Two Years Ago:
The southern edge of Barol City sprawled lazy and green under a late summer sun, a rare pocket of quiet amid the port's relentless churn.
There, perched like a solemn sentinel, stood a cathedral-like building. Stone walls weathered but proud, arched windows glinting with stained glass.
Around it stretched a sea of grass and gardens, vibrant with wildflowers and the hum of bees. A sandy patch doubled as a makeshift park, where a gaggle of kids shrieked and chased each other, their laughter cutting through the warm air.
This was an Orphanage, a childcare haven that didn't give a damn about bloodlines or sob stories. Orphans, abandoned brats, terminally ills, all were welcome.
Even the city's downtrodden found a lifeline here, sweeping floors or tending plants for a few honest coins.
"Everyone! Lunchtime!" A maid's voice rang out, sharp but warm, from the edge of the sandy park. The kids froze mid-game, faces lighting up like they'd just won a prize.
With a stampede of tiny feet, they bolted toward her, a chaotic swarm of giggles and dirt-streaked grins. She ushered them inside, her broom propped against her hip like a scepter.
Nearby, two men hacked at overgrown bushes in the garden, their light summer clothes clinging with sweat.
Middle-aged, dark-brown hair streaked with dust; they moved with the easy rhythm of brothers who'd seen worse days.
The younger one, Jake, wiped his brow with a grimy sleeve and flashed a crooked smile. "Who'd have thought, huh, Logan? Us, here, doing some good for once. Earning real money instead of scraping by."
Logan, older by a handful of years, snipped a rogue branch with a grunt, unimpressed. "Clipping plants is 'doing good' now?
Shit, Jake, if that's the bar, Ms. Ayre's a goddamn goddess running this place." His tone was dry as the cracked soil underfoot, but a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes.
Jake rolled his eyes, tossing a clipped stem into the pile. "That's not what I meant, asshole. Just… hell, I'm glad we got the chance, alright? Beats starving in some alley."
"Fair enough," Logan conceded, wiping his hands on his pants. "Speaking of starving, I'm hungry as hell. Cafeteria's calling."
He jerked his head toward the building, and Jake nodded, falling into step as they trudged toward the main doors.
Just outside, two maids lingered by the entrance, their brooms idle as they traded gossip in hushed tones.
The younger one, her apron streaked with flour, leaned in. "Lady Ayre's a damn saint, you know? Built this whole place from nothing and Keeps it running, finds homes for the kids, all of it."
The older maid, gray streaking her bun, nodded sagely. "And that apprentice of hers, Robin, handles the paperwork like it's his religion.
Without those two, this place would collapse faster than a drunk sailor's dignity-" Their chatter abruptly paused as a figure approached through the main gate.
Dark hair, a touch too long, spilled over the collar of black-and-blue mage robes that swished with every step.
He strode up, his face breaking into an easy smile as the maids spotted him. "Robin! You're here?" the younger one called, surprise lifting her voice.
"Aren't you off today?" the older one added, squinting like she was sizing him up.
He stopped near them, hands clasped behind his back, that smile still holding. "Yeah, it's my day off, but you know Lady Ayre.
She's barricaded in her office again, probably hasn't seen sunlight since dawn. Figured I'd check on her, see if she needs anything."
The maids exchanged a knowing glance. "Make sure she's eaten," the older one said, her tone somewhere between a plea and an order. Robin gave a quick nod and headed inside, his robes trailing like a shadow.
The older maid sighed, watching him disappear through the door. "Think he'll ever grow a spine and confess to her?"
"Confess what?" the younger one asked, blinking.
"His feelings, you dimwit," she snapped, swatting the air. "Kid's been mooning over Ayre since he started here. Plain as day."
The younger maid smirked, leaning on her broom. "Good luck to him, then. Getting her head out of magecraft long enough for romance? He'd have better odds charming a thunderstorm."
"Maybe," the older one mused, a faint smile tugging her lips. "But I've got a hunch something's brewing between them.
