CLAIRE Boyce, a seasoned soldier and Vice-Commandant, paced the Luyas castle gates with restless determination. The raw worry etched on her Commanding Officer’s face, a sight she’d never witnessed before, only fueled her resolve.
Luna, the Luyas Heiress, recounted the horrific Spirit attack on Andania – the devastation, the screams, the blood. Orders were swiftly given, but hours bled into dusk with no sign of the reinforcements or the Commandant.
Claire surveyed the approaching darkness from the guard tower, a gnawing hopelessness settling in her gut. Andania was a mere thirty-minute walk away. Why hadn’t they returned yet? No carrier pigeon messages offered solace either. Had they all perished?
A figure, cloaked in dust and despair, dragged himself towards the castle. Grants Rogue, the sole survivor amidst the wreckage of his Units and the reinforcements, was a grim testament to the carnage he’d witnessed. Blood stained his uniform, a stark reminder of the brutality.
Flashbacks assaulted him: the devastated town, the brutalized bodies of his comrades, the stench of blood and death clinging to the air. Grants, a veteran of countless battles, had never previously grappled with the weight of life and death. He’d faced nightmarish foes, fueled by strategy and unwavering determination. Sacrifice was a given, a knight’s duty to his kingdom and people.
But this battle was different. The perpetrator of this massacre – a vicious Spirit – was someone he knew, someone he’d watched grow up over the past seven years. The kind-hearted young Knight he’d mentored was replaced by a monster. Torn by this betrayal, Grants stopped before the castle gates.
The arrival of the White Wolf Clan added another layer of mystery. A tall, regal woman clad in Eastern attire, surrounded by figures cloaked in white wolf pelts and marked with a white wolf tattoo, approached the Commandant. She introduced herself as the Mistress of the White Wolf Clan, claiming they were there to retrieve their “Lord” and the young Spirit.
The Commandant’s surprise was evident. The White Wolf Clan was notoriously secretive, rarely venturing into the public eye, especially in such a large group. Grants himself had only encountered their former leader once during his trainee days.
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AN urgent conference for the World Leaders of Fulaina was underway in the North region, specifically at the House of Eden. This prestigious location, nestled within the City of Eden, was a neutral ground for political discussions. The esteemed Master Oracle, the highest-ranking official of the House, played host.
Master Oracle Fye, a mere fifteen, was also the youngest King of his kingdom, The Kingdom of The Rose, to hold this prestigious title. Despite his age, he wielded a fantastic grace as a young King and ultimate power within the House of Eden and his kingdom. His calm demeanor masked a wellspring of wisdom, rumoured to be infused with prophetic abilities.
Five World Leaders sat around a long rectangular table within a sealed, soundproof chamber. Bodyguards stood vigilantly by their sides. Lord Andania, the leader of Andania Town, bore the physical and emotional scars of the recent Spirit attack. His frail form and dark circles bespoke sleepless nights spent grappling with the tragedy.
Seated beside him, Lord Ranfel Heartlets, the fiery leader of the neighbouring Kingdom of Heartlets, bristled with barely concealed anger. Across from them, King Lewis XIII, a fearsome figure with long, white-grey hair kept in a ponytail. His imposing presence belied that his kingdom, renowned for its bustling markets, was the World’s leading Trade Centre.
Completing the circle was Lord Eden Bowyn X, the enigmatic host. His tall frame was draped in a luxurious Eastern hanfu – dark purple adorned with tiny gold flower patterns – matched with his signature accessory – a pale full-face silver mask that concealed everything but small holes for his eyes and mouth.
The mysterious mask fueled endless speculation about his actual appearance. Some whispered of a hideous scar, others of angelic beauty. Regardless, the mask remained a source of frustration for the ladies of Eden, who yearned to unveil the mystery beneath.
“Now that everyone is seated, let us begin,” Lord Eden’s deep, husky voice resonated through the chamber. “We have gathered for one purpose. Lord Andania, would you like to elaborate?”
