The fact that the enemies found us so quickly surprises me. Even though Mirael wasted precious time with her unnecessary argument, I didn’t expect them to be this close on our heels. To avoid unnecessary risks, Sylas decided to stash the Astralis in my bag, as its glow could attract too much attention.
Now, we are once again wandering through the darkness of the night. Where the moonlight manages to pierce through the dense leaves of the trees, it provides faint illumination. In other areas, fireflies—or whatever they are called here—offer us their soft light. But even that isn’t enough to see the hand in front of our face. Mirael murmurs quietly to herself, her words incomprehensible.
Suddenly, I hear a stifled “Ah!” and a dull thud. Mirael has apparently tripped over one of the countless roots and is now sprawled on the ground. Sylas and I fumble through the darkness to reach her.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Mirael hisses angrily, groaning in pain. “Now I’ve scraped my knee too! Let’s use the Astralis, and if the enemies challenge us, we’ll take them out!”
“Mirael, it’s not that simple!” Sylas replies, visibly exhausted by the need to constantly lecture her. “And you shouldn’t reveal your abilities so carelessly to our enemies.”
“Why are you making such a mystery out of this?” I ask curiously, attempting in vain to discern their expressions in the darkness. “What element do you control, Mirael?”
“That’s none of your business!” she snaps back disdainfully, her sharp voice followed by an impatient click of her tongue. “Mind your own affairs. As far as I know, you Losniw can’t even use your powers! How pathetic.”
I let her insults slide and respond calmly, “Very well. I don’t need to know your weaknesses to understand that you’d be nothing but dead weight in a fight. Even so, we should avoid a confrontation at all costs. No more blood needs to be shed.”
Mirael seems unwilling to engage with my biting comment. Instead, she speaks with an icy hardness in her voice: “Any blood spilled by those Sualtier is a victory. The villages of Losnat and Cata Sualti have no place in this world. They should be eradicated so that no Elindine with such intentions can ever walk among us again.”
“Are you aware that your statement sounds just as barbaric as those of the Sualtier?” I counter, raising a skeptical eyebrow, though I know she can’t see my gesture. Meanwhile, I notice a faint glow emanating from Sylas’s hands as he tends to Mirael’s wound. Unfortunately, it isn’t enough to illuminate our surroundings.
“What do innocent children from these villages have to do with the events of 500 years ago?” I ask firmly.
“You can claim a child is innocent…” Mirael begins with a voice full of anger, “…but a Sualtier, who was once a child, beheaded my mother. These monsters are created, and the same goes for the Elindine of Losnat. Evil blood must be purged.”
Her words are dripping with hatred. Mirael claims that the children of the Sualtier and Losniw are raised to become monsters, yet she fails to see that her own deeply ingrained prejudices stem from her upbringing. Just as there are good and bad people in the human world, the same must hold true for the villages of Elindros. Not every Losniw can be evil, just as not every Solniw can be good. Since my arrival in this dimension, I’ve realized that nothing here is purely black or white.
“Would you really take the life of a small child without hesitation?” I press. “Simply because they are a Losniw or a Sualtier?”
“Exactly,” she replies coldly. “I see no reason to let that scum live any longer, only for them to grow into ruthless murderers later.”
She can’t be serious, can she? In my past, I experienced firsthand the cruel behavior of Crown Prince Yula and the coldness of the Queen. Yet, it never drove me to want to annihilate humanity. On this journey, no innocent lives must be lost—that, I swear to myself.
I decide not to continue this discussion. Instead, Sylas takes over: “Mirael, that’s enough. Your knee is healed now and should no longer hurt. We can’t waste any more time. My powers are limited. Once we’re far enough away, we’ll find a safe spot to wait for sunrise. In this darkness, the forest itself is becoming our biggest obstacle, with all its roots and pitfalls.”
He’s right. First, I got hurt, and now Mirael. If we continue like this, the environment will take us down before our pursuers do. Suddenly, the Astralis in my bag begins to vibrate. I place my hand on its smooth surface and pull it out to show Sylas its strange behavior. The moment I hold it in my hands, it begins to glow brightly.
