《A World Deprived Of Tales》


 Chapter 1: Wonder

    ¡°The cloud falleth low,


    From skies once untouch¨¦d high,


    Stars unhid now glow.


    Yet sins heavy lie,


    Wings shall lift us to the void,


    The untouch¡¯d we try.¡±


    A child murmured the poem he had been taught since his earliest days. The words had always been familiar, yet their meaning remained elusive. He pondered their significance, weaving countless questions in his mind. What did they truly speak of? Were they a warning, a truth, or merely a distant echo of something long forgotten? He imagined all sorts of possibilities, each interpretation leading him down a different path of thought, yet no answer felt complete. A child''s mind, weaving endless possibilities, was a wondrous gift bestowed upon him by creation.


    He imagined a man who had grown fond of the stars in the night sky¡ªa man burdened by the weight of terrible crimes, yet still yearning to reach for the untouchable, chasing a dream beyond his grasp. Or perhaps it was naught but love wrapped in strange metaphor? Wondering about the meaning behind a poem had always been a source of joy for those like him.


    As he continued to ponder beneath the moon, which hung high in the vast, velvet sky, his thoughts were pulled back by a familiar voice.


    ¡°Geschicht, the meal¡¯s ready, lad! Time to eat.¡± It was his father¡¯s voice, strong and steady, the voice of a man with a muscular build.


    Little Geschicht trailed closely behind his father, their footsteps echoing on the cobbled path as they made their way back to their modest stone house. The structure, though humble, stood firm and solid, a testament to his father¡¯s craftsmanship. Inside, the walls were lined with the worn tools of a rough mason¡ªhammers, chisels, and trowels scattered across workbenches, each one showing signs of years of labor. The air smelled faintly of stone dust and fresh mortar, and the sounds of the day¡¯s work still lingered in the corners of the room.


    The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its warm glow casting flickering shadows on the rough stone walls of the small home. The heat from the flames made the air feel heavy, the scent of burning wood mingling with the earthy aroma of the stew simmering in the pot over the flames. Sitting by the hearth, the young boy still hadn¡¯t gotten the poem out of his mind. The flickering flames danced across the stone walls, casting soft shadows in the modest room. His thoughts drifted, but the moment was pulled back to reality by his father¡¯s deep, steady voice.


    ¡°Here be your portion, lad. Eat well.¡±


    His father handed him a hunk of coarse bread and a bowl of thick vegetable stew, the warmth of the meal filling the air. The boy wrapped his small hands around the wooden bowl, savoring the heat that seeped into his skin as he brought it close. He inhaled the comforting smell of root vegetables and herbs, though his mind was still tangled in the lines of the poem.


    His father sat beside him, his own bowl in hand, his strong hands worn and rough from years of working stone. He ate slowly, chewing thoughtfully as the fire crackled and popped, the only sound breaking the quiet of their humble home.


    After a few moments of silence, his father spoke again, his voice low, a trace of concern in it.


    "Lad, there aren¡¯t many children near your age in this town for you to play with. It must be rough."


    Geschicht glanced up, his gaze soft but distant, the thoughts of the poem still lingering. He had always been a curious, odd child, more inclined to wander his own thoughts than join in with others.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing, Father,¡± the boy reassured him, his words simple but sincere.


    For a moment, his father¡¯s face tightened, as if weighed down by a lingering worry. The firelight flickered across his furrowed brow, deep lines of age and toil visible even in the glow. But then, a soft smile crept onto his lips, and the warmth of it reached his eyes.


    ¡°There¡¯s a new lad in this town,¡± he said, his tone lighter now. ¡°Same age as you. He came here with his uncle. You should meet him. Could be good for you.¡±


    Geschicht looked up from his bowl, meeting his father¡¯s gaze, and though he didn¡¯t speak, a glimmer of interest sparked in his eyes. The fire crackled once more, and they continued their meal in silence.


    Late at night, as he lay in bed, the boy¡¯s mind couldn¡¯t quiet itself. The poem and the new kid in town swirled in his thoughts. It had been ages since he had spoken to someone his own age. With a quiet breath, he slipped out of bed and quietly made his way to the front door, careful not to be caught.


    He ran quietly to the place he often visited when his mind wouldn¡¯t rest at night. It was a secluded spot, where a sea of fireflies gathered near a green hill by the lake, deep in the woods behind his town¡ªa place only he knew. The moonlight bathed the lake¡¯s surface, turning the water into a sheet of glass that shimmered with a thousand silver reflections. The gentle ripples from the breeze seemed to dance under the pale light, creating a soft, rhythmic murmur. As Geschicht gazed into the lake, his reflection stared back at him, distorted slightly by the shifting water.


    ¡°I wonder why you¡¯ve come here,¡± a voice echoed softly, rising from the sea of flickering fireflies. A boy appeared, as though summoned by the very glow of the night, his presence radiant with an otherworldly grace. His skin, the deep hue of smoldering embers, seemed to drink in the fireflies¡¯ golden light, while his white robes, simple yet unearthly, billowed gently despite the stillness of the air.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Four arms rested at his sides, each movement deliberate, fluid, as if his very being carried the weight of something beyond mortal understanding. His hair, pale as moonlight, cascaded like silk, untouched by the winds, and his eyes¡ªpure, luminous white¡ªreflected no shadow, as if they had seen beyond the veil of time itself. He stood there, as if he had blessed the moon itself, the gentle light surrounding him shimmering with a magic that seemed to fill the air, a peace that could only be born from the depths of the stars.


    ¡°I also wonder about it.¡±


    Geschicht did not startle at the sudden appearance of this divine being. Perhaps it was because his mind was already tangled in other thoughts, leaving no room for shock. The presence before him was unlike anything mortal, yet it did not unsettle him. The fireflies danced in silent reverence, their golden glow tracing the contours of his crimson skin, as if drawn to the warmth of embers beneath the surface. His flowing white robes seemed untouched by the world, and his four arms rested with an eerie grace. His pale eyes, empty yet full, reflected the light of the stars.


    Yet Geschicht simply stood there, unshaken¡ªhis curiosity outweighing his wonder.


    The divine boy stepped forward, his presence shifting the very air, the fireflies parting around him as though obeying an unseen command. ¡°You think of words woven into verse,¡± he murmured. His voice was like a whisper carried by the wind, a sound not of the world but beyond it. ¡°A poem that lingers in your mind, refusing to leave.¡±


    Geschicht blinked. He hadn¡¯t spoken of it, yet this being¡ªwhoever, whatever he was¡ªhad plucked the thought from within him as easily as one plucks a petal from a flower.


    ¡°I was taught the poem since I was little,¡± Geschicht admitted, glancing toward the lake where the moon¡¯s silver reflection rippled gently. ¡°I¡¯ve thought about its meaning for as long as I can remember, but¡­ I still don¡¯t understand it.¡±


    The divine boy tilted his head, his white hair cascading like liquid light. ¡°A poem¡¯s meaning is not always meant to be understood,¡± he said. ¡°Sometimes, it is meant to be felt.¡±


    Geschicht frowned slightly, considering the words. ¡°But why shape words into something unclear?¡±


    A small, knowing smile tugged at the being¡¯s lips. ¡°Because mystery is its own kind of beauty,¡± he said, his voice carrying the weight of ancient wisdom. ¡°Not all things are made to be unraveled. Some are meant to linger, like the last note of a song before it fades into silence.¡±


    Geschicht looked down, gripping the fabric of his sleeve. ¡°So¡­ it¡¯s alright if I don¡¯t understand?¡±


    ¡°It is not understanding that makes a poem powerful,¡± the divine boy answered. ¡°It is the wondering.¡±


    For a moment, Geschicht said nothing. Then, after a pause, he let out a quiet breath and looked up at the boy once more. ¡°Do you have a poem?¡± he asked. ¡°One of your own?¡±


    The divine boy¡¯s glowing eyes flickered, and for a moment, the fireflies swirled around him in a slow, hypnotic dance. Then, in a voice softer than the wind, he recited:


    ¡°The stars whisper low,


    Words unspoken, yet they burn,


    Lost, yet never gone.¡±


    The words hung in the air, delicate as a thread of silk, and Geschicht felt them settle deep within him¡ªan echo of something he had always known yet never heard spoken aloud.


    He didn¡¯t fully understand.


    But maybe, just maybe, he didn¡¯t need to.


    After a brief exchange, Geschicht found himself wondering about the one he was speaking to.


    The divine boy tilted his head slightly, his pale, pupil-less eyes unreadable. ¡°What would you call me?¡±


    The fireflies flickered and danced around them, their golden glow weaving between the silence that followed. Geschicht''s thoughts swirled like ripples on the lake, but no answer came to him¡ªnot yet.


    The divine boy watched him for a moment longer, then, without a word, stepped back into the sea of fireflies. The tiny lights swirled around him, their glow intensifying as if embracing his form. And then¡ªhe was gone, vanishing into the shimmering dance of golden flickers, as if he had never been there at all.


    The night stretched on, but eventually, weariness settled in Geschichte¡¯s limbs. With one last glance at the now-empty space where the boy had stood, he turned and made his way back home, the cool night air clinging to his skin.


    By the time he slipped beneath his covers, the first hints of dawn were beginning to creep over the horizon.


    When he awoke, the world was bathed in morning light, the memory of last night lingering like a fading dream. The morning sun stretched over the town, casting golden hues upon the stone buildings. The rhythmic sound of hammer against chisel echoed through the streets as Geschicht stood beside his father, watching him work. His father, a rough mason of great skill, carved stone with practiced ease, his calloused hands shaping each block with precision. Dust clung to his arms, yet there was something steady¡ªsomething unwavering¡ªin the way he moved, as if the very foundation of the town rested upon his craftsmanship.


    Villagers passed by, some stopping to greet him.


    ¡°Good Morrow! Ehrhart,¡± called a baker, balancing a basket of fresh bread. ¡°Still making the town stand strong?¡±


    Ehrhart chuckled, setting down his chisel. ¡°Someone has to, or we¡¯d all be sleeping under the stars.¡± Laughter followed, warm and familiar. A passing merchant waved, and a farmer tipped his hat.


    Ehrhart wiped the sweat from his brow, glancing at his son, who had been quietly working beside him. ¡°Geschicht, have you thought about what I said last night?¡±


    The boy looked up from stacking stones. ¡°About the new lad?¡±


    ¡°Aye,¡± Ehrhart nodded, taking a sip from his waterskin. ¡°His name¡¯s Harriet. Lives by the east fields with his uncle, old Gunter the weaver. They only just settled in, but Gunter¡¯s been working hard to make a living.¡±


    Geschicht ran a hand over the rough surface of a half-carved stone, thoughtful. ¡°Why did they move here?¡±


    Ehrhart sighed, setting down his hammer. ¡°Gunter said they lost their home in a fire. The boy¡¯s got no parents left, just his uncle. It¡¯s never easy starting fresh, but this town has kind folk. They¡¯ll get by.¡±


    He patted Geschicht¡¯s shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what, lad¡ªfinish up this bit of work, and I¡¯ll let you off early. Go and meet him. A boy your age shouldn¡¯t spend all his time with stone and mortar.¡±


    After working for a while, Geschicht made his way to the spot his father had mentioned, where Harriet was said to be. When he arrived, he found Harriet running after a wild boar in front of his house, trying to catch it.


    The golden-haired boy grabbed hold of the boar and, with surprising force, sent it charging toward Geschicht, knocking him out cold.

 Chapter 2: Bond by fate

    Geschicht woke to the familiar sky stretching above him. His head ached. ¡°That hurt¡­¡± he muttered, sitting up.


    For a moment, he swore he felt something¡ªan unseen force nudging him awake, unsteady and uncertain. But as quickly as it came, the sensation faded, leaving only the distant sounds of rustling leaves and hurried footsteps nearby.


    "Are you alright? Sorry about the boar earlier." His words carried a hint of shyness, a stark contrast to the reckless energy he''d shown while wrestling the creature just moments ago.


    Geschicht blinked a few times, the haziness fading as he focused on the boy standing before him. Harriet looked uneasy, his golden eyes flickering between concern and embarrassment.


    Geschicht sighed, finally pulling himself to his feet. ¡°Not the first thing I expected when meeting someone new.¡± He dusted off his clothes, still feeling the lingering soreness from being knocked down.


    Harriet hesitated, then offered an awkward smile. ¡°Yeah¡­ Not exactly a great first impression.¡±


    Geschicht crossed his arms, tilting his head. ¡°So, what were you even trying to do?¡±


    Harriet looked away for a moment, as if debating whether to explain. Then, with a small chuckle, he said, ¡°I was trying to catch it for my uncle. He said if I wanted more to eat, I should get a little meat myself.¡±


    Geschicht raised an eyebrow. ¡°And you thought you could take down a boar on your own?¡±


    Harriet shrugged. ¡°It almost worked.¡±


    ¡°Almost,¡± Geschicht repeated, shaking his head. He glanced back at the house Harriet had come from. ¡°So, you¡¯re the new kid in town?¡±


    Harriet nodded. ¡°Harriet Reacher. I live here with my uncle, Gunter. We moved in not long ago.¡±


    Geschicht studied him for a moment, then extended his hand. ¡°Geschicht Snow.¡±


    Harriet looked at it, then grinned and shook it. His grip was firm, yet something about it felt¡­ off. Geschicht couldn''t quite place it¡ªhis hand felt there, but at the same time, it didn¡¯t. As if the pressure of Harriet¡¯s grasp was real, yet strangely weightless, like something unseen was mimicking the movement rather than his own fingers.


    There was something oddly comforting about it. For a brief moment, Geschicht felt at ease.


    ¡°Well, now that we¡¯ve met¡­ You want to help me catch that boar?¡±


    Geschicht let out a small laugh. ¡°You still haven¡¯t given up on that?¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± Harriet said confidently. ¡°But maybe this time, I¡¯ll try a different approach.¡±


    Something about the way he said it made Geschichte pause, but he decided not to question it just yet. Instead, he smirked. ¡°Alright, but if I get knocked out again, you owe me.¡±


    Geschicht raised an eyebrow, still rubbing his sore side from where the boar had knocked him down. He couldn¡¯t help but notice the confidence radiating from Harriet, his golden eyes burning with determination.


    "Well," Geschicht said, standing up and brushing off his clothes, "I don''t exactly carry tools around for boar hunting... But I''m sure we can find something."


    Harriet tilted his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "That''s fine. I can track it, and we can figure something out along the way." His gaze sharpened, his whole posture shifting to one of quiet focus.


    Geschicht was still unsure, but there was something compelling about Harriet¡¯s confidence¡ªsomething that made him feel like this might be the start of an unexpected adventure. "Alright, lead the way," he said, gesturing for Harriet to take the lead.


    Harriet gave a short nod, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Follow me."


    As they walked towards the forest''s edge, Geschicht couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that there was more to Harriet than met the eye. Something that felt beyond ordinary. But for now, he put his questions aside, choosing instead to focus on the boar they were about to track down together.


    As they made their way toward the forest, Geschicht couldn¡¯t help but feel a growing sense of curiosity mixed with a little confusion. Harriet, despite claiming to be able to track the boar, wasn¡¯t using any of the techniques that the rangers or the old hunters in town used. There were no marks on the ground, no broken branches, or signs of a trail to follow¡ªnothing that hinted at where the boar had gone.


    Harriet just walked forward, his steps sure and steady, as if he were following some invisible path only he could see. Geschicht glanced around, trying to make sense of it all. His father, Ehrhart, had always told him that the forest had its ways, but this didn¡¯t seem like any of the methods the town hunters used.


    "Are you sure you know where you''re going?" Geschicht asked, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the confusion in his voice.


    Harriet didn¡¯t answer immediately. He seemed lost in his own thoughts for a moment, his golden eyes fixed ahead, scanning the quiet woods. Then, with a small smile, he looked back at Geschicht. "I do. I don¡¯t need to see the signs. I just¡­ know."


    Geschicht blinked, trying to understand. "Know?"


    Harriet nodded once, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "Yeah. Just trust me.¡±


    There was something almost otherworldly in the way Harriet spoke, and for the first time, Geschicht felt the subtle weight of the mystery that seemed to follow him. Harriet wasn¡¯t like anyone he¡¯d met before¡ªnot in the way he moved, not in the way he thought, and certainly not in the way he seemed to understand the world around him.


    ¡°Alright,¡± Geschicht said, deciding to follow for now. He couldn¡¯t deny the strange sense of assurance Harriet exuded.


    As they walked deeper into the forest, the trees towering above them and the light filtering through the canopy, an odd quiet settled between the two boys. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the occasional call of distant birds.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Finally, it was Geschicht who broke the silence. ¡°So¡­ what¡¯s it like? Being new here, I mean. You must¡¯ve had a life somewhere else before.¡±


    Harriet¡¯s golden eyes briefly flickered to him, but his pace didn¡¯t falter. ¡°I suppose I did,¡± he replied, his voice low and thoughtful. ¡°But it¡¯s never the same anywhere, is it? People, places, they all change, eventually. But I guess I never seemed to mind. I¡¯ve seen a lot of different places. And I¡¯m not one to stay in one place for too long.¡±


    Geschicht nodded, feeling a mix of curiosity and confusion. ¡°I¡¯ve never really left this town. It feels like everyone here is¡­ the same, in a way. They all have their work, their routine. I guess that¡¯s fine, but I don¡¯t think I want to just stay here forever, doing the same thing every day.¡±


    Geschicht¡¯s curiosity deepened. He had never really thought about the world that way. To him, the town and its people had always felt enough, like the world didn¡¯t need to be any bigger than what he saw every day. But Harriet seemed so sure, as if the world was waiting for him to discover it, to explore.


    ¡°What do you think life is about, then?¡± Geschicht asked, his voice almost tentative.


    Harriet paused for a moment, his eyes gazing ahead as if he were searching for something in the distance. Then, with a shrug, he answered, ¡°I think it¡¯s about finding what makes you want to keep going. What makes you want to live, what drives you forward. It¡¯s different for everyone. Maybe that¡¯s what makes it all worthwhile.¡±


    Geschicht thought about that, his mind wandering as he considered the weight of Harriet¡¯s words. There was a truth in them, something deeper than he could fully grasp just yet.


    ¡°So,¡± Harriet continued, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes, ¡°how about you? What makes you want to keep going?¡±


    Geschicht hesitated, his thoughts swirling. He had never really considered it before. "I don''t know," he said finally, his voice quiet. "I guess I just want to figure things out. Life, the world... myself, maybe. I want to understand it all.¡±


    Harriet smiled softly, a look of understanding in his gaze. ¡°I think you¡¯ll figure it out.¡±


    They continued walking in companionable silence, both boys lost in their own thoughts. The forest seemed to stretch on forever, but now, with each step, it felt like something bigger was unfolding between them.


    When the boys spotted the boar, they noticed it was wounded¡ªits hide marred with cuts that looked like they came from rusted spears and crude clubs with stones tied to their edges.


    Kobolds, small, reptilian creatures they were, emerged from the underbrush, their beady eyes fixed on the wounded boar as they rushed forward, ready to claim their prize.


    ¡°They got to it first,¡± Geschicht whispered to Harriet, tugging at his sleeve. ¡°Let¡¯s find another one and try not to let them notice us.¡±


    But before Geschicht could pull him away, Harriet moved. In an instant, he leaped forward, straight at the nearest kobold.


    The creature barely had time to react before it crumpled, its body twisting unnaturally in the air. No weapon had touched it, no blade had pierced its flesh¡ªyet it choked on a silent gasp as its life was snuffed out. The others recoiled, confusion flashing in their yellow eyes.


    Geschicht watched, stunned. Harriet hadn¡¯t even raised a hand.


    Harriet moved like a ghost through the chaos, weaving between the kobolds'' wild swings with an uncanny grace. Every time one lunged, it was as if unseen hands guided him just out of reach. With each flicker of movement, another kobold fell¡ªits body twisting midair, throat crushed or limbs bent in ways they shouldn¡¯t be.


    Geschicht barely had time to process what he was seeing. Harriet never touched them.


    But then¡ªa slash of rusted metal.


    A kobold, smaller and quicker than the rest, had slipped behind Harriet unnoticed. Speaking in an incomprehensible tongue, it swung its jagged blade down. The crude weapon sliced clean through Harriet¡¯s arm.


    The severed limb hit the ground with a soft thud.


    Geschicht froze, expecting blood¡ªexpecting a cry of pain.


    There was none.


    The fallen arm didn¡¯t bleed. It lay still, unnatural, as if it had never been flesh to begin with.


    Geschicht barely had time to think. His body moved before his mind could catch up. His hands trembled as they reached down, grasping the crude weapon from the lifeless grip of a fallen kobold. It was rough, rusted, and heavier than he expected, but he held it firm.


    Geschicht felt something stir inside him¡ªsomething warm, something that pushed him forward.


    His curiosity had always been a quiet whisper, guiding him toward the unknown. But now, it roared.


    He couldn¡¯t let Harriet fight alone.


    With a deep breath, he lunged. The kobold barely had time to turn before Geschicht drove the weapon into its chest. It let out a shrill cry, then fell still.


    His heart pounded, his breath unsteady. He had never killed before. Yet, in this moment, he didn''t hesitate. His curiosity burned brighter than his fear.


    Geschicht tightened his grip on the weapon, his heart pounding. "I couldn¡¯t just stand there and watch." Yet, deep inside, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something had been protecting him¡ªguiding his movements in a way he couldn¡¯t quite explain.


    As the last kobold fall, the forest grew eerily silent, save for the distant rustling of leaves. The boar had long fled, leaving the two boys standing amidst the fallen kobolds. Harriet glanced at Geschicht, a grin forming on his face. "Guess that means we make a good team.¡±


    Geschicht exhaled, lowering his weapon. "Maybe." But in the back of his mind, the warmth he had felt¡ªthe invisible force that had nudged him forward¡ªlingered like an unanswered question.


    Harriet stood there, unfazed, not a single drop of sweat on him. Geschicht was catching his breath, his hands still gripping the weapon tightly. His heart pounded against his ribs, his body buzzing with lingering adrenaline.


    "You okay?" Harriet asked, tilting his head.


    Geschicht wiped his forehead, still trying to make sense of what had just happened. "You''re not even tired?¡±


    Harriet shrugged. "Not really." He dusted off his sleeve, as if they hadn¡¯t just fought for their lives. "You''re the one who jumped in all of a sudden. I thought you¡¯d just watch."


    Geschicht scoffed, still trying to steady his breathing. "I thought you''d listen when I said not to fight them in the first place.¡±


    Harriet chuckled. "Yeah, that was never going to happen." Then, with a grin, he added, "But hey, we won."


    Geschicht looked around at the fallen kobolds, the warm feeling still lingering in his chest. He wasn''t sure if it was relief, exhaustion, or something else entirely.


    As they made their way back to town, the weight of the boar pressing on their shoulders, Geschicht stole a glance at Harriet.


    "Is your arm alright?" he asked, remembering the moment it had been cut clean off.


    Harriet looked at him, then down at his sleeves. With a small sigh, he lifted one, revealing the truth¡ªthere was nothing beneath it. No wound, no blood, just emptiness.


    ¡°I never had arms to begin with,¡± he said simply.


    Geschicht stared, his mind racing. He had seen the arm fall, had seen it severed. And yet, Harriet stood there, perfectly fine. The realization sent a shiver down his spine¡ªnot out of fear, but curiosity.


    ¡°¡­Then how did you fight?¡± he finally asked.


    Harriet just smiled, lowering his sleeve again. ¡°I have my ways.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you just show that you don¡¯t have arms from the start?¡± Geschicht asked.


    Harriet hesitated before responding, ¡°I guess I want people to think I¡¯m like them, to fit in. But... when I¡¯m with you, I don¡¯t feel the need to hide it. It¡¯s strange, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    Geschicht blinked, taken aback by the response. He hadn''t expected Harriet to say something like that. The way Harriet spoke about it made it sound as if something had shifted, something subtle that neither of them could quite explain.


    "It is a bit weird," Geschicht admitted.


    Harriet''s smile returned, a little more genuine this time. "Maybe. I guess it''s because, with you, it doesn¡¯t feel like I need to pretend."


    The air between them shifted slightly, as if there were something unspoken hanging in the space they shared. The boar was heavy, but that weight felt a little easier to carry now. As they walked side by side, the silence felt natural, comfortable, like the beginning of something new, something they both couldn''t quite understand yet.


    ¡°Does that mean you trust me?" Geschicht asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.


    Harriet didn''t answer immediately, his gaze drifting ahead. "I don¡¯t know but I think... I might be starting to.¡±


    "We have only known each other for a few hours though.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡± Harriet admitted, glancing at Geschicht.


    As they walked side by side, unaware of the significance of the moment, the world around them seemed to fade, leaving only the quiet certainty that something had already begun between them¡ªa connection that would endure through everything that was to come.

 Chapter 3: The First Tale

    Days melted into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years, each moment weaving itself seamlessly into the fabric of Geschicht and Harriet''s lives. Time flowed like a quiet river, carrying them forward, shaping them in ways neither could fully grasp. The days stretched long and languid, yet there was an unspoken understanding between them¡ªa silent acknowledgment that these years were not just passing but sculpting them, molding them into the people they were destined to become.


    By the time adulthood settled upon them, the bond they had forged in their youth had deepened, as natural and inevitable as the changing of seasons. What had begun as a weird friendship had quietly transformed into something far more profound, a connection that neither could deny nor escape. It was as though their lives had always been intertwined, their paths converging with a quiet certainty.


    Harriet, with his extraordinary ability, became an integral part of the village''s daily life. His powers were not just a spectacle but a seamless extension of his character. He would mend roofs with a flick of his unseen hands, carry burdens too heavy for others, or retrieve lost items from impossible places, all with an effortless grace. The townsfolk came to rely on him, not out of necessity but because his presence felt as natural as the sunrise. He never sought recognition, yet his actions spoke louder than words, embedding him into the rhythm of their lives.


    The children of the village, wide-eyed and curious, watched him with a mix of awe and admiration. To them, Harriet was more than a man with strange abilities¡ªhe was a quiet hero, a figure who made the extraordinary seem ordinary. They marveled at the way he could move objects without touch, as if the air itself obeyed his will. Yet, it wasn¡¯t just his powers that captivated them; it was the kindness behind his actions, the way he made the impossible feel within reach. To the children, Harriet was a living legend, but to the adults, he was simply Harriet¡ªa part of their world, as familiar and essential as the earth beneath their feet.


    In this way, Geschicht and Harriet became threads in the tapestry of the village, their lives blending seamlessly with those around them. The years passed, not with fanfare, but with a quiet, steady rhythm, each moment a testament to the unspoken bond they shared and the lives they touched along the way.


    On a day when the sky was painted with soft clouds and the sunlight barely broke through the overcast, Geschicht found himself walking toward the house his father had just completed the day before. He was used to seeing Harriet in odd places, but today, he spotted him lying casually on the roof. "Hey Harriet," he called up with a smile, squinting against the pale sun. "What are you doing up there?"


    Harriet¡¯s golden hair glimmered faintly in the light as he lifted his head slightly, acknowledging his friend¡¯s voice. "Oh, I''m just resting up here," he replied with an easygoing tone, his eyes scanning the sky as if contemplating something far away.


    Curious as ever, Geschicht decided to join his friend and climbed up the ladder that led to the roof. The shingles were still fresh, a sign of the hard work his father had put in the day before, and as he reached the top, he took a seat next to Harriet. "Got any plans for today?" he asked, his tone light but with a hint of genuine interest.


    Harriet turned his head slightly, his golden eyes reflecting a certain calmness. "Nope," he answered with a shrug, seemingly uninterested in the passage of time. "But I did notice something."


    Geschicht raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What¡¯s that?"


    "I¡¯ve seen you carrying something on your waist lately," Harriet continued, his voice casual, but his words carrying a quiet curiosity. "It looks like you¡¯ve been bringing it everywhere with you."


    A flicker of realization crossed Geschicht¡¯s face, and he placed a hand on his waist, where his leather pack normally hung. "Oh, this?" he said, reaching down to pull out the small notebook he¡¯d been keeping with him. "It¡¯s a journal. I¡¯ve decided to start recording everything I find interesting. You know, thoughts, observations¡­ things like that."


    But as his hand fumbled around his waist, he felt a sudden unease. His fingers didn¡¯t graze the familiar leather cover. He searched again, but his book was gone.


    "Wait a second..." he murmured, turning his head to look at Harriet.


    Harriet, now holding the very same journal in his hands, gave a small, knowing grin. "Why does most of it have me in it?" he asked, his golden eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and something deeper, almost as if he knew more than he was letting on.


    Geschicht blinked in surprise, his mouth going dry. How could Harriet have his journal? He was certain he¡¯d kept it secured in his pack. Confused, yet oddly fascinated, he stared at his friend, who seemed as nonchalant as ever, flipping through the pages with a quiet chuckle.


    "Well, you''re the most interesting person in this town," Geschicht said with a small grin, his eyes glancing toward the streets below where a few children were playing, their innocent laughter ringing through the air. "Kids see you as some kind of hero."


    The moment the word "hero" left his mouth, Harriet turned his head, his golden eyes locking with Geschicht''s. His expression shifted slightly, as if pondering the idea. "Do I?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity, almost as if the concept of being a hero was something he''d never really considered for himself.


    Geschicht, still sitting beside him on the roof, paused for a moment. Harriet''s reaction was unexpected, and it made him think for a second. He reached out to take the journal back from Harriet''s hands, brushing his fingers lightly against his friend''s as he did so. "Well," he started, the corners of his mouth curving into a soft smile, "you might be. To them, you are." He held the book close to his chest, his thoughts drifting back to all the times he¡¯d seen the children watching Harriet with awe, their eyes filled with wonder. "You¡¯ve helped so many people around here... It¡¯s hard not to see you that way."


    Harriet looked at him for a moment, the golden sheen of his hair catching the faint light as he processed the words. He seemed both humbled and uncertain by the idea, his eyes distant for a moment before he shrugged, he let the thought go¡ªor at least pretended to.


    "If you don''t have any plans for today, then come to my house. We''re celebrating my coming-of-age ceremony," Geschicht said with a smile.


    They both leaped off the roof without hesitation, landing with a grace that should have been difficult from such a height. For Harriet, it was effortless, but Geschicht, despite not being as nimble, found himself landing softer than he expected. It wasn¡¯t the first time he had felt it¡ªthat strange sensation, like unseen hands gently steadying him just before impact. He glanced at Harriet, who acted as if nothing unusual had happened, brushing dust from his sleeves.


    They exchanged a single glance¡ªno words were needed. In the next instant, they took off, feet pounding against the dirt road as they raced toward Geschicht''s house. The wind rushed past them, carrying their laughter as they weaved between startled townsfolk and leaped over small obstacles in their path.


    Harriet, with his effortless speed, pulled ahead at times, but Geschicht refused to fall too far behind, pushing himself forward with determination.


    As the familiar sight of Geschicht¡¯s home came into view, neither of them slowed down. The race wouldn¡¯t be over until one of them touched the door first.


    Their breaths came in quick bursts as they neared the house, neither willing to give in. Harriet, as expected, had the edge¡ªhis movements were smooth, almost unnatural in how effortlessly he avoided anything in his way. Geschicht, on the other hand, had to push himself harder, weaving through people and nearly stumbling over a stray chicken that had wandered onto the road.


    At the last moment, Harriet reached out, aiming for the door¡ªonly for Geschicht to lunge forward, slamming his palm against the wooden surface first.


    "I win!" Geschicht declared between breaths, his grin wide with triumph.


    Harriet blinked, surprised, then laughed as he placed his own hand beside Geschicht¡¯s on the door. "You really wanted that win, huh?"


    Geschicht turned to him, still catching his breath. "Of course. Not every day I get to beat you at something."


    Harriet smirked but didn¡¯t argue. "Well, I¡¯ll let you have this one."


    Before Geschicht could say anything else, the door swung open, revealing Ehrhart standing there with his arms crossed, an amused expression on his face.


    "So, that''s what all the commotion was about," he said, shaking his head. "Racing like wild animals through town¡ªhope you didn¡¯t knock anyone over on the way."


    Harriet scratched the back of his head, trying to look innocent. "We made sure not to, right, Geschicht?"


    Geschicht straightened up. "Definitely."


    Ehrhart chuckled and stepped aside. "Well then, come in. The celebration¡¯s about to begin."


    With that, the two boys stepped inside, the warmth of the home welcoming them as the sounds of laughter and conversation filled the air.


    As soon as they stepped inside, the scent of roasted meat and fresh bread filled the air. The room was lively, filled with familiar faces¡ªneighbors, friends, and even a few traveling merchants who had decided to join the celebration. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting a golden glow over the wooden walls.


    Geschicht barely had time to take it all in before someone shoved a wooden mug into his hands.


    "Here, drink up! It¡¯s a special day, after all!" One of the older villagers, a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard, grinned at him.


    Geschicht looked down at the liquid inside. It smelled strong¡ªtoo strong. "Uh¡­ what is this?"


    Harriet peered over his shoulder, smirking. "Looks like mead."


    The bearded man let out a hearty laugh and clapped Geschicht on the back, nearly making him spill the drink. "It¡¯ll put some fire in your belly, lad! You¡¯re a man now, aren¡¯t you?"


    Geschicht hesitated. He¡¯d seen grown men drink mead before, watched how it loosened their tongues and turned their laughter louder. He wasn¡¯t sure he was ready for that.


    Harriet nudged him. "You don¡¯t have to drink it if you don¡¯t want to."


    Geschicht considered that, then lifted the mug slightly. "I¡¯ll¡­ take a sip."


    He brought it to his lips, letting the liquid touch his tongue. The taste was sharp, sweet, and burned all at once. His throat tightened as he forced himself to swallow.


    Harriet¡¯s grin widened. "And?"


    Geschicht coughed, setting the mug down on the table. "It¡¯s¡­ strong."


    The bearded man roared with laughter. "Aye! You¡¯ll get used to it, boy! But if you¡¯d rather something softer, we¡¯ve got cider too."


    Geschicht exhaled, nodding. "I think I¡¯ll take the cider."Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Harriet chuckled, picking up his own drink¡ªwater, of course. "Smart choice."


    As the evening carried on, Ehrhart finally found a quiet moment with his son. The guests were still celebrating, but the two of them stepped outside for some fresh air. The night sky stretched above them, clear and endless, with the faint flicker of lanterns from nearby houses casting a warm glow over the village.


    Ehrhart leaned against the wooden railing of their porch, arms crossed. ¡°So, Geschicht,¡± he began, his voice steady but thoughtful, ¡°have you given any thought to your future?¡±


    Geschicht, still holding his mug of cider, glanced at his father. ¡°Future?¡±


    Ehrhart nodded. ¡°You¡¯ve got the skill for masonry. You¡¯ve been learning since you could lift a chisel. If you wanted to take over one day, I know you¡¯d do well.¡± He looked at his son carefully. ¡°But is that what you want?¡±


    Geschicht hesitated, swirling the liquid in his cup. The truth was, he didn¡¯t know yet. He liked working with stone, shaping things with his hands¡ªbut since the first meeting with Harriet, something else had been pulling at him. The urge to observe, to record, to chase after things people overlooked.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure yet,¡± he admitted finally. ¡°I do like the work, but¡­ I don¡¯t know if I see myself doing it forever.¡±


    Ehrhart studied him for a moment before letting out a quiet chuckle. ¡°That¡¯s alright,¡± he said, patting his son¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You don¡¯t have to decide everything now. Just know that whatever path you take, I¡¯ll support you.¡±


    Geschicht smiled, relieved that his father wasn¡¯t disappointed. ¡°Thanks, father.¡±


    Ehrhart nodded, then smirked. ¡°Just don¡¯t expect me to go easy on you if you do stick with masonry. I won¡¯t have my son being the second-best mason in town.¡±


    Geschicht laughed. ¡°Noted.¡±


    As Geschicht finished talking with his father, he glanced up at the roof of their house and spotted Harriet sitting there, legs dangling over the edge. His golden hair shimmered under the lantern light, and his usual easygoing expression was fixed on the night sky.


    ¡°I was wondering where you went,¡± Geschicht called up, crossing his arms.


    Harriet tilted his head down, grinning. ¡°Well, you were busy. Figured I¡¯d wait up here.¡±


    Geschicht sighed. ¡°You really like climbing onto things, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Harriet chuckled. ¡°It¡¯s peaceful. And I get the best view.¡± He patted the spot beside him. ¡°Come on up.¡±


    Shaking his head but smiling, Geschicht made his way up, knowing Harriet wasn¡¯t coming down anytime soon.


    As Geschicht sat beside him on the roof, Harriet¡¯s usual carefree demeanor seemed a little more distant, his golden eyes fixed on the horizon. After a quiet pause, he finally spoke.


    ¡°There¡¯s something that¡¯s been on my mind lately,¡± Harriet said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about leaving¡­ about going out into the world.¡±


    Geschicht turned to him, brows furrowed. ¡°Leaving? Where would you go?¡±


    Harriet¡¯s gaze lingered on the distant mountains, his voice quiet but firm. ¡°I don¡¯t know yet. But there¡¯s something inside me that says I should. I want to help people, not just here in town, but everywhere I can reach. I don¡¯t want to just be someone they call when there¡¯s a problem here... I want to be someone who makes a difference, you know?¡±


    Geschicht studied him for a long moment, feeling the weight of his words. He had always known Harriet as someone who acted first and thought later, but this¡­ this felt different. There was purpose in his words, a conviction that made them feel more real than anything else Harriet had said before.


    ¡°I think I get it,¡± Geschicht said slowly. ¡°You want to help more people. You want to be... something more.¡±


    Harriet nodded without hesitation. ¡°Yeah. Exactly. I don¡¯t know what it will look like, but I feel like I have to go. To find a way to really do something with this power of mine.¡±


    Geschicht couldn¡¯t help but feel a knot form in his stomach. The thought of Harriet leaving, of embarking on some grand journey, was sudden and strange. But there was a part of him that understood. Harriet had always been different. He had always stood apart, not because he wanted to, but because he was meant to.


    ¡°You really want to leave?¡± Geschicht asked, the question feeling heavier than he intended.


    Harriet gave him a small, uncertain smile. ¡°Yeah¡­ I think I do.¡±


    The silence that followed felt thick, but there was no need for more words. The decision was already made, and now it was just a matter of when.


    "Hero... You want to become a hero?" Geschicht broke the silence.


    Harriet shifted slightly, his golden eyes meeting Geschicht¡¯s with a mixture of uncertainty and quiet determination. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I want to be a hero,¡± he said after a long pause, ¡°but I want to help. I want to make a difference. And if that means being called a hero, then... maybe that¡¯s what I¡¯ll be.¡±


    Geschicht took in his friend¡¯s words, watching the way Harriet¡¯s gaze seemed to drift over the town, as if envisioning the many places he could go, the many people he could help. There was something in Harriet¡¯s tone that made Geschicht believe it wasn¡¯t just about the title, but about the purpose that lay beneath it.


    ¡°You¡¯re already a hero to the kids around here,¡± Geschicht said with a small smile. ¡°They look up to you, you know.¡±


    Harriet chuckled softly, though it didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. ¡°Yeah, I know. But it¡¯s not about them, is it? It¡¯s about something bigger. Something that feels... right. I just can¡¯t shake the feeling that there¡¯s more for me out there. That there¡¯s more I can do.¡±


    Geschicht felt a pang in his chest, a mix of pride for his friend and a knot of uncertainty about the path ahead. He had always known Harriet was different, but hearing him speak with such clarity about his desire to help others made the reality of their futures feel all the more imminent. Harriet wasn¡¯t the same boy who had arrived in town all those years ago. He had grown, changed, and now had a purpose that called him away.


    ¡°I think you¡¯ll make a great hero,¡± Geschicht said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. ¡°Whatever you decide to do, I know you¡¯ll do it well.¡±


    Harriet smiled, but it was a small, bittersweet smile. ¡°Thanks, Geschicht. I¡¯m glad you think so. But I can¡¯t do it alone, can I?¡±


    Geschicht hesitated. The words hung in the air, and for a moment, he found himself frozen. His mind wasn¡¯t in the clear, thinking of the future that seemed so uncertain. Could he really leave everything behind to go with Harriet on this journey?


    "I¡­ I don¡¯t know,¡± Geschicht murmured, his voice quieter than he intended. ¡°It sounds like a lot.¡±


    After a long pause of silence, Harriet shifted slightly, his gaze still fixed on some distant point beyond the horizon. Then, without a word, he pushed himself off the edge of the roof, landing gracefully on the ground below. He glanced back up at Geschicht, his expression unreadable but his eyes holding a quiet intensity. "I''ll wait," he said simply.


    Without another word, Harriet started walking, his golden hair catching the last rays of the fading sun. As he moved away, his strides were purposeful, as if he was already envisioning the steps ahead¡ªeach one leading him closer to the journey he had long been dreaming of. His mind was set now.


    The words "I''ll wait" echoed in Geschicht¡¯s mind. They felt like a promise. He stayed on the roof a little longer, the cool evening breeze brushing against his skin, as the village below settled into the calm of twilight. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something had shifted, something undeniable, and he wondered if Harriet felt it too.


    The night air grew still, and the fireflies began to flicker above him, their tiny glowing bodies dancing like soft stars in the twilight. But it wasn¡¯t just the gentle breeze or the flickering lights that caught his attention. No, it was something else¡ªsomething more elusive, like an invisible hand pulling at his very soul.


    Without thinking, without a plan, his feet started moving. There was no rational thought behind it, no decision made in his mind, just a quiet, undeniable pull that guided him forward. His body seemed to know where to go, as if he were being led by something far greater than himself.


    He walked toward the green hill by the lake, the one that had always felt... different to him, even though he couldn¡¯t explain why. The soft hum of the world around him seemed to fade, replaced by an intense quietness that only he seemed to notice. It felt like the world was holding its breath.


    As he reached the top of the hill, the familiar sight of the lake spread before him, its surface shimmering under the pale light of the moon. And there, standing at the edge of the water, was the divine boy.


    Geschicht¡¯s heart raced, but there was no fear¡ªonly an overwhelming sense of purpose. The boy turned to face him as though he had been waiting, and in that moment, it all felt right. It felt like an answer, like the culmination of a question that had been hanging in the air between them since their first meeting.


    ¡°Why am I here?¡± Geschicht asked aloud, more to himself than to the divine boy.


    The divine boy''s eyes, empty and yet full of knowing, studied him quietly for a moment. Then, with the faintest of smiles, he spoke, his voice carrying across the stillness. "Perhaps you''re here because the answers you''ve been seeking have always been within you.¡±


    The divine boy¡¯s voice was soft but carried weight, like a gentle breeze that still managed to move the tallest tree. ¡°Out there, in the world beyond this place, there is much insanity and emptiness. A world without heroes. Without tales. Without legends.¡± His words felt like they were echoing from a faraway time, a time before Geschicht had ever thought to question the world around him.


    Geschicht blinked, confused, the very concept of such emptiness foreign to him. "Without heroes?" he repeated, as though trying to understand. "But... there''s always something happening in the village. Stories... stories of people helping one another, of people fighting for what they believe in." His mind raced, trying to make sense of what the divine boy was saying.


    The divine boy nodded, as though acknowledging Geschicht''s confusion. "Those are not stories in the true sense. They are simple accounts, fleeting moments that people tell themselves to feel connected. But there is no real understanding of what a tale is. A story, Geschicht, is something more than just what happens. It is a thread that ties people, places, and events into something greater, something timeless. The world you know has forgotten what it means to have stories¡ªtrue stories, with heroes and legends.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean... real stories?¡± he asked, his voice quiet, almost uncertain.


    ¡°Real stories," the divine boy repeated, "are not merely told. They are alive. They shape the world and the people in it. The ones who live them become more than just individuals¡ªthey become part of something greater. Heroes, legends, myths¡­ they are the fabric of what keeps a world alive. Without them, the world falls into chaos and meaninglessness.¡±


    The weight of the words hung in the air, and Geschicht¡¯s mind swirled with questions. He had always heard about the lives of the people around him, their struggles, their victories, their everyday lives. But these things were just stories¡ªweren¡¯t they?


    ¡°No one talks about heroes where I¡¯m from. There are no myths. No tales. It¡¯s like the idea itself is lost¡­¡± Geschicht murmured.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± the divine boy said. ¡°You¡¯ve already begun to see it, haven¡¯t you? You live in a world where people have forgotten the meaning of these things.¡±


    ¡°What do I do?¡± he asked, his voice filled with wonder and determination. ¡°How do I bring stories back?¡±


    The divine boy smiled softly, the faintest shimmer in his eyes. ¡°You already have the answer.¡±


    He pulled out his journal, the worn leather cover creaking as he opened it. The pages inside were filled with his thoughts, his observations¡ªfragments of the world he had seen. But now, it felt like he was opening a door to something far greater.


    ¡°The world needs to know about him,¡± he muttered softly to himself, his voice steady with resolve.


    His eyes glided over the blank pages of the journal, the ink waiting for his words. A sense of clarity filled him¡ªthis was the moment he had been waiting for. His hand hovered over the page, quill ready to dance across it, as if the words themselves were eager to spill out. He was no longer just recording his thoughts or his observations. He was recording a story¡ªthe story that would change everything.


    ¡°This is where it starts,¡± he whispered, the weight of his decision sinking in. The world might not know it yet, but it was on the brink of something far greater. And Geschicht Snow would be the one to make sure it was remembered. He had begun to write.


    ¡°What would you call me?¡± The divine boy¡¯s voice echoed with the same question he had asked years ago. At that time, the answer had been elusive, shrouded in uncertainty. But now, with the weight of everything they had seen, experienced first-hand, Geschicht knew exactly what to say.


    ¡°You are curiosity itself,¡± he said, his voice firm with realization. ¡°You are the firefly... no, I suppose that you can be amongst the first fireflies, perhaps older than the ones who walked on the earth before us all, that sought to illuminate everything, following some sort of¡­ primal instinct, to chase after that unknown flash of light so you could understand it all up close. You are the Primal of Curiosity.¡±


    The divine boy¡¯s gaze softened, he stepped forward to Geschicht.


    The divine boy placed his hand gently on Geschicht''s journal, and as he did, fireflies began to emerge from the air, their soft glow flickering in the dark. One by one, they flew into the open pages, disappearing as they touched the paper, leaving behind a trail of warmth.


    "Let this be my gift for your answer," the Primal of Curiosity said, his voice low and profound, as if the act itself carried an ancient weight. The journal seemed to hum with an energy all its own, as if the fireflies had infused it with something far beyond the ordinary.


    Geschicht stood silently for a moment, his heart pounding with the weight of the Primal of Curiosity¡¯s gift. The journal in his hands felt different now, almost alive with a presence he couldn''t fully grasp. He closed the book slowly, feeling the warmth of the fireflies¡¯ energy still lingering in the pages. With a deep breath, he tucked the journal back into his leather pack.


    The night air felt cooler as he made his way home, each step purposeful. The world around him was still, the distant hum of the town carried by the wind. But in his heart, there was a flicker of something weird, something his heart had always wanted. He now understood that his journey had only just begun.

 Chapter 4: Rusted Respite

    The morning sun spread across the undulating hills, bathing the landscape in a gentle, golden light. Above, the sky stretched endlessly, a pristine blue dotted with a few thin clouds drifting lazily. The air was fresh, carrying the fragrant aroma of wildflowers in bloom and the faint murmur of the world stirring to life. Birds darted among the branches of towering oaks, their cheerful songs blending into a soft, harmonious tune that drifted over the tranquil landscape.


    Geschicht and Harriet walked along a narrow, winding path that cut through the wild grass like a ribbon of possibility, its destination unknown. The path, well-trodden by countless feet before them, stretched endlessly ahead, disappearing into the misty edges of the forest beyond. Each step they took felt like a new beginning, yet held the familiar rhythm of routine.


    Harriet¡¯s golden hair caught the sunlight as he kicked a loose pebble down the trail, his steps restless. The open road had promised adventure, but he hadn¡¯t accounted for the monotony of endless walking. His gaze flicked to the trees, searching for anything to break the dullness¡ªa rabbit, a deer, even a stray gust of wind.


    ¡°This is boring,¡± he finally muttered, dragging his feet slightly. ¡°I thought traveling would be more... exciting.¡±


    Geschicht glanced at him, a teasing glint in his eye. ¡°That¡¯s odd. You used to tell me about all the places you traveled, about how you¡¯d go from one end of town to the other, hunting in the forests, climbing rooftops. Wasn¡¯t that exciting?¡±


    Harriet scoffed. ¡°That was different.¡±


    ¡°Oh? How so?¡±


    Harriet huffed, tilting his head toward the sky. ¡°I was always moving. There was always something to do¡ªtracking, chasing, climbing. This, though? This is just... walking.¡±


    Geschicht chuckled. ¡°Well, that¡¯s what traveling is most of the time. A lot of walking, thinking, and waiting for something to happen.¡±


    Harriet sighed. ¡°I should¡¯ve accounted for that.¡±


    Out of sheer boredom, he turned to his companion, curiosity flaring in his golden eyes. ¡°Why did you decide to come with me anyway?¡±


    Geschicht glanced at him, a smile playing at his lips. ¡°That¡¯s a secret,¡± he replied.


    Harriet rolled his eyes, though he couldn¡¯t hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. ¡°You¡¯re impossible, you know that?¡±


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Geschicht replied, his gaze drifting back to the path ahead. ¡°But where would the fun be in telling you everything?¡±


    As they continued along their desired path, the world around them seemed to hold its breath, as if it was waiting eagerly.


    "Man, that was overwhelming. People just kept handing us things the moment we stepped out of the town gates." Geschicht let out a long sigh, stepping carefully to avoid a patch of mud on the dirt path.


    "It was nice, though," Harriet said with a grin. With a light hop, he leapt over a low-hanging tree branch without breaking his stride.


    "Yeah, I won¡¯t complain. Let¡¯s see... We got a good amount of food, most of it stuff that won¡¯t spoil quickly. On top of that, we still have the dry rations we packed ourselves." Geschicht ducked under another branch and glanced back at their supplies.


    Harriet landed smoothly, hands in his pockets as his backpack hovered slightly behind him. "Sweet, isn¡¯t it? Though, it¡¯s a bit heavy for just the two of us to carry."


    "Not much of a problem when you can carry things without touching them," Geschicht remarked, eyeing Harriet¡¯s pack as it shifted slightly in the air, supported by something invisible.


    Harriet shot him an amused look, his grin stretching wider. "We also got a lot of Doh, didn¡¯t we?" With a light jump, he cleared a fallen log in their path, landing as if gravity barely applied to him.


    "Yeah¡­ Even though I tried refusing it, they still somehow found a way to shove it into my hands," Geschicht sighed again, shaking his head.


    Harriet let out a chuckle as he walked ahead, tilting his head toward the sky. "Looks like we¡¯re set for a while¡ªboth food and money." His golden eyes gleamed with satisfaction, carrying the quiet excitement of a traveler.


    The path stretched before them, winding through a vast and untamed wilderness bathed in hues of violet. Towering trees with thick, gnarled trunks stood like ancient sentinels, their deep purple leaves whispering against the gentle morning breeze. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting shifting patterns of lavender and lilac across the moss-covered ground. The air carried the crisp scent of damp earth and blooming flora, laced with the faint sweetness of unseen flowers.


    The forest stretched endlessly, dense with towering trees whose bark was rough and ancient, wrapped in veils of deep purple moss. Their canopies wove together, allowing only slivers of golden light to pierce through, casting dappled patterns on the forest floor. Beneath them, thick ferns and tangled roots sprawled, their indigo fronds shifting gently with the breeze. In the distance, a brook meandered through the undergrowth, its waters shimmering with an amethyst glow, as if it carried the essence of twilight itself. The air was rich with the scent of damp earth and blooming flora, and a faint, melodic hum drifted through the trees¡ªa whisper of a world steeped in quiet mystery.


    Harriet moved ahead with ease, stepping over tangled roots and gliding under low branches like he had walked these wild lands his entire life. As they passed beneath a particularly large oak-like tree, a small chittering sound caught his attention. A tiny squirrel, its fur a muted shade of violet to match its surroundings, clung nervously to the bark, hesitating as it tried to leap to the next branch.


    Without missing a beat, Harriet lifted his head, watching the creature with quiet amusement. Then, with a barely noticeable flicker of will, one of his invisible hands extended toward it. The squirrel twitched in surprise as it felt an unseen force gently lift it, floating effortlessly across the gap before settling it onto the next branch. It hesitated for only a moment before flicking its bushy tail and scampering away, as if nothing unusual had happened.


    Geschicht had paused a few steps behind, already flipping open his journal. With quick, practiced strokes, he jotted down the scene, sketching a rough outline of Harriet standing beneath the tree, the squirrel mid-air, seemingly weightless.


    "Helping squirrels now, are we?" he mused without looking up from his pages.


    Harriet glanced over his shoulder, a lopsided grin on his face. "Well, it looked like it needed help."


    Geschicht shook his head, smirking as he dipped his quill into the small ink bottle strapped to his side. "Just adding another note on why the kids back home think you¡¯re some kind of hero."


    Harriet let out a laugh, brushing past a curtain of hanging vines as he continued down the path.


    Hours had passed since they had set foot on the meandering path, their journey taking them deeper into the vast, violet-hued woodland. The air had grown cooler, and the golden slivers of light that once peeked through the canopy had dimmed, giving way to the soft glow of bioluminescent fungi clinging to the ancient trunks. The stillness of the forest was only broken by the occasional rustle of unseen creatures and the steady rhythm of their footsteps.


    Then, through the thick clusters of trees, a structure emerged¡ªa lone building nestled among the wilderness. The scent of damp wood and overgrown ivy greeted them as they approached. The building was an old inn, long abandoned, its wooden frame worn by time, yet still standing firm against nature¡¯s slow embrace. The sign that once displayed its name had faded, its letters barely legible beneath layers of moss.


    Harriet stepped forward, tilting his head as he studied the place. ¡°Huh. Didn¡¯t expect to see an inn all the way out here.¡±


    Geschicht ran a hand along the splintered doorframe, peering through a broken window. Inside, dust blanketed every surface, and cobwebs clung to the corners like the remnants of forgotten travelers. ¡°It must¡¯ve been abandoned for years.¡±


    Harriet grinned, pushing open the door with a creak. ¡°Well, we needed a place to rest, didn¡¯t we? Looks like we just found one.¡±


    Geschicht hesitated, glancing around. Something about the air inside felt¡­ still, too still. Yet, with the weight of their supplies pressing on their backs and the fatigue creeping into their bones, the idea of shelter was tempting. With a sigh, he stepped inside. ¡°Just for the night,¡± he murmured.


    The wooden floor creaked beneath their steps as they made their way up the narrow staircase, their presence disturbing the thick layer of dust that had settled over the years. The second floor was in slightly better condition than the main hall, though time had still left its mark. Most of the doors hung ajar, revealing rooms filled with broken furniture, torn curtains, and the faint scent of old wood and mildew.


    After checking a few rooms, they finally found one that was the least affected by dust and decay. The window, though streaked with dirt, was still intact, allowing the last remnants of daylight to cast a dim glow across the floor. A few stray leaves had blown in from the cracks, but otherwise, it was the best they could hope for.


    ¡°This one¡¯ll do,¡± Harriet said, kicking aside a pile of dried leaves near the entrance.


    Geschicht nodded and set his pack down, unrolling his mat onto the wooden floor. ¡°Not exactly the most welcoming place, but at least it¡¯s dry.¡±


    Harriet followed suit, using his unseen hands to pull out his own mat from his backpack before letting it settle onto the floor. ¡°Could¡¯ve been worse. At least there aren''t any holes in the roof.¡± He looked up just to make sure.


    Geschicht sat down, stretching his legs. ¡°You say that now, but if something scurries across the floor in the middle of the night, I¡¯m blaming you.¡±The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Harriet smirked as he lay back on his mat. ¡°Relax. If anything tries to crawl on you, I¡¯ll flick it away before you even notice.¡±


    Geschicht shook his head with a tired chuckle, flipping open his journal to jot down the events of the day. For now, they had a roof over their heads and a place to rest, and that was enough.


    As the last traces of daylight faded beyond the trees, darkness settled over the abandoned inn. The air inside was cool and still, the silence broken only by the distant rustling of leaves outside. In the center of the room, a small lantern flickered, casting a soft glow against the worn wooden walls and offering both warmth and light in the otherwise shadowed space.


    Geschicht reached into his pack, rummaging through their supplies before pulling out a small bundle wrapped in cloth. Without warning, he tossed it straight at Harriet.


    A dull thud sounded as the pack of dried deer meat smacked against Harriet¡¯s face before bouncing onto his lap.


    Harriet blinked, staring down at it before looking up at Geschicht. ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t cook here,¡± Geschicht said flatly, already unwrapping his portion. ¡°So let¡¯s just eat dry food and deal with it.¡±


    As Harriet unwrapped his portion of dried meat, he let out a small sigh and peeled off his gloves, revealing the empty space where his arms should have been. He flexed his shoulders slightly, and the jerky lifted from his lap as if guided by invisible hands. Piece by piece, the food floated up to his mouth, and he took a bite as if it were the most natural thing in the world.


    Geschicht, who had seen this before but never quite gotten used to it, watched for a moment before shaking his head and returning to his meal. ¡°You could at least pretend to struggle a little. You know, like a normal person.¡±


    Harriet raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a grin. ¡°And you could pretend to be amazed every time.¡±


    ¡°I am amazed,¡± Geschicht muttered, taking another bite of his food. ¡°I just don¡¯t have to say it every time.¡±


    Harriet chuckled, finishing his meal as the last bits of dried meat disappeared into his mouth. With a small motion of his shoulders, his gloves floated back toward him, slipping onto his arms as effortlessly as they had come off.


    With his stomach full and the warmth of the lantern filling the room, Harriet let out a yawn. ¡°Man, I didn¡¯t think traveling by foot would make me this tired¡­¡± His voice trailed off as he turned onto his side, his golden eyes fluttering shut. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, and he was fast asleep.


    Geschicht, however, remained awake.


    Late into the night, when the only sounds should have been the distant calls of nocturnal creatures and the occasional rustling of the trees outside, Geschicht heard something strange¡ªa faint clinking, like glass tapping against wood, followed by the low creak of floorboards shifting under movement.


    His first instinct was to shake Harriet awake, but as he turned his head and saw his friend sleeping so peacefully, he hesitated. Instead, he quietly pushed himself up, careful not to make a sound as he grabbed his lantern and crept toward the door.


    As he descended the staircase, the strange noises became clearer¡ªsoft, shuffling steps, the steady wipe of cloth against wood, and the unmistakable sound of liquid being poured. But when Geschicht stepped onto the first floor, he stopped dead in his tracks.


    The room was different.


    When they had first entered the inn, the place had been a forgotten ruin¡ªdusty floors, cobweb-covered tables, and a thick layer of dirt clinging to every surface. But now, it was pristine. The wooden floor shone as if freshly scrubbed, the chairs were neatly arranged, and the long-forgotten bar counter gleamed under the dim light of a few flickering lanterns. The air, once stale with abandonment, now carried the faint scent of polished wood and something sweet¡ªperhaps honey or spiced cider.


    Geschicht¡¯s eyes darted around the room, his mind struggling to piece together what he was seeing. ¡°Did I fall asleep and dream of my earlier exploration of this place? No, that¡¯s impossible¡­¡± He was certain¡ªhe had walked through this floor, kicked up dust with every step, and even traced his fingers over the dirt-caked counter. Yet now, it was as if time had reversed itself, restoring the inn to its former glory.


    Then, he noticed the figure behind the counter.


    A man¡ªno, not a man.


    He was made of wood, his features carefully carved, his limbs jointed like those of a crafted puppet. His ¡®skin¡¯ was polished oak, and his eyes, though unmoving, held an unsettling depth to them. He was methodically cleaning a cup with practiced movements, his wooden fingers wrapped around the glass as he wiped it with a cloth.


    As if sensing his presence, the wooden man turned his head toward Geschicht, his movements eerily smooth. His voice, when he spoke, was warm yet carried a slight creak, like old wood shifting in the wind.


    "Can''t sleep at night, young sir?"


    Geschicht swallowed, his pulse quickening. Yet, despite the strangeness of the situation, there was no malice in the figure¡¯s tone¡ªonly an invitation.


    With cautious steps, he moved toward the counter and took a seat, his eyes never leaving the wooden bartender.


    As Geschicht settled onto the stool, he kept his hands flat against the counter, half-expecting the smooth, polished wood beneath his fingers to suddenly vanish like an illusion. But it remained solid and real, as did the wooden bartender before him, who continued wiping the cup with a steady, unhurried rhythm.


    Geschicht cleared his throat, unsure of how to start. ¡°So¡­ what exactly are you?¡± he asked, his voice low.


    The wooden man paused for a brief moment before setting the cup down. His carved lips curled into something that might have been a smile. "Shouldn''t you find that out yourself?"


    Geschicht frowned at the answer. He had encountered cryptic responses before¡ªold men in town loved speaking in riddles¡ªbut there was something different about this. This wasn¡¯t just a refusal to answer. It was an invitation.


    Before he could press further, the bartender turned, reaching for something beneath the counter. A moment later, he placed a glass in front of Geschicht.


    "A drink, on the house."


    Geschicht hesitated but glanced down at the liquid inside. It was a deep, rich red¡ªnot like the ales and ciders he''d seen in town but something else entirely. He raised it to his nose and caught a scent that was oddly familiar yet unplaceable. Then, without thinking too much, he took a sip.


    His eyes widened.


    It was sweet, smooth, and carried just the right amount of tartness. It was unlike anything he had tasted before, yet it felt¡­ perfect. Like something he had been waiting for all his life but had never known existed.


    The bartender chuckled as he watched the boy¡¯s reaction. "Do you like it?¡±


    Geschicht swallowed and nodded. ¡°Yeah¡­ I do.¡± He looked at the drink again, curiosity sparking in his mind. ¡°What is this?¡±


    "A drink suited to you," the wooden man said simply. "Wine juice."


    Geschicht blinked. "Wine juice? That¡¯s not a thing.¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± the bartender replied with a knowing glint in his unmoving eyes.


    Geschicht took another sip, savoring the taste. ¡°You talk like you already knew what I¡¯d like.¡±


    ¡°I did,¡± the wooden man admitted. "It¡¯s my craft, after all. You see, people come through this place with all kinds of reactions¡ªfear, confusion, excitement. But no matter who they are, a simple drink has a way of calming them down. And I love to see that moment¡ªthe way people¡¯s shoulders ease, the way their faces soften when they take that first sip and realize it''s just right for them.¡±


    He picked up another glass and began cleaning it with the same steady rhythm. "That¡¯s why I do this. Not just to serve drinks, but to give people something that belongs to them in a way they don¡¯t expect."


    Geschicht stared at him, the words settling in his mind. He found himself relaxing, too. The strangeness of this place hadn''t faded, but there was something undeniably warm about it. Something real.


    He took another slow sip of his wine juice, deciding, for now, to simply enjoy the moment.


    Geschicht leaned forward, resting his elbow on the counter as he swirled the glass in his hand. The rich scent of the wine juice lingered in the air, adding to the quiet, dreamlike atmosphere of the inn. After a moment of contemplation, he glanced up at the wooden bartender.


    "If you''ve served all kinds of people, then tell me," Geschicht said, his voice laced with curiosity. "Who was the most interesting person you''ve ever served a drink to?¡±


    The bartender paused in his cleaning, setting the glass down gently before meeting Geschicht¡¯s gaze. There was something unreadable in those carved wooden eyes, as if a thousand stories sat just beneath the surface.


    "That would be you."


    Geschicht blinked, caught off guard. He let out a short laugh. "Me? You¡¯ve barely known me for ten minutes.¡±


    The bartender nodded. "And yet, in those ten minutes, you¡¯ve asked the right questions, tasted a drink that has yet to exist, and stayed despite knowing nothing about me or this place." He tilted his head slightly. "Most people either run, demand answers, or refuse to drink what is offered. But you? You accept the mystery while trying to understand it. That makes you the most interesting guest to serve.¡±


    He paused for a moment, then added with a knowing smile, "And besides... you carry the trail of a firefly."


    Geschicht furrowed his brows. "A firefly?"


    The bartender gave a slow nod. "A flickering light in the dark, always searching, always drawn toward the unknown.¡±


    Geschicht fell silent, the words settling in his mind like embers on a quiet night. But somehow, it felt right.


    As the night stretched on, the warmth of the dim lantern light and the gentle hum of the bartender¡¯s voice lulled Geschicht into sleep. His head rested against the counter. The wooden bartender didn¡¯t wake him, only continued cleaning, his movements slow and rhythmic, as if time itself flowed differently within these walls.


    A firm shake on his shoulder pulled him from his slumber. ¡°Hey, wake up,¡± Harriet¡¯s voice cut through the haze of sleep. Geschicht blinked blearily, straightening up as he felt a dull ache in his back from the uncomfortable position.


    ¡°You really fell asleep down here?¡± Harriet asked, rubbing his own eyes. But before Geschicht could answer, Harriet¡¯s gaze shifted to the counter, his brows furrowing. ¡°Wait¡­ What the hell?¡±


    The wooden surface, which had been spotless and polished the night before, was now coated in thick layers of dust, as if untouched for years. Cobwebs clung to the edges, and the faint scent of old wood filled the air. The place looked exactly as it had when they first arrived¡ªabandoned and forgotten.


    Geschicht turned his head toward where the bartender had stood, but there was nothing. No glasses. No faint echoes of conversation. Just emptiness.


    Harriet gave him a questioning look, but Geschicht only shook his head and sighed. ¡°No amount of explanation can save me from this.¡±


    With that, they returned upstairs, packed their belongings, and stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The sky was pale blue, streaked with soft wisps of clouds. The forest around them stirred with the sounds of waking creatures.


    After walking for a little while, something made Geschicht stop. A strange feeling tugged at him, and he instinctively turned his head back.


    His breath caught.


    The inn was gone.


    Not in ruins. Not faded into the distance. It had simply vanished, as if it had never existed. In its place stood only thick trees and wild undergrowth.


    Harriet followed his gaze, blinking. ¡°Well¡­ that¡¯s not normal.¡±


    Geschicht exhaled slowly, gripping his journal tighter. No, it wasn¡¯t normal. But then again, neither was the world they were stepping into.


    As they continued walking, Geschicht felt a faint warmth from his journal, a sensation so subtle he might have ignored it if not for the night¡¯s strange events. Curious, he flipped it open.


    Nestled between the pages, faintly glowing, was a single firefly. It flickered once, then disappeared into the parchment, as if the book itself had absorbed it. Geschicht¡¯s fingers lingered on the page, tracing where the tiny creature had vanished.


    He didn¡¯t say anything, but deep down, he knew¡ªthis place, this night, this encounter¡ªit was now a part of something greater. A story.


    And stories had a way of spreading.


    In the years that followed, whispers of a forgotten inn hidden within the forest began to surface among the villagers living near its borders. Some spoke of a place where weary travelers could find shelter for the night, a warm drink waiting for them at the counter, and a host who never asked for payment¡ªonly their company.


    No one could ever find it twice.


    But those who did, for better or for worse, were forever changed.

 Chapter 5: Inpostura (I)

    The journey had stretched into its second day, and the road behind them was now nothing but a distant memory. The forest had slowly given way to rolling fields, and in the distance, nestled between gentle hills, stood a town. The rooftops, kissed by the afternoon sun, glowed warmly, and the scent of fresh bread and earth filled the air as they neared the settlement.


    Harriet, eager to shake off the boredom of travel, approached the first person he saw¡ªa middle-aged man stacking crates beside a market stall. "Hey, mister," Harriet called, flashing his usual grin. "What¡¯s this town called?"


    The man paused, wiping his brow with the back of his sleeve. "Langdale," he said simply, giving the two of them a quick once-over. "You two travelers?"


    "Something like that," Harriet replied, glancing back at Geschicht, who was already flipping open his journal, scribbling down the name.


    Langdale. Their next stop.


    As they stepped past the town¡¯s wooden gates, Langdale greeted them with an overwhelming liveliness. The streets bustled with merchants calling out their wares, children weaving between carts and stalls, and the occasional clang of a blacksmith hammering away at his forge. The air carried a mix of scents¡ªfreshly baked bread, sizzling meat, and sweet pastries, all tempting enough to make Harriet¡¯s stomach grumble.


    "Ah, finally! Civilization!" Harriet stretched his arms¡ªor at least the space where his arms should¡¯ve been¡ªand took a deep breath. "Man, I can already tell this town''s got some good food. We should try something!"


    Geschicht shot him a knowing look. "We still have food," he reminded, adjusting the straps of his bag. "Plenty of it. If we don¡¯t eat what we have first, it¡¯ll go to waste."


    Harriet groaned, clearly not thrilled with the logic. "But come on, that smell¡ªdon''t you at least want to try a little something?"


    Geschicht shook his head. "No. We eat what we have. Then we¡¯ll see."


    Harriet sighed dramatically, his floating backpack shifting behind him as if sharing in his disappointment. "You¡¯re cruel, you know that?"


    "Practical," Geschicht corrected. "Big difference."


    With a defeated huff, Harriet muttered, "Fine, fine," but his golden eyes still wandered longingly toward the nearest food stall.


    As they wandered through Langdale¡¯s bustling streets, Harriet¡¯s grumbling gradually gave way to curiosity. "Alright, if we¡¯re not spending money on food yet, we should at least find a place to stay first," he said, scanning the buildings around them.


    Geschicht nodded. "Agreed. We¡¯ve been walking for two days straight. A proper roof over our heads for the night wouldn¡¯t hurt."


    It didn¡¯t take long before they stumbled upon a promising sight¡ªa large, lively inn with a wooden sign swinging above the entrance, depicting a frothing mug and a crescent moon. Laughter and music spilled from inside, and the warm glow of lanterns illuminated the windows, contrasting the approaching evening outside.


    "Now this," Harriet grinned, "is my kind of place."


    They stepped inside, greeted immediately by a wave of warmth and the rich scent of ale and roasted meat. The inn was alive with travelers, merchants, and locals alike. A bard strummed his lute in the corner, his melody blending with the sound of clinking mugs and hearty conversation. Barmaids weaved through the crowded tables, balancing trays of drinks and plates stacked with steaming food.


    Geschicht glanced around, taking in the atmosphere. "Seems popular," he noted.


    "Which means the rooms are probably decent," Harriet added. Then, wasting no time, he made his way toward the counter where the innkeeper stood, polishing a wooden mug. "Excuse me! You got any rooms left?"


    The innkeeper, a stout man with a thick beard and a friendly grin, nodded. "Aye, plenty of rooms left. How long you boys planning to stay?"


    "Just the night for now," Geschicht replied. "How much?"


    "100 Doh per night for a room with two beds," the innkeeper said, wiping his hands on his apron. "Meals not included, but the pub''s got the best food in town if you''re willing to spend extra."


    Harriet grinned. "Sounds fair. We''ll take it."


    After handing over the coins, the innkeeper placed a heavy iron key on the counter and pointed toward the stairs. "Second floor, third door on the left. Bath¡¯s down the hall¡ªjust let me know if you need fresh towels."


    The boys made their way up, finding their room to be small but cozy. The wooden floor creaked under their steps, and the scent of old timber filled the air. Two beds sat against opposite walls, with a small table and a single oil lamp in between. A narrow window overlooked the bustling streets below, where merchants called out their wares and townsfolk moved about their daily business.


    Harriet immediately tossed his bag onto one of the beds and stretched. "Finally, a real bed!" He flopped down onto the mattress with a satisfied sigh.


    Geschicht chuckled and set his things down neatly. "Let''s take turns using the bath. I¡¯ll go first," he said, grabbing a towel and heading out.


    By the time both had washed away the dirt and exhaustion of travel, the sun was still high in the sky, casting warm light through the window. The sounds of the town remained lively, with the chatter of people and the occasional clatter of carts on cobblestone streets. Harriet leaned back on his bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "So... what now?" he asked.


    Geschicht, who was seated by the window, watching the town below, smirked. "Now? We figure out how to spend the rest of the day without wasting money."


    Harriet groaned. "You really won¡¯t let me try the food here, huh?"


    "We still have plenty of food left," Geschicht reminded him. "We should eat what we have before we start spending extra."


    Harriet sighed dramatically but didn¡¯t argue. "Fine. But once we run out, I¡¯m picking where we eat."


    Geschicht only smiled in response. "We''ll see."


    As they stepped out of the inn, the warm afternoon air greeted them. For a while, they walked without a destination, letting their curiosity guide them. Eventually, their steps led them toward a small river that ran through the heart of the town. A wooden bridge arched over the clear waters, where small fish darted between smooth river stones. Trees lined the banks, their purple-tinted leaves rustling gently in the breeze.