The youngest Lord adjusted his glasses nervously. “Thank you, Lord Eden. As everyone is aware, the horrific Spirit attack on Andania that occurred two months ago, has transformed our lives. We are still coming to terms with the trauma, and rebuilding is proving difficult. Reports from the Kingdom of Luyas stated the remaining Spirits roam the land, further terrorizing the already-frightened populace.”
Lord Ranfel slammed his fist on the table, interrupting. “This is precisely why we need to eliminate all remaining Spirits! We must start with the one responsible for all this chaos!”
“Patience, Lord Ranfel,” Lord Eden interjected. “While I agree that dealing with the remaining Spirits is paramount, a reckless approach is akin to sending our knights to their deaths. They lack the training and experiences necessary to combat these elusive and resilient creatures.”
King Lewis, his voice raspy, said, “Easier said than done, Lord Eden. Surely, there’s a better solution than sending them to their demise!” A pointed look went towards Lord Ranfel.
“Enough!” Master Oracle Fye’s firm and youthful voice cut through the escalating tension. His hazel eyes, radiating an unsettling calm, addressed the room. King Lewis and Lord Ranfel exchanged embarrassed looks, chastised by a child far younger than them yet exuding wisdom beyond his years.
“While I understand the stress this situation presents,” the Master Oracle continued, “As World Leaders, we must approach this thoughtfully and openly. The safety of our people and kingdoms rests on our decisions.”
Lord Eden cleared his throat. “Agreeing with the Master Oracle, let us return to the matter at hand. Lord Ranfel, we are all aware that the perpetrator of the Andanian massacre was your adopted daughter, is she not?”
Lord Ranfel sneered. “Was. She used to be my adopted daughter. Had I known things would turn out this way, I would have…” He trailed off, his anger simmering.
“What actions have you taken regarding her?” Lord Eden pressed.
“None! All because the insufferable White Wolf Clan has taken her into their custody! Those meddling bastards!”
The mention of the White Wolf Clan sent a tremor through the room. King Lewis’s face contorted in a mixture of fear and trepidation.
“The White Wolf Clan’s involvement complicates matters significantly,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Their presence after all these years… it can’t be a coincidence.”
“Indeed,” Lord Eden agreed. “Their motives and their sudden reappearance after such a long absence warrant further investigation. Who knows who brought the Spirits here in the first place?”
The discussion continued for several more hours before, finally, they all reached a mutual agreement.
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THE pale moonlight filtering through the rice paper windows cast an ethereal glow on the spacious chamber. The air hung heavy with the scent of lilies and a faint undercurrent of anxiety. Suzumi knelt beside the bed, her brow furrowed in concern as she gently pressed a cool, damp cloth to Mika’s forehead.
Mika, a fragile wisp of a young woman, lay unconscious on the silken sheets. Her once vibrant emerald eyes were tightly shut, her face pale and drawn. The events in Andania, the brutal awakening of her Spirit nature, all seemed to have taken a terrible toll.
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“There’s nothing more I can do for her now,” Suzumi murmured, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s all up to her. The shock of transforming… it must have been overwhelming.”
A sigh escaped her lips, laced with worry and a touch of helplessness. The sliding door swished open, and Shinji entered, his broad shoulders slumped with fatigue. The dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of countless sleepless nights at Mika’s bedside.
“Still no change?” he asked, his voice hoarse with concern.
Suzumi shook her head, a flicker of sadness crossing her features. “Not yet. But there was a faint cough earlier. Maybe… maybe it’s a sign.”
Shinji sank into the chair beside the bed, his gaze fixed on Mika’s still form. The weight of responsibility weighed heavily on him. A warrior accustomed to battles and bloodshed, he found himself utterly helpless in the face of this silent struggle.
A sudden tremor shook Mika’s body. Her eyelids fluttered open, revealing a glimpse of emerald green clouded with confusion. A guttural moan escaped her lips, followed by a string of words in an unfamiliar tongue.
Shinji’s eyes widened. He scrambled to his feet, a surge of hope battling with trepidation in his chest. “Mika?” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion.
Mika’s gaze darted around the room, finally landing on him. Recognition flickered briefly, then vanished, replaced by a look of raw terror. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her breath hitched in her throat.