Instinctively, I shield my eyes to avoid being blinded. The light vanishes as quickly as it appeared, but Sylas is already by my side, concern etched on his face.
“What happened?” Sylas asks, confused.
“What do you think?” Mirael hisses. “She used the Astralis to draw the enemy straight to us! I told you she’s working with them!”
Her voice grows louder and more hysterical until Sylas firmly presses a hand over her mouth. Muffled sounds are all that remain of her accusations. My heart races—not because of Mirael’s claims, but because of the fear that her outburst may have drawn the enemy’s attention to us. And my fears are immediately confirmed.
“Did you see that bright light?” a man’s gruff voice calls out. “No one could miss that.”
“Of course, I saw it,” a second voice replies, this time a woman’s. “And all that shouting... Maybe there’s a village nearby?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” the man snaps dismissively. “Tira, you know there’s only one village near Solnya. After that, it’s just a vast forest before the next villages appear.”
“Let’s not talk about those Elindine, Morrik,” the woman mutters. “Besides, those people are masters of concealment. Noise like that would never come from them.”
Once again, those cryptic mentions. Those Elindine— people Sylas and Mirael refuse to tell me about. If these two are coming from the same direction we did, they must belong to Cata Sualti!
We quietly creep closer to the strangers. The man holds a burning torch, its light illuminating the area around him and allowing us to observe him from a distance. He stands on a lower path, making it harder for him to spot us. The man is tall, muscular, and clad in black armor. His short-cropped hair is as dark as his gear, and his face is marred by numerous scars, one particularly prominent one stretching from his left ear to the corner of his mouth. A truly intimidating figure.
The woman beside him wears a hood that obscures her entire face. She’s about a head shorter but no less menacing.
“Those must be Sualtier!” I whisper excitedly. “How did they find us so quickly? And why are there only two of them?”
Before Sylas can respond, the man named Morrik speaks. “Before we investigate, you should check on her.”
He hands the torch to the woman, who continues forward, disappearing into the trees. I signal to Sylas with a nod that I’ll follow her. He nods back in agreement.
The woman doesn’t go far. After a few steps, a cliff edge comes into view, where another figure stands. This person also wears a hood and gazes out over what seems to be an endless ocean. Up until this moment, I’ve never seen the sea in Elindros—not even thought about it! The third figure is noticeably smaller than Tira and seems… childlike? The woman slowly pulls back her hood, and in the moonlight, fiery red hair gleams brightly. Fascinated and overwhelmed, I stare at the Sualtier. With a deliberate motion, she removes the mask that had hidden her face.
To my surprise, the other figure does the same. But instead of another adult, it’s a small child, who can’t be older than ten. Standing opposite the woman, the child seems fragile by contrast. Her black hair is tied into a high ponytail and intricately braided.
It becomes clear: the third Sualtier is indeed a child. But what is her relationship with the red-haired woman? Why didn’t the man wear a mask, while they’re now removing theirs? What secret lies behind these Elindine?
“How are you, Lyara?” Tira asks softly, a hint of concern in her voice. Could these Elindine really be from Cata Sualti? “My angel, you don’t have to be afraid anymore. Your father has been preparing for this for months. Soon, we’ll live a life without violence. A life in peace.”
“Mom… do you really mean that?” the girl replies. Her childlike, innocent voice confirms my suspicion that she is just a child, and Tira… is her mother. “Today… in Solnya… Maren killed that woman.” Lyara’s voice begins to tremble. “He didn’t let her die right away. He tortured her. Mommy, I was so scared! I don’t want to go back to Cata Sualti!”
The woman pulls the girl into a comforting embrace. A faint sob reaches my ears as she strokes her daughter’s hair soothingly. These Elindine… they really are Sualtier. But they don’t seem like enemies. My gut tells me they didn’t harm anyone during today’s attack. I need to tell Sylas about this.
Quietly, I sneak back to my companions. They are still in the same spot I left them. But before I can say a word, Mirael beats me to it.
