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POV: Demon Outpost (Alark)

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The Demons formed small groups around the light staves; they all seemed calm, but Alark didn't miss the slight agitation in their body language, only made more apparent by the sudden movements of the stretched shadows littering the ground.

He tried to listen closely, but he was never very good at using his ears and could only scarcely make out vague details.

They seemed to discuss a plan, some surprising magic... but most actually equally perplexed; just like him, they had no idea why they'd gathered their stuff here, since all they could do is escape empty handed, surely.

Lost in thought, it took him some time to notice the tugging at his sleeve.

Alark furrowed his brows and cracked open his other eye to look down at his side.

"Is... is she alright?"

He wasn't much in the mood to talk, but seeing the concern on the girl's face, his eyes softened.

She seemed frustrated; her lips were pursed, and she moved her head in whatever direction her deep green eyes would jump to, as if getting closer would somehow give her insight into Syrin's condition.

It was at this point that he noticed the long stringed necklace swinging in the air with her motion, and the short response he'd mustered died in his throat.

He recognised that stone, only it wasn't a stone at all; upon looking closer, there was an obvious faint purple glow emanating from the grooves cut into its surface—it was in fact a scale.

'A friend? A noble looking scale like that... would be quite the protective charm outside.'

This was his first thought, and his heart tightened somewhat.

The girl looked up at the stiff expression on his face and subconsciously took an awkward step back.

It felt like he'd just swallowed acidic saliva, like a part of him had just died. Alark had always prided himself on being respected but not feared; he was truly failing at everything these past few days, and even the outpost was falling apart around him.

"I..."

"Alark..?"

A familiar voice suddenly called out to him, and his thoughts were cut short—he would easily recognise it anywhere.

They both turned to see Karin leaning against the wall of the staircase entrance with an undecipherable look on her face.

She seemed to stare into his soul for a long while.

However, her gaze soon shifted down to what was in his arms, and her forced calm vanished, prompting her to rush over.

"You're here."

She placed her hand against Syrin's cold cheek to check her condition; a vibrant smile graced her brightly coloured lips, but Alark was near certain she wasn't talking to him.

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However, he felt lost—her reaction didn't make any sense to him; the girl was dead.

Karin glanced his way with an eyebrow raised, obviously waiting for a reply. Her questioning eyes poured oil onto his mind's gears, and his thoughts jolted into action again.

He looked down at Karin and then at the young girl, his expression similar to that of someone who had recently been pinched on the backside.

"She..."

The lines he'd tried to rehearse touched upon his lips, but he found himself unable to speak, especially not with that girl and her gaze of intense curiosity.

Alark quickly realised that he hadn't said a single word in a while and was wondering if he was going a little insane.

He appeared like a mumbling mess to those around him.

He'd forgotten that his imagination consisted of the two of them... alone to talk it out, where he would lay it all bare, and, even if she hated him, he would still give his life to help her escape.

Karin stared up at him, into his eyes, and seemingly through his thoughts.

Her lips didn't move, but a wry expression still coloured her face, and she smiled with her eyes alone, almost humorously.

For a brief second, Alark felt as though none of this had even happened.

He bit his tongue firmly to dull the wave of emotion welling up inside him.

"She's alive; I know what's happened now, Alark- mostly."

He was stunned.

Whatever he felt he had been preparing for, it wasn't that at all.

"How..?"

'How did she survive the forced summoning?'

'How did Karin know?'

'How did Ana even succeed then?'

The questions cropped up in his mind one after another, and he stared down at the girl he was now subconsciously handing off to Karin.

He shook his head and stood there with his arms raised for longer than he should have before letting them slump down to his sides.

It was at this point that he looked back up and noticed various floating materials lingering in the air behind Karin, enveloped by her pinkish-red energy.

It wasn't as surprising this time; he'd already calmed down and recognised that revealing this ability now was as good a time as any—he just couldn't figure out what it was all for.

Karin wasn't capable of lifting all that, at least not for a prolonged period.

She'd already turned away and waved her hand lightly. The collection of items poured down from the stairwell like a perfectly ordered queue and gently propped themselves amongtst the growing pile.

"You can thank Johan for thinking of using the mirage like this; it's given us a lot of time... He used the leftover energy in the distillation tank to keep the barrier intact, since it comes from the same source... But we're not sure how long it'll last, and it's still given us much more time to prepare everyone who's going to stay behind."

Karin watched as Alark thoughtfully nodded along to her explanation, one arm crossed over his chest, the other cupping his chin. It looked to her like he was hiding his thoughts, thoughts like 'none of this should have ever happened', along with feelings of guilt at seemingly being let off the hook.

She read him like an open book and smiled.

His gaze turned to the amassed cluster of goods, missing her watchful eye.

"I think... Syrin was able to take a willing summon somewhere before an Angel managed to grab her. We're all going to leave this here, and she's going to try and come here to collect it with spatial magic."

Karin could audibly hear him swallow before speaking.

"Ah, yes, of course... spatial magic."

He spoke hollowly, and his lips looked drier than usual—like he was withering from a sudden spout of aging.

At this point, he would just assume she could get anything. That way, he would never be shocked into an early grave.

Karin coughed lightly, hiding a small giggle at his remark, before walking off to talk with the others and explain some more details.

Seeing this, he smiled, but it quickly faded.

Memories of their argument flashed through his mind—he felt so blind looking back.

She could always read him; a part of him liked that, but he was never able to return the favour and act more kindly towards her; he just didn't think to ask.

His inability made him feel so selfish now, all the more because he knew how comfortable he was with it; he didn't try to better himself, only ever focusing on his goal and choosing to keep things as they were because she never outwardly complained about it.

She'd always helped him, yet his chosen path was to leave her behind.

Alark looked up at the others, who were all thoughtfully nodding along to her explanations.

Even with her arms full, she would sway her shoulders and flair her elbows in any which direction, subtly guiding the flow of conversation.

He wanted to grin, seeing her exaggerated smile and the lively colour of her cheeks. Even in this situation, he couldn't help but realise how beautiful she was.