Call it a gut feeling." They shrugged in unison, and turned back to their chores; sweeping, tidying, keeping the orphanage's heartbeat steady.
Inside, the air smelled of bread and faint lavender, a calm hum settling over the halls. The kids' chatter echoed from the cafeteria, a distant chorus of life.
Robin rapped his knuckles against the office door, three sharp knocks echoing in the quiet hall. No answer. He waited a beat, then another, before easing the door open with a faint creak.
There she was. Ayre, slumped over her desk, long pinkish-white hair fanned out like a spilled halo across the scattered papers.
Her head rested on her arms, face soft in sleep, bathed in the golden slant of sunlight pouring through the window.
Across the room, a tray of food sat untouched, steam long gone from the plate. Robin sighed, a mix of exasperation and something softer tugging at his chest and stepped inside.
He crossed the room with quiet steps, the floorboards groaning faintly under his boots. Up close, Ayre looked smaller than her larger-than-life presence usually suggested.
Petite, almost fragile, her skin glowing under the sun's rays. He hesitated, then slid his hands gently under her shoulders, lifting her head with care.
She didn't stir as he scooped her up, cradling her against his chest. Shorter than him by a good few inches, she felt light, her white dress pooling around her like liquid light.
He carried her to the worn sofa against the wall and eased her down, settling beside her. Her head found his lap like it belonged there, and he let her sleep, one hand resting idly near her hair.
Staring down at his free hand, he clenched it into a fist, willing something; anything, to happen. A spark, a flicker of mana, a sign he wasn't useless. Nothing.
The air stayed still; his palm empty. He exhaled hard through his nose, frustration simmering low. "I still can't do it," he muttered under his breath, gaze drifting to Ayre's peaceful face.
'How long am I going to keep letting her down?' The thought gnawed at him, his jaw tightening, teeth grinding faintly as a scowl crept in.
Then, warmth; soft and sudden, wrapped around his fist. He blinked, startled, as Ayre's slender fingers curled over his, her touch gentle but firm.
Her bright red eyes fluttered open, locking onto his dim violet ones with a knowing glint. "It's okay," she said, voice husky from sleep but warm as ever, a smile tugging at her lips. "You haven't disappointed me once."
Robin's face flattened into a deadpan stare. "Were you just pretending to sleep?" he asked, tone dry as dust.
She chuckled, a low, melodic sound, and stretched like a cat, sitting up beside him with a lazy grace. "Yup. Woke up the second you hauled me off that chair."
Her smile widened, bright and unapologetic, and a flush crept up his neck. He turned his head sharply, pretending the wall was suddenly fascinating.
Ayre bounced off the sofa with a burst of energy, striding to the desk and hopping onto its edge, her white dress furling around her shins.
"So, dear apprentice," she teased, kicking her legs lightly, "did you come for something specific, or was this just an excuse to give me a lap pillow?"
He cleared his throat, fighting the heat in his face. "Knew you wouldn't eat unless someone dragged you to it. So, here I am."
Her eyes widened, a mock gasp escaping her. "Oh, right! I forgot!" She spun toward the cold tray, snapping her fingers with a flourish.
The metal base glowed faintly, reheating the food in seconds. She grabbed a spoon and dug in, then paused, glancing at him. "Want some?"
"Already ate," he said, waving her off. She shrugged and attacked the meal with gusto, oblivious to the way he watched her, half-amused, half-resigned.
A memory jolted him. "Oh! The family picking up Jane today. They're running late, probably won't be here 'til evening."
"No big deal," Ayre said between bites, waving her spoon. "I was just finishing her paperwork anyway."
"Isn't that my job?" he asked, brow arching.
She grinned, unrepentant. "You're off today, and I was bored."
"You could've rested," he shot back, voice flat.
"Resting's boring," she countered, smirking. "Besides, I knew you were coming. Didn't expect the lap pillow, though."
Her wink sent another flush through him, and he masked it with a weak smile, settling back to watch her polish off the plate.
Evening crept in, painting the sky orange beyond the orphanage's windows. A couple arrived at the gate; husband and wife, faces lined with quiet hope.