“This man is definitely one of the Sualtier,” Mirael hisses, her voice vibrating with pure hatred. Although she neither knows the name nor the face of her mother’s murderer, she channels all her pent-up rage toward the Sualtier in front of her. “He’s being served to me on a silver platter. Now I’ll show you who’s the dead weight here, you pathetic Losniw.”
I take a moment to grasp her words. Does she want to prove herself? Sylas seems quicker to understand. He grabs Mirael’s shoulder and yanks her back with a strong pull. She stares at him, startled and furious. But before he can reprimand her, her determined gaze fixes on the Sualtier. Raising her finger, she gathers energy—a faint crackling fills the air.
A spark forms at her fingertip. She can control lightning...? My thoughts race. It reminds me of that figure who hovered in the sky outside my window back in the human world. Could it really have been Mirael? Sylas’s warning to keep her powers a secret suddenly makes sense: the ability to control lightning is clearly no ordinary phenomenon in Elindros. Mirael is an anomaly.
Before I can act, Mirael snaps her fingers, and the tiny lightning orb shoots toward the unsuspecting Sualtier. It pierces the man’s black armor, and within seconds, he clutches his chest. His face contorts in pain as he desperately gasps for air—but it’s futile. A strong Elindine, who must have defeated countless foes, falls to a tiny lightning orb. A cruel irony of fate.
“Serves you right, scum,” Mirael hisses triumphantly, clicking her tongue. “Now I’ll deal with those other two bitches.”
The other two women Mirael now intends to eliminate are a mother and her young daughter. But earlier, she made it unmistakably clear that it doesn’t matter to her who stands before her. As soon as she deems an Elindine unworthy of living, she will kill without hesitation. This means Lyara and Tira are in grave danger—especially if even a man like Morrik was brought to his knees so easily.
“What have you done?” Sylas hisses, grabbing Mirael firmly by the shoulders. “How can you take another Elindine’s life without even batting an eye? How can you be so heartless?”
“I’m heartless?” Mirael repeats incredulously, shaking off his grip. “Let me remind you that these Sualtier laughed with joy as they beheaded YOUR mother-in-law! How can you feel empathy for such monsters?”
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“I feel neither empathy nor pity for Elindine who murder others!” Sylas counters quietly but firmly. The darkness remains our constant companion, and despite the heated argument, the two try to keep their voices low. “But I’m no better than them if I repay blood with blood! Why do we have prisons in Elindros? The court will hold them accountable!”
“Accountable for what?” Mirael scoffs. “Our king is already a puppet of the Losniw and the Sualtier—and who knows which other criminals! The Feroy dynasty, which has held the throne in Elindros for generations, is easily bribed. That won’t change. We are responsible for our own justice. Do you really think Valron Feroy mourns the death of some Solniw?”
“Mirael, you’re losing control!” Sylas warns urgently. “What will we do if the other Sualtier notice our presence and realize we’re responsible for Morrik’s death?”
“If this guy died so easily from my powers, I’ll deal with the two women just as easily,” Mirael says coldly.
How will she react when she finds out who the other two Sualtier are? Will her boastful words about killing even with that knowledge still hold?
“Mirael, you need to know...” I begin but am immediately cut off by her.
“Be quiet, Losniw,” she hisses. “I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
At that moment, a loud scream pierces the night. We fall silent and focus our attention below. Tira and her daughter Lyara have arrived at the scene. The woman holds a torch, its flickering light betraying her fear. Doesn’t this knowledge suffice for Mirael? Why isn’t it enough for her that she is superior to them? Why must there always be bloodshed? Even in the human world, it was no different... How many times have I read in history books about wars my father led, and before him, the rulers of the Valdyris dynasty? Why are all beings so selfish?
“M-Mom...” Lyara whispers with a trembling voice, clutching her mother’s hand. “Who is that man? That’s not my dad... is it?”
“Dad?” Sylas whispers in surprise. “No...”
Both run to the lifeless body, and while Lyara collapses weeping into the arms of her dead father, Tira stands frozen beside them. Holding up her torch, she scans the surroundings with sharp, searching eyes—she knows we are still nearby.