    Near the water¡¯s edge, a small figure crouched, sifting through the stones with deliberate care. The figure¡¯s features were mostly hidden by a deep hood, but stray locks of red and white hair peeked out. Pointed ears twitched slightly beneath the fabric, and sharp, glinting eyes flickered up as Geschicht and Harriet approached.


    Without hesitation, the figure spoke in a curious, almost demanding tone.


    ¡°Humans, have you seen any shiny stones around here?¡±


    Geschicht and Harriet exchanged a glance before turning their attention back to the small figure standing before them. Pointed ears peeked through strands of striking red and white hair, and a pair of sharp, curious eyes studied them expectantly. The question still lingered in the air.


    "Human, do you see any shiny stones around here?"


    Harriet tilted his head, his golden eyes narrowing in curiosity. "Shiny stones? You mean like gems or polished rocks?"


    The figure huffed, crossing their arms. "No, no, not just any stone. It has to be special¡ªbright, smooth, and full of light!"


    Geschicht raised an eyebrow, flipping open his journal and scribbling something down. "Full of light? That¡¯s an odd way to describe a stone. What do you need it for?"


    The small figure hesitated, glancing between the two boys before answering. "It¡¯s important. Very important."


    Harriet smirked. "Important for what?"


    Instead of answering, the figure merely scowled and stomped a foot on the ground. "Just tell me if you¡¯ve seen one or not!"


    Geschicht chuckled under his breath. "Can¡¯t say we have. But if we knew what we were looking for, maybe we could help?"


    The small figure gave them a long, assessing look before clicking their tongue. "Tch. Useless humans." Then, without another word, they turned and walked off toward the riverbank, muttering to themselves.


    Harriet leaned toward Geschicht and whispered, "What was that about?"


    Geschicht shook his head. "No idea, but I have a feeling we¡¯ll be seeing them again."


    Harriet grinned. "Guess we better keep an eye out for shiny stones then."


    With that, the two continued their walk through town, but the odd encounter stayed in their minds.


    As the afternoon sun bathed Langdale in golden light, Geschicht and Harriet naturally fell into their own rhythms.


    Geschicht, ever the inquisitive one, decided to approach the locals, striking up conversations with merchants, craftsmen, and anyone who seemed willing to chat. He asked about the town, its history, and any peculiar happenings¡ªhis journal always at the ready to record anything of interest.


    Meanwhile, Harriet, unable to stand still for too long, was already darting through the streets, finding small ways to be of use. He spotted an elderly woman struggling to lift a heavy crate outside her shop and quickly used his unseen hands to lift it for her. The woman gasped at the floating crate, but before she could question it, Harriet flashed a grin and hurried off.


    Not long after, he saw a child chasing after a runaway ball that had rolled into a busy street. Without hesitation, Harriet dashed forward, using his telekinetic grip to stop the ball midair before it rolled under a cart. The child¡¯s eyes widened in amazement, but Harriet just ruffled their hair before jogging away.


    As he continued his impromptu acts of kindness, Geschicht, on the other hand, found himself engaged in a rather interesting discussion with an old tanner who spoke of recent strange occurrences in Langdale¡ªrumors of things disappearing, whispers of odd creatures spotted at night.


    When the two regrouped later, Harriet was grinning ear to ear. "I¡¯ve been running all over town helping folks. Feels good, y¡¯know?"


    Geschicht, flipping through his notes, smirked. "And I¡¯ve been learning. There¡¯s something strange going on in this town."


    Harriet raised an eyebrow. "Strange how?"


    Geschicht closed his journal with a thoughtful expression. "Something about things disappearing. And we just met someone looking for shiny stones, didn¡¯t we?"


    Harriet¡¯s grin faded slightly. "You think it''s connected?"


    Geschicht didn¡¯t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced toward the riverbank, where they had last seen the small figure with red and white hair.


    "I think we should start paying closer attention."You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    As the evening settled over Langdale, Harriet and Geschicht made their way back to the inn. The day had been full of movement, and exhaustion finally caught up with Harriet the moment he hit the bed. He didn¡¯t even bother getting under the blanket¡ªhe simply flopped onto the mattress and was out within seconds.


    Geschicht, however, wasn¡¯t quite ready to sleep yet. Something about the small figure they had met earlier still nagged at his mind. He had recorded the encounter in his journal, but that wasn¡¯t enough. He wanted answers.


    Slipping out of the room, he made his way downstairs to the pub attached to the inn. It was still lively, with travelers and locals alike sharing drinks and laughter. The scent of roasted meat and ale filled the air, and the warm glow of lanterns gave the place a comforting atmosphere.


    The innkeeper, a broad-shouldered man with a well-kept beard, stood behind the counter, wiping down mugs. Geschicht took a seat and waited for a moment when the man wasn¡¯t too busy.


    "Still up, lad?" the innkeeper asked, setting down a clean mug.


    "Yeah, not tired yet," Geschicht admitted. "Wanted to ask something, actually."


    The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. "Ask away."


    Geschicht leaned forward slightly. "Earlier today, by the river, I met someone¡­ small, pointy ears, red and white hair. They were looking for shiny stones. Know anyone like that?"


    The innkeeper¡¯s hand paused for the briefest moment before he resumed cleaning the mug. "Can¡¯t say I do," he said, but there was something guarded in his tone.


    Geschicht narrowed his eyes. "You hesitated."


    The innkeeper let out a deep chuckle. "Sharp one, aren¡¯t ya? Listen, lad. If you¡¯ve met a small folk with that kind of look, best not go stickin¡¯ your nose too deep. Some things in Langdale come and go like the wind. Not all of ¡®em like being noticed."


    That only made Geschicht more curious. "So, you have seen something like it before?"


    The innkeeper sighed, setting the mug down and leaning on the counter. "Now and then, travelers talk about strange figures in the woods or near the river. Never causing harm, just¡­ searching for something. Some folk say they¡¯re spirits, others think they¡¯re just wanderers. But if you¡¯re smart, you let ¡®em be."


    Geschicht frowned, tapping his fingers against his journal. The small figure hadn¡¯t seemed dangerous, just¡­ peculiar. What were they really looking for? And why did the town seem to have an unspoken rule about not questioning it?


    Before he could ask more, the innkeeper straightened up. "Look, lad, no sense in losing sleep over it. Whatever it was, if it wanted you to know more, you¡¯d already know."


    Geschicht considered that for a moment, then sighed. Maybe he was overthinking it. With one final glance at his journal, he closed it and stood up. "Thanks for the talk."


    "Anytime, lad. You fancy yourself a drink tonight, then?"


    Geschicht shook his head. ¡°Not tonight¡±


    The innkeeper chuckled. ¡°Suit yourself.¡±


    Geschicht made his way back upstairs. Harriet was still fast asleep, breathing softly. He lay down on his own bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind still full of questions.


    Geschicht couldn¡¯t shake the unease that lingered after his conversation with the innkeeper. Something about the way the man spoke¡ªlike he knew more than he was letting on¡ªleft an itch in the back of his mind.


    Lying in bed, he turned onto his side, facing the window. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale glow over the quiet town. Most of the streets were empty now, save for the occasional lantern swaying in the breeze.


    Then, his breath caught.


    Just outside the inn, near the river¡¯s edge, stood the small figure from earlier. The same pointy ears, the same red and white hair. But something about them was different in the night. The moonlight made their presence feel almost unreal, as if they were part of the shadows and light at the same time.


    They weren¡¯t searching the ground anymore. Instead, they were staring straight at him.


    A chill ran down Geschicht¡¯s spine. Had they noticed him watching them earlier? Or had they been watching him all along?


    For a moment, neither of them moved. The figure¡¯s expression was unreadable from this distance, but there was no hostility in their stance¡ªonly quiet observation. Then, slowly, as if satisfied with something, they turned away and disappeared into the darkened streets.


    Geschicht sat up, his heartbeat a little quicker than before. He wasn¡¯t sure if he should be relieved or more unsettled.


    Geschicht¡¯s body tensed as the figure disappeared into the darkness. Before he could fully process what he had just seen, a loud noise echoed through the night. It wasn¡¯t the usual bustle of the town or the distant chatter of drunkards leaving the pub¡ªit was something heavier, something that made the wooden walls of the inn tremble slightly.


    His instincts kicked in. He threw off his blanket and rushed to Harriet¡¯s bed, shaking his friend¡¯s shoulder.


    "Harriet, wake up," he whispered urgently.


    Harriet groaned, turning onto his side. "Mm¡­ five more minutes," he mumbled.


    Another crash sounded from outside, this time followed by startled shouts.


    Geschicht didn¡¯t wait. He grabbed Harriet¡¯s blanket and yanked it off. "Get up. Now."


    Harriet grumbled but finally sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What¡¯s going on?"


    "I don¡¯t know," Geschicht admitted, already moving toward the door. "But we¡¯re about to find out."


    Still half-asleep, Harriet stumbled to his feet and followed. They hurried down the stairs, past the dimly lit pub where a few late drinkers were starting to stir from the noise. When they pushed open the inn¡¯s front door, the cold night air greeted them¡ªalong with the sight of several townspeople gathered in the street, all looking in the same direction.


    And there, illuminated by the flickering glow of lanterns, was the small figure from before. But this time, they were facing the shadows, a look of intense focus on their face. Their small frame was lithe and quick as they moved, dodging and weaving around unseen threats.


    From the darkness, something seemed to shift¡ªshadows coiled and writhed, their shapes barely distinguishable. But it was clear now: the figure wasn¡¯t running from the shadows, they were fighting them. Swift movements, quick strikes¡ªeach motion seemed deliberate, as if the small figure had faced this type of danger before.


    Geschicht and Harriet didn¡¯t hesitate. In an instant, they rushed toward the small figure, pushing through the night air with urgency. The sound of their footsteps seemed distant against the clash of movement ahead. Harriet was the first to reach the figure, his instincts kicking in as he tried to assess the situation. Geschicht followed closely, his heart racing with both concern and curiosity.


    The small figure¡¯s swift movements and focused energy barely faltered as they continued to battle whatever unseen forces were attacking. Their skill was impressive, but it was clear they were at their limit. Harriet¡¯s eyes scanned the area, trying to spot the source of the threat, while Geschicht instinctively pulled out his journal, preparing to record whatever he could understand.


    The shadows, formless and eerie, swirled around the small figure, striking with unnatural precision. They lashed out at her hood, tearing it away, revealing her delicate features¡ªa striking face framed by her red and white hair, shimmering faintly under the moonlight. Her beauty was momentarily unsettling, but there was no time to linger on it.


    One of the shadows lunged, aiming straight for her exposed face, its intent clear and malicious.


    Harriet, moving faster than either Geschicht or the small figure could register, leapt forward with a swift motion. His outstretched hand caught the shadow in a split-second before it made contact, halting the attack mere inches from her skin. The shadow recoiled, writhing in the air as though frustrated by the interruption, but Harriet¡¯s telekinetic grip held it back.


    The small figure, her expression unreadable, glanced at him with surprise.


    "Human, why are you here?"


    The small figure¡¯s voice was sharp, yet there was an undertone of something else¡ªcuriosity, perhaps, or caution. She remained facing the shadows, her posture poised and ready for whatever they would throw at her next.


    Geschicht, still catching his breath from the sudden rush, looked at her with wide eyes. Harriet, still holding the shadow back with his spectral hands, was the first to answer.


    ¡°We were just passing through,¡± Harriet said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. ¡°We saw you fighting... and we couldn¡¯t just stand by.¡±


    The figure turned her gaze to them, her red and white hair swaying slightly as she adjusted herself against the shadows that still threatened to encircle her. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have. This is not your fight.¡±


    Geschicht, unable to contain his curiosity, stepped forward. ¡°Who¡ªwhat are you?¡± he asked, his words tumbling out despite the danger. ¡°Why are you fighting these... things?¡±


    The small figure¡¯s eyes flickered with something¡ªamusement, annoyance, or maybe something darker¡ªand she seemed to consider his question for a long moment.


    ¡°Curiosity,¡± she murmured, almost to herself. ¡°It is a dangerous thing for humans.¡± She glanced at the shadows that continued to writhe around her, then back at Geschicht. ¡°But... since you¡¯re here, you might as well know. I am SuriGami. And this...,¡± she gestured to the dark forms around her, ¡°is a consequence of a broken balance. These shadows? They are not of this world.¡±


    The shadows hissed in the air, as though in response to her words, and for a moment, their dark forms seemed to grow restless. Harriet¡¯s grip tightened.


    ¡°Why are they after you?¡± Geschicht asked, his voice firm despite the confusion swirling in his mind.


    SuriGami didn¡¯t immediately answer. She simply stood tall, her hands hovering just above her side, ready to fight again if necessary. ¡°I don¡¯t know much,¡± she finally said, her tone laced with frustration. ¡°But I intend to find out.¡±


    Harriet blinked in surprise, but before he could answer, SuriGami''s voice cut through the air once again. "You¡¯re different," she remarked, her tone softer now. She wiped away some blood from her cheek where a shadow had managed to graze her. "Most would¡¯ve run by now."


    Geschicht stepped closer, keeping his gaze fixed on the mysterious figure. "We saw what happened... What are those things? And why were they attacking you?"


    SuriGami looked at them, her red and white hair glowing faintly in the moonlight, her expression hardening. "This place... it''s cursed," she said, her voice carrying a hint of unease. "Something dark is tied to it, something that attracts these shadows. They¡¯re drawn to the land itself, not to me. I just... happen to be caught in it." She glanced toward the woods, her eyes narrowing as if she could feel the ominous presence lurking there. "Whatever it is, it''s been here far longer than I have, and it won''t let anyone near it. Not without a price."


    Harriet, his curiosity piqued, stepped forward. "Are you okay? You¡¯re hurt."


    SuriGami nodded, brushing off his concern. "I¡¯m fine. They don¡¯t kill, just... torment."


    "Why are you here, then?" Geschicht asked, his voice softening. "What brings you to Langdale?"


    SuriGami hesitated, casting a long glance toward the shadows gathering in the distance. "I¡¯m looking for something... or rather, someone. I can¡¯t let them get to me before I find what I need."


    SuriGami stood with her arms crossed, a pout on her face as she glared at the shadows. "I can''t do anything without my shiny stone," she muttered, her voice a mixture of annoyance and frustration. "I need that stone to use my power, but of course, it''s always gone when I need it most!"


    The shadows, seemingly unaffected by the small figure''s words, writhed around the area like living tendrils of darkness. They were not merely shadows; they were something much more menacing¡ªpart of the stone structure of the house nearby. Without warning, one of the shadows detached itself and shot a jagged rock toward the crowd gathered near the inn. The rocks were flying aimlessly, ricocheting off walls and scattering like deadly projectiles.


    Harriet¡¯s eyes widened as one of the rocks careened dangerously close to an elderly woman standing near the edge of the crowd. Without thinking, he reached out, summoning his power to halt the incoming rocks. His spectral hands reached into the air, catching and gently stopping most of the rocks mid-flight, but a few still managed to pass through his grasp, narrowly missing the people around him. Harriet¡¯s heart raced in his chest, a pang of fear sinking deep. "I¡ª I couldn¡¯t stop them all!" he muttered under his breath, panic creeping in.


    Geschicht, who had been watching the chaos unfold, didn¡¯t waste a moment. He dashed forward without a second thought. His mind was too full of concern for the safety of the people to think of his next move. As one of the rocks flew toward a young girl, he instinctively reached for his waist, where he normally carried his journal. In a flash of light, the book seemed to come alive in his hands, and before he could even process what had happened, a gleaming sword materialized in his grip.


    With a swift motion, Geschicht swung the sword with precision, cleaving the rock in half before it could harm the young girl. The pieces of rock tumbled harmlessly to the ground, and the crowd around them gasped in astonishment.


    "What just happened?" Harriet asked, staring wide-eyed at Geschicht, who stood holding the sword, his heart racing from the sudden surge of power.


    Geschicht¡¯s hand trembled slightly as he lowered the sword. "I... I don¡¯t know," he said, his voice unsure. "But I couldn¡¯t just let her get hit."


    SuriGami, who had been watching the scene unfold, raised an eyebrow. "Huh. So, you¡¯re one of those, huh?" she said, a smirk forming on her face. "Well, that¡¯s one way to deal with rocks. You guys aren¡¯t half bad."


    Harriet looked from SuriGami to Geschicht, confusion clear in his eyes. "What... what just happened? How did that sword come out of nowhere?"


    Geschicht shook his head slowly, still trying to make sense of it. "I think... I think it¡¯s my journal. It just... reacted, somehow."


    SuriGami chuckled softly, clearly amused by the situation. "Well, whatever it is, I guess it worked. Though I still don¡¯t have my shiny stone, so we¡¯re pretty much all stuck here for now." She huffed, crossing her arms again. "Great. I hate when things don¡¯t go according to plan."


    Harriet looked to the small figure. "What¡¯s going on, then? Why are these shadows attacking you?"


    SuriGami just shrugged, her expression turning a little more serious. "Beats me," she muttered. "I¡¯m just trying to find my stone. Without it, I¡¯m pretty much useless. Those shadows? They''re drawn to it... but without it, I can¡¯t stop them."


    Geschicht, still processing everything that had just happened, stepped forward. "So, the shadows are after this stone you¡¯re looking for... but you can¡¯t do anything without it?"


    "Exactly," SuriGami said, a little too matter-of-factly for her own good. "Can¡¯t fight them, can¡¯t control them, nothing. I need my shiny stone, and until I find it, I¡¯m just going to keep getting attacked by these things. Great fun, huh?" She rolled her eyes dramatically.


    Harriet took a deep breath, his mind racing. "Then we have to help you find it, right? I mean... it¡¯s the only way we can stop these shadows, isn¡¯t it?"


    SuriGami shot him a look, as if surprised by the suggestion. "I was planning on doing it myself, but I guess you¡¯re not totally useless after all. Fine, let¡¯s work together. But you better keep those rocks from hitting me again, okay?" she added with a teasing grin.


    Harriet, his confidence growing after his success in stopping most of the rocks, nodded determinedly. "You got it. Just... don¡¯t make me stop all the rocks, okay? That¡¯s a lot of pressure."


    Geschicht, still holding the sword and feeling a strange sense of responsibility after his unexpected action, smiled softly. "We¡¯ll figure this out. Let¡¯s go find your stone, SuriGami."


    With that, the three of them stood amidst the swirling shadows, the tension still thick in the air. They were no longer just bystanders in a strange, chaotic situation. They had a goal now. And with the mystery of the shadows, the stone, and SuriGami''s powers on the line, they would find a way forward¡ªno matter what it took.

 Chapter 6: Inpostura (II)

    The town of Langdale was alive with chaos.


    Shadows slithered across the cobblestone streets, writhing like living ink spilled onto the earth. They twisted unnaturally, stretching from the cracks in buildings and curling around street lanterns, suffocating the warm glow into cold darkness. The once-lively town was now shrouded in eerie silence, save for the sounds of hurried footsteps and labored breathing.


    Harriet skidded to a stop, panting as he hovered midair, his spectral hands clutching onto a building¡¯s ledge for balance. ¡°I swear, these things don¡¯t go down no matter how hard I hit ¡®em!¡±


    Geschicht was beside him, his sword gleaming under the fractured moonlight. He gritted his teeth, thinking for a solution. He had sliced through shadow after shadow, yet they simply reformed like mist, undeterred by his attacks. His grip tightened around the hilt. ¡°They aren¡¯t just ordinary creatures. Something is keeping them here.¡±


    SuriGami, still as small and brash as ever, landed with a thud beside them, her red and white hair flowing wildly as she spun her club¡ªthough, at the moment, it was just an ordinary stick. ¡°Tch! They¡¯re after my Inpostura! But I don¡¯t have my stone, which means I can¡¯t break these things!¡±


    Harriet cracked his knuckles with a grin. ¡°Well, that¡¯s just great. Any other bad news?¡±


    ¡°Yes! You¡¯re both slow and useless!¡±


    Harriet¡¯s grin twitched. ¡°Punch the child.¡±


    Geschicht pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°No, Harriet. Do not punch the child.¡±


    ¡°I will punch the child.¡±


    ¡°No, you will not¡ª¡±


    A sudden explosion of force sent all three of them sprawling as a monstrous shadow surged from the stone walls, its form distorting into jagged spikes. The wooden stalls in the marketplace shattered upon impact, fruits and wares tumbling across the ground. The air smelled of dust and something unnatural¡ªlike burnt paper mixed with ink.


    SuriGami spat out dirt and scrambled to her feet. ¡°You two morons can squabble later! Right now, we need to find my Inpostura before these things swallow the whole town!¡±


    Geschicht¡¯s eyes flicked toward the town center. ¡°Where did you lose it?¡±


    The Dokkaebi huffed, gripping her useless club. ¡°If I knew, do you think I¡¯d be here babysitting you two?!¡±


    Harriet shook his head. ¡°We need a plan.¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have time for a plan!¡± SuriGami snapped. ¡°Either start swinging or start running!¡±


    A deep, guttural roar echoed through the streets. The largest shadow yet, a towering beast with hollow eyes and clawed limbs, rose from the broken stone of an old bell tower. It hunched forward, its body flickering in and out of existence, an amalgamation of darkness with no solid form.


    Geschicht stepped forward. ¡°We fight.¡±


    Harriet cracked his neck. ¡°Finally.¡±


    The battle erupted in full force.


    Harriet¡¯s spectral hands became a blur as he dodged through the onslaught, lifting wooden debris and hurling it with bone-cracking force. The shadows recoiled but did not break. Geschicht met them head-on, his sword slashing through the darkness, light sparking with each strike. But the monsters kept reforming, endless and relentless.


    SuriGami, despite lacking her Inpostura, was anything but useless. She moved with the raw ferocity of a true warrior, weaving between the attacks and smacking away creeping tendrils with her makeshift weapon. ¡°Come on, where is that damn stone?!¡±


    Then, in the midst of the chaos, Harriet saw it.


    A faint glimmer, barely noticeable, wedged between the cracks of an old statue at the heart of the town square. It pulsed, dim but alive.


    ¡°There!¡± he yelled, pointing. ¡°The shiny thing you¡¯ve been whining about!¡±


    SuriGami¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Finally!¡±


    But just as she lunged, the largest shadow reared up, its massive claw slamming into the ground, sending tremors through the earth. The impact sent Harriet flying, his body twisting midair before catching himself with his spectral grip. Geschicht barely managed to stay upright, his boots sliding against the stone pavement.


    The beast reached for the stone.


    Geschicht moved.


    With a burst of speed, he dove past the monster¡¯s claw and snatched the glowing stone from its resting place. The moment his fingers curled around it, the air shifted. The shadows shrieked, recoiling violently as the stone flared with a blinding, golden light.


    SuriGami was already on him. ¡°Gimme, gimme, gimme!¡±


    Without hesitation, Geschicht tossed her the stone. The moment it touched her hands, the air boomed with a force unlike anything before.


    The ordinary stick in her grasp twisted, lengthened, and reshaped into a massive, ornate club. The engravings shimmered, ancient and powerful, as the weapon pulsed with raw energy.


    SuriGami grinned.


    ¡°Now this is more like it.¡±


    With one mighty swing, she brought the club down. The impact was deafening. A shockwave of energy rippled through the battlefield, striking the monstrous shadows at their core. They howled, their forms twisting in agony as their very essence was shattered. The curse that bound them to this place broke like fragile glass.


    Geschicht watched as the last remnants of darkness evaporated, the night air finally still.


    SuriGami twirled her club over her shoulder, a smug smirk on her face. ¡°Told ya. Just needed my Inpostura.¡±


    Harriet groaned from where he lay sprawled on the ground. ¡°Yeah, yeah. Congratulations, shortstack.¡±


    SuriGami narrowed her eyes. ¡°Want me to hit you next?¡±


    Harriet shot up. ¡°Nope. I¡¯m good.¡±


    Geschicht exhaled, lowering his sword. The town was safe. The battle was over.Stolen story; please report.


    But the mystery of what had caused this curse is still there.


    As he turned his gaze to SuriGami, he knew one thing for sure¡ªthis wasn¡¯t the last time they¡¯d see her.


    As the dust settled from their intense battle, SuriGami adjusted her grip on the massive dokkaebi club, its surface gleaming as if alive with unseen energy. Her red and white hair swayed with the lingering force of her last swing, and she turned her sharp, fox-like eyes toward Geschicht and Harriet.


    ¡°The real problem isn¡¯t over yet,¡± she muttered, scanning the air as if searching for something only she could see. ¡°That shadow? It wasn¡¯t just some wandering wraith¡ªit came from somewhere.¡±


    Geschicht tightened his grip on his sword, still feeling the weight of its sudden appearance in his hand. He exchanged a glance with Harriet, who was catching his breath after deflecting yet another barrage of chaotic flying debris. The air was still thick with an eerie, unnatural energy.


    ¡°So what, we track it down?¡± Harriet asked, rolling his shoulders. His golden eyes flashed with determination. ¡°Fine by me. I¡¯m not letting something like that get away after it threw half a house at us.¡±


    SuriGami smirked. ¡°Good, because we¡¯re going hunting.¡±


    They set off into the night, their footsteps echoing through the streets of Langdale. SuriGami led the way, holding her club in one hand while her other fingers traced strange symbols in the air. Her movements pulsed with magic, faint glowing trails following the tips of her fingers.


    Geschicht studied the motion carefully. ¡°What exactly are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Tracking it,¡± SuriGami answered without looking at him. ¡°That shadow wasn¡¯t acting on its own. It was being drawn somewhere¡ªlike a moth to a flame. If we follow its trail, we can find the source.¡±


    Harriet crossed his arms, floating slightly ahead of them, his spectral hands barely visible in the dim light. ¡°Would¡¯ve been nice if you figured that out before we had to fight the thing.¡±


    SuriGami shot him a glare. ¡°I was a little busy being powerless, thank you very much.¡±


    The path led them out of town, down a winding dirt road that stretched toward the dense forest beyond Langdale¡¯s borders. The deeper they went, the heavier the air became, as though the world itself was bracing for something. The trees were unnaturally still, their violet-hued leaves trembling in anticipation. Even the wind had gone silent.


    At last, they reached a clearing where the earth had been scorched black. In the center lay a jagged, broken stone, its pieces faintly pulsing with a malevolent glow.


    SuriGami inhaled sharply. ¡°That¡¯s it. That¡¯s where it¡¯s coming from.¡±


    The shadows around them began to stir, writhing like living smoke, drawn toward the fractured remnants of the cursed stone. The presence of the stone felt wrong¡ªlike a wound that refused to heal. The whispers started, soft at first, then rising in volume, voices that did not belong to the living.


    SuriGami stepped forward. ¡°This place is cursed.¡±


    ¡°We can tell,¡± Harriet¡¯s eyes darting around as the shadows took shape once more, trying to reach for them.


    Geschicht raised his sword, but SuriGami placed a hand on his shoulder. ¡°This isn¡¯t something we fight.¡±


    ¡°Then what do we do?¡±


    SuriGami closed her eyes, tilting her head back. ¡°We end it.¡±


    And then she sang.


    The song that left her lips was not one of words but of power, a melody that carried through the clearing like the wind itself had learned to speak. It was ancient, woven from the magic of something greater than any of them. The notes glowed in the air, rippling through the darkness and touching every lingering trace of corruption.


    The shadows screamed, writhing in agony as the purity of her voice reached them. The cursed energy that had plagued this land for so long cracked and crumbled, dissolving into silver light that drifted skyward. The fractured stone pulsed one final time before its glow faded completely, and with it, the darkness vanished.


    When SuriGami finished, the forest was still. Peaceful.


    She exhaled, lowering her club. ¡°It¡¯s done.¡±


    Harriet let out a low whistle. ¡°Remind me never to get on your bad side.¡±


    Geschichte grinned mischievously and teased, ¡°Nice voice for a shortstack like you.¡±


    SuriGami¡¯s gaze flickered with surprise before they gave a slow, almost theatrical blink. They tilted their head slightly, their voice light but tinged with a playful sharpness. ¡°Is that so? A shortstack, huh? You¡¯ve got some nerve.¡±


    They paused, as if considering the remark, then added with a grin, ¡°Guess I¡¯ll let you off easy this time.¡±


    SuriGami turned her club back into the shiny stone, then glanced at Harriet. "Helping me like that... you¡¯ve either got an unbelievable amount of stupidity or an exceptional amount of courage. I¡¯ll just assume it¡¯s both." With that, she leaped high into the air and vanished from sight.


    Geschicht and Harriet exchanged a glance before shrugging it off. With a tired sigh, they turned back toward the town.


    As they walked through the streets, the heat from the battle slowly fading, a lone firefly drifted through the night air. It flickered softly, weaving between the dim lantern light before settling near Geschicht¡¯s shoulder. Unnoticed, it hovered for a moment, as if observing him, then gently glided toward his journal. The faint glow of its tiny body pulsed as it slipped between the pages, vanishing into the worn parchment without a trace.


    Geschicht adjusted his grip on the journal, completely unaware of the silent guest that had made its home within his records. Beside him, Harriet stretched before letting out a yawn.


    As Geschicht and Harriet stepped through the doors of the inn, the warmth of the lantern-lit room washed over them, a stark contrast to the chilling night air outside. Despite the late hour, the common area was far from empty. A handful of townsfolk, those who had been awake to witness the chaos that had unfolded in the streets, were gathered near the counter, speaking in hushed yet excited voices. Their conversations died down the moment the two boys entered.


    The innkeeper leaned against the counter, arms crossed. He let out a low chuckle and shook his head. ¡°You youngsters are something else,¡± he said, his deep voice carrying both amusement and a hint of exasperation. ¡°Most folks would¡¯ve run for the hills, yet here you are, strolling back like you just finished a stroll through the market.¡±


    Harriet, still stretching his long sleeves, grinned. ¡°Well, technically, we did run¡­ just toward the problem instead of away from it.¡±


    One of the onlookers, an older woman wrapped in a thick shawl, placed a hand on her chest. ¡°I saw it with my own eyes¡­ the shadows moving like living nightmares, and that small one¡ªwas she truly a child?¡±


    Geschicht, too exhausted to explain the whole situation, simply sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s just say tonight was¡­ unexpected.¡±


    The innkeeper gave a short laugh and gestured toward the stairs. ¡°Go on, get some rest. You¡¯ve done enough excitement for one night. I¡¯ll have some hot meals ready for you in the morning¡ªon the house.¡±


    Harriet¡¯s eyes lit up at the mention of food, but even his usual enthusiasm was dampened by sheer exhaustion. ¡°You¡¯re my favorite person in this town,¡± he murmured before trudging toward the stairs.


    Geschicht followed behind, offering a quiet nod of thanks before disappearing up the steps. The murmurs of the gathered townsfolk resumed behind them, voices laced with awe, confusion, and curiosity.


    The following morning, sunlight streamed through the inn''s windows, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. The aroma of freshly baked bread and hearty stew wafted through the air, enticing the guests. Harriet was the first to make his way downstairs, lured by the prospect of a complimentary breakfast. Geschicht trailed behind, still drowsy, rubbing his eyes and clutching his journal under his arm.


    As they approached the counter, the innkeeper grunted a greeting before sliding a plate of food in front of them. ¡°Eat up. You¡¯ve earned it.¡±


    Just as Harriet was about to dig in, small, hesitant footsteps approached them. They turned to see a little girl standing near their table, her tiny hands clutching a small cloth pouch. She looked up at Geschicht with wide, nervous eyes. It was the same girl he had saved from the falling stones the night before.


    For a moment, she fidgeted, as if unsure whether to step forward or run away. Then, mustering her courage, she held out the pouch with both hands. ¡°Um¡­ Mister Hero,¡± she said softly, her cheeks turning red. ¡°Thank you for saving me last night. Mama said I should give you something as thanks, so¡­ I made these.¡±


    Geschicht blinked, caught off guard. He hesitated before taking the pouch, feeling the warmth of freshly baked cookies inside. He wasn¡¯t sure what to say.


    Harriet leaned over his shoulder. ¡°Ooooh, are those cookies?¡± He reached out to grab one, but the girl quickly smacked his hand away.


    ¡°They¡¯re for him!¡± she huffed, puffing up her cheeks.


    Harriet recoiled, holding up his hands in surrender. ¡°Alright, alright, I get it. No stealing the hero¡¯s reward.¡±


    Geschicht let out a small chuckle and glanced down at the little girl. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, his voice softer than usual. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a single Doh coin and placing it in her hand. ¡°A trade, then. I¡¯ll take these, and you take this.¡±


    The girl¡¯s eyes widened, and she clutched the coin tightly before giving him the biggest, most genuine smile. ¡°Okay!¡± Then, without another word, she turned and ran back to her mother, who had been watching from a distance with a grateful expression.


    Harriet leaned back in his chair, smirking. ¡°Look at you, winning the hearts of the town.¡±


    Geschicht rolled his eyes and tossed a cookie at Harriet¡¯s face. ¡°Shut up and eat.¡±


    Harriet caught it mid-air and took a bite, grinning. ¡°Mmm, totally worth it.¡±


    As the years rolled by, the Night of Shadows became a story etched into the heart of Langdale¡¯s lore. Some whispered of two boys¡ªone who wielded a blade that gleamed like starlight, cutting through the blackest dark, and another whose unseen hands reached into the void to reach to the furthest. Others spoke of a girl with hair like fire and snow, whose voice carried a song so pure it shattered the curse¡¯s grip. Though the tales grew hazy with time, one truth endured: Langdale was no longer just a quiet village nestled between its hills. It was the birthplace of a legend, a place where light triumphed over shadow, and where the echoes of that fateful night would forever linger in the wind.

 Chapter 7: A Slimy love (I)

    In the quiet gloom of a small chamber, the faint flicker of a single candle danced, stretching long shadows across shelves cluttered with jars of dried herbs, vials of tinctures, and neatly tied scrolls. The air hung heavy with the mingling scents of crushed rosemary, aged parchment, and the sharp, medicinal aroma of ground roots and preserved extracts. Above, bundles of lavender and thyme dangled from wooden beams, their fragrant presence keeping both pests and sickness at bay.


    At a weathered oak table, a blind man sat, his fingers tracing the raised ink of an old tome with a delicate yet deliberate touch. His simple robes bore the faint marks of countless remedies¡ªhints of saffron, smudges of powdered charcoal, and a subtle streak of honey. Beside him, a mortar and pestle sat idle, as though he had paused mid-preparation to lose himself in the book¡¯s pages.


    He hesitated, then turned the page with slow, thoughtful care. Though the light of his eyes had long faded, the words within the tome were not lost to him. They spoke to him through his fingertips, their secrets unfolding in the quiet of the room.


    As his fingers traced the raised ink of the tome, a woman''s voice suddenly broke the silence behind him.


    "Sicht, you sure have a lot of free time, don¡¯t you?"


    Without turning, the man sighed. "Slimy, how many times do I have to tell you? Stop sneaking up on me like that. This isn''t the first time¡ªor the second."


    The voice belonged to Lina, though Sicht often called her "Slimy" in jest. She was no ordinary woman¡ªher form was that of a slime, a shimmering, translucent being who could shift her shape at will. Her voice was soft and melodic, but it carried a playful edge that always seemed to cut through Sicht''s seriousness. Today, she had taken on a humanoid shape, her body glistening faintly in the candlelight, her features smooth and ethereal, like liquid glass given life.


    She glided closer, her form rippling slightly as she moved, and leaned against the table. Her ¡®arms¡¯ folded in a mockingly human gesture, though her edges blurred and flowed like water. "Maybe if you weren''t so engrossed in your dusty old books, you''d notice me coming," she teased, her voice softening just enough to take the edge off her words.


    Sicht''s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners. "Maybe if you didn''t enjoy startling me so much, I wouldn''t need to keep reminding you.¡±


    She laughed, a sound like the gentle bubbling of a stream, and reached out to brush her gelatinous fingers lightly over the back of his hand. The sensation was cool and smooth, almost electric, and Sicht couldn''t help but shiver. "You know I can''t resist," she said, her voice dripping with mischief. "You always make it so easy.¡±


    He paused, his hand stilling on the page. For a moment, the air between them seemed to shift, the playful banter giving way to something quieter, something deeper. Sicht turned his head slightly, as if he could see her through the darkness that had claimed his sight long ago.


    "You''re incorrigible," he said, his voice low, but there was no real reproach in his tone. If anything, it carried a warmth that belied his words.


    "And yet, you put up with me," she replied, her voice equally soft. She shifted her form, her body flowing like liquid as she moved closer, her presence a comforting weight beside him. "Why is that, I wonder?"


    Sicht hesitated, his fingers curling slightly against the page. "Perhaps because you''re the only one who doesn''t treat me like I''m made of glass," he admitted after a moment. "Or maybe because you''re the only one who can make me forget, even for a moment, that I can''t see.¡±


    Sicht hesitated, his fingers curling slightly against the page. "Perhaps because you''re the only one who doesn''t treat me like I''m made of glass," he admitted after a moment. "Or maybe because you''re the only one who can make me forget, even for a moment, that I can''t see.¡±


    Her form rippled, a sign of her emotions bubbling to the surface, and for a heartbeat, the room was utterly still. Then she reached out, her gelatinous hand brushing against his cheek, her touch as gentle as the first light of dawn. "Sicht," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don''t need sight to see what''s right in front of you.¡±


    The door to the chamber burst open with a loud thud, nearly rattling the shelves of herbs and vials lining the walls. Lina instinctively shifted her form, liquefying slightly as she pulled away from Sicht, startled by the sudden intrusion.


    "Is there a physician here?!" A frantic voice called out, breathless and strained.


    Harriet stood at the entrance, his golden eyes wide with urgency. Geschicht floated slightly above his back, his body eerily weightless, bobbing just above Harriet¡¯s shoulders as if gravity had momentarily forgotten him. Harriet¡¯s spectral hands flickered faintly in the dim candlelight, barely holding Geschicht in place as he rushed forward. The boy¡¯s face was flushed from exertion, his long sleeves damp with sweat.


    Sicht¡¯s head tilted toward the commotion, his senses immediately sharpening. The scent of damp earth and lingering fever clung to the newcomer like a second skin, and the faint, erratic breaths of the unconscious one told him everything he needed to know.


    "Set him down here," Sicht ordered, his voice steady and composed despite the chaos. He gestured toward a sturdy wooden cot in the corner of the room.


    Harriet wasted no time, carefully lowering Geschicht onto the cot. As soon as he let go, the spectral hands faded from sight, and Geschicht¡¯s body settled against the rough fabric of the mattress. His face was pale, beads of sweat dotting his forehead, and his breathing was shallow, each inhale more labored than the last.


    Sicht moved with practiced ease, his hands ghosting over the boy¡¯s body, his fingers reading his pulse, tracing the heat that clung to his fevered skin. ¡°High fever¡­ overworked lungs¡­ dehydration.¡± His brows furrowed. ¡°How long has he been like this?¡±


    Harriet ran a hand through his damp hair, exhaling sharply. ¡°Since this morning, but he wouldn¡¯t stop moving. We were travelling through the night and we didn¡¯t sleep.¡±


    Lina folded her arms, her gelatinous form shimmering faintly as she observed the two boys. ¡°You dragged a fevered boy through the woods without seeking help sooner?¡± Her tone was light, teasing, but the concern beneath it was evident.


    Harriet scowled. ¡°He didn¡¯t tell me! He acted like he was fine, then he nearly passed out on me!¡±


    Sicht sighed, shaking his head. ¡°Stubbornness can be more dangerous than any illness.¡± He turned, his hands moving swiftly as he gathered supplies¡ªa damp cloth, a bottle of herbal tincture, a vial of concentrated ginger extract. The room filled with the scent of crushed herbs and steaming water as he prepared a remedy.


    Harriet lingered at Geschicht¡¯s side, his gloved hands twitching at his sides. He hated feeling useless. His whole life, he had been able to do things other people couldn¡¯t. He could stop things from falling, could catch things before they hit the ground¡ªbut sickness? He couldn¡¯t fight that. He couldn¡¯t punch a fever away.


    A cool hand, or something close to it, patted his shoulder. Lina stood beside him, her translucent fingers pressing against the fabric of his coat. ¡°He¡¯ll be fine,¡± she murmured. ¡°Sicht¡¯s the best at what he does.¡±


    Harriet nodded stiffly, his gaze fixed on Geschicht¡¯s face. He looked peaceful, despite the fever¡ªlike he was dreaming of something far away.


    Sicht pressed the damp cloth to Geschicht¡¯s forehead, muttering under his breath as he worked. ¡°He¡¯ll need rest, fluids, and something to break the fever.¡± He poured a measured amount of the herbal tincture into a wooden cup and lifted it to Geschicht¡¯s lips. ¡°You, help him drink.¡±


    Harriet¡¯s spectral hands appeared instantly, gently lifting Geschicht¡¯s head as Sicht guided the cup to his lips. Geschicht stirred slightly, his lashes fluttering, but he drank, his body instinctively responding to the warmth of the remedy.


    A moment passed in silence, the weight of the night¡¯s events settling over them like a heavy blanket.


    Then, in a hoarse whisper, Geschicht mumbled something barely audible. Harriet leaned closer. ¡°What?¡±


    Geschicht¡¯s lips curled into a faint, delirious smile. ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ punch the child¡­¡±


    Harriet blinked. Then scowled. Then let out a frustrated groan, shoving his hands into his pockets. ¡°You¡¯re thinking about that?! You were dying a second ago!¡±


    Lina snorted, barely containing her laughter, while Sicht simply shook his head with an amused sigh.


    ¡°Well,¡± Sicht said, adjusting the damp cloth on Geschicht¡¯s forehead. ¡°If he¡¯s still able to joke, I¡¯d say he¡¯ll recover just fine.¡±


    Harriet finally took a moment to observe the man before him and noticed the lack of focus in his eyes. "Your name is Sicht, right?" he asked, reaching for his coin pouch. Without wasting time, he continued, "How much will it cost? The treatment, the cure¡ªwhatever it takes. I can afford it."


    Sicht nodded, his expression calm and composed. "A treatment will allow his body to fight off the cold naturally, but if you want to speed up the recovery, you''ll need medicine. Of course, that comes at a higher price. The cure will cost you 200 Doh."


    Without hesitation, Harriet handed over the money. "Good thing you''re not charging some outrageous price for it," he said, relieved.


    "Isn''t it strange that a physician¡¯s dwelling is built all the way out here?" Harriet asked. "I mean, it took us three days to find this place. It must be really far from any towns."


    "Well¡ª" Sicht began to reply, but Lina interrupted, her slime body swerving around him. "It''s because of me," she said.


    "Wanna hear our story?" Lina asked, a smug smile crossing her face.


    Sicht let out a sigh. "Slimy, do as you please."


    "It would be fun to hear the story of how you two ended up together and all the way here," Harriet said.


    Lina chuckled and glanced at Sicht. "Well, he still hasn''t proposed to me."


    Sicht shot back, "Don''t bother me, I''m treating the patient."


    With a sigh, Lina began to retell the story of that fateful day when she first met him, ten years ago. Back when Sicht still had his sight.


    That day, Lina was nothing more than a mindless creature¡ªjust a shapeless blob of slime, drifting aimlessly in a small cave beneath the earth. She had no sense of purpose, no awareness of anything beyond the dark, damp walls that confined her. Her existence was a quiet, formless routine, until everything changed.


    It was then that Sicht came crashing down from above. The roof of the cave, weakened by time and unseen fractures, gave way beneath him, and before he could even cry out, he plummeted into the darkness below. The impact was brutal¡ªair forced from his lungs as he hit the hard, uneven ground. Pain shot through his body, and for a moment, all he could do was lie there, stunned.


    Am I dead? he thought, his head spinning. No, he was still breathing, though his ribs ached and his limbs felt stiff. He groaned, pushing himself up with shaking arms, his fingers scraping against the cold rock beneath him. Dust swirled in the faint light filtering down from the collapsed ceiling, but the true weight of his situation hadn¡¯t fully sunk in yet.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Then he saw it.


    A glistening, formless mass, barely visible in the dim cave. It was silent¡ªtoo silent. Not moving, not lunging, just¡­ there. Watching.


    His breath hitched. His instincts screamed at him¡ªMonster. His heart pounded in his chest as he scrambled backward, pressing his back against the damp cave wall. His hand instinctively went to his belt, but his knife wasn¡¯t there. It had slipped from its sheath in the fall. He swallowed hard.


    Damn it.


    He wasn¡¯t sure what kind of creature he was dealing with, but it wasn¡¯t attacking¡ªyet. If it wanted to, it could have already. That alone was strange. Most monsters, when faced with an injured human, wouldn¡¯t hesitate. They¡¯d strike, devour, leave nothing behind.


    But this thing¡ªit wasn¡¯t moving.


    Sicht narrowed his eyes, forcing his breathing to slow. He could barely make out its shape in the darkness, but what struck him wasn¡¯t its appearance. It was the way it felt. Something about it¡­ wasn¡¯t right.


    Was it scared?


    The thought was absurd, and yet, as the silence stretched between them, he realized he wasn¡¯t the only one frozen in place. The creature hadn¡¯t advanced, hadn¡¯t shifted toward him in any way. It just hovered there, uncertain. As if it was waiting.


    For what?


    His grip on the wall loosened slightly. If it was dangerous, it was the worst hunter he had ever encountered. He should have been dead by now.


    Tentatively, he shifted forward, just enough to test the creature¡¯s reaction. It flinched.


    Sicht blinked.


    "You¡¯re¡­ not going to eat me, are you?" he muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to the creature.


    The slime didn¡¯t respond. Of course it wouldn¡¯t. It was just a mindless monster. Right?


    But for some reason, as the seconds stretched on, Sicht couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he wasn¡¯t the only one trying to figure things out.


    Panic simmered beneath his skin, but he forced himself to stay calm. There had to be a way out¡ªthere always was. He just had to find it.


    Sicht took a deep breath and pressed his palm against the damp stone, hoping to feel a draft, a whisper of air that might lead to an unseen passage. But the walls were unyielding, as if the cave itself had swallowed him whole. He clenched his jaw. He couldn''t afford to waste time.


    His gaze flickered toward the creature. It hadn''t moved much, but it was still there, watching him. He had tried to ignore it, but in the oppressive silence, its presence became impossible to overlook.


    He exhaled sharply and muttered, mostly to himself, "You''re really not going to attack me, huh?"


    The slime quivered slightly but did nothing else. Sicht frowned. Most monsters acted on instinct¡ªpredatory, mindless, or territorial. But this one seemed... hesitant.


    A strange thought struck him.


    It lives down here. It survives down here.


    His stomach twisted at the realization. He might be trapped, but this thing wasn''t. It had been here long before he fell, and it would remain here long after he wasted away¡ªunless...


    Sicht reached into the small satchel still fastened at his waist, fingers fumbling over the few supplies he had left. Dried herbs. Some crushed medicinal roots. Nothing that would help him escape. But an idea formed in the back of his mind¡ªreckless, maybe even stupid, but he was running out of options.


    Slowly, he pulled out a small sprig of dried leaves and extended his hand toward the creature.


    "You eat, don¡¯t you?" he murmured.


    The slime rippled, shifting slightly, as if reacting to his words.


    Sicht inhaled. "You must know a way in and out of here. If you can get out¡­ you can help me."


    It was absurd¡ªtrying to communicate with a creature that, for all he knew, didn''t even understand speech. But something deep in his gut told him this wasn''t just any mindless monster.


    He waited, arm outstretched, heart pounding, wondering if the creature before him could truly grasp what he was asking.


    For a long moment, neither of them moved. The cave was silent except for the faint dripping of water from some unseen crevice, a slow, rhythmic sound that marked the passage of time. Sicht kept his hand steady, the dried herbs resting on his palm, his breath shallow as he watched the slime inch closer. His muscles were tense, poised to react in case the creature suddenly lunged at him. His mind raced with possibilities¡ªwould she ignore the offering? Absorb it without a second thought? Would she perceive it as a threat? He had no idea what to expect.


    Lina hesitated, her translucent form wobbling slightly, uncertain. The scent of the herbs was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. She had never encountered something like this before. In all her time existing in the cave, she had never been given anything¡ªnever had a reason to take or refuse. Her instincts were simple: she absorbed things when she needed to, moved when she wanted to, but this¡­ this was new. The human was offering something to her. Why?


    She edged forward, cautious but drawn in by curiosity.


    Sicht remained still, barely daring to breathe. His heart pounded against his ribs as he watched a single tendril of slime extend hesitantly, stopping just short of his outstretched hand. He fought the urge to flinch. Then, with deliberate slowness, Lina¡¯s form shifted further, her gelatinous appendage creeping toward the bundle of herbs, wrapping around them with a gentle, almost delicate touch.


    Sicht blinked. He hadn¡¯t expected it to feel so¡­ intentional.


    The slime absorbed the herbs into her form, the dry leaves dissolving within her like ink dispersing in water. It wasn¡¯t food, not in the way she understood it, but something about the exchange felt significant. There was no immediate, instinctual reaction. No attack. No attempt to retreat. She simply accepted it.


    For the first time, Lina felt something stir inside her¡ªsomething foreign, something she couldn¡¯t name. She didn¡¯t understand what had just happened, but she knew one thing: this was different.


    Sicht exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. She took it. He wasn¡¯t sure what that meant, but it was a start.


    Emboldened, he spoke again, keeping his voice calm and steady. ¡°That¡¯s right. You take it.¡±


    Lina quivered at the sound of his voice, her form rippling slightly. His words¡ªthough meaningless to her¡ªfelt oddly¡­ familiar. Different from the usual sounds that echoed through her cave, different from the distant rumbles of shifting rock or the faint drip of water. It was something directed at her.


    Sicht swallowed. He was stuck down here, possibly for good. He had no tools, no weapons, and no way of climbing back up. The walls were too smooth, too sheer, and the only other presence in this cave was this strange, sentient mass of slime.


    But maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªshe wasn¡¯t just a mindless creature.


    Maybe she could learn.


    And if she could learn¡­


    Maybe she could help him escape.


    Sicht¡¯s heart pounded as he watched her prod the herbs. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was a response¡ªa sign that she was paying attention. He could feel a sliver of hope creeping in. If she understood that he was trying to communicate, even in the simplest way, then maybe he had a chance.


    Carefully, he repeated his gestures. He pointed to the herbs, then motioned toward the walls of the cave again. His movements were slow and deliberate, his expression tense with anticipation. ¡°Come on,¡± he muttered under his breath. ¡°There¡¯s got to be a way out of here. You must know something.¡±


    Lina watched him closely. His motions were strange¡ªdifferent from anything she had ever encountered. She had never needed to think about meaning before, never had to decipher intentions. But there was something about the way he moved, the way he focused on her with such intensity, that made her hesitate.


    She turned her attention back to the herbs now resting on the cave floor. They weren¡¯t food, but they had a scent that reminded her of the surface¡ªthe faint trace of wind and sunlight, of places beyond this dark cavern. A distant memory stirred within her, something primal and unshaped.


    Sicht, seeing her hesitation, took a different approach. He touched the herbs, then touched himself, as if to say they were his. Then he pointed at her, then to the walls, repeating the motion as patiently as he could. His expression softened, his voice low but hopeful. ¡°Can you help me?¡±


    Lina hesitated. Help?


    She didn¡¯t know what the word meant, but something in the way he looked at her made her feel¡­ important. Needed. She had never been needed before.


    Slowly, she shifted, her form undulating like water. Then, with deliberate purpose, she turned toward the farthest edge of the cave and began to move. Not randomly, not aimlessly, but in a specific direction.


    Sicht straightened, eyes widening.


    She was leading him somewhere.


    Sicht watched as Lina pressed her slimy form into the narrow gap, her translucent body shifting to fit through spaces he wouldn¡¯t have even thought to check. His breath caught as she stilled for a moment, then reemerged, her form rippling with something almost like excitement. She turned back toward him, quivering slightly, and then did something unexpected¡ªshe mimicked his earlier gesture, motioning toward the gap with a slimy tendril.


    He blinked. Had she understood?


    Cautiously, he approached the spot she had indicated, brushing away loose dirt and debris with his hands. At first, it seemed impossible¡ªjust another tight crevice in the rock¡ªbut as he peered closer, he noticed something beyond the narrow space. A faint draft. His heart pounded.


    Air.


    A way out.


    A surge of relief swept over him, but it was quickly tempered by a new problem. The gap was far too small for him to squeeze through. He exhaled sharply, frustration mounting, but before he could even consider his next move, Lina acted.


    With an odd sort of determination, she pushed herself forward, slipping through the cracks, seeping into the narrowest parts of the stone as though testing its weaknesses. Sicht could only watch as she twisted and stretched, coating the edges of the passage. Then, as if sensing his gaze, she withdrew slightly, as if urging him to continue.


    His mind raced. Was she showing him where to dig?


    He didn''t waste another second. He dropped to his knees and began clawing at the loose rock, working with frantic energy. His fingers scraped against rough stone, dirt caking beneath his nails, but he didn¡¯t stop. Every time he faltered, Lina moved forward again, pressing against weak points, helping loosen the debris. They worked in tandem, an unspoken understanding passing between them¡ªhe had the strength, and she had the ability to find the way.


    Little by little, the passage widened. The draft grew stronger. The scent of damp earth mixed with the distant hint of fresh air. Hope swelled in Sicht¡¯s chest.


    And then, at last, the opening was wide enough.


    He barely hesitated. With one last push, he squeezed through the gap, his body scraping against rough stone. He gritted his teeth at the sting but didn¡¯t stop¡ªnot until he stumbled forward into a narrow tunnel, the cavern behind him finally left behind.


    For a moment, he just lay there, breathing hard, his limbs aching. Then, with a quiet squelch, Lina slipped through the passage after him, reforming at his side.


    Sicht let out a breathless laugh, half from exhaustion, half from disbelief. He turned his head toward the strange creature who had just saved his life.


    ¡°¡­Thanks,¡± he murmured, voice rough but sincere.


    Lina didn¡¯t understand the words. But the way he looked at her, the warmth in his voice¡ªshe understood that.


    And for the first time in her existence, she felt something.


    As the days passed, their odd companionship settled into something natural. Lina, once a mindless creature bound to the shadows, now explored the world with an almost childlike curiosity. She mimicked the way he walked, shifting her gelatinous body into rough imitations of legs, though she never quite got the balance right. She would stretch toward the sky when he did, as if trying to grasp the sunbeams filtering through the trees. And when he rested by the fire at night, she would sit beside him, watching the flames flicker with silent fascination.


    Sicht, for his part, found himself growing used to her strange presence. He would glance over his shoulder and expect to see her there, trailing behind him with her silent, fluid movements. He started speaking aloud, at first just to himself, but over time, more to her. He knew she didn¡¯t understand most of what he said, but she listened anyway, her shifting form tilting as if absorbing his words.


    One evening, as they sat beneath the shelter of an old tree, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You know," he mused, "I still don''t understand why you''re following me."


    Lina, who had been observing a fallen leaf with great interest, turned her attention to him.


    He chuckled dryly, shaking his head. "I mean, you could go anywhere now. Why stick with me?"


    She blinked¡ªat least, he thought it was a blink¡ªand then did something unexpected. She mimicked his sigh, her form wobbling as if trying to imitate his exhale.


    Sicht stared at her before letting out a short laugh. ¡°You¡¯re really something else.¡±


    Lina didn¡¯t understand the words, but she understood his amusement. And for some reason, she liked it.


    So, she stayed.


    As the night deepened, the fire crackled softly, casting warm flickers of light against the surrounding trees. The air was cool, carrying the distant hum of insects and the rustling of leaves. Sicht sat with his back against the tree, arms crossed, his body heavy with exhaustion. It had been a long day of walking, and despite everything, he was still human¡ªhe needed rest.


    Lina, on the other hand, didn¡¯t seem to need sleep, yet she remained close. She watched as Sicht shifted, trying to find a comfortable position against the rough bark. His movements slowed, his breathing evening out, and soon, he drifted into slumber.


    For a moment, she simply observed. The rise and fall of his chest. The way his face relaxed in sleep, free of the guarded expressions he often wore when awake. The thought occurred to her that he looked¡­ peaceful like this.


    A cool breeze swept through the clearing, and Sicht unconsciously shivered. Without hesitation, Lina moved closer. Carefully, she shifted her form, wrapping part of herself around his shoulders like a soft, warm blanket. It wasn¡¯t something she had ever done before, but somehow, it felt right.


    Sicht stirred slightly at the unfamiliar sensation but didn¡¯t wake. Instead, he let out a quiet sigh and, instinctively, leaned into her warmth.


    Lina stilled, surprised. Then, slowly, she settled beside him, her body pressed lightly against his, offering warmth and comfort in the only way she knew how.


    The fire crackled on, the night carried on, and for the first time in either of their lives, She found him.

 Chapter 8: A Slimy love (II)

    Lina had always been different. Even before she understood the meaning of the word, she had felt it within herself¡ªa flickering awareness that set her apart from the other mindless creatures that lurked in the shadows. In the beginning, she had existed without purpose, drifting through the darkness of her cave, neither longing nor searching for more. But then, Sicht had fallen into her world, and with him, everything had changed.


    She followed him, at first out of curiosity, then out of something deeper, something she couldn¡¯t yet name. She watched how he lived, how he spoke, how his emotions painted his face in ways she had never seen before. He was not like her. He was human. And yet, despite their differences, he never rejected her. He let her stay by his side, speaking to her even when he knew she could not respond. She listened to every word, absorbing his movements, his complaints, his laughter. The more time they spent together, the more she felt something stirring inside her¡ªa yearning to understand, to connect.


    As they traveled from town to town, she observed humans with growing fascination. She saw how they held hands, how they embraced, how they gazed into each other¡¯s eyes with unspoken promises. She began to understand, in her own way, what it meant to care for someone. From her perspective, love seemed to be a bond that required two people¡ªa man and a woman. And though she was not like them, she wanted to be. She wanted to be what he needed.


    One evening, when they had settled at the edge of a quiet village, Lina made her choice. She concentrated, focusing on the strange, shifting nature of her form. Slowly, carefully, she reshaped herself, molding the formless slime into a body that resembled a human woman. She crafted arms and legs, fingers and toes, a face with soft features and eyes that glowed faintly with a color not quite of this world. Her body remained smooth and translucent, her true nature still visible beneath the shape she had taken, but she no longer looked like a mere creature. She had become something closer to him.


    Sicht had been asleep when she changed, and for the first time, she felt nervous as she waited for him to wake. Would he understand? Would he accept her like this? When he finally stirred, his tired eyes widened as he took in her new form.


    ¡°Lina¡­?¡± His voice was laced with disbelief. He reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing against the cool, smooth surface of her arm. ¡°You¡­¡±


    She nodded, though words still eluded her. Instead, she simply smiled, hoping he would understand.


    For a long moment, he just stared. Then, ever so slowly, a small, bewildered smile tugged at his lips. ¡°You really are something else.¡±


    Lina didn¡¯t know what those words meant exactly, but the warmth in his voice made her heart¡ªif she even had one¡ªflutter.


    However, fate was cruel. Not long after she took this new form, Sicht¡¯s health began to decline. An old illness, one he had hidden beneath his strength, finally took root. His limbs grew weaker, his movements slower, and worst of all¡ªhis sight began to fade. At first, he brushed it off, calling it exhaustion, but the truth was undeniable. His world was growing darker with each passing day.


    Lina watched helplessly as the light in his eyes dimmed. She stayed by his side, guiding him when he stumbled, holding him when he faltered. And yet, despite all she had done to become something he could see, he was losing the ability to look upon her at all.


    One night, as they sat beside the dying embers of their fire, he spoke softly into the quiet. ¡°I can barely see now.¡± His voice was calm, but Lina could hear the weight in it. ¡°I think¡­ soon, I won¡¯t be able to see anything at all.¡±


    She reached out, hesitating before placing her hand over his. His fingers curled around hers, his grip still strong despite everything.


    ¡°I wish I could have seen you more,¡± he admitted with a soft chuckle. ¡°I bet you look beautiful.¡±


    Lina¡¯s form trembled slightly, though she did not know why. She had taken this shape so he could see her, so she could be the person she thought he needed. But now, he would never be able to look at her again. Did it matter, then, what form she took? Would he still accept her even if she returned to what she once was?


    But as he held her hand, his touch steady despite the growing darkness in his world, she realized something. Sight had never been what connected them. He had accepted her when she was nothing but a formless creature, had spoken to her before she even knew how to respond. He had cared for her not because of what she looked like, but because of who she was.


    And so, Lina made another choice. She would stay by his side, not as the woman she thought he needed, but as herself. Whatever form that may be, she would remain¡ªbecause love, she realized, was never about appearance. It was about something far deeper, something unshaken by darkness.


    Sicht squeezed her hand gently. ¡°You¡¯re still here, right?¡±


    Lina nodded, then remembered that he could no longer see it. So instead, she tightened her grip around his fingers and whispered, for the very first time¡ª


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Months came by, as Lina moved through the village streets, she could feel the weight of countless eyes upon her. The people did not see the gentle companion who had cared for Sicht through his darkest days¡ªthey saw only a monster pretending to be human. At first, it was just whispers, murmurs that followed her wherever she went.


    "Why is that thing still here?" "It¡¯s unnatural. A beast trying to live among us."


    She ignored them, clinging to the belief that as long as she remained by Sicht¡¯s side, none of it mattered. But the tension only grew. The market vendors hesitated to sell to her, their hands stiff as they pretended not to hear her soft requests. Mothers pulled their children away when she walked past, as if she carried some unseen plague. Still, she endured it all¡ªfor him.


    One evening, as she returned from gathering medicine for Sicht, a group of men blocked her path. Their expressions were filled with a mixture of fear and loathing.


    "You don¡¯t belong here," one of them spat, stepping forward. "We¡¯ve been patient, but we won¡¯t stand by and let a monster walk freely among us."


    Lina held her ground, her blue, gelatinous skin shifting subtly in response to her unease. "I mean no harm," she said softly. "I only wish to stay with Sicht."


    A sharp laugh cut through the air. "That blind man? You¡¯ve tricked him. Made him believe you¡¯re something you¡¯re not. Do you think he¡¯d still care for you if he could see what you really are?"


    The words struck deeper than she expected. Lina had never doubted her place beside him, but now, with these accusations laid bare, the thought crept into her mind like a poison. Was she truly just a burden? Had she only complicated his life instead of bringing him peace?


    "Leave," another villager said, his grip tightening around the wooden staff he carried. "Before we make you."


    Lina swallowed, glancing toward the home she and Sicht had shared¡ªthe place where she had watched over him, cared for him, loved him. But in the face of their hatred, she realized something heartbreaking. If she stayed, they would never stop. And no matter how much she wanted to fight, she couldn¡¯t let her presence bring him suffering.


    Lowering her gaze, she whispered, "I understand." Without another word, she turned away, leaving the town behind, even as her heart shattered with every step she took away from the only person she had ever truly loved.


    So, she made the hardest decision of her life¡ªshe left. Without a word, without a trace, she vanished into the night, swallowing the unbearable ache in her chest. She told herself it was for his sake, that he would be safer, freer, if she was no longer by his side. That he deserved a life without fear, without whispers, without the weight of a monster dragging him down. She convinced herself that if she disappeared completely, he would forget her, and that time would erase the bond they had built. And so, she ran¡ªto the farthest, loneliest place she could find, where not even the wind dared to whisper her name.


    But she had underestimated him.


    He came for her.


    She didn¡¯t know how. She didn¡¯t know why. He was blind, alone, and yet, against all odds, against reason itself, he found her.


    When she saw him standing there, panting, his hands trembling from exhaustion, the sight shattered every wall she had tried to build around her heart. He was supposed to move on. He was supposed to forget. But instead, he had walked through darkness, through uncertainty, through the vast unknown¡ªjust to reach her.


    Tears welled in her eyes as she stood frozen, unable to move, unable to speak. And then, in a voice raw with emotion, he called her name.


    ¡°Lina.¡±


    That was all it took. A name. Her name. Not monster. Not creature. Just Lina.


    Her body quivered as she staggered forward, colliding into him, wrapping herself around him as if trying to melt into his very being. He held her, arms steady despite the weariness in his bones, as though he had never once doubted he would find her again.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she whispered, her voice breaking. ¡°I thought I was doing the right thing.¡±


    His grip only tightened. ¡°Don¡¯t run from me again.¡±


    She buried her face in his chest, her form shifting, uncertain, struggling to contain the emotions surging within her. She had tried to leave him behind, but in the end, he had reminded her of the truth she had been too afraid to face.


    No matter how far she ran, no matter how much she tried to erase herself from his life¡ªhe would always find her.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Because to him, she was never just a monster.


    She was Lina.


    And that was all that ever mattered.


    Sicht didn¡¯t ask how she had survived on her own. He didn¡¯t ask why she had left, or how long she had been waiting in this place, hiding from the world. He already knew the answers. He had known the moment he heard her voice tremble, the way her body quivered as she clung to him.


    She had been afraid.


    Afraid of the world. Afraid of what it would do to them. Afraid that staying meant she would only bring him pain.


    But what she hadn¡¯t understood¡ªwhat he needed her to understand¡ªwas that losing her was far worse than anything the world could throw at him.


    Sicht exhaled, slow and steady, resting his chin against her head. His blindness had stolen the sight of her face, but he didn¡¯t need his eyes to see her. He could feel her warmth, the way her form trembled under his touch, the way her arms gripped him like she was terrified he would slip away.


    He was never leaving.


    ¡°Lina.¡± His voice was quieter this time, softer. ¡°Come home.¡±


    Home.


    She stiffened at the word, the reality of it sinking in. Did she still have a home? Could she still belong by his side after everything?


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know if I can.¡±


    ¡°You can.¡± His answer came without hesitation. ¡°And you will.¡±


    Lina shook her head. ¡°But the others¡ª¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care about them.¡±


    His fingers found her face, brushing against her cheek, his touch careful, unshaken despite the exhaustion weighing on him.


    ¡°They don¡¯t decide where I belong,¡± he said. ¡°And they don¡¯t decide where you belong either.¡±


    Lina swallowed hard, her resolve unraveling. She had been prepared for everything¡ªfor rejection, for anger, for the pain of knowing she could never return. But she hadn¡¯t been prepared for this. For him, standing here, telling her that none of it mattered. That she mattered more than all of it.


    ¡°¡­You¡¯re a fool,¡± she whispered, half-laughing, half-sobbing.


    Sicht managed a tired smirk. ¡°I did just wander into the middle of nowhere with no way of knowing if you were actually here. So, yeah. Probably.¡±


    She let out a shaky breath, her fingers clutching at the fabric of his coat.


    ¡°You really¡­ don¡¯t care what they say?¡±


    ¡°I never have.¡±


    Lina closed her eyes. For so long, she had been fighting a battle in her own heart, trying to convince herself that leaving him had been the right choice. But now, hearing his words, feeling the certainty in his touch¡ªshe couldn¡¯t keep lying to herself.


    She didn¡¯t want to be alone. She didn¡¯t want to keep running.


    She just wanted to be with him.


    And if Sicht was willing to stand against the world for her, then maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªshe could find the courage to stand with him.


    Lina took a deep breath, then finally, finally, nodded.


    ¡°¡­Okay.¡±


    Sicht smiled, exhaustion washing over him now that the weight in his chest had lifted.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go home.¡±


    And this time, they left together.


    That home became their sanctuary¡ªa place where seasons passed without the burden of whispered scorn, where each sunrise was met side by side, and each night was spent in quiet companionship. They learned to rely on one another in ways they never had before.


    Sicht, though sightless, knew every step of their land, guided by the sounds of rustling leaves and the steady presence of Lina at his side. And Lina, for the first time in her existence, learned what it meant to be part of something, rather than apart from everything.


    She tended to the home with careful hands, shaping things in ways he could navigate with ease. He, in turn, taught her the simple joys of living¡ªnot just surviving, not just lingering in the shadows, but living.


    They laughed. They argued. They built.


    And in that quiet, unseen place beyond the reach of those who had once driven them apart, they grew old together.


    Because in the end, love had never been about form or fate, nor about what the world deemed right or wrong.


    It had been about them¡ªabout a promise made without words, about hands reaching for one another in the dark, and about the unwavering certainty that, through everything, they would always choose each other.


    The years passed like the turning of pages in a book, each day another story written in their quiet corner of the world. Though time changed many things, some remained constant¡ªSicht''s steady hands, Lina¡¯s unwavering presence, and the love that had bound them together through every hardship.


    Lina, once an aimless creature of the dark, had found her purpose in the simple moments: preparing meals that Sicht could easily eat, guiding his hands when he needed to feel something new, listening to the steady beat of his heart at night as he slept beside her.


    Sicht, despite his blindness, saw her clearer than anyone ever had. He could hear the subtle shifts in her voice when she was happy, the hesitation in her step when something troubled her. He had long since memorized the way her fingers felt when she touched his hand, soft and cool, yet full of life.


    There was no grand adventure waiting for them beyond the trees. No need to prove themselves to a world that had once turned them away. They had already won.


    As Lina finished recounting her and Sicht''s story, a gentle silence settled over the room. Harriet, still absorbing everything he had just heard, opened his mouth to comment¡ªonly to be cut off before he could say a word.


    "You''re leaving out an important detail," Sicht interjected, his tone dry but amused. "You cried like a baby when I found you. It was deafening."


    Lina puffed up indignantly, crossing her arms. "I did not!" she huffed, though the slight wobble in her voice betrayed her.


    Sicht chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, you did. I might be blind now, but I swear I could hear the tears pouring off you like a waterfall. I thought the whole forest would flood."


    Lina groaned, covering her face. "Ugh, why do I even bother telling our story if you¡¯re just going to embarrass me?"


    Harriet, who had been caught between awe and laughter, finally let out a chuckle. "Well, I think it makes the story even better."


    Lost in the moment, none of them had noticed how much time had passed. The warmth of the conversation, the laughter, and the weight of old memories had kept them wrapped in their own world. It wasn¡¯t until a cool breeze drifted through the open window that they finally glanced around.


    The room was bathed in darkness, the last traces of daylight long gone. Outside, the sky stretched endlessly in a sea of black, speckled with faint stars. The flickering glow of a single lantern cast soft shadows along the walls, barely enough to push back the night.


    Harriet blinked, startled. "Huh. When did it get so dark?"


    Lina stretched lazily, her slime-like body shifting slightly as she leaned back. "Guess we got carried away," she mused with a small smirk.


    Sicht stood up from where he had been tending to Geschicht, dusting off his coat as he turned toward Lina. His expression was unreadable, his voice calm yet firm.


    "Slim¡ªno... Lina," he corrected himself, pausing for a brief moment before continuing. "Come outside with me for a bit."


    Lina blinked at him, tilting her head in curiosity. "Why are you using my name all of a sudden?" she asked, amused but puzzled. She had grown used to his usual nickname for her¡ªhe rarely called her by name unless he was being serious.


    Unbeknownst to her, there was something different about this moment. Hidden within the folds of his coat, Sicht¡¯s fingers brushed against the small ring case tucked into his pocket. The weight of it felt heavier than ever, despite its size.


    Harriet, sitting quietly by the hearth, noticed it immediately. His golden eyes flickered with realization as he watched Sicht¡¯s movements. A small grin crept onto his face, but he said nothing, simply observing.


    Lina, completely unaware, stretched her arms with a playful sigh. "Well, fine. If you''re that insistent," she said, standing up. "But if this is about another lecture, I¡¯m going back inside."


    Sicht simply shook his head, a rare softness in his expression. "Just come."


    And with that, he led her toward the door, stepping into the cool night air, the ring case still hidden in his grasp.


    Harriet didn¡¯t follow them outside. Instead, he stayed behind, focusing on helping Geschichte sit up and drink some water.


    "Thanks," Geschicht mumbled, his voice hoarse but grateful.


    Harriet only hummed in response, but his mind wandered. He had an idea of what was happening outside, yet he didn¡¯t need to witness it. Some moments weren¡¯t meant for an audience.


    Time passed, and the night air grew cooler. Eventually, the door creaked open, and Lina and Sicht stepped back inside. Harriet glanced up, instantly noticing the change¡ªboth of them had matching silver rings glinting on their right ring fingers. But more than that, their faces were flushed, as red as the setting sun, their usual confidence replaced by a quiet awkwardness.


    Lina fidgeted, her gelatinous form shifting slightly as if she wasn¡¯t used to feeling flustered. Sicht, for once, had no snarky remark, only a small, unreadable smile on his face.


    Harriet smirked, leaning back with a knowing glint in his golden eyes. He whispered just loud enough for Geschichte to hear, "Happy ending~."


