Elara and Arsy—like two halves of a mirrored soul. So alike, yet split by principles that could never meet. Both were brilliant, both gifted—a combination that should've been a blessing, but to the world, it was a curse. To pessimists, excellence was a threat. Uniqueness, a reason to be torn down. But Elara and Arsy didn't care. They acted on intuition, walking the paths they believed were right—even if those paths diverged in opposite directions.
Elara, in every step, carried the softness and beauty of their mother. She was calm, wise, and saw the world through a lens of compassion. Arsy admired her—but also saw that kindness as a flaw. To him, her tolerance was foolishness, her goodness naive. The world, he believed, had no room for the too-gentle.
When Elara won first place at last year's Leondhardt Intermediate Magic Festival, the world didn't cheer. Instead, whispers crept through the academy's dim corridors. Her victory wasn't seen as an achievement, but a suspicion. And like silent fire consuming dry leaves, the rumors spread—baseless, venomous. False words whispered in the dark, then repeated with fake smiles under the afternoon sun. And yet, Elara did not act. She remained silent, as though those words were no more than dust carried by the wind.
But Elara's silence wasn't ignorance—nor was it innocence. Patiently, she traced the path of those whispers, unraveling the roots hidden beneath the smiles of people she once trusted. The name she found weighed heavy in her chest: Rissa Fleurhaven. Someone she had once called friend, someone who once shared stories beneath golden sunsets—now the very hand that sowed deceit.
There was no dramatic confrontation. No yelling, no heated arguments. Just a single gaze, one that pierced the carefully woven lies. Rissa confessed everything, her voice barely above a whisper. Jealousy that gnawed at her heart. A smallness that grew in the shadow of someone who shined too bright. The fear of being forgotten.
Arsy listened to all of it with a chilling kind of detachment. He wasn't shocked—he had seen this play before. People didn't always hate with reason. Sometimes, they hated simply because they lacked the courage to accept truth. Inferiority hid behind manipulation. Sadness twisted into hatred. Weakness disguised as cunning.
For Elara, it was a lesson in how the world truly worked. That not all wounds were visible. That sometimes, your enemy wasn't someone who hated you—but someone who feared losing their place beside you. For Arsy, it was just further proof: weakness always finds a way to drag down the strong.
Still, they walked their separate paths. Elara believed forgiveness was a strength. Arsy believed the world only respected those strong enough to survive it. They were the same, yet not. Like two sides of a coin—never meeting, always together.
And people change, whether they realize it or not.
Arsy had changed. Once, he was just a stubborn nine-year-old who clung to truth like it was the only color in the world. To him, wrong was wrong. Right was right. But time and experience had chipped away at that black-and-white worldview.
Now, he understood. The world was not made of absolutes—it was gray, spun by those who held power.
"I used to think ignorance was something we had to eliminate. But now… I realize it's ignorance that gives the world its color."
The books he read—about history, about people—left deeper scars than he'd expected. Would he stay like this forever? No one could say. People grow. People change.
The world keeps turning.
To Elara, Arsy was a puzzle in constant flux. A flame that never died—energetic, sarcastic, always three steps ahead of what others could think. Brilliant, creative, and often sharp as a blade. He had no filters when he spoke, and no fear when it came to voicing his thoughts.
Yet beneath it all, Elara saw something Arsy didn't. He was impatient. Quick to anger. Often lost in his own thoughts. There was a stillness inside him that contradicted the fire he wore on the outside. Sometimes, she couldn't tell—was he a loner who hated being alone, or someone always surrounded by people, yet forever distant?
There was a day, when Arsy was seven, that he played a trick on a group of kids who'd bullied another boy. They had stuffed the kid's bag with red mud, ruined his books and writing tools. Arsy had seen it—and he couldn't stay quiet. His anger boiled. But he didn't act impulsively. Instead, he watched. Took notes. Planned his response.
Eldrin had tried to stop him. "Don't do it," he warned.