“Whoever did this to my man, have the courage to face me!” Tira shouts angrily, raising the torch high. “I know you can see me! SHOW YOURSELF!”
Mirael clicks her tongue and lets out a quiet chuckle. “Nothing would please me more,” she whispers before leaping down without warning. With a skillful roll, she absorbs the impact of her landing and stands right in front of Tira. “Here I am.”
“It was you?” the woman asks in disbelief. “But… you’re just a child! Not even of age! How could you have killed my Morrik? His armor is intact, and I see no wounds on his face!”
“Is this Morrik that Morrik...?” Mirael asks curiously, a triumphant smirk curling her lips. “Morrik Talos, the Sualtier who has murdered countless Elindine in the past? Didn’t your beloved man also kill women…”
“DON’T YOU DARE!” Tira screams, her voice trembling. “Don’t you dare drag my husband’s name through the mud in front of our daughter!”
“Your daughter seems oblivious to her father’s heinous acts,” Mirael says dryly, wagging her finger mockingly. “But what else should I expect from someone out of Cata Sualti?”
“Tell me why you killed my husband and who you are!” Tira shouts. She positions herself protectively in front of Lyara, who continues to sob over her father’s lifeless body. “Why did you take my daughter’s father from her?”
Mirael laughs—a cold, mocking sound that reverberates through the forest, creating an eerie echo. Sylas sighs softly but does nothing.
“What about the Solniw who lost their families today?” Mirael hisses. “What about my mother, who was beheaded before my eyes? Before you ask me for my reasons, perhaps you should question yourself!”
“So, you’re from Solnya,” Tira says, glancing at her daughter. “My daughter is still young. Please, spare her from further suffering. She doesn’t need to see her mother become a murderer.”
“A murderer?” Mirael repeats mockingly, tilting her head. “What did you just say?”
Tira plunges the torch into the ground. In that instant, I see a diabolical grin spread across her face. A strange energy emanates from her—terrifying and disturbing. She pulls out two daggers and lunges at Mirael. The caring mother seems to have vanished, replaced by someone wild and unhinged.
A fierce battle erupts in the quiet of the forest. Mirael’s eyes flash with determination as she raises her hands to unleash her powers. Lightning crackles at her fingertips, filling the air with an electric hum. But the woman moves faster than I expected. With a fluid motion, she dodges the lightning, which narrowly misses her and scorches the trees behind her.
The moment a mist escapes Tira’s hands, I realize what she’s doing. The mist envelops her like a living shroud, and suddenly, dozens of daggers emerge from it. They fly in sweeping arcs as if extensions of her own body, as though the woman is channeling her very essence into deadly blades. The daggers whistle through the air, their edges gleaming in the faint light breaking through the canopy, each one seemingly aimed directly at Mirael.
But the Solniw is ready. She moves with a fluid, almost dance-like grace, her lightning crackling again as it slices through the air. A dagger grazes her arm, but she ignores the wound, retaliating with a sharp burst of lightning that shoots like a spear toward her opponent.
The fight is brutal, swift, and merciless. In a whirlwind of lightning and flying blades, each strike meets a counter. The air is thick with an electric tension that makes the ground tremble beneath our feet. Mirael, a storm of pure fury, channels her powers in a burst of energy that forces Tira to retreat. But the Sualtier remains agile, her daggers slicing through the air with a piercing whistle.
Then, with a sudden surge of speed, Mirael overwhelms her opponent. She grabs Tira by the arm, and I watch as the tension in Mirael’s body peaks in an explosive outburst. Electricity courses into Tira’s body with unbearable intensity. Her muscles seize up, and her body goes rigid like a bowstring pulled taut. The relentless current tears through her, overwhelming her entirely.
“You damned…,” Tira hisses through gritted teeth, casting a final glance at her daughter, who watches in wide-eyed terror. “Lyara…”
Mirael doesn’t grant her another moment. With her other hand, she grabs Tira’s face and slams it violently into the ground. The woman begins to scream, a piercing, desperate sound that echoes through the forest. Her legs thrash in a final, futile attempt to break free, but Mirael’s grip is unyielding. The woman’s screams grow weaker, fading into the night.
