One month later, they went on their first real mission.
The western village had sent desperate messages to the Knight Village. Monsters were attacking at night, dragging people from their homes. Entire families had vanished. The survivors spoke of shadows that moved through walls, of creatures that wore the faces of the dead.
"This is above your level," Izak told them as they approached the village gates. "Stay close to me at all times. Do not engage unless absolutely necessary. This is an observation mission, nothing more."
Pinky nodded. Zilvie gripped her sword tighter.
The village was empty. The streets were deserted. The houses stood silent, their doors hanging open like screaming mouths. A foul smell hung in the air, thick and rotten.
"Stay close," Izak repeated.
They moved through the streets in formation, Izak at the front, Pinky and Zilvie flanking him. Every shadow seemed to move. Every sound made them jump.
Then the fog came.
It rolled in from nowhere, thick and black, swallowing everything. One moment, Izak was in front of them. The next, he was gone.
Pinky and Zilvie stood alone.
"It's an illusion," Zilvie said, her voice shaking. "Some kind of magic. Don't panic. Don't panic."
Pinky touched her shoulder. Reassurance. They could handle this.
A hand shot out of the darkness.
Zilvie saw it coming. She tried to dodge, tried to raise her sword. Too slow. The hand grabbed her wrist, yanked her backward. She hit the ground hard, her sword clattering away.
The monster emerged from the fog. It was humanoid but wrong, its limbs too long, its face a twisted mockery of humanity. Its eyes gleamed with hunger as it loomed over her.
"Pretty," it hissed. "So pretty. I'll enjoy you slowly."
Zilvie screamed.
The monster's head left its shoulders.
Pinky stood there, his father's sword dripping black blood. He had moved so fast that she hadn't even seen him.
He offered his hand.
She stared at it. At him. At the monster's body collapsing at her feet. He had saved her. Again. Like he always did. Like he always would.
Something inside her cracked.
She pushed herself up without taking his hand.
"I could have handled that," she said, her voice cold. Dead.
Pinky tilted his head. Confused.
Zilvie picked up her sword. She didn't look at him. Couldn't look at him. Five years of training, and she was still the girl lying on the ground, waiting to be saved.
"Let's go," she said. "We need to find Teacher."
***
They found Izak as the fog cleared.
He stood over a pile of monster corpses, his armor dented but intact. His blade dripped with the same black blood that coated Pinky's sword.
"The boss is dead," he said. "Some kind of illusionist. It separated us on purpose, sent its minions to pick us off one by one." He looked at Pinky, then at Zilvie. "Are you both alright?"
"Fine," Zilvie said quickly. Too quickly.
Izak's eyes narrowed behind his mask. He noticed the distance between them. The way Zilvie stood apart. The way Pinky kept glancing at her, confusion in his posture.
He said nothing.
***
That night, back at the cottage, Zilvie didn't eat with them.
She mumbled something about not being hungry and disappeared into the night. Pinky started to rise, to follow, but Izak placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Let her go," he said quietly. "She needs time alone."
Pinky made a frustrated gesture.
"I know you want to help. But some wounds can't be healed by others. She has to face this herself."
Outside, in the moonlight, Zilvie swung her sword at a training dummy. Again. Again. Again. Her arms burned. Her eyes stung with tears she refused to let fall.
Weak. Useless. Burden.
The words echoed in her mind with every strike.