Dawn filtered through the narrow windows of the village clinic, scattering pale light across the straw‑strewn floor. Elira's eyes snapped open, vision spinning, world tilting like the room itself were alive. Her chest heaved violently, pulse hammering, limbs trembling as adrenaline clawed through every vein. The chaos of the orc attack lingered in the corners of her mind, jagged and relentless, and for a moment, she couldn't remember where she was… or why. A faint hum brushed the edges of her awareness. ORSCU. Its energy clung around Micah like a living veil, subtle yet insistent. She blinked, confusion flashing through terror, unable to focus on the small bundle beside her. "Micah…?" Her voice cracked, raw, too high. The infant stirred faintly in his sleep, exhaling softly, utterly passive. Relief hit, mingled with vertigo and residual panic. Her body trembled uncontrollably as Arden Veyne knelt beside her, calm and steady. His gaze was patient, assessing, faintly wary yet gentle. "You did well," he said softly, voice measured. "You protected my village. I… I wasn't here when the orc came. But what I've heard… I had to see for myself." Elira's hands shook violently, clutching Micah, rocking him instinctively. The fragments of memory tore through her mind: smashing branches, the orc's roar, her body moving with impossible speed, ORSCU flaring instinctively around her and the baby. Each breath came sharp and erratic. Sweat slicked her hair to her forehead, muscles coiled as if ready to strike again. "I—I…" Her voice stammered, trailing off. Her throat ached as she tried to force panic into words. "I… I'm… I'm a hybrid. I… I don't… I don't fully know. Nythéris… that's… that's what I… I am. And… this is… my son, Micah." Golden eyes wide, searching, desperate, clung to Arden's calm. Arden's gaze softened, though doubt flickered across his expression. He nodded without argument. "Nythéris… rare, then. You've survived more than most could imagine. Tell me… what happened? How did you—?" Elira's body shivered violently, mind a fractured storm. "I… I don't know all of it. I… I fought… instinctively. ORSCU… it protected him, even when I couldn't… I—" Her hands clutched Micah tighter, energy shimmering faintly around him, instinct coiling through her arms. "…I… I just… protected him." A soft cough drew her gaze to the village doctor, lingering quietly at the edge of the room, curiosity in his eyes. Arden's hand pressed lightly to his shoulder. "Thank you, but leave us for now." The doctor stepped back silently, lips pressed tight, departing without a word. The tremor of panic ebbed slowly, replaced by ragged breaths and scattered thought. Arden's calm voice cut through the chaos, grounding her. "You have potential," he said. "I don't know the full extent, but I can see it. If you're willing, you could work with me. Learn. Earn your keep. Protect what matters. You don't have to face this world alone." Her fingers twitched, tightening around Micah, still golden eyes wide with confusion. "I… I… I don't know if I… can," she admitted, voice faltering, hesitant yet honest. "I've never… fought before… never… nothing like this. I just…" She shook her head, panic lingering in subtle tremors. "…I just know I must protect him." Arden nodded slowly, patience unwavering. "That's enough for now. One step at a time." Days passed in a rhythm of sweat and sun, her body powered by the strength of Nythéris heritage, allowing near‑inhuman endurance. ORSCU's protective glow lingered faintly around Micah, instinctively shifting to intercept dangers she hadn't yet perceived. Villagers offered subtle help: men carrying timber, women assisting in watching the baby while she chopped and hammered. Maris(also Arden's wife), a kind woman, handed Micah a bottle of milk, careful and quiet, granting Elira a brief respite. By the third day, the small structure at the far edge of the village stood complete: simple, sturdy, entirely her own. She ran her hands along the rough wood, breathing steadily, eyes softening as they rested on Micah in her arms. The infant cooed faintly, passive but warm. Her mind reflected inward, the chaos of panic replaced by determination. This is ours. I will protect him. Always. No one else decides where we live, who we trust, what we do. One day… I will bring him back. To his father… to understand… everything. Arden approached quietly, giving her space but remaining a steady presence. "You've done well," he said. "This place… this is yours. Whatever comes next, you can face it." Elira nodded, golden eyes resolute. Panic and chaos had faded into calm determination. The house was hers. Micah was hers. And whatever the future held, she would meet it on her own terms.
Meanwhile, in a quiet room, Arden and a few adventurers held a hushed conference. Pria, a D‑class adventurer, asked, "Do you really believe she fought a D‑class monster toe‑to‑toe and survived without a scratch? And then she went ahead and built a house?!"
"Calm yourself," Arden replied. "I understand your worry."
Pria cut in, "What if she's a spy? Have you seen her ears? She's definitely not human. And you said she called herself Nythéris—that sounds demonic. That baby doesn't even look a month old; it's too fishy."
"Enough," Arden said firmly. "I let them stay. Would you go against someone who fought an orc instinctively? They stay. Make yourself clear: she is not a spy. Her clothes are those of a maid from the Midgar Empire."