Still on one knee, Icariel coughed violently, blood splattering in thick droplets across the forest floor like red petals torn from a dying bloom.
"Oh… shit," he rasped, voice paper-thin. "What did I just do?"
Pain coiled inside his gut, deeper than mere flesh—like something sacred had torn loose. His fingers pressed against his side, feeling heat spill over them. His insides felt like shredded bark beneath a storm, ripped open by something far older than his body could carry.
The voice in his skull—always calm, always in control—now trembled like a shattered reflection. Just like when he had summoned that white lightning. "Scream. Call the elf girl. Now."
Icariel tried.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came. Not a whisper. Not a sob. Just breath—dry, shallow, slipping away.
"I... I can't," he whispered in thought, like someone confessing defeat to a god.
Blood dripped steadily from the gaping wound, each drop dragging heat from his body like memories being erased. "I messed up…" he gasped. The words trembled in his throat, lost between panic and guilt. His vision broke into fragments, like glass kissed by frost. He could no longer tell if the world was spinning, or if he was simply unraveling.
The voice fell silent. Then, sharper—like iron grinding against bone: "Icariel. Listen to me."
No answer.
"LISTEN TO ME!"
The command cracked through the fog in his mind. Icariel stirred. His trembling hand dug harder against the wound, shaking, slick with blood. His breath wheezed between cracked lips.
"You have to try now. Use the healing spell. This is it—NOW OR NEVER. If you don't—"
"YOU. WILL. DIE."
One word struck him harder than pain ever could.
Die.
Even as his soul threatened to slip beneath the current, that word gripped him—like hands clawing from a grave. "I'm… I'm going to die?" he thought, mind fluttering between seconds.
Then, silence.
Then—
Black.
Inside the cave, the flames still crackled—mocking warmth in a world beginning to rot.
The elf girl stirred, a yawn slipping past her lips. "He still hasn't come back…?" she murmured, brushing strands of silver from her eyes.
She rose to her feet.
But before she could take a single step—
A hand clamped over her mouth, cold and firm.
"Shhhh," came a deep whisper behind her. "Don't make a sound."
She twisted, panic stabbing through her chest. Her body surged with instinct.
But then—she recognized it. The mana. The rhythm of the blood beneath the skin. The weight of someone she thought she'd lost to the void.
The hand left her mouth.
She spun around, silver eyes wide and trembling.
Tears spilled in an instant. "...Father?"
Before her stood a tall elf, silver hair tied back in a low warrior's knot, his emerald eyes glowing like distant moons. His armor shimmered, sculpted silver bearing the mark of a sword without hilt or edge—just like the symbol etched into her torn, grey clothes.
Behind him, two elves stood—equally tall, their hair a pale golden blaze. Spears slung across their backs, faces unreadable beneath helms that gleamed like dying stars.
Her father opened his arms. "My daughter…" he whispered.
He wrapped her in his arms, holding her like something sacred returned from the dead. "I missed you. I thought I'd lost you."
She clung to him, sobbing into the armor that had once kept her safe. "Me too, Father… I thought you died… fighting those monsters. I was so scared…"
"I'm here now," he whispered. "You're safe."
She melted into him—relief crashing down like a wave breaking after the storm.
She turned to the others and gave them a tear-streaked nod. They bowed their heads, quiet but reverent.
Her father pulled back, hands on her shoulders. "We should return soon. Your mother waits. We promised her we'd find you."
She hesitated, eyes turning toward the forest. "Fine… but, Father… before that, can we wait just a little longer?"
His brow furrowed. "Why?"
"When we got separated… I was chased by one of those monsters. I was bleeding out. Half-conscious. Alone." Her voice quivered.
"But a boy saved me. A human boy. He carried me to his cave and gave me shelter. He tended to my wounds… gave me warmth."
Her father's eyes narrowed. "A human? Living alone in this forest?"
"Yes. I owe him my life. I want to say goodbye… I might never see him again."
He studied her face, conflicted.
Then, slowly, he nodded. "Very well. Lead the way. Let us meet this boy."
They moved through the forest like ghosts. Silent, swift, eyes locked on the shadows between the trees. Moonlight poured through the canopy in brittle beams, like spears of cold light guiding them forward.
As they walked, the father finally spoke. "I'm sorry it took so long. After we dealt with the monsters… tracking your mana trail wasn't easy."
"Don't apologize," the elf girl said softly. "You found me. That's all that matters."
He smiled faintly, then glanced ahead. "So… tell me about this boy. What's he doing in a forest like this at night?"
"Training," she answered.
He arched an eyebrow. "Training? Now? In the dark?"
"He's an odd one."
He tilted his head. "Odd?"
Yes. Her voice echoed that single word with something deeper. Something unreadable.
Her father studied her for a long moment. "You've met nobles, warriors, commanders—and never spoke like this. Yet now, about a cave-dwelling human boy…"
His gaze grew thoughtful. "He must be unique, then."
She shrugged. "He's just… different."
"Then I look forward to meeting him."
But before another word could slip through the quiet—
A detonation of light.
Green. Blinding. A verdant explosion that shattered the forest's darkness like a second sun rising from the earth. It scorched the night sky, spilled through branches, painted bark and leaves in emerald fire.
"Tch!" They all raised arms to shield their eyes.
It was too bright. Too vast.
Not a flare. Not a torch.
A storm. A birth. A warning.
"What is that?" one of the blonde elves muttered.
The elf girl's heart clenched. "That's… where he was training."
Her father's jaw tightened. "That light… it can't be—"
"Let's go!" she cut him off, voice sharp with fear. "I hope he's okay!"
She ran. Branches whipped her face, thorns scraped her legs, but she didn't feel them.Only the light.Only the fear.
The elves followed, swift and soundless behind her.
Then—
She reached the clearing.
She froze.
The world tilted.
There he stood.
Icariel.
Tall. Pale. Still.
And beneath him—blood. So much blood. It soaked the earth like wine poured for dead gods. The grass was drowned in it, the air thick with the scent of iron and life.
Her hand flew to her mouth. "W-What…"
But Icariel didn't move.
He stood like a statue carved from exhaustion and silence.
His face was a mask—pale, hollow-eyed, lost.But there was no wound.Not a scratch.Not a bruise.
Nothing.
Her father stepped forward, eyes scanning the boy, and the two elf warriors drew slightly closer.
"Master…" one murmured. "Did that human child—?"
"I don't know," the father muttered, voice low, eyes sharp with dread. "I need to see for myself."
The elf girl stepped forward, voice cracking.
"Hey… what happened? What is all this blood?"
Icariel turned his head.
Their eyes met.
His gaze—black, endless—was cold, yet unbroken. As if something inside had been shattered… and reforged into something else.
He lowered his head slightly. His voice, low and steady, flowed out like something remembered from a dream.
"What's all this rush?"
A pause.
Then—
"I'm okay."