The second night in the Western Woods fell into a different kind of quiet. The tension from the ambush had dissipated, replaced by a shared exhaustion and an unspoken bond forged through facing danger together. The campfire crackled, its warm orange light dancing across faces that were slowly becoming familiar.
Scholar Corvus, after hastily eating his share of dried rations, was already engrossed in his notes and maps under the glow of a small magical lamp he carried. Rhys sat on a log, silently wiping down his massive shield with an oiled cloth. Elara, no longer sitting apart, had moved closer to the fire, her fingers expertly checking the tension of her bowstring.
Akari was changing the dressing on Elara's arm again. She worked in silence, her movements quick and precise as always. The stitches from the day before were clean, with no sign of swelling.
"It doesn't hurt as much anymore," Elara admitted, her tone lacking its usual sharp edge. "That poultice of yours is good stuff."
Akari only nodded, not replying, and finished tying off the new bandage.
Kael distributed portions of salted meat and hard bread. Before taking a bite, Rhys, as if by ingrained habit, bowed his head and mumbled a short prayer.
"Thanks to the Earth God, Torus, for granting me fortitude, and for watching over us through another safe day."
A comfortable silence settled over the group, broken only by the crackling of the dry wood. Akari, who had been about to eat her portion, paused. She looked up at Rhys, then over to Kael, a genuine curiosity in her golden eyes.
"Why... do people do that?" she asked, her voice soft but clear in the quiet night.
Elara raised an eyebrow. "Do what? Be grateful for a meal?"
"No," Akari shook her head. "Pray."
She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "I don't understand. We survived today because Rhys was strong enough to shield us, Elara was fast enough to shoot, and Kael was experienced enough to lead. What did the gods do in that fight?"
Her innocent but direct question caused the mood around the fire to shift. Rhys looked flustered, unsure how to respond. Elara looked personally offended.
"Of course they're real!" Elara said, her voice sharp. "Where do you think our power comes from? Who created my Wind Magic if not the Goddess Sylas, the Whisper in the Wind? I don't pray every day, but I respect them. It's best not to anger them."
Akari tilted her head, seeming to genuinely consider the words. "But my strength comes from learning how to use herbs. My calm comes from having to overcome hardship by myself. I have never seen a god give an orphan a piece of bread. The hands of other people, yes."
She stared into the dancing flames, her voice remaining even. "If they are real, why do they never appear? Why do they let terrible things happen?"
Elara opened her mouth to argue but found herself at a loss for words against that simple, heavy logic. She could only manage a different, slightly mocking question, "So you're a stubborn atheist, then? You don't believe in anything supernatural?"
The innocent curiosity on Akari's face vanished. It was replaced by something colder, more certain—a grim wisdom that didn't belong to someone her age. She looked directly at Elara.
"No. I believe Demons are real."
The statement was more shocking than her disbelief in gods. Rhys put down his food. Corvus, who had been listening quietly, snapped his book shut.
Kael looked at her, his voice low, not with judgment but with a search for understanding. "Why do you believe that, Akari?"
"Because I have seen the proof," she replied, her voice unwavering. "Every child in this world grows up with the story of the Lyrian Kingdom. They're told so they don't wander too deep into the forests, to fear what hides in the dark. But it's not a fairy tale."
She stared into the fire, her golden eyes reflecting the flames but looking impossibly cold.
"The legends say the Demon King appeared in Lyria not in the form of a hideous monster, but in the form of the princess they cherished most: a maiden with hair as white as snow and eyes as red as blood. It didn't conquer. It didn't rule. It simply walked through their cities, and where it walked, life withered."
"Grass and trees turned to dust. Rivers ran dry. And the people... they say their souls were drained from their bodies even before they fell. There was no great battle, only silence and an ending. Somehow, they repelled it, but the price was an entire prosperous kingdom turned into the Dead Lands, where not a single blade of grass can grow to this day."
She looked up, meeting the eyes of everyone in the group, her own shining strangely.
"That is my proof. Tangible proof of an absolute, destructive power. And in that entire story, no one tells of any god who came to save them."
No one said another word. They looked at the small girl with ice-colored hair, the one whose hands could soothe pain and heal wounds, yet who held a worldview so dark and brutally practical. Kael watched her, a new depth of understanding in his eyes. He realized her calmness wasn't just resilience; it was the vigilance of someone who truly believed a malevolent force was always lurking somewhere.
That night, Akari sat in silence, staring at her own hands. The hands that had once clasped together in hopeless prayer. The hands that had learned to save lives through knowledge. And the very same hands that could, at times, emit a warm, gentle pulse of Light Magic. A great contradiction existed within her very being, and she still had no answer for it.