But Arsy only smiled. "Why should I hold back? They're the ones at fault. I don't care. They deserve it."
Eldrin sighed. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you."
Arsy picked a spot on their usual route home from the academy—a sturdy tree branch perfect for holding two buckets. The plan began.
The first bucket he filled with milk, mixed with sugar and honey. The second, with hundreds of fire ants.
When the bullies walked past that path, Arsy waited—hidden in the bushes, watching. Eldrin stood beside him, silent.
With a flick of magic, the first bucket dropped.
SPLASH!
Sticky sweetness drenched their heads and clothes.
"What the—what is this?!"
Panic rose on their faces. Perfect.
Arsy grinned. Then—
SPLASH!
The second bucket fell.
In seconds, fire ants swarmed over them, crawling through their sticky clothes, sinking tiny jaws into their skin.
Screams tore through the air. The kids jumped and flailed, trying to rid themselves of the biting chaos. Itchiness and burning welled up across their bodies, leaving red welts in their wake.
Arsy laughed—loud and merciless.
Eldrin gave a small, uneasy smile. "Don't overdo it."
Arsy heard him—but didn't care. Not yet.
After a while, the screams grew faint. Less panic. More surrender. Eldrin nudged him.
Arsy sighed and stood. He walked toward the bullies like a victor returning from war.
"Feels good to be messed with, huh? Sweet, like strawberries."
The bullies were panting, still swatting at ants.
"Arsy, please! We give up! Stop this!"
He stared down at them, voice cool but sharp.
"Funny, isn't it? Now you scream for help… but when it was someone else, you didn't care."
Their faces twisted in pain and shame.
"Promise me you'll stop bullying," Arsy said, firmer now. "And you're going to apologize. Tomorrow morning."
"Yes! We promise! We'll say sorry!"
Arsy raised a hand. Vis surged from his fingers. The ants scattered, retreating into the forest.
The bullies were still shaking, trying to calm their burning bodies.
Arsy stepped closer, eyes narrow. "Remember this. If anyone else finds out… it'll be worse next time."
None of them dared meet his gaze. They just nodded and fled, leaving sticky footprints and splotches of red behind them.
Arsy exhaled and turned back to Eldrin.
Eldrin studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "You enjoyed that way too much."
Arsy grinned. "Maybe. But hey, they could've used magic to defend themselves. That's what brains are for." He chuckled.
Who would've thought—Elara actually laughed when she heard the story. She listened closely, not once scolding him. Arsy knew his sister didn't approve of such methods—she preferred words over revenge. But that didn't mean she was blind to reality. She understood why he did it, even if she'd have chosen another way.
Elara gave a quiet smile. "I won't steer your choices, Arsy. But as your sister, I'll always share mine."
There was nothing else to say. They understood each other—in their own way.
And for that, Arsy felt lucky to have her.
Leonhardt Forest
Late Afternoon, Aquaeday, 5th of Luminis, Year 1013
Elara squinted at the sky, one eye closed. A gentle breeze stirred, carrying the scent of dry earth and lingering ash. Calmly, she raised her bow, drawing its string until the curve reached perfect tension.
From the center of her palm, vis flowed—igniting into flame and shaping itself into a glowing arrow. Crimson light shimmered in the air, cloaking the bow like an ember poised to burst at any moment.
The air around her trembled. Heat wrapped around her hand, warping the air with faint ripples. Even the ground cracked beneath her feet, sensing the weight of the dense magic. The breeze shifted into waves of warmth, scattering sparks that danced around her figure.
"Enerma… You're not meant to simply strike. You're meant to pierce."
She exhaled slowly, locking onto a target far in the distance. The arrow burned brighter, radiating waves of pulsating heat.
"Pyro Magi: True Pierce."
The bowstring snapped free.
The moment the arrow shot forward, the air seemed to implode. A surge of heat exploded outward, withering the grass within seconds. Eldrin, watching from a distance, instinctively raised his arm to shield his face. Arsy, silent as ever, felt cold sweat bead at his temple as the temperature spiked.
