The dim, flickering lights of the shelter cast long shadows on the rough stone walls as Estelle trudged back to her quarters. The mission had been grueling, a whirlwind of chaos and violence. And although her body screamed for rest, her mind refused to quiet. Adrenaline still coursed through her veins, making her restless despite the exhaustion weighing down her limbs.
Dante, who had been walking silently beside her, finally broke the tension with a quiet observation. "You seem on edge, Lily," he said, his voice low and steady, though there was an undercurrent of concern. "Is something bothering you?"
Estelle glanced at him, her thoughts a tangled mess. She had been thrown into this mission with no time to adjust, no moment to catch her breath or gather her thoughts. Back in her world, even in the heat of battle, there was always a semblance of order—time to plan, to strategize, to recuperate between engagements. But here, everything was relentless, a continuous, unyielding push forward.
“I’m fine,” she replied, though the edge in her voice betrayed her. “Just… not used to this pace.”
Dante gave her a sidelong glance but didn’t press further. “You handled yourself well out there,” he said, as if trying to offer some reassurance. “It’s not always this intense, but… things are different now.”
Different. The word echoed in Estelle’s mind, a bitter reminder of how out of place she felt in this world. Even when she was reckless in her own world, there was a structure she could rely on—a team she trusted, a leader she knew. But here, she was a stranger, not only to her surroundings but also to the people she should have known better than anyone.
As they continued walking, Estelle’s frustration grew, knotting tighter in her chest with each step. This place is so foreign to her, yet the faces, the names—they were all painfully familiar. It was as if she were living in a twisted reflection of her own life, where everything was just slightly off-kilter. She had always been one to rush into conflict, to act first and think later, but here, that impulsiveness felt like a liability.
In her own world, she had always been in control, even in the midst of chaos. But here? Here, she was at the mercy of a reality she didn’t understand. And that terrified her more than she was willing to admit.
She clenched her fists, trying to steady herself. She couldn’t afford to show weakness, not now. Not when so much depended on her fitting in, on convincing everyone—especially her siblings—that she was someone they could trust. But the truth was, she didn’t trust herself. Not in this world. Not with the life she never lived.
Just as they reached the corridor leading to her quarters, a sharp, piercing pain shot through Estelle’s head, causing her to stagger. She gripped the wall for support, the world around her spinning as the headache intensified. It was like the one she had experienced, just before she found herself in this world, but more urgent.
Images flashed before her eyes—disjointed, fragmented memories that weren’t hers but felt achingly familiar. She saw the orphanage, crumbling in flames, the kids’ faces twisted in fear and pain. She felt desperation, a determination to save them, no matter the cost. The scenes shifted, showing the aftermath, her weakening body as she tried to heal Finn’s wounds, only to realize her power couldn’t save herself.
Estelle gasped, the pain subsiding as quickly as it had come, leaving her breathless and disoriented. She blinked, trying to steady her vision, only to realize that Dante was staring at her with concern.
“Lily? What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice sharp with worry.
Before she could answer, the shelter’s alarms blared to life, a shrill, jarring sound that echoed off the stone walls. The sudden noise sent a jolt of adrenaline through her, momentarily pushing aside the lingering pain.
Dante’s expression hardened, his eyes narrowing. “An attack? That’s… impossible,” he muttered, “We’ve just returned. It’s too soon. Something’s not right.”
There was no time to question it. The shelter was under siege, and the urgency in Dante’s voice snapped Estelle back to the present. She pushed off the wall, her muscles coiled and ready for the fight ahead. Her earlier frustration now channeling into fierce determination.
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Estelle's heart raced as she grabbed her sword, her body moving on instinct. But as they reached the main corridor, it quickly became clear that this wasn’t a raid by soldiers—it was something far more primal. The walls shook with the force of monstrous roars, and the ground trembled beneath their feet. The monsters had found them.
“Monsters!” Dante shouted over the noise, his tension shifting from the fear of betrayal to the immediate danger at hand. “They must have followed us back from the mission.”
