In the tapestry of my dreams, an unknown realm unfurled its mysteries. Red chairs stood in regimented rows, and upon one, I found myself, surrounded by torches casting dancing shadows on the walls. A colossal white rectangle stood as a canvas before me, its purpose veiled in enigma. Voiceless, I could only observe, my gaze drifting across the surreal scene. Suddenly, the ivory canvas sparked to life, revealing cryptic characters in an unfamiliar tongue, spelling out the compelling directive: "follow me." Intrigued, my curiosity ignited, and I yearned to unveil the translation of these ethereal words, contemplating the prospect of unearthing volumes within the library's sacred shelves.
Upon rousing from my slumber, daylight painted the room, accompanied by the cheerful symphony of birdsong. Hastily, I transcribed the enigmatic letters etched in the tapestry of my dreams. A gaze skyward revealed an unexpected alteration – my once raven hair now adorned with a mere wisp of white. A new predicament unfolded, entwined with the mysteries of the letters.
A momentary panic whispered of age's encroachment or the weave of a clandestine spell. Dismissing thoughts of mana depletion, my cursed essence held secrets known to me alone. Tales spoke of hair turning white with mana's depletion, but my curse defied such norms, its revelation veiled from prying eyes, detectable only through a demon's gaze.
Tethered to the present, I refocused on the conundrum of the letters and the silver strands. Recollections of an impending quest with Liz and Rose lingered, prompting a detour to the library. Adorned and armed, I bid farewell to Lilith and my younger siblings, venturing forth into realms of mysteries awaiting unraveling.
Rosalind
As consciousness greeted me, I found myself beneath the watchful gaze of the ceiling, serenaded by the melodic chirping of birds. Thoughts of my former life, a tale marked by a painful demise, lingered uninvited. Shaking my head, I resisted the haunting memories, veiling them in the shadows of forgetfulness.
Reluctantly, I extricated myself from the comforting embrace of the sheets. The mirror awaited, reflecting my changed of form. Naked, my gaze fixated on my back, adorned with a divine blessing resembling a cybernetic spine. A conduit to create armor and weapons, this sacred augmentation compelled me to embrace the duties of a newfound existence as being blessed with a divine blessing.
Swiftly changing, I bid my parents farewell, setting forth to the hallowed meeting place where Liz, Art, and I converged - a sacred rendezvous beneath the sheltering branches of an ancient tree or more like old tree.
Strolling through the village streets en route to our designated tree meeting point with Liz and Art, an unexpected encounter unfolded. Colliding with a girl, my instinctive reflex kicked in, and I swiftly extended a helping hand. "I'm sorry, here, let me help you up," I offered. Yet, as her gaze met mine, an unsettling chill coursed down my spine, a mysterious premonition lingering in the air.
Her eyes, devoid of life, revealed a chilling void, while her pallid skin and white hair painted an ethereal portrait. Blood-red eyes pierced through, emanating an unsettling aura. As she clutched my hand to rise, the touch felt cold, akin to the icy grip of death.
"Thank you," she uttered with a smile that could send shivers down the devil's spine, a disconcerting display of gratitude that lingered in the air like an eerie mist.
"It's no problem," I replied, averting my gaze from her intense eyes. She tilted her head, leaning forward, as if peering directly into the depths of my soul.
Perplexed, I pondered the mystery of her presence. A stranger in this familiar village, she seemed to be of similar age, a potential wandering adventurer. Her albino appearance hinted at a life spent indoors, perhaps to shield sensitive skin from the sun's harsh touch. The enigma surrounding her deepened, lingering in the air like an unanswered question.
As her grasp persisted, I sought solace in the rhythm of a palpable pulse beneath my touch, dispelling the notion of her as a living corpse. Yet, the lingering chill on her wrist contradicted the wintry surroundings, leaving a perplexing sensation that something beyond the cold weather was amiss.
As she released my hand, she took a step back, concealing her hand behind her back. "I should introduce myself, I'm Elora," she revealed, and the name resonated with a certain elegance.
In return, I offered, "I'm Rosalind Thronvale," hand gracefully placed over my chest. Elora nodded in acknowledgment, her response accompanied by another disconcertingly eerie smile. "That's a lovely name," she remarked.
Curiosity lingered, prompting me to inquire about her unfamiliar presence. "I've never seen you here before."
Elora disclosed, "Oh, it's just my skin is so weak to the sun; it burns me. But I can be outside when it snows," delivering her explanation with yet another unsettling smile. The air around us seemed to thicken with the mysterious aura of Elora, as if her presence defied the ordinary rules of the village.
"Although I'm just out because I'm looking for my sister," Elora confessed.
"Your sister, is she lost?" I inquired, concern coloring my words.
"Something like that. She has green hair," Elora replied with a cryptic smile.
Green hair, a distinctive trait that stirred my curiosity. "Where did your sister get her green hair?"
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Elora offered, "Yes, she gets it from my mother," and with that, she gracefully walked past me. "Well, I'll see you later, Rose," she said with a parting smile, disappearing around a corner and leaving me with a lingering sense of intrigue.
As soon as she left I placed my hand on my chest I'd realized my heart was racing from terror Elora was sure creepy but maybe she was a kind and sweet girl.
Maybe it was just on the outside
As Elora disappeared from sight, I instinctively placed my hand on my chest, feeling the rapid rhythm of my racing heart. The encounter had stirred a sense of unease, a subtle terror in the air. Yet, I pondered, perhaps Elora's unsettling demeanor masked a kind and sweet nature, a duality hidden beneath the surface. The mysteries surrounding her lingered, weaving a tapestry of uncertainty and curiosity.
