[The Valley of Maidens, Argha]
Meanwhile, far from Jacob's artificial universe, a military truck, its green paint worn by years, rumbled as it traversed the snowy, mountainous landscape of Argha. Inside, Sasha sat on a narrow wooden bench, her heart pounding fiercely. She was uncertain whether this so-called military service was real or a trap set to ensnare her.
She gazed out through a small opening at the back of the truck, trying to calm her nerves by absorbing the beauty of the Arghan lands unfolding before her. Nearby, no less than a dozen young recruits sat, their backs pressed against the vehicle's walls.
I hope I haven't walked into a lion's den... I should have thought twice before boarding this truck. It could be a ploy to take me to prison.
To her left, a young man with captivating green eyes read an ancient book with quiet reserve, his chestnut hair gently sweeping across his forehead. He looked around with a melancholic yet curious glance, his eyes meeting Sasha's purple gaze.
Meanwhile, to her right, an elf with black hair and a sharp, defiant look tapped her foot nervously while observing the outside through a small opening. Noticing Sasha's intense stare, she sighed loudly before speaking, her voice betraying a mix of impatience and determination.
"Hey, blondie, you want my picture or something?" the elf teased with a smirk.
Sasha's blood boiled, her wide eyes struggling to contain her anger.
"Excuse me?!"
"Just kidding, relax! I'm Mila Serebriakov," she introduced herself, extending her hand to Sasha.
Sasha, her fury somewhat calmed, remained hesitant but eventually shook Mila's hand, a clear animosity in her eyes.
She seems too confident. I don't like her.
"Sasha Moreaukov…"
Mila grasped Sasha's hand with a Herculean grip, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
Oh really, you want to play it like that? God, I'd love to crush your hand and bring you down to Earth, big shot!
To avoid drawing attention from the convoy, Sasha decided to let it go for now, feigning a simple smile to play the innocent.
"You've got quite a grip, haha…" she chuckled timidly.
"Thanks! It's because I'm an elf, and I hit the gym every day! You should try it too; you look like a twig."
"Yes, you're right, haha…"
Externally, Sasha displayed fake timidity and cheerfulness, but internally, intense rage boiled within her.
Look at her, acting all high and mighty... Wait till there's a duel or something, and I'll rearrange your face! Let's see if your elf strength helps you then, bitch!
The tension between the two teenagers was palpable. It was almost as if a spark between them could set the entire truck ablaze. Sasha struggled to stay calm, remembering why she was here, but Mila's provocation had struck a nerve.
Elian, the young man sitting to Sasha's left, had been observing the scene. He gently smiled and set his book aside.
"Things seem pretty tense between you two, huh?" he said, turning towards Sasha.
"Huh? And who are you?"
He laughed softly before replying:
"Elian, Elian Ozerov. And I don't plan on crushing your hand, if you're wondering."
Sasha managed a smile, her anger subsiding as she accepted Elian's friendly handshake.
"Good to know."
There was a moment of silence before Elian continued:
"You know, girls, I've heard that the Youth Military Service is so tough that some don't come back alive. I think it's better if we stick together rather than be divided. Who knows what challenges we might face there."
"Really? And where did you hear that?" Sasha asked.
"From my grandfather. He was a brigade general during Anton's era. He joined the army after this service because it inspired him. But he retired after Milityasha's regime fell, saying he didn't want to serve under a woman. He saw it as an affront to Argha."
"That's sexist," Mila commented mockingly.
"He was old school, after all. Can't really blame him."
Sasha slowly turned her head to face the truck's wall. Her face showed deep weariness as she sighed, confirming her apprehension about spending two long weeks with these new companions.
I think I'm going to have a lot of fun with these two... I hope someday I'll join the Lost Ones.
[The capital of Edra, Delforde, home to the Lost Ones]
From her apartment, Alora gazed out at the city through the window that dominated the living room. Her thoughtful, distant eyes were drawn to the majestic magic school in the city center, where children of all ages in uniform played in the courtyard. In her mind, the image of a small, cold, and dry room emerged, only enhancing the melancholic aura she exuded.
Deep down, Alora knew her days were numbered. In just under two years, she would taste the beauty of life one last time before returning to Paradise to rest for eternity. On Earth, her loved ones would believe a heart failure had taken her. Yet, the truth was something else, infinitely darker. Amidst the turmoil of her thoughts, she wondered: what if she had refused Charnald's quest? What if she had said no to the invocation? If only I had refused that day... she thought, imagining her life would have been better on Earth.