Estelle's grip tightened around the hilt of her sword, her muscles tensed and ready for battle. This was a different kind of fight, one that required brute strength and relentless determination.
As the first wave of creatures surged toward them, Dante stepped forward, his hand igniting with a controlled flicker of orange-red flame. The heat radiated off him, but instead of unleashing a torrent of fire, he kept the flames close, shaping them into precise, concentrated bursts. With a swift motion, he directed a stream of fire toward the nearest monsters. The flames burning through them with surgical precision. The creatures screeched in agony as the fire consumed them, their bodies collapsing into smoldering heaps.
“Keep them back!” Dante shouted, his voice carrying above the chaos. He extended his hand again, sending another focused burst of fire into the oncoming mass. The flames formed a narrow, controlled barrier, scorching the ground in a line that forced the monsters to slow their advance.
Despite the confined space and the danger of using fire underground, Dante's movements were calm and deliberate. His control over the flames ensuring they didn’t spread uncontrollably.
Estelle moved in beside him, her sword flashing in the dim light as she cut down the monsters that slipped through Dante’s fiery barrier. The two fought in tandem, Dante’s flames precise and deadly, while Estelle’s blade struck with lethal accuracy.
Despite the chaos around her, she felt a sense of purpose—a clarity that had been missing since she arrived in this world.
“These things shouldn’t have gotten this close,” Dante muttered as he incinerated another monster with a sharp wave of his hand. “They must’ve been drawn by the Essence we used during the mission.”
Estelle nodded, focusing on the fight. The heat from Dante’s flames was intense but controlled, allowing her to move with practiced ease, cutting through the monsters as they surged forward.
The battle was fierce, but there was a clarity to it that steadied her—this was a threat she understood, one she could face head-on without the complicated layers of deceit or mistrust.
The monsters kept coming, relentless in their assault, but the resistance fighters held their ground. Though outnumbered, their unity and skill gave them the upper hand.
Estelle fought alongside Dante, the sharpness of her sword and the precision of his flames working together to create a deadly defense. There was something almost comforting in the rhythm of the battle—the familiar weight of her sword in her hands, the sound of steel meeting flesh, and the controlled, scorching fire that kept the monsters at bay.
Finally, the last of the monsters fell, and the shelter was once again enveloped in an uneasy silence. The air was thick with the stench of blood and burnt flesh, the bodies of the fallen creatures littering the ground.
Estelle stood panting, her sword dripping with dark, viscous blood, her heart still pounding from the intensity of the fight.
Dante extinguished the flames, the fire dissipating into embers as he surveyed the aftermath. “At least it wasn’t those bastards,” he said, his voice rough from exertion. “Monsters are easier to deal with than traitors.”
Estelle nodded, understanding the underlying relief in his words. The threat of monsters was brutal, but it was straightforward—a clear danger that could be confronted and defeated. The idea of the regime discovering their location, or worse, someone within betraying them, was a more insidious threat, one that lingered long after the battle was over.
As the other resistance members began the grim task of clearing the bodies and tending to the wounded, Estelle couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in her chest. The attack, though intense, felt almost too timely, too coincidental. The headache she had experienced before it all began still lingered at the edge of her mind, a dull throb that wouldn’t go away.
The next morning, the shelter was eerily quiet, the usual bustle subdued as members recovered from the previous night’s attack. Estelle wandered through the corridors with Finn and Mira by her side.
Finn, ever outgoing, chatted easily with the other members, his energy a sharp contrast to the somber mood. He greeted everyone with a grin, lifting spirits with his light-hearted banter, though it was met with weary smiles and nods.
Mira, in contrast, stayed close to Estelle, her interactions more reserved but still warmly received. Despite her shyness, her gentle presence was comforting to those around her.
The day passed in deceptive calm, a stark contrast to the previous night’s violence. Estelle used the time to observe and learn, helping where she could while keeping her interactions brief.
The others were polite but distant, their initial curiosity fading into cautious acceptance as they watched her with guarded eyes, waiting for her to prove herself—or to slip up.