Dawn arrived with a golden glow, like a veil of light dissipating the nightly shadows between the trees. The morning dew covered the leaves, sparkling like crystal fragments under the first light of day. Biel exhaled a held breath, feeling the humidity of the air settle on his skin. Another day in this unknown world; another day without answers.
Acalia, a few paces away, was sharpening her sword with slow but steady movements. The rasp of metal against stone filled the silence between them with a hypnotic, almost unsettling cadence. As they packed the few supplies Acalia had managed to scavenge, Biel couldn't push a single question from his mind.
"Do you think he's here?" he asked suddenly, breaking the heavy air that surrounded them.
Acalia paused her task for an instant; the edge of the blade reflected the morning light as if flashing in response. She looked up at him, her eyes cold but filled with unfathomable wisdom.
"It is possible. But this world is vast, Biel. We don't know where—or when—he might have arrived."
"When?" Biel repeated, frowning. "What do you mean?"
Acalia returned her gaze to her sword and continued sharpening, but her tone grew grimmer, as if each word carried the weight of something he couldn't yet grasp.
"This world does not follow the same rules as yours."
She offered no further explanation. Her silence was an impassable wall, one Biel couldn't scale no matter how hard he tried. He forced himself to nod, feeling frustration burn in his chest like glowing embers.
Acalia stood up and pointed east.
"Let's go. There is a village half a day's walk from here. Perhaps someone there has information."
Biel cast one last glance at their makeshift camp before following her. Every step on the winding path seemed to absorb the sound of his breathing, of his anxious heartbeat. Roots protruded from the ground like gnarled fingers trying to claw at his ankles, and the foliage swayed with a murmur that bordered on whispering.
The silence between them became unbearable, heavy as a thick mist pressing against his lungs. Biel needed to speak, if only to rid himself of the feeling that he was trapped in a dream that wouldn't end.
"Acalia..." he finally said, his voice lower than intended. "Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?"
She didn't stop, but her fingers tightened around the hilt of her sword. Her voice, when she answered, was a distant murmur.
"I already told you: I need you as much as you need me."
Biel narrowed his eyes. There was something in the way she said it—the way she avoided his gaze—that sent a chill through him.
"That doesn't explain much," he insisted. "What do you gain from this?"
This time, Acalia did stop. She turned toward him with a look that pierced him to the bone, a frozen fire gleaming in her pupils. Her expression was a precarious balance between patience and something deeper—something Biel couldn't decipher.
"You have many questions," she said with a calm that seemed to contain a storm. "Some of them, even I cannot answer for you yet. But listen to this, Biel: as long as you are alive, you have a chance to discover them for yourself."
The wind blew through the trees, tossing Acalia's hair and making her cloak billow like a long shadow. Biel felt a knot in his throat, an indefinable sensation wavering between uncertainty and a faint spark of hope. He didn't understand Acalia, he didn't understand this world, but for now... the only thing he could do was move forward.
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As they neared the village, Biel felt a knot form in his stomach. Something was wrong. A column of black smoke rose on the horizon, twisting into the sky like the fingers of a hungry creature. His heart raced, and a shiver ran down his spine.
"That’s not normal, is it?" he asked, his voice thick with apprehension.
"No, it isn't," Acalia replied, her tone graver than before. Her eyes sharpened like those of a predator sensing danger.
When they finally reached the entrance of the village, Biel felt the air grow heavy in his lungs. What he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. Houses were burning, flames devouring the wood and casting spectral shadows over streets covered in debris. Screams tore through the air like invisible blades, mingling with the crash of collapsing structures and the rumble of distant explosions. A group of bandits was ransacking the place with savage abandon, their cruel laughter echoing like a macabre mockery of the suffering surrounding them.
"This isn't right!" Biel exclaimed, feeling a burn in his chest as he instinctively moved toward the village.
Acalia stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. Her gaze was pure ice, devoid of any superficial emotion.
"There is nothing you can do," she said in an unshakable voice. "You are not ready to face them."
"How can you say that?! Are you just going to stand here watching while these people suffer?" Biel jerked his arm away, breaking Acalia’s grip.
"If you run toward them now, the only thing you will achieve is your death." Her words fell like a sentence.
Biel clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. His breathing became ragged.
The air smelled of ash and blood, a cruel reminder of his helplessness. But before he could retort, an explosion shook the earth beneath his feet.