    Geschicht, still drowsy, let out a faint chuckle. "Sounds like it."


    Lina huffed, crossing her arms. "I can hear you, you know."


    Harriet only grinned wider. "I know."


    The next morning, Geschicht had recovered enough to continue their journey. The warmth of the sun was a welcome change from the cold, lingering shadows of the previous night, and as the boys walked along the road, the promise of the open world stretched ahead of them. They were silent at first, each lost in their own thoughts, but the quiet was soon broken by Harriet, who spoke out loud without thinking.


    "Love, huh?"


    Geschichte, who had been slightly ahead, didn¡¯t quite catch what Harriet said. He turned his head, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "What¡¯s that?"


    Harriet¡¯s golden eyes met Geschicht¡¯s face, searching for something he couldn¡¯t quite name. His gaze softened for a brief moment, the warmth of yesterday¡¯s events still lingering in his chest. But then he quickly averted his eyes, feeling a strange tug in his stomach, and with a grin that didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes, he lifted his hand¡ªone of his spectral, unseen hands¡ªand gave Geschicht a playful shove on the back.


    "Nothing," Harriet said, his tone casual but the brief hesitation in his voice.


    Geschicht, still trying to make sense of the strange, fleeting moment, shook his head with a small smile. "You''re weird sometimes, you know that?"


    Harriet didn¡¯t answer right away. He only chuckled under his breath, adjusting the pack on his shoulders. He wasn¡¯t sure why he¡¯d said anything at all. But as they continued walking, side by side, the weight of it¡ªthe thought of love, and everything that came with it¡ªlingered in his mind, quietly unsettled but not unpleasant.


    "Yeah, I guess I am," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.


    As always, another firefly fluttered into Geschicht''s journal without either of them noticing and disappeared in the pages.


    And so, generations passed, and the tale of the man who fell in love with a slime girl began to spread across the lands, carried on the winds of time. It became a story whispered around hearths, told to children in the quiet of the night, and sung by bards in distant halls. The tale was more than just a story¡ªit was a lesson, one that transcended the boundaries of species, of time, and of circumstance.


    For the story of their love taught all who listened that to truly love is not to possess, but to see beyond oneself. To understand, to give, and to embrace imperfections, even when it hurts. In the presence of love, we learn patience and sacrifice. We come to understand that love is not just about staying together, but knowing when to let go, to set free what you cherish, even if it means parting for a time.


    And so, their love¡ªimperfect, selfless, and true¡ªbecame a timeless legend, a reminder that love, in all its forms, is the greatest teacher of all. And in the hearts of those who heard their story, the lesson remained, long after the last whispers of their tale had faded into the breeze.

 Chapter 9: The Kopflos

    The forest was alive with the vibrance of spring. Sunlight filtered through a canopy of fresh green leaves, casting dappled patterns on the soft earth below. The scent of blooming flowers and damp soil filled the air, mingling with the distant chirping of birds hidden among the branches. A gentle breeze rustled the foliage, making the trees sway as if whispering secrets to one another.


    Geschicht and Harriet moved along the narrow dirt path, their footsteps light against the mossy ground. Harriet glanced up at the towering trees, their leaves swaying with each breath of wind. His golden eyes reflected the flickering light as he exhaled, a small smile tugging at his lips.


    Geschicht raised a hand to shield his eyes from the golden morning sun, squinting as its light spilled through the trees. The warmth on his skin told him it had been morning for a while now. His stomach gave a quiet rumble, as if confirming what he was about to say.


    "I think it¡¯s time we prepare something to eat for breakfast," he said, lowering his hand.


    Harriet, walking a few steps behind, glanced up from kicking a loose pebble along the dirt path. His golden eyes glinted in the sunlight.


    "Neat," he replied with an easy grin.


    As they wandered further, the soft murmur of flowing water reached their ears. Pushing through a thicket of tall grass, they emerged by the edge of a clear, winding river. The water glistened under the sun, reflecting the green canopy above. A gentle breeze carried the crisp scent of fresh water and damp earth.


    "This looks like a good spot," Geschicht said, glancing around. The ground was flat, the riverbank wide enough to sit comfortably.


    Harriet crouched by the water¡¯s edge, dipping his fingers in and watching the ripples dance outward. "Not bad," he mused. "Better than eating on the road, at least."


    With that, they set their packs down and began gathering what they needed to cook, the peaceful sounds of the river accompanying their morning preparations.


    The lake stretched wide before them, its surface rippling under the soft morning breeze. Geschicht knelt near the fire, carefully turning skewers of fish over the open flames, while Harriet sat on a flat rock, flicking small pebbles into the water with his invisible hands. The scent of roasting fish mingled with the crisp air, making Harriet¡¯s stomach rumble.


    "This might be the best meal we¡¯ve had in a while," Harriet mused.


    Geschicht nodded, watching the fish sizzle. "Good thing we found this lake."


    Just as he spoke, a loud splash sent a spray of water onto the shore. Both boys turned their heads.


    A woman was swimming in the lake¡ªnot leisurely, but with powerful strokes that cut through the water like a blade. Her long, wavy green hair trailed behind her, heavy with water. Most surprising of all, she was fully dressed, as if wading into the lake with her coat and boots was the most natural thing in the world.


    Harriet blinked. "Huh. She knows she¡¯s swimming with her clothes on, right?"


    Geschicht, ever curious, watched as the woman turned onto her back, floating with a peaceful expression. "Maybe she doesn¡¯t care."


    As if sensing their stares, the woman tilted her head toward them. Her sharp emerald eyes locked onto theirs. She made no move to leave the water, but her gaze held a quiet intensity.


    "You two," she called out. "That fish ready?"


    Harriet nearly choked. "What?"


    She gestured toward the fire with her chin. "Smells good."


    Geschicht exchanged a glance with Harriet before shrugging. "Almost."


    Without hesitation, the woman waded toward the shore. Water cascaded off her coat as she stepped onto land, completely unfazed by how soaked she was.


    Before either of them could say anything, heavy footsteps approached from behind. A broad-shouldered man with a thick spade beard stopped beside her, arms crossed. Behind him, a red-haired man leaned lazily against a tree, his heterochromatic eyes gleaming with amusement.


    "Jelle, you can¡¯t just ask strangers for food," the bearded man sighed.


    "Why not?" she replied flatly. "They made enough."


    Harriet narrowed his eyes. "Hold on¡ªwho are you people?"


    The red-haired man grinned. "Now that¡¯s a fair question. Name¡¯s Uwe. The grumpy one beside Jelle is Hauke." He motioned toward the bearded man. "And there¡¯s Liselotte, hiding behind that tree, panicking about Jelle¡¯s wet clothes."


    A small, shy voice stammered from behind a nearby tree. "J-Jelle, you¡¯re dripping everywhere¡ª"


    "They¡¯ll dry," Jelle said dismissively. She turned back to Geschicht. "So? Do you mind if we eat together?"


    Geschicht simply smiled and gestured toward the fire. "If you don¡¯t mind waiting for it to finish cooking, sure."


    Jelle nodded approvingly before sitting down on a nearby rock, wringing the water from her sleeves. The others followed, and just like that, they joined by the fire, strangers sharing a meal by the lake.


    The fire crackled as the scent of roasted fish filled the air. Harriet leaned back slightly, his gloved hands resting on his knees¡ªat least, that¡¯s what it looked like. His sleeves barely shifted as he reached for a small twig with his unseen hands, poking at the fire absently.


    Uwe let out a satisfied sigh as he stretched, watching the flames. ¡°Not bad. Guess we got lucky stumbling into you two.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t stumble,¡± Harriet muttered. ¡°Your boss swam over and invited herself.¡±


    Jelle, still wringing out the ends of her coat, didn¡¯t react. She merely grabbed a stick, poking at the fire as well. ¡°Seemed easier than talking first.¡±


    Hauke let out a low chuckle. ¡°She¡¯s got a habit of making first impressions like that.¡± His steel-gray eyes flicked toward Geschicht. ¡°And you? You don¡¯t seem too surprised.¡±


    Geschicht tilted his head. ¡°Surprised by what?¡±


    ¡°That a House under The Innocent Association just showed up at your fire.¡± Hauke smirked. ¡°Not many would stay this calm.¡±


    Harriet raised a brow. ¡°A House?¡±


    Uwe grinned. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯re The Kopflos. A registered House under The Innocent Association, working for the Ident Order.¡±


    Geschicht¡¯s expression brightened with recognition. ¡°Oh, so you¡¯re all Idents?¡±


    Liselotte, still nervously adjusting her shawl, nodded. ¡°Uhm, yes! Our leader¡ªJelle¡ªis a grade 3 Ident.¡±


    Harriet exhaled a short whistle. ¡°Grade 3? That¡¯s serious.¡±


    Jelle, unbothered, took a fish skewer from the fire and examined it. ¡°It¡¯s a number.¡±


    Hauke smirked. ¡°A number that means you don¡¯t have to lift a finger unless things get really bad.¡±


    Harriet¡¯s eyes flicked between them. ¡°And the rest of you?¡±


    ¡°Grade 4.¡± Hauke motioned to himself and Uwe. ¡°And Liselotte¡¯s grade 5. Still fresh.¡±


    The girl fidgeted slightly. ¡°I-I¡¯m still learning¡­¡±


    Harriet glanced at Geschicht. ¡°You following all this?¡±


    Geschicht hummed in thought before nodding. ¡°So you¡¯re all recognized Idents, and your House operates under The Innocent Association. That means you take on official work, right?¡±


    Uwe grinned. ¡°Smart kid.¡± He took a bite of his fish. ¡°Yeah, we take on all sorts of things¡ªtracking, securing Singularit?t users, resolving disputes. Even the occasional monster hunt if the pay¡¯s good.¡±


    Harriet leaned back. ¡°Sounds like a lot of work.¡±


    Hauke shrugged. ¡°Comes with the title.¡±


    Jelle finally took a bite of her fish, chewing thoughtfully before glancing at Geschicht and Harriet. ¡°And what about you two? Just wandering?¡±


    Harriet smirked. ¡°Something like that.¡±


    Geschicht nodded. ¡°For now.¡±


    Jelle studied them both for a moment, then simply nodded. ¡°Alright.¡±


    And just like that, the conversation settled into an easy rhythm, the fire crackling between them as two groups shared a meal¡ªnot as strangers, but as travelers on the same road, if only for a moment.


    The fire crackled as the group ate, the warm scent of grilled fish mixing with the cool lake breeze. Harriet, ever the restless one, tapped his boot against a rock, his eyes flicking between Jelle and his skewer.


    ¡°So,¡± he said, voice casual, ¡°your skin¡¯s kinda¡­ different.¡±


    Geschicht, more in his curiosity, studied Jelle closely. Her complexion had a strange quality to it¡ªnot unnatural, but certainly unlike any human¡¯s. It held a soft vibrancy, like fresh leaves in spring, catching the firelight in a way that made her look almost luminescent.


    Jelle, unbothered as ever, tore off a piece of fish with her teeth. ¡°And?¡±


    Harriet shrugged. ¡°Never seen anyone with skin like that before.¡±


    Uwe snickered. ¡°That¡¯s ¡®cause you don¡¯t meet a lot of Eldruun.¡±


    Harriet raised a brow. ¡°Eldruun?¡±


    Liselotte perked up slightly, finally finding confidence in a subject she knew well. ¡°They¡¯re a race tied to the seasons! Their skin changes depending on the time of year. Jelle¡¯s looks greenish now because it¡¯s spring.¡±


    Harriet blinked. ¡°So what, you turn red in the fall?¡±


    ¡°More golden,¡± Hauke corrected. ¡°Like autumn leaves.¡±


    ¡°And winter?¡± Geschicht asked, leaning in with interest.


    Uwe grinned. ¡°Pale as fresh snow.¡±


    Harriet nodded slowly, processing it. Then, after a moment, he smirked. ¡°Alright, so what happens in summer? Do you glow?¡±


    Jelle finally looked up, meeting his gaze with her usual unreadable expression. Then, after a long pause, she said, ¡°Try not to stare too much when it happens.¡±


    Harriet chuckled, but Geschicht was still deep in thought. ¡°I¡¯ve never read about Eldruun before¡­¡± he murmured.


    ¡°That¡¯s not surprising,¡± Hauke said, picking at a fish bone. ¡°There aren¡¯t many left.¡±


    Jelle didn¡¯t respond, instead focusing on her meal. The others took that as a cue not to pry.


    Harriet, however, grinned. ¡°Well, you¡¯re the first Eldruun I¡¯ve met, so I¡¯d say you made an impression.¡±


    Jelle¡¯s lips twitched slightly¡ªalmost a smirk, but gone before it could settle. ¡°Good.¡±This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    As the group finished their meal, the conversation turned to the road ahead. Hauke leaned back on his elbows, gazing up at the sky. ¡°So, where are you two heading next?¡±


    Geschicht wiped his hands on a cloth, glancing at Harriet before answering. ¡°D?mmerburg.¡±


    Uwe let out a low whistle. ¡°Hah, D?mmerburg? That place has been getting a little tense lately.¡±


    Harriet perked up. ¡°Oh? What¡¯s going on there?¡±


    Liselotte hesitated before answering. ¡°Well¡­ it¡¯s not bad, exactly. Just¡­ people are on edge. Rumors about disappearances, merchants being extra cautious. The city¡¯s still standing, but something feels off.¡±


    Hauke nodded. ¡°It¡¯s a trade hub, so news travels fast. If something¡¯s wrong, we¡¯ll hear about it once we get there.¡±


    Geschicht¡¯s curiosity sparked. ¡°You¡¯re heading to D?mmerburg too?¡±


    Jelle finally spoke. ¡°For now.¡±


    Harriet stretched his legs out, tapping his boots together. ¡°Then we might as well go together. Safety in numbers and all.¡±


    Uwe grinned. ¡°That so? I don¡¯t mind the company, but you sure you can keep up?¡±


    Harriet smirked. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised.¡±


    Liselotte brightened up. ¡°It would be fun to travel together! At least for this occasion.¡±


    Jelle glanced at the sky, judging the position of the sun. ¡°We¡¯ll move at noon,¡± she said simply.


    Geschicht nodded. ¡°That gives us time to prepare.¡±


    Harriet smirked. ¡°I like this pace already.¡±


    Uwe stretched, rolling his shoulders. ¡°Good. Gives me time for a drink before we leave.¡±


    Liselotte gave him a disapproving look. ¡°You always have time for a drink.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    Hauke ignored the banter and turned to Geschicht. ¡°You said you¡¯re headed to D?mmerburg. What¡¯s your reason for going?¡±


    Geschicht tapped his chin. ¡°Curiosity, mostly. I want to hear the stories there. If something is happening, people will talk.¡±


    Harriet leaned back against a rock. ¡°I go where he goes. And he goes where I go¡±


    Jelle studied them for a moment, then spoke. ¡°D?mmerburg is different from smaller towns. It¡¯s busy, crowded. Easy to get lost in.¡±


    Harriet shrugged. ¡°Sounds fun.¡±


    Liselotte fidgeted with her sleeve. ¡°The markets are really nice, though! You can find things from all over. Spices, books, even enchanted trinkets.¡±


    Uwe smirked. ¡°And trouble, if you¡¯re looking for it.¡±


    Hauke sighed. ¡°Rumors say people have been disappearing lately. Not a lot, but enough to make travelers nervous.¡±


    Geschicht¡¯s interest piqued. ¡°Any idea why?¡±


    Jelle shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯re going to find out.¡±


    The dirt road stretched ahead, winding through rolling fields and patches of dense woodland. The sun hung high, casting long shadows behind them as they walked. The steady rhythm of boots on the packed earth filled the quiet between bursts of conversation.


    Uwe, with a relaxed stride, kicked a small stone and watched it bounce along the road. ¡°So, how long you two been on the move?¡±


    Geschicht adjusted the strap of his bag. ¡°Not long. Harriet¡¯s getting used to it.¡±


    Harriet smirked. ¡°I¡¯ve been fine from the start.¡±


    ¡°You did stumble once or twice.¡±


    Hauke glanced over at them. ¡°First time on a long road?¡±


    ¡°I guess,¡± Harriet answered. ¡°Unless the smaller towns count.¡±


    Liselotte''s eyes sparkled. ¡°Oh, then you¡¯ll love D?mmerburg! It¡¯s so big! The buildings are tall, and there are so many markets.¡±


    ¡°Big enough to hide trouble,¡± Hauke muttered under his breath.


    Jelle, who had been walking ahead, turned her head slightly, her voice calm. ¡°Stay close when we get there.¡±


    Harriet raised an eyebrow. ¡°You think I¡¯ll get lost?¡±


    Jelle¡¯s gaze lingered for a moment. ¡°Not lost. Just¡­ be careful.¡±


    The group walked in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound being the steady crunch of their footsteps. Uwe broke it after a bit, shifting his pack on his shoulder. ¡°So, what do you think of traveling lke this?¡±


    Geschicht looked out toward the distant trees. ¡°It¡¯s peaceful. Not much like the towns we passed through.¡±


    Harriet smiled. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s a good change.¡±


    Liselotte¡¯s voice was soft, but she was clearly excited. ¡°It¡¯s so quiet here. I¡¯ve always liked the open spaces, but D?mmerburg is... so different. Everything moves so fast.¡±


    Uwe chuckled. ¡°Fast, and sometimes a little too quickly. But that¡¯s the charm of it. You get lost in the hustle.¡±


    Jelle¡¯s steps didn¡¯t falter. ¡°We¡¯ll get there soon enough.¡±


    The sun began to fall lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the road as they continued their journey. The air, once warm and bright, started to cool, and the distant sounds of birds and rustling leaves grew quieter as the day slipped away.


    Uwe glanced around, noticing the change in the atmosphere. ¡°Guess we¡¯ve walked far enough for today,¡± he said, stretching his arms overhead. ¡°It¡¯ll be dark soon.¡±


    Liselotte looked up at the sky. ¡°It¡¯s a beautiful evening. Maybe we can make camp soon.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Hauke said, his eyes scanning the road ahead. ¡°There¡¯s a clearing up ahead. We can settle there for the night.¡±


    Geschicht nodded. ¡°Sounds good.¡± He glanced at Harriet, who seemed distracted by the fading light. ¡°Harriet, you alright?¡±


    Harriet shrugged, his golden eyes reflecting the soft orange glow of the sunset. ¡°Just thinking about how quiet it¡¯s getting.¡±


    Jelle glanced at the sky, then back at the group. ¡°It¡¯s always quiet before nightfall.¡±


    They continued onward, the path narrowing as the trees grew thicker. Soon enough, they arrived at the clearing, a soft patch of grass surrounded by a few scattered trees.


    As the group began to set up camp, Liselotte turned to her pack with a thoughtful look. ¡°I¡¯ll get the fire going.¡± She pulled out a small, delicate bundle from her bag, holding it in her hands with care. She whispered a few quiet words to herself as she gently opened the bundle to reveal a handful of tiny, glowing fire bunnies¡ªsmall creatures made of living flame, their bodies flickering with warmth and light.


    With a gentle flick of her wrist, Liselotte sent the fire bunnies scampering toward the pile of kindling. The little creatures hopped around, their fiery bodies igniting the dry wood with ease. The crackling fire grew quickly, casting a warm, golden glow over the clearing.


    Harriet watched in fascination as the bunnies danced in the flames, their glowing forms shifting and flickering as they powered the fire. ¡°That¡¯s pretty amazing,¡± he said, his voice full of wonder.


    Liselotte gave a small, shy smile. ¡°It¡¯s a gift from the local deity back home. They¡¯re helpful for situations like this.¡±


    Uwe chuckled, stretching out on the ground. ¡°Helpful? They¡¯re perfect for a quick fire when you¡¯re out of matches. I think we could use a few more of them.¡±


    As they began unpacking their bags, Liselotte started rummaging through her supplies. ¡°We¡¯re running low on food,¡± she noted. ¡°Just some dried fruit and bread left.¡±


    Harriet raised an eyebrow. ¡°You guys didn¡¯t stock up enough for the journey?¡±


    ¡°We did,¡± Uwe replied, ¡°but we¡¯ve been walking longer than we expected.¡±


    Geschicht glanced over at the group. ¡°So, we¡¯ll need to find something else for dinner.¡±


    Jelle gave a small nod. ¡°Looks like it.¡± She dropped her bag on the ground and stretched her arms. ¡°Let¡¯s not waste time, though. We¡¯ll need to hunt for it.¡±


    It was time to find a new meal.


    Jelle, Hauke, Geschicht, and Harriet moved through the darkening forest. The trees around them grew denser, their branches heavy with the last remnants of daylight. The air was cool, filled with the earthy scent of moss and pine, and the occasional rustle of leaves as a breeze passed through. Uwe and Liselotte remained behind, tending to the camp, leaving the four of them to search for their meal.


    The forest was alive with sound¡ªthe chirps of distant insects, the calls of night birds, and the occasional snap of a twig underfoot. The path ahead was unclear, but Jelle moved with certainty, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. ¡°Stay alert,¡± she said quietly, her voice blending with the sounds of the night. ¡°The forest hides many things.¡±


    Hauke nodded, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. His expression was focused, his body still as a predator¡¯s. Harriet walked beside him, his eyes darting between the trees, alerted. Geschicht, as usual, was quiet, his thoughts drifting as he observed the surroundings.


    After a few minutes of walking, the sound of something large moving through the underbrush reached their ears. Jelle raised a hand to halt them, her sharp green eyes narrowing as she scanned the area ahead. A low, grating growl echoed in the distance, followed by the unmistakable crunch of foliage. She gestured for the group to crouch low, her movements graceful and swift.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got a feeling,¡± she whispered. ¡°Keep your distance, but don¡¯t let it get away.¡±


    They crept forward carefully, their footsteps barely audible against the soft forest floor. As they reached a clearing, they saw it: a hulking creature, its silhouette just visible in the dim light filtering through the trees.


    The owlbear stood at the center of the clearing, its broad, owl-like head swiveling from side to side, eyes gleaming in the darkness. Its body was a twisted mix of bird and bear¡ªmuscular and towering, covered in rough, dark feathers that blended with the shadows. Its beak was sharp, curving downward into a wicked point, while its massive paws, tipped with claws, dug into the earth. The creature¡¯s massive wings were folded against its back, but they still gave off an imposing presence.


    Jelle¡¯s eyes locked onto the beast. ¡°Hauke, it¡¯s yours,¡± she said, her tone commanding.


    Hauke didn¡¯t hesitate. His posture shifted, his body becoming fluid and focused. He unsheathed his sword, its edge gleaming faintly in the fading light. As he stepped forward, a subtle but noticeable breeze began to stir around him, causing the leaves to flutter and the grass to shift. His movements were precise, each step calculated, and a sense of calm fell over the group. He didn¡¯t need to speak¡ªhis confidence was clear.


    In one swift motion, Hauke dashed forward, his sword held with deadly precision. As he moved, the wind seemed to follow him, swirling around his body with a quiet intensity. The owlbear, sensing the danger, let out a hoarse screech and lunged toward him, its talons slashing the air.


    But Hauke was already in motion, his sword arcing through the air. The wind seemed to bend around his blade, amplifying the strike with unnatural speed. With a single, fluid movement, he drove the blade deep into the owlbear¡¯s side. The creature¡¯s screech turned into a guttural roar as it staggered, and with another swift strike, Hauke delivered the killing blow to its heart. The owlbear crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud, the life draining from it quickly.


    The wind around Hauke died down, and he stood still, breathing evenly, his sword dripping with the creature''s blood. There was a brief silence before Jelle gave a single nod of approval. ¡°Nice work.¡±


    Harriet blinked, still processing what he had just seen. ¡°That... was quick.¡±


    Jelle glanced over at him. ¡°Hauke¡¯s swordsmanship is unparalleled. And, as you may have noticed, he has a particular connection to the wind. It aids him in battle.¡±


    Geschicht looked at Hauke with a mix of curiosity and awe. ¡°That was incredible.¡±


    Hauke cleaned his blade slowly, his gaze distant for a moment before he spoke. ¡°It¡¯s nothing. Just something I¡¯ve learned over time.¡±


    Jelle stepped forward, her sharp gaze taking in the dead owlbear. ¡°We¡¯ll gather what we need, then head back to camp. We¡¯ll need the meat for tonight.¡±


    The group moved in, beginning the task of preparing the creature.


    The group made their way back to camp, hauling the owlbear¡¯s meat and fur. The air had grown cooler, but the fire Liselotte had set with her fire bunnies burned bright, casting flickering orange light over their makeshift campsite. Uwe greeted them with a low whistle.


    "An owlbear? That¡¯s a good haul," he remarked, rubbing the back of his head. "Guess I won¡¯t be going hungry tonight."


    Liselotte looked between the carcass and their dwindling supply of herbs with a thoughtful frown. "Do owlbears even taste good?"


    Jelle, stretching out her limbs as she took a seat, smirked. "Depends on who¡¯s cooking."


    Hauke and Geschicht exchanged glances before stepping forward.


    "I¡¯ll handle it," Hauke said, rolling up his sleeves.


    Geschicht nodded. "I¡¯ll help."


    They got to work, first by butchering the owlbear with practiced efficiency. Hauke¡¯s cuts were clean, his blade slicing through muscle and sinew with ease, while Geschicht handled seasoning and preparation. The scent of raw meat filled the air, but soon, it was replaced by the earthy aroma of wild herbs as Geschicht pulled out what little seasoning they had left.


    "We¡¯ll want to get rid of that gamey taste," Geschicht muttered, rubbing his fingers against a sprig of wild rosemary. "Owlbears eat a lot of meat, so their flesh tends to be tougher. We¡¯ll need to break that down."


    Hauke nodded. "A long roast would be best, but we don¡¯t have time for that." He ran his fingers over the cleaned slabs of meat. "We¡¯ll need to tenderize it. Do you have anything fermented?"


    "Not much," Liselotte said, rummaging through their supplies before pulling out a small pouch. "Just a bit of old ale."


    Geschicht took it, smiling. "Perfect. The enzymes will help soften the fibers." He poured some over the meat, the liquid soaking in as he began massaging it with his hands.


    Hauke, meanwhile, set up a flat stone over the fire, letting it heat up. "We¡¯ll sear it first, lock in the juices." He then took a small knife and began scoring the meat, creating fine cuts along the surface.


    After a few minutes, the stone was hot enough to sizzle, and Hauke carefully placed thick cuts of owlbear meat onto its surface. The instant it touched the heat, a rich, smoky aroma filled the air. The fat began to render, dripping onto the fire and making it crackle.


    Hauke¡¯s gaze remained fixed on the meat, his ears trained on the sound of sizzling. "You can tell how it¡¯s cooking just by listening," he said. "Too much crackling means the heat¡¯s too high. A steady sizzle? That¡¯s just right."


    Geschicht leaned in, watching closely. "So, we let it brown first?"


    "Exactly. You want a good crust on the outside before flipping."


    The golden-brown crust formed quickly, and Hauke flipped each piece with a precise motion. The second side seared beautifully, locking in the juices. Meanwhile, Geschicht crushed some garlic and wild onions, tossing them into the pan alongside the meat. The sharp scent of garlic mixed with the richness of the roasting owlbear, making Uwe shift eagerly in his seat.


    "That smells incredible," he said.


    Liselotte, still unsure, leaned forward to take a whiff. "It doesn¡¯t smell bad at all¡­"


    "That¡¯s because we¡¯re not done yet," Geschicht said with a grin. He reached for a handful of wild herbs¡ªrosemary, thyme, and a few stray sage leaves¡ªand tossed them onto the sizzling meat. The oils from the herbs released an aromatic burst of flavor, carried through the camp by the breeze.


    Finally, Hauke took the pouch of ale again and poured just a splash over the meat. A burst of steam and rich scent filled the air as the alcohol cooked off, leaving behind deep, caramelized flavors.


    They let the meat rest for a few moments before slicing it into thick, tender strips. The juices glistened, pooling slightly on the wooden plates they had prepared.


    Hauke smirked as he handed the first serving to Harriet. "Here. Let¡¯s see what you think."


    Harriet took a bite, his golden eyes widening. "Hells, this is good."


    Geschicht chuckled, wiping his hands on his tunic. "Good. That means we did it right."


    Jelle, leaning back against a log, took her own plate and nodded approvingly after taking a bite. "Seems like we¡¯ve got a cook among us."


    Liselotte, who had hesitated the most, finally took a careful bite. Her eyes brightened, and a small smile crept across her face. "I guess owlbear isn¡¯t so bad after all."


    With that, the group dug in, the warmth of the fire and the rich flavors of the meal bringing comfort to their journey.

 Chapter 10: To D?mmerburg

    The fire had burned low, leaving behind little more than glowing embers, their faint light flickering against the surrounding trees. Most of the camp had long since drifted into sleep, but Geschicht lay awake, staring up at the shifting patterns of leaves overhead.


    Sleep eluded him, as it often did when the world was too still. The sounds of nocturnal creatures rustling in the underbrush, the distant hoot of an owl, and the quiet breathing of his companions should have been comforting, but his mind refused to settle.


    "You¡¯re restless."


    Geschicht turned his head and found Jelle standing nearby, arms crossed. Even in the dim light, her emerald-tinged skin reflected the moon¡¯s glow in a way that made her seem almost unreal. She tilted her head slightly, studying him.


    Geschicht blinked. ¡°Couldn¡¯t sleep.¡±


    Jelle took another exaggerated chomp on the twig, then spat a piece of bark into the fire. ¡°Hah. Figures. You got that look.¡±


    ¡°What look?¡±


    ¡°The ¡®I¡¯m thinking too hard and making myself miserable¡¯ look.¡± She jabbed a finger at him. ¡°Dangerous condition. Very tragic. Might turn you into an old man before your time.¡±


    Geschicht let out a short laugh. ¡°That bad, huh?¡±


    Jelle nodded sagely, plopping down cross-legged beside him. ¡°Absolutely. We¡¯ll have to take drastic measures.¡±


    He eyed her warily. ¡°Like what?¡±


    Without a word, Jelle reached into her sleeve and pulled out¡­ a single mushroom. She held it up like it was some grand treasure.


    ¡°¡­What.¡±


    She grinned. ¡°Eat this.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll help.¡±


    ¡°You just pulled it out of your sleeve.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°How long has it been in there?¡±


    Jelle tilted her head, considering. ¡°¡­Don¡¯t know.¡±


    Geschicht squinted at the mushroom, then at her. ¡°That¡¯s not reassuring.¡±


    Jelle snorted and popped the mushroom into her own mouth instead, chewing with great enthusiasm. ¡°See? Perfectly safe.¡± She swallowed dramatically. ¡°Unless I start seeing colors that aren¡¯t real. Then we might have a problem.¡±


    Geschicht shook his head with a chuckle. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ unique.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± she said, wiping her hands on her pants before stretching her arms behind her head. ¡°Anyway, if you can¡¯t sleep, do something. Run around the camp, recite weird poems, poke Hauke with a stick¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why would I do that?¡±


    Jelle smirked. ¡°To see how long it takes him to notice.¡±


    Geschicht snorted, shaking his head. ¡°I¡¯ll pass.¡±


    She sighed. ¡°Your loss.¡± Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she leaned in and whispered, ¡°But seriously, try not to overthink things. You¡¯re not gonna solve life¡¯s mysteries by staring at the stars all night.¡±


    Geschicht glanced up at the sky again, the weight on his chest feeling just a little lighter. ¡°¡­Yeah. You¡¯re right.¡±


    Jelle clapped him on the back¡ªhard enough to make him jolt. ¡°Of course I am! Now, if you¡¯re still up in an hour, I¡¯m throwing my boot at you.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s violent.¡±


    She grinned, wiggling her fingers like some mischievous trickster. ¡°Only out of love.¡±


    And with that, she flopped onto her bedroll, mumbling something about ¡°perfectly normal mushrooms¡± as she drifted off.


    Geschicht chuckled to himself, shaking his head. Maybe she was right. Maybe he should just get up and do something instead of wrestling with his thoughts.


    ¡°May I ask something?¡± he said, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.


    Jelle, who had been idly twirling a twig between her fingers, looked up. ¡°Sure, go ahead.¡±


    Geschicht hesitated for a moment before asking, ¡°How did you and your team meet?¡±


    Jelle smirked, tilting her head towards Hauke, who sat a short distance away, sharpening his sword with practiced ease. ¡°That one? I met him when he was just seven. Stoic then, stoic now.¡±


    She chuckled to herself, leaning back on her palms as she recalled the memory. ¡°I found him in the backstreets of a poor town, during a mission to help cultivate the fields and clear out some monsters. Scrawny kid, covered in dirt, but gripping a sword like his life depended on it.¡± She motioned toward Hauke¡¯s weapon. ¡°The same one you saw him use to kill that owlbear.¡±


    Geschicht raised a brow. ¡°That was his sword even back then?¡±


    Jelle nodded. ¡°A fine blade, much too grand for a kid dressed in rags. I figured he must¡¯ve stolen it, but when I asked, he just looked at me¡ªsilent, stubborn. And then he followed me.¡±


    She laughed, shaking her head. ¡°No words, no questions¡ªjust kept walking behind me like a shadow. At first, I thought he was just curious. Then a day passed. Then two. I kept expecting him to disappear, but he never did.¡±


    Jelle leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. ¡°Now that I think about it¡­ he¡¯s been following me for twenty-five years.¡±


    Geschicht glanced at Hauke, who continued sharpening his sword as if he hadn¡¯t heard a single word. The firelight reflected off the blade¡¯s edge, catching in the night air.


    ¡°¡­And he never told you why?¡± Geschicht asked.


    Jelle grinned. ¡°Not in words, no.¡±


    Hauke finally spoke, his voice even, calm. ¡°I had nowhere else to go.¡±


    Jelle¡¯s grin widened. ¡°See? Stoic then, stoic now.¡±


    Hauke, ever the man of few words, simply lay down and turned away, drifting off to sleep without another word. The rhythmic sound of his steady breathing soon joined the crackling of the campfire.


    Jelle, still grinning, shifted her attention toward Uwe, who was sprawled out near the fire, snoring lightly. She pointed at him with a lazy flick of her wrist. ¡°Now, that one is special in a different way.¡±


    Geschicht raised an eyebrow, intrigued. ¡°Oh?¡±


    Jelle leaned forward with a smirk. ¡°The first time I met Uwe, he was making a complete fool of himself in front of The Jester Association¡¯s Section 4 headquarters. He thought he had the perfect plan to get himself hired¡ªby loudly spilling sensitive information about the people working there. He stood in front of their building, just ranting away, listing off names, affiliations, personal details... Thought it would impress them somehow.¡±


    Geschicht blinked. ¡°He¡­ what?¡±


    Jelle laughed, covering her mouth. ¡°I know, right? He actually believed that uncovering their secrets would make them want to take him in. But, as you can guess, it didn¡¯t exactly work out in his favor. Instead of getting recruited, he nearly got himself thrown into a ditch.¡±


    She glanced at Uwe¡¯s sleeping form with amusement. ¡°I had no intention of stepping in at first¡ªI was just there to deliver a report¡ªbut he was making such a mess of things that I couldn¡¯t help myself. So I pulled him out of the mess before he got himself into real trouble.¡±


    Geschicht tilted his head. ¡°And you just took him in?¡±


    Jelle stretched her arms with a satisfied sigh. ¡°Why not? He was reckless, loud, and completely out of his mind¡­ but he was also clever in his own strange way. He made me laugh, and I figured, if nothing else, it¡¯d be fun having him around.¡±


    She chuckled, watching as Uwe shifted in his sleep, mumbling something incoherent. ¡°And honestly? I wasn¡¯t wrong.¡±


    Jelle pointed a finger toward Liselotte, who was curled up in her blanket, her face peaceful in sleep. A mischievous glint sparked in Jelle¡¯s eyes as she smirked.


    ¡°And then there¡¯s our little Liselotte,¡± she mused. ¡°Uwe picked her up off the streets like a drenched cat in the rain. One day, he just strolled into our [House] building with her in tow, acting like he¡¯d found some lost pet and was waiting for someone to adopt her.¡±


    Geschicht¡¯s lips twitched. ¡°And you just¡­ let him bring in strays?¡±


    Jelle chuckled. ¡°Well, it wasn¡¯t like we were going to toss her back out. She was quiet, nervous, barely able to look anyone in the eye, but there was something about her... something Uwe must have noticed before any of us did.¡± She glanced at Liselotte¡¯s sleeping form with a small, fond smile.


    ¡°It¡¯s only been a few weeks since she joined us, but she¡¯s already proved herself. She¡¯s got talent, no doubt about it. Quick on her feet, sharp instincts¡ªwhen it comes to battle, she doesn¡¯t hesitate. But outside of a fight?¡± Jelle let out a light laugh. ¡°Her shyness gets in the way more often than not. Poor thing trips over her own words like a toddler learning to walk.¡±


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Geschicht looked over at Liselotte, watching the soft rise and fall of her breathing. ¡°She doesn¡¯t seem like the type to be a fighter.¡±


    Jelle shrugged. ¡°Most people wouldn¡¯t think so at first glance. But looks can be deceiving. Give her a reason to stand her ground, and she¡¯s a force to be reckoned with.¡± She smirked. ¡°Just don¡¯t expect her to get through a full sentence without mixing up her words at least once.¡±


    As the embers of the fire dimmed, Jelle let out a long yawn and stretched, her arms reaching toward the night sky. "Well, that''s enough reminiscing for one night," she murmured, lying back onto the ground. "Try to get some sleep, Geschicht. Morning comes faster than you think."


    Geschicht nodded, though he remained seated for a while longer, watching the flickering remains of the campfire. Eventually, he lay down, staring up at the stars until sleep finally took him.


    Morning arrived with the chirping of birds and the golden light of dawn filtering through the trees. The camp stirred to life, with Uwe groggily rubbing his eyes and Liselotte quietly tending to the fire, summoning her tiny flames to warm what little remained of their rations.


    Jelle stood. "Alright, everyone up! We¡¯ve got a long way to go before reaching D?mmerburg, and I¡¯d rather not crawl into the city by nightfall.¡±


    Hauke was already strapping his sword to his side, while Geschicht and Harriet packed up their belongings. Soon, the group was back on the road, their boots crunching against the dirt path as they moved forward, the morning air crisp with the scent of damp earth and fresh leaves.


    "Another day, another road," Uwe sighed dramatically, throwing an arm over Liselotte¡¯s shoulder. She promptly ducked out from under it, her face flushing as she hurried ahead, much to Uwe¡¯s amusement.


    Jelle smirked as she glanced back at Geschicht and Harriet. "Hope you two don¡¯t mind sticking with us a little longer. D?mmerburg¡¯s still a few days away¡±


    With that, the group continued down the road, the rising sun casting their shadows long across the path ahead.


    The morning mist had begun to lift, leaving behind a fresh scent of earth and dew. The group walked in easy silence, their steps steady, save for Uwe, who occasionally kicked a loose pebble just to hear it skitter along the path.


    Jelle walked at the front, humming a tune under her breath, while Hauke kept a vigilant eye on their surroundings. Geschicht and Harriet trailed slightly behind, the former adjusting his satchel while the latter flexed his unseen spectral hands beneath his gloves.


    ¡°So, what¡¯s D?mmerburg like?¡± Harriet finally broke the silence, glancing toward Jelle.


    The Eldruun woman slowed her pace slightly, as if weighing her answer. ¡°It¡¯s a fortress city, built along the edge of a great river. The walls are old but strong, and the people are just as resilient. There¡¯s a large market square, always bustling with traders from different regions.¡± She smirked. ¡°And a tavern with the best honey mead you¡¯ll ever taste.¡±


    ¡°You would mention that first,¡± Hauke muttered.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Jelle grinned. ¡°A place is only as good as its drinks.¡±


    ¡°I heard D?mmerburg¡¯s got a lot of underground tunnels,¡± Uwe chimed in, stretching his arms behind his head. ¡°Some say there¡¯s an entire city beneath the city, a whole labyrinth of forgotten passageways.¡±


    "That¡¯s not just a rumor," Jelle said, glancing back at him. ¡°Most of those tunnels were built ages ago as escape routes and storage spaces. But over time, well¡­ things got lost down there. Old things. Dangerous things.¡±


    Liselotte shivered slightly. ¡°Monsters?¡±


    Jelle waved a hand dismissively. ¡°Not the kind you think. More like¡­ remnants. Magic gone wild, artifacts that shouldn¡¯t be disturbed. Most people don¡¯t go poking around down there unless they¡¯ve got a death wish.¡±


    ¡°That just makes it sound more interesting,¡± Geschicht spoke with great interest.


    Jelle chuckled. ¡°Spoken like a true fool.¡±


    The conversation continued, shifting from stories of D?mmerburg to idle chatter about past travels. By midday, the sun hung high in the sky, and the road ahead stretched onward, disappearing into the horizon.


    ¡°Let¡¯s stop soon and rest,¡± Hauke suggested, adjusting his sword. ¡°No point in pushing ourselves too hard before we reach the city.¡±


    Jelle nodded. ¡°Agreed. We¡¯ll find a good spot to set up, then move again once we¡¯re ready.¡±


    With that, the group pressed on, the journey to D?mmerburg still unfolding ahead of them.


    ____________


    As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the road, the towering walls of D?mmerburg finally came into view. The fortress city stood proud against the landscape, its stone barriers weathered but unwavering. The river that ran alongside it shimmered under the afternoon light, its waters reflecting the city¡¯s many spires and turrets.


    ¡°Finally,¡± Uwe groaned, rolling his shoulders. ¡°I was starting to think this road had no end.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s only been a few days,¡± Hauke replied dryly.


    ¡°Exactly! Days.¡±


    As they neared the city gates, the hum of activity grew louder. Merchants guided wagons loaded with goods, travelers lined up to enter, and guards clad in steel stood watch, their eyes sweeping over the new arrivals.


    Jelle, as usual, led the way, striding forward with the ease of someone who had done this countless times before. ¡°Keep close. The guards can be a little strict, but as long as we don¡¯t look suspicious, we won¡¯t have trouble.¡±


    ¡°Great,¡± Harriet muttered. ¡°I definitely don¡¯t look suspicious at all.¡± He adjusted his sleeves and gloves subtly, ensuring the illusion of arms remained intact.


    When they reached the gate, one of the guards stepped forward. He was a burly man with a trimmed beard and a sharp gaze. ¡°State your business in D?mmerburg.¡±


    Jelle handed over a set of documents, neatly rolled and sealed with the insignia of [The Innocent Association]. The guard took them, breaking the seal before scanning the contents. His brow furrowed slightly as he flipped through the parchment.


    "The Kopflos, under The Innocent Association..." he muttered, his eyes flicking toward the group. After a moment, he looked at Geschicht and Harriet, his expression shifting into something more inquisitive. "And these two? They¡¯re not listed as part of your House."


    Geschicht opened his mouth to answer, but before he could get a word out, Jelle casually stepped forward with a disarming smile.


    "They¡¯re traveling with us," she said smoothly. "New recruits, you could say. We''re taking them under our wing for now."


    The guard eyed them both for a long moment, his gaze lingering on Harriet¡¯s gloves and long sleeves. He seemed to consider pressing further but ultimately let out a breath and nodded. "Very well. Keep them out of trouble."


    "Wouldn¡¯t dream of it," Jelle replied, retrieving the papers as she led the group past the gate.


    As they stepped into the city, the scent of fresh bread, roasting meat, and the faint tang of metal from a blacksmith¡¯s forge filled the air. The streets bustled with merchants, travelers, and townsfolk, their voices blending into a lively hum. Stone buildings, some old and worn, others newer but steeped in history, lined the winding roads.


    ¡°So,¡± Geschicht said, taking in the scene, ¡°where to first?¡±


    Jelle grinned, stretching her arms. ¡°First, we find an inn. Then, we eat.¡±


    No one argued with that.


    As they wove through the busy streets of D?mmerburg, the group¡¯s pace naturally slowed. The scent of spiced meats and freshly baked bread led them to a cozy-looking inn tucked between two taller buildings. A wooden sign creaked above the entrance, displaying the name The Resting Hart alongside a faded carving of a reclining deer.


    Inside, the warmth of a crackling hearth greeted them, along with the low hum of conversation from scattered patrons. They found a large table near the back, settling in as a server arrived with a welcoming smile.


    "House special today is roasted boar with root vegetables," she said. "Or if you''re looking for something lighter, we''ve got fresh bread, cheese, and stew."


    Jelle leaned forward, propping her chin on her hands. ¡°Boar sounds good. Enough for the whole table, please.¡±


    Harriet tapped his gloved fingers against the wooden surface. ¡°And something sweet if you¡¯ve got it.¡±


    ¡°Apple tarts just came out of the oven,¡± the server offered.


    Harriet nodded, clearly pleased. ¡°Then I¡¯ll take two.¡±


    As the server left, there was a moment of comfortable silence before Hauke exhaled, shaking his head. ¡°I swear, getting through the city gates is the worst part of arriving anywhere.¡±


    ¡°Annoying, isn¡¯t it?¡± Jelle said with a knowing smirk.


    ¡°Beyond annoying,¡± Hauke muttered. ¡°Papers, questioning, inspections¡ªif you¡¯re not with a recognized group, they¡¯ll wring you out with a hundred useless questions.¡± He glanced at Geschicht and Harriet. ¡°Honestly, you two got lucky with Jelle stepping in. Would¡¯ve taken you twice as long if you had to explain yourselves properly.¡±


    Geschicht blinked. ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°Trust me,¡± Hauke said, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Guards love making lone travelers sweat.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a pain,¡± Harriet commented, idly adjusting his sleeve. ¡°Guess we owe you one, Jelle.¡±


    Jelle waved him off. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. Consider it a parting gift.¡±


    Uwe stretched, letting out a satisfied sigh. ¡°Been a while since we had a proper meal in a proper town, huh?¡±


    ¡°Not that long,¡± Hauke replied, resting his arms on the table. ¡°We ate well enough on the road.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s different,¡± Uwe countered. ¡°Food always tastes better when you don¡¯t have to make it yourself.¡±


    Geschicht chuckled. ¡°You didn¡¯t even cook. Hauke and I did.¡±


    ¡°Exactly my point,¡± Uwe said with a grin.


    The laughter faded into a more contemplative quiet, and after a moment, Jelle leaned back in her chair, exhaling. ¡°Well, I suppose this is where we part ways.¡±


    Harriet, who had been focused on adjusting his sleeves, looked up. ¡°Already?¡±


    Jelle nodded. ¡°We have business here in D?mmerburg, and I¡¯m guessing you two have your own plans.¡±


    Geschicht hesitated. ¡°I suppose so...¡± He glanced at Harriet, who simply shrugged.


    Liselotte, who had been quiet up until now, fiddled with the hem of her sleeve before speaking up. ¡°It was nice traveling together.¡±


    Harriet smirked. ¡°You¡¯re not getting rid of us that easily. We¡¯ll probably run into each other again.¡±


    Jelle grinned. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m counting on it.¡±


    Just then, the food arrived, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics¡ªstories about past travels, odd encounters on the road, and, of course, Uwe''s exaggerated story of drinks. It was a warm, easy moment, the kind that made parting feel a little less final.


    For now, they would eat, rest, and go their separate ways. But in a world as vast and unpredictable as theirs, who knew when their paths would cross again?


    Geschicht and Harriet settled into their room for the night. The small wooden inn was cozy, if a bit cramped, with a single flickering lantern casting long shadows on the walls. Harriet, already half-buried in the blankets, let out a sigh.


    ¡°This bed¡¯s nice,¡± he mumbled sleepily. ¡°Better than the ground.¡±


    Geschicht chuckled, sitting on the edge of his own bed. ¡°You say that every time we sleep indoors.¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s true.¡±


    The room fell into a comfortable silence, save for the muffled sounds of the city nightlife beyond the window. Harriet was the first to drift off, his steady breathing filling the space. Geschicht lay awake for a while longer, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. Eventually, sleep claimed him as well.


    Beneath the bustling streets of D?mmerburg, in the labyrinthine tunnels of the city¡¯s underground, a dimly lit chamber echoed with hushed voices. The air was damp, thick with the scent of stone and something metallic¡ªblood.


    A group of figures stood around a massive wooden table, its surface covered in parchment, strange symbols, and maps marked with crimson ink. A single candle flickered, casting eerie shadows on their faces.


    ¡°The preparations are nearly complete,¡± one of them said, their voice smooth but laced with cold certainty. ¡°The city won¡¯t even realize what¡¯s happening until it¡¯s too late.¡±


    Another figure scoffed. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t waste time. The longer we wait, the more unpredictable things become.¡±


    A hand slammed onto the table, silencing the discussion. The leader¡¯s voice cut through the darkness.


    ¡°This is not impatience. This is precision. And soon, D?mmerburg will be exactly as it should be.¡±


    Their eyes shifted toward the far end of the chamber, where a circular stone slab lay embedded in the ground, etched with ancient markings. Dust and time had buried its true purpose, but they knew better.


    One of them stepped closer, tracing the runes with gloved fingers. ¡°The ruin must be reactivated if we are to claim a piece of the Great Artist¡¯s Corpse.¡±


    Another figure muttered, adjusting their stance as if the weight of their ambition pressed down on them. ¡°A single piece¡­ and we will ascend beyond our limits. But this city stands in our way.¡±


    ¡°The city is nothing,¡± the leader replied. ¡°The ruin is all that matters. Once awakened, the Great Artist¡¯s Corpse will grant us what we seek¡ªpower beyond names, beyond fate.¡±


    The leader¡¯s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile as they stepped closer to the ruin. Their fingers traced the ancient markings with reverence, as if feeling the weight of history pressing against their skin.


    "23rd Finger will be pleased with this gift," they murmured, their voice carrying a mix of devotion and anticipation.


    The others stiffened at the name, their eyes dark with fervor. One by one, they pressed their hands to their chests, heads bowing slightly.


    Then, in perfect unison, they spoke¡ªno, they chanted, their voices weaving together like a solemn hymn whispered through time.


    "Let the finger of obsession guide us, for it is the will of the unseen!"


    The cavern walls seemed to tremble at their declaration, the flickering candlelight stretching their shadows into twisted shapes along the stone.


    The ruin, silent for centuries, pulsed once more.

 Chapter 11: Vor dem Sturm

    The streets of D?mmerburg pulsed with life, a chaotic blend of merchants shouting their wares, children weaving through the crowds, and the scent of sizzling meats carried on the crisp morning air. Stalls lined the cobblestone paths, boasting everything from fine silks to rusted trinkets, but it was the aroma of food that had Harriet''s full attention.


    "Here, try this!" A vendor grinned as he handed Harriet a skewer of thick, glistening sausage, its surface slightly charred from the open flame.


    Harriet took a bite, his golden eyes widening at the burst of rich, smoky flavor. "This¡­ is amazing." He barely finished chewing before taking another.


    "Of course it is!" The vendor laughed, wiping his hands on his apron. "D?mmerburg''s famous for its sausages¡ªnone better in all the land!"


    While Harriet indulged in his new discovery, Geschicht weaved through the merchants, keeping a firm grip on the bundle of owlbear fur gifted by the Kopflos. The thick pelt was a prize in itself¡ªwarm, durable, and from a beast rarely hunted. If traded wisely, it could fetch enough Doh to last them a good month.


    "You''re selling that?" A gruff voice called out from one of the nearby stalls. The merchant, a stout man with a thick beard and keen eyes, leaned over his counter. "Owlbear fur, real good quality too¡­ Might be willing to take it off your hands¡ªfor the right price."


    Geschicht stepped closer. "How much are you willing to trade for it?"


    Geschicht stood firm, arms crossed, as the merchant ran his fingers over the owlbear fur, inspecting it with sharp, calculating eyes.


    ¡°High quality,¡± the man admitted. ¡°Thick, warm, and undamaged¡ªbut see these edges? Not properly trimmed. And the scent¡ªstill got the wild on it. I can give you 800 Doh.¡±


    Geschicht narrowed his eyes. ¡°800? For a prime owlbear pelt?¡± He scoffed. ¡°This fur is rare. Sturdy, warm, and a status symbol in the right hands. I won¡¯t part with it for anything less than 2,000 Doh.¡±


    The merchant sucked in a breath through his teeth. ¡°That¡¯s steep, boy.¡±


    ¡°But fair,¡± Geschicht countered. ¡°You know the nobility would pay even more for a coat made of this.¡±


    The merchant hesitated, drumming his fingers on the wooden counter.


    As the two haggled back and forth, Harriet, finishing off his second sausage, let his gaze wander. He wasn¡¯t particularly interested in the art of bargaining, so he let his feet carry him down the lively streets, the scent of grilled meats and fresh bread filling the air.


    That was when he noticed it¡ªa small, worn-down building tucked between two taller shops. Unlike the rest of the city¡¯s structures, which stood proud and refined, this one looked older, its wooden sign swaying slightly in the breeze. The letters, though faded, spelled out:


    "Kindnest Orphanage."


    Harriet tilted his head. An orphanage?


    He stepped closer, drawn in by the sounds of children¡¯s laughter spilling from the open courtyard. Inside, a handful of kids ran around, their clothes patched and slightly oversized, but their faces bright with joy. A woman, likely the caretaker, clapped her hands to gather them in a loose circle.


    Harriet lingered at the entrance. He wasn¡¯t sure why he felt compelled to stop, but something about the place tugged at him. Maybe it was the way the children played so freely, despite the clear signs of hardship.


    ¡°Hey, who¡¯re you?¡±


    Harriet turned to see a small boy staring up at him, his dark eyes filled with curiosity. His clothes were worn but clean, and he clutched a wooden toy soldier in his hands.


    Harriet offered a small smile. ¡°Just passing by.¡±


    The boy squinted. ¡°You wanna play with us?¡±


    Harriet blinked. ¡°...Huh?¡±


    Before Harriet could react, the boy grabbed the back of his coat and tugged him forward with surprising strength.


    ¡°Come on!¡± the kid insisted, pulling him through the entrance of the orphanage¡¯s playground.


    Harriet stumbled slightly but didn¡¯t resist, letting himself be dragged along. The courtyard was a simple dirt lot, surrounded by a wooden fence that had clearly seen better days. A few makeshift toys¡ªwooden blocks, rope swings, and a rusted metal hoop¡ªwere scattered about, but the children played with them as if they were treasures.


    A girl, slightly older than the boy who had pulled Harriet in, turned toward them with a curious tilt of her head. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Dunno, but he looked bored, so I brought him,¡± the boy declared proudly.


    Harriet let out a chuckle. ¡°You didn¡¯t really give me a choice.¡±


    The other children gathered around, some eyeing him with interest, others with excitement. One particularly bold girl pointed at his gloves. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with your hands?¡±


    Harriet tensed for a brief moment before quickly stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. ¡°Nothing.¡±


    The kids didn¡¯t seem to dwell on it, their attention shifting as the first boy grabbed a battered ball. ¡°We¡¯re playing chase-ball! You wanna join?¡±


    Harriet hesitated. But as he looked around at their expectant faces, something inside him softened.


    ¡°Alright,¡± he said, rolling his shoulders. ¡°How do you play?¡±


    The children erupted in cheers, immediately bombarding him with explanations. Harriet listened, a small smile tugging at his lips. Maybe he could stay for just a little while.


    As the children ran around, their laughter filling the air, a tall woman stepped through the orphanage gate. She wasn¡¯t clad in armor or anything extravagant¡ªjust a simple, well-worn linen blouse tucked into sturdy trousers, a dark vest over it, and a long, slightly faded coat draped over her shoulders. Despite the modesty of her attire, she carried herself with the kind of presence that couldn¡¯t be ignored.


    One of the children noticed her first and gasped excitedly. ¡°Miss Flux is here!¡±


    At once, the game came to a halt. The children rushed toward her, their small hands reaching for her coat and sleeves, clinging to her with bright, eager faces.


    "Miss Flux! Did you bring more of those apples?"


    "I won the race today!"


    "Are you gonna teach us sword swings again?"


    Barbel Flux let out a soft, composed hum, her sharp blue eyes scanning the group before settling on the child who had spoken last. ¡°You won the race?¡± she asked, a hint of approval in her voice. ¡°Good. You are improving.¡±


    The boy grinned with pride, puffing out his chest.


    She reached into a cloth satchel slung across her shoulder and pulled out a handful of small, ripe apples. With a smooth, practiced motion, she tossed them toward the eager hands reaching up for them. The children giggled as they caught the fruit, biting into them with enthusiasm.


    Harriet, who had paused mid-step in their game, observed her silently. She didn¡¯t seem like the type of person he¡¯d expect to frequent an orphanage. From her poised stance to the way she barely needed to raise her voice to command attention, she carried herself like someone used to leading people. Yet¡­ the children adored her.


    Barbel¡¯s gaze flickered toward Harriet, assessing him in a single glance. ¡°A new face,¡± she noted, her voice calm and even.


    One of the children tugged at her sleeve. ¡°We found him, Miss Flux! He¡¯s fun!¡±


    Barbel arched a brow, then gave a slow nod, accepting this fact as if it were an undeniable truth. ¡°Then I trust you all have made him feel welcome.¡±


    The children nodded eagerly.


    She reached down, ruffling one of their heads with a rare, almost imperceptible softness. Then she turned her gaze back to Harriet.


    Harriet swallowed his initial instinct to be defensive. Something about her demanded directness. ¡°I¡¯m just passing through,¡±


    Barbel studied him for a few moments, then gave the slightest nod. ¡°As long as you are here, be sure to keep up with them. They do not slow down for anyone.¡±


    The children laughed in agreement, and before Harriet could respond, one of them tugged at his coat. ¡°Come on! We¡¯re still playing!¡±


    Harriet hesitated, but Barbel merely gestured subtly with her fingers¡ªgo on.


    And so, with one last glance at the enigmatic woman, Harriet allowed himself to be pulled back into the game. Behind him, Barbel watched, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze before she turned her attention back to the rest of the children, speaking to them in the same firm yet fond tone.


    After what felt like an eternity of chasing, dodging, lifting, and being used as a makeshift climbing structure, Harriet finally let out a breathless laugh and collapsed onto the worn wooden bench at the edge of the playground. His golden hair was slightly disheveled, his sleeves a little dirt-streaked from being tackled into the grass one too many times. He leaned back, catching his breath as he wiped a bit of sweat from his brow.


    "Those kids sure are energetic," he muttered, exhaling deeply.


    "They sure are," came a calm voice beside him. "And I hope they stay that way."


    Harriet turned his head to see Barbel standing a short distance away, her long coat draped over her shoulders as she watched the children with quiet fondness. In front of her, a group of kids were practicing with handmade wooden swords, swinging clumsily but with visible determination. She had one hand resting on the pommel of her own massive blade¡ªone she hadn''t unsheathed but carried like an extension of herself.


    She stepped forward, correcting a boy¡¯s stance with a slight nudge to his elbow. ¡°Lower your shoulders,¡± she instructed, her voice even yet firm. ¡°You¡¯re wasting energy keeping them so stiff.¡±


    The boy nodded quickly, adjusting his posture.


    Harriet watched the scene unfold, curiosity creeping into his mind. Barbel¡¯s presence was something difficult to pin down. She wasn¡¯t overly affectionate with the children, nor did she shower them with kind words. But there was care in her actions, in the way she adjusted their grips and patiently repeated instructions without a hint of frustration. The kids listened¡ªreally listened¡ªto her, hanging onto every word as they tried to mimic her movements.


    She was strict, but not harsh.


    "Do you do this often?" Harriet asked, tilting his head as he observed her.


    "Whenever I can," Barbel replied simply. She glanced at the wooden swords, watching the children strike at imaginary opponents. ¡°They need strength, not just to fight, but to push forward.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Harriet leaned back against the bench, folding his hands behind his head. "Push forward, huh? Even kids need to think about things like that?"


    Barbel''s gaze did not waver. "Everyone does."


    Harriet blinked at her unwavering certainty. She wasn''t saying it to sound wise or profound. She believed it, as though it were an undeniable truth.


    Before he could respond, one of the kids ran up to her, tugging at the edge of her coat.


    "Miss Flux! Miss Flux! Look! I can do it now!" The little girl excitedly raised her wooden sword and performed a slightly better, though still wobbly, swing.


    Barbel watched her carefully before nodding in approval. "Good. Keep improving at it."


    The girl beamed and ran back to her group, eager to keep practicing.


    Harriet chuckled under his breath. "You''re pretty good with them."


    Barbel exhaled slowly, her expression unreadable. "They deserve to be prepared. The world won''t always be kind to them."


    Harriet studied her for a moment. There was something layered beneath her words¡ªsomething that made him feel like she wasn¡¯t just speaking about the children.


    But before he could ask anything, another wave of laughter erupted as the kids resumed their games, and Barbel turned her attention back to them, as composed and steady as ever.


    As the children ran back to their games, their laughter ringing through the orphanage playground, Barbel shifted her gaze toward Harriet, her piercing eyes studying him with quiet curiosity.


    "You," she said suddenly. "What''s your name?"


    Harriet, who had just started to relax, straightened up slightly at the question. He hadn''t expected her to ask.


    "Harriet," he answered simply.


    Barbel nodded, as if turning the name over in her mind. "Harriet," she repeated, testing it on her tongue. "You''re not from around here."


    Harriet chuckled, glancing at the rowdy group of kids attempting to climb the wooden fence. "That obvious?"


    "You stand out." She crossed her arms, still watching the children. "Not just in appearance, but in the way you move. You don¡¯t seem lost, yet you don¡¯t belong."


    Harriet smirked. "That sounds poetic."


    "It¡¯s just an observation."


    Before he could reply, a small boy ran up to him, holding up a wooden sword that was nearly the same size as his body. "Harriet! Harriet! Try holding this!"


    Harriet blinked. "Me?"


    The boy nodded eagerly. "Yeah! You were really good at tag, so maybe you''re good at swords too!"


    Harriet glanced at Barbel, who raised an eyebrow as if waiting to see what he would do.


    "Alright, alright," Harriet relented, reaching out his unseen spectral hands to grasp the sword. Of course, the child couldn''t see the ghostly appendages, so from an outsider''s perspective, the wooden sword seemed to float in the air on its own.


    A few kids gasped in awe. "Whoa! How did you do that?"


    Harriet grinned, giving the sword a playful twirl before setting it back down. "Singularit?t," he said with a wink.


    The children erupted into excited chatter, some begging him to show them more tricks.


    Barbel watched the scene unfold, her sharp eyes lingering on Harriet longer than necessary. "You handle them well," she remarked.


    Harriet shrugged. "They''re fun."


    Barbel hummed, then turned back to the group. "If you''re staying in D?mmerburg for a while, you should come back."


    Harriet tilted his head. "You''re inviting me?"


    "You kept them entertained, and they like you," she stated plainly. "That''s enough reason."


    Harriet leaned back, considering her words. He hadn''t expected this woman¡ªwho carried herself with such strict authority¡ªto be so openly welcoming.


    "Maybe I will," he said finally.


    Barbel gave a small nod, then turned her attention back to the children, offering corrections to their stances as they practiced with their wooden swords.


    Harriet smiled to himself.


    "There you are!"


    Harriet turned to see Geschicht standing by the gate, a hand on his hips, looking mildly exasperated.


    "I''ve been looking everywhere for you," Geschicht said as he approached. "How do you just disappear like that?"


    Harriet grinned and stretched. "I got kidnapped by tiny, energetic criminals." He motioned toward the children, who were still play-fighting with their wooden swords.


    Geschicht sighed, shaking his head. "Figures." Then, with a triumphant smile, he pulled a small pouch from his belt and tossed it in the air before catching it. "Anyway, good news. I sold the owlbear fur and got 2,500 Doh for it."


    Harriet whistled. "That''s more than expected."


    "Yeah, the merchant was really into the quality. Said it was rare to get a clean-cut owlbear pelt," Geschicht said, tucking the pouch away. "Now, come on. We should get moving before we attract any more tiny urchins."


    Harriet chuckled before standing up. He turned back to the children, who had gathered around Barbel for their next round of practice.


    "Guess I''m heading off," he said. "I''ll see you all around."


    A chorus of disappointed "aws" rose from the children. "Will you come back?" one of them asked, tugging at his sleeve.


    Harriet glanced at Barbel, who watched him with her usual calm expression, arms crossed.


    "Maybe," Harriet said with a grin. "If I survive the next few days."


    "Then you better not die!" one of the kids shouted, making the others laugh.


    Barbel gave him a small nod. "You''re welcome here anytime."


    Harriet nodded back, then turned to leave with Geschicht. As they walked out of the orphanage and back onto the crowded streets of D?mmerburg, the sounds of playful laughter faded into the city''s usual hum of merchants calling out their wares and people bustling about.


    "So, what now?" Harriet asked as he adjusted his gloves.


    Meanwhile, Geschicht scanned the bustling streets, considering their next move.


    "First, let¡¯s figure out where we¡¯re staying long-term," he said. "Then, we should start gathering information about this place. Something tells me there¡¯s more to D?mmerburg than meets the eye."


    Harriet hummed in agreement, letting his eyes wander across the various storefronts and posters plastered on walls and wooden boards. His gaze landed on a large parchment pinned to a post near a small crowd of people. The bold letters at the top caught his attention.


    "HIRING EXPLORERS! SEEKING STRONG INDIVIDUALS FOR A DELVING EXPEDITION!"


    "Hey, look at that," Harriet nudged Geschicht, nodding toward the sign. "Might be worth checking out."


    Geschicht followed his gaze, adjusting his satchel. "Ruins exploration, huh? Sounds like it could be dangerous."


    "Which means it''ll probably pay well," Harriet pointed out with a smirk.


    Intrigued, they made their way toward the group gathered around the hiring post. A few men and women stood discussing the details, while a recruiter barked instructions to those interested. The closer they got, the more familiar some of the figures seemed.


    Standing near the front, overseeing the recruitment, were none other than Jelle, Hauke, Uwe, and Liselotte¡ªthe Kopflos.


    Harriet blinked. "Well, I''ll be damned."


    Geschicht sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"


    Jelle, upon noticing them, grinned and waved them over. "Ah, you two again! Perfect timing! Interested in a little underground adventure?"


    Geschicht crossed his arms and raised a brow. "Weren¡¯t you the one who warned us about how unstable that place is? Something about wild magic and artifacts running loose?"


    Hauke, who had been checking over his sword, glanced at him and let out a short huff. "Yeah, well, every clue about the missing people keeps leading back there. That tunnel''s hiding something, and we don¡¯t have the luxury of ignoring it."


    Jelle grinned and clapped Geschicht on the back. "So, how about it? You two up for a little spelunking? Could use some extra hands."


    Harriet exchanged a glance with Geschicht before smirking. "Depends. What¡¯s the pay?"


    Uwe stretched his arms with a lazy grin. "Plenty, if things go well. But if this turns out to be a dead end, well... let¡¯s just say we won¡¯t be rolling in much of anything."


    Geschicht narrowed his eyes. "And how many people have you hired so far?"


    Jelle and Hauke exchanged looks before Uwe chuckled. "None."


    Geschicht blinked. "None?"


    "None," Hauke confirmed, completely unfazed. "Not many are eager to walk into a place known for swallowing people whole."


    Harriet crossed his arms. "So, basically, we¡¯d be the first fools to sign up?"


    Jelle grinned. "Pretty much."


    Liselotte, who had been quietly listening, suddenly blurted out, "Harriet and Geschicht aren¡¯t fools!"


    Silence followed.


    Harriet raised an eyebrow. "Uh¡­ thanks?"


    Geschicht scratched his cheek. "I think that was supposed to be reassuring, but¡ª"


    Jelle burst out laughing. "Oh no, that was adorable."


    Uwe smirked. "Liselotte defending them like a proud mother hen? Now, that¡¯s a sight."


    Hauke sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but even he couldn''t hide the small twitch of amusement on his lips.


    Realizing that everyone was looking at her, Liselotte¡¯s face turned bright red. She quickly pulled her hood up and tried to make herself small, mumbling, "I-I was just stating a fact¡­"


    Jelle ruffled her hair. "Facts can be cute too, you know?"


    Harriet chuckled. "Well, at least someone believes in us."


    Geschicht shook his head with a grin. "Not sure if that makes us feel better or just more awkward."


    Geschicht crossed his arms and looked at Jelle. "Alright, so how do we sign up?"


    Jelle grinned, tilting her head toward a worn-out training dummy standing a few meters away. "Simple. You just have to hit that dummy hard enough to impress at least one of us."


    Harriet glanced at the dummy, then back at Jelle. "That¡¯s it?"


    Jelle raised a finger. "Ah, but one more thing¡ªif you break anything too much, Uwe has to pay for the damage."


    Uwe, who had been lounging casually, snapped his head toward Jelle. "Excuse me? Since when was that part of the deal?"


    Jelle shrugged. "Since now."


    Uwe groaned, rubbing his forehead.


    Harriet smirked, stepping forward. "Well, no point holding back, then."


    He raised his gloved hand and, without taking another step, simply flicked his fingers.


    A powerful force erupted from the air around him. Within an instant, the training dummy was shredded apart, its wooden limbs twisting and snapping like brittle twigs. The straw that made up its body burst into the air, scattering across the ground in a messy heap.


    Silence.


    Geschicht blinked. "Uh¡ª"


    Uwe let out a long sigh. "Great. Just great."


    Jelle clapped her hands together. "Impressive! And costly."


    Hauke, arms crossed, gave a small nod. "Efficient."


    Liselotte peeked from behind Jelle. "W-We can¡­ fix it?"


    Harriet dusted off his sleeves. "So, do I qualify?"


    Jelle grinned. "Oh, you more than qualify. Welcome aboard."


    Geschicht stepped forward, rolling his shoulders as he exhaled. "Well, since Harriet completely annihilated the dummy, I guess I¡¯ll have to show off some other way."


    He flipped open his journal with a practiced motion, the pages fluttering as if caught in an invisible breeze. A faint glow emanated from the parchment as intricate symbols and scribbles shifted and rearranged themselves. Then, in a single moment, a sword burst forth from the pages, materializing into his grip as if pulled from the depths of a forgotten story.


    The blade shimmered under the sunlight, its steel reflecting a glint of deep blue, almost like ink mixed with metal. It was elegant, slender, yet undeniably sharp¡ªlike something straight out of a legend.


    Jelle whistled. "Now that¡¯s a neat trick."


    Uwe raised an eyebrow. "You just¡­ pulled a sword out of a book?"


    Geschicht smirked, giving the blade a casual twirl before resting it against his shoulder. "More like I wrote it into existence."


    Hauke observed him with mild interest. "How stable is it?"


    "Stable enough to cut." Geschicht took a quick stance, then swung the blade down in a smooth motion. Though there was no dummy left, the force of his strike kicked up a sudden gust of wind, scattering the remnants of Harriet¡¯s earlier destruction. The displaced straw and splintered wood flew a short distance before settling again.


    Liselotte clapped her hands together softly. "T-That was cool..."


    Harriet crossed his arms, nodding approvingly. "Showy. But I respect it."


    Jelle placed her hands on her hips, grinning. "Well, I was already convinced, but now I¡¯m extra sure¡ªboth of you are coming with us."


    Uwe sighed, staring at what was left of the training area. "At this rate, I should just set aside a repair budget."


    Geschicht and Harriet both let out a sigh before picking up the quill and signing their names on the completely empty recruitment list. The ink barely had time to dry before Jelle clapped her hands together, looking entirely satisfied.


    "Alright, that''s settled! Welcome aboard, you two!" she said, grinning. Then, without missing a beat, she turned to Uwe. "Now, go buy a new dummy."


    Uwe groaned, rubbing his forehead. "Why is it always me?"


    "Because you¡¯re the only one with money to spare," Jelle answered smoothly.


    Hauke smirked. "Or at least, money that you haven''t gambled away yet."


    Uwe shot him a glare. "That was one time!"


    Liselotte, standing quietly at the side, hesitated before speaking up. "¡­It was actually three times."


    The group turned to her, momentarily surprised that she chimed in. She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve before adding, "And¡­ I¡¯ve only been in this House for a few weeks."


    There was a beat of silence before Jelle burst out laughing. Hauke smirked, while Geschicht and Harriet exchanged amused glances.


    Uwe, on the other hand, groaned dramatically. "Even the newbie is keeping count? Unbelievable."


    Liselotte tilted her head. "It''s not hard. You complain every time."


    Jelle wiped a tear from her eye. "Alright, alright, enough picking on Uwe. Go get the dummy before we lose daylight."


    Muttering under his breath, Uwe stomped off, leaving the rest of the group chuckling.


    Harriet leaned toward Geschicht and whispered, "So¡­ do we get paid in advance, or¡­?"


    Geschicht shrugged. "Let¡¯s hope."

