"So, that's how it is," Sarandel murmured, crossing her arms, her expression distant as she absorbed the information. For the past hour, both she and X had been listening intently to Cyrilla's recount of the demonic invasion, though it wasn't nearly as much detail as Sarandel had hoped for.
"I'm sorry," Cyrilla apologized, her gaze dropping. "I wasn't there when it happened, so I can't give you exact details."
X, leaning casually against a tree, raised his hands in a gesture of reassurance. "Don't worry about it. Any info is better than none." He paused for a moment, something clicking in his mind before he asked, "How do you even know all this, anyway? Can you like... see through plants or something?" He wasn't entirely sure how dryads worked, but that seemed like a logical guess.
Before Cyrilla could answer, Sarandel stepped in. "She's connected to nature. She can sense disturbances, especially when they affect the natural order. That's how she 'saw' what happened," the goddess explained, her voice calm but carrying an undertone of urgency.
Cyrilla nodded in confirmation, her expression a mix of worry and determination. "Yeah, so while I didn't physically witness it, I could sense the shifts in the world—like where the first portal opened and that a Demon Lord came through, though I don't know which one."
X crossed his arms, thinking it over. "And now there are portals all over Aetheria, right?" he asked, his voice more serious now.
"Right," Cyrilla confirmed, her voice tinged with concern.
X rubbed the chin of his skull mask, the weight of the situation sinking in. "This is definitely getting more interesting," he remarked, his tone lighter than the gravity of the conversation warranted, though his mind was clearly running through the implications.
Sarandel, satisfied for now, placed a gentle hand on Cyrilla's head, patting her softly. "Thank you for everything, Cyrilla. You've done well. Go rest now," she said, her voice softer and more maternal as she turned to leave.
X gave Cyrilla a casual salute as he followed behind Sarandel. "Thanks for the intel," he called back. "Stay safe."
But just as Sarandel was about to step away, Cyrilla's voice stopped her. "Auntie, wait," she called, her tone more vulnerable than before.
Sarandel turned slightly, glancing over her shoulder. "Yes?"
Cyrilla hesitated for a moment before asking, "Are you going to be alright?"
For a brief moment, Sarandel closed her eyes, exhaling softly. When she opened them again, she offered Cyrilla a reassuring smile, though there was something distant about it. "Your aunt has handled an invasion far worse than this. I'll be fine."
But as Sarandel turned away, her smile faded, her expression hardening as she walked into the shadows. X caught the shift in her demeanor, understanding there was far more at stake than either of them were letting on.
"She'll be fine, Cyrilla," X reassured, his voice carrying a rare note of sincerity. "It was good meeting you," he added, giving her one last wave before following Sarandel out of the grove.
Cyrilla waved back, though her smile was faint, worry still etched across her delicate features as she watched Sarandel and X disappear into the misty depths of the park. As their silhouettes faded from sight, she let out a deep sigh, her concern unshakable. "I really hope you're not just putting up a front," she whispered to herself.
Tilting her head toward the sky, Cyrilla watched as the trees above gently parted, their branches swaying to reveal a glimpse of the clear sky. A cold, warning wind swept through, stirring a few stray leaves that danced around her. In response, she brought her hands together in a prayer, her fingers interlacing as she called upon every god and goddess she knew. "Please… let her find peace. Let her be happy," she murmured, her voice barely above a breath.
Her thoughts turned to her own mother. "You want her to be happy too, don't you, Mother?" Cyrilla continued, her tone soft but pleading.
But there was one more figure who lingered in her mind. One more name she hadn't spoken in a long time. A name tied to pain, loss, and betrayal. Her thoughts lingered on him as her voice grew quieter, almost reverent. "I know you were hurt. I know you lost people—people you cared about. I know she was responsible for much of it," she whispered, her heart heavy with the weight of past wounds. "But despite all that, I hope you're still the way you used to be. I hope you won't abandon anyone, even if they've hurt you. I hope… I hope you can be the hero she needs again, Winter."
**In the Freezing Wastes of Haldoria**
"Still so damn lost!" Winter's voice echoed through the frigid air, frustration boiling over as he threw his arms up in defeat for what felt like the thousandth time that day. His hands raked through his snow-caked hair, pulling at the roots in sheer exasperation. "Ugh, this is getting tiring," he muttered through gritted teeth, his breath clouding in the icy wind.
He felt a wave of regret creeping into his thoughts—just a trace of doubt, enough to make him question his decision, but nowhere near enough to turn him back. Winter was far too stubborn for that. Still, the feeling was there, lingering like an unwelcome guest.
Just as the regret began to take hold, something else broke through. He couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was—there was no voice or clear signal—but he felt it, a subtle pull. It was faint, almost distant, yet undeniably there, and it stirred something deep inside him. Whatever it was, it immediately overshadowed the doubt, washing away any second thoughts before they could fully form.
It had been centuries since he'd felt anything like it.
He straightened, shaking his head vigorously to dispel any lingering doubt. "Come on, Chosen One," he said to himself, his breath visible in the freezing air. "You won't be beaten by some damned snow and ice. Ercale would lose his mind if you got defeated by some snow after beating him." Winter muttered, a smirk tugging at his lips.
With renewed determination, Winter began trudging through the snow again, his steps firm despite the blinding snow and deafening howls. The feeling—whatever it was—continued to linger in his mind, like a promise he couldn't ignore.
*I don't know what you are, or who you are,* he thought, eyes narrowing against the swirling snow. *But don't worry—I'll definitely help you.*