Both turned toward the sound and saw a battle in full swing. Two people were fighting the bandits: a young sorceress and a mage. The sorceress, with blonde hair and blue robes, launched spheres of fire that illuminated the chaos with incandescent flashes. Beside her, the mage—a young man with brown hair and an ornate staff—conjured ice that immobilized the bandits, leaving them vulnerable.
"They're fighting..." Biel murmured, impressed.
Acalia crossed her arms and watched with a critical eye. "Perhaps we can observe how this unfolds."
But then, Biel saw something that made him react without thinking. A bandit was slipping through the shadows, knife in hand, closing in on the sorceress to stab her in the back. Time seemed to slow down.
"I won't allow it!" he shouted, throwing himself into the attack.
Something inside him ignited. An instinctive fire—pure and fierce. In a heartbeat, his body moved with impossible speed. Agile Burst. His movements were a blur, an ethereal dance between light and shadow. Before the bandit could react, Biel was already upon him. His hand caught the attacker’s wrist mid-air, twisting it with force until the knife hit the ground with a dull thud. With a spin, he brought him down with a precise blow to the stomach.
"Coward, attacking a lady from behind," Biel said with a defiant grin.
The sorceress turned toward him, her eyes wide, the glow of the flames reflected in her pupils. Her cheeks flushed red.
"Who are you?"
Before Biel could answer, Acalia appeared behind him and spoke for him.
"He is a lost adventurer looking for his friend," she said in a tone that left no room for doubt.
Biel turned to her, perplexed, but realized there was a reason for her intervention. It wasn't the time to reveal his true identity. The mage came running toward them, breathless, his expression a mix of worry and relief.
"Did you save my sister?" he asked, bowing his head slightly. "I thank you from the bottom of my heart."
Biel scratched the back of his neck, somewhat uncomfortable with the recognition.
"It was nothing. I’ll always help those in trouble."
The sorceress, still blushing, smiled faintly. "I am Xanthe, and this is my brother, Easton. Thank you for helping us."
Before they could say more, a new danger appeared. The remaining bandits regrouped, forming a threatening semi-circle around the group. Their weapons glinted in the firelight, and their eyes, filled with fury and greed, promised that the true battle had only just begun.
Biel swallowed hard. Adrenaline surged through his veins, and his body tensed, preparing for the inevitable. This time, he wouldn't run. This time, he would fight.
"Well, look at this! So these are the last survivors of this village!" one of the bandits said, his raspy, mocking voice ringing through the ash-laden air. His companions laughed cruelly, some twirling their swords between their fingers, relishing the fear in the eyes of the villagers who still stood.
Xanthe frowned, her gaze flickering with distrust. "What do you mean by that?"
The bandit, with a twisted grin, took a step forward, dragging his axe across the scorched ground. "We've finished off nearly everyone. Their goods belong to our great Lord Gard now. Now, die like rats in the gutter."
Biel’s blood boiled. Every word was a needle to his patience. Such cruelty! Such indifference to life! He was about to hurl a heated response, but before he could open his mouth, Acalia stepped forward.
She didn't move with speed or fury. She moved with a stunned calm—a bone-chilling stillness.
At first, the bandits mocked her. But soon, their boasting vanished as they felt the intensity of her presence. It was as if a silent storm were breaking around her, as if the air itself grew heavier, forcing them to back away by pure instinct.
"H-how dare she?" one of them stammered, trying to regain his courage.
Acalia raised a cold eyebrow. "How dare you?"
A bulkier bandit tried to make a joke, but before he could finish the sentence, Acalia struck him with a dry, brutal impact. The man’s body was sent flying like a ragdoll, smashing into a broken cart several meters away. His companions froze, terror flooding their faces.
"D-damn it!" another exclaimed, stepping back. "She can't be this strong!"
"Shut up and fight!" another screamed, clutching his sword in desperation.
Acalia clicked her tongue. "There is no redemption for you."
She raised her hand, and a dark energy—dense and pulsing—erupted from her fingers. It was like the shadow of a starless night, enveloping the bandits before they could react. Their bodies suddenly stiffened, their bulging eyes reflecting absolute terror as they fell to the ground, as inert as lifeless statues.
Silence fell like an axe over the scene.
Biel could barely breathe. Every hair on his body stood on end. It wasn't just Acalia’s power that left him speechless, but her impassivity—her absolute certainty. There was no hesitation in her gaze. Only resolve.
Xanthe and Easton were also in shock. The young sorceress pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm her ragged breathing. Her brother, though calmer, swallowed hard.
"Who are you, really?" Xanthe whispered, almost without realizing it.