A streak of amber light tore through the sky, leaving behind a glowing trail.
Then—
SHHRAKK!
A sharp crack split the silence. The massive boulder Elara had been aiming at was pierced in a single strike. But it didn't end there—the hole wasn't just a clean puncture. It burned from within. Steam rose from the smooth, glowing edges, untouched by cracks or shatter. The inside pulsed with molten red, as if lightning itself had burrowed through stone.
The earth around the impact site blackened. Ash curled up from charred grass. Wisps of smoke spun in the air, drifting with the wind like a warm, smoldering dance.
Lowering her bow, Elara stared at the result. Clean. Perfect. Yet behind her composed expression, her chest fluttered with unease. The arrow had been stronger than she'd expected. Vis still pulsed faintly in her fingers, reluctant to fade.
"So, what have you been doing back there all this time?"
Elara turned. Behind a tree, someone had been watching.
"…Arsy," she murmured.
"Afternoon, sis." Arsy stepped from his hiding spot, a grin wider than usual. "Nice weather for some training, huh?"
"It is," she replied. "I came here to practice… and to prepare. I'm planning to explore the Visflux after this."
Elara glanced left, toward a second tree. "And you, Eldrin? Are you done hiding?"
"Busted." Eldrin stepped out with a small smile. "Hi, Elara!" he waved.
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she raised her bow once more, muttering, "Enerma."
Instantly, the weapon shimmered. Red heat rippled across its surface. The bow vibrated, then melted like liquid metal, folding in on itself into a compact rod—no larger than her palm.
Eldrin whistled. "Master Arian's arcanum is incredible."
Elara smirked. "Don't forget, I helped make it too," she said, tossing the rod into the air. It spun lazily before falling back into her hand. "Though… yes, Father did most of the heavy lifting."
Arsy crossed his arms, grinning. "Wouldn't be surprised if you invented a weapon that could turn into anything."
She chuckled and raised a brow. "So what brings you two here? Don't tell me…"
Arsy cut in, "Just a coincidence, really… We were exploring the Visflux Cave near the village. And speaking of Visflux—"
Her eyes narrowed. "What do you want to know, Arsy?"
He met her gaze. "The Visflux near the village—we already know how dangerous it is. But I want to know… everything."
Silence stretched thin, as if the world itself held its breath. The wind whispered softly, carrying the faint scent of scorched earth and fading embers. Leaves rustled overhead—subtle, cautious.
Elara sighed. "Our knowledge is limited. We can't uncover what hasn't yet been revealed."
Arsy gave a faint, challenging smile. "Exactly. We want to uncover what no one has."
She studied him, then gave a slow nod. She knew her brother—stubborn, impossible to dissuade.
"Very well."
She turned southward, eyes scanning the forest beyond. "The closest major Visflux is south of the Capital. About fifteen kilometers outside the outer walls. Even that one remains largely unexplored. And the others? Even less is known."
Arsy stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "How many Visflux exist in the world?"
Elara squinted, as if the question weighed on her.
"I don't know for sure. Official records say over seven thousand within the Kingdom's borders, most of them Iron-level. But beyond that… possibly hundreds of thousands. Or more. No one really knows."
Eldrin looked stunned. "And in the Capital?"
"Only one," Elara said. "Nhal Vireth. Which means… only Platinum-ranked individuals have more than a fifty percent chance of surviving it."
Arsy nodded, then smirked. "Perfect. Let's go there."
Eldrin's eyes widened. "What?! Are you insane? Sure, we're above average for our age, but we're still Gold-tier. Even senior adventurers avoid that place!"
"Relax," Arsy said calmly. "We've got Elara. She's already Platinum."
Elara glared. "And who said I'm bringing you two along?"
Arsy stepped closer, voice softening into persuasion. "Come on, sis. With you, we'll be fine."