They were unable to have kids of their own so, they'd come for Jane, a seven-year-old fireball who'd wormed her way into everyone's heart, especially Robin's.
She'd clung to him like a shadow since she arrived, all boundless energy and gap-toothed grins. Now, as the couple signed the final papers with Ayre, Jane stood by Robin near the door, her small hand gripping his sleeve.
"You'll visit, right?" she asked, voice trembling just a little, big eyes searching his.
"Every chance I get," he promised, crouching to her level. "And you can come back here whenever you want.
This place doesn't forget its own." She nodded, managing a shaky smile, reassured but still clinging to the edge of tears.
The goodbye with the other kids was rougher; hugs and sniffles, a chorus of "we'll miss you" echoing through the hall.
Jane's new parents watched with soft smiles, understanding the ache of leaving a place so full of life.
Ayre stood nearby, her usual cheer tempered with a rare stillness, while the maids wiped their eyes discreetly.
Even Logan and Jake, lingering by the garden gate, offered gruff waves, their usual banter silenced by the moment.
Jane's little family walked off into the dusk, her hand tucked into her new mother's, turning back once to wave at Robin.
He raised a hand in return, chest tight. This place; Ayre's haven, built from grit and magic; was home to so many, a sanctuary of second chances.
Leaving it hurt, but the prospect of a 'real' family was a different beast, a pull stronger than stone walls or kind faces.
As the trio faded into Barol's streets, the orphanage settled back into its rhythm, a little emptier, a little quieter, but still standing tall.
Several days had slipped by since Jane's departure. Ayre had been busy doing some things on her own. And Robin was quite worried since she almost, always shared everything to him.
He had attributed that to one of her incomplete researches. Still, seeing her somewhat out of her stupor, he was worried these past days.
'It was right after Jane was adopted, wasn't it?' He thought, as he lay sprawled in his modest home at Barol City's heart, tangled in his blanket.
Early morning light barely crept through the shutters; the world still hushed; until a frantic pounding shattered the silence.
"Robin! Robin!" a woman's voice screamed, raw and desperate, rattling the door on its hinges. He jolted awake, groggy violet eyes blinking against the haze of sleep.
Stumbling to his feet, he lurched toward the noise, fumbling the latch open with clumsy hands.
The door swung wide, revealing one of the orphanage maids; her face a mask of distress, eyes brimming with tears.
"It's… Ms. Ayre, she's- they-" Her words choked off, but the terror in her gaze said enough. Robin's stomach dropped, a cold dread clawing up his spine.
He didn't wait for more. Barefoot, still in his rumpled sleep clothes, he bolted past her, legs pumping despite the exhaustion dragging at him.
His mind raced faster than his body, screaming possibilities he refused to name.
The orphanage loomed ahead, a nightmare carved in smoke and ruin. The upper floors blazed, flames licking through shattered windows, spitting embers into the dawn sky.
The gardens were a trampled mess, the air, filled with ash and the wails of children huddled outside.
Maids shepherded them, faces streaked with soot and tears, while a handful of mages hurled water spells at the inferno, their efforts feeble against the roaring fire.
Robin scanned the crowd, heart hammering, praying to spot Ayre's pinkish-white hair among the mages.
Nothing.
His breath hitched, and without a second thought, he plunged into the burning building.
"Robin! Stop you idiot-" someone shouted; maybe a maid, maybe a mage, but the words dissolved in the crackle of flames.
He didn't care.
The hallway to her office was a tunnel of hell, walls ablaze, heat searing his skin. He barreled through, flames catching his sleeves, scorching his hands and face.
Pain flared, but he gritted his teeth and slammed his shoulder into her door, kicking it open with a splintering crash.
The sight stopped him cold. Ayre, the vibrant, unshakable Ayre, was gone. Her body hung, pinned to the wall, a grotesque marionette of broken flesh.
Arms and legs twisted at unnatural angles, bones jutting through torn skin, her torso a mangled ruin of ripped organs.