As her sadness grew, her melancholy deepened to the point that she didn't notice the knocking on the window trying to get her attention.
"Hey, young lady! Can you hear me?" a man called from outside.
Distracted from her thoughts, Alora turned to the source of the voice and saw Rahman, floating outside the apartment. Her surprise momentarily pushed away her sorrow.
"What the... Who are you?"
With Alora inside and him outside, Rahman pretended not to hear her, so she would open the balcony window. She didn't hesitate for a minute and did what she needed to do, albeit a bit reluctant to let him in.
Rahman maneuvered through the air, heading towards her as his cape whipped in the wind.
"Thank you very much!
"And you are?" she asked, anxiously.
He landed on the balcony tiles, offering a grin to Alora that warmed her troubled heart.
"Pleased to meet you, young Lost One. I am Rahman, the superhero and angelic human at the service of Edra!"
He leaned in closer, examining her face.
"And you must be Alora, right?
"Yes, that's me."
He extended a warm handshake.
"Pleased to meet you, Alora Devi!
"Uh... likewise, Rahman," she replied, accepting his handshake.
"May I come in?"
"Yes, of course."
Rahman entered the apartment, his steps softly echoing on the polished parquet floor, while Alora, with minimal apprehension, closed the door behind him.
"You have a beautiful residence; Marc really spoiled you, haha!" he exclaimed, his eyes wandering around the room, capturing every detail from the sparkling light fixtures to the artworks adorning the walls.
After a moment admiring the apartment's splendor, Rahman elegantly turned to Alora, hands still on his hips, seemingly more interested in her than in the surroundings.
"So, where are the others?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers.
As he lost himself in the contemplation of the place, Alora remained silent, observing this strange visitor with curiosity. Then, suddenly, a familiar voice broke the silence.
"Right here!" exclaimed Hermiel.
Emerging from the hallway alongside Claire and the other Lost Ones, Hermiel hurried to embrace his colleague in greeting. Yanis and Gwendoline exchanged intrigued looks, both wondering who this caped man was who commanded such importance from Hermiel.
As Rahman and Hermiel exchanged a friendly hug, Alora watched, intrigued by the presence of this charismatic, caped man. Claire, the elven steward, smiled, evidently accustomed to such theatrical entrances.
"So, what brings you here, Rahman?" asked Hermiel, breaking the embrace.
"I came to visit the Lost Ones; I really wanted to meet them. Ah... and also...
"Yes?
"I wanted to say sorry for Marshal's loss."
The warm atmosphere in the living room crumbled into tiny pieces, leaving room for grief and mourning. Hermiel, being Marshal's closest friend, understood Rahman's sentiment and lowered his head, everyone else doing the same.
"Marshal did what he had to do; he sacrificed his life, and we all would have done the same. Right, Rahman?'
"Yes, I would have sacrificed mine too."
Yanis stepped forward deliberately towards Rahman, Marshal's words still echoing in his memory. His face remained impassive, as usual, but inside, the swordsman's loss deeply moved him, just as much as the others.
"Rahman, right? I was there in Marshal's last moments. He asked me to tell you that he was honored to have met you, Meyla, and Hermiel."
"Wow... That's Marshal, even at death's door, thinking of others rather than himself. He truly was the most commendable angelic human Trillia ever knew."
As a heavy silence filled the air, Gwendoline observed the saddened faces of her companions. The pain of losing Marshal seemed to unite them in a way she had never felt before. Even though she had only known Marshal briefly, she felt a twinge of sadness in her heart.
Wanting to try to dispel the growing sadness, Rahman regained his proud demeanor, standing tall, exclaiming with hope as he thought of Marshal:
"Don't worry, my friends. Marshal's memory will live through us all. We will continue his fight and ensure his sacrifice was not in vain. We are the guardians of hope, and it's our duty to carry on his legacy."
As Rahman's words echoed in the room, a sense of determination slowly replaced sadness on the faces of the Lost Ones. Yanis, usually so stoic, showed a sign of resolution, and Gwendoline, typically more reserved, nodded with conviction.
"You're right, Rahman," continued Hermiel, "we must move forward and continue the fight. Marshal would have wanted us to be strong and united.
