Icariel stood frozen, troubled by the girl's terrified reaction. He looked at the cooked rabbit leg in his hand, then at her as she trembled, nearly in tears.
"Why are you complaining when your stomach growled like that?" he asked, genuinely confused.
"Get that away from me… please…" she said, her voice shaking.
Then the voice in Icariel's mind spoke, calm but firm. "Remove it. Now. Elves—this kind of elf—don't eat meat."
"What?" Icariel replied mentally, startled.
"Yes. It's part of their culture. Their traditions. Their rules. They don't break them—not for anything."
As Icariel lowered the rabbit leg to the ground, he asked the voice, "So what do they even eat? What do they live on?"
"They survive off unique plants and forest-grown food. Mostly things tied to nature."
Icariel blinked, scoffing lightly. "No wonder they're all so thin."
He glanced at the girl, who was still pressed against the wall.
"I can't live like that. Meat gives strength, not just food. I'm glad I wasn't born an elf—what kind of life has no meat?"
Since he could remember, meat had been a constant in Icariel's life. Whether he hunted it himself or ate what others brought in, it filled his belly and gave him strength. Even when he got sick of the taste, he kept eating. It was part of who he was. The idea of cutting it out was unthinkable—like trying to survive without air.
Still, the voice's words held weight. And though he didn't agree with it, he understood. He placed the rabbit leg aside.
"It's gone. Relax," he muttered.
The silver-haired elf girl slowly began to calm down. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though her wide, watchful eyes stayed on him. "What is wrong with you?" she finally snapped. "It's not just disgusting—it's wrong! How could you eat creatures the gods have bestowed upon us? It's a sin!"
Icariel's eyes darkened, empty of emotion. "Stop. That's nonsense."
"I need to eat to live properly. To stay strong. What do the gods have to do with that? Bears can kill us if we don't kill them first. Do the gods gift us bears just so they can rip us apart? Are we supposed to let them eat us while we pray?"
He turned his back to her, sat by the fire, and began eating the rabbit himself—uncaring of her reaction now. His stomach was empty, and survival didn't wait for philosophy.
The elf girl flinched at his words, then scowled. "They won't mess with you unless you threaten them. Wild beasts only attack when they're scared or provoked."
A flash of memory passed through Icariel's mind. A dog, once loyal in the village of Mjull, had tried to bite its owner. Not out of fear. But out of hunger.
His voice came low between chews of roasted meat. "You've never seen one blinded by hunger, then… Not even a dog hesitates when it's starving."
"You're so strange…" she whispered, more warily this time, like trying to solve a riddle that kept shifting shapes.
Icariel looked up mid-bite. "You've never met a human before?"
"Plenty," she said after a pause. "But none who ate so heartlessly in front of an elf—and with such rudeness."
She lowered her gaze. Her voice softened, almost too quiet to hear. "Still… I've never seen anyone with such… pure mana…"
Icariel didn't catch the last part—his mouth was still full of rabbit meat. "Did you say something?" he mumbled.
She blinked. "Just… please finish eating where I can't see it."
After a while, Icariel licked the grease from his fingers and leaned back with a satisfied sigh.
"Ahhh... I feel full. What a great feeling that is." He smirked slightly, teasing her with exaggerated joy.
"Your stomach's already growling again. What're you going to eat—moss and tree bark?"
She shot him a glare, then pushed herself upright. "I'm going out. I need to find something—plants, anything."
Then, the voice in Icariel's mind chimed in.
"If she performs healing magic now, watch carefully. Observe how elements act and flow through her body and how they're applied. You'll learn more from seeing it than from me explaining it."
"Fine," Icariel replied mentally. "It'll be useful if I want to learn healing spells myself."
The girl stood carefully, adjusting her torn clothes and pulling the bandage tighter across her shoulder. She glanced toward the cave entrance.
Then she tilted her head slightly, a curious glint in her eye. "Why's a kid like you alone out here?"
Still shirtless, Icariel turned toward her. His expression was unreadable. "Same reason as you."
"I told you mine." she replied with a soft pout.
"Then I choose not to. Balanced trade."
A small nerve ticked at her forehead as she clenched her fists. "You jerk!"
Icariel stood and stretched, yawning. "I should go grab some water before I sleep."
"Me too. I'm going to gather now… I think I can move well enough now," she muttered, stepping toward the cave entrance. Night still cloaked the forest, bathed in the silver glow of a full moon. Crickets sang their steady rhythm into the quiet darkness.