Lyara, the daughter, remains frozen beside her father’s cold armor. Tears streak her cheeks, and her young face twists in pure horror. She has already witnessed the deaths of countless Solniw, but the loss of her parents—her father first, and now her mother—strikes her with unbearable force. The girl stands trembling, her small hands shaking uncontrollably as she stares at the horrifying scene unfolding before her.
Mirael finally releases Tira’s face. Thin wisps of steam rise from her hands, where the electricity has left its scorching mark. For a moment, she stares motionless at the lifeless body before her. A satisfied smirk creeps onto her lips, followed by a quiet chuckle that grows into hysterical laughter. Her shoulders tremble as she gives in completely to the euphoria.
Her gaze shifts to her hands, then back to the fallen woman. But the silence is suddenly broken by a faint rustle. Lyara has moved—a tiny step, but enough to make the armor of her father emit a soft, hollow clang. I hear the girl draw a sharp breath. Her fear is palpable. She has seen both her parents die and now stands face to face with their killer.
Lyara springs to her feet, her small hands trembling uncontrollably. She takes an uncertain step backward.
“I won’t harm you,” Mirael suddenly says with an unusual calmness, wiping the blood from her cheek. Slowly, she steps closer to the girl, moving toward the flickering light of the torch. At last, I notice the blood-soaked patches on her clothing. It’s now obvious that she was struck by the daggers I thought she had dodged. Yet the pain doesn’t seem to bother her—the same Mirael who had earlier made a scene over her injured knee.
“I’m a Solniw, you know?” she continues, her voice almost gentle. “In Solnya, we don’t harm children.”
A faint smile spreads across her face, likely meant to inspire trust. But to the child, she seems more like a madwoman. Lyara continues trembling, seemingly putting no faith in Mirael’s words. Sylas stands silently nearby, unmoved and unwilling to intervene. His passive stance makes me uneasy.
Mirael steps even closer, cautiously extending her hand as though to soothe Lyara. But then everything happens in a flash: the girl reaches into her small satchel, pulls out a dagger—and before anyone can react, she slashes her own throat without hesitation.
Lifeless, she collapses to the ground, falling into her father’s arms.
Mirael’s outstretched arm freezes mid-air, her fingers twitching uncontrollably. She stares at the bloody weapon and the motionless child as though she hadn’t believed it could come to this. My heart pounds, and I can’t bring myself to look away from Lyara.
Beside me, Sylas hisses softly, “Hopefully, this will teach her a lesson.”
I whip my head toward him, utterly shocked. What does he mean by that? Did he deliberately not intervene because he wanted Mirael to learn from this? Were Lyara and Tira truly sacrificed just so Mirael might gain better control over herself in the future? He can’t be serious...!
It’s a cruel, harrowing moment that changes everything. Lyara, the child who had so much life ahead of her, is now nothing more than a shadow in the hands of the dead.
“What... have I done?” Mirael whispers, her knees giving out. The hatred that had driven her for so long is gone, leaving behind only emptiness.
Sylas and I remain silent. What could anyone possibly say at a moment like this?
Mirael’s scream cuts through the forest’s stillness like a piercing, desperate sound, filling the air with pain and disbelief. Her hands claw through her hair in a frenzy, her fingers tightening as though she could tear away the unbearable anguish consuming her. With one last, shattering cry, she collapses to the earth, her elbows slamming hard into the soft, damp soil, which immediately mingles with blood and tears.
Her screams don’t cease; they pour out of her as though she’s a wounded animal in its final throes. The agony in her voice, the despair in every sound, is unbearable. Mirael, who had once placed revenge above all else, is now shattered under the weight of what she has just done.
“It wasn’t supposed to end like this!” she yells, as if her words could alter reality. “I didn’t want it to end this way! Not like this!”