 Chapter 12: Dear Obsession(I)

    The entrance to the underground tunnel loomed before them, a gaping maw of darkness framed by old stonework and rusted metal reinforcements. The air around it was thick with the scent of damp earth and something faintly metallic, like rusted iron. A faint breeze whispered from within, carrying a strange, lingering energy.


    Standing in front of the entrance, the Kopflos¡ªJelle, Hauke, Uwe, and Liselotte¡ªwatched as the last of their hired help gathered. Geschicht and Harriet stood nearby, ready but alert. Among them, two newcomers lingered at the edge of the group: a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard and a wiry young man with sharp, calculating eyes.


    Jelle, arms crossed, glanced at Geschicht and Harriet. ¡°You two were the last ones to sign up,¡± she said. ¡°After you, only two others joined.¡±


    She gestured toward the unfamiliar men. ¡°That¡¯s them.¡±


    The older one, Adrek, let out a deep chuckle, resting a hand on the hilt of one of the two massive Montante swords strapped to his back. The weapons were nearly as long as he was tall, their hilts worn from years of use. He carried them with an ease that suggested terrifying familiarity. "Figured an opportunity like this was too interesting to pass up."


    Veynor, the younger of the two, smiled faintly. "Underground ruins are always full of surprises. Thought we¡¯d try our luck."


    Harriet glanced between them, then leaned toward Geschicht. "They seem¡­ weird," he muttered under his breath.


    Geschicht didn¡¯t reply right away. He tapped his fingers against the leather of his journal, carefully observing the two men. Something felt off, but he couldn''t place it yet. Instead, he turned back to Jelle. "So, what now?"


    Jelle stretched her arms. "Now? We head inside."


    With that, she strode forward, leading them all into the depths of the city¡¯s underground.


    As they prepared to descend into the underground, Jelle leaned slightly toward Uwe and muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear, "Keep an eye on the strangers."


    Uwe gave a grin, and his lone red eye glowed faintly in the dim light as he turned his gaze toward Adrek and Veynor. A subtle flicker of energy passed through his iris, scanning them with silent scrutiny.


    Adrek adjusted the straps of his twin Montante swords, seemingly unbothered, while Veynor simply smirked, hands tucked casually into his coat pockets. Neither of them reacted to Uwe¡¯s glowing eye¡ªwhether out of ignorance or sheer confidence was unclear.


    Satisfied, Jelle turned back toward the tunnel. "Alright, let''s move."


    With that, the group stepped forward, swallowed by the shadows of the ancient underground.


    As they walked for a while, the tunnel stretched before them in eerie silence, the damp air thick with the scent of earth and age-old stone. Then, Jelle came to a sudden stop, causing the others to pause behind her.


    "This is far enough for us to cause any ruckus to the city above," she said, rolling her shoulders.


    With a slow, deliberate motion, she raised her hand into the air. Instantly, the tunnel trembled. Thick roots slithered through the cracks in the stone, converging toward her palm as if drawn by an unseen force. The roots twisted, merged, and hardened, forming a long, elegant wooden sword in her grasp. Though made of wood, the air around it pulsed with undeniable power.


    Then, without hesitation, Jelle swung the blade downward.


    The ground beneath them split apart with a violent crack, shattering into chunks as the tunnel caved beneath their feet. In an instant, gravity seized them all.


    "Going this way is faster than following the rules set by the old ones," Jelle said with an amused smirk as they plummeted.


    Hauke let out a resigned sigh, clearly used to her antics.


    Uwe, on the other hand, grinned wildly. "Now, this is how you make an entrance!"


    Liselotte let out a panicked yelp, instinctively reaching for something to hold onto, but there was nothing to grab in freefall.


    As for the two strangers¡ªAdrek remained eerily calm, adjusting his posture midair, while Veynor¡¯s smirk deepened as if he had expected nothing less.


    The darkness below rushed up to meet them.


    The ground gave way beneath them, and in an instant, Geschicht and Harriet were free-falling alongside the Kopflos, plunging deeper into the underground ruin. Dust and fragments of stone rushed past them as cold, damp air roared in their ears.


    ¡°Jelle!¡± Geschicht shouted, his voice half-lost in the descent. ¡°This is your idea of faster?¡±


    Jelle, seemingly unfazed, was falling with perfect composure, the wooden sword still firm in her hand, her emerald eyes calm as if this were routine.


    Hauke sighed mid-air, adjusting his body as though this wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d been dropped into an unknown abyss by his leader¡¯s impatience.


    Uwe, of course, was whooping with exhilaration. ¡°This is amazing!¡±


    Liselotte, however, was not having a great time. She flailed helplessly, her terrified scream echoing as she tumbled. ¡°W-We¡¯re going to die!¡±


    But just as the jagged floor below rushed toward them, Harriet¡¯s golden eyes sharpened. Without a word, his unseen spectral hands shot out around the group, reaching out as if to cup the air itself.


    The invisible force slowed their descent dramatically, like they¡¯d been caught in a giant, unseen net. What should have been a bone-shattering landing turned into something graceful¡ªsmooth, controlled, and almost gentle.


    They touched down on the cold stone floor as though they¡¯d simply stepped off a short ledge.


    ¡°Whoa¡­¡± Liselotte blinked, panting, her hands still gripping her sleeves.


    Uwe grinned, wide-eyed. ¡°That was awesome!¡±


    Hauke gave Harriet a quick, approving glance, muttering, ¡°Handy trick.¡±


    Harriet smirked, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. ¡°You get used to it.¡±


    Geschicht shot him a sideways look. ¡°Now you use your power?¡±


    Harriet grinned lazily. ¡°What, and ruin all the fun?¡±


    Jelle, landing with effortless grace, lowered her sword and glanced around the new chamber they¡¯d fallen into, the air thick with ancient magic.


    ¡°Well, that was efficient,¡± she said with a smirk. ¡°Now, let¡¯s see what the ruins want to show us.¡±


    As the dust settled, they stood in the heart of the deeper underground¡ªa place untouched by daylight, humming with unseen power. And the only way forward was deeper still.


    As they landed, the tremor from their fall sent deep reverberations through the ancient ruin. Dust swirled around them, and the distant sound of cracking stone echoed through the cavernous underground.


    Then, the walls pulsed with a faint glow, ancient runes flickering to life in jagged patterns across the floor and pillars. A deep, guttural groan rumbled from the darkness as something massive stirred awake.


    Crack.


    A split ran through the stone floor.


    Crack! Crack!


    One by one, towering figures rose from their long slumber.


    Hundreds of stone golems, each the size of a small house, emerged from the shadows. Their once-majestic forms, covered in glowing sigils, now twitched and jerked unnaturally, their cores overloaded with unstable magic. Their hollow eyes flared with a corrupted glow, and their bodies creaked as if resisting the very energy keeping them alive.


    Hauke clicked his tongue, rolling his shoulders.


    Jelle spun her wooden sword in her hand, its form humming with energy. ¡°This ruin must¡¯ve been untouched for centuries. The magic down here is completely out of control.¡± She grinned. ¡°Perfect warm-up.¡±


    Uwe¡¯s red eye gleamed as he cracked his neck. ¡°Oh? I was hoping for a challenge.¡±


    Liselotte tightened her hold on the small bundle in her arms, stepping forward without hesitation. ¡°Let¡¯s hope my little bunnies know how to set stones on fire.¡±


    Geschicht let out a slow exhale, flipping open his journal. "So, who wants the honor of the first move?"


    Harriet grinned, his unseen hands materializing in a flickering wave of force. "We could always let them make the first move. You know, for fairness."


    Adrek, gripping his two montante swords, let out a dark chuckle. ¡°Fools, all of you. But I like it.¡±


    Veynor smirked, cracking his knuckles. "This will be over before it even starts."


    As if in response to their confidence, the closest golem let out a thunderous roar, shaking the cavern. Magic traps began to activate¡ªflames burst from hidden vents, arcs of lightning crackled across the floor, and slicing gusts of wind tore through the air.


    Jelle lifted her sword, eyes shining. "Alright then. Let¡¯s break through."


    The crew stood firm, unshaken. No hesitation. No fear.


    Just the thrill of battle ahead.


    Jelle took the lead, raising her wooden sword high before delivering a single, devastating slash. The force of her strike tore through several golems at once, reducing them to rubble in an instant.


    As the battle began, the wind swirled fiercely around Hauke as he unsheathed his sword, charging forward with sharp precision. He cut through one golem with ease, then swiftly turned to strike down another.


    Uwe followed right after, sprinting toward a golem with a wild grin. His fist crashed into the stone creature, shattering it into pieces with sheer brute force.


    Liselotte, standing firm amidst the chaos, carefully unwrapped her bundle, revealing tiny flaming rabbits that leapt forward eagerly. They swarmed the golems, their fiery bodies melting stone until nothing remained but molten puddles.


    Geschicht, gripping his journal tightly, summoned his sword from its pages. He and Harriet moved in sync, fighting side by side¡ªGeschicht slashing through enemies while Harriet¡¯s unseen hands crushed and tore apart the advancing golems within his five-meter range.


    Adrek, wielding both of his massive montante swords, stormed into battle with a relentless fury. Each swing of his blades sent golems crumbling to the ground, their heavy stone limbs scattering across the floor.


    Veynor ran alongside him, but rather than relying on a weapon, he clenched his fist and delivered a crushing blow to an approaching golem, cracking its stone face before finishing it off with another powerful strike.


    The entire crew fought with unwavering confidence, cutting through the horde of mindless golems as if they were nothing more than obstacles in their path.


    Jelle¡¯s focus intensified as she swung her wooden sword again, each movement sharp and precise. With a series of swift, calculated slashes, she tore through the ranks of the golems, cutting down hundreds in mere moments. The sheer power in her strikes sent shockwaves through the ground, crumbling stone and turning the once-unstoppable creatures into nothing more than shattered remnants.


    She moved with the fluidity of a seasoned warrior, every slash efficient and devastating. Each time her blade met its mark, it cleaved through stone with a resounding crack, reducing the golems to rubble before they could even react. The tunnel filled with the sounds of shattering stone as Jelle¡¯s ferocity became a blur of motion, a whirlwind of destruction that left the golems no chance to regroup.


    Adrek, his dual swords still dripping with the remnants of shattered golems, looked at Jelle with a mix of awe and respect.


    "What a fearsome woman," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, though his voice carried across the battlefield. His tone wasn¡¯t one of mockery or disdain, but genuine admiration for the display of power before him.


    Veynor, who had been beside him, raising his fist to crush another golem, glanced over at Adrek and gave a half-hearted smirk. "You¡¯re not wrong. Something is terrifying about her." His words were laced with a hint of envy, his strikes not as fast nor as destructive.


    Liselotte, who had summoned her fire bunnies to melt the remains of other golems, glanced toward the duo with a soft chuckle. "She does have a way of making it look easy, doesn¡¯t she?"


    Hauke, not far behind, raised an eyebrow at the scene but said nothing, his focus on cutting through the remaining golems, his sword cutting through the air in controlled arcs. "She doesn¡¯t stop," he remarked, his voice calm but carrying a quiet respect for the woman leading their charge. "Not until every last one of them is dust."


    Harriet, standing near Geschicht as they fought together, gave a grin, his spectral hands manifesting to dismantle a golem¡¯s arm. "She''s like a force of nature," he commented, flashing Geschicht a quick smile. "You can¡¯t help but watch and admire it."


    Geschicht couldn¡¯t help but agree. His sword cut through another golem¡¯s chest, and he stepped back to catch his breath. "It¡¯s not just power. It¡¯s the way she uses it," he said, his voice tinged with awe. "There¡¯s precision behind all that strength. It¡¯s¡­ impressive."


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    As the golem¡¯s final remains turned to dust around them, Jelle lowered her sword, standing tall amidst the battlefield of crumbled stone and rubble. Her expression was calm, though a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips, as if she had expected nothing less from herself.


    "Shall we continue?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at the group.


    Without missing a beat, Adrek¡¯s voice rang out. "Lead the way."


    Jelle turned to Uwe, her eyes sharp as she scanned the surrounding tunnels, still on high alert. ¡°Uwe, go scout ahead. Make sure the path is clear and that no more surprises are lurking in the shadows.¡±


    Uwe gave a swift nod, his red eye glowing faintly in the dim light. Without a word, he turned and began to move silently, his steps almost imperceptible as he melded with the shadows. His presence was ghostly, always on the lookout for any danger.


    But before he could get too far, Veynor, who had been quietly observing the surroundings, stepped forward with a glint in his eye. "I¡¯ll go with him," Veynor said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of impatience. "Better to cover more ground. Besides, I know how to handle myself in these tunnels." His tone wasn¡¯t exactly a request, but more of a statement, as if he had already made up his mind.


    Uwe paused for a moment, looking back over his shoulder. His red eyes briefly met Veynor¡¯s, sizing him up. After a beat, he gave a slight nod, acknowledging the offer. "Fine, but stay out of my way," he muttered, though there was a hint of approval in his words.


    Jelle looked at both of them, her expression unreadable, before she gave a simple command. "Just don¡¯t get in trouble. We¡¯ll keep moving forward, but if there¡¯s anything out of place, we¡¯ll need to know about it."


    With that, Uwe and Veynor slipped into the darkened tunnel ahead, moving as one. The faint sound of their footsteps echoed off the stone walls as they disappeared from view, their figures melding with the shadows.


    The rest of the group remained where they were, silently awaiting the scouts'' return, ready to continue their exploration into the depths of the underground ruin.


    Geschicht, his eyes scanning the ancient inscriptions etched into the walls, felt a sense of intrigue bubbling within him. The symbols were unlike anything he had ever encountered before¡ªtwisting lines, strange glyphs, and an unfamiliar rhythm that almost seemed to pulse with life. It was as if the language itself was meant to convey a message, but one he couldn¡¯t quite decipher. He leaned in closer, tracing his fingers lightly along the markings, feeling a strange pull as if the walls themselves were trying to whisper to him.


    As he focused on the etchings, a soft, hesitant voice broke through his concentration. "The eye¡¯s here... the piece of art... it¡¯s... old..." Liselotte murmured, stepping toward him with a delicate, shy grace. She was barely above a whisper, her words quiet as though she didn¡¯t want to disturb the solemn air of the tunnel.


    Geschicht turned slightly to face her, surprised by the sudden closeness. Liselotte, normally so reserved, seemed almost hesitant as she stood beside him, her gaze flickering nervously between the wall and him. Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly, betraying her usual calm demeanor.


    "Do you mean the eyes in the symbols?" Geschicht asked, his voice soft with curiosity. He hadn¡¯t noticed anything about eyes in the inscriptions, but Liselotte¡¯s intuition was sharp, and he trusted her judgment.


    She nodded slowly, still speaking in that quiet, almost uncertain tone. "Yes, the eye... it watches... the art... it¡¯s... connected." She pointed at a section of the wall where a large, intricate symbol of an eye seemed to merge with the surrounding patterns. It was almost as if the eye itself was alive, watching everything around it.


    Geschicht squinted, trying to make sense of her words and the strange design. There was something deeply unsettling about the way the markings shifted in the dim light, as if they were aware of their surroundings, waiting for something¡ªor someone¡ªto react.


    Liselotte took a small step back, a nervous glance cast toward the group. "It¡¯s... the art of the forgotten," she added softly. "It¡¯s ancient, something that should be lost to time."


    Geschicht gave her a reassuring smile, though his curiosity was only growing. "Do you think it means something? Could it be connected to the ruin we¡¯re exploring?"


    Liselotte¡¯s eyes darted around briefly, before she nodded once more, her expression thoughtful. "Maybe... but it¡¯s dangerous to linger too long on things like this. They... remember things we don¡¯t."


    Geschicht could sense her unease but didn¡¯t press her further. The mysterious symbols had a power about them, one that neither of them fully understood, but for now, he decided to focus on the task at hand. Still, he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that the walls themselves held secrets¡ªsecrets that, if uncovered, might change everything they thought they knew about this place.


    "Let¡¯s keep moving," he said, trying to put Liselotte at ease.


    A while had passed, yet there was no sign of Uwe or Veynor returning. The air in the underground ruin grew heavier with each passing second, the distant echoes of shifting stone the only sounds filling the silence. The group, which had been standing on alert, slowly tensed as an unspoken unease crept in.


    Jelle¡¯s sharp eyes flickered toward Adrek and narrowed. She exhaled slowly, then called out in a steady, measured tone.


    ¡°Hauke.¡±


    Without hesitation, Hauke reacted to the unspoken command. His grip tightened around his sword, and in a swift motion, he raised the blade to Adrek¡¯s neck, the cold steel pressing against the man''s skin. The tension in the air became suffocating.


    Adrek barely flinched. His expression remained eerily calm, only the faintest hint of amusement flashing in his eyes. Beside him, Veynor tensed but did not move, his eyes darting between Hauke and Jelle, assessing the situation.


    Jelle took a step forward, her wooden sword resting casually against her shoulder, yet the weight of her presence alone was enough to suffocate any illusions of escape. She met Adrek¡¯s gaze with a look that bore into him, her tone even and cold.


    ¡°I was wondering from the start,¡± she said, voice cutting through the thick air like a blade. ¡°What is an underling of The Clock Hand doing here?¡±


    The moment the name left her lips, an invisible force seemed to shift within the group. Hauke pressed his sword closer, his stance unyielding. Liselotte instinctively moved closer to Geschicht and Harriet, gripping her bundle of fire bunnies tightly, as if sensing the storm brewing before them.


    Jelle¡¯s expression remained unreadable, but her next words carried a dangerous weight.


    ¡°Talk.¡± Her voice was quiet but firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. ¡°Tell me what happened to those that disappeared.¡±


    For the first time, Adrek let out a slow breath, his lips curling into a smirk. He glanced down at the blade resting against his throat, then back up at Jelle, his expression unreadable.


    "Now, now," he murmured, voice tinged with amusement. "That''s quite the accusation. But I suppose you wouldn¡¯t have drawn your weapons if you weren¡¯t certain."


    Veynor shifted beside him, his stance growing more rigid, but he did not speak.


    Jelle didn¡¯t respond to Adrek¡¯s attempt at deflection. Instead, she only watched, waiting¡ªno, daring him to test her patience.


    The silence stretched.


    Then, finally, Adrek exhaled, his smirk widening just slightly.


    ¡°Fine,¡± he said. ¡°Since you asked so nicely¡­ I suppose there¡¯s no harm in telling you a little something.¡±


    Adrek let out a low chuckle, his smirk deepening as he tilted his head just slightly, the cold edge of Hauke¡¯s sword still pressing against his skin. He met Jelle¡¯s gaze with a glint of amusement in his eyes.


    "Why don¡¯t you just talk to my boss?" his tone laced with mockery.


    Before anyone could react, a deafening explosion erupted beneath them. The ground quaked violently, sending a shockwave through the crumbling ruin as dust and debris filled the air. The force of the blast shattered stone, tearing apart a massive portion of the underground structure, making the very foundations groan in protest.


    Hauke, caught off guard by the sudden detonation, stumbled, his footing momentarily lost. In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, Adrek twisted his body with practiced ease, slipping out of reach of Hauke¡¯s blade. The sharp edge that had been at his throat mere seconds ago sliced through empty air instead.


    As the dust began to settle, a tall figure emerged from the dissipating smoke, stepping forward with an unshaken, deliberate stride. A long coat billowed behind her, the fabric adorned with intricate silver embroidery that traced along its surface in the form of ancient runes, glowing faintly in the dim light of the underground.


    Harriet¡¯s golden eyes widened in recognition.


    Barbel Flux.


    She stood with an air of absolute control, her gaze scanning the group with measured precision. But she wasn¡¯t alone. Another figure stepped beside her, a woman with a montante sword.


    Jelle¡¯s grip on her wooden sword tightened. Her posture remained firm, but her sharp eyes flickered with a dangerous intensity.


    ¡°Do not engage with the Middle Phalax without my supervision,¡± Jelle commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos like steel. She then turned her head slightly toward Hauke, her expression unwavering. ¡°Hauke and I will take care of her.¡±


    She lifted her blade, pointing it directly at Barbel.


    Before another word could be spoken, Harriet took a step forward, his expression unreadable. His unseen hands flexed in the air around him, his stance shifting ever so slightly as a quiet resolve settled over him.


    ¡°We¡¯ll handle the rest,¡± he said firmly, his voice steady.


    Geschicht, standing beside him, nodded, already summoning his sword from his journal, its pages fluttering as the weapon materialized in his grasp.


    Adrek wasted no time, surging forward with terrifying speed, both of his massive montante blades slicing through the air with deadly precision. His eyes gleamed with the thrill of battle as he brought his swords down in a brutal, sweeping arc toward Geschicht.


    Geschicht barely had time to raise his weapon in defense. The force behind Adrek¡¯s strike was monstrous, far greater than he had anticipated. The moment their blades clashed, an overwhelming shockwave burst from the impact. Geschicht¡¯s body was hurled backwards as if he were nothing more than a ragdoll caught in a storm.


    He crashed through layers of stone, each impact sending sharp pain through his bones as he tumbled deeper into the ruins. The sheer force of the blow carried him through several thick walls, crumbling them in his wake. Dust and debris filled the air as his body finally skidded to a halt in an unfamiliar tunnel.


    ¡°GESCHICHT!¡±


    Harriet¡¯s voice echoed through the ruins, raw with panic. But Geschicht was too dazed to respond immediately. His vision blurred, his body protesting in pain.


    A soft shuffle of footsteps reached his ears.


    ¡°Geschicht!¡±


    Liselotte.


    She ran up to him, her small frame moving with surprising urgency as she knelt beside him. Her usually shy expression was laced with genuine concern.


    Geschicht groaned, forcing himself to sit up. He blinked, shaking off the dizziness, and gave her a reassuring smile, though his body ached from the impact.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he assured her, rolling his shoulder to test for any serious injuries. ¡°Really.¡±


    Liselotte hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line as if she wasn¡¯t entirely convinced.


    A cold, sharp voice cut through the air.


    ¡°Well, well¡­ what do we have here?¡±


    Both Geschicht and Liselotte turned their heads toward the sound.


    From the dust and shadows of the tunnel emerged a tall figure. A woman stepped forward, her montante sword resting against her shoulder. The dim light caught the cruel glint in her eyes as she gazed down at them, her presence radiating malice.


    She tilted her head slightly, her voice dripping with condescension.


    ¡°Little vermin need to be hunted by this great Lucienne.¡±


    Her grip on her sword tightened.


    Geschicht tightened his grip on his sword, steadying his stance. His journal pulsed faintly in his hand as the blade he had summoned reflected the flickering light of the ruins. He locked eyes with Lucienne, unshaken despite the lingering pain from Adrek¡¯s earlier strike.


    Liselotte, standing beside him, reached into her small bundle, whispering something under her breath. In an instant, several fiery rabbits emerged, their small bodies crackling with intense heat. They hopped in place, their flames illuminating the dusty tunnel with a warm but menacing glow.


    Lucienne smirked, her gaze flickering between the two of them. ¡°How amusing.¡± With a single, fluid motion, she brought her montante down, the air itself seeming to tremble under its weight. ¡°Let¡¯s see how long you can keep that confidence.¡±


    Then she lunged.


    Geschicht moved first, stepping forward to meet her blade with his own. Their swords clashed, ringing out like a thunderous bell in the hollow tunnel. The force sent dust and loose debris scattering around them. Geschicht gritted his teeth, pushing back against her overwhelming strength, refusing to be overpowered again.


    Liselotte didn¡¯t hesitate. She flicked her wrist, and the fire rabbits shot forward, their tiny bodies leaping at Lucienne with fierce intensity. The moment they made contact, explosions erupted, forcing Lucienne to disengage and retreat a few steps. The heat singed the edges of her coat, but she barely seemed fazed. Instead, her smirk widened.


    ¡°Tricks won¡¯t save you,¡± Lucienne sneered. Then, with frightening speed, she whirled her massive sword in a deadly arc, cutting through the flames, dispersing the remaining rabbits.


    Geschicht took the opportunity to lunge forward, striking from the side. Lucienne twisted, deflecting his attack with expert precision before countering with a powerful kick to his midsection. He stumbled back, barely managing to keep his footing.


    Liselotte used the opening to summon another barrage of fire, forcing Lucienne to weave between the bursts of flame.


    Lucienne leapt high onto the ceiling, her body twisting unnaturally as she clung to the jagged stone like a predator stalking its prey. Then, with an explosive burst of force, she kicked off, launching herself back toward them at an insane speed. Her montante sword gleamed in the dim light, a streak of silver cutting through the air as she descended with terrifying precision.


    Lucienne leapt high into the air, her montante sword raised above her head. The sheer force of her descent made the air hum with pressure as she brought the blade down toward Liselotte.


    Geschicht reacted instantly, stepping in and raising his sword to intercept. The impact rattled through his arms, his knees nearly buckling under the weight of her attack. Sparks flew as steel clashed against steel, the force sending shockwaves through the ground beneath them.


    But Lucienne was relentless. With a sharp twist of her body, she redirected her momentum and sent a devastating kick straight toward Liselotte.


    ¡°Liselotte!¡± Geschicht yelled, but it was too late.


    The kick landed squarely against Liselotte¡¯s side, sending her skidding across the stone floor. She let out a sharp gasp, her small frame tumbling before she managed to stop herself, clutching her side in pain. Her fire bunnies flickered in distress, their flames wavering.


    Lucienne scoffed, flipping her sword back into a ready stance. "I can''t believe they set me up against a no-name and a Grade 5 Ident," she sneered, her crimson gaze fixed on them with disdain. "Do they expect me to waste my time on scraps?"


    Geschicht¡¯s grip tightened on his sword, his breath steadying. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, but not from fear¡ªhe was analyzing her movements, memorizing the way she fought.


    ¡°Scraps?¡± He stepped forward, his blade gleaming under the dim ruin light.


    With that, he lunged, his sword cutting through the air in a swift, aiming straight for Lucienne¡¯s throat.


    Lucienne twisted her body mid-air, narrowly avoiding Geschicht¡¯s blade as it whistled past her neck. She landed gracefully, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.


    "Too slow," she taunted, effortlessly sidestepping as Geschicht pressed forward, his sword slicing through the space she had occupied mere moments before.


    Geschicht didn''t let up. He adjusted his stance, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword as he slashed again¡ªthis time aiming for her legs. Lucienne leapt backwards, her movements were fluid and almost playful, her montante sword barely raised in defense.


    "Is that all?" she mocked, tilting her head as she dodged another strike.


    Geschicht¡¯s eyes narrowed. He could feel the weight of each swing, the force behind every strike, yet she avoided them with such ease it was infuriating. But he didn''t stop. He advanced again, his blade flashing in rapid succession, his attacks relentless.


    Lucienne ducked, spun, and weaved through his offense, her expression calm, unimpressed. Then, in a sudden shift, she pivoted and closed the gap between them, her free hand reaching out like a viper.


    "Predictable," she whispered, aiming a sharp knee toward Geschicht''s ribs.


    As Lucienne''s knee shot toward Geschicht¡¯s ribs, a sudden flare of heat filled the air. Several fire rabbits, glowing with intense orange flames, darted toward her from the side.


    Lucienne¡¯s eyes flicked toward them, her instincts kicking in as she twisted her body mid-motion. She barely managed to shift away, the fire rabbits grazing the edges of her coat. The heat singed the fabric, leaving blackened streaks where they passed.


    Liselotte stood firm, her hands clenched tightly around her bundle. ¡°Not so fast,¡± she said softly, her face determined. More fire rabbits materialized around her, their fiery bodies flickering with restless energy.


    Lucienne clicked her tongue, stepping back. ¡°Cute trick.¡± Her gaze shifted between Geschicht and Liselotte. ¡°I suppose I should take you both seriously now.¡±


    With that, she gripped her montante sword tighter, lowering her stance as she prepared to truly engage.


    Lucienne''s smirk widened as she suddenly vanished from sight, her speed surpassing what the eye could follow. Before Geschicht could react, she reappeared behind him, her montante sword already mid-swing toward his exposed back.


    Liselotte gasped, her fire rabbits surging toward Lucienne in desperation, but the blade was too close¡ªtoo fast.


    A sharp metallic clang rang out.


    For a brief moment, time seemed to freeze.


    Lucienne¡¯s expression shifted, her eyes narrowing as she looked down. A thin, almost imperceptible crack had formed along the edge of her blade, shimmering faintly in the dim light of the ruins.


    Geschicht, breathing heavily, stood firm, his sword seeming to be locked against hers.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t know how I blocked that, but tough luck, I guess¡± he muttered.


    Lucienne¡¯s grin returned, sharp as a predator¡¯s. ¡°Good.¡±


    Then, with an explosion of force, she kicked off the ground, pushing Geschicht back. Liselotte barely managed to pull him away as Lucienne raised her sword once more.


    And then¡ª


    A deafening explosion erupted from deeper within the ruins.


    The walls trembled. The ground beneath them cracked a little. Something ancient began to stir.

 Chapter 13: Dear Obsession (II)

    The underground tunnel stretched endlessly before them, damp and silent except for the soft splashes of their footsteps against the stone. Flickering light from Uwe¡¯s lantern barely pushed back the darkness, casting jagged shadows along the ancient walls. He walked steadily, his eyes scanning for anything unusual, but his senses remained sharp¡ªnot just for threats lurking in the tunnels, but also for the man beside him.


    Veynor moved differently. There was something unnatural about how lightly he stepped, his presence like a whisper against the tunnel floor. His gaze darted from wall to wall, studying the structure with an obsessive hunger. His fingers twitched at his sides as though he wanted to scrape at the stones, pry them loose, and pocket them like rare gems.


    ¡°Strange place to be sentimental about,¡± Uwe muttered, noticing Veynor¡¯s stare. ¡°You look like you want to carve your name into the walls.¡±


    Veynor chuckled, a low, slithering sound. ¡°Sentiment is for fools. What matters is possession. This place? It¡¯s filled with things waiting to be claimed¡ªknowledge, artifacts, history.¡± His fingers flexed. ¡°And the ones who find them first get to decide what¡¯s valuable and what¡¯s forgotten.¡±


    Uwe rolled his shoulders, keeping his tone neutral. ¡°You sound like you want to own the whole world.¡±


    Veynor smiled, sharp and thin. ¡°Own it? No. Control it? Yes.¡± His voice dropped to something more intimate, like a merchant whispering a trade secret. ¡°Everything in this world is an asset¡ªpeople, power, wealth. Those who fail to keep what they¡¯ve taken are doomed to lose everything. It¡¯s why I never let anything slip from my grasp.¡±


    Uwe exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. ¡°So you hoard everything? What good is clinging to something if you don¡¯t use it?¡±


    Veynor¡¯s expression twitched, a flicker of something darker crossing his face before his usual composed smirk returned. ¡°It¡¯s not about use. It¡¯s about control. Once you let go of something, it¡¯s no longer yours. And if it¡¯s no longer yours, it can be used against you.¡±


    Uwe regarded him for a long moment. ¡°Sounds exhausting.¡±


    Veynor chuckled again. ¡°Only for those who don¡¯t have the discipline to hold on.¡±


    Their conversation was cut short as a distant rumble coursed through the ground beneath them. Uwe¡¯s head snapped up, his body instinctively tensing. The rumble grew louder, deep and ominous, like the belly of the earth had just been struck with a hammer.


    Then, in a split second, the explosion hit.


    The tunnel shuddered violently as a deafening boom roared from somewhere deeper within the ruins. Dust and debris rained from above, the walls cracking, the air instantly thick with the scent of burning stone. Uwe barely had time to brace himself before the shockwave knocked him off balance. He caught himself against the wall, heart hammering.


    Veynor, still standing with eerie steadiness, simply smirked and whispered, ¡°And just like that¡­ something valuable is slipping from someone¡¯s grasp.¡±


    Veynor¡¯s fist shot forward, aiming straight for Uwe¡¯s torso, but Uwe was faster. He twisted his body just in time, dodging the lethal strike as Veynor¡¯s punch smashed into the stone wall behind him, leaving a deep crater.


    Uwe took a step back, his stance shifting as his red and blue eyes glowed faintly in the dim tunnel. A sharp exhale escaped his lips. "You were planning this from the start, huh?" His tone was calm, but his muscles were tensed, ready for the next attack.


    Veynor turned his head slightly, his grin widening. "Of course. You and the rest of your little group aren¡¯t valuable assets, you lack the proper understanding of worth." His fingers flexed, cracking his knuckles as he slowly withdrew his hand from the broken wall. "Things only belong to those strong enough to keep them. And I¡ª" He took a step forward. "¡ªdon¡¯t like sharing."


    The underground air felt heavier. Small bits of dust trickled from the ceiling, unsettled by the sheer force of their exchange. Uwe didn''t bother glancing up. His mismatched eyes were locked onto Veynor, analyzing every twitch, every breath.


    Veynor¡¯s smirk didn¡¯t waver, but a shadow of irritation flickered in his eyes. He took a slow step forward, rolling his shoulders as if shrugging off the question. ¡°Why did you know that the disappearances led to this tunnel?¡± His voice was silky, smooth, yet laced with quiet menace. ¡°I thought we were doing a good job.¡±


    Uwe remained unfazed, his mismatched eyes¡ªone glowing red, the other an icy blue¡ªstaring straight into Veynor¡¯s own. He let out a small chuckle, tilting his head slightly. ¡°Simple,¡± he said, his voice carrying an edge of amusement. ¡°Singularit?t.¡±


    Uwe lifted a hand, tapping the side of his head with two fingers. ¡°My Singularit?t is more cunning than you could ever imagine.¡± His mismatched eyes gleamed in the dim tunnel light. He let his hand drop, a smirk tugging at his lips. ¡°You thought you covered your tracks well, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Then, Veynor let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. ¡°Singularit?t, huh? Always ruining the fun,¡± he mused, his voice eerily casual. But his fingers curled ever so slightly, a hunter measuring his prey.


    Uwe didn¡¯t shift his stance, but his gaze sharpened. ¡°It¡¯s what lets me see the difference between truth and deception.¡± He exhaled, cracking his knuckles. ¡°And right now, I¡¯m seeing a whole lot of deception from you.¡±


    Veynor grinned. ¡°Then let¡¯s see if you can keep up.¡±


    And in an instant, he lunged.


    Their fists collided with the force of thunderclaps, sending shockwaves through the tunnel walls. Uwe and Veynor moved like blurs, exchanging devastating blows as they tore through layers of thick rock. Each impact shattered the stone around them, carving new paths through the underground labyrinth.


    Veynor swung a brutal right hook, forcing Uwe to dodge as the force of the punch blasted a hole clean through the tunnel wall. Not missing a beat, Uwe retaliated with a lightning-fast counter, his fist sinking into Veynor¡¯s ribs, sending him crashing through another layer of rock. But the moment Veynor emerged from the dust, his grin was wider than before¡ªhis eyes wild with exhilaration.


    ¡°You¡¯re quite the asset yourself, Uwe,¡± Veynor sneered, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. ¡°Too bad I¡¯ll be adding you to my collection soon.¡±


    Uwe scoffed, cracking his knuckles. ¡°Try it, hoarder.¡±


    Then, without hesitation, they lunged at each other once more, fists colliding, forcing them deeper and deeper into the tunnels¡ªtunneling through solid stone with nothing but their sheer strength.


    Their battle raged like an unstoppable force, tearing through the underground ruins. Each punch sent them crashing through thick stone walls, leaving trails of destruction in their wake. Dust and debris filled the air as the two figures tore through ancient structures, their bodies mere blurs amidst the crumbling tunnels.


    As they traded blows, Veynor¡¯s voice remained eerily composed, a sinister smirk curling his lips. ¡°You know, Uwe, you ignored my idea¨Cso hear it clearly as I tell you again,¡± he said between strikes, his fist narrowly grazing Uwe¡¯s jaw before slamming into a pillar behind him, shattering it into rubble. "Everything in this world exists to be owned. Strength, riches, territory¡­ even human lives.¡±


    Uwe¡¯s red and blue eyes gleamed in the dim light as he dodged, twisting mid-air before driving his knee into Veynor¡¯s stomach, launching him through another wall. ¡°Tch. Don''t you think it¡¯s unnecessary to tell me your rotten point twice?¡± Uwe growled, stepping through the hole he¡¯d just created.


    Veynor coughed but laughed, brushing the dust off his clothes like it was nothing. ¡°Rotten? No, no. I¡¯m simply realistic. People are resources to be managed and to be used efficiently. The strong hold the reins; the weak serve their purpose. It¡¯s all just a matter of proper allocation.¡±


    Uwe¡¯s expression darkened, his fingers clenching into fists so tight that his knuckles cracked. ¡°You¡¯re talking about human lives like they¡¯re numbers on a ledger,¡± he snarled, rushing forward.


    Veynor met his charge with a wicked grin, weaving around Uwe¡¯s punch and countering with a heavy blow to his ribs. ¡°And? What else are they?¡±


    Something snapped in Uwe at those words. His red eye glowed dangerously as he grabbed Veynor mid-motion, twisting his arm and slamming him into the ground with enough force to send a spiderweb of cracks through the stone floor.


    ¡°You bastard,¡± Uwe spat, his voice carrying an edge of raw fury. ¡°People ain¡¯t some inventory you can tally up! You think you own everything you see? You think life¡¯s just something you can hoard like treasure?¡±


    Veynor groaned but chuckled, his voice filled with amusement even as he wiped blood from his mouth. ¡°If I don¡¯t own it, someone else will. That¡¯s how the world works, Uwe. Control or be controlled.¡±


    Uwe¡¯s fists trembled at his sides, his breath heavy with rage. ¡°You make me sick.¡±


    Without waiting for another word, he lunged at Veynor again, fists flying, sending both of them crashing through yet another ancient wall.


    Veynor''s laughter echoed through the ruins as he staggered to his feet, shaking off the force of Uwe''s last punch. Blood stained the corner of his lips, but the sinister grin never left his face. He wiped his mouth with a cold, calculated calm, as if the damage was a mere inconvenience.


    "You know," Veynor began, his voice slick with malice, "the Ident grade 5 that''s in your team... she seems quite cute." His eyes gleamed with amusement as he regarded Uwe, sensing the shift in the air. "A little innocent thing. She¡¯d make a great addition to my collection. Such a delicate mind, easy to shape into something more... useful."


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    Uwe¡¯s eyes flared with a furious red light as his fists clenched tighter, his muscles coiling with rage. His heart pounded in his chest, the anger surging like a storm, but he fought it back¡ªbarely. He took a slow, steady breath, trying to control the rising tide of fury that threatened to consume him.


    "Don¡¯t you dare talk about her like that," Uwe growled, his voice low and dangerous. He took a step forward, eyes locked on Veynor. "A twisted person like you doesn¡¯t deserve someone like her."


    Veynor raised an eyebrow, as though enjoying the reaction. He stepped back, his smirk widening, and even though Uwe¡¯s restraint was visibly strained, the undercurrent of amusement in Veynor¡¯s eyes was unmistakable. "Oh, don¡¯t worry, Uwe. I¡¯m not interested in your feelings about her. It¡¯s a business decision. After all, I always make the right investments."


    Uwe¡¯s anger hit. He didn¡¯t wait another second. With a guttural roar, he surged forward, his fist swinging with a force that cracked the very air around him. The punch landed squarely on Veynor¡¯s chest, sending him flying through another stone wall, deeper into the underground ruins.


    Veynor groaned from the rubble, his body half-buried beneath the collapsed stone. The impact had sent shockwaves through the ancient ruins, and dust still hung heavy in the air. Yet, despite the pain, he let out a low chuckle, his voice echoing in the dimly lit cavern.


    Uwe cracked his knuckles, stepping forward with slow, deliberate steps. His red and blue eyes gleamed with barely contained fury. ¡°Stand up,¡± he ordered, his voice sharp as steel. ¡°Your mouth needs a little teaching before talking about juvenile stuff.¡±


    Veynor exhaled sharply, pushing himself upright. He dusted off his coat, wincing slightly but still grinning like he was enjoying this. ¡°Juvenile?¡± he mused, tilting his head. ¡°Oh, You act so high and mighty, but deep down, you know I¡¯m right. Power is what decides everything. You could pretend all you want, but the strong always take, and the wea¡ª¡±


    He didn¡¯t get to finish.


    Uwe closed the distance in a blink, his fist smashing into Veynor¡¯s face with bone-rattling force. The air cracked with the impact as Veynor was launched backwards, skidding across the stone floor before slamming into another crumbling pillar.


    This time, he didn¡¯t laugh right away. Blood dripped from his nose, and he wiped it away, his golden eyes narrowing. ¡°Heh¡­ Alright, I¡¯ll admit, that one hurt.¡±


    Uwe rolled his shoulders, his expression dark. ¡°Good. There¡¯s more where that came from.¡±


    Veynor pushed himself up, rolling his neck with an audible pop. Then, with a sharp exhale, his smirk returned. ¡°Then, by all means,¡± he said, arms open, ¡°teach me.¡±


    Uwe didn¡¯t need to be told twice. With another surge forward, the battle resumed¡ªmore brutal than before, shaking the underground ruins to their very foundations.


    The underground ruin trembled with the force of battle. Stone crumbled from the ceilings, and the air was thick with dust and the deafening echoes of steel clashing against unseen force.


    Adrek moved like a storm, his two massive Montante swords carving through the air with deadly precision. His strikes were relentless¡ªeach swing carrying enough force to cleave through solid rock. Yet, no matter how fast or how fiercely he attacked, his blades never met flesh. Instead, they were intercepted mid-air by something invisible, a force beyond sight but undeniable in strength.


    Harriet stood firm, his golden eyes gleaming in the flickering light, his unseen hands parrying every brutal strike effortlessly. Adrek gritted his teeth, stepping back for just a moment before lunging again, his twin swords sweeping in a deadly arc.


    CLANG!


    The sound reverberated as Harriet¡¯s spectral hands deflected the attack once more. Then, with terrifying speed, Harriet countered.


    A barrage of fists rained down on Adrek. The unseen force struck like a hurricane¡ªfist after fist slamming into his body, ribs, shoulders, chest, and gut. Each impact sent shockwaves ripping through the air, cracking the stone beneath their feet, distorting the very atmosphere around them.


    BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!


    The pressure was suffocating. Adrek¡¯s breath was forced from his lungs as he staggered back, his body jolting under the relentless assault. His vision blurred, blood pooling in his mouth from the internal damage. But even as Harriet¡¯s onslaught seemed unstoppable, Adrek refused to go down.


    Harriet¡¯s hands shot forward, unseen fingers wrapping around Adrek¡¯s throat like the grip of death itself. He squeezed. Hard.


    For a moment, it seemed like this would be the end. Adrek''s body trembled, his feet barely touching the ground as the force lifted him. The air around his throat warped under the pressure, his breath hitching as the invisible grip tightened. His vision darkened, veins straining against his skin. His swords dropped slightly from his hands.


    Yet, despite it all¡ªdespite the terror pressing into his windpipe, despite the violent tremors racking his body¡ªAdrek¡¯s lips curled into a wild grin.


    Then¡ª


    SLAM!


    His boots dug into the ground, his muscles flexing like coiled steel. In an instant, his swords shot up, and the very moment Harriet attempted to crush his throat completely¡ª


    SNAP!


    With raw, monstrous strength, Adrek wrenched himself free from the invisible grasp, twisting his body in a blur. A single step, and he was behind Harriet, one montante blade crashing down with the force of a landslide.


    Meanwhile, in the background¡ªchaos erupted on an even greater scale.


    Jelle and Hauke clashed with Barbel, and their battle was nothing short of cataclysmic.


    Jelle¡¯s wooden sword, though seemingly humble, carved through the air like a divine instrument, each swing tearing through the battlefield with crushing force. Hauke danced through the destruction, his blade moving like the wind, slicing through anything in its path.


    And then there was Barbel.


    Standing amidst the carnage, her long coat billowed like a specter¡¯s shroud, her intricate silver embroidery catching the faint glow of the underground ruins. A single wave of her hand sent shockwaves spiraling outward, turning solid stone into dust, and sending shattered debris flying like bullets. She did not falter. She did not retreat.


    BOOM!


    The entire cavern trembled. Rubble fell from above. Columns collapsed.


    Barbel raised her hand, explosion crackling through the air like a living storm, and with a single flick of her wrist, she sent a colossal surge of shockwave barreling toward Jelle and Hauke¡ª


    The battlefield was a maelstrom of destruction, and amidst it all, Harriet and Adrek were locked in a deadly clash, neither willing to yield.


    As the cavern trembled from the chaos of battle, Adrek''s body suddenly convulsed, his muscles bulging unnaturally. A sickening crack echoed through the underground, followed by the grotesque sound of flesh and bone twisting and tearing. From his back, two new arms ripped their way into existence¡ªveins pulsing, fingers twitching as if testing their newfound freedom.


    Harriet''s golden eyes widened. What¡ª


    Before he could react, Adrek lunged, his four arms moving like a whirlwind. Two montante blades swung in unison, while his newly formed arms struck out with raw, brutal force. The sheer speed of his assault shattered the ground beneath him, sending dust and debris flying.


    Harriet barely had time to throw up his unseen hands.


    CLANG! CLANG! BOOM!


    The collision sent out a shockwave so strong that it blasted away loose rubble, carving deep fissures into the earth. Harriet gritted his teeth as he strained against the overwhelming pressure. Even with his telekinetic force holding the blades back, Adrek¡¯s monstrous strength was undeniable. His strikes were heavier, faster¡ªutterly relentless.


    ¡°You thought you had me figured out?¡± Adrek sneered, his voice laced with savage glee. ¡°You think those little phantom hands can stop me now?!¡±


    His newly formed fists shot forward. Harriet blocked the first, but the second slipped past his guard¡ª


    BAM!


    A fist drove into Harriet¡¯s stomach like a sledgehammer, sending him flying backwards, crashing through a pillar. He gasped as the impact forced the air from his lungs. But before he could recover, Adrek was already upon him, his four arms moving like a beast possessed.


    Harriet barely dodged as twin blades carved through the air, missing his throat by inches. He twisted, unseen hands pulling at the earth to launch himself upward. But Adrek¡¯s extra limbs gave him a terrifying advantage¡ªone sword still swinging while the other arms reached out and¡ª


    SNAP!


    Adrek grabbed Harriet by the ankle.


    With a triumphant snarl, he slammed Harriet into the ground.


    BOOM!


    The impact cratered the stone beneath them. Dust and shattered rock exploded outward. Harriet coughed, pain flaring through his body. But even as Adrek raised him again for another devastating blow, Harriet¡¯s golden eyes burned.


    Not yet.


    His unseen hands lashed out.


    In an instant, dozens of spectral fists hammered into Adrek¡¯s body from every direction. His ribs cracked. His muscles screamed under the assault. Yet, through it all¡ªthrough the brutal barrage¡ªAdrek laughed.


    Adrek¡¯s grip tightened around Harriet¡¯s ankle, his monstrous strength threatening to shatter bone. But just as he swung Harriet down for another devastating impact, Harriet''s unseen hands burst outward like a shockwave.


    BOOM!


    The sheer force of the telekinetic blast sent Adrek skidding backwards, his four arms instinctively guarding his face. Harriet flipped midair, twisting like a phantom, and landed gracefully on the cracked stone floor, golden eyes burning with fierce determination.


    Adrek let out a sharp breath, flexing his new limbs. ¡°Clever.¡± He rolled his shoulders, his extra arms twitching. ¡°But that was your last trick, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    Harriet didn¡¯t answer. Instead, his unseen hands coiled around him like a storm, the air itself trembling from the sheer force of his will.


    Adrek smirked and surged forward, twin Montante blades carving through the air like scythes of death. Harriet dodged left, but Adrek¡¯s new arms lashed out with brute strength, aiming to crush him.


    WHAM!


    Harriet ducked under the blow, his spectral hands pushing against the ground, launching himself up and over Adrek¡¯s shoulder. Midair, Harriet twisted and unleashed a devastating barrage of telekinetic fists, each strike hitting like a cannonball.


    BAM! BAM! BAM!


    Adrek staggered, his chest caving under the relentless blows. But instead of falling, he grinned.


    "Not bad," he said, blood dripping from his mouth. Then, with terrifying speed, he whipped one of his blades backwards.


    Harriet barely had time to react¡ª


    SHINK!


    A thin cut appeared across his cheek.


    A single drop of blood fell.


    Adrek¡¯s grin widened. "You bleed."


    Harriet¡¯s jaw clenched.


    Then the cavern shook.


    In the background, Jelle and Hauke clashed with Barbel, their battle an all-out war of destruction. Blades flashed, the very walls cracked under their attacks, and the sheer force of their fight sent shockwaves through the whole ruins.


    But Harriet had no time to look.


    Adrek roared and charged again.


    And Harriet met him head-on.

 Chapter 14: Dear Obsession (III)

    Within the dark tunnel, Liselotte¡¯s fire bunnies glowed brightly, and the battle went on. Shadows danced across the ancient stone walls as Geschicht and Lucienne clashed, their movements a blur of steel and fire.


    Lucienne had been relentless, dodging every strike with unnatural speed, her montante carving through the air like a reaper¡¯s scythe. But amidst the flurry of slashes, Geschicht saw an opening¡ªone Liselotte had created. The fire bunnies swarmed around Lucienne, their embers flickering in unpredictable patterns, forcing her to adjust her footing.


    In that moment, Geschicht surged forward. His fist connected with Lucienne¡¯s face¡ªa solid, resounding impact. For the first time, she staggered.


    Lucienne staggered back, her sharp green eyes widening as her fingertips grazed the smudged ruin of her once-pristine makeup. The moment she felt the uneven texture¡ªmarred, imperfect, stolen¡ªher breath hitched. A tremor ran through her frame, her grip tightening on her montante as a shadow flickered across her face.


    ¡°Imbecile¡­!¡± Her voice quivered between a whisper and a snarl, venom laced in every syllable. ¡°You ruined my face¡ªmy image!¡± She wiped at the soot-streaked cheek, but no amount of effort could erase the damage. No, it was deeper than that. It was a theft of her perfection, her rightful beauty, her undeniable superiority.


    Her thoughts twisted, spiraling. She saw reflections in the dim firelight¡ªdistorted, mocking, unworthy. Their faces blurred into a single shape: a girl who had taken everything from her. The flickering light played tricks on her mind, molding Liselotte¡¯s features into something familiar yet infuriatingly out of reach.


    Lucienne¡¯s grip tightened, envy seething beneath her skin. No, it wasn¡¯t just this girl¡ªit was what she represented. A life Lucienne should have had. A place that should have been hers.


    Her lips curled, but her smile held no warmth. Only a fragile, fractured pride clinging desperately to itself. "You think yourself above me?" she whispered, voice trembling with something raw. "You, with your tricks, your pathetic creatures, your stolen light?"


    Liselotte frowned, shifting uncomfortably. She had no idea what Lucienne was talking about. This wasn¡¯t a battle she understood.


    ¡°¡­It¡¯s not stolen,¡± Liselotte said softly, clutching her small bundle close. The flickering glow of her fire bunnies reflected in her gentle eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you mean, but I don¡¯t want to fight you like this.¡±


    "Shut up!" Lucienne''s shriek echoed through the tunnel, a jagged crack in the darkness. "I am above you! I always have been! And I will cut you down if I have to¡ªuntil there¡¯s nothing left to cast a shadow over me!"


    Her montante whistled through the air, cutting straight toward Liselotte.


    Lucienne¡¯s montante came down with terrifying force. It wasn¡¯t a warrior¡¯s strike, clean and measured¡ªit was pure, unrelenting fury, sharpened into steel. Geschicht barely raised his sword in time, the impact sending a violent tremor through his arms. His feet slid back against the stone floor, and a sharp ringing filled his ears.


    Too slow. Too unrefined. Too inexperienced.


    Lucienne¡¯s lips curled. ¡°Pathetic.¡±


    She twisted her blade and forced him back, her strikes relentless. Every swing was a test of Geschicht¡¯s balance, every clash a battle against her overwhelming power. She wasn¡¯t just fighting¡ªshe was breaking him down, piece by piece, tearing apart any semblance of technique he tried to maintain.


    But before Lucienne could press her advantage, a cluster of fire bunnies leapt between them, their molten bodies igniting the space with flickering embers. They swarmed toward her, their tiny forms glowing like miniature stars, forcing her to sidestep.


    "You''re in my way!" Lucienne snarled, slashing through several of them. The fire bunnies burst into sparks, their warmth licking at her blade.


    "Then stop attacking my friend," Liselotte countered, her voice firm despite the tension in her shoulders. More fire bunnies emerged from her bundle, forming a protective ring around her and Geschicht.


    Lucienne¡¯s eyes¡ªsharp and green like fractured emeralds¡ªtwitched. That voice. That tone. It felt too much like someone¡ªlike the ghost of someone she swore had stolen everything from her.


    "You don''t know, do you?" Lucienne breathed, stepping forward, ignoring the heat of the flames brushing against her arms. "You pretend like you¡¯re clueless, like you don¡¯t understand the weight of what you have. But it¡¯s always people like you¡ªsmiling, naive, lucky beyond measure¡ªthat stand above us!"


    Liselotte hesitated, gripping her bundle tighter. "I don''t¡ª"


    "I could have been like you!" Lucienne¡¯s voice cracked, and she lunged.


    Her blade cut through the firelight, heading straight for Liselotte. Before it could connect¡ª


    Clang!


    Geschicht intercepted the strike, his sword locking against Lucienne¡¯s with a sharp, jarring screech of metal. He pushed forward, sweat forming on his brow. His grip was strong, but his form was unsteady.


    Lucienne noticed immediately.


    She adjusted her stance, forcing him off balance, her footwork swift and calculated. The moment Geschicht faltered, she twisted and slammed her pommel into his ribs. He gasped, his sword nearly slipping from his grasp.


    ¡°Geschicht!¡± Liselotte¡¯s fire bunnies surged forward in response, weaving between him and Lucienne. Their flames mimicked the flow of a masterful swordsman¡¯s movements¡ªguiding Geschicht¡¯s blade, counterbalancing his weaknesses.


    Lucienne scoffed. "So you''re relying on others to make up for your failure?"


    Geschicht steadied himself, his breath ragged. "Call it whatever you want," he muttered, adjusting his grip. He wasn¡¯t going to be outmatched so easily.


    Lucienne¡¯s expression darkened. "Then die a failure."


    She vanished.


    In a blink, she was above him, descending with an overhead slash, her body twisting midair. Geschicht raised his sword just in time to meet her, but the impact was so strong it nearly sent him to his knees. His arms burned from the force, but he held firm.


    Lucienne¡¯s grin stretched wider. ¡°Let¡¯s see how long you last.¡±


    She rained down blows, each one precise and punishing. Geschicht tried to hold his ground, but his lack of technique showed¡ªhis parries sloppy, his reactions a half-second too late. Lucienne was faster, stronger, and she knew it.


    Then, Liselotte whispered something under her breath.


    Her fire bunnies moved.


    They darted in and out of Geschicht¡¯s vision, weaving around his arms, his sword¡ªteaching him. His blade followed their movements, parrying where they guided, slashing where they urged.


    Lucienne¡¯s eyes narrowed.


    Geschicht¡¯s footwork smoothed. His grip adjusted. The openings she had seen before? Gone.


    Liselotte clenched her fists, focusing. ¡°Keep moving, Geschicht,¡± she whispered, her voice barely above the crackling of flames. "You''re not fighting alone."


    Lucienne clicked her tongue.


    She kicked off the ground, disappearing again¡ªthis time reappearing behind Liselotte.


    Geschicht barely had time to react. ¡°Liselotte¡ª!¡±


    Lucienne¡¯s blade came down¡ª


    And a pillar of fire erupted between them.


    Lucienne stumbled back, shielding her eyes. Liselotte¡¯s fire bunnies burned brighter than ever, forming a defensive barrier that even Lucienne hesitated to cross.


    ¡°You talk like you¡¯ve lost something,¡± Liselotte said softly, stepping forward. ¡°Like you think I stole something from you. But I don¡¯t even know who you are.¡±


    Lucienne¡¯s fingers trembled against her sword hilt. ¡°You don¡¯t get to say that.¡±


    ¡°¡­Maybe not,¡± Liselotte admitted, ¡°but I do know one thing.¡±


    Lucienne tensed.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to be alone either.¡±


    Lucienne froze.


    The words struck something deep within her. A memory she didn¡¯t want. A reality she refused to face.


    Her breath hitched. For the first time, uncertainty flickered across her sharp green eyes.


    And that hesitation¡ªwas all Geschicht needed.


    He stepped forward, blade in motion, aiming for Lucienne¡¯s exposed side.


    Lucienne''s instincts kicked in.


    Clang!


    She twisted her sword at the last second, parrying Geschicht¡¯s strike with a sharp deflection. Sparks flared between them as she slid back, adjusting her stance. Geschicht, emboldened by Liselotte¡¯s fire bunnies, pressed forward, his blade following the guidance of the flickering flames.


    Lucienne met each swing with mechanical precision, her movements still sharper, still faster¡ªbut something was off. The way the boy fought, the way his blade weaved through the air¡ªit wasn¡¯t skill. It was unnatural. The fire bunnies were making up for his lack of training, and for the first time in a long while, she wasn¡¯t in control of the fight.


    Her lips curled into a bitter sneer. ¡°You don¡¯t even know what you¡¯re doing, do you?¡± She deflected another blow, shifting her weight. The fire was teaching him¡ªcompensating for his weakness. ¡°You¡¯re nothing without the others.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re nothing without your anger,¡± Liselotte interjected, stepping between them.


    Lucienne''s breath hitched.


    Liselotte¡¯s fire bunnies circled them, their warmth dancing across the cold tunnel walls. Their light reflected in Lucienne¡¯s sharp green eyes, illuminating the deep-set fury within them.


    Liselotte¡¯s voice was soft, yet unwavering. ¡°You don¡¯t have to fight us. You don¡¯t have to fight at all.¡±


    Lucienne clicked her tongue. ¡°I don¡¯t need your pity.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not pitying you.¡± Liselotte shook her head. ¡°I just¡­ I don¡¯t understand. You act like I stole something from you. Like you¡¯re fighting to take it back. But I don¡¯t even know what it is.¡±


    Lucienne¡¯s grip tightened on her sword. ¡°Of course, you don¡¯t.¡±


    Geschicht took a step forward, his sword still at the ready, but Liselotte lifted a hand to stop him. She took another slow breath, watching the way Lucienne¡¯s fingers twitched, the way her stance faltered¡ªnot with exhaustion, but with hesitation.


    Lucienne exhaled sharply, as if forcing the words out.


    ¡°I could have joined the Ident Order.¡±


    The admission hung in the air, sharp and unexpected.


    Liselotte and Geschicht both hesitated, but Lucienne wasn¡¯t looking at them anymore. Her gaze was distant, like she was seeing something neither of them could.


    ¡°¡­But I didn¡¯t,¡± she muttered, gripping her sword tighter. ¡°Because I knew what it meant. It meant giving up control. It meant playing by their rules.¡± Her voice twisted into a growl. ¡°It meant becoming like you.¡±


    Liselotte frowned. ¡°Like me?¡±


    Lucienne¡¯s eyes snapped back to her, blazing with resentment. ¡°Perfect. Untouched. Blessed with everything.¡±


    The next moment, she was lunging again.


    Geschicht barely raised his sword in time, the impact rattling his bones. The fire bunnies reacted instantly, guiding his blade into a counterstrike¡ªbut Lucienne anticipated it. She sidestepped, slashing low. Geschicht barely twisted away in time, the tip of her montante grazing his coat.


    ¡°Why do you get to be the one standing there?¡± Lucienne spat, dodging another fiery rabbit lunging toward her. ¡°Why do people like you get to be protected?¡±


    Liselotte took a step closer, ignoring the fire bunnies shifting around her like protective spirits. ¡°Lucienne, I don¡¯t know what happened to you, but I¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t act like you care!¡± Lucienne¡¯s voice cracked as she swung again, her blade clashing with Geschicht¡¯s.


    The force sent him skidding backwards, but he didn¡¯t fall. The fire bunnies caught him.


    Lucienne glared at him, breathless. ¡°You don¡¯t deserve this. You don¡¯t deserve to win.¡±


    Geschicht steadied himself, lifting his sword again. He didn¡¯t know what to say. He didn¡¯t understand her grudge, her pain. But he wasn¡¯t going to back down.


    Liselotte, however, did understand one thing.


    ¡°You¡¯re afraid,¡± she said.


    Lucienne froze.


    Liselotte met her sharp green eyes, unwavering. ¡°You¡¯re afraid that if you stop fighting, you¡¯ll have nothing left.¡±


    The words dug deep. Too deep.


    Lucienne''s fingers twitched. Her heart pounded.


    And for just a moment¡ªthe firelight flickered in her shaking pupils.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Lucienne¡¯s breath hitched. She grit her teeth, forcing herself to move, to push past the feeling clawing up her throat.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need your nonsense.¡±


    She lunged.


    Geschicht raised his sword, but Lucienne was faster. She twisted mid-air, angling her montante in a downward arc meant to cleave straight through him¡ª


    FWOOOM!


    Fire flared in her path.


    A wall of flames, conjured by Liselotte¡¯s fire bunnies, forced her to halt mid-strike. She barely twisted away in time, her coat singing at the edges as she landed on the stone floor, her boots skidding against the dust.


    Liselotte watched her, her expression soft, but firm. ¡°You¡¯re still fighting like you have something to prove.¡±


    Lucienne exhaled sharply, adjusting her grip. ¡°And what? You fight because you think you¡¯re better than me?¡±


    Liselotte shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯m better than you.¡±


    ¡°Liar.¡± Lucienne spat the word like venom. That kind, pitying look¡ªthe way her voice dripped with sympathy, like she thought she could fix her. As if she could understand.


    Liselotte took a step forward, unfazed by the burning resentment in Lucienne¡¯s eyes. ¡°I fight because I want to protect the people around me.¡± She gestured toward Geschicht, who steadied himself beside her. ¡°Because they matter to me.¡±


    Lucienne scoffed. ¡°And I don¡¯t matter, huh?¡±


    Liselotte hesitated for half a second, then shook her head again. ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant. You matter too.¡±


    Liselotte continued, her voice gentle but unwavering. ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened to you, but I know you¡¯re hurting.¡±


    Lucienne¡¯s fingers trembled against the hilt of her sword.


    She would not let those words get to her. With a growl, she charged again.


    Geschicht¡¯s sword shot up in response, guided by the fire bunnies¡ªbut Lucienne adapted. She shifted her stance, sidestepping the flames, her sword flashing in retaliation.


    Steel clashed against steel.


    Sparks flew.


    Liselotte moved alongside them, sending her fire bunnies to shield Geschicht when he faltered. Lucienne weaved through the attacks with terrifying agility, but the fire was getting harder to dodge.


    She grit her teeth.


    Liselotte wasn¡¯t fighting to win.


    She was fighting to understand.


    Lucienne hated it. She hated all of it.


    ¡°Why?¡± she snarled, slashing furiously. ¡°Why are you even talking to me like this?¡±


    Liselotte sent another fire bunny flying toward her. Lucienne dodged, but her movements were slowing.


    ¡°Because you don¡¯t deserve to be alone,¡± Liselotte said simply.


    Lucienne¡¯s breath caught.


    For a single second, her sword wavered.


    Geschicht struck.


    Not a lethal blow¡ªbut a clean hit. His blade, wrapped in fiery light, clashed against her own and sent her skidding back. She barely caught herself on one knee, panting, gripping her sword with shaking fingers.


    ¡°Damn it.¡±


    She was losing.


    Not because they were stronger. But because Liselotte¡¯s words were sinking in.


    Because, for the first time in years, Lucienne didn¡¯t know if she wanted to keep fighting.


    Lucienne clenched her jaw, her breathing ragged as her grip trembled against the hilt of her sword.


    Then¡ª


    BOOM!


    A wall exploded beside her. Dust and shattered stone burst into the air, and before she could even react¡ª


    A fist shot through the rubble, stopping just inches from her face.


    Veynor emerged from the wreckage, stepping forward with slow, deliberate steps, his hand still raised in the air, as if he had planned this entrance for maximum effect. His sharp green eyes gleamed with something dark¡ªnot concern, not anger, but amusement.


    His lips curled into a smirk.


    ¡°What?¡± he said, tilting his head. ¡°You¡¯re going to give up now? Because of a few words?¡±


    Lucienne¡¯s breath hitched.


    The way he said it. Like he was mocking her.


    Like he knew exactly how deep Liselotte¡¯s words had cut.


    He clicked his tongue. ¡°Tch. And here I thought you had more fight in you. Didn¡¯t you say you wanted to reclaim what was stolen from you? To prove you belong at the top?¡±


    Lucienne¡¯s grip tightened.


    Veynor chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°Ah, I see. So all it took was a couple of soft little speeches from a bleeding heart, and suddenly, you¡¯re doubting yourself?¡± His voice dripped with condescension, but there was something else lurking underneath¡ªsomething venomous, something calculated.


    Lucienne stiffened.


    ¡°Shut up,¡± she spat, rising to her feet.


    Veynor grinned. ¡°That¡¯s more like it.¡±


    On the other side of the battlefield¡ª


    "Those damn Proximal Phalax are too annoying to deal with."


    A voice¡ªcalm, yet laced with irritation¡ªechoed from behind Liselotte and Geschicht.


    Uwe stepped out from the shadows, dusting off his coat like he had just finished a mildly inconvenient chore. His mismatched eyes¡ªone red, one blue¡ªflicked toward the two of them, assessing, calculating.


    ¡°Glad to see you two are doing fine,¡± he said, his tone casual. Too casual. He leaned slightly toward Geschicht. ¡°And don¡¯t worry about Harriet. He¡¯s holding his ground just fine against a Proximal Phalax.¡±


    Geschicht¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°How do you know?¡±


    Uwe merely smiled, tilting his head.


    ¡°I have my ways.¡±


    Geschicht frowned.


    Liselotte, still tense from Lucienne¡¯s presence, turned toward him. ¡°And what about you?¡± she asked. ¡°Are you fine?¡±


    Uwe blinked.


    Then, he laughed. A short, sharp chuckle.


    ¡°I think you should be more concerned about yourselves,¡± he said, jerking his head toward Lucienne and Veynor. And with that, he cracked his knuckles, his mismatched eyes gleaming.


    Uwe¡¯s mismatched eyes gleamed in the dim light of the fire bunnies, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.


    "You bastards are trying to get your hands on a piece of [The Great Artist''s Corpse], aren¡¯t you?"


    His words dripped with accusation, filled with something deeper than mere anger¡ªdisgust, loathing.


    Veynor, standing tall despite the dust and debris around him, merely chuckled. He rolled his shoulders, flexing his fingers as if shaking off the tension.


    "Looks like punching you through layers of tunnels wasn''t the smartest move on my part." His voice carried its usual smugness, but there was an edge to it now.


    Uwe''s expression darkened. His fists clenched. The audacity. The sheer arrogance.


    ¡°Sacrificing people for an object of power¡­¡± Uwe exhaled sharply, his tone laced with fury. ¡°Damned Clock Hand.¡±


    And then¡ªhe moved.


    Faster than a blink.


    A blur of motion.


    Before Veynor could react, a fist crashed into his face.


    The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the stone beneath them. The force behind Uwe¡¯s punch didn¡¯t just knock Veynor down¡ªit drove him to the ground.


    Crack!


    The floor splintered under the sheer power of the blow. Cracks spiderwebbed outward in all directions. The entire tunnel shuddered from the force.


    And just as the ground gave way beneath them, Uwe smirked.


    His body hovered for a fraction of a second, weightless in the collapse.


    He turned his head, locking eyes with Liselotte one last time.


    "Continue your business, little Lise," he called out over the roar of crumbling stone. His voice was steady, and confident. "You got this."


    And then¡ª


    They fell.


    The moment gravity took hold, their fists met in midair.


    Boom!


    A shockwave rippled through the air as they traded blows, their bodies twisting and contorting mid-fall. The collapsing debris around them became part of the battlefield¡ªchunks of stone and dust whirled around them as they struck, dodged, and countered each other.


    Uwe threw a devastating right hook¡ªVeynor barely tilted his head in time, letting the fist skim past his jaw. In retaliation, he twisted his body and delivered a spinning kick toward Uwe¡¯s ribs.


    Crack!


    The impact sent Uwe hurtling toward a falling boulder, but he twisted midair, kicking off the rock and launching himself straight back at Veynor. His red and blue eyes flashed, focused.


    Veynor sneered. "You are impressive, but you can¡¯t beat me in free fall."


    "You talk too damn much." Uwe shot back.


    Another exchange¡ªfist meeting fist, knuckles colliding with bone.


    For every hit Uwe landed, Veynor retaliated with precision. The difference was, that Uwe fought with raw instinct, pure experience. Veynor analyzed, and calculated.


    As they fell deeper into the ruins, the glow of Liselotte¡¯s fire bunnies above them faded, replaced by the eerie, cold blue light of something unknown below.


    The ground was rushing up fast.


    But neither stopped.


    The moment they hit the ground, the entire chamber shook with impact¡ªcracks splintered across the stone floor, dust exploded outward, and debris rained down from above.


    Yet, neither of them took any damage.


    Uwe stood up, rolling his shoulders as if he had just stepped off a ledge rather than plummeted through countless layers of rock. His red and blue eyes gleamed in the dim light. "Hmph. That''s all you got?"


    Veynor straightened his back, brushing dust off his clothes with an eerie calmness. "Of course not." His voice carried its usual smooth arrogance, but there was a glint of something else in his gaze¡ªcalculation, an assessment of Uwe¡¯s worth.


    Uwe cracked his knuckles. "Figured as much. Someone like you? You don¡¯t throw your real hand right away. You¡¯re always holding something back¡ªjust like you hoard everything else, huh?"


    Veynor¡¯s smirk twitched, but he didn¡¯t deny it. Instead, he took a slow step forward. "Everything has value, Uwe. And I don¡¯t waste assets." His eyes gleamed as he added, "Including strength."


    Uwe¡¯s fist clenched at that. "You really think everything is something you can collect? Count? Store away like gold in a vault?" His voice was low, dangerous.


    Veynor tilted his head, considering. "What else would it be?"


    Uwe didn¡¯t respond with words. He launched forward¡ªfast.


    Veynor anticipated it, his own body shifting into motion. Their fists collided once more, and the underground rumbled with the sheer force of their clash.


    Uwe¡¯s fists burned with sheer force. Veynor met him with equal intensity, his movements refined and efficient, each counterstrike calculated.


    Neither held back.


    Veynor twisted his body at the last second, dodging a devastating punch aimed straight for his ribs. In the same motion, he swung his leg upward, aiming for Uwe¡¯s chin.


    Uwe barely managed to tilt his head back, missing the kick by inches.


    But Veynor was relentless¡ªhe followed up with a sharp palm strike, trying to drive it into Uwe¡¯s chest.


    Uwe caught it. His fingers closed around Veynor¡¯s wrist like an iron vice, his grip tightening. "Too slow."


    Veynor¡¯s smirk didn¡¯t fade. "Is that so?"


    Suddenly, his other fist shot forward, landing a crushing blow right against Uwe¡¯s side. The force sent a ripple through Uwe¡¯s body, but he didn¡¯t let go. Instead, he twisted Veynor¡¯s arm, attempting to flip him over his shoulder.


    Veynor let it happen.


    But instead of hitting the ground, he used the momentum, flipping midair and landing on his feet effortlessly.


    "Not bad," Veynor admitted, rolling his shoulder. "But brute force alone won¡¯t be enough."


    Uwe smirked, wiping the side of his mouth. "Maybe not. But I like to hit first and think later."


    The two of them rushed at each other again¡ªfists clashing, dodging, countering. The underground chamber was nothing but a blur of movement and destruction.


    Uwe sent a punch straight at Veynor¡¯s face.


    Veynor ducked.


    He retaliated with a sharp elbow strike to Uwe¡¯s stomach.


    Uwe absorbed the blow, gritting his teeth, then grabbed Veynor¡¯s collar and lifted him off the ground before slamming him into the stone floor with enough force to create a crater.


    The entire cavern shook.


    Veynor coughed, dust filling the air around him. But he laughed. "Impressive. But¡­"


    He suddenly grabbed Uwe¡¯s arm, unnaturally twisting his body. With a sickening crack, he maneuvered himself free and immediately drove his knee into Uwe¡¯s ribs.


    Uwe stumbled back¡ªjust a step.


    Veynor¡¯s eyes gleamed. "Tell me something, Uwe. Why do you fight so hard? What do you even believe in?"


    As the dust settled from their latest clash, Uwe rolled his shoulders, his red and blue eyes locking onto Veynor with unwavering conviction. He exhaled sharply, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips.


