After the meal, the company dispersed, each seeking the solace of rest. The city had donned its nocturnal luminescence, phosphorescent stones imbuing the cobbled streets with a radiance surpassing daylight, casting a serene ambiance upon the night.
Henry walked with Sophia, his calloused palm, freed from its gauntlet, enveloping her delicate hand. They moved in silent communion through the night, savoring the rare tranquility amidst their tumultuous existence.
"This morning's mission… it must have troubled you deeply?" Henry's voice was a low murmur.
Sophia nodded almost imperceptibly, a shadow dimming the gold in her eyes.
"Yes… it was truly dreadful. Despite the countless missions, the faces of the dead I've witnessed… the scene this morning was… overwhelming." Her gaze fell, her voice fading to a whisper.
She needed no further explanation; Henry understood. The nameless corpses, the victims subjected to the most savage forms of execution… they haunted not only for their sheer horror but for the undeniable truth they whispered: at any moment, anyone could become one of them. This reality was a persistent torment for Sophia.
"Thank the Angels for our safe return, for allowing you to remain by my side." Sophia murmured, her grip tightening on Henry's hand, her eyes reflecting a blend of gratitude and lingering fear.
Henry offered no immediate reply, his own grip intensifying, as if to anchor her to his reality. In this world teeming with uncertainty, each moment their hands intertwined became a cherished grace he never wished to relinquish.
"It's almost ten; we need to return to the barracks. Two more hours… let's spend them together." he said, his voice softening.
A faint smile touched Sophia's lips. "Yes"
Two hours were fleeting, yet for them, it held an entire world. Under the subdued glow of the hotel room's lamp, Henry silently observed Sophia. She rested her head upon his arm, her brown hair cascading against the cushion, her deep golden eyes fixed on him with an emotion he couldn't articulate.
Words remained unspoken between them. Only their fingers brushed, a gentle, reassuring pressure. Those same fingers had wielded blades, been stained with blood, trembled before the specter of death. But now, they simply sought the warmth of the other, as if it were the only tangible reminder that they both still lived.
Henry reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind Sophia's ear, his fingertips tracing the delicate curve of her cheek. The softness of her skin sent a tremor through him, a sensation both tender and fiercely possessive.
"I never want to be apart from you."
Sophia offered no immediate response. She gazed at him for a long moment, her eyes mirroring warmth and a profound love. Then, slowly, she shifted closer, resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his beating heart.
"Henry…" Her voice was a soft whisper, fragile yet carrying a deep undercurrent of emotion.
He knew what she wished to say. They needed no flowery promises, for they both understood the world's brutal indifference, and the future was a fragile, uncertain thing.
He tightened his embrace, pressing a kiss to her smooth forehead.
"I will protect you."
The promise was more than mere words. It was a vow, the only true offering he could give her after all that had transpired in their shared past.
Each time he uttered those words, Henry was transported back to that day, the day he had found Sophia amidst a field of countless corpses, a twelve-year-old girl huddled amidst the lifeless bodies of her family, her friends, the remnants of a shattered caravan… the silence of that scene had been terrifying in its finality. He had sworn to himself then that, come what may, he would never allow such desolation to touch her again.
Sophia curled tighter within Henry's embrace, silently absorbing his warmth. Outside, the world continued its relentless spin, war and bloodshed an unending cycle. But here, within this small room, they had found the only sanctuary they knew.
Henry reclined on the bed, his gaze lingering on Sophia's form. She possessed no dazzling beauty, yet she held a singular allure for him – a pull from which he could never truly escape.
Bathed in the soft lamplight, Sophia seemed more vulnerable than ever. He reached out, drawing her closer until she lay fully upon him, their breaths mingling in the quiet space.
His hand traced the contours of her body, feeling the softness and warmth of her skin. Sophia's breath hitched, a slight shiver running through her at his touch, yet she offered no resistance. Instead, she wound her arms around his neck, pulling him closer until the last vestige of distance between them vanished.
Their kisses began slowly, gently, like the ebb and flow of small waves, but gradually intensified, a burgeoning flame igniting every corner of their hearts.
"Sophia…" Henry murmured her name, his voice thick with longing.
Sophia looked up at him, her autumnal gold eyes now veiled with desire and a deep, abiding love. "I'm here, Henry."
He could restrain himself no longer. He shifted, placing her beneath him, his hands, though strong, moving with a tender reverence as he caressed her delicate form. Their kiss deepened, their bodies entwining, as if they sought to etch the other's existence into every breath, every heartbeat.
