way through Elder until you get the El Shard?”

The question sent chills down his spine. His eyes widened for a moment, and he shook his head, closing his eyes shut. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I wouldn’t ever mean it that way.”

“You don’t want to kill; I get that,” Lu told him, her tone stern, almost scolding. “But your plan, as you’ve stipulated it, will lead you down that path. You’re old enough to see that, right?”

Elsword opened his eyes and let out a long sigh. “Yeah.”

“Then think of another plan. Something that doesn’t rely on your power alone.”

There was an easy solution, one that he had thought of, at least until he had pushed Aisha away. “It’s gonna be tough…”

“Give yourself this winter to think it over, Elsword. For now, your primary concern is getting home and talking with your parents. Start there. One day at a time.”

The boy sighed at that. “Is Aisha staying with the healers now?”

“Yes, as far as I know.”

“Then my home’s empty right now.” Elsword scoffed. “But it’s okay, I’ll manage. It’s not like I can’t move at all.”

Lu let the silence float for a moment before she asked him if he had lost his family during the Withering. Elsword told her it was nothing that dramatic. His father, his sister—the ones he had by blood—simply left one day for the war; only his sister returned every few years. As for his adoptive family, they had left before the Withering had begun and were surely in Velder, doing all the paperwork to hasten his adoption process.

“When will you get news from them?” Lu asked, glancing towards him from the corner of her eye. “Ruben is quite a distance away from Velder.”

Elsword shrugged. “Probably during the spring. Winters can get really tough. And there’s the sandstorm season in Bethma, too… I haven’t seen any mail getting through during the winter months.”

“And you have no one to look after you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not so bad,” the red-haired boy said, forcing a chuckle. “My adoptive mom taught me a lot of chores while I was young, and I learnt fast. It doesn’t get that lonely once you’re too busy to think about how empty the house is.”

“Elsword, that’s—” Lu began, her voice tense, perhaps in anger, before she clicked her tongue and let a long breath out. “What will you even do if your injuries reopen because you’re walking about doing chores?”

She had a point. With fewer people in the village and with winter already starting, he could only expect the worst if his condition worsened. “I… guess that’ll be it for me,” he admitted, his voice reduced to a barely audible whisper. “It will be kinda pathetic.” He chuckled, trying to mask the way his voice trembled, unaware that he was clinging to Lu a little tighter than before. “Dying… like that.”

“Of course it will be,” the demoness said, her tone firm and louder than before. “And that is precisely why I won’t let it happen. Ciel and I will watch over you. He’s decent at most chores, if he puts his mind to it.”

The young knight’s eyes widened for a moment, but he did not let joy flow into his heavy heart. His brow furrowed, and he lowered his head. “You really don’t have to, Lu. You and Ciel also have your own missions, no? You’ve finished your mission here, so—”

“Ciel will do whatever I tell him to do,” Lu interrupted him, her tone a tad sharper than usual. “It’s in our new contract.”

Elsword blinked. “Contract?”

Lu chuckled. “Oh, right. You wouldn’t know.” She lowered her head only a little, muttering something under her breath Elsword did not quite catch. “To put it simply, Ciel got very close to dying, so the only way I could save him was to change our soul pact a little. He gets more power, and I get him to be more reasonable and not charge at the first sign of a fight. Everyone wins.”

The boy smirked. “If I were under a contract like that… I probably wouldn’t have gone to…” He pursed his lips and shook the thought out of his head, though the memory remained. “Well, I wouldn’t be like this.”

The demoness looked over at him. Her icy eyes met his even through her long, wavy locks of hair. “Elsword, listen to me.” Her tone changed; she sounded far more serious than ever. It reminded him, somewhat, of how Elesis spoke to him, back when she pretended to care for him. “You never want to be in a contract with a demon. You hear me? It doesn’t matter what they promise you, it’ll never be worth it.”

Elsword tilted his head at that. “Then what about you and Ciel?”

“We made our pact out of desperation. Plus, unlike you, he’s a nobody; my kind would love nothing more than to corrupt someone as attuned to the El as you are.”

“And what about you?”

“My priority is finding your sister to get Zeral back and, should that fail… I suppose I’ll think of something else.”

Elsword smirked. “Like corrupting me?”

“If I wanted to do so, I would have done it before you even knew who I was. Listen. I don’t hate humanity like every other demon does.” Lu raised her head up to the sky. “I know who’s the real root of our pain.”