    "You don''t get it, do you?" Uwe said, cracking his knuckles. "I believe in my leader. Jelle¡¯s not just some captain barking orders¡ªshe¡¯s someone worth following. Someone who actually sees people."


    Veynor scoffed, brushing rubble off his coat. "You put too much stock in your so-called leader. Leaders, followers¡­ all just assets. You should know that by now."


    Uwe¡¯s jaw clenched. "Yeah? Well, I wasn¡¯t always someone who belonged anywhere. You know how I ended up with Jelle?" He let out a chuckle, shaking his head. "I was causing a ruckus in front of the Jester Association. Thought I had a knack for it, figured if I exposed enough secrets, they¡¯d take me in. I was shouting everything I knew¡ªwho was cheating on who, who was planning to backstab their boss, all the dirt I had."


    Veynor smirked. "And let me guess, they didn¡¯t appreciate the competition?"


    "Not one damn bit." Uwe laughed dryly. "They were about to tear me apart¡ªsome of them for fun, some because I was bad for business. And honestly? I didn¡¯t care. I was ready to take the beating. But then she showed up."


    His expression softened, the usual mischief in his eyes replaced with something steadier. "Jelle just walked into that mess like she already owned the place. Didn¡¯t flinch, didn¡¯t hesitate. She took one look at me¡ªsome dumb kid who thought running his mouth would get him somewhere¡ªand she said, ¡®You talk too much. But at least you don¡¯t lie.¡¯"


    Veynor tilted his head. "And that meant something to you?"


    Uwe''s grin widened. "Damn right it did. She didn¡¯t scold me. Didn¡¯t pity me. She just got it. She saw something in me when nobody else did. And she made me want to be better. That¡¯s why I follow her. Not because she¡¯s strong, not because she¡¯s in charge¡ªbut because she doesn¡¯t just lead. She believes in the people she takes in. And that¡¯s more than you or your damned Clock Hand will ever understand."


    The moment Uwe finished speaking, Veynor lunged forward, his fist slicing through the air like a hammer seeking to shatter stone. Uwe barely ducked in time, feeling the rush of displaced air graze his hair. He countered with a sharp jab to Veynor¡¯s ribs, but the man barely flinched. Instead, he grinned.


    "You look just like a valuable asset like me," Veynor sneered, stepping forward with relentless force. "And yet you stay damned. You should have continued to be a dog like before."


    Uwe scoffed, dodging another strike. "A dog, huh? That what you think I was?"


    Veynor feinted left before swinging his fist straight at Uwe¡¯s gut. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the cavern, stone cracking beneath their feet. Uwe barely managed to roll with the force, skidding back but staying on his feet.


    "You were a stray," Veynor continued, his voice steady, analytical. "Starving, desperate, sniffing around for scraps of recognition. The Jester Association rejected you, so you wagged your tail for the next person who threw you a bone. And now you bark on command for your precious Jelle." His deep-set hazel eyes gleamed with amusement. "You think she saved you? No, she tamed you."


    Uwe wiped his mouth, a flicker of blood staining the back of his glove. He let out a short, bitter laugh. "You¡¯re really full of it, huh? You think just because you own things, you understand them?" His fists tightened. "Jelle didn¡¯t tame me. She gave me a choice. And I made one."


    Veynor¡¯s expression twitched, just for a moment, before his smirk returned. "A choice?" He chuckled. "Oh, Uwe. There¡¯s no such thing. You¡¯re either the one in control, or you¡¯re being used. And right now, you¡¯re just another piece on Jelle¡¯s board. Another asset she can spend however she likes."


    Uwe¡¯s teeth clenched and lunged. His fist connected with Veynor¡¯s face with a sickening crack, sending him stumbling back. But before Veynor could recover, Uwe was already on him. A flurry of punches rained down, each one carrying the weight of years spent clawing his way out of the hole he¡¯d once been in.


    "You don¡¯t get it," Uwe spat, his breath heavy with exertion. "You think everything¡¯s about control, about hoarding power like some paranoid rat. But you¡¯re alone, Veynor. Always will be. You treat people like things, and that¡¯s why no one¡¯s ever gonna choose you."


    Veynor¡¯s hazel eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them¡ªanger, or perhaps something deeper, something he refused to name. Then, with a sharp twist of his body, he wrenched himself free from Uwe¡¯s grip and delivered a brutal uppercut to his ribs, sending him flying backwards.


    Uwe crashed into the stone wall, cracks spiderwebbing around him. He coughed, but still, he grinned.


    "Hit a nerve, didn¡¯t I?"


    Veynor took a slow, measured breath. His voice was quiet now, but lethal. "You¡¯re a fool, Uwe. One day, you¡¯ll see what happens when you put your trust in people. And when that day comes¡­" He cracked his knuckles. "I¡¯ll be there. Watching."


    Uwe wiped his mouth again, this time laughing outright. "Yeah? Well, if that day ever comes¡ª" He shifted his stance, preparing for another round. "¡ªthen I¡¯ll just have to punch my way out of it, same as always."


    And with that, the fight continued, fists clashing like thunder in the cavernous depths.

 Chapter 15: Dear Obsession (IV)

    Sparks erupted in bursts of light as Harriet¡¯s unseen hands intercepted the relentless strikes of Adrek¡¯s montante swords. But Adrek was no ordinary swordsman¡ªhis four arms moved with terrifying precision, his technique honed to perfection. He was a whirlwind of steel, every motion fluid and efficient, every attack designed to force Harriet into a corner.


    Harriet¡¯s spectral hands blurred around him, blocking and parrying, but Adrek¡¯s coordination was monstrous. He wielded his montantes with an uncanny balance, each set of arms controlling a separate blade in perfect harmony. His upper right arm led one sword in wide, sweeping arcs, dictating the flow of battle like a spear, while his upper left guided precise thrusts and quick slashes to keep Harriet pressured. Meanwhile, his lower arms worked independently¡ªone reinforcing strikes with sudden bursts of power, the other redirecting his momentum, making his attacks seamless and unpredictable.


    Harriet gritted his teeth. Two hands alone would have made Adrek a nightmare. Four made him something else entirely.


    ¡°You¡¯re good,¡± Adrek admitted, his voice eerily calm despite the ferocity of his strikes. ¡°But against me, being good alone won¡¯t be enough.¡±


    One of his montantes curved inward with unnatural force, its sheer reach and momentum threatening to split Harriet in two. Harriet barely twisted away, his unseen hands catching the blade mid-swing¡ªa shockwave rippled outward, cracking the stone beneath their feet. But Adrek was already following up.


    His upper left arm drove a thrust forward, forcing Harriet to evade, while his lower right swung a follow-up slash in a brutal arc, cutting off his escape route. His upper right sword came down like an executioner¡¯s blade, while his lower left arm flipped his grip, turning his montante into a defensive wall against counters. Every motion was efficient, every sword worked independently yet in sync, forming a relentless storm of steel.


    Each strike was calculated, each movement dictating the battle. Adrek¡¯s montantes weren¡¯t just weapons¡ªthey were extensions of his will, carving space, commanding distance, and driving Harriet exactly where he wanted him.


    Harriet¡¯s golden eyes glowed with focus. He unleashed a barrage of punches, his spectral hands hammering into Adrek¡¯s chest and shoulders, sending shockwaves through the cavern.


    The air trembled. Cracks ran along the stone walls. Dust rained down from the ceiling. But Adrek didn¡¯t stagger¡ªhis muscles absorbed the force, his grip never loosening on his weapons.


    Not enough.


    Harriet surged forward, attempting to wrap his unseen hands around Adrek¡¯s throat and choke the air from his lungs. But the moment his grip closed, Adrek¡¯s lower arms shot up and tore Harriet¡¯s spectral hands apart.


    Harriet¡¯s breath hitched.


    Adrek smirked. "You can¡¯t hold me down, boy."


    Then he twisted his body, bringing both montante blades down in a devastating arc. Harriet barely managed to deflect one, but the sheer force of the impact sent him skidding backward. Adrek wasted no time¡ªhe lunged forward again, his four arms working in terrifying harmony.


    Adrek''s montante blades tore through the air like twin storms, and this time, Harriet¡¯s unseen hands weren¡¯t fast enough to deflect them completely. The razor-sharp steel sliced clean through his long sleeves, fabric fluttering in the air like dying embers.


    For a moment, Adrek¡¯s smirk widened in satisfaction. He had landed a decisive blow¡ªsurely the brat''s arms had been severed.


    But then, nothing.


    No blood. No scream. No recoil of pain.


    Just Harriet, standing there, his posture completely unfazed.


    Adrek''s eyes flicked downward. His blades had cut clean through the sleeves, but there was nothing underneath. No wounds. No flesh.


    No arms.


    The realization hit him like a delayed strike, and his expression twisted in confusion. "What¡ª"


    Harriet tilted his head, his golden eyes flashing with quiet amusement. "Did you think you got me?"


    Adrek¡¯s grip on his montantes tightened as he took a step back, reevaluating the situation. "Tch. So that¡¯s how it is." His sharp gaze flickered between Harriet¡¯s shoulders, the way his clothes had always hidden the truth. "You were never fighting with your arms to begin with."


    Harriet¡¯s spectral hands¡ªthe true weapons of his body¡ªflared to life around him. Unseen to normal eyes, but undeniably present, their presence distorted the air like heat waves rising from a sunbaked road.


    "Yeah," Harriet admitted, stepping forward, the ground cracking slightly beneath his feet. "And you know what that means?"


    A ghostly force crushed into Adrek¡¯s chest before he could react, sending him hurtling backward like a cannonball. His four arms barely managed to cross over his body to absorb the brunt of the blow, but the sheer force of it slammed him against a crumbling stone pillar. Dust and rubble exploded outward.


    Harriet exhaled, rolling his neck. "It means you never stood a chance of disarming me in the first place."


    Adrek pulled himself from the wreckage, his expression no longer amused. His four arms flexed, tightening around his blades. "Interesting," he muttered, his smirk returning, though this time, there was a glint of something darker in his eyes.


    Adrek let out a low chuckle, rolling his shoulders as he steadied his stance. The tension in the air was palpable, crackling like a storm about to break. His four arms flexed around the hilts of his montante blades, the edges gleaming under the dim, flickering light of the ruins.


    "So that''s how it is..." His grin widened, his deep-set eyes gleaming with something between exhilaration and bloodlust. "A clash between Singularit?t.¡±


    Adrek¡¯s grin did not falter, but there was a shift in his stance¡ªa decision made in an instant. His four arms loosened their grip, his montante blades lowering just slightly as if the thrill of combat had begun to lose its luster. Then, with an almost disappointed sigh, he spoke.


    "Unfortunately," he said, his voice laced with amusement, "our fun must end here."


    Before Harriet could react, the underground trembled. A blinding explosion of color erupted from the depths of the ruins, casting brilliant hues across the stone walls¡ªred, blue, gold, and green bleeding into one another as if the very air had become the canvas of some long-forgotten artist. The tunnels, once dim and foreboding, were suddenly bathed in ethereal light, shifting and warping like a painter¡¯s brush had swept across reality itself.


    Harriet shielded his eyes from the radiance, his unseen hands tensing as he tried to make sense of the sudden shift in atmosphere.


    Adrek, however, did not hesitate. The moment the colors spread, he moved, dashing backward and then¡ªthrough the rock wall behind him, shattering the stone as if it were nothing but brittle parchment. The rumble of his departure echoed through the ruins like rolling thunder.


    Far from their battlefield, another war still raged.


    Jelle and Hauke¡¯s duel against Barbel had torn apart their surroundings¡ªjagged cracks split across the floor, debris scattered in the air like floating embers, and each clash of steel against steel sent shockwaves through the underground. All three combatants felt the shift¡ªthe unnatural glow that spread across the ruins.


    Jelle¡¯s sharp eyes flicked toward the source of the disturbance. Her instincts screamed at her before her mind fully caught up. She saw Adrek escaping.


    "Hauke!" Jelle called without a moment¡¯s hesitation.


    Hauke reacted instantly, pivoting on his heel and preparing to break into a pursuit. But Barbel would not allow it.


    With a single, almost lazy wave of her hand, the air swelled¡ªa sudden, violent expansion that tore through the battlefield. A massive detonation erupted just before Hauke, the force of the explosion threatening to engulf him whole.


    But Hauke was faster.


    His body moved like a whisper in the wind, weaving through the shockwaves, slipping past the explosion as if he had known the blast was coming before Barbel had even willed it into existence. He never stopped, never hesitated¡ªhis focus locked onto Adrek¡¯s trail.


    Barbel narrowed her eyes, irritation flashing across her face. He had slipped past her.


    "Forgot someone is still here?" Jelle¡¯s voice cut through the air, steady and commanding.


    Barbel barely had a moment to react before Jelle was upon her.


    The wooden sword in Jelle¡¯s grasp struck like a hammer, meeting Barbel¡¯s montante blade with a force that sent sparks flying. The impact rattled through the chamber, and though Jelle¡¯s weapon was mere wood against steel, it did not break.


    Barbel clicked her tongue, forced a step back, and prepared to reposition. But Jelle did not let up.


    Like an unrelenting storm, she pressed forward, her every movement precise, controlled, overwhelming. She cut off every possible escape, her wooden blade moving like an extension of herself¡ªparrying, striking, redirecting.


    She would not let Barbel go anywhere.


    Jelle¡¯s wooden sword moved with a rhythm as effortless as a tree swaying in a gentle spring breeze¡ªfluid, natural, and untethered by hesitation. It weaved through the air with an unpredictable grace, her movements appearing almost carefree, as though she were dancing rather than engaging in battle. But beneath that ease lay a profound mastery, a quiet control that turned every swing into something far more dangerous than it appeared.


    Barbel, in contrast, wielded her montante with sheer force, each strike carrying the weight of raw aggression. She refused to be led by Jelle¡¯s flow, choosing instead to shatter it outright. Her every swing was accompanied by a deafening boom¡ªher power warping the air itself, causing violent bursts of expanding pressure that detonated with each clash of their weapons. The underground trembled under the sheer force of her ability, shockwaves rippling outward as walls cracked and loose stones shattered into dust.


    Yet, despite the overwhelming nature of Barbel¡¯s explosive strikes, Jelle did not falter.


    She moved like a whisper in the storm, letting Barbel¡¯s power flow past her rather than resisting it head-on. Whenever a shockwave threatened to knock her off balance, she simply adjusted¡ªleaning, stepping, turning¡ªusing the force against itself to reposition fluidly. Her wooden sword danced between the explosive gaps, slipping through openings like a leaf carried by the wind.


    And though Barbel raged with relentless power, Jelle kept up effortlessly.


    A little while ago, when Hauke had been by her side, the balance of battle had been no different. Even with his added presence, the rhythm of their fight had remained the same. It was never about overwhelming Barbel¡ªit was about matching her, understanding her, and making sure she never gained full control of the battlefield.


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    Now, alone, Jelle continued as if nothing had changed.


    Her wooden blade and Barbel¡¯s steel clashed again, sending another shockwave rippling through the underground ruins. Dust swirled in the air, the colorful glow from the tunnels casting strange shadows across the battlefield.


    And for now, they seemed perfectly matched.


    As their battle raged on, Jelle and Barbel¡¯s fight became a blur of motion, both darting across the walls of the underground ruins with breathtaking speed. Their blades clashed mid-air, sending sparks flying as shockwaves rippled through the tunnels. Neither one slowed, their footwork precise as they defied gravity, using the crumbling stone surfaces as launching points to keep up their relentless assault.


    Between the echoes of their weapons, Jelle spoke, her voice carrying an almost casual confidence despite the chaos around them.


    "I have eyes on everyone in here. Why don¡¯t you back down and make this easier?"


    Her wooden blade twisted through the air, aiming for Barbel¡¯s side.


    In response, Barbel didn¡¯t speak¡ªshe answered with destruction.


    A sudden boom erupted in front of Jelle¡¯s face, the air violently expanding in an explosion designed to knock her off course. But Jelle was already moving. With a subtle shift of her stance, she twisted mid-air, letting the shockwave pass her by as she landed lightly on another section of the broken wall.


    She exhaled through her nose, unfazed.


    "A Singularit?t from one of my members lets me see things that you can¡¯t. You cannot hide your goal."


    Barbel¡¯s expression remained unreadable as she continued her assault, steel clashing against wood, the underground battlefield shaking with every explosive burst.


    Then, at last, Barbel spoke.


    "Do you despise moving forward?"


    Jelle¡¯s brow furrowed for a brief moment.


    It wasn¡¯t the response she had expected.


    For the first time in their fight, the rhythm between them faltered¡ªnot in movement, not in power.


    Another explosion erupted, the air itself expanding in a violent burst. Jelle dodged, flipping midair, but Barbel was already there to meet her, blade swinging, eyes sharp.


    "You talk like you see everything," Barbel said, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. "Like you understand."


    Jelle deflected another strike, but Barbel didn¡¯t let up. She never let up.


    "Some people stop when they hit a wall," Barbel continued, her sword carving through the air. Another burst¡ªanother eruption, the heat licking at Jelle¡¯s skin. "They hesitate. They wonder if the road is too broken to walk."


    Jelle saw it now, in the way Barbel fought¡ªnot just the sheer force of her attacks, but the way she never stayed in one place, never lingered in a single movement for too long.


    "And you?" Jelle asked, voice even.


    Barbel¡¯s lips curled into something between a smirk and a grimace, but she didn¡¯t answer right away. Instead, she sent another explosion hurtling toward Jelle¡¯s face. Jelle narrowly evaded, feeling the heat rush past her cheek.


    Barbel¡¯s grip on her sword tightened. "The ground beneath your feet doesn¡¯t matter as long as you keep moving."


    Jelle blocked another attack.


    As they clashed once more, Jelle¡¯s wooden sword met Barbel¡¯s montante in a sharp, ringing impact. The force sent both warriors skidding across the tunnel walls, feet barely touching the stone before launching forward again. Jelle¡¯s eyes never wavered from Barbel¡¯s form, studying every movement, every shift in stance.


    "So this is where you ended up," Jelle said, her tone neither mocking nor sympathetic, just steady. "The Clock Hand¡­ I don¡¯t know which hour you serve, but I do know one thing¡ªsomething must have gone terribly wrong for you to end up with them."


    Barbel didn¡¯t hesitate. With a fierce twist of her blade, she sent another blast of rapidly expanding air roaring toward Jelle, the sheer force cracking the walls behind her. Jelle dodged, landing gracefully before spinning back into a counterattack.


    Barbel smiled¡ªnot a smirk, not arrogance, but something deeper. Something with weight. "The Hour of Obsession."


    Her words carried pride, but beneath it, something unshakable, something immovable. Her sword struck out with unwavering conviction, her explosions bursting with the kind of force only someone who had long abandoned hesitation could wield.


    Jelle could hear it in her voice¡ªthis was not a woman bound by chains. This was someone who had willingly thrown herself into the fire, because standing still had never been an option.


    Jelle barely had time to shift her weight before Barbel was on her again, her montante a streak of silver slicing through the air. Another explosion detonated just inches from Jelle¡¯s face, the shockwave distorting the space between them like heat rising off the pavement. She twisted away, flipping midair, her wooden sword blurring as it met steel in a deafening clash.


    Barbel¡¯s relentless attacks didn¡¯t stop. Her blade carved through the battlefield like a guillotine that had never known rest. Her every step, every motion, spoke of a person who had already made peace with destruction, with the inevitability of forward motion. She wasn¡¯t just fighting¡ªshe was cleaving through everything that stood in her way, past or present.


    Jelle¡¯s feet barely touched the tunnel wall before she propelled herself back into the fray, her carefree movements masking the precision of someone who understood exactly when to bend and when to strike. Like a tree in springtime, moving with the wind yet never breaking.


    "Obsession, huh?" Jelle exhaled, dodging another burst of air that cracked the ground beneath her. "Sounds exhausting."


    Barbel¡¯s laughter rang through the chaos, a sharp and hollow sound. "And yet, I move forward."


    Another clash. Another explosion. Sparks rained like falling stars as Jelle ducked low, her wooden sword gliding through the space where Barbel¡¯s ribs should have been. But Barbel was already gone, a shockwave blasting her backward before she countered with a downstroke that could have split the earth in two.


    Jelle blocked, but the force behind it sent her sliding back, her boots digging into stone.


    Barbel never let up. "Tell me, Jelle¡ªwhat happens when the path ahead is nothing but ruin?"


    Jelle grinned, shaking out her wrist. "I guess I will make my own."


    The air between them thickened, the battlefield shrinking as the weight of their convictions filled the space. Barbel¡¯s grip on her sword tightened, and for the first time, something flickered behind her sharp eyes.


    "Then let¡¯s see if you can hold your ground when there¡¯s nothing left beneath you."


    And with that, Barbel swung her montante with all the force of a storm, her power erupting outward in a cataclysmic blast¡ªshattering the very foundations beneath their feet.


    The ground trembled as the tunnel walls split apart from the sheer force of Barbel¡¯s explosion, dust and debris filling the air like a choking fog. Yet, amidst the chaos, she moved¡ªno, she walked.


    Not in the way a person should.


    Her foot sank deep into the stone, digging in like an iron stake. With unnatural grace, she pressed forward, her other leg piercing the wall just as easily, each step deliberate, slow¡ªas if gravity itself had surrendered to her will.


    She wasn¡¯t falling. She was simply walking, ignoring the very concept of up and down.


    Jelle clicked her tongue. "You¡¯re really pushing the ¡®walking forward¡¯ thing, huh?"


    Barbel smirked, her foot driving into the stone once more, cracking the surface beneath her like ice under a hammer. Her sword rested easily on her shoulder, the weight of it nothing compared to the force she carried in her presence.


    "Do you think I care about walls?" Barbel¡¯s voice was even, unwavering, her tone like someone discussing an inevitability rather than a battle. "Obstacles, barriers, rules¡ªthey don¡¯t matter. If the path doesn¡¯t exist, I carve one myself."


    She stepped again, the wall groaning under her strength, each footfall a declaration. It was an eerie sight¡ªwatching her descend as if she were strolling down an invisible street, her confidence making the impossible look effortless.


    Jelle exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders. "That¡¯s one hell of a Singularit?t, I¡¯ll give you that."


    Barbel stopped, tilting her head. "Singularit?t?" She let out a low chuckle. "No, this isn¡¯t a power."


    Her next step drove so deep into the rock that fractures webbed out in every direction. "This is just who I am."


    Jelle grinned, tapping her wooden sword against her shoulder. "Then I guess I¡¯ll just have to knock some sense into that twisted head of yours before you carve a path straight to the afterlife."


    And with that, she launched herself forward¡ªmeeting Barbel¡¯s force head-on.


    Barbel¡¯s foot dug deep into the wall as she marched forward, her weight twisting stone like it was soft earth. The force of her movement sent cracks splintering outward, debris crumbling away with each step. Her sword swung in wide, controlled arcs, each strike carrying the weight of a force that refused to be stopped.


    Jelle danced around them, her wooden blade moving like drifting leaves, light and effortless. She wasn¡¯t blocking Barbel¡¯s power¡ªshe was redirecting it, letting it crash past her like a storm she had already weathered.


    Barbel¡¯s grip tightened. She had to keep moving. That was all she had ever done.


    A voice from somewhere in the past.


    Small. Weak. Familiar.


    "Miss Flux?"


    Jelle ducked under another swing, barely twisting out of the way before an explosion detonated behind her. The pressure rippled through the air, sending loose rubble flying. Barbel exhaled, steadying herself, but her mind had already slipped back, dragged into the fire of that night.


    "Miss Flux! Where are you? It hurts¡ª"


    Flames swallowed the wooden beams. The scent of burning cloth filled her nose, thick and suffocating. The orphanage was collapsing, the place she had sworn to protect with her own hands. The place where they had all laughed, shared stolen bread, huddled together in the cold.


    It had all burned to nothing.


    "I¡¯m right here," she had tried to say, but her voice had been drowned out by the roar of the fire.


    Jelle struck. Barbel barely parried in time, the weight of the impact snapping her back to reality. The pressure between their blades forced her a step back, but she dug her foot into the wall again, refusing to be moved.


    ¡°You fight like someone with nothing left to lose,¡± Jelle said, her voice calm but sharp.


    Barbel inhaled slowly.


    The fire had taken them. The world had taken them. And now, standing here, she could still hear that voice calling for her¡ªstill hear their laughter echoing in her mind, fading, fading.


    She lifted her sword while something was burning, something was gone beyond her reach. Barbel couldn¡¯t stop.


    Barbel¡¯s relentless assaults carried an unshakable weight, as if her very soul refused to let her slow down. Every swing of her montante sword sent explosive bursts rippling through the tunnel, stone and dust scattering with each impact. Jelle flowed like a leaf caught in the wind¡ªdodging, weaving, parrying¡ªbut never once faltering.


    Their movements were mirrored in the fractured light, two figures locked in a dance between destruction and control. Jelle saw it now¡ªnot just the raw power in Barbel¡¯s strikes, but the desperation buried beneath them.


    "Can¡¯t outrun the past?" Jelle questioned, her voice steady even as their blades clashed again.


    Barbel¡¯s answer came not in words, but in force. A downward swing, backed by an explosion of air, sent a shockwave through the tunnel, threatening to tear apart the surroundings.


    The tunnel pulsed with shifting colors, the eerie glow staining the stone like a painter¡¯s feverish brushstrokes. Shadows stretched and warped as two figures moved through the ruins, their presence disturbing the stillness of the underground.


    Adrek was not running.


    Every motion of his four arms moved with a precision that showed relentless determination. His two montante blades carved through the air, cutting down any obstacle in his way¡ªstone, debris, walls, anything that dared slow his advance.


    He was going somewhere. Hauke didn¡¯t know where, but he could feel it.


    And he wasn¡¯t about to let him get there. With a quiet inhale, Hauke shifted his stance and closed the distance.


    Adrek noticed. Without missing a beat, he twisted his body mid-stride, his two montante swords swinging in a brutal cross-cut¡ªone from the left, one from the right. A perfect killing stroke.


    Hauke reacted instantly, his instincts honed from years of experience. He dropped low, just barely slipping beneath the blades. The force of the strike split the tunnel floor apart, sending shards of rock cascading through the air.


    Adrek did not stop. His footwork remained steady, fluid. Even as his missed attack shattered the ground, he pivoted effortlessly, his swords already moving into the next strike.


    One blade slashed horizontally.


    The other came down vertically.


    A brutal, relentless combination. No wasted movement. No hesitation.


    Hauke responded with calm precision. His body moved before his mind did, flowing like wind between the attacks. The whisper of steel passed inches from his skin, but he never faltered. He never panicked.


    And yet¡ª


    Adrek¡¯s lower left arm shifted.


    His fingers found a tunnel support beam.


    And he ripped it out.


    A deep, shuddering groan echoed through the underground ruins as the structure collapsed.


    The tunnel walls screamed as they gave way, an avalanche of stone and debris crashing down between them. The vibrant, shifting lights flickered, momentarily swallowed by the storm of dust.


    Hauke skidded to a halt, eyes narrowing. The weight of the collapsing tunnel settled around him, the shifting colors struggling to reclaim their presence.


    And beyond the wreckage¡ª


    Adrek was gone.


    Hauke exhaled slowly. his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. The dust had barely settled, but his focus remained unshaken. He could still feel it¡ªAdrek¡¯s presence pressing forward through the tunnels, relentless in his pursuit of whatever lay ahead.


    With a quiet certainty, Hauke raised his blade and whispered,


    "Awaken from your slumber, Wispy."


    A sudden gust of wind spiraled around the sword, wrapping it in a fierce, unseen current. The air hummed with power, the pressure shifting as if the very atmosphere had bent to his will.


    Then, Hauke surged forward.


    Faster. More precise. More relentless than when fighting with Barbel.

 Chapter 16: Dear Obsession (V)

    The underground tunnel erupted in a burst of vibrant color, as if the very stones had been painted by an unseen artist¡¯s brush. The dull, shadowy cavern was suddenly bathed in hues of red, blue, and gold, swirling like an impossible sunset beneath the earth. The shifting lights stretched across the tunnel walls, crawling over jagged rock formations and casting distorted reflections in the pools of water scattered along the uneven ground.


    Liselotte''s fire bunnies flickered uncertainly, their glow now blending with the overwhelming spectacle around them. Her crimson eyes darted across the illuminated ruins, taking in the sudden transformation with both awe and unease. "This isn''t natural¡­" she murmured, tightening her stance.


    Geschicht swallowed hard. He had spent his life chasing stories, seeking moments of wonder and mystery, but this¡ªthis was different. This felt like something was stirring, something ancient and vast. His grip on his sword tightened as he turned to Liselotte. "Is this your doing?"


    She shook her head. "No. This isn''t my fire."


    A few paces away, Lucienne¡¯s sharp green eyes narrowed. The chaotic glow played tricks on her vision, twisting shadows into ghostly figures. Her heart pounded against her ribs. For a fleeting moment, she saw reflections that weren¡¯t her own¡ªwarped, mocking shapes that stared back at her with silent judgment. A distorted Liselotte, a fragmented image of the girl she resented, a reminder of the illusion she couldn''t shatter.


    Lucienne exhaled sharply and scoffed, pushing away the rising unease. "It doesn¡¯t matter what tricks this place throws at us. I won¡¯t be distracted." She clenched her sword, steadying herself. "The only thing that matters is proving that I¡¯ll take everything back¡±


    Liselotte kept her gaze steady on Lucienne, her fire bunnies darting through the shifting colors of the tunnel like fleeting stars. Their soft glow contrasted against the chaos of battle, flickering between the three of them. She hesitated for a moment, pressing her lips together before glancing at Geschicht.


    ¡°Geschicht¡­¡± Her voice was quiet, carrying an almost timid note beneath the hum of magic in the air. Another fire bunny ignited at her fingertips and streaked toward Lucienne, but she barely seemed to notice. ¡°Would you mind if¡­ I handled this alone?¡±


    Geschicht blinked, the question catching him off guard. He could feel the weight in her words, something unspoken nestled between them. The battlefield was no place for hesitation, yet there was something fragile in the way she asked¡ªlike a bird testing its wings before the first flight.


    For a brief moment, he wanted to ask why. To understand what she saw in this fight that he couldn¡¯t. But in the end, he only nodded.


    ¡°¡­Alright,¡± he said, stepping back. He wouldn¡¯t question it. He wouldn¡¯t get in the way. He turned and ran, his figure swallowed by the shifting colors of the tunnel. The echo of his footsteps faded into the rhythmic hum of flickering flames.


    Liselotte was alone with Lucienne now.


    The fire bunnies danced around her, their glow pulsing gently in the air, but Lucienne stood unmoving. Shadows stretched over her sharp green eyes, her grip on her sword tight, rigid.


    Liselotte took a slow breath, her fingers tracing small embers into the air. "You know¡­ I don¡¯t like fighting," she said softly, her voice barely louder than the crackle of her power. "But you won¡¯t listen unless I do, will you?"


    Lucienne didn¡¯t answer. Her expression was unreadable, but her stance was anything but passive. She was waiting¡ªwaiting for an opening, waiting to strike, waiting for something Liselotte couldn''t quite understand.


    A fire bunny flitted closer, its warm glow reflecting in Lucienne¡¯s eyes. For a moment, it looked like she was staring at something far away, something only she could see.


    Liselotte tilted her head. "You won¡¯t even talk to me?" she asked, her voice light, almost hopeful. "Not even a little?"


    Still, nothing.


    Lucienne raised her sword slightly, the motion slow, deliberate. The silence stretched between them like a fragile thread.


    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t want to fight you," she admitted, her fire dimming just a little. "But I will if I have to."


    Lucienne finally moved. She lifted her chin, her lips parting¡ª


    But she didn¡¯t speak.


    Instead, she lunged.


    Lucienne¡¯s Montante sliced through the air, aimed directly at Liselotte¡ªswift, merciless, final. But just before the blade could reach her, the air around them ignited.


    A wildfire of fire bunnies erupted in a chaotic surge, their bodies flickering in and out of existence like embers caught in a storm. They swarmed Liselotte, their flames licking at her skin¡ªbut they did not burn. They consumed instead, unraveling the small bundle of cloth she always carried.


    Then, the transformation began.


    Liselotte¡¯s chestnut brown hair shimmered, threads of fire weaving through it, changing it from its usual loosely braided form into flowing strands of brilliant orange flame. Heat distorted the air around her, her form bending and shifting in the glowing inferno.


    Above her head, two flickering shapes emerged¡ªtall, elegant, and unmistakably shaped like a rabbit¡¯s ears, swaying in the currents of the firestorm. Her legs, once human, became something else entirely¡ªformed of pure flame, shaped like a rabbit¡¯s powerful hind legs, burning yet solid, pressing into the stone beneath her feet with unnatural lightness.


    Her hazel eyes blazed into a deep, luminous red. No longer warm, no longer soft¡ªher gaze shone with an intensity that rivaled the very flames surrounding her.


    Lucienne took a step back, her sharp green eyes narrowing, adjusting to the sudden inferno before her.


    Liselotte raised her head, her voice softer than the flames consuming her.


    ¡°¡­Will you listen now?¡±


    Liselotte stood amidst the blaze, her new form radiating heat that distorted the air around her. The fire bunnies flickered at her feet, their forms dancing in anticipation, waiting for her command. She tilted her head, eyes glowing like embers in the dim tunnel.


    ¡°Even if you won¡¯t speak,¡± she murmured, her voice steady, carrying an unshakable warmth.


    Before Lucienne could react, Liselotte moved.


    A burst of heat and flame propelled her forward with impossible speed, the stone beneath her feet glowing red-hot from the sheer force of her launch. Lucienne¡¯s sharp green eyes widened¡ªshe had barely a moment to brace before Liselotte was upon her.


    The clash of steel and fire sent sparks scattering in all directions. Lucienne barely managed to raise her Montante in time to block the oncoming strike, but the impact rattled her bones.


    She darted around Lucienne like wildfire caught in a storm, striking from unpredictable angles, her movements fluid and untamed. Every time Lucienne adjusted, Liselotte was already gone, her flaming legs kicking off from the walls, the ceiling, using every surface as a foothold.


    Lucienne gritted her teeth, pivoting on her heel and swinging her Montante in a wide arc, trying to cut through the chaos. But Liselotte weaved through the air, a blur of fire and motion, her rabbit-like agility allowing her to dodge in ways no normal fighter could.


    The fire around Liselotte pulsed like a heartbeat, glowing in rhythm with something deep within her soul. Her strikes came faster now, more fluid, weaving between Lucienne¡¯s defenses as if she knew exactly where the next counter would come from.


    Lucienne scowled, pushing back, but her mind buzzed with unease. There was something strange about the way Liselotte moved¡ªnot just instinct or skill, but something more, something that reached beyond the present.


    And within Liselotte¡¯s burning gaze, memories stirred.


    A long time ago¡­


    She had been just a small girl, no taller than the firewood she used to help carry. The night air had been cool, crisp, and filled with the gentle flickering of flames from a distant campfire. But in front of her, there was no ordinary fire.


    A blue flame, soft and silent, crackled in the air. It had no source, no fuel¡ªjust a shape. A small creature, like a rabbit, its body made of sapphire fire, its ears swaying like gentle wisps of smoke.


    She had reached out, unafraid.


    "You''re lonely, aren''t you?" her voice had been soft, innocent, filled with curiosity.


    The fire bunny did not speak, but its flames flickered in response, shifting between shapes¡ªmemories, moments, fragments of things long past. Faces Liselotte didn¡¯t recognize, landscapes she had never seen. She had been mesmerized, watching entire lives dance within the creature¡¯s glow.


    "I want to understand." She had whispered, her small hands curling into fists. "If you have memories that no one else remembers¡­ If you have things you want to say but can¡¯t¡­"


    The fire bunny had tilted its head, its flames pressing closer to her, warming her skin without burning.


    "Then I¡¯ll help."


    The fire crackled, and Liselotte smiled.


    "I promise."


    Now, in the present¡­


    Liselotte¡¯s flames surged, her burning legs pushing off the ground in a sudden burst of speed. She closed the distance between her and Lucienne in an instant.


    Lucienne barely had time to react as Liselotte whispered, her voice carrying the weight of that promise¡ª


    ¡°I have my way to understand you."


    Lucienne barely had time to react before Liselotte¡¯s blazing foot connected with her face. The impact sent her staggering back, a searing heat blooming across her skin¡ªbut there was no pain, no burn, only the overwhelming sensation of something otherworldly pressing against her very being.


    And then¡ª


    A sound like breaking glass rang through the underground tunnel.


    It wasn¡¯t the sharp, clean crack of a single pane shattering, but an overwhelming, layered fracturing, like the collapse of an entire world made of glass. The air trembled. The colors that had bathed the tunnel twisted and distorted, rippling like molten metal bending under immense heat.


    Then, in the wake of the sound, countless mirrors burst into existence, spiraling out from the point where Lucienne had been struck. But these were no ordinary reflections.


    Each mirror glowed like it had been forged from liquid fire, their surfaces shifting between deep reds, brilliant golds, and shimmering oranges, as if the very essence of flame had been forced into a crystalline form. The air around them wavered, not from heat, but from something far more arcane¡ªa force that seemed to peel apart the barriers between past and present.


    Lucienne froze. Her reflection gazed back at her from every direction, but they were not mirrors of her present self.


    In one, she was a child, gripping a wooden practice sword with trembling hands.


    In another, she stood beneath a stormy sky, her face streaked with rain and something far more bitter.


    A third showed her kneeling in the dark, her head bowed, her shoulders shaking.


    More and more images flickered across the molten glass¡ªscenes of battles, moments of solitude, glimpses of memories that should have been long buried. Each one ignited with the fire¡¯s glow, burning in and out of focus as though Liselotte¡¯s flames were forcing them into existence.


    Lucienne¡¯s breath caught.


    This wasn¡¯t just fire. This wasn¡¯t just an attack.


    Liselotte wasn¡¯t trying to hurt her¡ªshe was unraveling her.


    And somewhere, deep within the blazing mirrors, a voice whispered¡ªnot out loud, not from Liselotte, but from the power itself, its presence undeniable, pressing against Lucienne¡¯s mind.


    "My fire will light up your mind."


    The mirrors pulsed, and the world around them burned with truth.


    Lucienne barely had time to process the sight of the blazing mirrors before Liselotte pressed forward, her movements swift and unrelenting. The air shimmered around her, the embers of her fire-drenched form trailing behind like the tail of a comet. She moved with a weightless grace, yet each strike carried undeniable force.


    "This is my Gesegnete," Liselotte said, her voice steady, almost gentle, as though she weren¡¯t in the midst of battle but rather explaining something inevitable. A truth that had always existed, waiting to be spoken aloud.


    "Its name is Blaufunkel."


    The moment the words left her lips, her form blurred¡ªkicking off the air itself like a phantom of flame. She closed the distance between them in an instant, her blazing legs lashing out in a storm of radiant heat.


    Lucienne¡¯s instincts took hold. Her montante shot up, steel meeting fire in a blinding clash. Sparks scattered, mingling with the kaleidoscope of colors that had swallowed the underground tunnel. The sound of impact rang out again and again, Liselotte¡¯s assault pressing forward like a tide.


    Lucienne¡¯s defense held, her swordsmanship impeccable¡ªevery block precise, every parry masterful. Yet, with each impact, more mirrors shattered into existence around her.


    The molten glass glowed, spreading outward like ripples in a pond, each new surface reflecting something that had long been buried.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    A flickering image of a younger Lucienne, sitting in a quiet room, hands clutching a small, tattered book.


    Another¡ªher fists clenched at her sides as she stood before a burning building, watching the embers rise into the night sky.


    A third¡ªher shoulders squared, her expression hardened, standing before figures cloaked in shadow, swearing an oath she couldn¡¯t take back.


    Lucienne grit her teeth. She had spent years locking those memories away, burying them beneath layer upon layer of purpose. Yet Liselotte¡¯s flames peeled them apart like unraveling thread, revealing the cracks in the foundation she had built herself upon.


    "Stop this," Lucienne growled, driving her sword forward in a sweeping arc, hoping to break the rhythm of Liselotte¡¯s movements.


    But Liselotte only flowed around the strike, her foot skimming the edge of the blade as she twirled midair, a living ember that refused to be snuffed out. Her next kick connected, not with brute force, creating a warmth that refused to burn, and the sound of another mirror forming.


    Lucienne exhaled sharply, her heart hammering in her chest.


    Because in that reflection, she saw something she hadn¡¯t allowed herself to remember in years.


    Liselotte¡¯s relentless assault never ceased¡ªher fiery legs a blur, each kick coming faster, harder, pushing Lucienne back step by step. The air between them shimmered with heat, sparks flying as molten-glass mirrors continued to bloom into existence. With every impact, another memory surfaced, the reflections stretching out across the tunnel like a celestial expanse of forgotten moments.


    Lucienne¡¯s montante swung in wide, precise arcs, intercepting every strike that came close to landing a direct hit. She had always prided herself on her control, and her ability to maintain composure even in the most chaotic battles. But this¡ªthis was different.


    Each block sent a strange ripple through her chest, like a wave of something heavy yet intangible. The reflections that surrounded her¡ªglimpses of a past she had buried¡ªmade her grip falter, even if only for a second.


    Liselotte¡¯s strikes weren¡¯t meant to break her body.


    They were breaking something else entirely.


    The underground tunnel, once a cold and crumbling ruin, now gleamed with liquid fire. The shattered mirrors refracted the vibrant hues of Liselotte¡¯s blazing form, multiplying her image infinitely in the glass. It was as if a thousand versions of her were dancing through the air at once, weaving between the echoes of Lucienne¡¯s past.


    Lucienne gritted her teeth. "Enough!" she hissed, swinging her montante in a desperate attempt to carve through the illusion. The blade sliced through the space between them, yet it found nothing but air¡ªLiselotte had already vaulted above her.


    The heat intensified.


    Liselotte soared upward, her fiery silhouette burning bright against the fractured light. She flipped mid-air, her legs folding before she kicked downward with all the force of a meteor crashing to earth.


    Lucienne barely had time to raise her blade before the impact hit.


    A deafening crack echoed through the tunnel.


    The ground beneath them didn¡¯t break.


    But the world did.


    The mirrors that filled the space shattered all at once¡ªnot into fragments, but into doorways. The molten glass rippled like water, distorting and shifting, until they were no longer inside the tunnel at all.


    They were somewhere else.


    Lucienne¡¯s eyes widened.


    She was falling¡ªnot through space, but through time. The walls of reality peeled away, revealing a world woven from memory. The reflections twisted and merged, becoming something more than just glass.


    A whisper of smoke. The glow of flames licking against wood. A child¡¯s voice, fragile and trembling.


    "Miss Flux?"


    Lucienne¡¯s breath caught in her throat.


    Because this wasn¡¯t just a battle anymore.


    Liselotte had kicked them both into the past.


    The air smelled thick with smoke, heavy with the scent of charred wood and something far worse. Ash fell like snow, coating the crumbling remains of the orphanage in a blanket of pale gray. Flickering embers danced in the air, casting long shadows over the scorched ground.


    Lucienne¡¯s breath hitched as she saw them¡ªher younger self and Barbel, standing amidst the destruction.


    Their armor, once gleaming, was dulled by soot and grime. Their twin montantes, strapped securely to their backs, clattered slightly as they rushed forward, boots kicking up dust and embers. Their movements were frantic, desperate.


    Then, Barbel stopped.


    Lucienne¡ªher younger self¡ªwas still searching, still shouting into the smoke-filled void. Her voice cracked with each call, raw from the heat and desperation.


    ¡°JACK! MAY! HEATH! WHERE ARE YOU?!¡±


    Her boots pounded against the scorched ground, kicking up ash as she turned wildly, eyes darting through the inferno. Her hands trembled as she reached for fallen beams, throwing aside debris with frantic strength, refusing to believe what she already knew.


    ¡°BETH! ROSS! PLEASE¡ªSAY SOMETHING!¡±


    Her cries echoed, swallowed by the roaring flames. She coughed, the thick smoke burning her lungs, but she didn¡¯t stop. She couldn¡¯t.


    But Barbel had.


    Lucienne turned, expecting to see her sister still searching, fighting alongside her. Instead, Barbel stood frozen¡ªher gauntleted hands trembling, her breath unsteady.


    At her feet lay something small, something burned beyond recognition.


    Lucienne¡¯s throat tightened. The world blurred as Barbel¡¯s fingers curled around the fragile form, lifting it with agonizing slowness. Even through the soot and ash that clung to her sister¡¯s face, Lucienne saw it¡ªthe moment Barbel broke.


    A name barely left Lucienne¡¯s lips, ¡°...Elsie?¡± but there was no answer. There never would be.


    Barbel didn¡¯t cry. She didn¡¯t wail or curse the heavens. She simply stood there, staring down at the tiny, lifeless bundle in her arms. The flickering firelight reflected off her eyes, but they were hollow, lost in a place no one could reach.


    Lucienne felt something claw at her throat, something raw and suffocating. She remembered this. She remembered the weight in her sister¡¯s arms, the way the fire crackled like cruel laughter around them.


    The memory blurred, warping under the heat of Liselotte¡¯s Gesegnete. The burning mirrors around them shimmered, refracting the moment over and over from every angle. Each shard captured a different part of the tragedy¡ªthe collapse of the orphanage¡¯s roof, the bodies left unmoving, the way Barbel¡¯s fingers clenched so tightly around the child she refused to let go.


    Liselotte stood at the edge of the memory, silent but present. The fire in her eyes reflected the scene in front of them.


    The flames twisted, bending like ink spilling into water, warping the memory around them. The burning orphanage faded, replaced by another time¡ªanother place.


    Lucienne stood alone, her breaths uneven, her eyes wide with something between horror and madness. The world around her had cracked.


    She wasn¡¯t in the past anymore, but it felt just as real. The same fire burned in her mind, the same screams echoed in her ears. But this time, she could see it. The woman.


    A shadowed figure wreathed in flames.


    She stood in the center of the inferno, faceless and distant, yet unbearably present. Lucienne¡¯s heart pounded as she watched her¡ªthe arsonist, the one responsible, the one who had taken everything.


    ¡°¡­You.¡± Lucienne¡¯s voice trembled, her grip tightening around the hilt of her sword. Her breath was ragged, her hands unsteady, her mind racing. ¡°You burned it down.¡±


    The woman did not speak. She did not move.


    Lucienne¡¯s vision blurred, her teeth grinding. Her body felt hot¡ªtoo hot¡ª like the fire wasn¡¯t just around her but inside of her, eating away at her thoughts, feeding on her pain.


    Barbel was beside her now.


    Lucienne barely noticed when her sister¡¯s hand landed on her shoulder. She only noticed the way Barbel¡¯s fingers dug into her skin¡ªfirm, grounding, just enough to tell her that she wasn¡¯t alone.


    Barbel¡¯s voice was low, quiet, yet sharp as steel. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    Lucienne¡¯s breath hitched.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter anymore,¡± Barbel repeated.


    Lucienne turned, finally meeting Barbel¡¯s eyes. They were hollow. Not empty, but heavy. Too heavy.


    Lucienne opened her mouth to argue, to say that it did matter, that this was everything¡ªbut Barbel already knew. She knew because she felt it too.


    But they couldn¡¯t stay here. They couldn¡¯t stay trapped in the past.


    So they moved forward.


    Even if the past followed.


    Even if the fire still burned behind their eyes.


    Even if the weight of the dead never left their shoulders.


    Together, they shook the hand of the Clock.


    As the last flickers of the burning memory faded into embers, the shattered mirrors around them hummed, reflecting only silence now.


    Lucienne stood still, her fingers curling and uncurling around the hilt of her montante. She wasn''t looking at Liselotte, but she also wasn''t looking away. She was just¡­ there. Not fighting, not running, just breathing.


    Liselotte tilted her head, watching her carefully. Then, with a small smile, she broke the quiet.


    ¡°You¡¯re not much of a talker.¡±


    Lucienne blinked, like she had to take a second to register the words.


    ¡°¡­Never needed to be,¡± she muttered.


    Liselotte let out a soft chuckle. ¡°That¡¯s fair.¡±


    Silence settled between them again. But this time, it wasn¡¯t suffocating. It was just there, like an old companion sitting between them.


    Liselotte shifted her weight from one foot to the other, crossing her arms. ¡°You and Barbel are sisters, huh?¡±


    Lucienne didn¡¯t react at first, but eventually, she let out a small breath.


    ¡°¡­Yeah.¡±


    Liselotte studied her for a moment. ¡°She worries about you.¡±


    Lucienne scoffed lightly. ¡°That makes two of us¡­¡±


    Liselotte smiled at that¡ªjust a little. She let the warmth of her fire flicker softer, less intense, letting it cradle them rather than burn.


    Lucienne sighed, running a hand through her hair. ¡°You¡¯re persistent.¡±


    ¡°You¡­ are not the first to tell me that¡­,¡± Liselotte said with a grin.


    Lucienne glanced at her from the corner of her eye, something almost amused in her expression. It was small, barely there, but Liselotte caught it.


    For the first time since their fight began, Lucienne seemed¡­ human.


    Not just a warrior. Not just Barbel¡¯s sister.


    Just a person standing in the middle of a ruined memory, trying to make sense of it.


    Liselotte stepped closer. Not to fight. Not to push. Just to stand beside her.


    ¡°¡­Tell me something normal,¡± Lucienne said suddenly.


    Liselotte blinked. ¡°Huh¡­?¡±


    Lucienne shrugged. ¡°Just¡­ something normal. Something people talk about when they¡¯re not trying to kill each other.¡±


    Liselotte thought for a moment. Then she smiled.


    ¡°Alright¡­ What¡¯s your favorite food?¡±


    Lucienne gave her a look, like she couldn¡¯t believe that was the question Liselotte chose. But after a moment, she sighed.


    ¡°¡­Mushroom stew.¡±


    Liselotte gasped. ¡°No way! Same! But it has to be the thick kind, the one that sits heavy in your stomach.¡±


    Lucienne hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded. ¡°¡­Yeah. That¡¯s the good kind.¡±


    And just like that, for a fleeting moment, they weren¡¯t two warriors on opposing sides.


    Lucienne hesitated before speaking, her voice softer than before. ¡°Can you¡­ show me a time when everything was still peaceful?¡±


    Liselotte looked at her, eyes flickering with embers. ¡°You want to see it?¡±


    Lucienne nodded. ¡°¡­Just for a little while.¡±


    Liselotte didn¡¯t hesitate. She lifted her foot and brought it down, not with force, but with intention. The fire beneath her stirred, weaving through the shattered mirrors, the molten glass shifting like ripples in a pond. Flames rushed along the ground, weaving a path through time itself.


    And then¡ªthe world changed.


    The suffocating heat of the burning orphanage was gone. The air smelled of fresh linen and warm bread. The sound of crackling fire was replaced by the laughter of children.


    They stood in a sunlit courtyard, the orphanage still standing in all its humble charm.


    Barbel stood in the center, her armor long abandoned for simple clothes. A wooden sword in hand, a playful smirk on her face, surrounded by children eager to challenge her.


    ¡°Come on, Elsie! You have to step in with your right foot, not your left!¡± Barbel corrected, guiding a small girl no older than seven, her messy hair bouncing as she tried to mimic Barbel¡¯s movements. The other kids giggled as they sparred, their wooden swords clacking against each other in a playful dance.


    A little further away, Lucienne knelt by a wooden tub, scrubbing clothes alongside a handful of children. The younger ones splashed each other with water, giggling when Lucienne gave them an exasperated look. But then¡ªa small smile crept onto her lips as she flicked water back at them. The children shrieked with laughter.


    Lucienne¡ªthe Lucienne standing in the memory¡ªwatched in silence.


    Her grip on her montante loosened.


    She stepped forward slowly, her eyes flickering between Barbel playfully teaching Elsie and herself washing clothes.


    Her voice wavered. ¡°¡­I remember this day.¡±


    Liselotte tilted her head. ¡°What happened after?¡±


    Lucienne swallowed. ¡°¡­Barbel made stew.¡±


    Liselotte smiled softly. ¡°Mushroom stew?¡±


    Lucienne nodded. ¡°¡­It was a little too salty.¡±


    The laughter of children filled the air. The warmth of the sun bathed them in golden light.


    For a moment, Lucienne closed her eyes and let herself exist in this memory¡ªin a time before the flames came.


    Lucienne stood still, surrounded by the warmth of a world long gone. The echoes of laughter, the scent of fresh linen, the golden hue of the sun¡ªit all pressed against her like a comforting embrace.


    She exhaled softly, staring at the small hands of the children tugging at Barbel¡¯s sleeve, at the way Elsie¡¯s face lit up when Barbel ruffled her hair. Her eyes traced over her past self, kneeling by the wash bin, flicking water at the giggling orphans, unaware of the future that awaited them.


    Unaware that they would never grow up.


    That they would never leave this place.


    Her breath hitched.


    "This is enough," Lucienne whispered.


    Liselotte turned to her, the flames in her eyes flickering with uncertainty. "What?"


    Lucienne didn''t look at her. She just kept watching.


    "I want to stay here." Her voice was steady, but something in it cracked, fragile like the molten mirrors surrounding them. "This moment... these faces... It''s all I ever wanted to see again. I don¡¯t need anything else."


    Liselotte''s heart clenched. "Lucienne¡ª"


    "I want to disappear with it," Lucienne said, her fingers trembling over the hilt of her sword. "This memory... I want to sink into it, to let it take me with it. If I stay here, I can hold them again. I can live with them again." She let out a small breathless laugh, bitter yet longing. "Even if it''s just an illusion, it¡¯s better than what¡¯s left outside."


    Liselotte took a step forward, but Lucienne finally turned to her.


    "Can you do that for me?"


    Liselotte froze.


    Lucienne¡¯s voice was soft, almost pleading. "You''re the one who made this. You can end it. Burn me away with it, let it take me with them.¡±


    Liselotte¡¯s fingers curled into fists. The heat of the flames surrounding them felt suffocating now, but it wasn''t her fire that burned¡ªit was the grief woven into Lucienne¡¯s words.


    Those who carried wounds too deep for time to heal were seeking an end in the arms of what they had lost. And that¡ªthat was the cruelest part of all.


    Liselotte swallowed. "No."


    Lucienne blinked, as if the word hadn''t quite reached her.


    Liselotte took another step, voice steady. "No, I won¡¯t do that."


    Lucienne¡¯s expression hardened. "Why?"


    "Because you''re not supposed to stay here."


    Lucienne let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. "And where else should I go? Forward? Like my sister always said?" She gestured bitterly at the memory around them, at the children frozen in time.


    "What is there to move forward to?"


    The warmth of the memory flickered like a dying flame, the past unwilling to fully fade yet unable to hold them any longer. The laughter of children echoed around them, their joy lingering in the air like the scent of freshly baked bread, like a song unfinished.


    Lucienne knelt, pressing her palm to the image of Elsie, her fingers hovering just above the child¡¯s head, afraid to disturb the illusion. The little girl giggled, completely unaware of the sorrow in Lucienne¡¯s eyes.


    A sharp breath hitched in Lucienne¡¯s throat.


    She closed her eyes. ¡°I thought if I just stayed, if I just kept looking¡­ I could hold onto it forever.¡±


    Liselotte didn¡¯t speak, only watching as Lucienne let herself exist in the moment, soaking in every detail. She wouldn¡¯t rush her. She wouldn¡¯t pull her away before she was ready.


    Then, after a long silence, Lucienne exhaled. She straightened, shoulders trembling as she turned back toward Liselotte.


    Liselotte¡¯s eyes softened, but she didn¡¯t step closer.


    Lucienne looked around at the burning mirrors, the beautiful lie of the past wrapped around them like a cocoon. ¡°I can¡¯t stay here, can I?¡±


    Liselotte shook her head.


    Lucienne let out a small, broken chuckle, wiping at her eyes. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t want that, would they?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Liselotte murmured. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    Lucienne¡¯s fingers clenched at her sides. She was trembling, but she wasn¡¯t breaking.


    For so long, she had tried to outrun the past. To convince herself she had moved forward, even as its weight pulled at her ankles, dragging her down. But now, standing within it¡ªwithin the love she had lost¡ªshe finally understood.


    Moving forward didn¡¯t mean leaving it behind.


    Moving forward meant carrying it with her.


    She took a step, then another. Each step away from the past, but never away from them.


    Liselotte extended a hand, and Lucienne took it.


    The flames surged, swallowing the burning mirrors in brilliant golden light, and as the memory shattered¡ªscattering like embers into the dark¡ªLucienne¡¯s grip never wavered.


    The past would always be with her.


    But so would the future.

 Chapter 17: Dear Obsession (VI)

    CRASH!


    A thunderous impact shook the vibrant tunnel as Veynor was sent hurtling backward, his body smashing through solid rock like a cannonball. The wall behind him erupted into a cascade of glowing colors¡ªstreaks of blue, red, and gold rippling outward like shattered glass refracting light. Dust and debris mixed with the tunnel¡¯s strange, shifting hues, creating a surreal storm of color and chaos. Before the dust could even settle, a shadow loomed from the other side¡ªUwe. He stepped through the destruction with his fists raised, his knuckles bloodied from repeated impact, his breaths controlled and measured.


    Veynor, unfazed, dug his heels into the ground and came to a stop, rolling his shoulders as if the force of the punch had been nothing more than an inconvenience. The walls of the tunnel pulsed, shifting in hue like a living painting, reflecting the tension between the two fighters. His lips curled into a smirk. ¡°You hit hard.¡±


    Uwe cracked his neck. ¡°You talk too much.¡±


    Veynor chuckled, lifting his fists again. ¡°Then let¡¯s change that.¡± He lunged.


    They collided mid-step, exchanging blows at a relentless pace.


    Boom! Veynor¡¯s fist slammed into Uwe¡¯s ribs¡ªUwe barely flinched before driving a counterpunch into Veynor¡¯s shoulder. Their feet skidded against the ground as they locked eyes, neither backing down. The tunnel shimmered with every impact, the colors shifting wildly¡ªdeep reds flaring with aggression, electric blues sparking with tension.


    And then¡ªa shadow moved behind Uwe.


    Geschicht.


    Silent, quick, and determined, he sprinted forward. His journal, always at his side, flipped open mid-stride, its pages glowing with an ethereal light. The pages rippled like water, and from within, Geschicht drew his sword. The blade materialized in his grip, shimmering as if newly forged, its surface reflecting the kaleidoscopic hues of the tunnel.


    Veynor, too focused on Uwe, barely noticed¡ªuntil the edge of Geschicht¡¯s summoned sword came whistling toward his side.


    The tunnel¡¯s colors seemed to freeze for a split second¡ªa brilliant silver hue illuminating the moment as if holding its breath.


    Veynor barely had time to shift. The attack almost connected. He twisted just in time, raising his arm to intercept. The impact forced him a step back, his eyes narrowing at the newcomer.


    Uwe turned his head slightly, raising a brow at Geschicht. ¡°You trying to steal my fight?¡±


    Geschicht smirked, twirling his sword in a reverse grip before leveling it at Veynor. ¡°What, you wanted to keep all the fun to yourself?¡±


    Uwe scoffed, cracking his knuckles. ¡°Fine. Just don¡¯t slow me down.¡±


    Geschicht exhaled, settling into his stance. ¡°Right back at you.¡±


    Veynor, regaining his footing, eyed them both before letting out a slow chuckle. ¡°Interesting.¡± He flexed his fingers, his expression turning sharper. ¡°Come on then¡ªlet¡¯s see what the two of you can do together.¡±


    The tunnel¡¯s lights pulsed wildly, as if responding to the rising intensity.


    And then¡ªall at once, they rushed him.


    Veynor was fast¡ªbut not fast enough.


    With Geschicht now fighting alongside Uwe, the battlefield had shifted completely. Every attack, every movement came from a different angle, a different rhythm¡ªa storm of fists and steel closing in on him.


    Veynor weaved, dodging left and right, but it was never enough. A punch from Uwe sent him reeling backward¡ªjust as Geschicht¡¯s blade came arcing toward him. He barely managed to raise his arm to block, but even then, the impact rattled his bones.


    They weren¡¯t just attacking. They were suffocating him.


    A downward strike¡ªGeschicht. A sweeping kick¡ªUwe. A feint, then a slash¡ªGeschicht again. The tunnel¡¯s colorful lights blurred as Veynor struggled to keep up. Every time he evaded one, another attack came from an impossible direction.


    He stepped back¡ªonly for Uwe to appear right in front of him.


    A fist crashed into his stomach.


    The shockwave rippled through the air, sending Veynor skidding across the tunnel floor. He coughed, steadying himself, his eyes flickering between the two.


    He had barely landed a single hit.


    Veynor wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth, his breathing steady despite the relentless assault he had endured. He looked between Uwe and Geschicht, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips.


    "Two on one, huh?" He rolled his shoulders. "Doesn''t seem fair."


    Uwe scoffed, cracking his knuckles. "We can take turns if that makes you feel better."


    Geschicht, gripping his sword, tilted his head. "You''re still standing, aren''t you?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. "If it was really unfair, you''d be on the ground by now."


    Veynor chuckled, the vibrant colors of the tunnel reflecting in his sharp eyes. "That''s true. But if we¡¯re talking fairness..." His muscles tensed. "Then I should return the favor."


    Without another word, he stomped down hard, the tunnel floor cracking beneath his foot. A sudden shift¡ªan explosion of movement.


    Veynor was already in front of Geschicht.


    A fist blurred toward him. Geschicht barely raised his sword in time, but the sheer force of the punch sent him skidding back, his boots scraping against the colorful stone. Uwe had already reacted, lunging toward Veynor with a counterstrike, but Veynor twisted his body¡ªfluid, controlled, precise.


    He grabbed Uwe¡¯s wrist mid-swing, using the momentum to spin and slam his elbow into Uwe¡¯s ribs. The impact sent Uwe staggering a step back, but not for long.


    "You talk big," Uwe grunted, straightening. "But I''m not going down that easy."


    Geschicht, recovering from the hit, stepped forward again, sword gleaming under the shifting lights. "Neither am I."


    Veynor grinned, rolling his neck. "Good. Otherwise, this wouldn''t be fun." -a blur of fists, steel, and the endless glow of the colorful tunnel.


    Uwe exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as his red eye began to glow¡ªa deep ember burning in the shifting colors of the tunnel. Then, his blue eye followed, pulsing like the glint of moonlight on water.


    "Here is my view."


    In an instant, Geschicht''s world fractured and expanded.


    He didn''t just see from his own eyes anymore. Another layer of vision overlapped his own¡ªUwe''s perspective. It was as if his soul had been split between two bodies, yet somehow remained whole.


    From one angle, he saw himself standing firm, sword gripped tightly. From the other, he saw through Uwe¡¯s sharp, battle-hardened gaze¡ªVeynor''s every twitch, the way his stance shifted before a strike, the faintest flicker of movement betraying his next action.


    It was overwhelming. Geschicht¡¯s breath hitched, and for a second, he stumbled, caught between his own body¡¯s instincts and the borrowed sight flooding into his mind.


    Uwe clicked his tongue. "Do not falter. You will grow accustomed to it."


    Geschicht clenched his jaw, struggling to adjust. His hands felt disconnected from his body, his depth perception twisting, fighting between two angles of the same reality. He could see himself hesitate¡ªbut from both perspectives.


    Then¡ªVeynor moved.


    A blur of motion. A strike aimed right for his ribs.


    Geschicht¡¯s instincts screamed at him to dodge, but Uwe¡¯s sight already told him where to move. He wrenched himself sideways at just the right moment, his sword snapping up in perfect rhythm with his step.


    Veynor¡¯s brow furrowed. He hadn''t expected that.


    Geschicht exhaled sharply. It worked.


    His two views weren¡¯t clashing anymore. They were synchronizing.


    From his own eyes, he saw his blade press against Veynor¡¯s. From Uwe¡¯s, he saw the opening in Veynor¡¯s stance.


    Geschicht didn¡¯t hesitate. He twisted his grip, using the leverage from both points of view to break Veynor¡¯s guard and press forward.


    Uwe smirked. "That¡¯s more like it."


    Veynor, now on the defensive, flexed his fingers. A slow grin spread across his face. "Well now, that¡¯s new."


    Geschicht and Uwe wasted no time. They moved in unison¡ªGeschicht adjusting his stance instinctively as if he had fought a hundred battles with Uwe before. Every feint, every shift in weight, every flicker of motion, he could see not just from his own eyes but from Uwe¡¯s perspective as well.


    Uwe surged forward with a crushing hook, his fist carving through the air with raw force. Geschicht mirrored the timing, stepping into Veynor¡¯s blind spot with a precise slash. The moment Veynor twisted to avoid the blade, Uwe¡¯s knee was already driving into his ribs. The impact sent a tremor through the tunnel, shaking the vibrant, color-streaked walls like a living painting disturbed by a storm.


    Veynor managed to guard, but his counters fell short¡ªwhenever he moved, Geschicht and Uwe moved faster. When he tried to read Uwe¡¯s attacks, Geschicht¡¯s blade was already coming from the other side. Their coordination was seamless, not through words but through sight itself, their actions weaving together like an unbreakable chain.


    "Tch¡ª" Veynor clicked his tongue, his smirk wavering as he found himself fending off attacks from every direction. Uwe¡¯s blows forced him back, while Geschicht¡¯s blade carved through the openings left in his defense. The tunnel filled with the sharp clang of steel and the deep, echoing thuds of fists meeting flesh.


    Veynor¡¯s breath came heavier now, his smirk faltering as he deflected another strike. His movements, once fluid and effortless, had grown slightly sluggish. He had been holding his ground, but the relentless onslaught from Geschicht and Uwe was beginning to wear him down.


    Yet, they weren¡¯t without their own fatigue. Geschicht¡¯s arms ached from the sheer force of their exchange, his muscles protesting with every swing of his sword. Even with Uwe¡¯s Singularitat allowing him to see from two perspectives, the strain of processing both views at once gnawed at his focus. His breaths came in quick, sharp gasps, sweat forming along his brow.


    Uwe, too, was slowing¡ªhis once-crushing blows now just a bit less precise, a fraction less forceful. His chest rose and fell with each inhale, his knuckles slightly bruised from the relentless barrage he had been delivering.


    Veynor exhaled through gritted teeth, rolling his shoulders. ¡°You two aren¡¯t looking too fresh yourselves,¡± he muttered, forcing a chuckle despite the fatigue creeping into his stance.


    Uwe cracked his neck, shaking out his hands. ¡°Aye, nor are you.¡± His voice carried a rough edge, but the fire in his gaze remained unwavering.


    Geschicht tightened his grip on his sword, forcing himself to steady his breath. His chest burned, but he wasn¡¯t about to fall behind now. He met Uwe¡¯s gaze, a silent agreement passing between them.


    Uwe¡¯s eyes burned like twin beacons¡ªone crimson, one sapphire¡ªblazing with an intensity that swallowed the surrounding colors of the tunnel. The vibrant hues around them dimmed in contrast, as though his very presence drained the light from all else. He exhaled slowly, his breath steady despite the exhaustion clawing at his limbs. Then, his voice rang out, carrying the weight of undeniable finality.


    ¡°Let this battle be sealed in fate.¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    In an instant, the world froze.


    The swirling dust in the air ceased its aimless drift, locked in place like stars captured in glass. The rippling colors of the tunnel halted mid-flow, as if the very veins of reality had been severed. Veynor¡ªmid-step, mid-motion, mid-breath¡ªstood petrified, his expression still holding the remnants of a smirk that would never reach completion.


    It was as if time itself had lost its will to move beneath Uwe¡¯s gaze.


    Geschicht, standing just behind him, felt a jolt of disorientation. His senses screamed at him¡ªsomething was wrong. The silence was too perfect, the air too still. His own body responded sluggishly, but then¡ªhe understood. He could move. He could act.


    Because Uwe allowed him to.


    The moment realization struck, Uwe lunged forward, and Geschicht followed without hesitation.


    They moved as twin specters in a world devoid of motion. Uwe¡¯s fists crackled with force, the sheer momentum of his movements sending invisible shockwaves through the air.


    Their attacks landed one after another.


    A brutal strike to the ribs¡ªUwe¡¯s fist sank deep, the impact forcing Veynor¡¯s unresponsive body to lurch, though he remained locked in time¡¯s unyielding grasp. A sweeping cut from Geschicht, slicing a shallow line across Veynor¡¯s shoulder¡ªno blood spilled, no reaction came, only the ghost of future pain waiting to awaken.


    They struck like a storm, an unrelenting tide of force and steel, their bodies untethered by the frozen world around them. Every motion was precise, every attack calculated. A kick from Uwe sent Veynor reeling, only for Geschicht to meet him mid-air with an upward slash. A downward hammering blow crushed into Veynor¡¯s back, followed by a spinning cut across his side.


    Five seconds.


    An eternity compressed into a breath.


    Uwe¡¯s eyes burned brighter, his grip tightening into a final, decisive strike. He twisted his body, every muscle coiling like a drawn bow, then¡ªa devastating blow, a single punch infused with all the force his body could muster. The moment his knuckles met Veynor¡¯s torso, the tunnel seemed to quake, the very air howling with the impact.


    And then¡ª


    Everything resumed.


    A delayed explosion of force erupted outward. The dust in the air burst forward as if suddenly remembering it had fallen. The tunnel¡¯s colors roared back into motion, blurring violently around them. Veynor, once frozen in place, was sent hurtling backward, crashing into the tunnel wall with such force that the very stone cracked upon impact.


    For a moment, he remained standing¡ªstaggering, reeling¡ªbut his legs wobbled beneath him. His vision blurred, and as he tried to take a breath, his body finally gave out. With one final step forward, he collapsed, unconscious, his body refusing to continue the fight.


    Silence fell upon the tunnel, save for the ragged breathing of the two victors.


    Uwe rolled his shoulders, shaking out his bruised knuckles, his glowing eyes dimming back to their normal hues. ¡°Stay low, you freak¡± His voice, though steady, carried the weight of exhaustion.


    Geschicht exhaled sharply, barely suppressing the tremor in his hands. He had never fought within stolen time before¡ªnever moved against a world that had stood still. And yet, despite the ache in his limbs, despite the exhaustion threatening to pull him under, he couldn¡¯t suppress the slight upward curve of his lips. He sheathed his sword back into his journal with a flick of ink. ¡°That was something else.¡±


    Uwe exhaled sharply as he plopped down right on top of Veynor¡¯s unconscious body, using the man as an impromptu seat. He rolled his shoulders, stretching out the lingering tension from the fight, before leaning forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. His red and blue eyes had dimmed to their usual hues, though exhaustion still weighed heavily on his frame.


    A few feet away, Geschicht let himself slide down against the tunnel wall, landing on the ground with a quiet thud. His breath was still uneven, and he tilted his head back, staring up at the swirling colors above them. The aftermath of their battle had left the tunnel in disarray¡ªfractured stone, disturbed dust, and lingering energy from their fight humming in the air.


    Then, with an exasperated sigh, Geschicht muttered, "This whole thing was exhausting... I wonder how much Doh I''ll get after this."


    Uwe let out a short chuckle, shifting slightly on his makeshift seat. "Plenty," he said, patting Veynor¡¯s unconscious form like a prized catch. "We took down a Proximal Phalanx, after all. That alone should get us a good haul. And that¡¯s not even counting if these guys have bounties on their heads."


    Geschicht groaned, rubbing his temples. "I really hope they do. I think I deserve a little extra after nearly getting my head taken off by rogue traps."


    Uwe smirked. "Well, if you weren¡¯t running around barehanded half the time, maybe you¡¯d have had an easier time."


    "Excuse me," Geschicht shot back, lifting his head to glare at him. "I was being efficient. Can¡¯t be swinging a sword at every little thing."


    Uwe raised an eyebrow. "Says the guy who jumped in swinging at Veynor the moment he saw an opening."


    "That was different," Geschicht huffed. "That was teamwork."


    Uwe laughed, shaking his head. He leaned back a little, glancing at the still-vibrant colors of the tunnel, their glow shifting and pulsing like a living thing. "Either way, we¡¯ll walk away with heavy pockets." He stretched out his arms before resting them behind his head. "And I could use a good drink after this."


    Geschicht snorted. "Just don¡¯t go spending your share all in one place."


    Uwe smirked, tilting his head toward him. "And what? You gonna save yours?"


    Geschicht waved a hand dismissively. "I have plans."


    "Oh?" Uwe grinned. "What, gonna buy yourself a castle?"


    "Nah," Geschicht said, exhaling. "Just thinking of setting some aside for later. Might come in handy."


    Uwe hummed, watching him for a moment before leaning back again. "Fair enough."