Shinji’s panic surged. He lunged for the sliding door, throwing it open with a bang. “Suzumi! We need the doctor now!” he bellowed, his voice laced with urgency.
A commotion erupted in the hallway as servants hurried to obey. At that moment, all Shinji could do was stand vigil at Mika’s bedside, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs, praying that whatever darkness had claimed her would soon release its hold.
Suzumi’s gentle voice, laced with concern, washed over Mika as she recounted the events in Andania. Each word resonated like a hammer blow, a stark reminder of Mika’s unleashed chaos. Yet Mika sat there, a statue carved from alabaster. Her gaze remained fixed on a point beyond the window, devoid of the expected tears or even a flicker of emotion.
“Thank you,” Mika finally whispered, her voice barely a breath. The words felt hollow, a poor substitute for the torrent of emotions she couldn’t express. Inside, a storm raged. Shame, fear, and guilt gnawed at her like ravenous beasts.
Had she truly lost control? A flicker of doubt sparked amidst the churning emotions. But then, the memory of raw power coursing through her veins, the screams echoing in her ears, pushed the doubt back. Her hands, once nimble and robust, were stained with the blood of innocents.
Suzumi watched Mika with a growing sense of unease. Like the stillness before a storm, the young Spirit’s calmness felt unnatural. A worried crease formed between Suzumi’s brows, but she decided to wait for a better moment to address it.
“We can talk more later,” Suzumi said gently, reaching out to touch Mika’s shoulder. The touch went unnoticed.
As soon as the door closed behind the siblings, the dam holding back Mika’s emotions burst. With a heavy thump, she crumpled to the floor, her shoulders wracked with silent sobs. Muffled screams tore through the luxurious chamber, starkly contrasting the pristine surroundings. The weight of her actions, a crushing burden, pressed down on her. She, a protector, had become the very thing she swore to fight against – a monster. Tears streamed down her face, hot and stinging, as she grappled with the horrifying truth.
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SHINJI pushed open the sliding door, the metallic scrape echoing in the oppressive silence. Inside, Mika sat on the edge of the bed, a skeletal figure dwarfed by an oversized silk robe.
Her vibrant emerald eyes, once brimming with life, were now hollowed pits reflecting a soul drowning in despair. Each shallow breath seemed a herculean effort, starkly contrasting to the spirited young Knight Shinji vaguely remembered.
He set the silver tray down with a clatter, a muted symphony amidst the silence. Shame gnawed at him – the porcelain bowls filled with a healthy meal felt like a mockery of her current state. He’d taken it upon himself to personally cook this, a desperate attempt to appease his sister’s orders and maybe, just maybe, coax some life back into this broken creature.
“Eat,” he said gruffly, the word a foreign sound in the heavy air.
Mika didn’t even flinch. Her gaze remained fixed on some unseen point beyond the window, a haunting reminder of the carefree Spirit who once soared freely through the skies. In her mind, flashes of Andania played out – blinding light, screams ripped from innocent throats, and a terrifying surge of power morphing into a monstrous entity. Had she truly lost control? Or was there something more sinister at play?
The memory fueled a flicker of anger, a brief spark in her otherwise vacant eyes. She whipped her head towards Shinji, the emerald orbs meeting his violet ones in a silent clash.
Shinji’s jaw clenched. Frustration bubbled within him. He wasn’t cut out for this – the gentle prodding, the endless patience. But Suzumi’s stern words echoed in his mind – she must regain her strength before anything else.
With a sigh, Shinji placed the tray on a small coffee table beside the bed before letting himself sit on the floor with his legs crossed. One hand halfway reaching for his cigarette inside his pocket sleeves when Shinji hesitated. Smoke wouldn’t do him any good, and it certainly wouldn’t help Mika.
Damn it! Groaned, the man brushed his hair back.
“Look, Mika, I know this is hard. But you need to eat. You’re weak, and you won’t get better like this.” He forced his tone to be gentler than usual.
Silence. Then, a flicker of something in Mika’s eyes – a flicker of defiance, a hint of a fight. Maybe, just maybe, there was a spark there, a will to survive buried beneath the despair.
