Lieren watched with an empty, mesmeric gaze as the campfire in front of him crackled under his very eyes. It was dying, slowly and fiercely.
Brad threw a log in the fire, noticing the dying flame.
"Some say that if you stare long enough, a fire elemental will appear and grant you it's blessings." The adventurer muttered under his breath. He, too, was staring into the fire.
"…Really?" Lieren' head turned to Brad, upturned. "Is that true?"
"Nah, I just made that up." Brad had a wide grin on his face.
Lieren face burned, not of pained, but of great embarrassment. He pouted to himself, pulling on the blanket that Harita had given him.
'I swear I'll back at that guy. One day! I swear!'
The night stars shined above them, independent from the troubles of the world below. Just beyond the horizon, a faint figure, non-humanoid, but certainly not a monster, loomed, just barely out sight. It was hard to tell under moonlight alone, but as faint as it was, the boy could tell, on pure intuition alone, that the figure, cold and alone, held beauty above all, in it's own way.
Lieren felt an unknown feeling drawing himself to it. A morbid curiosity, one that has been cursing him for a very long time.
The boy heard the ground behind him move, the gravel shifting under the lean man's steady gait, and Lieren could tell, with renewed certainty, who it belonged to.
Brad glared at Harita as soon as he arrived, holding a bowl on each hand. He handed one to Lieren, ignoring the man's gaze, and sat down beside the boy, blowing on his soup.
"Cat's tongue?" Lieren remarked. He too was blowing on his soup.
Harita said nothing, though the shade of his cheeks said otherwise. Lieren chuckled in amusement.
Brad stared at this event with one brow raised, his face, too, told everything there was to know.
"I wouldn't sit next to that man if I were you. He reeks of death." The rough adventurer spat on the ground, glaring at Harita all the while.
The two of them ignored the rude adventurer, downing the soup at the same time.
This seemed to further infuriate the man, to reasons unknown to Lieren. With a click of his tongue, the man left, contempt written boldly on his face.
"What's his problem?" Lieren asked innocently, finishing his soup. It tasted…fine. Not like he can tell much, anyway. The Basford Home of the Unwanted didn't much variety when it came to meals. For all it was worth, though, Lieren thought back to the soups and occasional steamed vegetables that the kitchen served to all the other orphans, they tried their best. There was, as I remember, just under a hundred kids there. It was a wonder that they ever managed to feed everybody.
"It's adult stuff. You should wait until you're more grown up, then, maybe, and just maybe, I'll tell you about it." Harita took Lieren's bowl and headed back to the other group, gathered around a boiling cauldron.
Lieren could smell, even partly taste, the freshly-cooked soup from where he was.
"I'm an adult." Lieren said in a flat tone, patting his belly.
'I wonder if they offer seconds.'
Harita just chuckled and went back to the other group, a grin on his face.
The pair had three more servings before they went to sleep.
◇◆◇◆◇
Lieren writhed inside of his sleeping bag, one of the things Lady Kronesta had given—or rather, her acquaintances—in preparation for his trip.
As soon as he closed his eyes, darkness readily greeted him.
An unfamiliar voice resounded in the darkness.
"Give…up….you…stand….no chance…."
"No!"
Lieren ran, fast as he could.
No matter where he went, the voice seemed to be just a few steps away.
Darkness writhed, reaching out to grab him. However, just like how the voice never seemed to disappear, the darkness never reached him, stopping just before it's insidious hands reach him.
Lieren could feel the heat spreading to him, like a furnace, tempering his soul for a moment, every time the insidious fingers reach for him.
As lucky—or unlucky—this strange occurrence was, it never, not even once, provided Lieren with a sense of safety because of one, exceedingly powerful reason.
Fear.
Fear, to Lieren, is his fuel—the source of his strength. Feat kept him ready, fear kept him wary, fear kept him silent. It scared him into action, keeping him on his toes. It told him when he'd lose, when he'd die, telling him what to do.
Fear told him: "There's no next time. Of you want something, if you need something, you need to get it now, as fast as you can."
Lieren had forgotten those words long ago. It was only during that faithful night did he once again remember those words, like a stain to his soul.
Fear kept him running, surpassing his limits, warning him of the worst, and only, outcome.
Death.
No matter how close and how many times the insidious hands failed to reach him, the fear in his body told him to run. That, if he were to stop, the darkness would surely prevail, and it would without doubt devour him whole.
Suddenly, Lieren stopped dead in his tracks.
He could feel the figure grinning, and the darkness reached for him.
With an ear-piercing shriek, the darkness reaching for him dissolved, disappearing.
Lieren stood tall, his tiny frame non-menacing.
His will refused to give up to the darkness.
The darkness responded in kind.
"Oh, so that's how it is." The darkness—the figure sounded familiar, recognizable.
Slowly, quietly, the darkness peeled itself off the figure, like a shadow midday.
A throne, more of a padded seat, intricately carved runes on the wooden parts, unveiled itself. A figure sat on top of it, cross-legged, with a white suit that shone in the darkness, a loose crown, too big for the figure to hold, sat precariously, yet perfectly atop the figure's head.
A man, tall, lean, almost feminine if not for his broad shoulders sat on the throne with relaxed ease. A book with a binder written in an unfamiliar language on his hand loomed in the darkness.
The man had an air of justified pride and confidence about him. His presence dictated this space, this world, as it's rightful master and ruler. That much was for certain.
He had sharp features yet rounded features, bearing an austere expression that expressed innocence. The man's purple eyes seemingly held the universe in the them, along with all the knowledge and insight that he rightfully held.
Lieren could feel his knees bend in recognition, his intuition telling to bow and offer respect to the familiar man. The man's aura was gripping Lieren, suffocating him like a snake's grasp.
The man spared a glance, and Lieren felt a piece of himself resigning, his back completely giving out and his consciousness with it.
"I am—"
Lieren woke up with Harita's face directly in front of him.
Lieren groaned. "Ngh~ I don't swing that wayyy~" He pawed at Harita's face, his thin arms sluggishly patting him.
"Huh? What are you talking about?" Harita spun Lieren, holding him aloft with both hands on his shoulders. "What did you just do?"
Lieren wiped his eyes, blinking repeatedly.
In a groggy voice, he said: "What are YOU talking about?" He forced his eyes open, his brows furrowing at the sun's irritating glare.
As soon as he did, his eyes—barely open the moment before the moment before—shot open like dinner plates.
They were in the center of a crater, with the outer rim tall enough that Lieren would have too look up to even see the edges of it. A couple of people were jumping down, mostly mercenaries and adventurers, while others watched from atop.
"What happened?!" Lieren shouted, trying to free himself from Harita.
The man refused to let go. "That's why I asked you, moron!"
As the two bickered, the adventurers and mercenaries came down, pivoting to the two of them with visible alertness.
Harita, not missing a beat, put Lieren down and behind him, placing himself between the armored men and the lanky boy.
Brad stepped up first, drawing his sword.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk" He clicked his tongue repeatedly, his eyes filled with spite.
"I knew not to trust the companion of murderer." The middle-aged adventurer pointed his sword at Harita, prompting the others to do the same.
"Harita…?" Lieren looked to Harita, gripping the man's shirt even more.
"…" The man, bright and flamboyant, stayed silent, his eyes covered by his bangs. There was a dangerous air to him.
'Something's wrong…'
Brad thrust his sword into the ground beneath his feet and held the pommel steadfastly.
"The time has come to pay for your sins, Harita of the Missing Heart."