Metallic spikes pierced her through; chest, stomach, throat; cruel and relentless, blood pooling dark beneath her.
She'd been butchered, savaged beyond recognition. Robin's knees buckled, breath catching in his throat.
In the corner, two figures slumped; Logan and Jake. Logan cradled his brother's limp form, Jake's lifeless eyes staring at nothing, blood staining his shirt.
Logan twitched faintly, still alive. Robin staggered over, dropping to his knees beside him. "Logan!, what happened- No! Just wait, I'll take you out of here."
He kneeled down trying to move him. He wanted to ask; question what he had seen, but he needed to at the least, save him first, he needed Logan alive.
Logan's head lolled, his voice a dying whisper. "They… they killed her… we couldn't stop- sorry…" His eyes fluttered shut, breath fading, and he went still.
The room spun, the fire's roar deafening in Robin's ears. Grief and rage clawed at him, but his body gave out; darkness swallowing him as he collapsed beside them.
At Present:
Raven stumbled back on the rooftop, his shadowy veil flickering, a deep gash splitting his chest. Blood seeped through the dark fabric, the pain yanking that memory to the surface.
Ayre's broken body, Logan's last words, the orphanage in flames. He clicked his tongue, a sharp "tsk!" escaping as the shadowy blade in his grip dissolved into nothing.
The silver-haired woman before him, Ime Silva, stood poised, her thin longsword now reversed in her hand, its edge gleaming with his blood.
This was his first real fight against someone this strong, and it stung like hell.
The wound pulsed, but he forced it shut, the veil stitching over it like a second skin. Suddenly, a cacophony of wings filled the night.
Hundreds of crows swooped down, a black storm swirling around him. With a final glare at Silva, he dispersed into the flock, vanishing into the dark sky without a word, retreating like a ghost.
Silva watched him go, a faint smirk tugging her lips. "Tucker's gonna lose his shit when he hears I let him slip," she muttered, but then shrugged it off.
With a flicker of movement, she vanished from the rooftop.
The Next Day – Loran City:
The guild hall in Loran buzzed with its usual chaos. Millicent strode through it all, her golden aura a faint shimmer around her, though her face stayed a blank slate.
Yesterday's meeting still lingered in her mind; a silent victory stashed away. Tucker had swung hard, dragging up Loran's fissure disaster like a cheap trump card.
Then the dark magic well in the village in Loran's territory. She was wondering why he hadn't brought up about the cultist village but didn't dwell on it too much.
All in all, he'd been hoping to smear her name, but she'd shut it down with cold precision. Going through how effectively she'd tackled all those problems.
Which was supported with accepting nods from other Guild Reps. She then flipped the script on Barol's corruption and that vigilante Raven running circles around Tucker's sorry ass.
The Guild Master's silence after her counterpunch said it all. She'd won, and Tucker knew it. She wasn't gloating, though; just the same steely mask, as she approached her office door.
Something pricked at her senses as she reached for the handle; a faint itch, like the air was holding its breath.
She narrowed her eyes, instincts humming, and eased the door open with a slow push. A glint of steel flashed in her peripheral, cold and sharp, halting an inch from her neck, hovering there, covered in ethereal energy.
"And that's a clean assassination," a voice drawled, dripping with smug satisfaction. "You're getting too comfy, Red."
Millicent didn't flinch, her gaze sliding to Satoru, who suddenly appeared in the room, perched casually on her desk like he owned the place.
His dark, near-opaque sunglasses glinted under the sunlight, that infuriating grin splitting his face. The spear flew towards him, and he twirled it, showing off.
He'd swiped it from her wall display; a relic she kept more for show than use, which he slotted back into its mount with a theatrical flourish.
"Hope you're not cashing in bounties on my head," she said, voice flat as a blade.
Satoru clutched his chest, feigning shock. "A joke? From you? Holy shit, miracles do happen." He dropped the act, smirking wider. "And already regretting it, I bet."
She muttered something under her breath; probably a curse, and stepped inside, shutting the door with a firm thud. "So, why are you here? Don't tell me you've already sniffed out Tucker's dirty laundry."