Her voice breaks, dwindling to almost a whisper that fades into the air. The words no longer carry the fury that had sustained her for so long. Now they are merely an empty echo of all she has lost—her control, her conviction, her purpose.
But what had she hoped for? What had she truly expected? That the deaths she had inflicted upon all those Elindine would somehow bring her salvation? That she would be freed from all the pain that had defined her for years once she had annihilated the Sualtier?
The coldness now raging within her is nothing compared to the fiery torrent of emotions that crush her. Her fingers dig into the ground as though she could burrow through the dirt into another world, far away from the chaos she herself had unleashed.
Yet even now, in her grief, Mirael knows there is no turning back. The choice she made is irrevocable. Her revenge has claimed the life of an innocent child. And that will haunt her forever.
“Why?” she murmurs. “Why did it have to be this way?”
As I watch Mirael in silence, I feel Sylas tense beside me.
“Damn it,” he whispers, and without another word, he leaps toward Mirael.
I realize too late what’s happening, helplessly watching once more. In the distance, I spot two men also wearing masks—just like the Sualtier Mirael had fought. More of them? How did they catch up to us so quickly?
“We need to find that bastard Morrik,” one of the men growls, his voice a low snarl.
“And his whore of a woman,” adds the other, his tone shrill and grating. “The daughter seems to be missing too.”
“I knew he’d betray us,” the first snarls angrily. “Ever since he started fucking that Tira, he hasn’t been the same! He used to decapitate Elindine with passion, but in Solnya, he didn’t even dare lay a finger on a Solniw!”
“Can we really trust these rumors?” the second asks, sounding uncertain, as though trying to convince himself. “Morrik is our best warrior. If we find him, we can’t just kill him!”
“Drakhan Vathar ordered it,” the first spits contemptuously. “Even the strongest blade can break in a weak sheath.”
Sylas silently leaps from the upper forest path down to Mirael. His mastery over water muffles every sound as he lands with effortless grace. With a swift motion, he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her close.
Without hesitation, he channels his powers again to lift himself and Mirael effortlessly back to the upper path. His movements are so precise it seems as though he’s gliding weightlessly through the air, the water cradling them gently.
“What is a Drakhan?” I whisper, utterly confused.
“Drakhan is the title given to the current leader of Cata Sualti,” Sylas explains calmly. But the weight of his words sends a chill down my spine. “If it’s true that Korrik Vathar is here, then he’s likely the one who did that to my father.”
In the background, I hear Mirael softly whisper, “What have I done?” Her words seem ghostly, almost merging with the wind.
So Zyar fought against the leader of Cata Sualti?
The two men finally reach the spot where Mirael had fought earlier. The first shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disdain.
“Well, beheading that old woman was nothing compared to this,” the second remarks with a cruel grin.
Mirael looks at the two men. Her trembling has stopped, but the look in her eyes is now only filled with confusion and fury.
“Is it true that this Rasha Vane supposedly butchered an old woman in front of her daughter?” the first asks, his voice filled with disbelief. The second nods, and the first lets out a mocking laugh. “That guy’s a real role model.”
“Role model...” Mirael whispers, clenching her fists. The rage in her eyes is so intense that I fear she might explode.
But before she can act, Sylas holds her back, his gaze steely. “That fight would mean your certain death,” he says quietly. “Don’t forget what you did to the child.”
Mirael’s shoulders sag, and a sighing nod reveals that she understands the truth, even if it tears her apart inside. My gaze shifts back to the Sualtier. The second man, whose voice remains annoyingly shrill, turns his attention to Lyara.
“They didn’t even spare the child,” he says with a disgusting grin. “She might still be useful.”
The first replies curtly, “Hurry up. We don’t have all day.”
The other waves him off and approaches Lyara. With a casual tug, he grabs the child’s lifeless body by the hair, dragging her away from her father’s arms.
“We can’t let this happen,” I whisper, my words catching in my throat. “He’s going to—”
“What can we do?” Sylas’s words are emotionless, his tone even. “She’s dead. Whatever he does to her corpse won’t change that. Let’s leave. We have the information we came for.”