Shinji seized the opportunity. Skipping the spoon altogether, he tore a small piece of porridge and brought it close to Mika’s lips. “Come on,” he coaxed, “open your mouth.”
A long, tense moment hung in the air. Mika made no indication of moving a muscle. The slight movement she’d done so far was blinking and the occasional cough that wracked her thin frame.
Shinji scratched the back of his head at a loss. His patience was wearing thin, but he knew losing his temper wouldn’t help. Clearing his throat again, he tried a different approach.
Reaching into his robe, Shinji retrieved a small, wrapped sweet bun – a leftover from the Clan Meetings he’d attended earlier. Tearing the bun in half, he placed the other half back inside the wrap before holding the first half out to Mika.
“This,” he said, his voice softer, “is a sweet bun. You used to love these.”
Beautiful emerald eyes, dull with despair, flickered towards the offering. For a moment, recognition seemed to war with suspicion in their depths. Then, with surprising speed, Mika slapped the bun out of Shinji’s hand. The clatter echoed in the room, a punctuation mark to the silent battle of wills.
Swearing under his breath, Shinji kept his voice low and firm. “Open your mouth, Mika. I’m feeding you.”
Mika ignored him again.
Inhaling deeply, Shinji counted silently to ten. When he reached five, he decided a new tactic was needed. He had responsibilities, obligations that wouldn’t disappear simply because Mika was withdrawing into herself. But he couldn’t leave her like this either.
“Open your goddamn mouth, Mika,” he growled, his frustration finally bubbling over. “Either you finish this meal yourself OR I will force-feed you. Believe me when I say I will if that’s what it takes to keep you alive!”
The sound of the metal spoon hitting the ground startled them both. Shinji’s eyes widened as Mika, fueled by a sudden surge of defiance, glared sharply at him. The emerald eyes, though dull, held a spark of their former fire.
For a moment, Shinji thought Mika would hit him in the face. The anger mirrored the monstrous Spirit he’d encountered in Andania. But just as quickly, the fire faded, and Mika returned to her previous state, staring listlessly into the air.
Shinji, his anger replaced by a weary resignation, decided on a different approach. He wasn’t proud of resorting to it, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Reaching into his robe again, he retrieved a small vial filled with a clear liquid.
“This is a potion,” he explained, his voice devoid of its earlier harshness. “It will give you strength, help you regain your appetite.”
Mika’s gaze flickered towards the vial, a flicker of wariness replacing the emptiness. Shinji uncorked the vial, a faint sweet scent filling the air.
“It won’t hurt you,” he assured her, his voice gentle. “Suzumi prepared it herself.”
Hesitantly, Mika reached out a hand, her fingers trembling slightly. Shinji placed the vial in her palm, his touch sending a jolt through him – the first time she’d acknowledged his presence in days.
She uncorked the vial with trembling fingers, the scent growing stronger. A single tear rolled down her cheek, tracing a glistening path through the dust clinging to her pale skin.
“Why… Why are you helping me?” Mika whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse.
Shinji looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “Because we need you,” he muttered gruffly. “I… Need you.”
Mika stared at the vial in her hand, the liquid shimmering like a captured teardrop. In that moment, a silent battle raged within her. Despair threatened to consume her, yet a tiny ember of hope flickered to life. The memory of Shinji’s words, laced with a hint of desperation, echoed in her mind.
With a shaky breath, Mika raised the vial to her lips and took a tentative sip. The sweet liquid spread through her, sending a warmth tingling down her throat and into her limbs. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
A small, almost imperceptible nod was her only response. But for Shinji, it was a victory. A flicker of the determined Mika he once knew, seemed to peek through the veil of despair.
Shinji reached out, his touch hesitant, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. The gesture was awkward, born out of years of unspoken affection rather than practiced comfort. Yet, to his surprise, Mika didn’t flinch away.
“We’ll get through this together,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “One step at a time.”
Mika closed her eyes, the potion’s warmth coursing through her. The road to healing would be long and arduous, but for the first time since the events of Andania, a sliver of hope pierced through the darkness. Perhaps, just perhaps, redemption was not beyond her grasp.