The thought lingered in my mind, wondering about Elora's hesitation and the shift in her words. What was she originally going to say before correcting herself to "sister"? A fleeting moment of vulnerability, perhaps, that she swiftly amended. The enigma of Elora deepened, leaving me with questions that resonated in the air like an unresolved melody.
Racing to the tree where Liz and Art were supposed to meet, I encountered a flurry of obstacles—dodging people, animals, and even a few creatures along the way. Upon arrival, I found Liz engrossed in a spell book, her full name Elizabeth Lancaster, a wielder of wind magic.
Witnessing her incantation, "Oh hear my great call, crush," I marveled as the targeted rock crumbled. "Wow, is that a new spell?" I inquired with a tilt of my upper body.
"Oh, Rose, you startled me. Yes, it's a new spell," Liz replied, offering a smile as she clutched the spell book.
"That's impressive. Maybe Art will ask you out," I teased, a slight grin playing on my face.
"Ask me out?" Liz looked perplexed.
"You know, like being together," I clarified, and instantly, her face flushed a bright red.
"I-I'm not ready for marriage," she stammered, covering her face with the book in her hand.
Knowing Liz harbored a little crush on Art, I enjoyed teasing her occasionally for the amusement it brought. "I'm just messing with you, Liz," I reassured, though her pout persisted.
"That's not funny. What if he heard that?" she fretted, revealing a hint of concern. Contemplating Art's reaction, I acknowledged he was the serious and responsible one among our trio, leaving me curious about how he would perceive such playful banter.
As the specter of introspection wanders through the corridors of my consciousness, a curious notion takes root—could it be that I harbor affection for Art? Ah, though the age of my soul may tally forty-five, the whimsy of reincarnation grants me passage beyond the confines of mortal reckoning. Thus, in this realm of rebirth, the arithmetic of affection knows no bounds, and the heart's compass guides me fearlessly towards the object of my burgeoning love.
My gaze fixated on the approaching figure of Art, his full name, Artorian Goldenheart, resonating with a sense of mystique. A wielder of barrier magic, an irregular element in our world, he ascended the hill with purpose, his presence carrying an air of otherworldly enchantment.
His gaze shifted towards Liz, a question lingering in his eyes as he inquired, "What's up with her?" A synchronized response of "Nothing" escaped both Liz and me, concealing the unspoken complexities. With a resigned sigh, he acquiesced, scratching the back of his head. "Very well," he conceded, his tone a blend of curiosity and understanding. As we readied ourselves, Liz securing her book in a satchel at her hip, we embarked on our journey to the adventure guild in the east side of our quaint village. The promise of adventure beckoned, woven into the very fabric of our destinies.
We entered the guild I headed to the adventure board while Liz bought some blood viles they can be use as to calm her hunger and heal her wounds, while Art headed to the blacksmith.
My eyes scanned the mission board, revealing the realm of possibilities marked by the C-rank assignments. From herb gathering to confronting creatures of equal rank, the path to adventure unfolded before us like a tapestry waiting to be woven with each herb plucked and every monster faced.
...
Name: Rosalind Thronevale
Role: swordwoman/mage
Adventure rank: C
Name: Artorian Goldenheart
Role: swordman
Adventure rank: C
Name: Elizabeth Lancaster
Role: mage
Adventure rank: C
.....
Art approached, his inquiry hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge. With a smirk, I pointed confidently at a quest, proclaiming, "Yes, that one." However, as he inspected it, his response was a straightforward "no." A surge of frustration brewed within me – a suspicion that bastard dismissed it without a proper consideration. "Art, did you even look at it?" I questioned, my gaze a silent accusation.
"Yes, I did," he asserted.
"Doesn't seem like it," I retorted, casting my eyes away, a playful tension lingering between us.
Liz joined our discussion, inquiring about the chosen quest. Art swiftly tore a quest paper from the board, revealing a task to gather Moonleaf Blossom. Confusion crept in as I questioned whether we should wait until night, considering the name. Art shook his head, dispelling the misconception. He explained that, contrary to its name, the herb could be collected during the day, dispelling the enigmatic aura surrounding Moonleaf Blossom.
Our journey led us to the forest, the quest to gather Moonleaf Blossoms unfolding beneath the dappled sunlight. As the first hour elapsed, our collective efforts yielded 15 herbs, cradled in a basket. On my knees, scouring the tall grass, beads of sweat dotted my forehead. Liz's voice cut through, excitement evident as she added two more to our bounty. I unearthed one, while Art, ever vigilant, discovered three more. Our combined tally stood at 21, the forest echoing with the promise of more discoveries.
As the second hour unfolded, our collective efforts intensified, culminating in the gathering of 36 Moonleaf Blossoms. The elusive goal of 40 now loomed within reach. In a mere 20 minutes, the remaining four blossoms found their place in our basket, completing the quest. I gazed upon the trees, the wind gracefully caressing the leaves, enveloping the forest in a serene stillness, a testament to the tranquility that followed our victorious endeavor.
The serene silence shattered by an unknown person's scream, Art sprang into action, leaping to his feet with the great sword unhooked from his back. "Art, wait up?!" Liz and I hurriedly followed, but the swift pace he set soon rendered him invisible in the dense surroundings, leaving us with nothing but the echo of his determined footsteps.
Artorian
I sprint through the forest led me to the desperate pleas of a child on the north side. A wolf girl, fiercely resisting, kicked and screamed, her freedom being traded for slavery. Amidst her cries for parents who had already betrayed her, I observed from the bushes, sword in hand.
"Let me go, please, mister!" Her desperate plea pierced the air, met with a cruel retort as one of the men silenced her with a slap. The fury within me intensified, and I leaped from the bushes, slashing off the man's chest. A strange bloodlust consumed me, reminiscent of the cravings ignited during my clash with the knight.