"No, Arsy. I'm responsible for you. If Father finds out—he'll lose his mind."
Arsy shot a look at Eldrin. "You're not gonna tell him… right?"
Eldrin shrugged. "Me? Who'd want to tag along with you anyway?"
Arsy sighed. He looked at both of them, then spoke quietly.
"In that case… I'll go alone. With or without you."
Before Elara could speak, Arsy leapt forward—and vanished into the trees, leaving only swirling dust and fluttering leaves.
"That brother of mine… He's going to die young," Elara muttered, pressing a hand to her forehead.
Eldrin stood frozen, then let out a heavy breath. "Well… now we have to follow him."
Elara had already grabbed her gear, eyes fixed sharply in Arsy's direction. "He's ahead. Let's move."
In seconds, she launched forward like a loosed arrow, her figure blurring into the forest. Eldrin followed close behind, footsteps quick and filled with worry.
Among thick trees and the fading glow of dusk, they knew—Arsy had opened a door to something far more dangerous than they had imagined.
On the other side, Arsy ran without hesitation, descending the winding trail into the valley. His breathing steady, his steps sure. He didn't falter—as if the terrain itself bent to his will. Roots and stones passed beneath his feet like familiar friends.
The wind grew stronger, laced with the scent of iron and damp soil. The sun dimmed behind heavy clouds, casting long shadows over the forest floor. The natural sounds faded, leaving only the rhythm of Arsy's footfalls and the pounding of his heart.
He stopped atop a small ridge, gazing southward.
There, a vast plain stretched beneath a blanket of mist. And at its center—a gaping hole in the earth, surrounded by ruins swallowed by time. Above it, a vortex of bluish-green fog swirled slowly, emitting an eerie glow. It was wild vis—not of this world.
Arsy stood frozen. He inhaled deeply and whispered,
"So… this is Nhal Vireth."
His voice vanished into the wind, eyes shimmering. "Just like the books described. I never thought I'd see it with my own eyes. This is my first time here…"
He stepped forward, eyes locked on the luminous storm above the chasm.
A smile played on his lips.
"This… is going to be interesting."
He sprinted downhill, never looking away from the glow. He didn't notice the eyes watching him from the underbrush. Unblinking. Motionless. Patient. As if they had been waiting for this moment—for Arsy, at the edge of a pit that devoured all who dared approach.
Moments later, Arsy stood at the cliff's edge, staring at a vision that felt like a dream.
Before him, a colossal crater carved into the heart of the valley. Towering stone pillars—many crumbled—lined its perimeter, like relics of a civilization too ancient for time to erase. A shattered bridge stretched halfway across the misty abyss, no longer whole, but still clinging to its former grandeur.
Pale bluish mist drifted above the chasm's mouth, veiling the bottom from sight. At its center, wild vis surged upward like vines of light—twisting, glowing, alive. The energy reflected off stone and ruin, casting soft pulses of color onto nearby trees, as if nature itself bowed to the power of the ancient pit.
The vegetation here was lush and strange—glowing moss, radiant shrubs, trees with shimmering leaves touched by vis. In the cracks of stone, thin waterfalls dropped into the fog below, their sound fading as they entered the swirling vortex.
In the air, particles of vis floated like stardust—beautiful, yet deadly. Arsy knew it.
In the distance, massive pillars stood—monuments left behind by those who once sought to understand the pit's power… and failed. The fog weaved between the ruins, whispering—of the past, or of warnings yet to be heeded.
"Judging by the formation… this was crafted by human hands. But when? It looks like research remnants."
Arsy scanned his surroundings, eyes narrowing.
He descended the slope cautiously, feet sinking into grass soaked with mist. The path led straight into the heart of Nhal Vireth, like an invitation toward secrets buried deep below.
Then—he turned. They had arrived.
He smiled.
"Finally. They're here."
Elara and Eldrin landed behind him, silent, graceful.
"Arsy!"