He hopped off the desk, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. "You underestimate me, Red Junior. I've got the full scoop on our pal Tucker.
Everything worth knowing, anyway. Well, uh, that came out slightly weird. Whatever, let's start with exhibit A." He thrust a hand toward her, palm up, like he was offering a damn handshake.
Millicent stared at it, brow creasing. "What?"
"Child," he said, exasperated, "you're too grown up for a piggyback ride. Just grab it." She sighed, a long-suffering sound, and clasped his hand.
The world lurched; her stomach flipped as reality blinked out, then snapped back. They stood at the mouth of a cave, a jagged maw carved into a forested hill.
The air carried a faint tang of moss and something darker, heavier. Trees loomed thick around them, their branches clawing at a gray sky.
Millicent's eyes darted, taking it in, a flicker of recognition stirring.
"We're a few miles west of Loran," Satoru said.
Millicent's gaze lingered on the cave, "This place… Is it tied to what happened back then?" She asked.
Satoru's grin sharpened, but he said nothing, gesturing for her to follow. They stepped into the cave's throat, the darkness swallowing them whole.
The walls pressed in, black stone slick and claustrophobic, the air growing thick with a strange weight.
Millicent's senses strained; no mana, no life, just an eerie void. Her mind raced, piecing together fragments, but she held her tongue. If what she was thinking was was right, this could explain a lot of things.
The tunnel stretched on, twisting and narrow, until it spat them into a vast chamber. A shaft of pale light speared down from a hole in the ceiling, illuminating a sight that stole her breath.
The cavern glittered, walls and floor studded with pitch-black crystals that drank the light and spat it back in sharp, gleaming edges.
They pulsed with a presence; dense, oppressive, alive with dark magic. Millicent's stoic mask cracked, realization dawning like a punch to the gut. "Black diamond," she breathed. "A vein this size… it's unreal."
Satoru leaned against a crystal outcrop, arms crossed, watching her connect the dots. Black diamond was rare for a reason.
Its core brimmed with dark magic so thick it cloaked itself from detection, a natural shield against even the most experienced sensors.
This was a motherlode, the biggest she'd ever seen; or heard of. Her mind spun back to her mother's warning; elves skulking around Barol.
Now this cave, so close to Loran, tied to the previous events. Tucker's name flickered in her thoughts, a shadow linking it all.
"You're getting it," Satoru said, his tone smug but soft, like he was proud of her. "Elves, Tucker, this shiny little jackpot; cozy little conspiracy, huh?"
Millicent's golden eyes hardened, flicking to him. "Tell me the rest. Everything you've dug up."
He straightened, cracking his knuckles with a grin. "Oh, Red, you're in for a treat. Buckle up. This rabbit hole's deeper than you think."
The cave's oppressive gloom was a memory now, replaced by the familiar confines of Millicent's office in Loran's guild hall.
The air here was warmer, tinged with the faint scent of ink and polished wood, but no less charged.
Satoru lounged in a chair he'd dragged too close to her desk, legs kicked up on a stack of reports, his sunglasses revealing half of his ethereal blue eyes.
He'd just unloaded everything; every dirty secret he'd pried from Barol City's underbelly, every thread tying Shou Tucker to the elves.
The black diamond vein, and the chaos that'd scarred Loran, the well incident, all the things even tying back to that cultist village.
It was a tangled mess of greed, power, and betrayal, laid bare, with his usual flair, like he was recounting a bar fight instead of a conspiracy that could topple nations.
Millicent sat behind her desk, golden aura simmering faintly, her face a fortress of calm. But her mind churned, silent and relentless, sifting through the bombshells Satoru had dropped.
The stakes weren't just high; they were a goddamn cliff edge. Tucker wasn't some petty crook skimming guild funds; he was a cog in something bigger, something that threatened everything she'd fought to protect.
She could act; had to act. This wasn't about protocol anymore; it was about making a statement, carving an example so sharp it'd echo across the continent.