Acalia didn't answer. Instead, she spun on her heel and raised her hands to the sky. Her lips moved, chanting words in an ancient tongue Biel could not understand.
Then, the impossible happened.
A golden light erupted from nothingness, falling upon the bodies of the fallen villagers. At first, Biel thought it was just a trick of the light, but then he saw them move. Fingers twitching. Chests rising with an unexpected breath. Eyes opening, clouded with confusion before filling with life once more.
The villagers... were coming back to life.
Biel felt his world tilt. His heart pounded violently in his chest. Was this real? How could it be possible? It was a miracle! But not one bathed in celestial kindness—it felt like an unfathomable aura, as majestic as it was fearsome.
When the light finally dissipated, Acalia lowered her hands serenely, but her gaze remained an impenetrable enigma.
Biel watched her, feeling a mixture of admiration and fear. "How... how did you do that?"
Acalia turned her head slightly toward him, her expression impossible to read. "You wouldn't understand, Biel. Not yet."
And without another word, she began to walk away, leaving behind a resurrected village, a group of confused allies, and Biel—lost in an endless loop of questions that burned like embers in his mind.
Acalia walked off in silence, her footsteps echoing on the rock as she climbed the nearby mountainside. The night breeze tossed her blonde hair, but inside she felt neither cold nor heat—only an unfathomable void. She stopped at a cliff and looked down at the village, now lit by the warm glow of torches and the magic that had restored it. Her hands trembled slightly—not from exhaustion, but from uncertainty.
"Why?" she whispered to herself. "Why do I feel nothing? I brought so many people back, but... my heart doesn't flinch."
She placed a hand on her chest, as if searching for a different beat, a sign of genuine emotion, but all she found was a strange coldness—an invisible seal imprisoning whatever her humanity must have once been.
Meanwhile, in the village, Biel watched Acalia’s silhouette disappear into the distance. A slight frown marked his confusion. Where was she going? Before he could follow, Xanthe approached, her blue robes still stained with dust and ash.
"Thank you for saving me earlier," she said with a faint smile, glancing down for a moment before looking up with a spark of curiosity in her emerald eyes.
Biel shrugged with a calm smile. "Don't mention it. I just saw they were about to backstab a beautiful girl, and I couldn't let that happen."
The blush on Xanthe’s cheeks deepened, but she looked away with a slight cough, trying to play it cool.
"Tsk... idiot..." she whispered, barely audible.
Before the conversation could continue, Easton approached, his eyes still full of wonder.
"That girl is incredible," he said in a tone between admiration and fear. "Her power is... almost like a deity's. Who is she, really?"
A chill ran down Biel’s spine. In his mind, Easton’s words carried more weight than they should. "If only you knew she was a goddess's apprentice..." he thought, but he couldn't say it aloud.
"Yeah... she’s impressive," he finally replied, looking away toward where Acalia had vanished. "I’ve only known her for a few days, but she’s already taught me so much about this world..."
"World?" Easton repeated with a frown. "What do you mean?"
Biel felt his blood run cold for an instant. He had spoken without thinking. Quickly, he tried to correct himself.
"No, no, I didn't mean anything. I meant she's taught me about... everything here. Magic, history, creatures... you know," he let out a nervous laugh, hoping Easton wouldn't press further.
The mage didn't seem entirely convinced, but he didn't push. "I suppose... though I feel there's something strange about you two," he commented with an analytical look.
Biel scratched the back of his neck, trying to deflect. Xanthe, still a bit flushed, changed the subject quickly.
"Let's drop it... What do we do now? The bandits were defeated, but the village is still in ruins. Many have returned, but we don't know how long it will take to rebuild their lives."
Biel looked around. The houses were still half-collapsed, smoke still drifted in the air, and the scent of ash persisted—a silent witness to the horror that had occurred. He clenched his fists.
"We’ll help," he said decisively. "We can't let these villagers suffer any longer."
Xanthe smiled faintly, but then looked toward the mountain where Acalia had disappeared. "And your friend? Do you think she'll come back?"
Biel took a deep breath. Though he hadn't known her long, he felt Acalia was a mystery even to herself. Something inside told him she was fighting a battle no one else could see.
"Yes... she'll be back. She just needs some time."
But deep in his mind, a question pulsed like a haunting echo: What if Acalia can't find her way back?
Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting long shadows over the ruined village. Biel, with his sleeves rolled up and his face smudged with dust, lifted debris alongside the villagers. Every board he picked up, every stone he moved, he did so with determination—as if his effort could erase the suffering these innocents had endured.