Elara's voice cut through the tension. "The sun's almost down. If you want to turn back, now is the time. We can do this tomorrow after your classes. It's your final year—I don't want you getting hurt. Nightfall makes everything more dangerous."
But even as she spoke, doubt crept into her heart. She knew it was already too late to convince Arsy to turn back—not after coming this far. Yet the risk was growing. Night in Nhal Vireth didn't just bring darkness. It brought creatures far worse than those in the depths. Things that did not recognize day or night. Only prey.
Arsy turned to face her, lips curled into a smile, though his eyes hinted at protest.
"I had to drag myself all the way here just for you to start taking me seriously, huh? We've made it this far. Wouldn't it be a waste to walk away now?"
Eldrin placed a hand on Arsy's shoulder. His voice was calm, but inside, a storm brewed.
"Arsy... we should come back tomorrow."
He kept his expression steady, but deep down, he wanted to scream. To drag Arsy as far away from this place as possible. Still, he stayed quiet. Arsy was the one person who truly understood him. And in truth, it was Arsy's way of thinking that had saved them both more than once. Even so, Eldrin knew he had played his part. They survived because they were stronger together.
Then, Elara tensed. Her body froze, her eyes scanning the treeline.
"…Arsy," she whispered, "we're not alone."
She glanced to the right. "Two on this side."
Then left. "Three to five over there."
Her eyes locked on Arsy's, deadly serious.
"Do you understand what I'm saying?"
Cold sweat dripped down his temple. His chest tightened.
Trapped...
He hadn't sensed anyone.
This is bad. Really bad.
"…What do we do?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
Elara inhaled deeply, then replied with chilling calm.
"In this position, we can't run. If we want to live, we fight. If we freeze… prepare to die."
Her eyes flicked back to the shadowed trees around them.
"We don't even know who they are. So sharpen your instincts."
Without hesitation, Elara drew her compact rod—Enerma—and slipped into a battle stance. A faint red glow pulsed across its surface.
Meanwhile, from the thick underbrush, masked figures continued to watch. Their movements were silent, their eyes locked on Elara, Arsy, and Eldrin.
One wore a wolf-shaped mask, marked by a crimson slash running from nose to cheek. The others wore plain black masks, simple and featureless—like death with no name.
The red-masked figure whispered, voice icy and devoid of emotion:
"They're unlucky… getting caught here."
Not far behind them, a corpse lay hidden among thorns. Ragged clothes. Dried blood crusted in the folds. Skin pale, lips blue, limbs stiff with rigor mortis.
The eyes were still open—staring blankly at the sky, as if frozen in fear at the moment of death. No scream. No struggle. Only the remnants of terror.
Who had they been? A farmer? A traveler? It didn't matter.
What mattered was the silent warning it left behind.
Dangerous places… were always surrounded by dangerous people.
Then—
The red-masked figure blurred forward, a blur too fast for normal eyes to follow. In an instant, she stood before them—Elara, Arsy, and Eldrin.
"Hey," she said softly. A woman's voice—flat, but razor-sharp.
Elara's eyes snapped to her. Her muscles tightened, alert and ready. She didn't need to feel the woman's vis to know—this one was deadly.
A woman... but… Elara assessed her quickly.
If we run, she'll pursue. And we won't escape without injury.
Without warning, two more masked figures emerged from the right. Silent steps. They stood behind the red-masked woman like loyal shadows.
Arsy and Eldrin turned fast—only to find four more masked enemies blocking their path. Their movements were coordinated. Predators closing a long-prepared trap.
They were surrounded.
"Elara!" Arsy snapped, eyes wide.
She didn't answer. Her gaze locked on the red-masked woman. Her grip tightened around Enerma.
"Enerma."
The name itself felt like a spell. At once, the rod shimmered, distorting the air around it. The metal melted, then reshaped—into a gleaming black sword, a vibrant blue crystal running down its center.