---

Elesis had forced herself to remain at the edge of the safer zones in Feita. Despite how sick she felt, how weak, she kept standing right at the edge of the last holy reliquary that delimited what was now known as the Dark Forest. Years had passed, and life returned, but now it was twisted. The only animals in sight were shadow creatures that vaguely resembled animals. Some had horns, others howled, but they were only incongruous shapes that sometimes floated around the twisted, stone-like trees that had grown instead of the peaceful rows of pines that should have made most of the forests in the region. 

Without the Divinus Manus in hand, her vision was blurring, but her mind was clear—if she closed her eyes, she could picture the desperate fight she had fought a little over a decade ago. The smell of blood and the sight of gore. Every sound… It was all intact in her mind. Some details had faded away over the years, but she still remembered what war had been like—how it had forged her childhood.

Her younger brother, at that age, had seen nothing but green fields, a small but loving home, and books where war was fought by heroes and only the villains died. She had fought for him to live how she wished she could have.

The sound of steps behind her extricated her from her reminiscing. Elesis drew her claymore in one move and raised it towards the newcomer. When she saw it was only Vanessa, Elesis relaxed.

“What a warm welcome, Captain,” the woman with short, neon-blue hair noted, adjusting her glasses over her navy-blue eyes. Vanessa studied her from head to toe, eyebrow furrowed. “Where is your weapon?”

“If you mean the Divinus Manus,” the young Captain said as she sheathed her weapon. “It’s not my weapon anymore. I told the Church I quit.”

“You haven’t learnt, have you?” Vanessa scoffed, shaking her head.

“I’ve learnt I’m too precious for them to kill me for not doing like I’m told.” Elesis huffed with a knowing smirk on her lips. She put a hand on her chest. “I’m not like their tin, or rather, Steel soldiers. Artea has my back, so no worries.”

“If you say so,” the other female knight grumbled before she took a note out. “Lord Felford woke up yesterday, but it might be for the last time. He wanted to give you this. I’ve been riding all night from Velder, so you better read it right now.”

Elesis raised an eyebrow and took the paper. “What happened to him?”

“Well, while you were here, wasting time instead of helping us against the Black Crow, someone had to take the reins of the operation.”

“Last I checked,” Elesis countered as she unfolded the sheet of paper, “I have zero airships, so pirate raids aren’t my fucking issue. Besides, the guy on the golden chair told me to man the station in Hamel with Penensio, so if you guys wanted me back, you kinda had to pressure the high nobility first…” A knot formed in her throat as she began reading what might as well be Owen Felford’s last words. “I… don’t understand.” Elesis gasped before looking at Vanessa, her eyes wide. “Why can’t he let my brother into his House if he croaks? Lady Seris also—”

“The Black Crow attacked Lord Felford on his way back from Ruben,” Vanessa explained, her tone low. “He was just coming back with his family and… Lento, too.” She took a sharp inhale and lifted her glasses to rub away any tears. “I know you couldn’t care less about anyone but your stupid brother, but even someone like you…” She let a shaky sigh out and looked at Elesis again, tears still dwelling in her eyes. “Even a cold-hearted piece of work like you would’ve felt something when looking at that ship. You would’ve been sick doing the report I had to do to inform everyone else of everything I found!” Vanessa huffed and turned away, sniffling as she swept her tears again. “I’m done here. Do whatever you want, Elesis. Go back to Hamel or do us all a favour and run away if you’re not even willing to be our El Lady anymore.”

Elesis looked down at the note, her heart sinking far too low for tears to come. She vaguely remembered the award ceremony. What stood out the most was the slap Elsword had given her. The young woman put her hand over the cheek where he had struck her. It was the wake-up call; the hurt in his eyes was far deeper than what she thought possible in a cheerful boy like him. 

“He… deserves a better family than me,” Elesis mumbled to herself. “I got no right to see him again.”

The young woman looked down at the note. It was addressed to her, but why? The contents beyond the first lines were almost all about Elsword. Tell your brother this, do not forget to mention to your brother that… 

Elesis turned the paper around and found a small sentence scribbled in a shaky hand on paper, and a tiny drop of dried blood. 

‘You are all he has left. Please don’t fail him twice.’

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Unforgiven, Unforgotten