"Exactly! Because we are both angelic humans, after all."
Alora, watching the scene, felt a glimmer of hope within her. She realized that, despite her impending fate, she still had time to make a difference, to contribute to the Lost Ones' cause and the protection of the world.
Meanwhile, Yanis, still standing before him, captured Rahman's attention, who delved deeper into the matter surrounding this teenager. He stroked his chin, vaguely recalling the demonic attack in Haradi forest, where Yanis had won over the Archangels, suggesting he was the chosen one, and perhaps, had the capacity to become a Pure Archangel.
"That's Yanis Lagrand, right?
"That's right.
"So, according to Hermiel, you're the chosen one of the Archangels?
"Indeed," Hermiel answered for Yanis.
Rahman turned to Hermiel, as he continued his explanation:
"Yanis faced an archdemon that pushed him to his limits. After resisting its tortures, that's when the Archangels sent him, what I believe to be, a beacon.
"A beacon? What do you mean exactly?"
Rahman nodded, instantly grasping the complex situation Yanis was in.
"If you truly are the chosen one, it's crucial that you intensify your training so that you can conquer the Archdemons of Emotions. Remember, the primary role of an angelic human is to protect other living beings from demons. As a Pure Archangel, you might be involved in a conflict far greater than ours, involving the Archdemons of Emotions."
"That's a lot to ask, isn't it?"
"It's the price one pays to protect others, Yanis. You're beginning to understand, aren't you?"
"Oh yes, you can't imagine how much…"
Rahman sensed the sense of duty coursing through Yanis at that moment. He placed a hand on his shoulder, signaling that he was not alone.
"If you ever need help, young man, know that I am here."
"I should be fine, don't worry about me. I've always had a knack for going it alone."
"So be it, but remember, my door is always open should you need it."
Rahman's scrutinizing gaze finally rested on Gwendoline, who had maintained an impressive calmness while observing the scene alongside Claire. He strode towards her confidently, extending his hand in greeting, both clasping hands to express their courtesy.
"And finally, Gwendoline Bourcier, the new Lost One."
"Pleased to meet you, Rahman."
Gwendoline responded with a shy smile, her eyes sparkling with childlike curiosity. She was mesmerized by the presence of this man who seemed to exude a supernatural aura.
Rahman gave her a knowing wink, as if sensing the potential slumbering within her.
"You know, I've heard a lot about you, Gwendoline. Especially about that famous entity inside you."
"Ah yes, her. She doesn't talk much, only when it suits her…"
Internally, Gwendoline braced herself for Ergania's annoyance at these words, but instead, she chuckled slightly, as if amused by the remark.
"Ah, she just laughed at that," Gwendoline expressed her surprise.
"So, she has a sense of humor, good to know."
Rahman smiled at this revelation, his eyes twinkling with interest.
While Rahman and Gwendoline conversed, Alora, slightly withdrawn, observed the scene. She wondered what this angelic superhero could bring to their society. Her mind was still clouded with her own troubles, yet she couldn't help but feel a hint of admiration for the positive aura Rahman radiated.
"Alora, you're quiet. Is everything alright?" Rahman asked, turning towards her with a look of concern.
"Yes, I was just thinking. About Marshal, our mission, and what the future holds."
Rahman approached her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Loss is hard, but it also teaches us. It makes us stronger, more resilient. And I'm sure Marshal would be proud to see how you continue to keep hope despite your hardships."
Alora nodded, feeling a surge of inner strength. Rahman's words rekindled her hope. He then turned to the group, casting his gaze over everyone.
"It was a pleasure meeting you, the Lost Ones. I hope to meet Rogue and Jacob someday."
"You surely will," Hermiel replied.
"Yes, you're right."
Moving towards the balcony, Rahman, with renewed determination, prepared to soar into the skies. But just before, he turned back to the Lost Ones.
"So, I'll see you one of these days, the Lost Ones, duty calls! Until then, try to become stronger than me."
"I plan to!" Yanis affirmed, a challenging glint in his eyes.
"I like you, kid. You might become my disciple someday!"
Rahman flashed a warm smile, accompanied by a nod of farewell, before launching himself with incredible speed into the vastness of the sprawling metropolis before him. There, the call of his superhero duty rang loudest, and he hurried to join the urban tumult awaiting him, leaving behind a trail of determination and mystery.