"Electro Magi…"
Lightning surged—arcing along the blade, crawling up Elara's arm, coiling around her like hungry serpents of energy.
The red-masked woman stepped forward. Her voice remained calm, but her presence screamed danger.
"Who are you… and what are you doing here?"
Elara narrowed her eyes. "I smell death in this place."
The masked woman tilted her head. The mask seemed to stare back, unreadable.
"Me? I'm no one," she said flatly. "Just a part of a small group… here to kill anyone in the way."
Elara took another step. Her voice sharpened.
"Name. Now. I don't enjoy defeating nameless enemies."
A pause. The world held its breath.
"…Petra," she said at last. The name dropped like a stone. Her voice was quiet, but laced with menace.
"No more talking."
Suddenly, Petra raised her hands. Two crimson daggers shimmered into being—wet-looking, like fresh blood. She gripped them tight. Vis surged down the blades, washing away the gore, replacing it with a deep, angry red—alive, breathing fury.
She launched forward. Her daggers blazed. The air screamed.
Elara raised her sword high. Lightning flared around her, cracking the air.
CLANG!
Their blades collided—an explosive impact. Lightning burst outward in every direction. The ground shook. Air rang with static. Sparks of vis scattered as they clashed.
Petra pressed forward. Elara held firm. Her feet dug into the dirt.
Two more attackers rushed her flanks—one wielding an axe, the other a spear, their weapons humming with dull vis light.
Elara smirked, eyes burning.
"Three against one? Perfect."
She leapt backward, then soared high into the air. Her sword spun mid-flight, lightning streaming from the edge—striking the ground below in a burst of force.
BOOM!
The shockwave scattered her attackers. Dust and sparks filled the clearing. Petra growled, tightening her grip.
Meanwhile, Arsy and Eldrin were facing four masked foes of their own.
Four against two.
Unfair—but not impossible.
Arsy spread his hands. A sleek, vis-forged blade formed instantly—light, fast, deadly.
Beside him, Eldrin exhaled. Two short daggers shimmered into existence—sharp, perfectly balanced with his movements.
Arsy glanced at the enemy, then muttered to Eldrin, eyes narrowing.
"These four… they're on our level. But they're not kids. They're grown. Experienced."
He clenched his sword tighter.
"Their leader—Petra… she's different. Stronger than Elara, maybe. Emerald-class or worse."
Eldrin turned slightly, voice low. "And us? Can we win?"
Arsy gave a faint grin. "If we work together—yes. Focus. Speed's our edge. They're slower."
One enemy charged Eldrin, a massive sword swinging. Eldrin sidestepped narrowly, then slashed at the attacker's ribs—too fast to follow.
CLINK!
His blade scraped armor, leaving a deep gouge. The enemy stumbled back.
Arsy didn't wait. He lunged forward, thrusting, then spinning into a blur of strikes. The second enemy blocked—but couldn't match the barrage.
Eldrin fell into rhythm beside him. Shoulder to shoulder, they moved as one—flawless sync.
"Four against two," Eldrin said, expression blank.
Arsy answered flatly,
"Great chance to learn."
Elsewhere, Petra and Elara clashed in a whirlwind of red and blue. Daggers flashed. Lightning danced. The air itself became their battlefield.
Petra flowed like a shadow, her blades crossing again and again. Elara blocked, retaliated—each swing sparking with electric fury.
One enemy tried to backstab Elara. She spun, stomped the ground—lightning exploded outward, blasting him backward in a spray of sparks.
Petra leapt skyward, hurling both daggers wreathed in crimson vis. They tore toward Elara like blood-red comets.
She slashed upward—both daggers shattered midair. She spun, swung wide—an arc of lightning carved across the sky.
"Take this!" Elara shouted.
The strike barely missed. Petra twisted midair, landing softly—smiling.
Attack after attack. Blow after blow. Kick after kick.
They fought on—relentless, merciless, with no room to breathe. Time ceased to exist. Only the clash of blades, the roar of vis, and the beat of their hearts remained.