"Be careful out there," Icariel said half-heartedly.
"I thought you were coming with me," she turned, frowning. "How can you let a wounded girl wander the forest alone?"
"You're the one who didn't want the meat. Don't blame me—I'm exhausted."
"Unbelievable," she muttered. "How can you—"
The voice whispered again in Icariel's mind: "Go with her. She isn't healing yet—leave now, and you might miss the chance to witness her magic."
"Tch… fine," Icariel muttered mentally, sitting up.
The elf girl was already walking outside, still favoring her side, when he suddenly called out—
"Wait. Wait—I'm coming."
She paused, looking over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "I don't want you to accompany me anymore."
"Shut up. If you faint again, I'll have to drag you back."
She glanced at him sideways, then looked forward again.
A small, knowing smile curved her lips. "Guess you're not entirely a jerk."
"Huh?"
"Forget it." she said, walking a little faster.
The forest bathed in moonlight shimmered with silver dew. Cool air carried the scent of damp earth and crushed pine needles. Crickets chirped like ticking clocks, their rhythm brushing the edges of silence. Icariel held back a yawn as the silver-haired elf girl crouched near the forest floor, picking carefully through leaves and bushes.
They were close to his training spot now, where the trees stood in pieces and the stones shattered—scars of his recent spell practice.
She paused, looking around with wide eyes. "What happened here?"
"Don't tell me… you did this?"
"Yeah," Icariel said casually, scratching his neck. "I was training."
She gasped slightly, standing with an armful of gathered herbs and mushrooms. "You defiler of soil! Wounding nature for selfish gain!"
Her glare could've pierced metal. Icariel blinked at her expression, confused but unbothered. "Hey," he muttered in his mind, "is it just me, or are elves not really in their right minds?"
A pause. Then the voice replied, somewhat sheepishly: "They're just... different from humans."
"That doesn't answer my question."
More silence.
Then, reluctantly: "I'm with you on this one…"
Icariel smirked to himself. "Of course you are. You were the one who told me to cut them in the first place."
The voice went quiet again.
A few minutes later, the elf girl stood up, arms full of gathered plants. "I've got most of what I need. Just one more thing left." She turned and handed the bundle to Icariel. "Here. Hold these for me."
He took them without complaint, watching as she suddenly paused, exhaling deeply. "My mana's recovered enough now… I should be able to heal my wound. But I'll wait until we're back at the cave. Doing it out here would leave me completely unguarded."
"Why?" Icariel asked.
"Because healing is difficult. Even for elves." She winced slightly as her shoulder throbbed again. "It takes time to cast, and the control required is exhausting. I'll be vulnerable while doing it."
"Voice?" Icariel asked inwardly.
"Healing defies logic,"the voice replied, cool and unshaken."Unlike most spells, it doesn't follow clean rules—it demands emotion, control, and spirit."
Icariel nodded slightly. "Still... I can't wait to see how it's done."
As the elf girl tried to adjust her arm again, she flinched in pain. "Tch… I need to gather that last ingredient and then we return. This wound is becoming unbearable now that I've moved so much."
Icariel narrowed his eyes. "Heal it here."
She blinked. "What?"
"Heal it now. Right here. I'll be your guard. If anything approaches, I'll sense it before it gets close."
"You can sense threats?" she asked, skeptical. "How?"
"Questions later. Just heal. You're in pain, aren't you?"
She sat, her hands trembling as she brushed her silver hair aside. "You'll keep watch… right?" she asked without looking at him.
Icariel didn't reply, just nodded once and turned to scan the trees.
Her hands trembled slightly. Then she nodded as she closed her eyes. "Then I'll trust you."
"Just get on with it," Icariel muttered, eyes already scanning the forest.
He watched intently with his vision, illuminating the forest in waves of colors—orbs of mana floating gently in the air like drifting embers. He turned his gaze to the girl—and saw something he hadn't seen before.
Every part of her body shimmered with mana. Not like a flame or a current—but like something alive. She peeled the bandage back, revealing the deep wound on her shoulder, the flesh still raw and bruised.
Then, placing one hand gently over it, she exhaled.
A warm, verdant light unfurled from her palm—gentle as spring rain. To Icariel's mana-sight, it wasn't just light—it was life. Emerald threads wove themselves into her torn flesh, not with brute force but delicate grace, like roots knitting through soil. Her aura shimmered in time with each heartbeat, trembling under the weight of her focus. This wasn't just magic.
It was faith, given form.
[End of Chapter 21]