The villagers watched the young stranger in awe. Not only had he fought the bandits, but now he was helping without expecting anything in return. Murmurs of curiosity rippled through the crowd.
"Who is that boy?" an old man asked in a trembling voice.
"He helped us with the bandits," Easton replied, shaking his head with a mix of weariness and gratitude. "And another girl too, but she left. We don't know if she’ll return."
An elderly woman approached Biel, her face reflecting the hardness of a difficult life, but her eyes radiated gratitude. "Young man, I don't know how to thank you... If you hadn't been here, we would be..." Her voice broke, and she looked down.
Biel smiled softly and shook his head. "Don't thank me. Acalia was the one who truly saved you. She was the one who gave you back your lives."
A silence fell over the villagers. Some exchanged looks of disbelief; others seemed to recall the warmth of that light that had enveloped them before they returned from the abyss of death. The idea that a single person held such power left them speechless.
"Acalia?" whispered a sturdy man with scarred arms. His voice sounded incredulous. "Where is she now?"
Biel looked toward the horizon, where Acalia's figure had vanished among the mountains. His gaze darkened slightly. "I don't know, but when she returns, you can thank her yourselves."
In the distance, hidden behind some bushes on the hill, Acalia watched the scene. Her long hair drifted slightly in the breeze, and her eyes, cold as the moon, remained fixed on Biel. Something inside told her she should return, but another part of her... a part she didn't understand, made her hesitate.
"I look at their faces, I see their smiles... but I feel nothing," she thought, clenching her fists. "The emotions aren't inside me... it's as if they've been sealed away."
The voices of the villagers reached her ears. The way they spoke of her—the admiration in their words, the gratitude in their gestures—it all felt so distant. She should feel something. She should be happy to have saved lives. But she wasn't.
She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. Then, without further delay, she walked down the hill with a firm step, heading back to the village.
The sound of her footsteps on the parched earth caught Biel’s attention before the villagers'. He looked up, and his eyes met Acalia’s. There was something in her gaze... not coldness, but not warmth either. A deep, unfathomable void.
The villagers turned, and a cry of wonder went through the group. A woman fell to her knees, sobbing with emotion. "Thank you! Thank you for saving us!" she cried, clutching the edges of her skirt.
"You gave us another chance to live!" a man said, bowing his head in respect.
One by one, the villagers began to kneel, showing their gratitude the only way they knew how. To them, Acalia was not just a warrior, but a living miracle.
Acalia watched them without a word. Biel, standing beside her, felt a pang in his chest. Something about the way she looked at them felt off... as if she didn't know how to respond to their devotion.
"Acalia..." Biel murmured, searching for some emotion in her face.
The young woman looked away and, in a voice devoid of all emotion, simply said: "Stand up."
The villagers obeyed immediately, though bewilderment showed on their faces. They expected words of comfort, a smile at least... but Acalia gave them none of that.
Biel felt the awkwardness heavy in the air. He looked at Acalia with a frown. "Don't you have anything else to say to them?"
Acalia looked at him from the corner of her eye. "What am I supposed to say?"
Biel gritted his teeth. It wasn't the first time he’d seen her act this way, but now, seeing the people’s reaction, it was more evident than ever. There was something broken inside her.
Xanthe, who had remained silent all this time, stepped forward. "Acalia, you saved our lives. Please, at least let us know... why?" she asked sincerely.
Acalia watched her but didn't respond immediately. She crossed her arms as if weighing her words. Finally, in a cold voice, she said: "Because I could."
The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. The people didn't know how to interpret those words. Biel felt something burning inside him. He couldn't take it anymore.
"Just that?" his voice sounded sharper than he intended.
Acalia tilted her head. "What else do you want me to say?"
Biel took a step forward, his gaze locking onto hers. "That you care. That you feel something when you save them. That their lives mean something to you."
Acalia’s eyes showed no reaction. "Would that change anything?"
Biel felt frustration boiling in his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. Then, in a calmer voice, he said: "Yes. For them, it would."
Acalia didn't answer right away. Then, she simply turned her gaze toward the sunset. Her silhouette seemed even more distant under the orange light of the setting sun.
"It’s late. We should rest," she said, turning around and walking away.
Biel watched her leave and felt a weight in his chest. He didn't understand what was wrong with Acalia, but something in her was broken... and it worried him not knowing if it could ever be repaired.
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