Her fingers drummed once on the desk, a rare crack in her stoicism, then stilled as a plan solidified behind her unreadable eyes.
She leaned forward, elbows resting on the wood, and fixed Satoru with a steady gaze. "Listen," she said, voice low and firm. "I've got something. A way to completely handle this."
Satoru tilted his head, one brow arching above his shades. "Oh? Red's cooking up a scheme? Lay it on me." He dropped his feet to the floor, leaning in like a kid about to hear a ghost story.
She spoke; calmly, methodically, her words weaving a strategy too dangerous to breathe outside this room. The details stayed locked between them; a pact sealed in the quiet.
No grand gestures, just the cold precision of a woman who'd learned to wield power like a blade. When she finished, she sat back, waiting, her expression giving nothing away.
Satoru's grin crept wide, teetering on the edge of unhinged but not quite tipping over. His blue eyes gleamed behind the tinted glass, sharp and wild.
"Girl," he said, voice buzzing with glee, "you're as diabolical as it gets. I'm all in. Let's bring this shitshow down."
He clapped his hands once, the sound sharp in the stillness, then rubbed them together like he was warming up for a brawl. "Tucker's gonna wish he'd stayed a desk jockey."
Millicent allowed herself the faintest smirk, a flicker of satisfaction breaking her mask. "Good. And if plan fails, royally, then there is always an option of doing things the old-fashioned way."
"That's what I would have preferred, but then again, your way screams more fun… Hehehe… Hahahahaha…" He laughed out loud, surprising Millicent a bit.
She then went on about their next immediate course of action. When the discussion wound down, Satoru leaned back, stretching his arms overhead with a groan.
"By the way, where's Marcille? Checked the church, swung by the house; kid's a ghost today."
Millicent glanced at a ledger on her desk, flipping it shut with a soft thud. "She's out on a quest. Took it with her new party. It's a decent crew, they're scrappy but solid. Left this morning."
Satoru shrugged, a lazy roll of his shoulders. "Fair enough. Little healer's tougher than she looks; hell, tougher than most of these grunts."
He tapped the stack of reports under his boots, smirking. "She'll be fine. Probably patching up some idiot who tripped over his own sword by now."
"Likely," Millicent said, a dry edge to her tone. She stood, smoothing her cape with a flick, her mind already shifting to the next move.
Satoru rose too, cracking his neck with a grin that promised trouble.
"Guess that's my cue," he said, sauntering toward the door. He shot her a mock salute, then vanished; gone in a blink, leaving a small implosion in the air, that pulled in the papers sprawled near the corner.
Millicent lingered, staring at the empty space he'd left. She turned to the window, Loran sprawling below.
Southern Ridge – Loran's Territory:
The southernmost reach of Loran's domain stretched wild and rugged. A rocky ridge of jagged stone cliffs, lashed by howling winds that carried the tang of salt and earth.
Long green grasses swayed across the sprawling plateau, bowing before a valley so deep, the river snaking through its forested floor looked like a silver thread from above.
Thunder rumbled through a sky thick with churning clouds, lightning splitting the gray every few beats. It was a serene, scenic silence, the kind that whispered peace; until it shattered.
A roar shook the ground, deep and guttural, as a monstrous figure barreled toward the cliff's edge.
Towering and jagged, it was forged from the same dark-gray stone as the ridge, its craggy body trembling the earth with every step.
Two glowing eyes burned in its misshapen head, molten orange against the slate. Clinging to its shoulder, flailing like a ragdoll, was an armored man, his mace lodged deep in the creature's stony hide.
He gripped the handle for dear life, shouting curses into the wind as the beast charged.
It hit the cliff's edge and leaped; not far, just enough to twist midair, flinging the man off with a violent lurch.
The monster slammed its jagged fingers into the rock face, halting its plunge with a grinding screech.
"Ohhhh shiiit!" the man bellowed, freefalling toward the valley below; until a dense gust of wind blasted up from nowhere, catching him square in the ass and hurling him back to the ridge's top.