The sky dimmed. The sun disappeared.
Darkness fell—pulling a curtain over the battlefield. Shadows deepened. The air turned heavy with dread.
In that encroaching night, Elara stood firm. Her breathing steady. Vis still coursed through her, pulsing calm and strong.
Around her, two enemies lay unconscious—bodies scorched from her lightning.
She had taken them down without a scratch.
Not far away, Arsy and Eldrin stood amidst four unmoving bodies—the aftermath of a brutal clash. Their own bodies were bruised and bloodied, breath ragged, sweat and blood mingling on their skin.
They were still standing. But they knew—the fight was far from over.
Elara swung her blade, sending a bolt of lightning screaming toward Petra.
But Petra spun midair, her dagger slicing the lightning apart like smoke.
Her steps were silent. Precise. Eyes behind the mask—cold and sharp.
Then she vanished.
"Wha—!"
Elara barely caught a flash of crimson before a heavy kick slammed into her chest.
THUD.
Her body was hurled backward, crashing into a tree with a crack. Dust exploded from the impact. Enerma flew from her grasp. She dropped, coughing hard, blood trailing from the corner of her lips.
"Elara!!" Arsy's scream tore the silence.
Petra landed softly, her daggers glowing with red vis. Her head turned slowly toward Arsy and Eldrin.
"Time's up," she whispered.
Then she vanished again.
She went for Arsy first.
He only had time to raise his blade—
CLANG!
—but Petra twisted mid-strike. Her second dagger slashed downward, carving a vicious arc from Arsy's forehead to just beneath his left eye.
SLASH!
"ARRGH!!" Arsy collapsed to his knees, blood pouring down his face in a hot crimson wave. His vision blurred, but his eye remained intact—though agony screamed through every nerve.
"ARSY!!" Eldrin shouted. He leapt forward, blade aimed at Petra's neck.
But she twisted aside effortlessly, swinging her dagger in return.
SLASH!
A sharp cry escaped Eldrin. He staggered back, hand instinctively covering his ear.
Blood streamed down his neck and shoulder. Part of his right ear… gone.
"Ghh…!!"
Petra stood tall, both daggers still glowing faintly. Her eyes, ice-cold, locked onto the two boys—Arsy, drenched in blood, and Eldrin, nearly collapsing as he clutched his head.
"Elara can't save you," she whispered. Her voice was soft, yet sharper than her blades.
Elara froze.
Her body trembled. Her eyes widened—staring at Arsy's limp form, at the blood pouring from her brother's wounded face.
Beside him, Eldrin knelt weakly, blood oozing through trembling fingers.
They were hurt… because of me.
Electric light began to crackle along Elara's skin. Vis surged around her—wild, volatile, humming with rage.
"Petra…" Her voice was low. Hoarse with fury. "You've gone too far."
The ground rumbled beneath her. Vis exploded outward. The air hissed. The scent of ozone burned the wind.
Lightning danced at her fingertips, burning the darkness.
Her face twisted in fury. Her eyes glowed violet-blue. Enerma shone bright in her hand—like the eye of a storm.
Petra narrowed her gaze. She could feel it—the raw fury of a Gofdraig unleashed.
Yet… she grinned. And took one step back.
"Good… show me more next time."
ZRAAK!
In a blink, Elara surged forward—her blade striking like pure lightning. Petra tried to dodge, but she was a fraction of a millisecond too late.
SLASH!
Two of her fingers were severed cleanly from her right hand.
Petra stumbled, eyes wide. Pain seared through her—but she didn't scream. Her face remained eerily calm.
Blood dripped.
She reached down, grabbed her severed fingers—and leapt back into the swirling vis mist.
Her voice echoed faintly through the fog:
"We'll meet again… and next time, there will be no mercy."
Elara stood frozen. Enerma crackled in her hand. Lightning still sparked along her arms.
But Petra was gone.
