(Village of Sand)
Morning rose once more.
The sun stretched across the horizon, spilling light over the endless desert, turning the sands into a sea of gold and ash. Heat had not yet claimed the land, and for a brief moment, the world felt still.
Shino and his team had spent the night in the village, sheltered within the quiet guest house that stood apart from the desert winds.
Hera awoke before the others.
She stepped out of her room with practiced calm—sharp, alert—but without her armor. The hallway was silent. No footsteps. No voices. It seemed the others were still asleep.
She moved through the house slowly.
Too slowly.
The place felt… empty. Not abandoned, but hollow, as if the life that once filled it had been gently erased. Even the air felt cautious, holding its breath.
Her eyes drifted to a painting on the wall.
A family of three.
A man, a woman, and a young girl stood frozen in time, their expressions warm, untouched by the decay outside. Hera studied the image, curiosity stirring within her.
Who were they?
Her gaze lingered on the girl.
Blonde hair. Soft features.
Her breath caught.
The girl in the painting looked exactly like Elizabeth.
Hera felt a subtle chill crawl up her spine as she continued to stare, the unease from the night before tightening its grip.
Sensing the weight of unseen eyes, Hera turned.
Miss Hikari stood at the top of the stairs, motionless, watching her.
"Good morning, dear," she said, a gentle smile resting on her face as the morning sun spilled across her features.
"Good morning, Miss Hikari," Hera replied calmly. "Did I wake you?"
A soft chuckle escaped the old woman. "You are not the only one who rises early. I've kept that habit for many years."
"I see…" Hera said, then glanced back at the painting. "I was admiring this. It looks like a happy family."
Miss Hikari followed her gaze.
For a moment, her smile faded—not into sorrow, but into something quieter. Heavier.
"Yes," she said. "That is my son and his wife."
Hera waited.
"They were killed," Miss Hikari continued, her voice steady, almost distant. "A witch attack. The village barely survived."
Hera's eyes narrowed slightly.
"But Elizabeth…" she said carefully.
"They hid her," Miss Hikari replied. "Just in time. The witches never found her."
The old woman folded her hands together.
"Since that day, she has been my responsibility. My only family."
Hera looked once more at the girl in the painting, the resemblance now impossible to ignore.
"This house belonged to our family," Miss Hikari continued. "We welcomed travelers here. It was always full of voices, laughter… life."
Her gaze drifted through the hall.
"Now," she said softly, "it remains silent."
Hera turned toward her. "It must have been hard—for Elizabeth. For both of you."
Miss Hikari nodded slowly. "It has been four years. She has never been the same since that night. I've tried everything I could, but the light she once carried… it hasn't returned."
Hera's fingers curled slightly at her side.
"I know that feeling," she said quietly. "Losing someone dear… it leaves a scar no time can heal."
Miss Hikari studied her for a moment, eyes sharp beneath their kindness.
"And you," she said. "Since you arrived, you've carried unease in your steps."
Hera paused.
"It's nothing," she replied after a breath. "Just how I am. New places take time before I grow accustomed to them."
Miss Hikari smiled again—but this time, it felt thinner.
"I see," she said.
"Well then," Miss Hikari said gently, "enjoy your walk around the house. I need to check on something."
She turned and walked down the hall. Hera remained where she was, watching as the sound of her footsteps faded, until the house once again sank into silence.
A moment later, Hera stepped outside into a small garden behind the house.
Morning light spilled across the sand-worn stones, and at the center of the garden, roses bloomed—bright and stubborn against the desert air.
Peter stood there, fingers brushing the petals with careful hands, as if afraid to disturb them.
"You like roses?" Hera asked.
Peter turned, startled slightly as his eyes met hers.
"Oh—good morning, Hera. I didn't see you coming," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.
She nodded toward the flowers. "You seem fond of them."
Peter smiled faintly. "Yeah. Back home, I had a small garden. My little brother and I took care of it together."
"I see…" Hera said softly, then added, "I always thought people of Helori cared more about strength than natural beauty."
Peter chuckled under his breath. "That's what most people think."
He looked back at the roses.
"But strength isn't only about power," he said quietly. "Sometimes, it's about keeping something alive in a world that wants to crush it."
The wind stirred, carrying the scent of roses through the garden as Hera listened in silence.
"Hm… you sound different from many Helorians I've met," Hera said. "I look forward to learning more about your way of life."
Peter blinked, then smiled—genuine and a little shy.
"Thank you. And I look forward to getting to know you too."
She gave a small nod. "I'll see you later, when we prepare to leave."
With that, Hera turned and walked away, her footsteps fading into the quiet morning.
Peter remained still for a moment, watching her disappear beyond the garden path. Then he turned back to the roses, bent slightly, and breathed in their scent.
For a brief moment, the world felt… peaceful.
(Lazarus' House — David's POV)
I saw the vision again—the one that haunted me.
Two beings, locked in a battle to the death, their fists colliding with enough force to tear the world apart.
Every clash echoed like thunder inside my mind.
It never made sense.
Why was I seeing this?
And what was it trying to tell me?
I jolted awake, my heart racing, sweat sliding down my face. The room was silent, yet my thoughts were louder than any scream.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, my mind drifting deeper into questions with no answers.
Whatever was hidden from me… I would uncover it. No matter the cost.
I rose from the bed and stepped outside. Morning light washed over the land, and through the glow I saw Lazarus standing there—hands behind his back, wearing that familiar smile.
"Good morning, David," he said, slamming a thick towel against my face.
I caught it with a grunt.
"Today," he continued, his voice filled with energy, "you begin learning how to control the flow of your power."
I could barely stand straight. My body still carried the weight of last night's training, every step reminding me how far I had pushed myself.
Lazarus turned and began walking toward the forest. From the direction he took, I knew where we were headed—the river.
I followed behind him, tracing the same path we had taken before, the morning air cool against my skin.
"Lazarus," I said, breaking the silence. "There's something I need to tell you."
He slowed his pace, just enough to acknowledge me.
"What is it?"
"It's about the dreams I've been having."
He stopped completely this time and turned slightly.
"What about them?"
"They've been the same… ever since I made contact with my soul."
"Hm," he murmured. "Go on. Do you mind sharing?"
I hesitated for a moment, then spoke.
"The truth is, I've always had dreams I could never remember. Every time I woke up, they vanished—like they were never there. But since that moment… since I touched my soul…"
I clenched my fist.
"My dreams don't fade anymore. They return every time. The same vision. Over and over."
"To be honest with you," Lazarus said, his voice calm but thoughtful, "I don't truly know what it means. But my theory is this—your soul is trying to remember… the same way you are trying to remember."
I exhaled slowly.
"Hm… I guess so. Thanks."
"No," he replied, placing his hand gently on my shoulder. "Thank you for trusting me with this, David."
For a moment, the world felt still.
"Now," he said, turning away, "shall we continue?"
"Yes," I answered, my voice firmer than before.
As I expected, we arrived at the river—but not the quiet stream from before. This time, it was a waterfall. Water thundered down from above, crashing violently below. Cold wind swept through the air, biting against my skin.
"Now we begin," Lazarus said.
"What's the training for today?" I asked.
"Take off your shirt," he replied. "And step under the waterfall."
I did as told.
The moment I entered the current, the force slammed into me like a living weight. The water was freezing—so cold it stole the breath from my lungs. My body trembled instantly, muscles straining just to keep me standing.
The waterfall showed no mercy.