Ten minutes had drifted by since the shard of the cursed crystal pierced Fitran's skin, ten long minutes during which time seemed to hold its breath, freezing the world in anticipation of a timid sorceress tending to his wounds. Her touch, while gentle as a royal healer's—a healer who might have graduated with near-perfect marks—was imbued with the wild spirit of a cat that only found solace in the presence of one person.
"Be quiet. Don't move," she commanded softly, her voice steady despite the chaos surrounding them. Rinoa sat cross-legged on the frigid floor, her delicate hands skillfully wrapping Fitran's head in a glowing bandage. This bandage, woven from enchanted threads and the elusive cursed betel leaves, radiated a warm, soft light that enveloped them in a mystical aura. One might ponder the origins of such peculiar betel leaves; this world was rife with mysteries, and Rinoa was its most curious source.
"Why are you so neat?" Fitran murmured, his voice barely breaking the silence, curiosity threading through his soft tone.
"Because a bad bandage can open a portal to the fifth dimension," Rinoa replied without even blinking, her gaze sharp and confident, as if her words were etched in stone. "Besides, if you die from infection... who will help me find the heart of the Ancient Golem?"
Fitran let out a small, startled laugh, caught in the delicate balance between fear and amusement. He found himself pondering which scenario was more daunting: the potential for infection looming like a shadow above him or the way Rinoa spoke of the heart of the Ancient Golem as casually as one might discuss a flower blooming in a sunlit meadow.
Fitran had long understood the true nature hidden beneath Rinoa's enigmatic facade. Behind the icy aura and piercing gaze—sharp enough to silence even the most ferocious dragon—lay a woman of softness, possessing gentle hands and a heart that could harbor no true hatred, save for one: a fierce loathing for flies. Flies were her only nemesis.
Then, as if propelled by an exhilaration he couldn't fully grasp (perhaps it was simply the blood rushing to his head), Fitran carefully took Rinoa's hand in his own. The warmth radiated from her palm, merging with the pulsing magical energy that danced between them, creating an undeniable connection.
"I want you to come with me to find the heart of the Ancient Golem," Fitran declared, his voice a soft but resolute whisper, each word selected with meticulous thought.
This time, his gaze was unwavering and serious, completely stripped of jest. Within the depths of his eyes, there resided no room for deceit—just a reflection of Rinoa's face, shimmering like the surface of a pristine pond nestled in a forgotten forest, evoking curiosity and shrouded in mystery.
Rinoa fell into a contemplative silence, caught in this fragile moment. Her hand lingered in Fitran's grasp, yet her thoughts soared far beyond the physical realm, drifting to realms beyond reach. Perhaps they soared to Gamma—a vibrant land brimming with ceaseless activity and adventure. Or maybe her mind wandered back to a time when she had believed wholeheartedly that every knight was a valiant protector. But now? Now she found herself clasping hands with a man once dubbed "The Left Hand of the Eraser of Nations."
"Alright," she finally replied, her voice trembling softly. As she meticulously arranged her medical tools into a small, reinforced box—enchanted to hold everything, even the emotions she often hesitated to express—an air of tension enveloped them.
But before he could rise, he found himself captivated by Fitran, unable to tear his gaze away, as if drawn into the depths of the secrets lurking within his intense eyes, each moment stretching into eternity.
"Last question… Will you always be honest with me?"
Fitran sighed heavily, the exhale seeming to release the weight of the magic swirling around them. Rinoa's voice reverberated through the stillness, demanding a response steeped in sincerity and vulnerability.
"That depends on the situation," he replied, his tone laced with an unspoken tension that crackled in the air.
Rinoa narrowed her eyes, her expression insistent, probing for further clarification. "What kind of situations?"
"Critical situations," Fitran answered, his voice steady, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Hmm. You mean like when you're faced with a crazed dragon ready to breathe fire down your neck or when you're alarmingly low on healing potions?" she quipped, the corners of her mouth curling into a playful smirk, which brightened the thick air between them.