    For a while, neither of them spoke. The tunnel was eerily quiet now, save for their slowed breaths and the occasional shift of loose rubble. The colors still swirled, casting a surreal glow over the aftermath of their battle.


    Then, after a beat, Geschicht muttered, "You¡¯re really not gonna move off him?"


    Uwe gave an exaggerated sigh, patting Veynor again like he was the most comfortable seat in the world. "Eh. He¡¯s still warm."


    Geschicht shook his head, a tired chuckle escaping his lips. "You''re unbelievable."


    Uwe stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders before giving Geschicht a side glance. A smirk tugged at his lips as he said, "Wanna have the view of the whole thing?"


    Geschicht, still catching his breath, turned his head toward him. There was a brief pause before he gave a firm nod. "Yeah."


    The moment he agreed, Uwe¡¯s blue eye began to glow¡ªnot just a faint shimmer, but an intense, pulsing radiance, almost as if a star had ignited within it. A second later, Geschicht felt his vision blur, his own senses momentarily swallowed by a rush of foreign sensations.


    And then¡ª


    A shift. A pull.


    He wasn¡¯t in the tunnel anymore.


    His sight expanded, and suddenly, he was looking through the eyes of Harriet and Jelle, their battle unfolding as if he were right there with them. The world around them was chaotic, filled with the clash of weapons and the flickering light of embers and sparks. Barbel stood before them like an unshakable force, her presence heavy with unwavering determination.


    Through Harriet¡¯s perspective, Geschicht watched as the invisible force of spectral hands struck, parried, and pushed against Barbel¡¯s defense. Barbel met every strike with monstrous strength, her montante carving through the air with unrelenting force. Geschicht couldn¡¯t feel the weight of the attacks or the resistance of the blows, only witnessing how effortlessly Barbel responded to each assault.


    Then, from Jelle¡¯s eyes¡ªher perspective was different. More fluid, more instinctive. Geschicht saw the way she moved, shifting like the wind itself, her wooden blade moving unpredictably. But despite her speed and ferocity, Barbel remained undeterred, her stance unwavering like an immovable mountain.


    Geschicht¡¯s real body remained still in the tunnel, disconnected from the sensations of battle, but within his mind, he was witnessing it all¡ªthe overwhelming clash, the tension in every strike, the struggle that neither side could afford to lose.


    Barbel¡¯s montante carved through the air with thunderous force, each swing birthing a violent rupture¡ªair compressing, then detonating outward in concussive bursts. The tunnels trembled beneath the weight of her strikes, their once-vivid hues flickering like candlelight in a storm.


    Jelle danced through the shockwaves, her wooden sword tracing sharp arcs as she sought an opening. The moment her blade met Barbel¡¯s side, another blast erupted, hurling her backward, her feet barely catching the ground in time.


    Harriet surged forward, spectral hands unfurling like unseen chains, grasping for Barbel¡¯s wrists, her blade, anything to break her stance. But she was an unrelenting force¡ªevery movement carried the weight of inevitability, every strike sundered the space around her as though the world itself sought to push back against her will.


    "Why?" Harriet''s voice cut through the air, his golden eyes searching hers amidst the chaos. "Why are you doing this?"


    Barbel¡¯s grip on her montante did not waver. "Because the wind does not wait for the fallen leaf," she said, her voice even, yet edged with something unspoken¡ªsomething raw.


    Jelle, steadying herself, narrowed her eyes. "What does that mean?"


    Barbel exhaled, her stance never breaking. "It means that stillness is indulgence," she murmured. "And indulgence is decay."


    Jelle tightened her grip on the wooden sword, shifting her stance as the force of Barbel¡¯s words struck deeper than the concussive bursts of her montante. Harriet stood firm, spectral hands rippling in the air, waiting¡ªwatching.


    Barbel did not falter, but there was something beneath the weight of her presence. A tension not born from battle, but from something older, something unresolved.


    "Stagnation invites ruin," she continued, her voice low, almost distant. "What is lost cannot be held in place. To linger is to let rot take root."


    She swung her montante in a slow, deliberate arc¡ªnot an attack, but a motion. The blade hummed, the air around it stretching thin before snapping back in another violent burst. A warning. A reminder.


    Harriet''s golden eyes narrowed. "So you think if you just keep moving¡ªkeep destroying¡ªyou won¡¯t have to face what¡¯s behind you?"


    Barbel¡¯s jaw tightened, her grip on the hilt rigid. "I am facing it."


    Jelle took a step forward, her wooden sword at her side. "No," she said softly. "You''re running through it."


    The tunnels pulsed with shifting colors, the fractured light casting strange reflections over Barbel¡¯s face. For the first time, there was something almost unreadable in her expression. Not anger. Not certainty.


    Just a shadow of something left behind.


    Barbel exhaled, steadying her stance. "Forward is the only direction that exists," she said.


    And with that, she charged.


    The air twisted.


    Barbel¡¯s voice had barely faded before something¡ªsomething vast, unseen¡ªanswered. The very walls of the tunnel trembled as if breathing, and then, as though reality itself had grown impatient with its shape, everything expanded.


    The confined passage shattered into openness. No debris, no broken stone, just an abrupt and seamless transition into something immeasurably vast. It was as if the tunnel had never been a tunnel at all but merely the prelude to this place.


    Jelle and Harriet were thrown backward by the sheer force of the shift, their footing lost as the ground beneath them warped into a boundless surface of interwoven colors. No texture, no weight¡ªjust an endless, ever-shifting plane of color that had no beginning or end.


    The air no longer tasted of dust and damp stone but of something indescribable, something both ancient and unfamiliar¡ªthe scent of everything and nothing.


    Harriet barely had time to push himself upright before his breath caught in his throat.


    The Eye.


    It did not float. It did not loom in the air like some celestial watcher. Instead, it rested¡ªplaced¡ªupon an altar of rough-cut stone, its shape too unnatural, too precise, to be something that had merely formed here.


    The altar was weathered, cracked along its edges, yet pulsing with an ancient radiance. It stood alone at the center of the vastness, as if the world itself had been constructed around it. And upon it, nestled in a smooth, concave impression, was the Eye.


    An enormous, left eye, severed from whatever being it once belonged to, its form preserved as if untouched by time. Its iris was a swirling storm of rainbow hues, shifting and blending in ways that defied comprehension. The sclera pulsed faintly, as if something lived within it¡ªsomething watching.


    Barbel stood at the very edge of the stone altar.


    The light from the Eye cast a thousand fleeting colors across her form. Her hand gripped the hilt of her montante, but for the first time since the battle had begun, she did not move. She did not attack.


    She just stared.


    Harriet forced himself to his feet, eyes darting between Barbel and the Eye. He could feel the weight of its gaze, though it did not blink, did not shift. It simply watched.


    Jelle steadied herself, her wooden sword feeling laughably small in the presence of something so incomprehensible. She took a step forward, then hesitated. "Barbel¡­ What is this?"


    Barbel did not answer.


    Instead, she raised her hand¡ªnot toward them, not in defiance or in readiness to fight, but toward it.


    Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.


    "No matter what¡­ I need to see them again."


    The moment the words left her lips, the world responded.


    The colors around them surged, spiraling outward in great, undulating waves. The vastness of the space seemed to breathe, the Eye¡¯s iris shifting faster, faster, until the very air itself was alive with movement.


    And then¡ªthe altar pulsed.


    A single beat.


    The force of it sent a shudder through the endless space, rippling outward like a heartbeat too large for any body to contain. The colors around them distorted, stretching and twisting as if something were about to break through.


    Jelle and Harriet braced themselves, but Barbel did not.


    She merely watched as the Eye upon the stone opened wider.


    The world quivered.


    The altar pulsed again¡ªonce, twice, thrice. Each beat sent waves of force rolling through the boundless space, distorting the air, twisting the colors into frenzied chaos. The rainbow storm within the Eye swirled faster, coiling inward as if being drawn toward something¡ªtoward her.


    Barbel did not resist.


    She did not move, did not recoil, did not even blink as the Eye¡¯s spiraling hues elongated into thin, shifting tendrils of light. They stretched, reaching for her, bending toward her face as if guided by an unseen will. The colors flickered wildly, refracting against the polished steel of her montante, dancing across the surface of her armor.


    Then, without warning¡ªthey struck.


    A single tendril of rainbow light shot forward and pierced into Barbel¡¯s left eye.


    Her body tensed. Her fingers dug into the hilt of her sword. Her breath hitched, sharp and silent. And yet, she did not scream.


    The Eye upon the altar collapsed inward, its swirling mass unraveling in an instant, shrinking, condensing¡ªfunneling into Barbel.


    Harriet took a step forward. "Barbel¡ª"


    But it was too late.


    With one final pulse of ancient energy, the last of the godly object fused into her. The stone altar was left bare, cracked and empty, its purpose fulfilled. And Barbel¡ª


    Barbel opened her eyes.


    Her right eye remained the same, sharp and unwavering. But her left¡ª


    Her left eye was no longer hers.


    It gleamed with the brilliance of the absorbed entity, its iris a churning storm of ever-shifting colors, a living prism that defied the very fabric of reality.


    Jelle tightened her grip on her wooden sword. Harriet said nothing, his golden eyes reflecting the impossible sight before him.


    Barbel breathed in. A slow, steady inhale.


    Then she turned to them, her rainbow-lit gaze somewhere.

 Chapter 18: Dear Obsession (VII)

    Far beneath the world of men, where no sunlight reached and the ground bore the scars of bygone ages, a chamber of unearthly vastness lay hidden. Its walls, if walls they could be called, shimmered with colors unknown to mortal eyes, hues that danced and shifted as though alive, whispering secrets older than the first kingdoms. The air was thick with something unseen yet deeply felt, an ancient power that hummed in the bones, pressing upon the heart like the weight of untold stories left unsung.


    And there, in the midst of that luminous abyss, stood Barbel Flux.


    No longer merely a woman of flesh and will, she was something beyond, something reborn. A force unshackled, her form wreathed in the luminous remnants of the thing that once dwelled upon the altar. Her stance was firm, unyielding, and though she had been a warrior before, she was now something far more terrible.


    She exhaled, and the very air trembled.


    Before her, Harriet and Jelle stood, their breaths uneven. The battle had raged long, far longer than either had foreseen. They had fought against warriors and beasts, against steel and magic¡ªbut this? This was unlike anything before. The laws of combat, of strength and skill, had shifted beneath their feet like a tide that no man could command.


    For Barbel¡¯s power had changed. She was changed.


    Once, she had merely been the wielder of air¡¯s untamed force, able to expand it at will, to command the winds to rupture and shatter, to make the very atmosphere a weapon of her design. Now, she was something greater.


    She did not merely make the air explode¡ªshe bent it, shaped it, crushed it.


    Harriet barely caught the shift in time. A flicker of motion, the barest tightening of her fingers upon the hilt of her montante¡ªand then it came.


    The air did not boom as before, did not burst outward in a concussive blast. No, this time it shrank, tightened¡ªbecame a spear sharper than any forged blade. A line of compressed nothingness ripped through the chamber, a lance of invisible death, aimed straight for his heart.


    He barely twisted aside, the vacuum searing past his ribs. A deep gash split open on his shirt, though no weapon had touched him.


    She can fire them.


    Jelle darted forward, wooden sword in hand, her feet light upon the shifting stone beneath them. She feinted left, knowing that against such an opponent a single misstep was doom¡ªbut Barbel did not need to move to strike.


    With a mere shift of her stance, she let loose another blade of air.


    Jelle''s instincts saved her. She threw herself into a roll, feeling the unseen edge carve a path just above her, slicing cleanly through the rock behind her as though it were parchment.


    Unblockable. Instantaneous.


    Harriet¡¯s mind raced. This was no longer a battle of a mere singularit?t. The air itself was her weapon, the invisible fabric of the world turned against them. Every breath, every movement, was a danger waiting to be severed.


    And Barbel¡­ she did not waver.


    She stood amidst the storm of color, unbothered, untouched, her rainbow-lit eye watching them as if seeing through all things.


    She exhaled. The air trembled again.


    Then, she raised her sword.


    And there she stood¡ªBarbel Flux, once merely a warrior of flesh, now a sovereign of unseen ruin, the air itself bound in servitude to her will. She did not advance as a foe would, nor did she charge with the reckless fervor of a battle-mad beast. She walked.


    Measured steps, deliberate, inexorable, as though the very earth beneath her feet bent to her stride. And with each step, the air itself sang.


    Not the dulcet tones of nature¡¯s breath, nor the tempest¡¯s howling cry, but a whisper of entropy, a dirge of unraveling. Each movement of her fingers, each minute shift of her weight, invoked calamity. The unseen hand of dominion cleaved the very world asunder.


    Harriet and Jelle ran.


    Not in fear, for there was no room for fear in battle, but in a desperate gambit, a ceaseless dance upon the precipice of death. For against a foe whose blade was formless, whose strikes bore neither steel nor flame but instead the immutable decree of division¡ªno parry would avail them.


    The air did not merely move at her command. It sundered.


    It compressed to a needlepoint, thinner than the mortal eye could perceive, faster than human thought, and it cut¡ªnot like a blade of honed steel, but as a concept erased from reality itself.


    Jelle twisted, her wooden sword a blur, not to strike, for to strike was folly, but to maneuver¡ªto shift, to weave, to flow between the slivers of annihilation that lanced toward her from all sides. Yet even so, the assault was unending, unrelenting, as though the very act of motion invited destruction.


    Where others saw nothing, Harriet saw everything¡ªphantom hands unseen to mortal sight grasped at the shifting currents of fate itself, seeking some path, some means to reach her. Yet against her might, even his spectral grasp met resistance, as though the very air rebelled against his will.


    Still, he pressed forward.


    ¡°FLUX.¡±


    Her name was spoken, not as a cry of defiance, nor as a plea, but as something else¡ªa tether to a past not yet severed.


    She did not answer.


    Her path did not waver. Her sword did not falter. Only her eye, that resplendent orb of infinite hues, shifted¡ªgazing through him, past him, beyond him.


    And then¡ªanother step.


    A flicker of her wrist, so imperceptible it might have been the barest quiver of breath. But in its wake came ruin¡ªa wave of cleaving force, a guillotine unseen, a decree of severance.


    The very air shrieked in protest as it was rent asunder. Harriet¡¯s limbs burned with exertion, his invisible hands clawing desperately at unseen edges of existence, shifting the course of the inevitable by mere fractions.


    A whisper of wind, a flicker of movement¡ªand he was nearly split in twain.


    A gash, not deep but perilously close, painted his side in red. Jelle fared no better, her breath ragged, sweat gleaming upon her brow, her wooden sword a futile ward against a foe whose blade was not bound by form.


    Barbel walked.


    The ground trembled. Not from power, nor magic, nor the wrath of the heavens¡ªbut from inevitability.


    For how does one fight that which cannot be grasped? How does one defy a force that does not move, does not charge, does not waver¡ªbut merely claims, step by step, what is already fated to fall?


    Harriet¡¯s breath was labored. His golden eyes flickered. Yet still, he reached out.


    Not with blade, nor body, nor the strength of a warrior. The unseen hands, his will made manifest, stretched forth¡ªnot to strike, but to hold.


    To grasp something beyond steel and death.


    And in that moment, he spoke again.


    ¡°Please¡­ look at me.¡±


    For a fraction of a second¡ªa moment so brief it could have been imagined¡ªher step slowed.


    Though the air itself sought to carve through sinew and bone, though the world around him trembled beneath the weight of her indomitable presence, he pressed forth. His unseen hands wove through the very breath of existence, seeking purchase not upon her flesh, nor her blade, but upon something deeper¡ªsomething lost, something buried beneath the ruin of time and sorrow.


    ¡°Barbel,¡± he called again, his voice neither pleading nor demanding, but steady, immutable. ¡°Is this truly the shape of your will?¡±


    She did not answer at first. Her stride, resolute, did not falter. Yet, as the iridescent eye upon her countenance turned upon him, it was not wrath that burned in its depths, nor scorn, nor the cold detachment of a warrior too far gone. It was weariness. A weight that did not rest upon her shoulders, but within them, wound deep into marrow and soul.


    And then¡ªshe spoke.


    Her voice was not harsh, nor cruel, nor fevered with conviction. It was measured, deliberate, as though each syllable were carved from something greater, something unyielding.


    ¡°One does not stand still, Harriet.¡±


    The world did not move. The air did not stir. The light of all colors danced upon the unfathomable walls of that vast chamber, and still, the quiet of her words held dominion over all.


    ¡°Not in war, nor grief, nor the hours stretched between the two.¡±


    A step forward. The stone beneath her feet did not yield. It accepted her passage as the river accepts the storm¡ªwithout question, without pause.


    ¡°To remain where one has fallen is to cease. The ground does not care for our sorrow. The wind does not wait for our hesitation. The world does not halt for the weary.¡±


    Another step. Another wave of unseen force rippled forth, but this one did not seek to maim, nor to end. It merely passed, a whisper of power with no master but time itself.


    ¡°What, then, is left?¡±


    She turned her gaze upon him fully, and for the first time, Harriet beheld something beyond the enormity of her strength.


    It was not fire. It was not hunger. It was not even pain.


    It was acceptance.


    Not peace. Not surrender. But the solemn understanding of a truth that could not be unraveled nor denied.


    ¡°We do not move because we wish to. We move because there is nothing else.¡±


    Her fingers curled, and the air shuddered once more, though now it bore neither violence nor command¡ªonly weight.


    ¡°One may mourn as they step. One may carry the ruin of yesterday within the breath of today. But still, the step must be taken.¡±


    She lifted her hand, palm upward, and Harriet felt it.


    Not power. Not destruction.


    The distance.


    The chasm between what was and what must be.


    The gulf that separated her from something unseen, something unspoken, something she would not name.


    Her fingers curled, as though grasping for something that was no longer there.


    And when she spoke again, it was not to him.


    ¡°To remain is to undo the path they walked. To turn back is to unmake their footsteps.¡±


    A pause. A breath. A silence that was not empty, but filled with something vast, something deep, something too heavy to carry¡ªyet carried nonetheless.


    And then¡ªsoftly, faintly, barely above a whisper:


    ¡°¡­And that, I will not allow.¡±


    Harriet did not hesitate. Even as the air itself howled its silent warning, even as the weight of an unseen force pressed upon him as though the very world sought to smother his breath, he did not yield.


    "And those left in D?mmerburg? The children?" His voice carried through the tremors in the air, slicing through the unseen barriers that lay between them. It was not a plea, nor an accusation, but a question sharpened by purpose.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Barbel''s step did not falter, nor did her countenance shift. The luminous patterns of her gaze, the swirling iridescence that had consumed what once had been merely her eye, did not waver. Yet when she spoke, there was a gravity in her words that could not be mistaken.


    "They will be as all must be¡ªconfronted with the path ahead and left to make their choice."


    Harriet¡¯s breath was steady, yet his heart hammered within his chest. His unseen hands, fingers woven of thought and will, reached out¡ªnot to strike, not to restrain, but to touch upon something fragile beneath the weight of her strength.


    "And if they cannot choose?" he pressed.


    "Then time shall choose in their stead."


    Another step. The pressure in the air shifted once more, rippling outward like the slow, deliberate movement of a tide unstoppable in its advance.


    "And if they fear the road before them?" Harriet continued, voice unwavering.


    "Then they will know the taste of fear, as all who walk this world must."


    A pause. A stillness, but not of peace¡ªof something unspeakably vast, unfathomably deep.


    "And if they falter?"


    For the briefest of moments, she hesitated.


    Her fingers curled at her side, as though grasping for something long since lost, something beyond reach, beyond reclamation. And when she spoke once more, it was softer, though no less resolute.


    "Then they will fall."


    Harriet exhaled. The answer was as he had expected, yet still, it struck him¡ªnot for its cruelty, but for its truth. For its certainty.


    Yet he was not finished.


    "And if they are alone?" he asked.


    Barbel¡¯s gaze did not waver, yet within that endless swirl of colors, there was something buried deep, unseen, unheard.


    "Then they will stand as we all must¡ªalone beneath the sky, alone beneath the weight of the world."


    He could feel the heat rising within him, not of anger, not of indignation, but of something deeper¡ªsomething raw, something that refused to be silenced.


    And still, he spoke.


    "And if they have lost everything?"


    This time, she did not answer immediately.


    The air grew still, yet the weight of it pressed heavier than before. The iridescent light of the chamber cast shadows where there should have been none, stretching far beyond the reach of the stone beneath their feet.


    Barbel¡¯s lips parted, but the words¡ªwhen they came¡ªwere not spoken to him, nor to the world, nor to the battle that raged between them.


    They were spoken to something distant, something unseen, something that existed in the spaces between memory and silence.


    "Then they will know what it is to continue."


    Harriet inhaled sharply, his golden eyes burning with a fierce, unwavering light. The storm of compressed air howled around him, unseen blades carving through the space he occupied, yet he did not step back. His spectral hands, those unseen extensions of his will, trembled with something far greater than mere strain.


    And then, he spoke.


    "That¡¯s enough." His voice rang out¡ªnot as a plea, not as a demand, but as an irrefutable truth. A declaration of intent, sharpened by resolve. "I¡¯ve had it with this. I don¡¯t care how strong you are, how much you¡¯ve convinced yourself that this is the only path left¡ªbecause I¡¯m telling you now, you¡¯re wrong."


    Barbel¡¯s expression remained impassive, yet something in the shifting iridescence of her eye flickered¡ªa ripple in an otherwise perfect current.


    Harriet took another step forward, pressing against the crushing weight of her power, his hands reaching for something beyond mere battle, beyond victory or defeat. "I get it. You¡¯re strong. You had to be. You had no choice but to keep walking, no matter what you lost along the way."


    The air between them thickened, the very space trembling under the force of the compressed energy in her grasp. Still, he did not waver.


    "But that¡¯s exactly why I won¡¯t let you decide how this ends. You think this path you¡¯re on is inevitable¡ªthat you have to keep moving, no matter the cost. But if your only choice is to lose yourself along the way, then what¡¯s even left at the end?"


    Barbel¡¯s fingers twitched. A minute movement, imperceptible to anyone but him. Yet it was enough.


    Harriet pressed forward.


    "You¡¯re not beyond saving, Barbel. I don¡¯t care how far you think you¡¯ve gone¡ªI¡¯m going to drag you back from your own conclusion. Because I know you. I know the part of you that still remembers why you started walking in the first place."


    His spectral hands surged forward¡ªnot to strike, not to restrain, but to reach.


    "And if you won¡¯t stop yourself, then I will. Because that¡¯s what it means to stand by someone. To fight for them even when they¡¯ve given up on themselves."


    The storm of air intensified, the very walls of the chamber groaning beneath the unseen force. Yet Harriet stood tall.


    "So go ahead. Show me everything you¡¯ve got. No matter how strong you think you are, you¡¯re not going to stop me from saving you."


    And then, he moved.


    Harriet stepped forward, his golden gaze burning like the very sun at its zenith, unwavering in the face of the unstoppable force before him. And then, with a voice that would not be denied, he declared:


    "I, Harriet Reacher, shall make a miracle."


    The words rang through the cavernous abyss, resounding against the unseen currents of power that threatened to tear the very ground asunder. They were not mere boasts, nor the reckless bravado of a fool charging toward the impossible. No¡ªthey were an oath. A declaration so absolute that the world itself seemed to shudder at its weight.


    At his side, Jelle let out a breathless chuckle, her lips curling into a wry grin. "Too much confidence, aren¡¯t you?" she mused, yet her voice carried no mockery, only amusement. She laughed, the sound light as a whispering breeze before a storm. Then, without hesitation, she thrust the tip of her wooden blade deep into the earth.


    Beneath them, unseen by all but her, the roots stirred.


    For while the battle raged, while their struggle against the unrelenting force of Barbel Flux seemed like a battle against fate itself¡ªJelle had been weaving her will into the very bones of the earth. Like a patient sculptor, she had carved her domain beneath the surface, each thread of wood an extension of her intent, coiling through the unseen depths of the labyrinthine tunnels that sprawled beneath the city.


    Now, at last, they answered her call.


    A deep, resonant tremor coursed through the ground. Not the shudder of destruction, but of something awakening. A low, whispering groan rippled through the unseen roots, stretching, twisting, threading themselves through the very veins of the underground stronghold. Barbel¡¯s iridescent eye flickered, betraying a sliver of astonishment.


    "This," Jelle exhaled, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her wooden blade, "this will give us a winning chance."


    The earth itself seemed to breathe beneath them, the roots now alive, writhing with the strength of a titan long forgotten. With a swift glance at Harriet, her expression hardened¡ªnot in doubt, but in pure, unshakable resolve.


    "So steel yourself, Harriet."


    Barbel¡¯s blade of compressed air sliced through the world itself, its edge unseen yet undeniable, a force so refined it rendered the very air a weapon of absolute precision. Each swing, each thrust¡ªthey were not mere attacks but judgments, passing through all that dared stand in their path with neither resistance nor hesitation.


    Stone was nothing. The cavern walls, once immutable, were carved apart as though sculpted from mist. The roots of Jelle¡¯s conjuring¡ªancient, gnarled, hardened by the very will of the earth¡ªshould have stood unyielding. And yet, before Barbel¡¯s terrible might, they fell in droves, severed without effort, split apart as if they had never truly existed.


    But there were too many.


    For every root that was cut, dozens more rose in its place. The underground itself had become Jelle¡¯s domain, an unbroken web of intertwining tendrils, a living force surging toward Barbel with relentless purpose. No matter how sharp, no matter how fast, her blade could not carve the infinite.


    And in this shifting battlefield, where the very earth bent to Jelle¡¯s will, Harriet and Jelle became untouchable.


    The roots did not simply confine Barbel¡ªthey carried Harriet and Jelle, twisting and winding beneath their feet, lifting them, shifting them, granting them speed beyond reckoning. They ran like phantoms, leaping from branch to branch, evading every deadly arc of compressed air that sought to claim them.


    The air shrieked, compressed into a razor-thin lance that should have turned them into dust¡ªbut the roots carried them away.


    A scything arc cleaved the cavern in two, rending rock and root alike¡ªbut not them.


    They surged forward, undeterred, relentless, a tempest of movement and momentum that turned the once-insurmountable foe into the hunted.


    The battle raged like a storm given form, the underground cavern a shifting, chaotic battlefield where the unrelenting might of Barbel Flux clashed against the ingenuity and resilience of Harriet and Jelle. Compressed air, sharpened to a keenness beyond mortal forging, tore through the labyrinthine roots, each strike a sentence of obliteration.


    Yet the roots endured. They multiplied, surging forth like serpents, weaving an ever-expanding tapestry that turned the underground itself into a living entity¡ªa battlefield made of Jelle¡¯s will, one that did not crumble before Barbel¡¯s relentless advance, but adapted, evolved.


    Jelle and Harriet moved like ghosts upon the shifting wood, their steps weightless, never lingering long enough for Barbel¡¯s deadly precision to find its mark.


    Harriet, unseen hands reaching out like wraiths, lunged forward. The spectral grip lashed out, seeking Barbel¡¯s limbs, her shoulders, her arms, attempting to slow her, to bind her, but Barbel was a tempest wrapped in flesh.


    With a flick of her wrist, she sent a thin, condensed blade of air slicing through the spectral grasp, dispersing them into mist. Harriet barely dodged the follow-up, an unseen crescent of air that would have taken his head clean from his shoulders.


    But Harriet had no need to land decisive strikes¡ªonly to keep pushing forward.


    Jelle¡¯s roots, countless and ever-shifting, surged forward with renewed fury. They came not in simple, mindless waves, but as coordinated, weaving tendrils¡ªsome forming shields, others striking out like spears, trying to grasp and bind Barbel from every angle.


    Barbel¡¯s foot barely touched the ground before she propelled herself backward, a concentrated burst of compressed air detonating beneath her. She skidded across the cavern floor, slicing clean through the thickest roots with an upward swing of her blade.


    Then, in the span of a breath¡ªshe changed.


    No longer did she stand her ground, no longer did she merely slash away the obstacles set before her. She became a force of pure destruction.


    A step forward¡ªa column of air burst outward, a shockwave that shattered everything in its path. The cavern trembled, the very foundations of the underground labyrinth quaking under the sheer force.


    Jelle moved, but she was an instant too late.


    Barbel¡¯s hand shot forward, fingers curling into a loose grasp before¡ªBOOM.


    A pillar of compressed air surged from her palm, striking Jelle dead center. The world around her blurred into streaks of light and shattered debris as she was hurled backward.


    Through walls.


    Through corridors.


    Through stone, through earth, through the very boundary of the underground.


    The force of the blast did not stop at the surface. Jelle was launched into the heart of D?mmerburg, her body tearing through stone buildings like a meteor, dust and rubble exploding in her wake. Only when she crashed through the final structure, collapsing in the remnants of a shattered street, did the motion cease.


    The city was silent for only a moment.


    Then came the screams.


    The people of D?mmerburg, caught in the shock of a battle waged beneath their feet, now bore witness to its arrival on their doorstep.


    Beneath the earth, the fight was not yet over.


    Harriet had no time to process Jelle¡¯s fate. He had no time for doubt. No time to hesitate.


    Barbel turned her full focus onto him now, and in that moment, the underground seemed far too small to contain her presence.


    Harriet rushed forward, his spectral hands surging out in droves, reaching, grasping, moving faster than the eye could track. Barbel did not move to evade¡ªshe carved through them.


    Each invisible limb severed.


    Each attempt to restrain her annihilated.


    And then, he was close.


    Close enough that his spectral fingers brushed against her shoulder.


    A single moment. A heartbeat. That was all he needed.


    And yet¡ª


    SLASH.


    A deep, blinding pain tore across his stomach.


    He gasped.


    The world lurched.


    His body staggered backward as warmth spilled down his front, pooling in his hands as his knees buckled beneath him. The air itself felt too thick to breathe.


    Barbel stood before him, her montante blade now painted with scarlet.


    Harriet collapsed to one knee, breath ragged, pain lancing through his core with every twitch of movement. His fingers trembled, pressing against the gash, as though he could hold the wound closed with sheer force of will alone.


    Yet still, his spectral hand moved.


    Even as the world blurred at the edges.


    Even as his limbs screamed in agony.


    He reached for her.


    Harriet, upon the precipice of consciousness, his body betraying him with the ebbing tide of vitality, lifted his head. His golden eyes, dimmed yet unyielding, bore into Barbel¡¯s own with a clarity that defied the ruin carved into his flesh. His breath, ragged and strained, was carried forth as though the very air rebelled against his utterance, yet still, he spoke.


    "The children... they will not happy in the sight of you like this."


    The words, unassuming in structure yet wrought in a weight beyond reckoning, fractured the air between them. They did not merely reach Barbel; they ensnared her, wove themselves into the fabric of her being, a sudden and terrible arrest upon the maelstrom that had driven her thus far.


    Her breath faltered, her fingers convulsed against the hilt of her montante, as though uncertain whether to tighten or release.


    For in that moment, within the abyss of Harriet¡¯s voice, she glimpsed the unbearable reflection of herself¡ªnot the warrior wreathed in unstoppable force, not the inexorable will that cleaved through all in her path¡ªbut something far more fragile.


    A specter of aching remembrance clawed at the edges of her mind, unbidden yet relentless.


    The orphans¡ªtheir laughter, unchained and free, their hands, small and grasping, tugging at the hem of her sleeve, their voices calling for her in the quiet hours of the night. Not as they were in life, but as they would be now¡ªeyes widened in sorrow, in unfamiliarity, in fear.


    Would they know her still, standing before them not as the protector they once clung to, but as this? A tempest that had cast off its humanity in pursuit of an unyielding march forward?


    A step taken that could never be retraced.


    Her breath trembled, the weight of steel in her grasp now unbearable, as though the montante itself rejected the hand that wielded it.


    Harriet¡¯s body convulsed as he let out a choking gasp, crimson spilling past his lips in uneven rivulets. His breath, once defiant, now faltered¡ªa fleeting ember upon the cusp of being snuffed out. His golden eyes, dulled with the weight of exhaustion and pain, fluttered, and then¡ªlike a withering flame¡ªclosed. His form, once tense with determination, slackened, surrendering to unconsciousness.


    The moment stretched, elongated, as though time itself dared not intrude upon the stillness that followed.


    Then, the world fractured.


    Barbel¡¯s left eye, the one that had fused with the godly object, ignited. A kaleidoscope of brilliance surged forth, refracting every hue imaginable, yet bound by none. The colors did not merely shine¡ªthey writhed, twisted, pulsed as though alive. The tunnel, once vast and shadowed, trembled beneath the unseen force that now stirred.


    And in that light¡ªshe saw.


    It was neither memory nor vision, neither past nor future, but something beyond comprehension¡ªa presence, an understanding, a revelation.


    Barbel staggered, her breath caught in her throat. A weightless enormity pressed against her mind, silent yet deafening. Her fingers twitched, as if attempting to grasp something unseen, something just beyond the veil of reason.


    The light intensified, spilling into every crevice, reaching into every shadow, as if seeking to expose something long hidden.


    And then¡ª


    Silence.


    The radiance dimmed, retreating into her eye, leaving only its unearthly glow in its wake. The tunnel lay still once more.


    Barbel stood unmoving, staring at nothing, her fingers trembling at her side.


    She had seen them again.

 Chapter 19: Dear Old Times

    Barbel stood amidst a boundless expanse, where light neither flickered nor dimmed, but simply was¡ªa soft, formless glow that stretched into eternity.


    Around her, shapes flitted¡ªsmall figures, delicate and sprightly, tracing fleeting patterns through the air like dandelion seeds caught in a gentle breeze. They had no faces, no voices, yet their presence was unmistakable. Their laughter, though never truly heard, hummed within the very fabric of this place, a melody of something long cherished, long gone.


    One brushed past her, a gliding wisp of white, leaving a warmth against her skin. Another reached up with weightless hands, and though there was nothing to grasp, she swore she felt the tug upon her sleeve.


    It was peaceful.


    Barbel exhaled¡ªa breath that did not cloud in the air, that did not strain her lungs. The burdens upon her shoulders, the weight in her chest, they had ceased to be.


    The figures wove around her in effortless harmony, the rhythm of their presence undisturbed. She knew them. She had always known them. Not by name, nor by voice, but by the imprint they had left within her¡ªa memory, an ache, a yearning that had never stilled.


    They were here.


    And she was here.


    From the shifting white expanse, one of the childlike figures broke away, dashing toward her with an uneven gait. In its small, indistinct hands, a sword¡ªif it could even be called that¡ªwas clutched tight. The thing was weightless, formless, flickering between a wooden training blade and something far sharper, far crueler. Yet even as the figure raised it high, even as it made to strike, there was no malice, no hatred, no killing intent. Only play.


    Barbel did not flinch.


    Instead, she laughed.


    A sound not of scorn, not of wrath, but something light¡ªso terribly unfamiliar that it nearly startled even herself. A laugh from a time before her voice had become a blade, before her steps had carved through battlefield and ruin alike.


    The child swung. The strike was clumsy, unrefined¡ªarms too short, stance too open. It was flawed in every way, yet perfect in its sincerity.


    Barbel sidestepped, her movement slow, deliberate, a feigned struggle. She raised her arms¡ªnot to retaliate, but to play. With a gentle nudge, she deflected the strike, sending the child stumbling but not falling. The figure giggled, though no sound came, and tried again.


    Again, she dodged. Again, she blocked. Again, she let them come.


    Where once she had cleaved through steel and stone, where once her power had sundered walls and flesh alike, now she danced. A mock duel, a game long forgotten. A piece of a past that had never truly faded, only buried beneath the weight of grief.


    The other figures gathered in a circle around them, white specters of joy, watching, waiting, eager. They swayed with the rhythm of their fight, a chorus of unseen laughter in a world untouched by ruin.


    For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Barbel was not a warrior.


    She was just a person playing a game that once meant everything.


    She watched them¡ªnot with her warrior¡¯s eyes, but with something far older, something untouched by battle and blood. The figures danced around her, their shapes shifting, flickering between clarity and haze, but she knew them.


    She had always known them.


    Her lips parted, and the first name left her like a breath. ¡°Elsie.¡±


    The small figure before her¡ªstill gripping its weightless sword, still waiting for her next move¡ªfroze. The name settled around them, shaping the formless white into something almost tangible. Elsie, the bold, the fierce, the one who had always sworn to protect the others. She had never let go of Barbel¡¯s sleeve when they walked through the market, had always begged for lessons in swordplay, and had always believed that one day, she would be strong enough to stand beside her.


    Barbel swallowed. But Elsie had never been strong enough and would never be.


    She watched them¡ªnot with her warrior¡¯s eyes, but with something far older, something untouched by battle and blood. The figures danced around her, their shapes shifting, flickering between clarity and haze, but she knew them.


    She had always known them.


    Her gaze flickered past her, to the others. They were not still, not silent¡ªthey never had been.


    Her voice trembled, yet she continued.


    ¡°Jack.¡± The tallest among them, even when he hunched his shoulders as if trying to make himself smaller. Jack, who had once lied about being afraid of the dark so the younger ones wouldn¡¯t feel embarrassed about their fears, had read stories to those too young to sleep without them, who had sworn, even with nothing to his name, that one day, he¡¯d build them all a home of their own.


    Her fingers curled. Jack had never built that home.


    ¡°May.¡± Small hands, always sticky from stolen honey. May, who had tripped over everything in sight but never failed to get back up with a laugh. Who had pressed flowers into Barbel¡¯s hands and told her they suited her, even when she had scoffed at the thought.


    The flowers had burned before the walls had fallen.


    ¡°Heath.¡± Always the first to cry, the first to reach out. Heath, who had tugged on her sleeve and whispered that even warriors needed to rest. Who had traced nonsense patterns on her arm when she was too exhausted to move, humming made-up lullabies.


    There had been no lullabies left in the ashes.


    ¡°Beth.¡± The clever one, the schemer. Beth, who had tricked merchants into giving them extra bread with nothing but a sharp tongue and a winning smile. Who had always been three steps ahead, always planning for a future that would never come.


    She took a breath, but it did nothing to steady her.


    ¡°Ross.¡± The troublemaker. The storm. Ross, who had thrown mud at soldiers when they had marched too close. Who had never once flinched from those twice his size. Who had once told Barbel that no one was allowed to be stronger than her.


    She forced herself to keep going.


    ¡°Clara.¡± The singer, the one who had filled the orphanage with sound when silence had grown too heavy.


    ¡°Theo.¡± The artist, who had drawn her face over and over, swearing he¡¯d get it right someday.


    ¡°Marcy.¡± The healer, who had patched up scraped knees with careful hands, who had always worried more for others than herself.


    ¡°Gale.¡± The dreamer, who had spoken of seeing the world beyond their small, fragile home.


    ¡°Nia.¡± The quiet one, who had never spoken unless she was certain she would be heard.


    One by one, she named them. One by one, they became real again, if only for a moment.


    Her voice faltered.


    She knew them all¡ªnot by sight, not by sound, but by who they were. By the way Elsie still clutched her sword, ready to protect. By the way Jack still lingered at the back, watching over the others. By the way May¡¯s small hands still twitched as if searching for something to hold.


    And for the first time in so many years, she understood.


    She had been moving forward, but she had not once looked back.


    She had not allowed herself to see.


    Her fingers trembled.


    "You''re still here."


    Barbel stood frozen as the children closed in around her. Their forms remained as indistinct as ever¡ªmere outlines of white against the vast nothingness¡ªbut their intent was unmistakable. They reached for her.


    She braced herself, expecting the warmth of familiar hands, the small, eager grips that once tugged at her clothes, demanding attention, demanding love. But¡ª


    She felt nothing.


    The embrace should have been there, should have consumed her, but there was only emptiness. No weight. No warmth. No pressure against her skin, no slight shift in the air.


    It was like trying to grasp a shadow.


    Her throat tightened.


    Yet, even knowing she could not feel them, she still moved.


    Her arms, heavy with something far greater than exhaustion, lifted from her sides. Her fingers curled¡ªnot into flesh, not into fabric, but into absence.


    She held them anyway.


    She tried.


    The motion was clumsy, unsure. The warrior¡¯s hands that had torn through steel and stone now trembled as they hovered over nothing. But still, she did not stop.


    She could not.


    She tried to press them closer, tried to bury her face into their shoulders, tried to pull them back into her grasp. But they remained as they were, intangible, fleeting, untouchable.


    Yet, despite that¡ªdespite the void between them¡ªthey did not let go.


    She could see them, could see Elsie¡¯s head nestled against her ribs, Jack¡¯s arm curled around her back, May clinging to her waist as though she would never let go. She saw them hold her, even when she could not hold them.


    And for the first time in so long, she wished she could cry.


    Her arms tightened around the nothingness.


    A whisper of a voice¡ªnot a real one, not truly, but something from the depths of memory¡ªrose within her mind.


    "You¡¯re here. You¡¯re still here."


    Her breath hitched.


    She did not know whether she was speaking to them or if they were speaking to her.


    Barbel¡¯s breath caught in her throat.


    The white figure before her¡ªsmall, fragile, filled with boundless energy¡ªtilted its head up at her. Though its face was nothing but a vague blur, she could almost imagine the bright, eager eyes that once looked up at her, full of admiration, full of dreams.


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    Then, she heard it.


    Not a whisper, not a thought, but a voice¡ªclear, ringing, loud.


    "One day, I¡¯ll become a hero and help everyone just like you¡¯re doin¡¯, Miss Flux!"


    Barbel¡¯s entire body locked into place.


    It wasn¡¯t real.


    It couldn¡¯t be real.


    There were no mouths, no lips to form the words. The air had not moved. The sound had not passed through her ears. And yet¡ª


    She heard it.


    Elsie¡¯s voice.


    The same voice that once called her name over and over again, that used to laugh and giggle and ramble on about everything. The voice that had been silenced long ago.


    Yet here it was again, bright as ever. Unbroken.


    Her lips parted, but no words came.


    The small figure, oblivious to the weight that had just crashed upon Barbel¡¯s soul, puffed out its chest, full of pride, full of certainty.


    "I¡¯m gonna get real strong too! Just you wait! An¡¯ then, I¡¯ll save people! I¡¯ll¡ªI¡¯ll be so strong that no one¡¯s ever gonna be sad again! That¡¯s what a hero does, right?"


    Barbel¡¯s fingers twitched.


    For a moment, she was standing there again, outside the old orphanage, the afternoon sun sinking into the rooftops, Elsie¡¯s tiny hands gripping the hem of her coat, bouncing on her heels as she made her bold declaration.


    "I¡¯ll be like you! I¡¯ll protect everyone!"


    She had laughed back then. Ruffled the girl¡¯s hair. Told her to worry about climbing trees before she started worrying about saving the world.


    The girl had pouted at that. Had stomped her foot and insisted that one day she¡¯d show her.


    And now¡ª


    She was gone.


    Barbel¡¯s chest ached, raw, torn open.


    She wanted to reach for Elsie, to cup the girl¡¯s face in her hands, to tell her that she already was strong, that she didn¡¯t have to become a hero because she was already the bravest child she had ever known.


    But there was nothing to hold.


    Nothing to grasp.


    Only light.


    Only the shape of something long lost.


    She clenched her teeth, her nails digging into her palms.


    Why?


    Why was she hearing this now? Why was she seeing them now?


    Hadn¡¯t she already decided?


    Hadn¡¯t she already chosen her path?


    Hadn¡¯t she already accepted that she couldn¡¯t turn back?


    But Elsie¡¯s voice didn¡¯t fade.


    It stayed.


    Clear.


    Bright.


    Unshaken.


    And for the first time, Barbel felt something that she could not fight, could not crush, could not silence¡ª


    Doubt.


    One by one, the children were lifted.


    White figures, glowing softly, their undefined shapes weightless in the golden grasp of something unseen.


    Hands.


    Not ordinary hands, not flesh and bone, but spectral ones¡ªeach one radiant, warm, delicate in its touch. They cradled the children as though carrying something infinitely precious, something that must not be dropped, something that must not be lost again.


    Barbel¡¯s breath hitched.


    She knew these hands.


    His hands.


    Harriet.


    Even here, in this strange, silent space, he was reaching for her.


    The children did not resist. They curled into the golden grasp like seedlings being carried by the wind, like stars being placed gently into the sky.


    Barbel could only watch.


    Her knees felt weak. Her lips parted, but nothing came out at first. She swallowed, clenched her fists, and forced herself to speak.


    "Is this¡­ what it means to move forward?"


    Her voice startled her.


    It was quiet. Hesitant.


    For so long, she had believed in only one way forward.


    To never stop. Never falter. To cast aside the past as if it were a heavy burden.


    She had walked through fire, through ruin, through blood and ash¡ªtelling herself that if she just kept going, if she never turned back, then maybe, just maybe, it would all mean something.


    She had pushed forward, unrelenting.


    Forward, forward, forward.


    Never looking back. Never letting herself feel the weight of all that she had lost.


    Because to do so would mean breaking.


    And she could not afford to break.


    But now¡ª


    The past was here.


    Not in chains.


    Not in regret.


    Not as a weight dragging her down.


    But as light.


    As warmth.


    As something that had never truly left her.


    Her fingers twitched.


    For the first time, she wanted to reach out.


    Not to push away, not to let go¡ª


    But to hold.


    To remember.


    To keep.


    Her throat tightened.


    Had she been wrong?


    Had she spent all this time running forward, only to realize now that the past was not something to escape¡ª


    But something to carry?


    Something to cherish?


    A choked breath left her lips.


    She did not know if she was falling or standing still.


    She did not feel lost.


    The warmth faded.


    Like a distant melody slipping beyond reach, the golden hands, the glowing children, the quiet embrace of memory¡ªall of it dissolved.


    Barbel inhaled sharply.


    The scent of dust and stone filled her lungs. The flickering lights of the underground chamber returned, their colors dulled, the weight of reality settling back into her bones.


    Her left eye, once shimmering with an ethereal radiance, dimmed. The swirling rainbow hues receded, paling to a subdued glow before settling into stillness.


    And there, before her, lay Harriet.


    His body was motionless, save for the faint, uneven rise and fall of his chest. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and thick, seeping into the cold earth. His golden hair, usually so untamed and alive, clung damp to his forehead.


    Barbel¡¯s fingers twitched.


    She knelt.


    One knee pressed against the ground, the weight of her body heavier than it had ever been. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out¡ªher gloved hand hovering just above the deep wound she had carved into him.


    "You reckless fool," she murmured.


    Her voice was steady. Too steady.


    She let her fingers graze his torn sleeve, just above the wound. His skin was feverish beneath the blood. Too warm. Too fragile.


    Her breath caught.


    "Elsie wanted to be a hero, you know."


    The words left her lips before she could stop them.


    "She told me once¡ª"


    Barbel exhaled, shaking her head, her gaze fixed on the broken boy before her.


    "She said she wanted to save everyone. That a hero never turns away, never gives up, never lets anyone be left behind."


    A bitter chuckle escaped her.


    "I told her she was naive. That the world doesn¡¯t let people like us be heroes. That some fights can¡¯t be won."


    Her fingers curled into a fist.


    "But you¡ª"


    She swallowed.


    "You believe the same thing, don¡¯t you?"


    Harriet didn¡¯t respond.


    Of course, he didn¡¯t.


    He was barely holding on.


    Barbel closed her eyes for a moment, her brow furrowing, her breath uneven.


    When she opened them again, she was looking at his face¡ªat the stubborn tilt of his brow, even in unconsciousness.


    She thought of Elsie.


    Of that bright, clumsy grin. The way she had always reached¡ªeven when there was nothing to hold onto.


    "You¡¯re both the same," Barbel whispered.


    A hero.


    Even if the world tore him apart for it.


    Even if she was the one who had done the tearing.


    Barbel¡¯s fingers trembled as she reached up to her face.


    The eye burned.


    Not with pain¡ªbut with something deeper. Something twisted within her, clawing at her ribs, pressing against her lungs, demanding to stay.


    She ignored it.


    Her glove met her cheek, the cool leather brushing against fevered skin. Slowly, carefully, she pressed her fingers around the socket of her left eye¡ªwhere that cursed, luminous thing resided.


    The moment she touched it, the world shifted.


    The air around her pulsed. The cavernous room of endless color shuddered as the hues that once danced freely now spiraled¡ªrushing toward her, toward the eye, toward him.


    Harriet.


    Lying there. Bleeding. Dying.


    Barbel clenched her jaw.


    "I won¡¯t let you die."


    Her grip tightened, and with all the force of her will, she pulled.


    Pain. A sharp, searing heat ignited in her skull, white-hot and relentless. The rainbow light flared, streaks of every color unraveling from her eye like threads being ripped from existence.


    The chamber roared with movement¡ªswirling, writhing, rushing toward Harriet¡¯s broken body.


    Her vision split.


    She felt it leave her.


    And in its place, darkness. Cold, empty, hollow¡ªbut right.


    The rainbow hues now spiraled toward Harriet like a river breaking free of its dam, twisting, folding, coiling into the wound she had given him.


    His body convulsed.


    The air in the chamber crackled. The colors twisted and broke apart, condensing, fusing¡ªsinking into his flesh, into his veins, into the very core of him.


    Barbel''s breath came shallow, her body growing numb as the last remnants of warmth seeped away into the cold stone beneath her.


    The cavern was silent now. The colors had settled, no longer wild and untamed, but gently pulsing within the unconscious boy she had saved.


    She could no longer see from her left eye. But it didn¡¯t matter.


    Her vision blurred, but she could still imagine them.


    Jack¡¯s boundless energy as he climbed the trees. May¡¯s stubborn little frown when she didn¡¯t get her way. Heath, always trying to act older than he was. Beth and Ross, inseparable as they were, whispered about things only they understood. Elsie¡ªbrave, bright-eyed Elsie¡ªdeclaring that she¡¯d grow up to be a hero.


    They were running again, white shapes flitting through her fading mind, their laughter like a song she had once known but could no longer hear.


    Her lips curled faintly, barely more than a breath of movement.


    "I hope you will reach out to more people."


    The words left her in a whisper, carried away by the still air.


    Her fingers twitched. The cold deepened. Her body grew light, like the weight she had carried for so long had finally slipped from her shoulders.


    As her eyes drifted closed, her last thoughts were not of battle.


    Not of war.


    Not of obsession.


    But of small hands tugging at her sleeve, bright voices calling her name, and a warmth she had thought long forgotten.


    Geschicht ran in, his breath ragged, his heart hammering against his ribs. "HARRIET!" he screamed, his voice raw with desperation.


    From the other side of the chamber, Lucienne rushed forward, her sharp green eyes wide with horror. "BARBEL!" she cried, her voice cracking. By her side, Liselotte followed, her warm hazel eyes filled with shock.


    The scene before them was grim. Harriet lay motionless, his body still bleeding from the deep wound Barbel had inflicted. And Barbel... Barbel lay still, her body lifeless on the cold stone floor.


    Geschicht stumbled toward Harriet, falling to his knees beside him. "Come on, wake up!" he muttered, hands trembling as he reached out.


    Lucienne, meanwhile, hesitated for only a moment before kneeling beside Barbel. Her fingers hovered over Barbel''s still form. "Why... why did you have to go this far?" she whispered.


    Liselotte stood behind her, silent. There were no words to capture what had just happened, no simple way to understand the weight of the loss now settling upon them.


    The air was thick with color, the remnants of Barbel¡¯s final act still shimmering like dying embers.


    Lucienne¡¯s trembling hands reached for Barbel, but before her fingers could touch the still-warm skin, a ripple of light coursed through the chamber. The colors that swirled across the walls shifted, drawn toward the unmoving boy at the center of it all.


    A glow, soft at first, then radiant beyond measure, pulsed from Harriet¡¯s chest. Wisps of golden and prismatic light weaved through the air, spiraling around his wounds. The blood that had pooled beneath him shimmered, its deep red hue dissolving into motes of light, drawn back into his body as if time itself was reversing.


    The wound across his stomach¡ªthe fatal gash¡ªbegan to mend before their very eyes. Flesh knitted together, skin smoothing over as the last remnants of his injury vanished. Yet, for all the miracle before them, Harriet remained still, his breathing steady but unconscious, as if caught in a deep slumber.


    The air settled. The colors, once chaotic and wild, dimmed, bathing the chamber in an almost reverent silence.


    Lucienne¡¯s sharp green eyes darted toward the lifeless form of her sister, then back to Harriet, her fingers curling into fists. Liselotte stood beside her, her warm hazel eyes reflecting the remnants of the fading glow.


    No one spoke. No one dared to.


    And so, in the quiet of that vast, color-stained chamber, the obsession has come to an end.

 Chapter 20: The Promise of Remembrance

    The sky was painted in an impossible wonder¡ªan expanse of gold and blue where pale and ethereal stars drifted like embers from some celestial fire. Though the sun still reigned above, the heavens bore the quiet weeping of a thousand falling stars, each one dissolving into the light before it could ever meet the earth. It was a gentle and grand sight, the kind of beauty that could never be held, only witnessed.


    Harriet¡¯s eyes fluttered open.


    For a moment, the world remained distant, his mind adrift between the echoes of his slumber and the waking world. His body felt weightless yet heavy, as though he had returned from some place far beyond his reach. The ceiling above him¡ªplain wooden beams¡ªfelt unfamiliar, but the soft weight of a blanket and the faint scent of herbs in the air told him he was in a place of rest.


    Slowly, he turned his head.


    Beside him, against the wall, Geschicht sat slumped in a wooden chair. His journal rested loosely on his lap, a quill still pinched between his fingers as though he had been writing before exhaustion finally overtook him. Dark circles clung beneath his eyes, his breaths slow, steady¡ªbut light, as if he had not truly given in to rest.


    Harriet blinked.


    His throat felt dry, his limbs stiff, yet he forced himself upright with a quiet inhale. The motion made the bed creak softly beneath him, but Geschicht did not stir. He looked as if he had spent these past two days at his bedside, unwilling to leave for more than a moment.


    A small, tired smile ghosted Harriet¡¯s lips.


    ¡°¡­Idiot,¡± he murmured, voice hoarse from disuse.


    The sky outside remained alight with falling stars.


    Geschicht stirred.


    It started with the slow twitch of his fingers around his quill, then a quiet inhale as his brow furrowed, caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. His head, previously slumped against the chair¡¯s back, tilted forward slightly before his sharp blue eyes cracked open.


    For a moment, he only blinked, still lost in the fog of exhaustion. Then, his gaze shifted¡ªand met Harriet¡¯s.


    A beat of silence.


    Geschicht¡¯s back straightened so fast the chair nearly tipped. The journal in his lap slid to the floor with a dull thud, but he barely seemed to register it. His expression¡ªcaught between disbelief and relief¡ªwavered for a breath before settling into something indescribable.


    ¡°You¡¯re awake.¡± His voice was hoarse, as if the weight of sleepless hours still clung to his throat.


    Harriet let out a weak chuckle. ¡°Seems like it.¡±


    Geschicht just stared for a long second before exhaling, rubbing a hand over his face. ¡°You¡¯ve been out for two days.¡±


    Harriet raised an eyebrow, still propped against the pillows. ¡°And you, what? Spent both of them watching me sleep?¡±


    ¡°¡­Not both.¡± A pause. ¡°Just most of them.¡±


    Harriet gave him a lopsided grin. ¡°You really need a hobby.¡±


    ¡°I need a hobby?¡± Geschicht scoffed, leaning forward with a weary smirk. ¡°You¡¯re the one who decided to get yourself nearly cut in half.¡±


    ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t decide¡ª¡±


    ¡°Sure you did.¡± Geschicht waved vaguely at Harriet¡¯s stomach. ¡°I bet you saw a blade coming at you and thought, ¡®Oh, you know what would be a great idea? Taking this head-on.¡¯¡±


    Harriet snorted. ¡°That¡¯s not how it happened.¡±


    ¡°Mm-hm.¡± Geschicht leaned back again, folding his arms. The exhaustion was still in his posture, but something in his expression had eased¡ªsome unspoken weight that had finally lifted.


    A moment of quiet stretched between them, neither speaking, yet the air was warm with familiarity.


    Harriet let his head rest back against the pillow. ¡°Did I miss anything while I was gone?¡±


    Geschicht glanced toward the window, where the last of the falling stars still traced silver streaks across the daylight sky. His lips quirked slightly before he shrugged.


    ¡°Nothing much,¡± he said. ¡°Just the whole world moving on without you.¡±


    Harriet¡¯s gaze drifted upward, tracing the fading trails of falling stars through the window. A deep breath filled his lungs, then left him in a quiet sigh.


    ¡°¡­Which also included Miss Flux¡¯s burial, right?¡±


    Geschicht¡¯s faint smirk faded, his expression settling into something more solemn. He held Harriet¡¯s gaze for a long moment before nodding.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said softly. ¡°She did get a proper burial.¡±


    Harriet closed his eyes briefly, as if absorbing the weight of those words. His fingers curled slightly against the blanket draped over him.


    ¡°How did you know?¡± Geschicht asked, his voice laced with curiosity¡ªbut also something else. A careful hesitation. ¡°Didn¡¯t you pass out before everything ended?¡±


    Harriet opened his eyes again and turned his head slightly, meeting Geschicht¡¯s questioning stare. His golden irises gleamed faintly in the dim light.


    ¡°Singularit?t,¡± he murmured.


    Geschicht¡¯s brow furrowed. He didn¡¯t reply immediately, only studying Harriet as if trying to pull meaning from the spaces between his words.


    ¡°¡­You saw?¡±


    ¡°I felt it,¡± Harriet corrected. His voice was quieter now, tinged with something indescribable. ¡°Not just her death, but her choice. Her will.¡±


    Geschicht¡¯s fingers twitched against his sleeve. ¡°¡­That eye,¡± he said, finally understanding.


    Harriet nodded. He lifted a hand, brushing his fingertips lightly against his left eye¡ªhis new left eye, the one Barbel had given him.


    ¡°Her memories lingered,¡± Harriet said. ¡°Not as clear images, not as words. Just¡­ emotions. Like echoes of what she felt in those final moments.¡± He let out a slow breath. ¡°She wasn¡¯t afraid.¡±


    Geschicht leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees. His expression was unreadable, but there was a heaviness in his gaze.


    ¡°Then what did she feel?¡± he asked.


    Harriet was quiet for a moment. Then, with a small, almost bittersweet smile, he replied,


    ¡°¡­Remembrance.¡±


    Silence settled between them¡ªnot the heavy kind, but something gentler.


    Geschicht ran a hand through his messy hair before sighing. ¡°You should get more rest. You just woke up after two days, and I doubt you¡¯re at full strength.¡±


    Harriet smirked. ¡°I could say the same about you.¡±


    Geschicht scoffed. ¡°I¡¯m not the one who almost died.¡±


    Harriet rolled his eyes. ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± Then, softer, ¡°I won¡¯t waste what she left me.¡±


    Geschicht looked at him for a moment longer, then simply nodded. ¡°Good.¡±


    No more words were needed. The falling stars continued their silent descent beyond the window, fading into the vast, endless sky.


    The sun hung lazily in the sky, golden light spilling across the cobbled streets of D?mmerburg. The air smelled of fresh timber and damp earth, the scent of repairs underway. Harriet and Geschicht strolled side by side, their steps slow, unhurried. Around them, workers patched up broken rooftops, smiths hammered at bent iron, and stone masons replaced the shattered portions of the roads. The city was mending itself, piece by piece.


    Harriet stretched out his legs as if testing his body. He looked entirely recovered, walking with ease, but even he had to admit¡ªhis recovery was far from normal. Geschicht had commented on it earlier, muttering something about it being ¡®unnatural¡¯ before shaking his head with an exasperated sigh.


    They turned a corner, stepping over a pile of rubble that had yet to be cleared away. That was when Geschicht spoke.


    ¡°Jelle got hit really hard.¡± His voice was dry, like he was still trying to process the absurdity of what had happened. ¡°I mean¡ªshe got launched up from the underground to the surface¡ª¡± he gestured upwards, as if illustrating the sheer distance, ¡°¡ªcrashed through all those layers of rock and earth, then smashed through a building before finally stopping.¡±


    Harriet snorted. ¡°That explains why the city looks like this.¡±


    ¡°No kidding.¡± Geschicht shook his head. ¡°The whole thing caused a massive ruckus. You should¡¯ve seen it¡ªpeople thought it was some kind of divine punishment or an omen.¡±


    Harriet laughed. ¡°And what was Jelle¡¯s reaction when she finally stood up?¡±


    Geschicht smirked. ¡°First thing she did was dust herself off and say, ¡®I¡¯ve had worse.¡¯¡±


    Harriet grinned. ¡°Classic Jelle.¡±


    Geschicht chuckled before glancing around at the workers repairing the damage. ¡°They¡¯ve been working non-stop to fix everything. The Ident Order sent some folks to help, too¡ªpeople from the Artisan and Caregiver Associations.¡±


    Harriet hummed. ¡°That¡¯s good. D?mmerburg took quite a hit.¡±


    They walked in silence for a moment, watching as people moved around them¡ªsome hauling supplies, others tending to the injured. Despite the destruction, there was an undeniable sense of resilience in the air. The people of D?mmerburg weren¡¯t wallowing in despair. They were rebuilding.


    ¡°¡­You feeling alright?¡± Geschicht asked suddenly, giving Harriet a sideways glance.


    Harriet smirked. ¡°I feel great. Almost too great, considering how bad that wound was.¡± He tapped his stomach lightly. ¡°It¡¯s weird, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Geschicht raised an eyebrow. ¡°Weird? It¡¯s downright unnatural.¡± He crossed his arms. ¡°Most people would be bedridden for weeks after something like that. But you? You¡¯re walking around like nothing happened. If I didn¡¯t know any better, I¡¯d think you made a deal with an Egor.¡±


    Harriet chuckled. ¡°Maybe I did.¡±


    Geschicht rolled his eyes. ¡°If that¡¯s the case then where¡¯s my miraculous healing?¡±


    Harriet smirked but said nothing. Instead, his gaze flickered toward the sky, where a faint trail of falling stars could still be seen in the daylight. His left eye¡ªthe one gifted by Barbel¡ªfelt warm. Not physically, but in some deeper, unexplainable way.


    ¡°¡­You ever think about miracles, Geschicht?¡± he asked.


    Geschicht arched an eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re getting philosophical on me now?¡±


    Harriet shrugged. ¡°Just wondering.¡±


    Geschicht thought for a moment, then gave a small grin. ¡°If miracles exist, you might just be walking proof of one.¡±


    Harriet chuckled, shaking his head. ¡°That¡¯s a bit much.¡±


    Geschicht smirked. ¡°Maybe, maybe not¡±


    Harriet and Geschicht made their way toward the graveyard, their steps slow and measured as they walked past the newly repaired streets of D?mmerburg. The sky was still dusted with lingering traces of the falling stars from yesterday, faint glimmers of light fading into the broad daylight. The graveyard itself was quiet, save for the rustling of the wind through the trees and the distant hammering of workers still restoring parts of the town.


    Stopping before Barbel Flux¡¯s grave, Harriet looked at the modest yet dignified headstone. His golden eyes softened as he exhaled a quiet breath. "It¡¯s nice that she was buried peacefully," he murmured.


    Geschicht, standing beside him with his hands in his coat pockets, gave a small nod. "It¡¯s all thanks to Jelle and her position as a Grade 3 Ident," he said.


    Harriet glanced at him, brow slightly furrowed. "Right¡­ you mentioned that before. What exactly makes a Grade 3 Ident so special?"


    Geschicht turned his head, surprised. "You really don¡¯t know?"


    Harriet shrugged. "Never cared about all that rank stuff. You fight, you get stronger, and people give you fancy titles. That¡¯s about it, right?"


    Geschicht let out a sharp sigh, rubbing his temples. "You¡¯re impossible sometimes, you know that?" He crossed his arms. "A Grade 3 Ident isn¡¯t just some fancy title. It means Jelle holds a position recognized by the Order of the Twelve Paths itself. Grade 3s are the backbone of the Ident structure¡ªhigh enough to command respect, but still connected to the people on the ground. They¡¯re the ones who can make real decisions."


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Harriet frowned. "Real decisions?"


    "Yeah," Geschicht nodded. "They can authorize large-scale operations, give orders to lower-rank Idents, and have the influence to negotiate with nobles, town officials, even military leaders." He gestured toward Barbel¡¯s grave. "That¡¯s why her burial was done properly. Because Jelle had the authority to make it happen without question. A common citizen? No way they¡¯d have gotten this much respect for a burial site. But a Grade 3 Ident? People listen to them."


    Harriet whistled lowly, finally seeming to grasp the weight of it. "So, she really pulled some strings to make this happen, huh?"


    Geschicht smirked. "Obviously. She went out of her way to ensure Barbel had a proper send-off, even after all that happened. That¡¯s what a Grade 3 can do. Influence. Power. Respect."


    Harriet looked down at Barbel¡¯s grave again, feeling something heavy settle in his chest. After a long pause, he muttered, "I should thank her later."


    "You should," Geschicht agreed. Then, after a moment, he added with a teasing grin, "And maybe you should start paying attention to how the world actually works instead of running in fists first¡ªoh wait." He paused, eyes widening slightly in mock realization. "You¡¯re like a wooden stick without the branches."


    Harriet blinked, then let out an exaggerated gasp. "Wow. Kicking me while I¡¯m down?¡±


    Geschicht snickered. "I¡¯m just saying, if you''re gonna charge headfirst into danger, at least bring some arms with you."


    Harriet sighed dramatically. "Guess I¡¯ll just have to keep borrowing yours, then."


    Geschicht groaned. "That¡¯s not how this works¡ª"


    Harriet grinned, patting his shoulder with one of his invisible hands. "Too late, you said it. It¡¯s official now."


    Geschicht swatted at the spectral hand, grumbling under his breath, but he couldn¡¯t help the small chuckle that escaped.


    Harriet glanced around before turning back to Geschicht. ¡°Are there any flower shops nearby?¡±


    Geschicht raised an eyebrow. ¡°You planning to start gardening?¡±


    Harriet rolled his eyes. ¡°For the grave, obviously.¡±


    Geschicht nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. ¡°Yeah, there should be one not too far from here.¡± He led the way down the street, weaving past workers repairing the damaged buildings. Eventually, they arrived at a small flower shop tucked between two larger structures, its wooden sign swaying slightly in the breeze.


    Harriet stepped inside, eyes scanning the vibrant selection of blooms. He reached for a bouquet of white lilies but hesitated, glancing at the price tag. A moment of silence passed. Then, he patted his pockets. Twice. Four times.


    Geschicht sighed. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me¡ª¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re broke,¡± Harriet admitted, exhaling sharply.


    Geschicht pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°Of course we are.¡±


    Harriet set the flowers back with a wistful look. ¡°Guess Barbel¡¯s not getting any flowers today.¡±


    Geschicht hummed in thought before snapping his fingers. ¡°We can always ¡®borrow¡¯ some from someone¡¯s garden.¡±


    Harriet shot him a look. ¡°That¡¯s called stealing.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s called resourcefulness.¡±


    Harriet shook his head. ¡°No. Just no.¡±


    Geschicht shrugged. ¡°Alright, then how about we go see Jelle? She¡¯s at the prison right now, questioning the remaining members of Barbel¡¯s group.¡±


    Harriet frowned. ¡°What for?¡±


    ¡°The reward money,¡± Geschicht said plainly. ¡°You know, from the expedition we signed up for before everything went to hell in the ruins?¡±


    Harriet blinked. ¡°Oh.¡± He paused, considering it. ¡°Wait, we¡¯ll still get paid for that?¡±


    Geschicht smirked. ¡°We did the job, didn¡¯t we?¡±


    Harriet sighed in relief. ¡°Good. Because I am getting those flowers.¡±


    Geschicht chuckled as they started walking. ¡°Genuinely, so noble of you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m broke, not heartless.¡±


    The prison loomed ahead, a sturdy structure of cold gray stone, standing firm amidst the reconstruction efforts in D?mmerburg. Harriet and Geschicht made their way toward the entrance, only to spot two familiar figures standing just outside.


    Uwe leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, his signature red and blue eyes dim under the afternoon light. Liselotte stood beside him, warm hazel eyes scanning a small notebook in her hands, occasionally brushing aside a stray lock of hair.


    ¡°Oi,¡± Uwe greeted as they approached, nodding at them. ¡°Took your time.¡±


    ¡°Had to remember we were broke first,¡± Harriet said, shaking his head.


    Liselotte raised a brow. ¡°Broke?¡±


    ¡°We forgot to collect our reward,¡± Geschicht explained.


    Uwe huffed a short laugh. ¡°You nearly got yourself killed, and that¡¯s what¡¯s on your mind?¡±


    ¡°What else am I supposed to do?¡± Harriet countered. ¡°Starve?¡±


    Liselotte sighed, shutting her notebook. ¡°Well, at least you¡¯re in one piece. That healing of yours was unnatural.¡±


    Harriet shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m just lucky, I guess.¡±


    Uwe eyed him for a moment before speaking. ¡°Jelle¡¯s inside. She¡¯s been questioning the prisoners since morning.¡±


    ¡°Any progress?¡± Geschicht asked.


    Liselotte shook her head. ¡°Not much. Most of them are still in shock after everything. And those who can talk refuse to say anything useful.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a shame,¡± Harriet muttered, glancing toward the heavy prison doors.


    Uwe stretched his arms. ¡°So, you here for the reward or just checking in?¡±


    ¡°Both,¡± Geschicht admitted. ¡°But mostly the reward.¡±


    Uwe smirked. ¡°Well then, let¡¯s not waste time.¡±


    With that, they pushed open the prison doors and stepped inside.


    The prison¡¯s dimly lit corridors stretched long and unwelcoming, the air thick with the staleness of stone and iron. The echoes of their footsteps bounced against the cold walls as Geschicht and Harriet made their way deeper into the heart of the facility. The flickering torches barely illuminated their path, casting long, wavering shadows across the cells.


    Finally, they reached the very last section¡ªthe high-security cells meant for the most dangerous captives. Here, the air felt heavier.


    Inside one of the reinforced cells sat Veynor, bound in every conceivable way. Shackles clamped onto his wrists, ankles, and neck, chains wrapped tight around his torso, keeping him completely immobile. Despite his situation, his sharp eyes still glinted with defiance, though exhaustion was evident in his expression. Across from him, Hauke stood with his usual imposing presence, arms crossed, while Jelle leaned against the bars, tapping her wooden sword against her shoulder as if waiting for something.


    A few cells down, Adrek lay slumped against the wall, his breathing heavy and ragged. He was barely recognizable¡ªhis four severed arms and missing left leg made sure of that. The bloody bandages wrapped around his stumps were fresh, but the damage had already been done. His head hung low, but there was no mistaking the seething hatred in his eyes when he glanced up at them.


    Yet, in stark contrast to the two restrained men, Lucienne Flux sat in her cell completely unbound. There were no chains, no bindings¡ªjust her, sitting on the wooden bench behind the iron bars, her sharp green eyes calmly watching the scene unfold. She looked utterly unbothered, as if she had chosen to be here rather than being locked away by force. When she noticed Harriet and Geschicht arrive, a small smirk played at her lips.


    Jelle was the first to notice them. She turned, offering a short nod. ¡°Took you long enough.¡±


    Harriet¡¯s eyes flickered between the three captives. ¡°So... how¡¯s this going?¡±


    Hauke exhaled through his nose. ¡°Slow.¡±


    Jelle tapped the bars lightly with her sword. ¡°Veynor¡¯s stubborn. Adrek¡¯s too pissed off to talk. And Lucienne¡­¡± She cast a glance at the unrestrained woman. ¡°¡­hasn¡¯t said a single word worth noting.¡±


    Harriet exhaled as he lowered himself to the cold stone floor, sitting cross-legged just outside Lucienne¡¯s cell. The iron bars cast long, thin shadows across his face as he gazed at the woman within. Lucienne remained where she was, her posture relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, fingers idly tapping against her knee.


    "Lucienne," Harriet began, his voice steady, "I heard from Liselotte that you are Miss Barbel''s sister." He watched for a reaction, but Lucienne gave none. Her green eyes remained fixed on him, patient. He continued, "I''m sure it must be hard to lose everything. I saw what drove you down this path."


    Lucienne let out a slow breath, tilting her head slightly, as if considering his words. Then, she chuckled¡ªnot out of amusement, but something closer to resignation.


    "Hard?" she repeated, rolling the word over in her mouth as if tasting it. "It was, once. When I still thought there was something to hold onto." She turned her gaze upward, staring past the ceiling, looking at something beyond this place. "But grief, if you let it linger, only serves to weigh you down. In the end, you either let it consume you or you let it pass through you."


    Her eyes flicked back to him, sharp yet not unkind. "I made my choice."


