"Hah… hah… hah…"
The girl tore through the tangled underbrush, lungs burning, legs trembling. Every few steps, she glanced back—haunted by whatever chased her.
She couldn't have been more than ten or eleven, all fragile limbs and a too-thin frame. Her clothes hung in tatters, and her midnight hair was tied behind her in a hasty knot, strands whipping across her face.
A shrill whistle split the night.
A fireball arced through the darkness, slamming into the earth beside her. The explosion sent a wave of heat and dirt flying; the girl cried out as she was thrown to the ground, pain blooming across her body.
"You have nowhere left to run. Surrender!"
Figures emerged from the shadows—mages, each gripping a staff wound with silver and runes. They circled her, faces grim.
"Why are you doing this to me? I haven't hurt anyone!"
The girl struggled upright, fear trembling in her voice, but her eyes blazed with stubborn defiance.
"Maybe you haven't committed any crime," one mage replied, voice heavy with judgment. "But those black wings are your greatest sin."
"To carry the blood of fallen angels… how tragic. You must be purged."
"Forgive us, child. You were never meant for this world."
Their eyes were full of pity, but their hands showed no mercy.
Bloodline. Always the bloodline. The girl bit her lip until she tasted iron. They all hated her for what flowed in her veins. Sometimes, she hated it too.
If not for this cursed blood, her mother might still be alive…
But even if she loathed what she was, she refused to die. As long as she lived, she was proof her mother had existed.
"Spirits… spirits…"
She flicked her wrist. Tiny demons burst from her sleeve, circling her protectively. Bellies bulging, they spat rings of fire at the mages.
Boom—boom—boom—
The blasts echoed through the woods. The girl seized her chance, black wings unfurling from her back. She leapt skyward, desperate to break through the circle.
But—
CRACK!
A bolt of lightning struck her midair. Pain ripped through her as she tumbled to earth.
Her spirits fell too, battered by the mages' counterattack, landing limp and wheezing around her.
"To command evil spirits and bear that filthy blood… Go to hell and repent, spawn of fallen angels!"
Expressionless, eyes cold, the mages raised their staffs—fire and lightning dancing at their fingertips. The final blow was coming.
"Mother…"
She closed her eyes. A faint smile ghosted across her lips.
Maybe this was fine. To die here, erased by righteous hands. At least then, she could see her mother again…
But just as she braced for oblivion—a new sound cut through the night.
A blade sang as it sliced the air. The mages froze, leaping aside as a sword embedded itself in the trunk of a nearby tree, humming with vibration.
"Who's there?!"
The lead mage barked, eyes narrowed. All the mages turned, searching the shadows.
Leaves rustled. Out of the darkness stepped a boy—tall, sword callused, eyes bright.
Tenra.
"Who are you, boy? Why interfere?"
The lead mage's voice was wary, edged with suspicion.
This world was full of strange powers. For someone to appear now, and stand against them, he had to be more than an ordinary youth.
"Who I am doesn't matter. But could you let this girl go?"
Tenra pulled the sword free, planting himself between the girl and the mages.
"Do you know what she is?"
"She's someone alone, who needs help."
"That's just a mask. She carries the filthy blood of fallen angels—she's a witch!"
"So what? Blood doesn't make someone evil. She's done nothing wrong."
The girl stared at Tenra—this stranger who'd appeared from nowhere, arguing for her life. For a moment, she couldn't move, couldn't speak.
Why would he help her? Why risk himself for someone he didn't even know?
A flicker of hope stirred in her chest—a feeling she thought the world had crushed long ago. Maybe she wasn't completely abandoned. Maybe someone could still care.
Bitterness and gratitude tangled inside her, but she'd learned not to cry. She just stared at Tenra, memorizing the shape of his back.
"Boy, step aside. You're no match for us. Don't get in the way of justice."
Tenra squared his shoulders, sword held ready.
"I know I can't beat you. But I won't let you pass."
The lead mage's eyes narrowed, voice dropping to a chill.
"You think you can stop us?"
Tenra's heart sank. He knew the truth—he'd trained for nearly a year, his swordsmanship sharper than ever. But against mages wielding curses and spiritual power, he didn't stand a chance.
Still, he refused to move.
"I can't stop you. But I can threaten you."
With those words, Tenra raised his sword—and pressed the blade against his own throat.
No hesitation. The steel bit into skin, drawing a thin line of blood.
The mages recoiled, stunned. The girl clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes wide.
"Why would you do this, boy?"
The lead mage's voice was tight, uncertain.
"Because I want to protect her."
The blade pressed deeper, blood trickling down Tenra's neck. His gaze was steady, unyielding, but inside he laughed bitterly. If only he had power—he could drive these mages away. But all he could offer was his own life.
The lament of the powerless. How cruel.
Silence fell, thick and suffocating. Sweat trickled down Tenra's spine, but he didn't look away. He met the mage's eyes, unflinching.
Time stretched—then finally, the lead mage spoke.
"Leave."
He turned, walking away.
"Master!"
The others protested, but none dared defy him. They shot Tenra and the girl venomous looks, then followed their leader into the night.
Tenra let out a long, shaky breath. His hand trembled as he lowered his sword, only now realizing his back was drenched in cold sweat.
He'd gambled with his life—and won. He didn't know why the mage relented, but he'd seized the only chance he had.
"Tenra. Tenra Kamiyo. That's my name. What's yours?"
He turned to the girl, voice gentle.
She stared at him, lips parted, then finally managed to speak.
"A-Akeno. Akeno Himejima…"
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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