"Exactly. Or when the topic of my feelings comes up," Fitran responded, the weight of his words inadvertently shifting the mood to a more introspective tone, as if he had uncovered a concealed vulnerability.
Rinoa chuckled softly, her laughter a gentle breeze that swept away some of the heaviness, her hand instinctively rising to cover her mouth as if to shield her amusement. There was a warmth in that moment—a shared honesty that seemed to spark like electricity in the space surrounding them.
"Fitran, you... are not cut out to be a hero," she teased gently, a playful glint in her eyes. "Your face tells a different story; it's far too melancholic for any grand adventure." The light banter hung in the air, bringing a hint of levity to their serious conversation.
Fitran opened his mouth, nearly contesting her observation, but as he did, he felt his heart race, fluttering like a trapped bird within his chest, leaving him momentarily speechless and grappling with how to argue against the truth she'd delicately pointed out.
"I don't need a hero," Rinoa continued firmly, her voice resolute, yet her gaze shimmered with sincerity, as if she were searching for something deeper in his eyes. "What I need is someone who can sit beside me, even when the world is drowning in darkness."
"Rinoa..." Fitran's voice emerged like a whisper, fragile and tentative—each syllable laced with restrained emotion and unspoken meanings, struggling to break free.
He lowered his gaze to his own hands, rough and scarred, remnants of a past that had brought forth only emptiness. A chilling wave of memory washed over him, images of blood and shadows echoing in his mind. These hands, stained with the weight of dark sins, had once erased hope with a single, careless movement. Would Rinoa be able to see beyond their tainted history? As the seconds ticked by, a troubling question spiraled through his thoughts: Could she truly accept hands that held such profound regret and sorrow?
Before the crushing guilt could consume him, Rinoa's gentle voice sliced through his turmoil, bringing him back to the moment.
"Fitran. I'm in. But on one condition."
"Name it," he replied, his voice steady.
"After all this is over, you have to take me to Gamma… even if my emotional stability test doesn't pass," she insisted, her gaze unwavering.
Fitran locked eyes with her, determination etched on his features. "We will go to Gamma. With or without the academy's permission," he affirmed, his resolve a bright beacon in the encroaching shadows.
"Good. So… what time are we leaving?" she probed, a flicker of excitement cutting through the tension in the air.
"Seven in the morning," he answered, the time hanging heavy with promise.
"Alright." Rinoa rose gracefully, her dress fluttering like a fragile bird taking flight, embodying a flicker of hope amidst the turmoil swirling around her. But as she turned toward the door...
She paused, a weight settling in her chest.
Rinoa felt ensnared in a web of tension, hesitant to cast a glance back. Because if her eyes met Fitran's deep gaze once more... she might lose the strength to walk away. Perhaps she would voice feelings that a girl still wrestling with her emotions shouldn't dare to express.
Crrreeeak...
The door creaked open slowly, allowing silence to blanket the world beyond, as if the very air held its breath, with unseen guardian spirits gathered around to witness this moment with profound reverence.
Shut.
The door snapped shut with urgency, as if it sought to seal the vulnerability of a heart that had opened too wide, shielding it from the painful possibilities that loomed beyond.
Rinoa leaned against the door, feeling her heartbeat thunder in her ears as she wrestled with her uncertainty. "I... want to know everything about him," she whispered softly, her gaze fixated on her throbbing pinky finger, a symbol of her inner turmoil. "More than my desire to go to Gamma. Is this? A new curse? Or perhaps an unnamed love in the pages of a spellbook?"
She took a deep breath, gathering her courage as she stepped away from the door, each movement feeling like the incantation of a spell that summoned deep-seated emotions. The air was thick with anticipation, and every step echoed her inner turmoil.
On the other side of the door, Fitran leaned in, feeling the crushing weight of unexpressed feelings pressing against his chest. His heart raced, mirroring the cacophony of emotions swirling within him.