    Harriet studied her, searching for something in her expression¡ªanger, regret, even sadness. But there was none. She was¡­ at peace.


    "Even after everything?" he asked, his voice quieter now.


    Lucienne gave a slow nod. "Even after everything."


    For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The distant sounds of the prison¡ªmuffled voices, the occasional clang of chains¡ªfilled the space between them. Then, Lucienne leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees.


    "You want to know if I regret it, don¡¯t you?"


    Harriet didn¡¯t answer immediately, but the look in his eyes said enough.


    Lucienne exhaled through her nose, almost amused. "Regret is a strange thing. It lingers, whispers in your ear, but it doesn¡¯t change what¡¯s already been done. Barbel made her choice. I made mine. And now, here we are." She gestured lightly to the cell around her. "Fitting, isn¡¯t it?"


    Harriet frowned. "You talk like you¡¯ve already accepted everything. Like you¡¯re just¡­ done."


    Lucienne¡¯s lips curved upward, just slightly. "Maybe I am."


    Harriet held her gaze. Then, with a sigh, he leaned back against the bars. "I don¡¯t get it," he admitted. "If it were me, I don¡¯t think I could ever let go like that."


    Lucienne hummed. "Maybe one day, you will."


    Something about the way she said it made Harriet feel strangely unsettled. Like she had seen something he hadn¡¯t yet. Like she understood something he still couldn¡¯t grasp.


    But before he could press further, Lucienne let out a breath, leaned back against the wall, and closed her eyes. "Now, unless you have more questions to waste on me, I¡¯d rather enjoy the quiet while I still can."


    Harriet studied her for a moment longer, then gave a small shake of his head. "You''re a strange one, Lucienne."


    She smirked without opening her eyes. "Takes one to know one."


    Harriet let out a slow breath, pushing himself to his feet as he studied Lucienne for a moment longer. She had already leaned her head back against the cold stone wall, eyes closed, as if retreating into her own world. Whatever thoughts lingered in her mind, she was keeping them to herself.


    Harriet turned away, stepping past the rows of iron bars until he reached where Jelle stood, arms crossed, observing the situation with her usual composed demeanor. Hauke stood nearby, arms resting on the pommel of his sheathed sword, his expression neutral but watchful.


    "Jelle," Harriet began, brushing the dust from his sleeves, "about the reward money..."


    Jelle glanced at him, then at Hauke. Without hesitation, she gave a small nod. "Hauke, hand it over."


    Hauke wordlessly reached into his coat, pulling out a heavy leather pouch before tossing it toward Harriet. The weight of it nearly made him fumble as he caught it against his chest. The sheer heft alone told him it was no small sum.


    Jelle smirked. "That¡¯s two hundred thousand Doh."


    Harriet blinked. "Wait, what?" He quickly untied the pouch and peeked inside. Sure enough, the gleam of gold coins shone back at him. He whistled. "I expected something, but this is..."


    "More than you thought?" Jelle finished with a knowing smile.


    "Way more." Harriet shut the pouch and hoisted it over his shoulder. "Not that I¡¯m complaining, but why so much? Weren¡¯t we just supposed to explore some ruins?"


    Jelle exhaled, rolling her shoulders. "Normally, an expedition of this nature wouldn¡¯t yield such a high reward. But circumstances changed." She gestured vaguely toward the cells. "We captured three Proximal Phalax and killed a Middle Phalax. That alone would make any reward skyrocket. The Ident Order doesn¡¯t ignore those kinds of feats."


    Harriet frowned. "So, the difference between a Proximal Phalax and a Middle Phalax... how big is it?"


    Jelle snorted. "Night and day."


    Hauke, who had remained silent until now, let out a chuckle. "To put it bluntly, Proximal Phalax are dangerous, but they¡¯re still manageable. Middle Phalax? That¡¯s another story. Killing one isn¡¯t something most people can pull off. It¡¯s a level of threat that normally takes an entire squad to deal with."


    Harriet glanced down at the pouch in his hands, weighing the meaning behind the reward. "So, in other words, we got paid this much because we did something we weren¡¯t supposed to be able to do?"


    Jelle grinned. "Exactly."


    Harriet let out a dry laugh. "Well, when you put it like that, I almost feel like I should ask for more."


    Jelle shook her head, amused. "Don¡¯t push your luck."


    Harriet smirked but didn¡¯t press the matter further. Instead, he turned to Geschicht, who had been standing quietly beside him. "Guess we don¡¯t have to worry about being broke anymore."


    Geschicht nodded. "Yeah, but knowing you, I doubt it''ll last long."


    Harriet raised an eyebrow. "What¡¯s that supposed to mean?"


    Geschicht only gave him a knowing look. Harriet sighed, shaking his head. "Fine, fine. Let¡¯s go buy some flowers."


    Jelle watched them with an amused expression as they turned to leave. "Try not to spend it all in one place."


    "No promises," Harriet called back over his shoulder.


    Harriet and Geschicht stepped out of the prison, the weight of the gold heavier in their minds than in their hands. Without much discussion, they split the reward money evenly¡ªone hundred thousand Doh each. Geschicht tucked his share away with care, while Harriet simply slung his pouch over his shoulder as if it were just another bag of supplies.


    With that settled, they made their way back through the streets of D?mmerburg. The city was still in the process of mending itself¡ªworkers repaired shattered windows, reinforced weakened walls, and filled in the cracks along the cobbled streets. The scent of sawdust and fresh mortar mingled in the air, carried by the sound of hammers striking wood and stone.


    As they passed by a small flower shop, Harriet suddenly stopped. His eyes lingered on the neatly arranged bouquets displayed outside the shop.


    ¡°I¡¯ll catch up,¡± he said, already stepping toward the store.


    Geschicht raised a brow. ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°I need to do something first,¡± Harriet replied without looking back.


    Geschicht watched him for a moment before sighing. ¡°Alright, don¡¯t take too long.¡±


    Harriet entered the shop, his eyes scanning over the flowers until they landed on a bundle of white lilies. He reached out, picking them up carefully.


    The shopkeeper, an elderly woman with soft, knowing eyes, smiled as she approached. ¡°A beautiful choice,¡± she said. ¡°White lilies carry many meanings¡ªpurity, peace, remembrance.¡±


    Harriet nodded, placing the necessary coins on the counter. ¡°They¡¯re for someone important.¡±


    The woman gave a gentle nod, wrapping the flowers with practiced hands before handing them to him. ¡°Then I hope they reach her well.¡±


    With the bouquet in hand, Harriet stepped out of the shop and made his way toward Barbel¡¯s grave.


    It was a quiet place, shaded by an old oak tree. The soil was still fresh, a stark reminder of how little time had passed since she had been laid to rest. Kneeling down, Harriet placed the lilies carefully before the grave.


    For a while, he simply stood there, letting the wind carry his silence. Then, suddenly, an idea struck Harriet. He turned sharply on his heel.


    "I''ll be along soon," he said.


    Geschicht blinked. ¡°What? Where are you going?¡±


    But Harriet was already sprinting down the street.


    His destination was clear¡ªKindnest Orphanage.


    It was a modest place, nestled between two larger buildings, its worn wooden doors creaking slightly in the breeze. The sight of it made something in Harriet¡¯s chest tighten. Without hesitation, he strode up to the small donation box sitting near the entrance.


    He untied the pouch of gold from his belt, weighing it in his hands for a moment. One hundred thousand Doh. Enough to keep the orphanage running for years.


    Slowly, he slipped the pouch into the box.


    Then, from his pocket, he pulled out a small folded letter. With careful hands, he placed it on top of the pouch, making sure it wouldn¡¯t be overlooked.


    The letter was simple, written in his slightly messy but determined handwriting.


    "From Miss Flux."


    Harriet took a step back, exhaling as he stared at the donation box.


    Then, without another word, he turned and walked away.


    He reached the inn, pushing open the heavy wooden door with a slow creak. The warmth of the hearth inside met him like a gentle embrace, flickering light casting long shadows across the walls. The scent of worn wood and faint traces of roasted meat still clung to the air, though the common room was mostly empty at this hour. Harriet paid little mind to his surroundings as he made his way up the narrow staircase, the steps groaning under his weight.


    His room was as they had left it¡ªsimple, unadorned, a pair of beds pressed against opposite walls with a single wooden desk in between. The moonlight filtering through the window stretched across the floor, pale and soft. Harriet exhaled, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck before moving toward his bed, sinking onto the mattress without a word.


    And in the silence, something small drifted through the open window¡ªa firefly, its glow pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.


    It floated soundlessly through the air, golden light flickering, before coming to rest on the pages of Geschicht¡¯s open journal. The tiny insect moved as if drawn to something unseen, its delicate legs brushing against inked words and half-formed thoughts. The glow reflected off the paper, illuminating sketches, notes, and fragments of sentences that only Geschicht himself would understand.


    And then, just as gently as it had arrived, the firefly''s glow dimmed, nestling within the pages as if it belonged there.


    Harriet remained unaware, eyes closed, lost in thought. The room remained still, save for the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the faint rustling of the wind outside.


    And the firefly, resting within the journal, pulsed once more.

 Chapter 21: Shadows of the Clock Hand

    The dim lanterns flickered against the damp stone walls of the prison¡¯s lower chambers, casting long, wavering shadows over the iron bars. The scent of cold metal and aged wood filled the air, mingling with the quiet hum of tense anticipation. Seated at a heavy oak table, Jelle rested her arms atop the polished surface, her fingers idly tapping against the grain. Across from her, separated by steel bars, Veynor sat restrained¡ªhis wrists shackled, his legs bound, and a thick iron collar locked around his neck. Lucienne, by contrast, remained unshackled within her cell, sitting with an eerie stillness, her sharp green eyes watching, waiting.


    Hauke stood beside Jelle, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The silence between them all stretched thin, drawn taut like a thread that might snap at any moment. Finally, Jelle exhaled and leaned forward, breaking the quiet.


    "You know, if we wanted to, we could keep you in this cell for years," she mused, her voice almost casual. "Not a single soul would be foolish enough to come looking for you."


    Veynor smirked, unfazed. "Is that meant to scare me? Because you should know¡ªI''ve been in places far worse than this."


    Jelle smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Oh, I do not doubt that. But I¡¯m not here to frighten you. I''m here to give you a choice."


    Lucienne tilted her head. "A choice?"


    Hauke finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "Information, in exchange for leniency. You tell us what we need to know, and we make sure your time here isn¡¯t... unbearable."


    Veynor let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You think we¡¯ll just hand over what you want? Please. We¡¯re the ones holding the pieces of the old world, not you."


    Jelle¡¯s fingers stopped tapping. Her golden eyes sharpened. "That¡¯s exactly the problem, isn''t it? Digging up ruins, unearthing things that should remain buried. The Clock Hand isn''t seeking knowledge¡ªthey¡¯re seeking power. And we both know what people like you do with power."


    Lucienne met Jelle¡¯s gaze steadily. "People like us? And what about people like you, Ident?" There was no malice in her tone, only quiet observation. "You hold your own kind of power, don¡¯t you? Power to decide who deserves to know the truth and who does not."


    Jelle didn''t blink. "And yet, here you are¡ªcaged like a rat in a trap."


    For the first time, Veynor¡¯s smirk faltered. "Tch."


    Hauke shifted his weight slightly, pressing the conversation forward. "You can make this easier for yourself, Veynor. We already know what the Clock Hand is after¡ªthe remnants of the old world. We know you¡¯re digging up things best left untouched. The only question is why."


    Veynor leaned back against the cold stone wall of his cell, eyes half-lidded. "You act as if the past should be forgotten."


    Jelle¡¯s expression remained unreadable. "Some things should be. And some things shouldn¡¯t. The difference is knowing which is which."


    Lucienne exhaled softly. "And you believe you''re the ones who get to decide that?"


    Jelle met her gaze with unwavering certainty. "We¡¯re the ones trying to stop the world from tearing itself apart."


    A slow silence settled over the chamber, thick and suffocating. Veynor closed his eyes briefly, as if weighing his next words. When he opened them again, a glint of amusement danced in his expression.


    "If you already know what we want, then you know we won''t stop," he said at last. "The old world still has much to offer. And unlike you, we aren¡¯t afraid to take it."


    "By meddling with something that is so unsure, it can cause wanton destruction across the land," Jelle replied. "Do you understand what you¡¯re dealing with, or are you grasping in the dark, hoping for power you can¡¯t control?"


    Veynor chuckled, though it was a hollow sound. He leaned back against the cold stone wall of his cell, iron restraints clinking with the motion. "Control? That¡¯s your way of thinking. You Ident lot, always pretending you hold the reigns, always claiming to be the ones who get to decide what should and shouldn¡¯t be touched."


    Hauke, standing beside Jelle with arms crossed, narrowed his eyes. "And what? You think tearing up the past will give you something better? The world has moved on. The old world is gone for a reason."


    "And yet, here you are, terrified of what it might still hold." Veynor¡¯s lips curled into a smirk. "If it was truly gone, you wouldn''t be here questioning me. You wouldn¡¯t be scrambling to put out our fire before it spreads."


    Jelle sighed, shifting her weight slightly. "Power without understanding is just destruction waiting to happen. You dig, you take, and you believe you can control what¡¯s left. But some things exist beyond your reach, Veynor. Things that won¡¯t bend to your will."


    Veynor tilted his head, studying her. "And yet, we¡¯re the ones making the effort, while you sit here, clinging to order. Tell me, Jelle¡ªif you had the chance to grasp something greater, something that could change the world itself, would you turn away?"


    There was a pause.


    Jelle exhaled slowly. "Not all change is for the better."


    Veynor laughed again, quieter this time. "Then maybe we¡¯ll just have to see which of us is right."


    Far beyond the reaches of D?mmerburg, where the sky stretched endlessly and the world lay vast beneath an ocean of clouds, a lone figure stood atop a frozen peak. The air here was thin, sharp as glass, laced with the hush of a world untouched by the folly of men. Snow swirled around him, caught in unseen currents, never daring to settle upon his form.


    The wind howled in twisted echoes, but he did not move. He stood motionless, a monolith against the heavens, gazing downward as if the world itself was a canvas meant to be rewritten.


    Beneath him, far beyond the blinding white expanse, the land was alive¡ªcities pulsed with light, roads wove like veins through the earth, rivers cut their paths through the bones of the world. But none of it mattered. Nothing beyond his purpose existed.


    A slow breath left his lips, mist curling outward, swallowed by the cold. They had taken it. The thing he had spent years searching for, clawing toward, tearing apart the fabric of history to obtain¡ªit was no longer within his grasp.


    His fingers twitched, slow, deliberate, a single movement rippling through the silence. His breath, once steady, now came faster. Faster. A rhythm that beat against the air like war drums, like the steady thrum of something far greater than human. His pulse pounded in his skull, but it was not fear, nor anger.


    It was hunger.


    A hunger that had no end.


    His followers¡ªbound in chains, rotting in cages¡ªwould not remain as they were. He would unmake the prison walls, and crack the city apart like brittle bone. And of the boy¡ªthe thief¡ªwould be nothing more than a stain upon the pages of history. The Great Artist¡¯s gift would be reclaimed, its true purpose restored.


    The world did not yet know what it had invited upon itself.


    The ice at his feet cracked, not from weight, but from force¡ªan unseen pressure, a will so strong the air itself seemed to fracture beneath its presence. And then, like a star falling from the sky, he moved.


    The storm that followed swallowed the peak whole.


    "The world was never built upon reason, nor did it ever yield to the passive."


    The figure descended from the peak, the winds shrieking at his passing. His voice¡ªthough spoken to none¡ªcarried across the expanse, lost to the sky yet ringing through the marrow of existence itself.


    "There are those who touch something once and call it enough. They glimpse a light and call it fire. They grasp at dreams and let them slip between their fingers, whispering that they were never meant to hold them to begin with."


    "But there are others¡ªthose who do not let go. Not because they choose to hold on, but because the act of release is beyond them. It is not a decision. It is not a path. It is the very shape of their existence."


    The wind howled louder. The world blurred around him, the descent a mere illusion to his form. There was no descent. There was no ascent. There was only motion, a ceaseless forward pull, an inevitability.


    "To devour something is not enough. To possess something is not enough. There is no ''enough.'' There is only the reaching, the taking, the becoming. A thing cannot be held still¡ªit must be consumed, intertwined, made into the very essence of oneself until there is no line where it ends and where I begin."


    His eyes burned, reflecting the unseen light of something not yet awakened.


    "If there is a wall before me, I will break it. If there is a lock upon my will, I will shatter it. If something is lost, I will take it back. I will not leave scraps for the meek to scavenge. I will not let the weak claim the weight of the strong."


    The storm roared around him, yet he moved with neither haste nor hesitation. The ground cracked in his wake. The air bent to his passage.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "You, who hold what is mine¡ªyour hands are unworthy. Your form is unworthy. But that is of no consequence. You will give it to me, as all things do in time."


    A presence descended upon him. It did not approach from any direction, nor did it make itself known through sound or weight. It simply was, as though it had always been there, waiting for him to notice.


    A hand¡ªvast, steady¡ªsettled upon his shoulder. The touch was neither warm nor cold, neither forceful nor gentle, but it rooted him where he stood. The air stilled. The storm, once howling in his ears, was swallowed into silence.


    "Thinking of prying away what is yet to be written?"


    The voice did not shake the heavens. It did not split the mountains nor roll like thunder. And yet, he would have preferred if it had. There was something worse about its quietness¡ªabout the way it settled into the marrow of his bones like an inevitability.


    He turned his head, slow and deliberate, as though sudden movement might shatter the fragile equilibrium between them.


    White. Whiter than the first light to touch the world. Whiter than the moment before knowledge takes root. His hair drifted as if untethered from time, and his eyes¡ªpupiless, vast, seeing beyond the fabric of things¡ªstared at him, through him, into the shape of his will itself. His skin, the deep hue of smoldering embers, contrasted the void-like glow of his gaze.


    Fingers twitched at his side, a flicker of tension restrained before it could become anything more. He exhaled slowly.


    "The path they walk will bring them here regardless. I am merely... ensuring it does not wander astray."


    The pressure upon his shoulder did not increase, yet it may as well have.


    "And what is a path, but a thing meant to be walked?" The figure''s voice did not shift, but there was something beneath it¡ªa vastness that did not threaten but simply was. "To carve a step where none have yet been placed is to deny what may yet be. Tell me, do you intend to guide, or do you intend to seize?"


    His jaw clenched. He would not kneel, would not falter, but the weight of knowing settled upon him.


    This was not a man who spoke to him. Not even a force. This was the very shape of something beyond even his reach¡ªa being whose existence was not to be overcome but understood.


    "It is not your concern," he said at last, his voice even, controlled.


    "Is it not?"


    A pause stretched between them.


    The air had not returned to normal¡ªno, normal was no longer a thing that existed in the presence of him. The sky still hung in that unsettling in-between, the wind still refused to breathe, and the snow beneath their feet seemed suspended in something other than time.


    The man in the cold kept his shoulders squared, his stance firm. His breath did not waver, his voice did not shake, but deep within his core¡ªbeneath flesh, beneath resolve¡ªhe knew. He knew.


    This was not a battle he could win.


    "You speak as though I am no more than a reckless hand, grasping blindly at what I do not understand," he said, keeping his tone level. "As though I am no more than another nameless beast scrambling toward something beyond my reach."


    A slow shift.


    Not movement, no. The being before him did not move in the way things of this world did. But the very air seemed to acknowledge him, to turn in its unseen tides like an ocean pulled by a force greater than gravity itself.


    "Is that not what you are?"


    The man in the cold did not react. Did not flinch.


    Inside, his blood ran cold.


    "You claim certainty," the being continued. "Yet you cannot see where your own feet will land."


    "And you can?"


    The figure tilted its head.


    "I do not need to."


    The man in the cold clenched his fists. He would not let his breath catch, would not allow the instinctual, human urge to run to take root in his bones. No. He would not let himself falter.


    "Then why are you here?" His voice remained steady. A challenge, though measured. "Why waste your time standing before me, speaking in circles, when you claim to know the steps I have yet to take?"


    A quiet hum.


    "Is that what you believe this is?"


    The weight of the words pressed against his skin, curled into the spaces between thoughts.


    The man in the cold refused to acknowledge it.


    "You are standing in my path," he said instead. "If you do not wish to stop me, then what do you wish to do?"


    The silence stretched once more. And then¡ª


    "Observe."


    A single word. A single truth.


    And it was at that moment that he understood.


    This was not a warning.


    This was not a threat.


    This was an inevitability.


    The presence before him was not here to change his course. It was merely here to watch it unfold.


    He had thought himself close¡ªso close¡ªto something untouchable. He had thought himself above the masses who clawed in the dark for power beyond their means.


    And yet.


    Here he stood. And here it stood.


    And the distance between them was something that no amount of obsession could breach.


    He exhaled slowly, schooling his expression.


    And then, with measured reverence, he stepped back. In the presence of something so far beyond him, anything less would have been blasphemous.


    "Primal of Curiosity."


    The name tasted heavier in the air, woven with an unspoken weight. A force that had existed long before language had ever sought to define it.


    To speak it was not an invocation. It was not a plea, nor an attempt to draw power closer. No¡ªpower such as this did not need to be called. It did not move as men did. It did not bow to gods, nor the predictable whims of fate.


    It simply was.


    He did not lift his gaze.


    Even he¡ªeven one who had torn through the layers of the world, who had shaped ruin and rebuilt from its remains¡ªeven he did not dare to meet the sight of a Primal.


    Not one such as this.


    "You stand above the heavens themselves," he said, his voice steady, yet weighed with something deeper. Something that lingered beneath flesh and thought. "It was you who reached into the void and placed the ember of wonder within the hollow minds of all things that walk, crawl, and breathe."


    A slow inhale. A slow exhale.


    "It was you who gave them the will to seek¡ªto dig into the marrow of what they could not understand, to claw at the edges of the unknown, to hunger for what lay beyond their grasp."


    He lifted his chin slightly, though his gaze remained low.


    "And yet, where they burned beneath the wrath of Egors, you remain untouched."


    The world did not stir. The storm did not shift.


    "Not because the Egors spared you," he continued, voice quieter now, almost reverent. "But because they feared you."


    A truth unspoken. A truth only known to those who stood at the very precipice of understanding.


    The seven Egors, the creators of the gardens of Genesis, the ones who wove the threads of existence itself¡ªfeared him.


    "Because no matter how much they may shape, no matter how much they may govern, no matter how much they may dictate the laws of reality..."


    He finally lifted his gaze¡ªnot to meet the eyes that burned without light, but to look past them. To the void beyond. To the endless, gaping unknown.


    "They, too, were made to wonder."


    Silence.


    Stillness.


    He did not know whether his words had pleased the Primal, nor whether they had even been acknowledged.


    But it did not matter.


    He had spoken. He had named. He had recognized.


    And now¡ª


    Now, he would leave before he learned too much.


    The figure stood unmoving at the summit, a silhouette against the eternal white. The world below lay still, silent¡ªan ocean of frost frozen in time, untouched by warmth, untouched by life. He lifted a single hand, fingers shifting like the currents of an unseen tide, and with an almost absent flick¡ªlike the lazy stroke of a painter upon an endless canvas¡ªthe air itself trembled.


    The wind, once a cruel whisper of the void, softened into a gentle murmur, weaving through the icy peaks as though a slumbering god had sighed in its dreams. Snowflakes, once brittle and dead, caught the breath of this unseen force, and in their dance, they became something else¡ªpetals, golden and soft, unfolding midair before settling upon the once-sterile earth.


    A hush fell, and then¡ªcolor.


    First, in murmurs. A thread of green uncoiling beneath the snow, uncertain, hesitant. Then, as if emboldened by an unseen command, the land heaved, and life surged forth. Trees, ancient in soul yet newborn in form, pressed through the frost, their roots plunging deep into the unseen heart of the mountain, drinking from wells of forgotten power. Their branches reached skyward, as though seeking the hidden sun, stretching beyond the veil of clouds until even the heavens themselves were swallowed in an emerald sea.


    And still, the world swayed to the rhythm of his touch, as if the earth itself had remembered something long forgotten. A pulse. A breath. The first heartbeat of a place that had once been forsaken.


    The figure lowered his hand, his pale, pupil-less gaze watching not with satisfaction, nor pride.


    "Better," he mused, voice scarcely louder than the rustling leaves, as if speaking only to the world itself.


    And in that moment, he seemed not merely above divinity. Not merely beyond the Egors, whom even the cosmos bowed to.

 Chapter 22: Paths

    The world stretched vast and endless before them, a sea of green swaying gently beneath the weight of the sky. Each blade of grass bent in rhythm with the whispering wind, catching the light of the midday sun like scattered fragments of glass. The dirt path beneath their feet wound lazily through the open plains, its course uncertain, vanishing into the horizon where earth and heaven met in a quiet embrace.


    Harriet walked with easy strides, the loose fabric of his sleeves swaying with each step, gloved hands resting at his sides as if caught in an unseen breeze. His golden hair shimmered under the sunlight, blending almost seamlessly with the glow of the sky. Beside him, Geschicht trudged along, his leather-bound journal tucked under one arm, the other hand constantly adjusting his hat as the wind toyed with it.


    The world felt different out here¡ªvast, untamed, unshaped by stone or steel. No towering walls hemmed them in, no shattered ruins whispered of old tragedies¡ªjust the road, the sky, and the wind dancing through the tall grass.


    The wind carried their voices as they walked, a steady breeze rustling through the endless stretch of green. Harriet exhaled, watching the sky, his golden eyes tracing the drifting clouds as if searching for something beyond them.


    ¡°I think I should somehow improve myself,¡± he said, his tone light but thoughtful. ¡°The way I am now¡­ it wouldn''t be enough if I want to reach further.¡±


    Geschicht glanced at him, adjusting the grip on his journal. ¡°Further?¡±


    Harriet nodded. ¡°Yeah, I thought my power was just enough. I could grab, lift, fight, and do things as well as anyone else. But after everything¡­ I see now that I was just standing in one place, thinking I was already moving.¡± He tilted his head, a lopsided grin forming. ¡°I want to be faster. Stronger. Smarter. I want to push past what I thought was my limit.¡±


    Geschicht hummed. ¡°Well, if so¡­ then we should register with the Ident Order.¡±


    Harriet blinked, then let out a chuckle. ¡°Just like that?¡±


    ¡°Just like that.¡± Geschicht shrugged. ¡°You need a path, right? The Ident Order gives that. Connections, training, resources¡ªwhatever you need to go ¡®further.¡¯ Besides, you¡¯re already doing things that get their attention.¡± He tapped his temple with a knowing look. ¡°Might as well make it official.¡±


    Harriet considered it, tilting his head as he mulled it over. ¡°I guess¡­ that¡¯s not a bad idea.¡± His grin widened. ¡°Sounds like fun, actually.¡±


    Geschicht shook his head. ¡°You say that now, but the Ident Order isn¡¯t all glory and adventure, you know.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Harriet said, stretching his arms¡ªor at least, making the motion of it. His gloved hands swayed slightly at his sides. ¡°But I¡¯ve already decided¡ªI won¡¯t stop here. I want to see how far I can go.¡±


    Geschicht sighed. ¡°You really don¡¯t take things slow, do you?¡±


    Harriet only laughed, golden eyes gleaming like the sun overhead. ¡°What¡¯s the point of slowing down?¡±


    Geschicht let out a small huff as he slipped his backpack off his shoulders and set it down on the dirt path. "Let''s see," he murmured, fingers rummaging through its contents. The wind played with the edges of his coat as he dug through spare parchment, ink bottles, and a few wrapped rations before finally pulling out two neatly folded letters, each stamped with a star-shaped seal. He held them up with a small grin. "With this, we can join any association we want. And with our achievements, they''ll definitely accept us."


    Harriet raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. "Where did you get those?"


    Geschicht flicked the letters between his fingers before tucking one into Harriet¡¯s palm. "Uwe gave them to me. Said Jelle thought we might want to join the Ident Order."


    Harriet glanced down at the letter, rubbing his thumb over the wax seal. "Jelle, huh? She really thinks ahead."


    Geschicht smirked. "Well, she is a Grade 3 Ident. That¡¯s kind of her thing."


    Harriet let out a short chuckle before turning the letter in his hand. "And you? What do you think?"


    Geschicht leaned back on his heels, arms crossing loosely. "Honestly? It makes sense. We¡¯re already caught up in things way bigger than us. Joining the Ident Order would mean structure, backing¡­ and fewer people trying to throw us in prison for getting involved in things we ¡®shouldn¡¯t.¡¯" He tilted his head. "Not that it''s ever stopped us before."


    Harriet laughed. "True enough." He paused, rolling the thought over in his head. "And if we do this, we¡¯d get stronger too."


    "That¡¯s the idea," Geschicht agreed. "Training, resources, knowledge¡ªwe¡¯d have access to everything." He tapped his chin, then added with a smirk, "Of course, you could always reject the offer and keep doing things your way¡ªrunning in headfirst."


    Harriet grinned. "You mean running in ¡®hand¡¯ first?"


    Geschicht snorted. "You''re impossible."


    Harriet flicked the letter lightly against Geschicht¡¯s forehead. "Well, you¡¯re the one sticking with me."


    Geschicht sighed, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah." Then, his expression grew slightly more serious. "But really, Harriet¡ªwhat do you think? Do you want this?"


    Harriet stared at the letter again, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Yeah¡­ I do." His voice held no hesitation. "I want to see just how far I can go."


    Geschicht twirled the letter between his fingers, eyes scanning the seal once more before tucking it into his coat. He let out a sigh and shrugged. "Honestly, I¡¯d rather work outside of an association. The moment you sign in with one, you get all sorts of restrictions. It¡¯s the same for the Houses working under them¡ªrules, obligations, oversight. Too much for my taste."


    Harriet raised an eyebrow. "Isn¡¯t that the whole point? Structure, order, a fancy badge that lets you walk around like you belong?" He smirked. "You¡¯re telling me you''d rather be some rogue scholar wandering around with no backing?"


    Geschicht chuckled. "You say that like it¡¯s a bad thing." He looked up at the open sky, the vast green plains stretching endlessly around them. "There are Houses outside the Twelve Associations, you know. Completely independent. But to start one, you have to be at least a Grade 4 Ident."


    Harriet scoffed. "So you¡¯re saying we¡¯d need a name for ourselves first."


    "Exactly." Geschicht gestured vaguely with his hand. "Right now, we¡¯ve got achievements, sure. We survived that ruin, got tangled up in a high-profile case, and caught the attention of people like Jelle. But names? Titles? We don¡¯t have those yet." He shot Harriet a teasing grin. "I mean, the ¡®Armless Wonder¡¯ has a ring to it, don¡¯t you think?"


    Harriet groaned, running a gloved hand down his face. "Don¡¯t even start."


    Geschicht leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Alright, alright, hear me out. If we join an association, we can work our way up to a Grade 4 Ident way faster than if we just wander around doing things on our own. Connections, resources, opportunities.¡±


    Harriet crossed his arms, tilting his head. "Didn¡¯t you just say you didn¡¯t want to be tied down by rules?"


    "Yeah, yeah," Geschicht waved a hand. "But think of it like this, we use the system to our advantage. We climb fast, get the title, and then leave to start our own House."


    Harriet considered it, then shrugged. "Not a bad idea. It¡¯s like riding a boat down the river instead of swimming the whole way."


    "Exactly!" Geschicht snapped his fingers. "We just have to choose which association to join."


    Harriet smirked. "And then it¡¯s a race to Grade 4."


    Geschicht gasped dramatically. "Are you challenging me?"


    Harriet grinned. "If we¡¯re going the same route, might as well see who gets there first."


    Geschicht put a hand over his chest. "I¡¯m touched by your confidence. Really. But let¡¯s be honest, I¡¯m obviously going to win."


    Harriet snorted. "Oh, please. You? Win? You¡¯ll probably get distracted by every little thing along the way."


    "That¡¯s called research, thank you very much," Geschicht said, feigning offense. "Meanwhile, you¡¯ll probably get sidetracked trying to save every single person you meet."


    Harriet smirked. "Yeah? And what if I do? Maybe that¡¯s what¡¯ll make me faster."


    Geschicht narrowed his eyes playfully. "Fine. You¡¯re on."


    "Good." Harriet extended a gloved hand. "Let¡¯s make it interesting¡ªwhoever gets to Grade 4 first gets to name our House."


    Geschicht groaned. "Ugh, that¡¯s a terrible idea. You have the worst naming sense."


    "Then you better win."


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Geschicht sighed, shaking Harriet¡¯s hand. "I regret this already."


    They continued walking, the dirt path stretching endlessly ahead, blending into the green plains that swayed with the breeze. The air was fresh, carrying the scent of grass and earth, and for the first time in a long while, their journey felt peaceful.


    Geschicht kicked a small rock along the path, hands behind his head. "So, which association are you gonna join?"


    Harriet hummed in thought. "I kinda don¡¯t know." His golden eyes drifted to the sky as if searching for an answer there.


    Geschicht chuckled. "That¡¯s rare. You usually just throw yourself into things without thinking too much."


    Harriet smirked. "Yeah, well, this is a pretty big decision. You don¡¯t just pick an association like you¡¯re picking what to eat for dinner."


    "Fair point," Geschicht admitted. He tapped his chin before snapping his fingers. "Well, there¡¯s a Champion Association section, Section 9, not too far from here. If we¡¯re lucky with the weather, we could reach it in about twenty days."


    Harriet¡¯s eyes lit up. "That¡¯s it, that¡¯ll be my place." His voice carried a finality, as if he had been waiting for the right push all along.


    Geschicht laughed, shaking his head. "Of course. Out of all the choices, you pick the one that lets you fight the most."


    Harriet shrugged. "Might as well go all in."


    "Well then," Geschicht grinned, "while you¡¯re off smashing heads in the Champion Association, I¡¯ll be joining the Sage Association''s Section 5, the closest one from us. We¡¯ll have to part ways in about ten days. You go your way, I go mine."


    Harriet looked over at him, their steps still in sync. "And when the time comes?"


    "We meet again," Geschicht said simply, a confident smile on his face.


    Harriet grinned. "Yeah, we meet again."


    As they walked, the sky stretched endlessly above them, the soft breeze rustling the tall grass around them. Harriet tilted his head slightly, a smirk forming on his lips. "So, how do you plan on impressing the higher-ups at the Sage Association? Gonna recite a bunch of old books at them?"


    Geschicht snorted, crossing his arms. "Oh yeah, because nothing says ''promotion-worthy'' like a ten-hour lecture on forgotten civilizations."


    Harriet chuckled. "Well? You gotta have a plan."


    Geschicht stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders. "If I really want to stand out, I¡¯ll have to bring something new to the table. Something they¡¯ve never recorded before. They respect knowledge, but they love discoveries. If I manage to uncover some forgotten truth, maybe even an ancient script no one''s ever seen before, I¡¯ll get noticed pretty quickly."


    Harriet gave an approving nod. "Sounds solid. What about the bad side? Anything you gotta watch out for?"


    "Easy." Geschicht held up a finger. "They don¡¯t like troublemakers. If I get caught up in too many conflicts, they¡¯ll see me as reckless instead of insightful. Also, they hate people who hoard information¡ªkeeping knowledge for personal gain is a surefire way to get blacklisted."


    Harriet grinned. "Guess that means you gotta be careful who you share your notes with."


    "Exactly." Geschicht glanced at Harriet. "And you? What¡¯s your grand plan to make a name for yourself in the Champion Association?"


    Harriet shrugged. "The obvious way is to win fights. If I take down some big shots in training or missions, people will notice me fast."


    Geschicht smirked. "Classic Harriet move¡ªsolve everything with a fight."


    "Hey, it''s a Champion Association. They probably like people who can hold their own," Harriet shot back. "But I also gotta prove that I can lead. Champions aren¡¯t just about swinging swords around¡ªthey need people who can take command in a crisis. If I show I can keep a cool head under pressure, that¡¯ll put me on their radar even faster."


    Geschicht nodded. "Makes sense. And the bad side?"


    Harriet exhaled, thinking. "They value strength, but if I come off as too reckless, they might just see me as a wild card, not someone they can trust. Also, if I win too many fights too fast, I might attract the wrong kind of attention¡ªhigher-ups who see me as a threat instead of an asset."


    Geschicht raised an eyebrow. "So, basically, you have to be strong, but not too strong?"


    "Pretty much," Harriet said with a lopsided grin.


    They walked in silence for a moment before Geschicht chuckled. "So, who do you think will impress their association first?"


    Harriet grinned. "Oh, that¡¯s not even a question. It¡¯s gonna be me."


    Geschicht scoffed. "You wish. You might be able to throw a punch¡ªor, uh, a psychic punch¡ªbut I¡¯ve got brains and strategy. I¡¯ll be at Grade 4 before you even finish your first mission."


    "How much further do you think we¡¯ll go before we reach the next town?" Harriet asked, adjusting the straps of his bag.


    "Depends," Geschicht said, glancing toward the horizon. "If we don¡¯t run into any surprises, maybe four or five days. But with our luck, I¡¯m expecting a thorkiln to crawl out of a burrow any second now."


    Harriet raised an eyebrow. "A what?"


    "You¡¯ve never heard of a thorkiln?" Geschicht grinned. "It¡¯s this big, six-legged creature that burrows underground. Moves like a mole but has these spines on its back that flicker with blue fire when it¡¯s about to attack. Old folks say they can sense heat through the ground, so if you stand still, they won¡¯t notice you."


    The land was quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn¡¯t silence but rather a symphony of small sounds¡ªthe rustling of leaves, the distant chirping of birds, the occasional gust of wind that sent waves rippling through the fields. It was peaceful, yet filled with a strange energy, as if something unseen lurked just beyond the edge of perception.


    Then, without warning, the air changed.


    The wind, once gentle and wandering, suddenly stilled. The warmth of the sun dimmed, as if veiled behind something unseen. The grass, vibrant and lively just moments ago, seemed to dull in color, as though a shadow had passed over the land. The shift was subtle, almost imperceptible, but both Harriet and Geschicht felt it at once¡ªa tension in the air, like the world had drawn in a quiet breath and was waiting to exhale.


    Harriet slowed his steps. "Do you feel that?"


    The ground beneath them trembled¡ªnot violently, not with the force of an earthquake, but with the sensation of something stirring. The kind of tremor that suggested something deep within the land had merely shifted.


    Harriet tensed. His spectral hands, invisible to all but gods and those beyond mortality, curled instinctively, ready to act. "What was that?"


    Geschicht straightened, dusting his palms against his coat. "Either we just stepped over something ancient¡­ or something ancient just woke up."


    Harriet exhaled sharply. "That¡¯s supposed to be reassuring?"


    "No," Geschicht admitted. "But it makes things more interesting, doesn¡¯t it?"


    For a long moment, they stood in silence, listening. But the tremor did not return. The wind picked up again, the sunlight regained its warmth, and the world seemed to settle back into itself, as though whatever had disturbed it had merely turned over in its slumber.


    Harriet shot a glance at Geschicht. "Keep walking?"


    Geschicht nodded, though his fingers briefly brushed against the book at his side. "Yeah. Keep walking."


    The ground rumbled¡ªnot a fleeting tremor, but a deep, guttural quake that sent loose stones skittering across the dirt path. Then, with a force that cracked the earth apart, something massive erupted from below.


    A gaping hole tore open in the landscape as the thorkiln emerged, dragging half the underground with it. Its six legs, thick as tree trunks, clawed into the ground, steadying its enormous, segmented body. Dark chitin, marred with streaks of sapphire glow, caught the sunlight, making it look as though veins of molten light pulsed beneath its hide.


    Its head¡ªif such a thing could be called a head¡ªwas an unsettling fusion of stone and carapace, jagged and uneven, as if it had been hewn from the very rock it had burrowed through. Its mouth, a spiraled maw lined with ridges, released a deep, churning rumble that made Harriet¡¯s gut tighten.


    The thorkiln was no simple beast. It was ancient, a burrower of the world''s bones, a creature that moved through the land.


    And then, from the wound it had torn in the earth, water erupted.


    Not a trickle. Not a mere surge. A geyser roared into the sky, carrying with it the scent of untouched caverns and deep, hidden reservoirs. The sheer force of it sent a fine mist sweeping through the air, catching the light, making the world shimmer as though reality had turned to glass.


    Harriet barely managed to step back before the downpour crashed down. "Move!"


    Water splashed at their feet, soaking the edges of their boots, but the spectacle continued. The sky, momentarily filled with the spray, seemed to bend the sunlight in ways it shouldn''t.


    Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the geyser stopped.


    The water settled into a wide, glassy pool¡ªa newborn lake, still rippling from the force of its creation. But it wasn¡¯t just the lake that caught the eye. Above it, arching through the mist and lingering droplets, were three perfect rainbows.


    Not pale. Not distant. Vivid. Almost too vivid. Their colors bled into each other like spilt paint across the sky, bending in strange, liquid arcs, as though the air itself had become something more than it should be.


    And through it all, the thorkiln simply lingered.


    It stood at the water¡¯s edge, its luminous lines pulsing slower now, almost content. It tilted its great, segmented head, as if listening to something neither Harriet nor Geschicht could hear. Then, without a sound, it moved¡ªdigging.


    With terrifying ease, the colossal creature burrowed into the earth once more, each motion seamless, and natural. The hole it had left behind, impossibly deep, began to fill with the very water it had unearthed. Within moments, the thorkiln had vanished, leaving only the lake and the rainbows as proof it had ever been there at all.


    For a long moment, neither of them spoke.


    Finally, Harriet exhaled, raking a gloved hand through his damp hair. "...Tell me that¡¯s a rare sight."


    Geschicht blinked, still staring at where the thorkiln had disappeared. "If it wasn¡¯t, I think we''d have heard about it by now."


    Harriet shook his head, eyeing the triple rainbow. "Never thought I''d see something like this on the road."


    Geschicht smirked, stepping around a puddle. "We should probably keep moving before the next thing that bursts out of the ground decides it likes company."


    Harriet gave one last glance at the still-rippling lake, then sighed. "Yeah. Let¡¯s go."


    And with that, they left the impossible behind¡ªjust another spectacle in a world where even the earth itself seemed to breathe.

 Chapter 23: Way to learn

    Geschicht tapped the end of his quill against his chin, eyes flickering toward the window where the city stretched endlessly upward. The ink on his parchment was still wet, his words half-formed, yet he paused, letting the silence of his room settle around him before speaking softly to himself.


    "Harriet, you wouldn''t believe what kind of place I''ve found myself in."


    He let out a small chuckle, dipping the quill back into the ink and continuing to write.


    "I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever get used to a city like this. It doesn¡¯t sit on the earth like the places we¡¯ve known¡ªit floats. Well, parts of it do. It¡¯s as if someone shattered a mountain, and instead of falling, the pieces just decided to stay there, hanging in the sky. Bridges stretch between them, some made of stone, others of something I don¡¯t even have words for. When the sun hits the upper platforms just right, the whole thing looks like it¡¯s on fire, burning in shades of gold and red. And below, a lake so still that it looks like a second sky, mirroring everything above it. It¡¯s like the world folded in on itself and left this place behind."


    Geschicht glanced up from his letter, watching as a floating lantern drifted past his window, the glyphs carved into its glass pulsing faintly with light. He exhaled, amused at how even the smallest things in this city refused to obey the ordinary.


    "You¡¯d like it here, I think. The streets are full of scholars and mages, their heads buried in books even while they walk. I saw someone writing in midair today¡ªjust tracing words with their finger, and the ink stayed, burning bright like a constellation of thoughts. There are bells that ring with no metal, waterfalls that never touch the ground. And the air¡ª"


    He paused, thinking, before finally writing:


    "¡ªit feels heavy, but not in a bad way. Like every breath carries the weight of old knowledge. You can almost hear it hum when you stand still long enough."


    Setting his quill down, Geschicht stretched his fingers, leaning back in his chair. The candle on his desk flickered as a breeze from the window rolled in, carrying with it the scent of parchment, ink, and something faintly electric¡ªresidual magic, maybe.


    "Anyway," he added, scribbling the words quickly, "I think this will be a good place to start. I have no idea what kind of people I¡¯ll meet here, but I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll be interesting. Maybe next time we write, you¡¯ll tell me about the Champion Association. I wonder which of us will climb faster?"


    He smirked, sealing the letter with a press of wax before setting it aside. With a final glance out the window, he rose from his seat, grabbed his coat, and stepped outside.


    The door creaked softly as Geschicht stepped out onto the floating stone pathway. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of parchment and the ever-present hum of magic that wove through the city like an unseen current. Above, the sky was painted in hues of morning lilac and soft gold, the triple suns casting an otherworldly glow over the spires and drifting islands.


    Just as he took a step forward, a warm voice called out from the side.


    "Ah, you''re up early, Junge."


    He turned to see the elderly keeper of the tower he was staying in. She was small in stature but carried herself with the quiet confidence of someone who had seen far too much to be easily impressed. Her silver hair was tied into a loose braid, and a shawl embroidered with shifting runes draped over her shoulders.


    "Good morning, Frau Hildegund," Geschicht greeted with a slight smile, adjusting the collar of his coat. "You¡¯re up early too."


    "Pah! At my age, sleeping in is just wasting time," she scoffed, waving a hand dismissively before giving him a scrutinizing look. "And where are you off to this fine morning, hm?¡±


    Geschicht chuckled. "I¡¯m heading to the Association Hall to get my Ident certificate registered."


    She pulled out a small wrapped bundle and pressed it into his hands.


    "Here. A little something for the road. Can''t have you registering your name on an empty stomach."


    He unwrapped the cloth slightly, revealing a fresh honeyed oat roll, still warm from the morning hearth. Geschicht smiled, shaking his head. "You really do treat me like your grandson."


    "And what of it?" she huffed, patting his shoulder. "Now go, before I change my mind and send you to sweep the upper floors instead."


    Laughing, Geschicht gave her a grateful nod before stepping onto the gently glowing pathway leading toward the heart of the city.


    The warmth of the honeyed oat roll melted against Geschicht¡¯s tongue as he took a bite, its sweetness mingling with the crisp morning air. The streets of the floating city stretched before him, humming with quiet energy. The softly glowing pathway beneath his feet pulsed with a steady rhythm, guiding him toward the towering structure in the distance¡ªthe Sage Association Hall.


    The city was alive but not chaotic. Magic coursed through its very veins, woven into the cobblestone streets and the suspended bridges that linked the floating platforms together. Every few steps, he passed by robed scholars engaged in hushed discussions, scribes hurriedly scrawling notes onto parchment mid-stride, and artificers adjusting delicate mechanisms powered by runes.


    A group of apprentices clustered near a hovering fountain, its waters spiraling upward in slow, deliberate patterns before cascading back into the basin. They attempting to manipulate the flow¡ªsome with success, others causing stray droplets to splash onto their robes.


    Geschicht smiled to himself as he strolled past, absentmindedly nibbling on his roll. He could already imagine the endless possibilities within the association¡¯s halls. Somewhere inside those towering spires, knowledge beyond his comprehension awaited, hidden within shelves lined with ancient tomes and whispered between those who had spent decades unraveling the mysteries of the world.


    Ahead, a bridge made of pure light connected his platform to the next, arching over a vast expanse of open air. Below, the lower districts of the city shimmered like a dream, their golden rooftops reflecting the soft pink hues of the sky. Geschicht stepped onto the bridge, feeling a slight shift beneath his feet as if the light adjusted to his presence.


    He exhaled, savoring the sweetness lingering on his tongue.


    "Let¡¯s see what the world has in store," he murmured to himself, picking up his pace toward the Sage Association Hall.


    Geschicht pushed open the grand doors of the Sage Association Hall, stepping into a space filled with the quiet murmur of scholars and the faint scratching of quills against parchment. The air smelled of old paper, ink, and the faint trace of magic lingering in the high-arched ceiling.


    Ahead, a long marble counter stretched across the hall, where several clerks and receptionists assisted those coming and going. He approached an open spot where a woman in dark blue robes adjusted a monocle over her sharp eyes, flipping through a thick registry book with swift efficiency.


    She glanced up as he reached the counter. ¡°Name?¡±


    ¡°Geschicht Snow,¡± he answered, brushing crumbs from his sleeve.


    She hummed, tracing a gloved finger down the parchment. ¡°Ah, here we are. You submitted your paperwork three days ago, correct?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. I just wanted to check if everything is in order.¡±


    The receptionist gave a short nod and turned to a small, rune-inscribed device on the counter. She placed her hand over it, and a faint hum resonated through the air as a thin, glowing thread of light extended from the device, weaving through the book¡¯s pages.


    After a few seconds, the glow dimmed, and she withdrew her hand. ¡°All good. You¡¯re officially recognized as a member of the Ident Order.¡±


    With a flick of her wrist, she retrieved a small, rectangular card from a drawer and placed it on the counter before sliding it toward him. The card was simple but refined, crafted from polished silverwood with faintly glowing letters etched into its surface.


    Geschicht Snow


    Grade 5 Ident


    Geschicht picked it up, running his thumb over the engraved letters. There it was¡ªproof of his first step into something greater.


    ¡°However,¡± the receptionist continued, adjusting her monocle, ¡°if you intend to work within this section of the Sage Association, you will need to find a mentor. We do not permit self-study for active members below Grade 4.¡±


    ¡°A mentor, huh?¡± He turned the card between his fingers, letting the light catch against the silverwood. ¡°Any recommendations?¡±


    The woman¡¯s expression remained neutral. ¡°You may seek one out yourself, or you may apply for evaluation to be assigned to a teacher. But I suggest you make your choice quickly¡ªunattached lower grades often find themselves left behind.¡±


    Geschicht exhaled through his nose, slipping the card into his coat pocket. ¡°Got it. Thanks.¡±


    The receptionist gave a curt nod before turning her attention to the next person in line, leaving Geschicht standing there with the weight of his new title resting in his palm.


    A teacher, huh? He hadn¡¯t exactly thought about that. But if he wanted to make it further, he supposed he¡¯d have to.


    Geschicht pushed open the grand doors of the Sage Association Hall, stepping into a space filled with the quiet murmur of scholars and the faint scratching of quills against parchment. The air smelled of old paper, ink, and the faint trace of magic lingering in the high-arched ceiling.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Ahead, a long marble counter stretched across the hall, where several clerks and receptionists assisted those coming and going. He approached an open spot where a woman in dark blue robes adjusted a monocle over her sharp eyes, flipping through a thick registry book with swift efficiency.


    She glanced up as he reached the counter. ¡°Name?¡±


    ¡°Geschicht Snow,¡± he answered, brushing crumbs from his sleeve.


    She hummed, tracing a gloved finger down the parchment. ¡°Ah, here we are. You submitted your paperwork three days ago, correct?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. I just wanted to check if everything is in order.¡±


    The receptionist gave a short nod and turned to a small, rune-inscribed device on the counter. She placed her hand over it, and a faint hum resonated through the air as a thin, glowing thread of light extended from the device, weaving through the book¡¯s pages.


    After a few seconds, the glow dimmed, and she withdrew her hand. ¡°All good. You¡¯re officially recognized as a member of the Ident Order.¡±


    With a flick of her wrist, she retrieved a small, rectangular card from a drawer and placed it on the counter before sliding it toward him. The card was simple but refined, crafted from polished silverwood with faintly glowing letters etched into its surface.


    ¡°Geschicht Snow


    Grade 5 Ident¡±


    Geschicht picked it up, running his thumb over the engraved letters.


    ¡°However,¡± the receptionist continued, adjusting her monocle, ¡°if you intend to work within this section of the Sage Association, you will need to find a mentor. We do not permit self-study for active members below Grade 4.¡±


    ¡°A mentor, huh?¡± He turned the card between his fingers, letting the light catch against the silverwood. ¡°Any recommendations?¡±


    The woman¡¯s expression remained neutral. ¡°You may seek one out yourself, or you may apply for evaluation to be assigned to a teacher. But I suggest you make your choice quickly¡ªunattached lower grades often find themselves left behind.¡±


    Geschicht exhaled through his nose, slipping the card into his coat pocket. ¡°Got it. Thanks.¡±


    The receptionist gave a curt nod before turning her attention to the next person in line, leaving Geschicht standing there with the weight of his new title resting in his palm.


    A teacher, huh? He hadn¡¯t exactly thought about that. But if he wanted to make it further, he supposed he¡¯d have to.


    With that in mind, he turned on his heel and strode back toward the doors, stepping out into the floating city.


    As Geschicht stepped out of the Association Hall, he barely had time to take another bite of his honeyed oat roll before a voice cut through the soft hum of the city streets.


    "Are you the one Jelle wrote the recommendation letter for?"


    He turned, blinking at the woman standing before him. She was tall, her frame lean yet undeniably powerful, with a presence that seemed both fluid and unshakable. Her skin had a smooth, almost polished sheen to it, catching the dim glow of the city''s floating lanterns like the surface of water under moonlight. Light blue hair, layered and swept back like cresting waves, framed her sharp features. But what stood out the most were her ears¡ªlong and fin-like, translucent at the edges, flickering ever so slightly as if attuned to the currents of the air around her.


    And then, there were her eyes¡ªdeep, abyssal, holding the silent patience of a hunter lurking in the depths. They were the kind of eyes that had seen distant horizons and uncharted seas, that studied rather than simply looked. There was an intelligence in them, sharp as a blade, tempered like steel left to cool beneath cold waters.


    Geschicht swallowed the bite he¡¯d been chewing, brushing a few crumbs off his coat. "That depends. Who''s asking?"


    Her expression didn¡¯t change, though there was a brief flicker in her eyes¡ªperhaps amusement? Annoyance? It was hard to tell.


    "You¡¯re avoiding the question."


    "No, I¡¯m just making sure I¡¯m not about to get dragged into something unexpected."


    She exhaled, something between a sigh and a quiet chuckle. "Fair enough. Let¡¯s start over, then." She placed a hand on her chest in a formal yet fluid gesture. "Zarysha Tidescar. Sage Association, Section Five."


    "Geschicht Snow." He mirrored the gesture, though far less elegantly. "And yes, Jelle did write me a recommendation."


    Zarysha nodded, crossing her arms. "Then you¡¯re in need of a mentor." It wasn¡¯t a question.


    "That¡¯s what I¡¯ve been told."


    For a moment, she seemed to study him, as if weighing something in her mind. Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she spoke. "Come with me. Let¡¯s see if you¡¯re worth the trouble."


    And with that, she turned, expecting him to follow.


    Zarysha took a few steps forward, expecting Geschicht to follow, but when she glanced back over her shoulder, he was still standing there, taking another bite of his honeyed oat roll.


    She blinked. "Why aren¡¯t you coming with me?"


    Geschicht chewed slowly, swallowed, then replied with a casual shrug. "Because my father always said not to follow strangers."


    There was a brief silence. Then Zarysha let out a short laugh¡ªsharp, like the flick of a blade through water. "Strangers?" She gestured to herself. "I just introduced myself."


    Geschicht tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Right, but my father also said that just knowing a name doesn¡¯t mean you know a person. You could be leading me into a trap, or worse¡ª" He paused for dramatic effect. "A long lecture."


    Zarysha raised an eyebrow, then smirked. "You think too much."


    "And you don¡¯t think enough about how sketchy this looks."


    She sighed, placing a hand on her hip. "Fine. How about this¡ªI promise not to lead you into any traps or long lectures. Just a short one."


    Geschicht squinted at her. "Half a lecture?"


    "Half a lecture."


    He gave a dramatic sigh before finally stepping forward. "Alright, alright. But if I regret this, I¡¯m blaming Jelle."


    Zarysha chuckled as she turned back toward the street. "That¡¯s fair."


    Zarysha led Geschicht through the bustling streets of the magical city, weaving between towering buildings and lively shops, their path lined with street lamps that flickered with an enchanted glow. The air buzzed with the hum of magic, and above them, the sky was a canvas of drifting islands, some no larger than a house, while others held entire structures upon them.


    Their destination soon became clear¡ªa grand tower resting atop a floating cloud. It loomed high above the streets, its elegant spires disappearing into the mist surrounding it. The cloud itself pulsed faintly with magic, shifting ever so slightly as if breathing. Around its base, smaller buildings and shops clung to the floating mass, their foundations tethered by thick chains of woven light, preventing them from drifting apart.


    Geschicht tilted his head, watching as a platform of solid air extended toward them, forming a bridge to the tower¡¯s entrance. "A floating tower, huh? Fancy."


    Zarysha smirked. "Convenient, too. Less risk of unexpected visitors."


    They stepped onto the bridge, their footsteps making no sound against the cloud-like surface. The entrance of the tower was wide and open, flanked by banners embroidered with sigils of the Sage Association.


    Zarysha didn¡¯t pause, leading him up a spiral staircase lined with softly glowing runes, each step bringing them higher into the tower¡¯s depths. They eventually arrived at a broad, circular chamber¡ªan inquiry hall rather than a lecture room. Rows of seats curved around a central podium where a speaker, an elderly scholar with an intricate wooden staff, addressed a gathered audience.


    The speaker¡¯s voice was steady, carrying wisdom with every word. "A true scholar does not only seek answers¡ªthey seek the right questions. Consider this: what shapes the foundation of our knowledge? Is it truth, or merely what we choose to believe as truth?"


    Geschicht leaned slightly toward Zarysha. "Huh. I was expecting something about books and study schedules."


    Zarysha chuckled quietly. "Different towers focus on different things. This one values the art of questioning. You¡¯ll find halls that study ancient scripts, others that experiment with theory, and even some that just argue about philosophy all day."


    Geschicht nodded, taking in the atmosphere. The room was alive with thought¡ªscholars murmuring amongst themselves, some scribbling notes, others lost in contemplation. "So, anyone can just walk into places like this?"


    Zarysha nodded. "Newcomers are welcome in towers registered with the association. If you ever need to check, just ask someone at the Association Hall. Most towers are open to learning, but some keep their doors shut unless you¡¯re invited in."


    Geschicht folded his arms, tilting his head. "So, what you¡¯re saying is, if I just start knocking on random towers, I might get inside or I might get hexed?"


    She smirked. "Exactly. You¡¯ll figure out which is which pretty quick."


    Zarysha reached into the folds of her coat, pulling out a smooth, rectangular card and flipping it toward Geschicht with a casual flick of her wrist. The card gleamed faintly in the ambient light, inscribed with flowing script and an official seal of the Ident Order.


    Zarysha Tidescar


    Ident Grade 3 ¨C Sage Association, Section 5


    "Oh, right. Almost forgot to show you this," she said, smirking. "I¡¯m an official Grade 3 Ident. Figured you should know, since you¡¯ll be learning under me."


    Geschicht took the card and examined it, tapping his fingers against its smooth surface. "Grade 3, huh?" He whistled. "That¡¯s pretty high. Should I be honored or worried?"


    Zarysha shrugged. "Depends on how fast you learn."


    He handed the card back, crossing his arms. "And here I am, fresh out of the registration hall with my Grade 5 card, barely knowing what to do with it. Guess I¡¯ll be at your mercy, then?"


    Zarysha grinned. "Pretty much."


    Geschicht sighed dramatically. "Great. My fate is in the hands of a woman who forgets how to introduce herself until halfway through a conversation. Surely, this will end well."


    As they walked through the tower halls, Zarysha glanced at Geschicht. "So, what exactly are you hoping to learn here?"


    Geschicht crossed his arms, thinking. "Knowledge, obviously. History, lost stories, things that were forgotten. If I¡¯m going to make a name for myself, I need to know more than what¡¯s written in dusty old books."


    Zarysha smirked. "A broad answer, but I¡¯ll allow it." She gestured for him to follow as she led him out of the tower and into the bustling streets. They weaved through market stalls and quiet alleyways until they reached a lush, green hill on the outskirts of the city. The wind carried the scent of wildflowers, and the sky stretched vast and unbroken above them.


    She stopped at the crest of the hill and turned to him. "Let me ask you something, Junge. What does it mean to ''learn''?"


    Geschicht blinked, caught off guard by the question. "What kind of question is that? Learning is¡­ well, it¡¯s gaining knowledge. Picking up new information. Understanding things."


    Zarysha nodded but tapped her chin, as if unsatisfied. "And if someone memorizes an entire book, have they truly ''learned'' from it?"


    Geschicht frowned. "I mean, they¡¯d know what¡¯s inside, so¡ª"


    "Knowing is not learning," she interrupted. "In some places, the word for ''learn'' means to practice, to experience, to struggle with something until it becomes part of you." She folded her arms, her abyssal-dark eyes holding his gaze. "It¡¯s not just stuffing facts in your head. It¡¯s about changing yourself. If what you learn doesn¡¯t shape you, have you really learned it?"


    Geschicht stood silent for a moment, watching the clouds drift across the sky. Then, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Great. First, you forget how to introduce yourself, and now you make my head hurt with philosophy. Are you sure you''re not a Magician instead of a Sage?"


    Zarysha chuckled. "Consider this your first lesson, Junge. If you really want to learn something, be ready for more than just answers."


    Geschicht exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. The wind picked up, rustling the grass around them. "Alright, alright. I get it. Learning isn''t just about knowing¡ªit''s about changing. Happy?"


    Zarysha gave a small, satisfied nod. "It¡¯s a start."


    They stood there for a moment, the city stretching out before them. The floating towers, the winding streets, the distant hum of people moving about their lives¡ªit all felt larger now, heavier with the realization that there was far more to grasp than just words on a page.


    Geschicht tilted his head. "So, what¡¯s next? You gonna throw me into the deep end, or do I get a proper introduction to this place first?"


    Zarysha smirked. "I¡¯d say you¡¯re already in the deep end, Junge." She turned and began walking back toward the city, her voice carrying over her shoulder. "Try not to drown."


    With a sigh¡ªhalf exasperation, half amusement¡ªGeschicht followed. The path ahead was uncertain, but that was part of the journey.


    And he was ready to learn.

 Chapter 24: Study

    The morning light filtered through the glass panes of the floating tower, casting soft golden hues across the smooth wooden floor. A gentle breeze drifted in from the open balcony, rustling the pages of an old book held in steady hands.


    Zarysha Tidescar sat by the window, one leg crossed over the other, a porcelain cup of tea resting in her palm. The steam curled lazily into the air, dissipating as she turned a page with practiced ease. Her abyssal-dark eyes scanned the ancient text with an expression of serene focus. Every so often, she would take a slow sip, savoring the warmth, before resuming her reading as if the world beyond these pages did not exist.


    And yet, that illusion was broken by a strained grunt, followed by the dull thud of stone against soil.


    Down below, just outside her tower, Geschicht was struggling.


    Sweat trickled down his temple as he hoisted a large boulder above his head, his arms shaking under the weight. His legs trembled, his back ached, and yet, the true challenge was not just lifting stones¡ªit was doing so while attempting to decipher two versions of the same book at once. One was written in an older dialect, full of complex phrasing and unfamiliar terms, while the other was a more recent translation. He had to compare them while keeping his balance and lifting.


    "Ugh... Why... are these written so differently?" Geschicht muttered, his voice strained as he squinted at the pages propped up on a nearby rock. "One of them says, ''The stars whisper wisdom to those who listen,'' and the other says, ''The stars don¡¯t care if you understand them or not.''"


    He exhaled sharply, wobbling as he tried to shift the weight.


    From above, Zarysha glanced down at him over the rim of her cup. "Hmm."


    That was all she said. Just a soft, noncommittal hum before she turned another page.


    Geschicht groaned. "Are you seriously just gonna sit there drinking tea while I suffer?!"


    Zarysha placed her cup down with deliberate care, finally closing her book. She leaned back in her chair, fingers interlaced as she regarded him with a faintly amused expression. "You''re not suffering," she stated simply. "You''re learning."


    "Learning?!" Geschicht barked out a dry laugh before adjusting his grip on the boulder. "Learning what? How to break my spine while reading philosophy?"


    "Not quite," she said smoothly, standing up and making her way to the edge of the balcony. "Strength alone is useless without understanding. And knowledge without endurance is just empty theory."


    Geschicht exhaled sharply as he finally let the boulder drop to the ground with a heavy thud, nearly toppling over himself. He placed his hands on his knees, catching his breath. "I swear... I feel like my arms are about to fall off."


    Zarysha tilted her head, unbothered. "Then that means you need to keep going."


    Geschicht shot her a look. "Do you ever do this kind of training?"


    She smiled faintly. "Of course."


    That answer didn¡¯t comfort him in the slightest.


    Zarysha leaned on the railing of her floating tower, the morning sun glinting off her smooth, lightly scaled skin. "You¡¯re struggling now because you''re trying to balance two things at once¡ªphysical exertion and mental focus. But that¡¯s exactly why it¡¯s necessary. The mind and body are not separate. If you want to keep up with the world outside, you need both."


    Geschicht groaned and flopped onto the ground, stretching out his sore muscles. "You know, back home, I just had to chop wood and carry bricks. That was plenty."


    Zarysha arched a brow. "Back home, you weren¡¯t aiming to survive as an Ident, were you?"


    "...Fair point."


    The breeze picked up slightly, ruffling the pages of the books still lying on the nearby rock. The tower hovered soundlessly above them, casting a shifting shadow as it drifted lazily along with the city¡¯s floating structures. The distant hum of magical energy, the rustle of leaves, and the distant chatter of scholars in their morning routines blended together into the quiet rhythm of the Sage Association¡¯s domain.


    Zarysha pushed away from the railing. "Take a five-minute break. Then we¡¯ll move on to the next lesson."


    Geschicht groaned into the dirt. "I might actually die before then."


    Zarysha smirked. "Then at least you¡¯ll have learned something before you go."


    He glared up at her. "...I¡¯m starting to think you enjoy this."


    She didn¡¯t answer. Just sipped her tea with a knowing look before turning back to her book.


    Geschicht barely had time to enjoy his five-minute break before Zarysha took a step forward, looking down at him with an air of expectation.


    ¡°Alright,¡± she said, setting down her now-empty teacup. ¡°Next exercise.¡±


    Geschicht groaned. ¡°Please tell me it involves lying down and absorbing knowledge through sheer willpower.¡±


    Zarysha ignored that. She picked up the two books he had been struggling with and tossed them to him. He fumbled, barely managing to catch them.


    ¡°Start running,¡± she said.


    ¡°¡­What?¡±


    She pointed towards the open space beyond the floating tower¡ªa winding dirt path leading through the city¡¯s green hills.


    ¡°You¡¯re going to run while reading these,¡± Zarysha stated simply. ¡°And you¡¯re not stopping until you understand both versions completely.¡±


    Geschicht stared at her as if she had just told him to fly to the moon.


    ¡°You¡ªyou can¡¯t be serious,¡± he sputtered. ¡°I can barely focus on one while standing still, and now I have to¡ª¡±


    Zarysha crossed her arms. ¡°If you want to learn anything from me, you¡¯ll do it.¡±


    Geschicht groaned, clutching the books to his chest. ¡°This is cruel.¡±


    ¡°This is necessary.¡±


    ¡°This is¡ª¡±


    ¡°Start running.¡±


    There was no arguing with her. Something about the way she said it¡ªcalm, unwavering, like the ocean before a storm¡ªmade it clear that there was no room for negotiation.


    So, with a deep sigh and the weight of impending suffering pressing on his shoulders, Geschicht started running.


    At first, it wasn¡¯t so bad. The wind in his hair, the fresh scent of grass, the rhythmic sound of his feet against the dirt¡ªhe could deal with this. He even dared to flip open one of the books while keeping a steady pace.


    "The stars whisper wisdom to those who listen¡­"


    Easy enough. He moved on to the other book.


    "The stars don¡¯t care if you understand them or not."


    Geschicht frowned. Okay, that was already a little frustrating. He glanced between the two texts, trying to pinpoint exactly where the meaning had shifted, all while keeping his feet moving.


    Ten minutes passed.


    His breath grew heavier. His grip on the books tightened. The words were starting to blur.


    Twenty minutes.


    His legs ached. His arms burned from holding the books up. The texts¡ªonce confusing but readable¡ªnow felt like a cryptic puzzle that was mocking him at every turn.


    Thirty minutes.


    He stumbled, nearly falling face-first into the dirt. He caught himself, panting, cursing under his breath.


    This was unbearable.


    He glanced at Zarysha, who stood at the edge of the floating tower, watching him.


    As the minutes stretched on, Geschicht¡¯s mind waded through the sea of words, pushing past his exhaustion, past the ache in his limbs, past the sweat dripping down his back.


    Then¡ªlike the sudden clarity of a breaking dawn¡ªit clicked.


    The older book was written with the bias of its time. Its words reflected the beliefs and values of that era, bending knowledge to fit its world. Meanwhile, the newer book was no different¡ªjust another perspective, another reshaping of the truth to fit the present.


    Neither was absolute. They were both shaped by the hands of their writers.


    Geschicht¡¯s legs finally gave in, and he collapsed onto the grass, arms outstretched, books falling beside him. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath ragged, but there was a triumphant grin on his face.


    ¡°I got it¡­¡± he muttered, eyes half-lidded. ¡°They¡¯re both just¡­ bias. Bias shaped by their time.¡±


    Silence followed.


    Then¡ª


    Clap. Clap. Clap.


    Slow, deliberate applause rang through the air. Geschicht turned his head slightly, just enough to see Zarysha standing there, nodding in approval.


    ¡°Quick thinking,¡± she remarked, a hint of amusement in her abyssal-dark eyes. ¡°You¡¯re right.¡±


    Geschicht groaned, tilting his head back toward the sky. ¡°I feel like I lost half my lifespan figuring that out.¡±


    Zarysha smirked. ¡°Good. That means you¡¯re learning.¡±


    Zarysha strolled over, her steps unhurried, the gentle rustling of grass beneath her feet the only sound in the moment. She crouched down beside Geschicht, the sun catching the faint iridescence of her lightly scaled skin as she studied his exhausted form.


    ¡°You figured out the main issue,¡± she said, tapping the spine of one of the books with a sharp claw. ¡°But let¡¯s go deeper. Why do you think these two versions exist in the first place?¡±


    Geschicht groaned. ¡°Didn¡¯t I just answer that?¡±


    Zarysha gave him a pointed look. ¡°You touched the surface. Now dig.¡±


    Geschicht exhaled sharply, staring at the sky. ¡°¡­Because people change. Their beliefs change. So, when someone writes a book, it¡¯s influenced by what they think is true at the time.¡±


    Zarysha nodded. ¡°Yes, but that¡¯s only part of it. Sometimes, it¡¯s not just about personal belief¡ªit¡¯s about who controls the narrative.¡±


    She lifted the older book and flipped through its pages, her dark eyes scanning the words with a keen, knowing gaze. ¡°Look at this version. It was written centuries ago, when the world¡¯s understanding was different. This was the dominant perspective at the time, shaped by the rulers, the scholars, the institutions that decided what should be recorded. They set the foundation of knowledge, even if it was flawed or incomplete. It became truth because it was widely accepted.¡±


    Then, she picked up the newer book and did the same, holding it up for Geschicht to see. ¡°Now, fast forward to today. We have different rulers, different scholars, different institutions. Their access to information has expanded, their understanding has evolved, and with that, they reframe the past through a modern lens. They correct what was wrong, fill in gaps, but¡­¡± She smirked slightly. ¡°They also leave behind their own fingerprints.¡±


    Geschicht frowned. ¡°¡­You¡¯re saying that even the corrected version isn¡¯t completely true?¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡± She set both books down between them. ¡°History isn¡¯t written in stone. It¡¯s written by people, and people are biased. Even when they think they¡¯re being objective, they¡¯re still influenced by their experiences, their culture, their time period. That¡¯s why we have multiple versions of the same book. The way a war is recorded by the victors will never match how it¡¯s recorded by the defeated. The way a philosopher¡¯s work is interpreted a hundred years later will never be exactly what they intended.¡±


    She leaned back, watching him carefully. ¡°It happens even in your time. Have you ever heard of two different historians arguing over the same event? Or scholars debating the meaning of an ancient text?¡±


    Geschicht nodded slowly.


    ¡°It happens everywhere. Even something as simple as a biography¡ªwritten by different authors¡ªcan have wildly different accounts of the same person¡¯s life. Some will portray them as a hero, others as a villain. Some will focus on their achievements, others on their failures. The truth is somewhere in between, but no single book holds it all.¡±


    Geschicht furrowed his brows, processing her words. ¡°¡­So what¡¯s the point, then? If everything is biased, then how do we know what¡¯s real?¡±


    Zarysha¡¯s smirk widened slightly. ¡°That¡¯s the right question.¡± She tapped a finger against the side of her temple. ¡°The answer isn¡¯t to find a book that tells you the absolute truth. The answer is to learn how to think critically. To compare, analyze, and understand why different accounts exist. To recognize patterns, see through the biases, and find the thread that connects them all.¡±


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    She exhaled, stretching her arms. ¡°That¡¯s why your training is important. Not just physically, but mentally. If you¡¯re going to seek knowledge, you need to understand how knowledge is shaped. Otherwise, you¡¯ll just be another fool repeating what someone else has written without questioning it.¡±


    Geschicht let out a long breath, staring at the sky. His mind buzzed, his body ached, but something about Zarysha¡¯s words settled deep inside him.