And the blood on the ground… did not belong to enemies alone.
Elara exhaled heavily, then rushed to Arsy and Eldrin. Her eyes locked on Arsy's wound. Her chest tightened, but she kept her emotions at bay.
"Arsy… Eldrin… hold on."
From her belt, Elara drew a slender vial—its contents pulsed with a gentle purplish-green glow, like moonlight caught in liquid form.
Elarian Virdra. A rare, high-grade elixir known only to be brewed by top-tier alchemists across the kingdom.
She knelt beside Eldrin, who was shivering. His severed ear lay nearby, still clean.
With careful hands, she picked it up, gently pressing it back into place—aligning it almost perfectly.
Eldrin gritted his teeth. His body trembled from the pain.
"Drink this," Elara whispered, tipping a few drops into his mouth and dabbing the rest over the wound.
A soft blue glow lit up. Slowly, the ear's tissue began to knit together—like time itself reversed.
Eldrin gasped, eyes wet with tears, but he managed a weak nod.
"…Thank you… Sis…"
Elara moved to Arsy next.
His face was a mess of blood—his wound slicing from brow to cheekbone.
She said nothing.
She poured the potion into the gash and into his mouth. The liquid soaked into his skin, numbing the pain, stopping the bleeding.
The scar would remain—an unhealable line across his face. But his eye was safe. His life… intact.
Elara looked at them both. Her eyes trembled. Then she turned toward the fog, toward where Petra had vanished.
"I swear… no one will be hurt because of my failure again."
A breeze drifted through the clearing, carrying the scent of blood and crackling ozone.
Their first real battle against fellow humans… was over.
But Petra's shadow lingered.
The sky above was starless.
Night cloaked the world in silence, as though even the heavens refused to witness their return.
Three figures walked slowly along the village road. Their steps dragged. Blood trailed behind them, dried and fading.
Their bodies were beaten. Their clothes torn. Dirt and blood stained their skin. Their faces… no longer the faces of village children.
The marks of battle clung to them—scars, bruises, wounds. And those wounds had become part of them.
Arsy kept his head low. His hands shook with pain. The blackened scar from his brow to under his eye burned with every step.
Eldrin lagged behind. His body swayed. One hand pressed to his head. Though his ear was reattached, the pain and fear lingered. His face was pale. Eyes empty. A part of him was still lost in the depths of the visflux.
Elara walked ahead in silence. A long gash marred her cheek. Blood dripped from the edge of her lips. She was drained—not from magic, but from the weight of guilt. Heavier than any wound.
They reached their home in silence.
The lights were still on. Shadows flickered inside. It was late. Far too late. This wasn't a day off. They were hours past curfew.
Their pace slowed.
The night wind was cold—but that wasn't what made them shiver.
It was the burden they carried home.
Their wounds were visible.
The guilt was not.
Eldrin stopped. He glanced back once… then turned, walking alone to his house.
Usually, he'd walk beside Arsy, laughing. Not tonight. His steps were quiet.
No one stopped him.
Arsy watched his friend disappear down the path.
The burn in his face flared—rekindling the guilt he could not erase.
He hadn't just hurt himself…
He'd dragged Eldrin into it.
Beside him, Elara said nothing.
No magic left. No strength.
Only wounds. A pride torn open. A silence heavy with regret.
Their home stood just ahead. Light spilled onto the porch.
But tonight, it felt more like judgment than welcome.
The door hadn't opened yet. But it already felt like unseen eyes were watching. Waiting.
They returned not as heroes… but as burdens.
Wood creaked.
The door opened slowly.
A weathered figure stood still in the frame.
No words.
Time seemed to halt.
They didn't bring back victory.
They brought back wounds.
For themselves.
And for their family.
Wounds no potion could ever truly heal.
That night, only guilt kept them awake—longer than anyone else.
Vulnerant omnes, ultima necat.
Each passing hour leaves a wound. The final one takes your life.