Ohok.
A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of his lips, a stark reminder of the risks he faced. He understood all too well the cost of proximity to someone whose brilliance illuminated the darkest corners of his soul, threatening to incinerate the fragile parts of himself he had long kept hidden away.
"I hope... I can hold on long enough... to hear her laugh again," Fitran murmured, his voice laced with a fervent hope that hung in the air like the scent of blooming flowers in spring. "This is what I've always wanted, to engage with you free of the burdens that often weigh us down..."
Flash.
In an instant, Fitran vanished, leaving behind a profound silence that wrapped around the world like a shroud, only to be broken by the gentle rustle of leaves dancing in the wind. Their grand adventure lay ahead, yet within Fitran's heart, dragons of hope and trepidation stirred restlessly, ready to take flight.
Yet one thing was unmistakably clear: this was not solely about the heart of the Ancient Golem, a vessel of unimaginable power. It was about their own hearts, battling fiercely amidst longing and the shadows of lurking dangers, echoing like war drums in the stillness.
Thor Gate
The Thirtos-Cerva Border
Though its body was consumed by rust and entwined with magical moss, Thor Gate stood resolute like a giant that had never known slumber. More than just a mere wall, it symbolized the fragile boundary between triumph and ruin, the delicate separation between the resilient people of Gaia and the ancient, formidable forces lurking just beyond the sunlit plains of Cerva.
This monumental wall stretched over a thousand kilometers, its impressive thickness a mere thirty centimeters. Yet, the true strength of Thor Gate lay not in its imposing size, but rather in the rich tapestry of history and profound knowledge that had inspired its creation. Built in a remarkable span of just one week, it was born from the harmonious fusion of magic and science, a testament to the extraordinary capabilities of supernatural hands and wise minds.
Originally forged from pure iron, the wall faced imminent doom when the first magic storm descended upon it, warping the iron as if it were wax melting under an unforgiving sun. In that moment of despair, the people of Gaia teetered on the brink of surrender. Yet, destiny guided them to the Carbon Era Site on Earth—a fossil-rich treasure trove that harbored the secrets of ancient life. Amidst the ruins of primordial swamps and the gnarled roots of time itself, they unearthed coal, a lifeblood of their newfound hope; from coal, they would bring forth carbon.
Carbon, the essential building block of life, emerged as a flexible yet resilient element, uniquely capable of forming countless bonds and mirroring the very essence of life itself. From this groundbreaking revelation sprung a deep-seated mining endeavor deep within the crust of Blue Earth. There, hidden within shadowy depths, lay treasures that even the mightiest magic could not conjure: petroleum, diamonds, and carbon steel.
They delved into the enigmatic world of diamonds—regarded as the hardest substance known to humankind—and uncovered a remarkable truth: diamonds were fundamentally pure carbon, meticulously arranged in an unparalleled crystalline structure. This revelation propelled them to engineer an extraordinary alloy: steel, a potent fusion of iron's formidable strength and carbon's unwavering stability. When this cutting-edge wall was subjected to the formidable scrutiny of level three magic, it emerged unscathed, not a single scratch marring its surface. From this triumph, a new term crystallized in the lexicon of the magic architects:
"Hardness is the ability to resist existential penetration."
Thus, Thor Gate was christened the Impenetrable Gate, a title echoing the awe it inspired, while also gaining the moniker of The Unpenetrable Gate.
Yet, the strength of this colossal wall was not solely designed to endure the onslaught of magic or the might of armies. Its construction served two sacred and profound purposes. First, it was to shield Cerva, the enchanting village of flowers—the last bastion of earthly blooms on Blue Earth, where vibrant petals danced in the gentle breeze. Second, it was crafted to guard and obscure the Stones site, an ancient city shrouded in mystery, widely believed to cradle the very roots of reality and dreams, entwined like the tendrils of time itself.