    ¡°¡­I think I hate how much sense that makes,¡± he muttered.


    Zarysha chuckled, standing up. ¡°Good.¡±


    Zarysha watched him for a moment, her sharp gaze unwavering. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she asked, ¡°Do you have a Singularit?t?¡±


    Geschicht, still lying on the ground, turned his head slightly to look at her. He blinked. ¡°No.¡± Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he patted the leather cover of his journal beside him. ¡°But I have this.¡±


    Zarysha¡¯s finned ears twitched slightly. She crouched down again, resting her elbows on her knees as she studied the book. ¡°Is it a Seelen?¡±


    Geschicht shook his head. ¡°No.¡±


    Her dark eyes flicked up to meet his, assessing. ¡°So it¡¯s a Gesegnete.¡±


    There was a pause before Geschicht hesitated, then gave a small nod.


    Zarysha exhaled through her nose, standing back up with an air of finality. ¡°Then, since you don¡¯t have a Singularit?t, your training will be harsher.¡±


    Geschicht let out a long, suffering groan, dragging a hand down his face. ¡°Of course it will.¡±


    Zarysha smirked, folding her arms. ¡°Complaints already?¡±


    He let his head fall back against the grass, staring at the sky in resignation. ¡°No, no. Just mentally preparing myself for the worst.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± she said, turning on her heel. ¡°Because I assure you, it¡¯ll be worse than you expect.¡±


    Zarysha clasped her hands behind her back, her tone cool and methodical as she began listing off Geschicht¡¯s new daily routine.


    ¡°Since you lack a Singularit?t, you¡¯ll need to train your body and mind beyond the limits of an ordinary person. Therefore, your schedule will be as follows.¡±


    She raised a single finger. ¡°You will wake up before sunrise. The moment your eyes open, you will begin with a five-kilometer run. But not just any run¡ªyou¡¯ll be carrying weighted books in each arm. And you will read them while running. No exceptions.¡±


    Geschicht groaned, but Zarysha continued without mercy.


    ¡°After your run, you¡¯ll immediately move on to endurance training. Carrying stones¡ªyes, heavier than the ones today¡ªup and down the hill outside my tower. This will improve your physical strength, posture, and breathing control. If you drop a stone, you restart from the bottom.¡±


    Geschicht opened his mouth to protest, but Zarysha wasn¡¯t done.


    ¡°After that, you¡¯ll have your first reading session of the day¡ªtwo different books with opposing perspectives. You will summarize their arguments and explain their biases before breakfast. If your analysis is lacking, you do push-ups until you get it right.¡±


    Geschicht stared at her, horrified. ¡°Before breakfast? What if I get them wrong?¡±


    ¡°Then you will have a very strong upper body and an empty stomach,¡± Zarysha said, smirking. ¡°Moving on.¡±


    She ticked off another point. ¡°Midday training consists of memory and reaction exercises. You will be tested on information from the books you read in the morning while simultaneously dodging incoming attacks.¡±


    ¡°What¡ª?!¡±


    ¡°Nothing lethal, of course,¡± she added, waving a hand. ¡°Most of the time.¡±


    Geschicht buried his face in his hands. ¡°Most of the time?!¡±


    Ignoring his suffering, Zarysha pressed on. ¡°By late afternoon, you¡¯ll engage in practical writing exercises. You¡¯ll rewrite historical accounts from different perspectives, changing details to reflect various biases. This will help refine your ability to perceive truth from illusion.¡±


    ¡°I see no part of this where I¡¯m allowed to rest.¡±


    Zarysha tilted her head in mock thoughtfulness. ¡°Ah, rest. Right. After dinner, you¡¯ll meditate for an hour to clear your mind. Then, before sleeping, you¡¯ll read a book of my choice and summarize its key points in your journal.¡±


    Geschicht flopped onto his back, staring blankly at the sky. ¡°This is unreasonable.¡±


    She smirked down at him. ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯re weak.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to die.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get stronger first.¡±


    He groaned dramatically. ¡°At this rate, I¡¯ll die a very strong corpse.¡±


    Zarysha crossed her arms, grinning. ¡°Then don¡¯t die.¡±


    ¡°Oh, and at night, you¡¯re free to do whatever you want.¡±


    Geschicht cracked one eye open, suspicious. ¡°Whatever I want?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Yes. No restrictions. You can read, explore the city, visit the other tower, or even sleep early¡ªthough I doubt you¡¯ll have the energy to do much.¡±


    Geschicht sat up, rubbing his face. ¡°So after a whole day of running, lifting, reading, dodging imaginary death, and rewriting history, I get¡­ free time?¡±


    Zarysha smirked. ¡°Of course. I¡¯m not unreasonable.¡±


    He shot her a flat look. ¡°That¡¯s debatable.¡±


    She shrugged.


    Zarysha leaned back slightly, watching Geschicht with that ever-present air of calculated ease. ¡°This is the fastest way for you to get stronger and smarter. If you want to reach Grade 4 Ident anytime soon, you¡¯ll have to endure.¡±


    Geschicht, still sprawled on the ground, lifted his head. ¡°And what exactly does it take for someone to reach Grade 4?¡±


    Zarysha crossed her arms, her dark eyes steady. ¡°Two things. First, you need to be strong enough to hold your ground against a Grade 3 Ident for a full minute.¡±


    Geschicht frowned. ¡°Just a minute?¡±


    Her smirk deepened. ¡°A minute feels much longer when someone like me is trying to take you down.¡±


    He swallowed.


    ¡°The second requirement,¡± she continued, ¡°is to have an achievement or contribution to your name. Strength alone isn¡¯t enough. The Ident Order recognizes those who make a difference.¡±


    Geschicht sat up properly now, brushing dirt off his sleeves. ¡°And how am I supposed to do that?¡±


    Zarysha tapped her fingers against her arm. ¡°Simple. You¡¯ll go outside with me on weekends and help kill monsters.¡±


    Geschicht blinked. ¡°That¡ª¡± He gestured vaguely. ¡°That escalated fast.¡±


    Zarysha chuckled. ¡°Welcome to the Ident Order.¡±


    Geschicht let out a long sigh, rubbing his temple. ¡°I thought I could just give a ten-hour lecture on forgotten civilizations at the Sage Association and get promoted¡­ but I guess that won¡¯t work here.¡±


    Zarysha let out a sharp laugh. ¡°Oh, it might get you a few nods of approval, but unless your lecture miraculously stops a war or unearths some lost world-shattering knowledge, it won¡¯t be enough.¡±


    Geschicht groaned. ¡°So, instead of sharing wisdom, I have to go out and slay things?¡±


    Zarysha shrugged. ¡°Why not both?¡±


    Zarysha tilted her head, a faint smirk playing at the corners of her lips. "Aren''t you eager to become a Grade 4 Ident soon?"


    Geschicht, still sprawled out on the grass, let out a long sigh. "Eager isn¡¯t the word I¡¯d use." His body ached from the relentless training, and his lungs still burned from running while reading. He swore the ground beneath him had never felt so comfortable. "If anything, I¡¯d rather not rush things."


    Zarysha sipped her tea, unbothered by his exhaustion. ¡°So you¡¯d rather crawl your way up, one painful step at a time, when there¡¯s a faster way?¡±


    Geschicht groaned. ¡°That faster way is also the unreasonable way.¡±


    Zarysha let out a low chuckle. The golden morning light reflected off her sleek, lightly scaled skin, and her fin-like ears twitched slightly. ¡°You say that now, but when you get stronger, you¡¯ll thank me.¡±


    Geschicht rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. ¡°You keep saying stronger, but I still don¡¯t get why you¡¯re so set on it. I¡¯m not trying to be some kind of warrior.¡±


    Zarysha tilted her head. ¡°No, you¡¯re not. But you are trying to get somewhere, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    Geschicht froze for half a second.


    Zarysha¡¯s gaze was sharp¡ªtoo sharp. It was like she saw something in him he hadn¡¯t meant to show.


    ¡°Everyone has a reason for climbing ranks,¡± she continued, watching him closely. ¡°And no one puts themselves through this kind of training unless they need to. So what is it?¡±


    Geschicht looked away, pressing his lips together. ¡°Does it matter?¡±


    Zarysha shrugged. ¡°Not to me. But it should matter to you.¡± She turned, looking over the cityscape stretched out below them. Floating spires, drifting bridges, the hum of a city suspended in the sky. ¡°The higher your rank, the more doors open for you. And doors don¡¯t stay open forever.¡±


    Geschicht frowned. He hadn¡¯t thought about that. Right now, he was just trying¡ªmoving forward without knowing exactly how long the path was.


    Zarysha glanced back at him. "You don¡¯t have a Singularit?t. That means you have to work twice as hard. You need strength, endurance, knowledge¡ªeverything you can get your hands on. Otherwise, you won¡¯t last."


    Geschicht rubbing his forehead. ¡°So my choices are suffer now or suffer later?¡±


    Zarysha smirked. ¡°Pretty much.¡±


    He groaned, dropping back onto the grass. ¡°This is cruel.¡±


    ¡°This is necessary.¡±


    She walked past him, her arms crossed. "You¡¯ll see it for yourself soon enough. Once you step into the world out there, you¡¯ll understand why I¡¯m pushing you like this." She stopped, glancing over her shoulder. "We¡¯ll start monster hunts this weekend. So rest up while you can."


    Geschicht let out a slow breath, staring up at the sky. The drifting clouds above seemed so free¡ªjust floating without a care, unlike him, stuck on this hill with aching muscles and a future full of suffering. But despite everything, despite the absurd training and the impossible standards, he knew one thing for certain.


    ¡°I don¡¯t really care about getting stronger,¡± he muttered, folding his arms behind his head. ¡°I just need to be strong enough.¡±


    Zarysha raised a brow. ¡°Strong enough for what?¡±


    ¡°To travel with someone.¡±


    Zarysha studied him, her dark abyssal eyes unreadable. "Someone important to you, I assume?"


    Geschicht nodded slowly. ¡°He¡¯s¡­ he¡¯s a hero wannabe.¡± A small smile tugged at his lips. ¡°Doesn¡¯t think much, barely plans ahead, and jumps into things without considering the consequences. Carefree, reckless, stubborn¡ªthe kind of person who charges into a burning house before realizing he forgot to bring water.¡±


    Zarysha chuckled. ¡°Sounds like an idiot.¡±


    Geschicht laughed lightly, shaking his head. ¡°Yeah, he really is. But¡ª" His voice softened. ¡°¡ªhe¡¯s also the closest thing to a hero I¡¯ve ever seen.¡±


    Something in his tone made Zarysha pause.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t think much, yeah, but that¡¯s because he acts before doubt can take root. He doesn¡¯t hesitate. He sees someone struggling, and he moves. Someone¡¯s in danger, and he¡¯s already throwing himself in harm¡¯s way before anyone else even understands what¡¯s happening.¡±


    Geschicht exhaled.


    ¡°Most people wouldn¡¯t do that. They¡¯d stop to consider their options. They¡¯d weigh the risks, hesitate, second-guess themselves. But not him. He never stops to ask if it¡¯s worth it¡ªbecause to him, it always is.¡±


    Zarysha remained silent, letting him speak.


    "He doesn¡¯t do it for praise or recognition. In fact, I don¡¯t think he even realizes what he¡¯s doing most of the time. It¡¯s just¡­ natural to him. Like breathing.¡± Geschicht clenched his fists slightly. "I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s bravery or just stupidity, but either way, he is what people call a hero.¡±


    He let his head fall back against the grass.


    ¡°But even though he¡¯s got all that reckless courage, he¡¯s still human. And humans¡­ humans break." His voice quieted. "That¡¯s why I have to be strong. Because if I¡¯m not, he¡¯ll keep throwing himself into the fire without anyone to pull him back.¡±


    Zarysha hummed, considering his words.


    ¡°I see.¡± She took another sip of her tea, glancing down at him. ¡°So you¡¯re not trying to be the hero. You¡¯re just trying to keep your idiot hero wannabe from getting himself killed.¡±


    Geschicht sighed. ¡°Pretty much.¡±


    Zarysha chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s the dumbest reason I¡¯ve heard to train this hard.¡±


    He turned his head, about to protest, but she spoke again.


    ¡°¡ªBut it¡¯s also one of the better ones.¡±


    For a moment, the wind carried their silence.


    Then Zarysha smirked. ¡°Alright, now I really can¡¯t go easy on you.¡±


    Geschicht groaned. ¡°That wasn¡¯t the point of this conversation!¡±


    She simply grinned. ¡°Too late.¡±


    Geschicht sighed, staring up at the sky as if the answer was written somewhere in the drifting clouds. He had already said so much, but it still wasn¡¯t enough to explain him.


    ¡°It¡¯s not just me,¡± he muttered. ¡°He inspires everyone around him.¡±


    Zarysha glanced at him, waiting for him to continue.


    ¡°I mean, think about it¡ªwhat even is a hero?¡± Geschicht said, sitting up. ¡°Most people would say it¡¯s about strength, right? About being able to fight, to protect, to stand your ground no matter what.¡± He scoffed. ¡°But I¡¯ve seen plenty of strong people who aren¡¯t heroes. Strength alone isn¡¯t enough.¡±


    He clasped his hands together, deep in thought.


    ¡°But he¡ªhe makes you believe.¡±


    Zarysha raised an eyebrow. ¡°Believe in what?¡±


    ¡°In yourself. In the idea that you can do more, be more. That no matter how much of a mess you are, you can still do something good.¡± Geschicht¡¯s voice grew more fervent. ¡°He doesn¡¯t just charge ahead on his own¡ªhe makes you want to follow. Not because he asks you to, but because when you¡¯re around him, you feel like you could do anything.¡±


    Zarysha sipped her tea, considering his words. ¡°That¡¯s a rare thing.¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Geschicht agreed. ¡°And it¡¯s frustrating because he doesn¡¯t even realize he¡¯s doing it. He just exists, and people can¡¯t help but be drawn to him.¡±


    He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. ¡°And the way he looks at things¡ªhe doesn¡¯t see limits the way other people do. If there¡¯s a wall, he¡¯ll climb it. If there¡¯s a locked door, he¡¯ll break through it. If something¡¯s ¡®impossible,¡¯ he¡¯ll just do it anyway.¡±


    Geschicht let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head.


    ¡°I swear, he has no idea how the world is supposed to work, and somehow, that just makes everything work for him.¡±


    Zarysha smirked. ¡°Sounds like the kind of person who either changes the world or dies trying.¡±


    Geschicht¡¯s smile faltered slightly. He didn¡¯t want to think about that.


    ¡°¡­That¡¯s why I need to be strong,¡± he said, quieter this time. ¡°Because he¡¯ll keep throwing himself into things without thinking. And if I¡¯m not strong enough to keep up¡ªif I can¡¯t be there¡ªwho¡¯s going to make sure he doesn¡¯t push too far?¡±


    Zarysha took another slow sip of her tea, letting the weight of his words settle.


    Then she set the cup down and looked at him. ¡°Then I guess you¡¯d better stop lying in the grass and start training harder.¡±


    Geschicht groaned. ¡°I knew you were going to say that.¡±


    She grinned. ¡°Oh? Were you expecting mercy?¡±


    He sighed dramatically, flopping back down. ¡°Let me have one moment of peace before my suffering continues.¡±


    Zarysha stood up, stretching. ¡°Fine. You have until I finish this tea.¡±


    Geschicht¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Wait¡ªyou¡¯re almost done!¡±


    She took an exaggeratedly slow sip, eyes glinting with amusement.


    Geschicht sat up immediately, already regretting everything.

 Chapter 25: Trio of Kin

    The sun hung lazily in the sky, its golden rays filtering through the floating towers of Section 5, casting long, shifting shadows across the city¡¯s roads. The morning breeze was crisp, but to Geschicht, it might as well have been the burning breath of a fire drake.


    Sweat dripped from his brow, his breath ragged, his legs screaming for rest¡ªyet he kept running.


    A massive rock was strapped to his back, its weight pressing down on him like the expectations of a world that didn¡¯t even know he existed. His arms trembled from gripping two open books, one in each hand, the words blurring with each pounding step. He had been doing this for two weeks now, but no matter how much he pushed himself, his body still resisted.


    However¡­


    He could tell he was getting faster. His steps were steadier, and his breathing lasted longer before his chest felt like it would collapse. The first time he tried this, he barely managed a few minutes before his legs buckled. Now, though his body still ached, he could keep going.


    It was an improvement.


    Not that it made him feel any better.


    ¡°Hahh¡­ haah¡­¡± His breath came in harsh bursts as he tried to focus on the texts before him.


    The left book, a historical account written centuries ago, described an empire¡¯s noble conquest as a righteous and glorious expansion. The right book, a modern retelling, called the same event a brutal invasion driven by greed and cruelty.


    Both books described the same war. Both had been written by scholars. And yet, their truths were completely different.


    Geschicht gritted his teeth. This was the third day in a row he had been running with these specific books. Zarysha had told him he couldn¡¯t stop until he truly understood both perspectives, but¡ªwas there even an answer to this?


    His foot caught on a loose stone. His body lurched forward¡ª


    ¡°Tch!¡± He barely managed to adjust his balance, forcing himself forward instead of collapsing.


    From the floating tower ahead, a figure stood on the balcony, sipping tea.


    Zarysha watched him as if she were watching the morning tide roll in¡ªcalm, relaxed, completely unbothered. The contrast was almost insulting.


    Geschicht dragged himself forward, legs burning from his brutal five-kilometer run. The massive rock strapped to his back felt heavier than ever, and balancing two books in his hands while running had done his coordination no favors.


    ¡°Still can¡¯t get used to this¡­¡± he muttered between gasps, wiping sweat from his brow. Two weeks of this hellish routine, and while he had gotten stronger, his suffering hadn¡¯t lessened in the slightest.


    Just as he was about to collapse on the grass, he noticed something unusual nearby.


    Near a large oak tree, three people were stacked on top of each other, balancing precariously as the topmost one stretched toward a tree branch.


    At first, Geschicht wasn¡¯t sure what he was looking at. Were they...playing? No, wait¡ª


    A fluffy white cat sat on the highest branch, completely ignoring the person trying to reach it.


    The little girl standing nearby looked deeply concerned.


    Geschicht squinted. The three men had strangely familiar features¡ªand then he noticed it.


    They all had bear ears.


    He stopped in his tracks.


    At the bottom of the stack stood a massive man, his broad shoulders straining under the weight of his two brothers. He looked as solid as a mountain, feet planted firmly in the dirt like tree roots. His amber eyes remained steady, even as his arms trembled slightly.


    ¡°Hold steady.¡± His deep voice was calm, but there was an unmistakable warning in it.


    The middle brother, though leaner, still had the raw power of an Ursanari. His gray eyes flicked up toward the one above him, keenly observing. His balance was near perfect, though his flat expression suggested he was not enjoying any of this.


    ¡°You¡¯re heavier than before.¡± His tone was completely neutral.


    At the top, a slender young man with chestnut-brown hair and hazel eyes reached for the cat, fingers barely brushing its fur.


    ¡°I¡¯m the same weight as always!¡± he huffed, clearly offended. ¡°Maybe you just lost muscle, Aren. Have you been skipping meals again? I keep telling you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Focus, Roen.¡± The middle one¡ªAren¡ªsounded utterly unamused.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah. Almost got it!¡± Roen wiggled his fingers, making little kissy noises at the cat. ¡°Come here, little guy! Come to Uncle Roen!¡±


    The cat flicked its tail and scooted further up the branch.


    ¡°Oh, come on! Traitor!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the traitor if you drop us.¡± Aren¡¯s grip tightened on his older brother¡¯s shoulders.


    At the bottom, Halden, the eldest, let out a slow sigh.


    ¡°Halden, your arms are shaking. Are you actually struggling?¡± Roen teased.


    ¡°You want to switch?¡± Halden rumbled.


    ¡°Nope. You¡¯re doing great.¡±


    Geschicht, who had been watching all of this unfold, was now completely invested.


    The little girl beside them clutched her hands together, looking up at Roen with wide, hopeful eyes.


    ¡°Misters, can you actually save Mrs. Fionne?¡±


    ¡°Of course! Uncle Roen never fails!¡± Roen shot a confident grin down at her.


    Halden rolled his eyes. ¡°Since when were you an uncle?¡±


    Aren, still stone-faced, muttered, ¡°Don¡¯t encourage him.¡±


    Just as Roen finally grabbed the cat by the scruff, the cat yowled, kicked off his arm, and leapt onto Aren¡¯s face.


    ¡°?!¡±


    The stack of brothers toppled.


    Halden, still bracing, caught both of them before they completely hit the ground¡ªbut not before Roen¡¯s flailing arms smacked Geschicht straight in the face.


    ¡°AGH¡ª!¡± Geschicht stumbled back, tripped over his exhausted legs, and collapsed onto the ground with a loud thud.


    Roen groaned, lying sprawled on top of Aren, who was lying sprawled on top of Halden, who looked absolutely done with both of them.


    The cat, meanwhile, landed gracefully beside the little girl and rubbed against her leg, as if nothing had happened.


    Roen tilted his head up, looking at the dazed Geschicht.


    ¡°Oh. Hey there.¡± He grinned, completely unbothered by the mess he¡¯d just made. ¡°You need help, or are you just enjoying the view?¡±


    Geschicht groaned as he rubbed his face, still recovering from the surprise attack by a flying Ursanari limb.


    Roen, still sprawled on top of Aren, propped himself up on his elbows and looked at Geschicht like he had just discovered a new species.


    "So, who¡¯s the poor soul we just flattened?" Roen asked, grinning.


    Halden, who was still holding up both of his brothers, shook them off with an exasperated sigh.


    "You didn¡¯t flatten him. You hit him in the face and tripped him."


    "Which is basically the same thing." Roen sat up, dusting himself off. His hazel eyes glinted with amusement as he extended a hand toward Geschicht.


    "Well, since we¡¯ve already gotten physical, might as well introduce ourselves!" He smirked. "The name¡¯s Roen Orvik¡ªtailor, enchanter, and all-around genius of House Dreifang.¡±


    Geschicht, still lying on the ground, blinked. ¡°...Dreifang?¡±


    "We do jobs that are given by the Sage Association and occasionally sew pants." Roen wiggled his fingers dramatically. "And these two big guys? My wonderful brothers¡ªHalden, the quiet grump over there, and Aren, our very own walking shadow."


    Aren, as expected, did not respond. He simply brushed off his coat, gave Roen a glance that could kill a lesser man, and stood silently beside Halden.


    "...You could at least nod, man," Roen muttered.


    Halden, arms crossed, finally turned his sharp amber gaze toward Geschicht.


    "You?" He asked simply.


    Geschicht took a second to sit up properly, still feeling a little dizzy from Roen¡¯s surprise slap attack.


    "Geschicht Snow." He dusted himself off before gesturing vaguely at the massive rock still strapped to his back. "Currently dying."


    Roen laughed. ¡°Oh, we can see that. Who the hell has you doing¡­ that?¡± He pointed at the books still clutched in Geschicht¡¯s hands.


    ¡°Someone who thinks this will make me smarter and stronger.¡±


    Halden raised an eyebrow. ¡°And does it?¡±


    Geschicht opened his mouth to say "no", but then hesitated.


    ¡°¡­Sort of.¡±


    Roen grinned. ¡°Ah. So, the painful kind of learning.¡±


    Geschicht nodded grimly. ¡°The worst kind.¡±


    As the Orvik brothers and Geschicht exchanged introductions, a subtle shift in the air drew everyone''s attention.


    From the towering structure looming overhead, a figure descended¡ªnot with the reckless speed of a fall, nor with the clumsy weight of a jump, but with a precision so exact that it seemed gravity itself bowed in respect.


    Zarysha landed.


    Not a speck of dust rose from where she touched down, no crack marred the stone beneath her feet. It was an impact so smooth it felt unnatural, like she had merely stepped forward from another plane of existence.


    For a moment, there was only silence.


    Then¡ª


    "WHAT IN THE¡ª?" Roen was the first to break, stumbling back, his tail bristling in pure disbelief.


    Halden, who had never looked shocked in his life, actually blinked. Even Aren, usually unreadable, stared for just a second longer than necessary before quickly looking away.


    Geschicht, still sitting on the ground, slowly tilted his head up to see Zarysha standing there, completely composed, as if she hadn¡¯t just plummeted from the heavens.


    She took one look at him, then at the rock still strapped to his back, and gave the simplest greeting possible.


    "You''re late."


    Zarysha¡¯s gaze shifted from Geschicht to the three Ursanari brothers. Her dark abyssal eyes studied them for a moment before a faint smirk touched her lips.


    "Aren¡¯t you guys from House Dreifang?" she said, her tone calm yet assured. "Looks like I¡¯m in luck."


    The three brothers stiffened¡ªnot out of fear, but from sheer realization.


    Roen, the most expressive of the three, widened his hazel eyes before quickly nudging Halden¡¯s arm. "Wait¡ªhold on." His voice carried a mix of disbelief and awe. "You¡¯re¡ªyou¡¯re her, right?"


    Halden¡¯s piercing amber gaze narrowed, scanning the woman before him. The fin-like ears. The abyssal eyes. The striking presence.


    Then it clicked.


    Zarysha Tidescar.


    A Grade 3 Ident.


    One of the most well-known figures in the entire Section 5 of the Sage Association.


    The woman who had single-handedly taken down a middle Phalax.


    The scholar who had deciphered more ancient texts than most scholars would in their entire lifetimes.


    Even Aren, usually uninterested in recognizing people, had the faintest look of acknowledgement in his sharp, gray eyes.


    Roen¡¯s ears twitched as he took a step forward. "Okay¡ªwait a minute. What¡¯s someone like you doing here?" His voice still held its usual playful energy, but there was an undercurrent of genuine curiosity.


    Halden exhaled slowly, his arms crossing. He wasn¡¯t one for excessive words, but the way his stance shifted showed that he now saw this meeting as far more important than before.


    Even if Aren remained silent, there was no denying it.


    They were standing in front of someone legendary.


    Zarysha, still perfectly composed from her dramatic landing, tilted her head slightly and gestured toward Geschicht.


    "After this Junge right here finished his run," she began, "I was going to find someone for him to spar with."


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    She crossed her arms, her abyssal-dark eyes scanning the Ursanari brothers.


    "I was supposed to train him myself," she continued, "but it seems like I¡¯m too strong for his training."


    With that, she pointed directly at Geschicht.


    "Would any of you mind having a sparring match with him?"


    <hr>


    Geschicht, still hunched over and trying to catch his breath, immediately snapped his head up in protest.


    "Wait¡ªwhat?" His voice cracked slightly from exhaustion. "I don¡¯t think I have the energy to be swinging fists right now!"


    He gestured weakly at himself¡ªhis sweat-soaked clothes, the straps of the boulder he had just unfastened, and the two books still clutched in his hands.


    "You see this? This is what exhaustion looks like!"


    Roen, who had been watching with quiet amusement, finally spoke, his voice gentler than expected.


    "I get where you''re coming from," he admitted. "You¡¯ve been working hard, and I¡¯m sure anyone would be worn out after all that."


    Geschicht blinked. That¡­ was not the response he expected.


    "But," Roen continued, "I also see why Zarysha¡¯s asking us. She wants you to experience a real fight, not just training drills. And if she¡¯s too strong for that, well¡­"


    He glanced at his brothers. "Even one of us would probably be too much for you in your current state."


    Halden gave a small, gruff nod, not arguing the point.


    Roen turned back to Geschicht, his expression thoughtful, not mocking.


    "You¡¯ve got endurance, that¡¯s for sure," he said. "But pushing yourself like this? Sparring right after such intense training? That¡¯s¡­ a bit much."


    "Exactly!" Geschicht threw up his hands. "You get it!"


    Roen offered a small chuckle. "I do. But I also get that sometimes, when you¡¯re aiming for something bigger, you don¡¯t get the luxury of pacing yourself."


    Zarysha, completely unbothered, took a sip of the tea she had somehow brought down with her.


    "Struggle builds strength," she remarked simply.


    Roen nodded. "That¡¯s true. But knowing your limits is important too."


    He turned to Geschicht. "If you¡¯re serious about sparring, we can go easy on you. Make it more about technique than power. But if you¡¯re too exhausted, we can wait."


    Geschicht hesitated. This¡­ wasn¡¯t what he expected. No teasing, no mocking¡ªjust an honest, reasonable offer.


    He glanced at Zarysha, who merely raised an eyebrow, waiting for his answer.


    "¡­Do I actually get a choice here?" he asked cautiously.


    Roen smiled slightly. "Of course. But think about what you¡¯d gain from this."


    Zarysha¡¯s fin-like ears twitched slightly at Roen¡¯s words, and a small, knowing smile played on her lips. She took another slow sip from her tea cup¡ªas if all of this was nothing more than an idle discussion over breakfast¡ªbefore setting it down with deliberate care on the ornate silver tray beside her.


    Then, she turned her gaze back to Geschicht as if she were weighing his worth like a merchant judging the cut of fine silk.


    "You have thirty minutes to gather yourself," she announced, her voice steady, almost casual. "Then you will choose an opponent from House Dreifang to spar."


    Geschicht¡¯s shoulders slumped instantly. "Thirty minutes?" He let out a heavy sigh, staring up at the sky as if it might somehow grant him a reprieve. "That¡¯s barely enough time to breathe properly!"


    "You should learn to breathe faster then," Zarysha quipped smoothly.


    The Ursanari brothers exchanged glances, Halden and Aren remaining impassive, while Roen seemed the most amused.


    "Thirty minutes is fair," Halden rumbled, his deep voice carrying the weight of someone who had spent a lifetime pushing past exhaustion. "A hunter does not choose when the prey appears. Neither does a warrior choose when battle comes."


    Geschicht groaned. "You people have no mercy."


    Roen chuckled. "It¡¯s not about mercy," he said, crossing his arms. "It¡¯s about whether or not you can stand and fight when the time calls for it."


    Zarysha nodded, lifting her teacup again. "Your body protests, but your mind still functions. A lesson in resilience is just as important as one in strength."


    "Resilience," Geschicht muttered, flopping onto a nearby flat rock, still catching his breath. "That¡¯s just a fancy word for suffering."


    Aren, who had been silent the entire time, let out a low, almost imperceptible snort.


    Roen sat down beside Geschicht, stretching out lazily as if he had all the time in the world. "You know," he said, idly twirling a loose thread from his sleeve, "we could make this interesting."


    Geschicht narrowed his eyes. "Define ¡®interesting.¡¯"


    Roen grinned, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. "Pick me to spar, and I¡¯ll go easy on you. Pick Halden, and he¡¯ll make sure you never forget the fight."


    Halden merely nodded once, solemnly, as if he had already accepted the role of Geschicht¡¯s executioner.


    "And Aren?" Geschicht asked hesitantly.


    Roen¡¯s smile widened. "Oh, you really don¡¯t want to pick Aren."


    Geschicht glanced at the silent, brooding figure standing just a few feet away¡ªAren¡¯s deep gray eyes unreadable, his presence still and watchful like a shadow waiting to move.


    "I¡¯ll¡­keep that in mind," Geschicht muttered.


    Zarysha set down her empty tea cup with a soft clink. "Choose wisely, Junge," she said, standing up and stretching her arms, her swordfish-like silhouette catching the light. "Your opponent will determine the kind of lesson you take from this."


    Geschicht leaned back, staring at the sky once more, trying not to think about how much his legs hurt.


    Thirty minutes.


    Not much time at all.


    Thirty minutes passed in what felt like the blink of an eye.


    Geschicht stood in the center of the clearing, his breath steady but his legs still sore from the grueling training. He lifted his journal from his side, fingers brushing over its cover, and in a single practiced motion, he called upon its power. The ink bled from the pages, twisting and shifting in the air, forming the distinct shape of a sword. The blade solidified in his grasp.


    It was a simple-looking weapon¡ªno ornate carvings, no excessive flourishes¡ªbut there was an undeniable weight to it. A sword forged from his own will pulled straight from the pages of his experiences.


    Roen, standing opposite him, rolled his shoulders, his expression relaxed.


    "Materializing weapons now, are we?" he mused. "Not bad, not bad."


    Then, with a fluid motion, he reached behind him and unraveled his [Seelen]¡ªa long, flowing scarf woven in striking black and white.


    The fabric drifted in the air like a living thing, its edges rippling as if sensing the tension in the space between them. And then, with a flick of Roen¡¯s wrist, the scarf split into countless razor-thin threads, each one far stronger than steel, gleaming in the midday light.


    Geschicht swallowed hard.


    "¡­That looks ridiculously sharp."


    Roen smirked. "It is."


    The threads shifted subtly, stretching and coiling like a mass of serpents waiting for the command to strike. There was no doubt in Geschicht¡¯s mind¡ªif he lost focus for even a second, those threads could easily cut straight through him.


    Roen tilted his head slightly, observing Geschicht¡¯s stance. "So, before we begin¡ªwhat¡¯s your Ident Grade?"


    "Grade 5," Geschicht answered.


    Roen blinked. Then, he let out a short laugh. "Huh. Same as me, then."


    "Really?"


    "Yeah," Roen twirled his scarf idly "Been a Grade 5 for about two years now. You?"


    "¡­I got mine a little while ago."


    Roen raised an eyebrow. "Fresh, huh?"


    Geschicht tightened his grip on his sword. "That a problem?"


    Roen chuckled. "Not at all. It just means this will be interesting."


    His fingers flicked, and the razor-thin threads tightened around him, coiling like the strings of a marionette just before the performance.


    The air split apart as Geschicht¡¯s sword clashed against Roen¡¯s razor-sharp threads. Sparks flickered in the space between them, the sound of steel grinding against something even sharper ringing through the clearing.


    Roen sidestepped a downward slash with an almost lazy elegance, his scarf twisting in midair and lashing out like a whip. Geschicht barely managed to parry, but the force behind it sent him skidding back.


    "You¡¯re too focused on dodging," Roen commented casually, flicking his wrist. His scarf snapped outward, the black-and-white threads weaving together into an intricate net before lunging toward Geschicht like a hungry beast.


    Geschicht threw himself to the side just in time, the ground where he had stood moments before sliced into ribbons.


    "You know," Roen mused, keeping his stance relaxed as his scarf coiled back into place, "since I want this spar to last more than a few notes, I suppose I should explain how my ability works."


    Geschicht barely had time to react before Roen thrust his hand forward.


    The scarf¡¯s threads unraveled, splitting into countless thin strings, each shooting out like arrows from Roen¡¯s fingertips.


    Geschicht raised his sword in time, the ink-forged blade managing to deflect a few, but one of the threads curved midair, striking his sleeve and slicing it cleanly. He pulled back, eyes widening.


    "These aren¡¯t just ordinary threads," Roen said, spinning his scarf around him like a shield, the fabric hardening into something stronger than steel. "My [Seelen]¡ªSchwarzwei?f?den¡ªisn¡¯t just a weapon. It¡¯s a fabric of absolute control."


    Geschicht tightened his grip on his sword. "Schwarzwei?f?den?"


    Roen smirked. "The Black-and-White Threads. It can change its density, its sharpness, its flexibility¡ªwhatever I need it to be, whenever I need it."


    With a casual flick of his wrist, the threads shifted again, now coiling around Roen¡¯s arm like a tightly wound gauntlet.


    "Right now, my scarf is as soft as silk," he continued. "But if I want¡­"


    The threads suddenly stiffened.


    Roen drove his fist forward, and the moment Geschicht raised his sword to block, the scarf hardened like solid iron, smashing against the blade with a force that nearly knocked it out of his hands.


    "It becomes harder than steel," Roen finished with a grin.


    Geschicht gritted his teeth, stepping back. "That¡¯s¡­ a bit much for a spar, don¡¯t you think?"


    "Relax, I¡¯m holding back."


    Geschicht barely had time to process that before another wave of threads lashed out, this time from behind. Roen had redirected them while talking.


    Geschicht twisted his body, barely avoiding a cleaving arc of threads that cut through the air where his neck had been moments ago.


    "I can slice, I can pierce, I can bind," Roen continued, twirling his scarf around like a conductor¡¯s baton, his threads forming shifting geometric patterns midair. "If I feel like it, I could even weave you a nice jacket while fighting."


    "¡­That doesn¡¯t make me feel any better."


    "Well, don¡¯t worry," Roen cracked his knuckles, the scarf shifting again into a whip-like coil. "It¡¯s not perfect."


    Geschicht raised an eyebrow. "What¡¯s the catch?"


    Roen spread his arms dramatically. "Ah, so you¡¯re the type to listen for weaknesses. I like that."


    Then, with an amused grin, he said ¡°Well, let¡¯s just say that my threads, for all their flexibility, still follow the rules of weaving.¡±


    Geschicht frowned. "Meaning¡­?"


    Roen¡¯s smile widened. "They can tangle."


    Geschicht blinked.


    "Let¡¯s say I overextend¡ªif I create too many overlapping movements in rapid succession, I might create a knot."


    "¡­A knot?"


    "Yes. A big, ugly, impossible-to-untangle knot."


    Roen snapped his fingers. His threads suddenly twisted unnaturally, momentarily locking in place before he smoothly unwound them again.


    "If that happens, I can¡¯t attack properly. In the worst case? I might end up binding myself by accident."


    Geschicht stared. "That¡¯s¡­ oddly specific."


    Roen shrugged, his threads curling and uncurling like living tendrils. "Every master craftsman knows their own flaws. And I¡¯m a master, you see."


    Geschicht exhaled. "So basically, if I push you into overextending, I can make you tangle yourself up?"


    Roen nodded approvingly. "That¡¯s the idea. Of course, you¡¯d have to force me into that situation, which is easier said than done."


    Geschicht took a deep breath. His sword shimmered, ink-like tendrils rippling along its surface as he tightened his stance.


    "Alright," he muttered. "Then I¡¯ll just have to make you mess up."


    Roen¡¯s smirk deepened.


    "Now that¡¯s the spirit."


    Roen''s scarf twisted and snapped in perfect harmony with his footwork, his movements fluid, precise, and unshakably confident. Every flick of his wrist sent razor-thin threads whipping through the air, cutting deep grooves into the ground, slicing apart stray leaves before they could even touch the dirt.


    Geschicht, for all his effort, was barely keeping up. His sword clashed against the threads in rapid succession, but every time he thought he had found an opening, Roen¡¯s scarf shifted seamlessly¡ªbecoming a shield, a whip, a noose¡ªcountering each attack with surgical precision.


    ¡°Still keeping up?¡± Roen asked with a grin, his scarf snapping out to bind Geschicht¡¯s wrist.


    Geschicht yanked himself free before the threads could tighten, breathing heavily.


    Roen watched him carefully, his hazel eyes shifting between green and gold, as if reading Geschicht¡¯s next move before he even made it. ¡°You¡¯re analyzing everything, aren¡¯t you? Trying to find a way through.¡±


    Geschicht gritted his teeth. That was his strength. Observe. Understand. Adapt.


    And yet¡ª


    He let go of the thought.


    The realization struck him like a hammer to the skull. His body moved before his mind could catch up.


    Instead of weaving around the threads, instead of calculating Roen¡¯s next strike¡ªhe abandoned all caution.


    He charged.


    Roen¡¯s eyes widened in genuine surprise. ¡°Wait, what¡ª?¡±


    The scarf lashed forward like a guillotine, the threads hardening into a bladed wall¡ªan impenetrable defense.


    Geschicht didn¡¯t stop.


    His sword swung downward in a wild arc¡ª


    A deep ink-like ripple erupted at the point of impact.


    ¡°CRASH!¡±


    A thunderous force exploded outward.


    The ground beneath them shattered, dust and debris flying in all directions as Roen¡¯s threads buckled under the sheer pressure. The shockwave tore through his defenses, forcing him back as Geschicht¡¯s blade came to a halt just inches from his throat.


    Silence.


    The world seemed to still.


    Roen, stunned, blinked down at the edge of the blade.


    Then, slowly, he let out a low whistle.


    ¡°Well. That was unexpected.¡±


    Zarysha, watching from the sidelines, sipped her tea¡ªcompletely unfazed¡ªwhile Halden and Aren exchanged a glance. Roen himself looked down at the sword near his throat, then back up at Geschicht, his expression a mixture of amusement and curiosity.


    ¡°Did you just ignore everything I said about my abilities?¡±


    Geschicht, still panting, stared at him. His brain was struggling to process what he had just done.


    ¡°¡­Yeah. I think I did.¡±


    Zarysha finally spoke, her abyssal eyes glinting with interest. ¡°A bold decision. Not a smart one, but certainly bold.¡±


    Roen chuckled. ¡°You do realize that was the worst possible response to my ability, right? I told you I could slice, pierce, and bind¡ªand you jumped straight at me?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened.¡± Geschicht was still catching his breath. ¡°I just¡­ did it.¡±


    Roen took a step back, rubbing his neck as he examined the ink-like impact mark on the ground. ¡°That¡¯s not just any attack. That had weight behind it.¡±


    Halden spoke. ¡°That wasn¡¯t just raw strength. It was an accumulated force.¡±


    Roen¡¯s brows furrowed. ¡°Yeah¡­ The power behind that swing wasn¡¯t just yours. It was something else.¡±


    Aren, silent as always, merely nodded.


    Zarysha exhaled, setting down her now-empty cup. ¡°A week into training, he started showing signs of it. Every time his sword struck hard enough, an ink-like ripple formed.¡±


    Geschicht¡¯s eyes snapped to her. ¡°Wait¡ªyou knew about this?¡±


    She smirked. ¡°Of course. I was waiting for you to notice.¡±


    Roen hummed in thought. ¡°So you¡¯ve been storing power without realizing it¡­ and when you stopped overthinking, you finally let it all out.¡±


    Geschicht frowned, looking at his sword, the ink-like shimmer still faintly lingering on its surface.


    He tightened his grip. He didn¡¯t fully understand it yet.


    But one thing was clear¡ª


    Zarysha¡¯s training was paying off.


    As Geschicht was still catching his breath, Zarysha approached him with her usual air of detached amusement. She reached into her coat and pulled out a folded letter, its edges slightly crumpled, as if it had traveled far.


    ¡°Before you collapse,¡± she said, tossing it toward him. ¡°This came in earlier. Another letter from the Champion Association, Section 9.¡±


    Geschicht instantly knew what that meant. His expression flickered between exhaustion and wariness as he caught the letter midair.


    Roen, now leaning lazily against a nearby tree, perked up. ¡°Oh? Who¡¯s it from?¡±


    Geschicht sighed, already dreading whatever nonsense was waiting for him. ¡°It¡¯s from¡­ a certain hero-wannabe I know.¡±


    ¡°Ah.¡± Roen nodded sagely. ¡°That explains the crumpled state.¡±


    Zarysha crossed her arms. ¡°Read it.¡±


    Geschicht rolled his eyes but obliged. With his arms still aching from the spar, he awkwardly unfolded the letter and began to read the first lines aloud.


    "Hey Geschicht, did you improve? I punched some kids today."


    Silence.


    Aren blinked. Halden¡¯s amber eyes narrowed. Roen choked on air trying to suppress a laugh.


    Zarysha, completely unfazed, simply gestured toward the letter. ¡°Continue.¡±


    Geschicht, deadpan, slowly looked up at the group, then back at the paper in his hands.


    ¡°¡­I don¡¯t know if I want to.¡±

 Chapter 26: Gold in the mud

    The arena groaned beneath the rising sun.


    Its once-proud stone pillars, now chipped and blackened with the scars of time, leaned like drunkards after a long war. Moss clung to the broken stairways, iron gates rusted in place, and banners that should have boasted glory now hung in tatters like forgotten promises. Cracks veined the ground, and dust curled in the morning air as if the Colosseum itself exhaled ¡ª tired, ancient, and barely holding together.


    And yet¡­


    At the center of this decrepit pit of trials stood a boy. A golden-haired, golden-eyed boy with not a scratch on him.


    Harriet Reacher.


    He breathed evenly, chest rising and falling with the kind of calm that didn¡¯t match the chaos around him. Around him lay dozens of Grade 5 Idents¡ªmen and women who had trained, bled, and honed their skills for years¡ªnow crumpled like broken dolls. Some moaned softly, others lay still, unconscious or simply unwilling to rise again. The dirt beneath them had been torn, pounded, scorched¡ªbut not a single mark lay on Harriet.


    His long sleeves fluttered lightly in the breeze, gloves spotless, hair barely ruffled. His golden eyes scanned the fallen one by one, not with pride or arrogance, but with that odd quietness that always clung to him like a second skin.


    He hadn¡¯t even tried to show off.


    The Colosseum¡ªSection 9¡¯s grand stage of strength, now little more than a crumbling amphitheater¡ªcould barely contain the moment. The broken arches above him loomed like skeletal guardians, and faded murals painted across cracked walls depicted heroes long gone¡­yet none of them had ever stood in that arena like this. Alone. Undefeated.


    A quiet tap echoed as Harriet adjusted his gloves, casually brushing a strand of golden hair from his face. He didn¡¯t smile. He didn¡¯t gloat. He just tilted his head, as if wondering why no one else was getting back up.


    ¡°¡­Huh,¡± he said, voice light, barely louder than the wind. ¡°Guess I overdid it again.¡±


    His boots crunched softly over the debris-littered ground as he walked toward the edge of the arena, stepping over unconscious warriors with a gentleness that felt almost out of place.


    From the viewing platform above, the worn stone balcony creaked under shifting weight¡ªeyes watching him now not with disbelief, but dawning curiosity.


    No one in Section 9 had ever seen someone so casually make a statement like this. Not here, in this cracked skeleton of an arena, where dreams came to die and ambition dried up like dust in the cracks.


    But today¡­ someone had won. Someone who looked like a soft-hearted dreamer. Someone who didn¡¯t belong in the mud, yet stood tall in it.


    Harriet paused at the edge of the arena, glancing once more at the trail of bodies behind him. He exhaled softly, golden eyes narrowing in thought.


    Then, without a word, they appeared.


    A ripple of unseen energy shimmered around him¡ªfaint, like heat haze over sunlit stone¡ªand from that ripple came the spectral limbs. Pale, translucent, and eerily graceful, they moved like ribbons through water. Only Harriet could see them clearly¡ªten, maybe twelve spectral hands, conjured by the force of will he carried behind those long sleeves.


    The first pair drifted down to the nearest unconscious Ident, a large man twice Harriet¡¯s size. The spectral fingers tapped gently on his cheeks.


    ¡°¡­Hey,¡± Harriet murmured, crouching beside him. ¡°You good? C¡¯mon. Open your eyes.¡±


    The man groaned but didn¡¯t wake.


    Another hand lightly patted someone else¡¯s face. A third attempted to lift a limp arm. The fourth pinched a nose. Nothing.


    Harriet scratched the back of his head with a ghostly hand. ¡°Yeah, thought so.¡±


    He stood slowly and closed his eyes. The air shifted again¡ªquiet and full of tension like a string being drawn. Then, with surprising gentleness, the invisible hands went to work.


    One by one, the unconscious fighters rose from the ground¡ªnot dragged, but lifted with care. Bodies hovered, suspended as if held by windless magic. Harriet¡¯s expression never changed; he simply raised his chin, and the ghostly limbs obeyed.


    Twelve grown adults floated behind him like oddly-shaped balloons.


    It was an absurd image¡ªridiculous even¡ªthis armless boy strolling through a crumbling arena with an entire crowd of fallen warriors drifting after him in midair. Some slumped backward, others hung like tangled puppets. A few drooled. A boot slipped off someone¡¯s foot and thudded to the dirt behind him.


    ¡°¡­Gotta stop doing this,¡± Harriet muttered as he moved. ¡°People are getting heavier.¡±


    He rose off the ground slowly, using several of his spectral limbs as invisible platforms beneath his feet. The whole bizarre parade ascended toward the half-collapsed tunnel leading into the underground structure of Section 9.


    The entryway was worn and jagged, iron frames rusting under layers of neglect. Moss clung to the ceiling like damp fur. The signage overhead¡ªonce proud¡ªwas nearly unreadable.


    INFIRMARY WARD B.


    With a flick of his wrist, Harriet directed the floating bodies to drift in ahead of him, ducking under beams, maneuvering around collapsed masonry and hanging wires. The tunnel echoed with the soft clinking of armor and the occasional groan as someone stirred.


    Torchlights flickered weakly in the stone corridors, illuminating the infirmary beyond. It was cold, dim, and smelled faintly of mildew and tonic herbs. The beds were old. The walls flaked. The ceiling dripped. And yet¡­ this was the best they had.


    Harriet began gently placing each fallen Ident on a cot, or in some cases, on a repurposed bench or bundle of cloth.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± he murmured, adjusting a pillow under one of them. ¡°You took that one real bad. I¡¯ll tell ¡®em to go easier next time.¡±


    The last one to be set down was a stocky woman with a bloody nose. Harriet crouched beside her, adjusting her collar with two spectral fingers. He lingered for a moment, staring at her bruised cheek, then tapped it lightly.


    ¡°You still breathe, right?¡± he asked.


    A soft wheeze answered.


    Harriet grinned. ¡°Tough one.¡±


    Then he stood, brushed the invisible dust from his sleeves, and looked around at the fallen warriors. His golden eyes held no triumph. No glee. Only a quiet, impossible hope¡ªone that didn¡¯t match the broken stone walls, or the rusted iron frames, or the reek of medicine.


    He didn¡¯t belong here.


    But maybe, just maybe¡­ he was exactly what this place needed.


    As Harriet stepped out of the infirmary tunnel, the heavy iron door creaked behind him, closing with a tired groan that echoed through the stone corridor. The air outside felt warmer than inside, touched by the faintest breeze that drifted in through the Colosseum¡¯s shattered upper arches. Dust motes swirled in the shaft of light cutting through the gloom like a slow dance of ash.


    He took a long breath, cracked his neck, and rolled his shoulders¡ªthough, given his lack of arms, the motion looked a bit strange.


    Then he heard it.


    Footsteps. Fast, uneven. Small.


    He turned his head slightly.


    At the edge of the archway, half-hidden behind a collapsed pillar, stood a kid. No older than twelve. Bruised cheek. Swollen lip. Big eyes. And unmistakably¡ªundeniably¡ªone of the kids Harriet had punched in the arena the day before.


    They locked eyes.


    Harriet blinked.


    The kid raised his hand awkwardly in a wave. ¡°U-uh¡­ hey.¡±


    Harriet raised an invisible hand in return, giving the kid a mock salute. ¡°Hey.¡±


    The kid shuffled forward, hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. ¡°I, uh¡­ just wanted to say thanks. For not¡­ y¡¯know. Breaking my ribs or something.¡±


    Harriet gave a faint laugh through his nose. ¡°I was trying not to. You threw a mean punch, though. Surprised me.¡±


    The kid straightened a little. ¡°Really?¡±


    Harriet nodded. ¡°Yeah. Your stance was awful, but your swing had heart.¡±


    The kid¡¯s cheeks flushed with pride.


    ¡°I¡¯m Eli,¡± he said quickly, glancing around as if to make sure no one was watching him. ¡°From Hall Three. I was watching your match today.¡±


    ¡°Wasn''t much of a match,¡± Harriet said, stretching his neck again. ¡°More like cleaning day. Everyone needed a nap.¡±


    Eli laughed nervously, then bit his lip. ¡°You¡­ really don¡¯t have arms, huh?¡±


    Harriet looked down at his sleeves. The gloves hung empty as ever. He wiggled one, just to be silly. ¡°Nope. Never did. Would¡¯ve made brushing my teeth easier though.¡±


    ¡°You still beat all of them.¡±


    Harriet gave a shrug, using one of his invisible hands to ruffle Eli¡¯s hair in a quick, unseen swirl that made the kid jump.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll get better,¡± Harriet said. ¡°Try aiming before you swing next time. And maybe¡­ not at someone who can throw you across the arena.¡±


    Eli grinned, even through his bruises. ¡°You¡¯ll teach me someday?¡±


    Harriet tilted his head.


    ¡°¡­Maybe,¡± he said after a moment. ¡°If you don¡¯t cry next time I hit you.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t cry!¡±


    ¡°You did,¡± Harriet said with a grin as he walked past the boy. ¡°I saw snot.¡±


    ¡°No you didn¡¯t!¡±


    Harriet gave a lazy wave over his shoulder¡ªan actual, visible spectral hand this time¡ªthen disappeared into the broken hallways of Section 9, leaving the boy behind with wide eyes, already running to tell the others.


    The hallway leading to the Director''s office was dim, its stone arches groaning with time and disrepair. Faded banners of the Champion Association still clung to the walls, their once-proud colors muted and tattered, frayed by years of indifference. Dust danced in every beam of light that squeezed through the cracked ceilings.


    Harriet passed rusted suits of armor left to crumble, long-dead torches, and a door that barely held on its hinges¡ªemblazoned with a worn-out plaque.


    Garron Veldt ¨C Section 9 Director


    He didn¡¯t knock. He just pushed the door open with a spectral hand.


    Inside, the office was a mess of paperwork, unfiled reports, and bottles¡ªso many bottles. Some empty. Some half-full. Some so old the labels had become part of the glass. A single flickering lantern illuminated the back of the room, where a broad-shouldered man lounged behind a crooked desk with one foot resting lazily on a stack of scrolls.


    Garron "Iron Gut" Veldt.


    His hair was long and iron-grey despite his middle age, pulled back in a loose tie. His eyes¡ªsunk deep in dark rings of fatigue¡ªglimmered like forged steel that had long since cooled. A bottle of dark amber rested in one hand, while the other scribbled half-heartedly across a parchment.


    ¡°¡­You promised you¡¯d teach me a thing or two,¡± Harriet said, voice flat but steady. ¡°You said you¡¯d help me get stronger. All you''ve done is throw me into the arena.¡±


    Garron didn¡¯t even look up.


    ¡°That will work,¡± he muttered, scratching the quill across the parchment. ¡°Look at you. Not a scratch. That means something''s working.¡±


    Harriet stepped forward, brow furrowed. ¡°I want to get stronger faster. The kind of strength that lets me protect people for real. This pace¡­ it¡¯s not enough.¡±


    Garron finally looked up, a slow sigh escaping his nose. His eyes met Harriet¡¯s, and for a brief moment, all the lazy disinterest peeled back¡ªjust a flicker¡ªand something else stirred behind those tired eyes. Something ancient. Heavy. Stronger than anything Harriet had ever felt from another Ident.


    Then it was gone again, drowned in a long swig of booze.


    He leaned back, bottle still in hand, and gave a lazy grin.


    ¡°You really don¡¯t stop, do you, kid?¡±


    Harriet didn¡¯t smile. ¡°You said you were the strongest man in this place.¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Garron replied with a shrug. ¡°Physically, anyway. Strongest bones. Strongest swing. Strongest gut, obviously.¡±


    He took another long pull from the bottle.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°¡­And the weakest will,¡± Harriet finished for him.


    Garron chuckled. Not offended. Not angry. Just¡­ accepting.


    ¡°Right again,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯ve buried too many friends to keep swinging for dreams. You get tired of fighting ghosts, eventually. Booze is simpler.¡±


    Harriet¡¯s jaw clenched.


    ¡°You¡¯re wasting your strength.¡±


    ¡°And you''re wasting your breath.¡±


    They stared at each other¡ªtwo extremes in one crumbling office: a boy with no arms, burning like a forge with unshaped fire; and a man with arms like steel who¡¯d long since let his flame go cold.


    Finally, Garron leaned forward, setting the bottle down with a heavy clink. His expression was suddenly sharper. Clearer.


    ¡°¡­Come back tomorrow,¡± he said. ¡°Before sunrise. And don¡¯t eat.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because if I¡¯m gonna train you,¡± Garron said, stretching his shoulders with a lazy grunt, ¡°it¡¯s gonna hurt more than you think. So let¡¯s start on an empty stomach.¡±


    Harriet blinked.


    ¡°¡­You¡¯re serious?¡±


    ¡°Only when I¡¯m drunk,¡± Garron muttered, standing up¡ªhis full height casting a long shadow across the room. ¡°And lucky you, I¡¯m drunk all the time.¡±


    He gave a grin full of broken promises and buried rage.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see if you¡¯re strong enough to handle the weakest man in this section.¡±


    The office door creaked open once more, protesting the movement like everything else in Section 9.


    A young woman stepped through, arms crossed, her boots echoing sharply against the cracked stone floor. Her uniform was worn but well-kept¡ªpristine compared to everyone else in this decaying corner of the Champion Association. A sharp contrast to the chaos of the room and the stench of alcohol that hung thick in the air.


    ¡°Father,¡± Klara said flatly, her tone sharp as a whetted blade. ¡°You¡¯re drinking again. How many times have I told you it¡¯s not good for your health?¡±


    Garron didn¡¯t even flinch. Still slouched in his chair, he slowly turned his head toward her, lips puckering like he was tasting the air.


    ¡°Hm¡­ you smell like responsibility. Did you just finish the morning drills?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t dodge the question.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ anyway,¡± he said, stretching dramatically as if her words had been a minor breeze brushing past him, ¡°good timing. Can you both take care of the ghouls that popped up near the west outskirts of the section? Reports said they''re chewing through livestock. Getting annoying.¡±


    Harriet blinked. ¡°Wait, ghouls?¡±


    ¡°Yes, ghouls. You know¡ªugly things, sharp teeth, loud noises. Your type.¡±


    Klara narrowed her eyes, her voice dropping low. ¡°You¡¯re assigning me fieldwork just to avoid this conversation again?¡±


    Garron raised a hand with mock sincerity. ¡°Me? Avoiding? Never. I¡¯m simply delegating¡ªa key skill in leadership.¡±


    ¡°You haven¡¯t led anything in months,¡± Klara shot back. ¡°Last week, you assigned a sewer patrol to someone who didn¡¯t even belong to our section.¡±


    ¡°And they did a fine job, I assume?¡±


    ¡°They fell into a pit.¡±


    ¡°I mean, that¡¯s one way to inspect the infrastructure,¡± Garron shrugged.


    Klara turned to Harriet, clearly exasperated. ¡°You see what I deal with?¡±


    Harriet gave a small, helpless shrug. ¡°He said I¡¯d get stronger by fighting in the arena.¡±


    ¡°And did you?¡±


    ¡°¡­Maybe.¡±


    ¡°There you go!¡± Garron announced cheerfully, lifting his bottle like a toast. ¡°Look at us¡ªbuilding character, forming bonds, slaying ghouls. Now off you go, my radiant children of violence.¡±


    Klara scowled and turned to leave, motioning Harriet to follow her. ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s get this over with before he ¡®delegates¡¯ us to clean the latrines next.¡±


    As they walked out the door, Garron called after them, swaying slightly in his seat.


    ¡°Bring me back a souvenir! Preferably not a cursed one! And try not to die¡ªyou''re still on payroll!¡±


    Klara¡¯s voice echoed back cold and unimpressed. ¡°I¡¯m cutting off your whiskey stash.¡±


    ¡°Nooo¡ª! Klara, not the stash! That¡¯s Grade A rotgut!¡±


    But she was already gone, the door swinging shut behind her with a final thud.


    Garron stared at the empty doorway, took a sip, and sighed deeply.


    ¡°¡­She gets it from her mother.¡±


    Harriet stepped out into the corridor, the door groaning shut behind him with the weight of Garron¡¯s nonsense still lingering in the air. The stone hallway was dimly lit, flickering torches casting restless shadows along the walls as he caught up to Klara¡¯s brisk stride.


    He rubbed the back of his neck, his sleeves hanging empty beside him, and muttered, ¡°I thought being assigned to a Grade 2 Ident meant I¡¯d be getting proper training. Two weeks, and tomorrow¡¯ll be the first time I get a single lesson from him.¡±


    Klara didn¡¯t slow her pace. Her dark braid swayed with each step, her arms folded behind her back in a soldier¡¯s rhythm. ¡°Lesson? You¡¯re already learning something just by surviving around him.¡±


    ¡°Is that what this is called? Surviving?¡± Harriet snorted. ¡°I think he¡¯s just throwing me at people and hoping something sticks.¡±


    A small smirk tugged at her lips. ¡°That¡¯s his way. Sink or swim. If you¡¯re still alive, congratulations¡ªyou¡¯re swimming.¡±


    Harriet glanced over, curious. ¡°So¡­ you mean that¡¯s how he trained you too?¡±


    She chuckled, a dry sound that didn¡¯t quite reach her eyes. ¡°No. He used to care. Used to yell at me about form, about patience, about breathing and footwork. Now?¡± She gestured back toward the office. ¡°Now he just drinks and tells war stories no one asked for.¡±


    There was a beat of silence between them, their boots crunching over the uneven, dust-covered stone path that led toward the western gate.


    Then Klara added, ¡°Well, if you¡¯re looking to learn something that isn¡¯t how to fall over dramatically, I am a Grade 3 Ident. Could teach you a trick or two while we kill ghouls.¡±


    Harriet smiled at that, a little sheepishly. ¡°Thanks, but¡­ I think I want to learn it from him.¡±


    Klara raised an eyebrow. ¡°From Garron? Really?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°Yeah. I want to understand why he¡¯s like this. There¡¯s strength in him. I¡¯ve seen it. It¡¯s like¡­ he¡¯s the strongest man I¡¯ve ever met¡ªand also the weakest.¡±


    Klara blinked, caught off-guard by the words. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ not far off, actually.¡±


    They walked on, the silence stretching now, not awkward, but thoughtful.


    Harriet tilted his head. ¡°You know, you don¡¯t really talk about him much.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s not much to say,¡± she replied after a moment. ¡°He¡¯s my father. He used to be something great. Now he¡¯s trying to remember what that felt like.¡±


    ¡°Do you think he¡¯ll ever remember?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said quietly. ¡°But maybe someone like you¡­ could remind him.¡±


    They walked the rest of the way in silence, the wind brushing the dust off the crumbling stone, carrying with it the distant groans of something feral waiting beyond the gates. West of Section 9.


    The outer gates of Section 9 groaned open with a sound like tired lungs exhaling rust. Beyond them lay the west outskirts¡ªjagged stone paths, twisted trees, and broken watchtowers clinging to time like old men to war stories. The setting sun painted the landscape in bruised orange and gold, casting long shadows that crawled along the dirt and fractured brick.


    Harriet strolled beside Klara, his empty sleeves swaying slightly with each step, his golden eyes flicking toward her.


    ¡°¡­Hey, Klara.¡±


    ¡°Mm?¡±


    ¡°How old are you?¡±


    She raised an eyebrow, not slowing her pace. ¡°Why?¡±


    He offered a sheepish smile. ¡°Just curious. You seem kind of¡­ I dunno, young.¡±


    Klara gave him a sideways glance, then turned her eyes back to the road. ¡°I¡¯m fifteen.¡±


    Harriet stopped in his tracks for a second. ¡°Wait¡ªfifteen?¡±


    She glanced back over her shoulder, smirking. ¡°Yeah. Shocking, huh?¡±


    He hurried to catch up. ¡°You¡¯re fifteen and already a Grade 3 Ident? That¡¯s¡­ that¡¯s insane.¡±


    ¡°Insane or efficient?¡±


    ¡°Insane,¡± he said plainly, then laughed. ¡°I mean, most kids your age are still figuring out how not to burn soup. You¡¯re out here cleaving through monsters and lecturing your drunk dad.¡±


    Klara rolled her eyes, but her smirk stayed. ¡°Life moves fast in Section 9. Either you grow up or get buried.¡±


    Harriet was quiet for a moment. Then, a bit softer. ¡°Still. That¡¯s heavy. You shouldn¡¯t have to carry that much at your age.¡±


    Klara glanced at him again, more curious than defensive.


    He added with a small grin, ¡°You ever think about just¡­ goofing off once in a while? Maybe pull a prank on one of the medics. Start a food fight. You know¡ªact your age.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave that to you, arena menace,¡± she teased. ¡°Besides, someone has to be responsible around here.¡±


    Harriet grinned. ¡°Yeah, but even responsible people need a break. You¡¯re allowed to smile without feeling guilty, you know.¡±


    Her expression softened slightly. ¡°¡­You¡¯re strange, Harriet¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been called worse,¡± he said, laughing.


    She nudged him gently with her elbow. ¡°Still weird that the guy who flattened half the arena yesterday is also this sentimental.¡±


    Harriet flashed a cocky grin. ¡°I contain multitudes.¡±


    Klara snorted. ¡°Yeah, well, let¡¯s see how many multitudes you¡¯ve got when those ghouls show up.¡±


    He shrugged, golden eyes glinting. ¡°As long as you don¡¯t let me get eaten, we¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    The wind turned foul.


    At the edge of the ruined road, where cracked stone met brittle earth, a sickening sound rose¡ªa low, gurgling hiss, like boiling meat mixed with whispers. From the dark hollows of half-buried homes and shattered watchtowers, they came.


    Dozens at first. Then hundreds.


    They crawled, shuffled, and limped into view¡ªGhouls.


    Their forms were malformed, as if corpses had been reassembled by someone who had never seen a living body. Some were half-bone, with twisted limbs trailing scraps of burial cloth. Others retained bloated flesh, sagging like melted wax, faces stuck in screams and hunger. Their eyes¡ªor what remained of them¡ªburned with a dull green rot.


    They moved like a tide of wrongness, clawed hands scraping across the dirt, mouths gnashing teeth that were no longer fully human.


    Harriet narrowed his eyes. ¡°Well. That¡¯s a lot.¡±


    ¡°Stay close,¡± Klara said calmly, already reaching into the small, leather-bound notebook tied to her waist with a strip of faded red cord.


    She tore out two slips of paper¡ªeach no larger than a finger¡ªand held them out between her hands. Her eyes sharpened.


    ¡°Slash,¡± she spoke, soft but clear.


    The word echoed unnaturally in the air¡ªresonant, crisp, as if reality itself acknowledged the sound. Instantly, glowing letters seared themselves onto the first paper in flowing, spectral ink.


    ¡°Cut.¡±


    Another ripple, another imprint. Her power didn¡¯t need ink or brush. Her words alone were the spell.


    She placed the SLASH paper between her index and middle finger, and the CUT paper between her middle and ring finger¡ªright hand only.


    Then she stepped into the tide.


    With a flick of her fingers, the SLASH command carved through a charging ghoul¡¯s torso, slicing it in two clean halves. Another flick of her wrist sent the CUT paper tearing diagonally through a second ghoul¡¯s skull, and with a single pivot, she repositioned both papers¡ªre-aimed, re-used.


    Klara never needed to use a paper more than once to kill. But she also never wasted them by adding two words unnecessarily.


    Harriet wasn¡¯t slow. He dashed through the enemy, his spectral arms flinging ghouls aside, slamming them into broken walls, pinning them to the ground with violent force. He struck with precision, clean and hard, not a single wasted movement. His coat whipped behind him as he moved, his golden eyes sharp with focus.


    But Klara was on another level.


    She twisted between the ghouls, never stopping, her right hand a blur of slashing enchantment. She reused each paper again and again, flicking them to cut at angles, piercing through gaps in armor-like bone, sending undead falling in twos and threes. She muttered new words only when necessary, always singular, always efficient.


    She never carried more than she needed.


    Never shouted when a whisper would do.


    Harriet turned just in time to see her leap and kick off the ribcage of a tall ghoul, flipping backward, mid-air, and hurling her SLASH paper like a blade. It tore through two more heads before returning to her hand, still glowing. Still ready.


    ¡°...How many times can you use those things?¡± he muttered, dodging a strike before sending his invisible hand into a ghoul¡¯s face, crushing its skull with invisible force.


    Klara landed lightly beside him. ¡°As many times as it takes,¡± she said calmly, reloading a fresh slip between her fingers. ¡°As long as I keep it to one word per page.¡±


    The battlefield quieted only minutes later.


    Dozens of torn and twitching ghoul bodies littered the cracked stone, and yet Klara¡¯s notebook was barely any lighter. She fanned the remaining pages out as she walked, none of them even smudged.


    Harriet, covered in dirt but untouched by wounds, gave her a sideways glance. ¡°Remind me not to play cards with you.¡±


    She smiled faintly, eyes calm. ¡°You¡¯d lose.¡±


    Then, as the wind picked up again and blew the dust away from the corpses, Harriet gave a satisfied sigh and said, ¡°You¡¯re really strong, Klara.¡±


    Klara didn¡¯t answer right away. She simply adjusted the string tying her notebook closed and replied, ¡°My father wouldn¡¯t say that.¡±


    But Harriet, golden eyes warm and steady, just grinned. ¡°Well, I¡¯m not your father.¡±


    The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the broken stone paths as Klara and Harriet walked side by side, heading back toward the battered colosseum that loomed in the distance. The faint hum of torches being lit echoed through the air as the underground levels stirred to life beneath the ancient structure.


    Harriet wiped a bit of dried ichor from his shirt sleeve with a look of distaste. ¡°I swear, these things get smellier every day.¡±


    Klara tilted her head, mildly amused. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re just getting more sensitive.¡±


    ¡°Could be,¡± he said, grinning. ¡°Or maybe I¡¯ve spent too long near that infernal mess hall. It¡¯s started to ruin my sense of smell.¡±


    Klara chuckled under her breath. ¡°Dinner¡¯s going to be awful again, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°You already know,¡± Harriet replied, hands in his coat pockets, spectral arms still hovering faintly behind his shoulders. ¡°Dry stew. Hard bread. That one meat nobody¡¯s sure comes from anything legal.¡±


    Klara gave a soft sigh. ¡°I don¡¯t get why you keep eating there.¡±


    ¡°Because I can¡¯t cook to save my life,¡± he said plainly. ¡°Burnt rice. Soup that turns into paste. Once I tried to make eggs and they exploded.¡±


    She blinked. ¡°Exploded?¡±


    ¡°Pan caught fire. Whole thing turned into a mini battlefield.¡± Harriet held out his hand and mimed a small blast with a wry grin. ¡°I don¡¯t even have hands and I still managed to mess that up.¡±


    Klara shook her head, biting down a smile. ¡°I cook for myself. Can¡¯t stand the public kitchen.¡±


    ¡°You cook?¡± he asked, eyes widening slightly. ¡°Wait, like¡­ well?¡±


    She glanced at him. ¡°Better than exploded eggs.¡±


    ¡°Damn. I should¡¯ve stuck with you instead of the stew line.¡±


    ¡°Too late now.¡±


    ¡°Nah,¡± he said, playfully bumping her shoulder with one of his ghostly hands. ¡°I¡¯ll earn my invite. One ghoul-slaying mission at a time.¡±


    They walked in silence for a bit longer. The colosseum grew larger with every step, its towering arches lit dimly by flickering lanterns. From this distance, the cracks in its pillars and the wear in its bones looked almost like scars¡ªetched into stone, but still standing.


    Klara glanced at Harriet out of the corner of her eye. He was humming to himself softly, eyes forward, his expression unusually calm for someone who¡¯d just thrown a hundred corpses into the dirt.


    ¡°You¡¯re strange,¡± she said.


    ¡°Thanks?¡±


    ¡°No, I mean¡­¡± she paused, searching for the right words. ¡°Most people down here stop trying after a while. They give up, or settle. You¡­ don¡¯t. You punched people in the face yesterday, and today you carried the whole arena to the infirmary.¡±


    Harriet shrugged. ¡°Well, if I¡¯m not dead, then I¡¯m improving, right?¡±


    She didn¡¯t answer.


    But something in the way she walked changed¡ªless rigid, less guarded. The silence between them felt less like distance, more like understanding.


    Up ahead, the colosseum gates creaked open. People milled about the entrances¡ªsome bruised, some joking loudly, some simply sitting with their heads lowered. A few waved at Harriet as he passed, casual but warm.


    He waved back with a smile, his invisible hands mimicking the motion behind him like ghosts playing catch-up.


    ¡°Want to eat together?¡± he asked, glancing at her.


    Klara shook her head. ¡°I¡¯ll cook something. But thanks.¡±


    ¡°No worries.¡± He turned toward the lower halls. ¡°I¡¯ll be in the warzone that is the public kitchen, then. If you hear a bang¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll assume it¡¯s just your eggs.¡±


    He laughed. ¡°Exactly.¡±


    And then they parted, each heading down a separate hallway beneath the colosseum. Yet something lingered behind them¡ªan unseen ripple in the stale air, a change not spoken aloud. As if the gloom that clung to Section 9 had, for a moment, pulled back just a little.


    Not because someone demanded it.


    But because someone simply walked forward.