A long while later, their bodies finally separating, their breathing returning to a semblance of normalcy, Sophia lay nestled in Henry's arms, her head resting upon his chest.
"Every moment with you… it feels like time slips away too quickly," she whispered. "I just want to hold onto this forever, never let you go."
Henry tightened his hold, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
"Me too. I just want to be with you, protect you, no matter what."
They fell silent once more, listening to the steady rhythm of each other's hearts.
For Sophia, Henry's promise of protection was the bedrock of her trust. When she was just a powerless twelve-year-old, he had dared to stand against a Rank 6 general to defend her; he had fought alongside her to defeat a terrifying A-rank Dark Reaper – a creature capable of annihilating nations.
As they prepared to leave the hotel room, Henry embraced Sophia from behind, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "I will always be by your side, to protect you."
Sophia smiled, leaning her head against his chest. They both understood that these words were the most precious offering they could give each other. Words born from a past event, a memory resurfacing, pulling Henry back to those long-ago days.
Years prior, when monstrous beasts had ravaged Henry's homeland, claiming his parents and loved ones, he and a handful of survivors had fled. Then came the slavers, selling him into forced labor, only to be resold again and again.
From the age of eight to twelve, his existence had been a living hell, forced to do anything for scraps of coin – begging, scamming, stealing… yet beatings and starvation were his constant companions.
He had endured it all until those same vile individuals had deceived a kind woman who had shown him a mother's love. That was the breaking point, the moment he resolved to escape their clutches. He could no longer bear the weight of such a corrupted existence.
During one ill-fated robbery, their target was a group of refugees, people who had seemingly abandoned their homes in search of a better life. It was then that Henry had deliberately caused a commotion, plunging the area into chaos. Seizing the opportunity, he had broken free from the slavers' grasp, fleeing relentlessly through the forest, following a winding stream for days on end.
Henry had overheard whispers of growing numbers of people making their way to Aerion, a city hailed as a promised land, the burgeoning capital of the Zephyros nation. Their path lay eastward, following a major river. It was with this hope that he followed the stream, praying it would lead him to that river, where he might find a chance to blend into a refugee caravan bound for Aerion, perhaps finding a life less wretched.
On the fifth day, Henry finally spotted a group of refugees. They weren't far off, but the terrain prevented an immediate approach. The small stream he had followed had swollen into a raging torrent, culminating in a waterfall plunging over twenty meters. Standing on the high cliff face, he knew that on level ground, he would have already joined them, but now, cruel fate held him captive. Circling around was impossible; the past five days had drained every last ounce of his strength.
Desperate, Henry clung to a thin vine snaking down the cliff face. But the vine was too fragile for his weight – still just a child, he had descended barely two meters when the strands began to snap, one by one. Panic seizing him, Henry flung himself towards the waterfall, hoping that at least the water below offered a chance of survival. The unforgiving current of the falls claimed him without mercy, dragging him down to the base.
He had no sense of how much time had passed when he groggily opened his eyes, feeling someone gently slapping his face. The first image that swam into focus was a blurry, golden silhouette. After a moment of blinking, the scene sharpened. Two adults and a very sweet-looking young girl were kneeling beside him, the girl having just roused him.
"Hello," she said softly. "My name is Sophia."
In the present, within a luxurious estate, a high-ranking military officer bowed respectfully, reporting to the figure seated behind a grand desk.
"General, this past month has been consistent. The boy still trains from four in the morning – running, push-ups, a thousand sword swings, a thousand thrusts. Then he undertakes his missions, spends time with his girlfriend, and returns to the barracks for the night. Every Friday, he spars with his captain, and invariably loses."
"Tell me," the General's brow furrowed with weariness, "does this boy possess Mystic Sense?"
"General, it's difficult to ascertain. But… his demeanor shows nothing unusual beyond a greater dedication and discipline than many other soldiers."
The General leaned back in his chair, his impression of "the boy" still vivid, even after ten long years.
Ten years ago, outside the barracks, soldiers were clearing the hundreds of corpses and destroyed equipment left in the wake of the Dark Reaper's rampage. Inside the command tent, a twelve-year-old boy, his face smudged with grime, his clothes tattered, held a trembling young girl in his arms. He looked directly at the powerful General, his gaze unwavering.
"I offer my life as guarantee," the boy had declared, his voice surprisingly steady. "I will eliminate the Dark Reaper. It won't cost you a single soldier."