"I've got you!" Marcille shouted, planted firm in her combat gear; green tunic, leather bracers, staff clutched tight.
Her blonde hair whipped in the gale as she guided the wind spell, easing the man to safety beside her.
"Get back!" a voice cut through; a female archer, poised a dozen yards off, bow drawn. The man, still panting, scooped Marcille up in one arm and bolted from the edge just as the monster hauled itself up, its massive hand smashing where they'd stood.
Rock and dust billowed, and four figures faced the beast. Marcille's crew. She was the youngest of the lot; a tank in full plate armor hefting a heavy shield, a greatsword wielder in lighter gear, the archer, and the mace guy she'd just saved.
The tank charged, shield-first, meeting the monster's swing with a bone-rattling clang, keeping it pinned.
The archer nocked a glowing arrow; magic humming along its shaft, and loosed it, chipping a shard off the beast's leg.
The mace man nodded at Marcille, then dashed in, fists pumping with enchanted strength, mirrored by the greatsword guy's own surge of power.
Marcille steadied herself, staff raised, channeling buffs; golden light rippling over her team, sharpening their edges.
She needed a moment, just a few more seconds, to ready her strike.
The clash raged; steel on stone, grunts and roars; until Marcille's voice pierced the din. "Now!" The tank held firm, absorbing a blow, while the others peeled back.
The archer took her cue, drawing a metallic arrow that gleamed deep blue. She fired, and it screamed through the air, tearing into the monster's knee with a crack.
The beast staggered, and the tank leaped clear. Marcille stepped closer, slamming her staff's base into the ground.
"Sanctum de Noir!" she chanted, and a wave of inky darkness erupted outward, engulfing the monster; just shy of her team, who'd backed off for this exact reason.
The debuff hit hard, sapping its strength, and the creature slumped, movements sluggish.
Marcille didn't hesitate. The staff's tip flared pale blue as she thrust it forward. "Ghost Flames!" A torrent of black-and-white fire exploded out, thick and searing, swallowing the monster whole.
The beam blasted off the cliff's edge, punching through the clouds in a wave of destruction. When it faded, the beast's upper half was molten slag, its lower half collapsing in a heap of smoking rubble.
"Whew… kid's got heart, eh?" the tank said, lowering her shield with a grin.
The archer shot back, unimpressed, "Duh, she is the Heart. Did you forget?"
Marcille's rep as half of the "Chaos and Heart" duo, had risen almost as fast as that white-haired calamity.
The Chaos, a nickname whispered with awe and a touch of fear.
Marcille heaved a few ragged breaths, staff still gripped tight, exhaustion tugging at her. Before she could relax, her eyes widened, snapping her staff toward the trio behind her.
"What-?" the greatsword guy started, but a surge of ice and pale electricity roared through, obliterating the ground where they'd stood.
The blast cleared, revealing Marcille's team safe behind a cracked green shield; her quick barrier, now crumbling to dust. She knelt in front, breathless, as they all stared ahead.
"Well, well, the Heart does live up to her name," a smooth voice called from the haze. Dust and frost settled, unveiling five figures shedding invisibility like cloaks.
Tall, lithe, blonde hair glinting gold, they wore black coats with golden trim, pants and boots to match; elves, radiating menace.
Their postures screamed trouble, hands hovering near weapons, eyes locked on Marcille.
"Elves?" the greatsword guy muttered, grip tightening, his team tensing beside him.
The leader, centered in the pack, stepped forward, a smirk curling his lips. "Marcille, Marcille… you have no idea how long we've waited for this."
His voice dripped with intent, cold and deliberate, as thunder cracked overhead.
Marcille rose, staff steady, meeting his gaze. Her team rallied behind her, battered but unbowed, the ridge's winds howling around them.
...... To be continued!!!
A/N: Sorry for the delay, my laptop's keyboard stopped working. It took some time to finish this on my phone. I'll be taking a break for a week. My main device will be fixed until then. Again, truly sorry for the delays. Next Update will probably be on Wednesday, April 16th, and thereafter.