All the students gathered under the shadow of the academy, which loomed against the drenched hue of the twilight sky. Before them, a tower pierced the sky, etched with a cryptic rune encircling the spires, which writhed like a worm when glanced too long.
"Welcome," a hoarse voice reverberated. Beneath the looming shadow, a professor stood still. He waited for the perplexed students to come to their senses before he began his speech.
"Today, as the two classes on top of the academy, you lot will be the first to experience dungeon dive,"
"Using the tower that preserves the past, you will be transported to the dungeon of the past and complete its objective by observing," he said.
The students shifted uneasily, amidst the students, stood a girl with both of her hands holding her staff close to her chest. With a glance, she scanned the entire area, trying to search for the boy that lingering inside her mind.
When the dungeon's entrance opened, all the students began to move forward. A figure caught her eyes, a small back that seemed bigger as if they were carrying something big on his shoulder. A strange feeling when she's supposed to be the one who knows the wretched future.
'.... found him,' thought Edna.
Slowly, she followed the other and began to step to the dungeon entrance.
Inside, there's nothing, only a pitch-black curtain as far as her eyes see. She walks forward until the space suddenly alters into a vast plain.
"Same as before, all of us got randomly teleported but ...."
"It's different from what I used to ..."
The wind sang a hollow tune as it swept across the plains, tugging her chestnut hair. Each thread glimmered faintly under the sunlight, softly brushing her cheek. She stood motionlessly under the tree. Its shadow pooled around her, cool and heavy, a cloak that did little to muffle the distant cries of rushing leaves surrounding her.
She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes to look at the horizon. There. At the end of the plains, a place where she knows. A place where she had been before her second chance.
Her boots crunched dry grass, she took a step forward to the place where she was supposed to be.
As she walks, the wind sharpens carrying the smells of iron. They're coming.
The first attack came from her blind spot, a bolt struck her. With ease, she dodged it as if she was anticipating it from before. Behind the smoke screen, a boy leapt forward, he was conjuring the bolt with his gauntlet. Enhancing his fist as the thunder began to envelop his gauntlet.
Again, Edna moves with a small step. Rendered all the boy's attack in vain. A second time he leapt again, in the sky he clasped his gauntlet with each other.
A metallic sound can be heard but a roaring thunder came after that. An attack that sent many bolts down to his enemy. Sweeping the ground as the loud cry of thunder echoed.
Looking at that, Edna leapt slowly, dodging everything that targeted her.
The air turned heavy, and a trembling could be sensed, crawling beneath the soil as Edna stepped aside. A tentacle-like root emerged within her step, grabbing the boy's leg mid-air.
"Wha-!?"
An exclamation escaped from his mouth, and he struggled—pitiful, flailing thing as his resilience is futile as if a moth battering itself. With a motion that seemed casual, the root tightening, swinging and then—Slam. The ground shuddered as if the earth itself recoiled in horror. The boy's body struck the dirt with a thud, his breath expelled in a gasp that was more like a liquid rather than air.
With a flick of her wrist, the root recoiled, swinging again back and forth as the boy still attached to its end, hurled him away. His body arced, a ragdoll against the horizon that looked so vast, shooting through the plain and vanished.
She sighed, a sound that carried a weight ahead of time, a knowledge too terrible to speak aloud. What a fool.
She murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper. The word lingered in the air, heavy with implication as if it was not just merely observation but a condemnation.
".... And people called our generation a golden age," she mumbled.
She turned away, leaving the wounded earth as if it was nothing. Her movement is unhurried, as though time itself bends to her will.
She moved through the woods, her eyes sharp and calculating fixed upon the person in front of her; a man, standing motionless amidst the forest. He was young, yet his presence carried a weight that stretched beyond the confines of time. Before him, stand a girl hugging her staff with both hands. Her fiery red hair stark contrast to the aura that Erik's emitted. Her posture was regal, bearing confident and arrogant at the same time.
Elria de Eragon, a name that carries history and legends. Her very presence is a challenge to the unnatural order of the forest. Her voice, when she spoke, was sharp and commanding, cutting through the oppressive silence between them.
"So you were the rumoured knight," she said, her tone mixed with curiosity. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to study the person before her, searching for some kind of weakness, perhaps, or a hidden truth beneath his stoic exterior.
"The person that walks the path of the true knight," said her.
Erik didn't answer. His gaze was distant as if he was looking through her, past her, or even an unseen void that only he could perceive. His expression was one of disinterest, yet there was a sharpness in his gaze—a glimmer of something ancient and unknowable, deceiving his youthful appearance.
She was expecting something grand, something worthy of this man. But what she found was a figure of stillness, his eyes dull and disinterested as if the world held no meaning behind his eyes. Betrayed by her expectation, she gripped tight her staff, her stance shifting into a battle stance.
Rune began to come out from her staff, flying, with a glimmering light of bright red swirling. From the ground, a particle can be seen seeping from the soil to the air like a firefly dancing in the middle of the night. When she spoke, her voice was sharp and calm but commanding. Yet, there's an undercurrent of something else—something brittle like the crackle of ice.
"Let's see about your skill,...." she said, her words cutting through the silence. Her tone was laced with bravado, but a little tremor beneath her voice betrayed her unease. The forest seemed to respond to her challenge, the wind gushing, filling the forest with its whistle.
Erik did not move. He stood as still as the tree around them, his eyes fixed on Elria, uninterested, yet both empty and piercing. When he spoke, his voice was low and calm, yet carried resonance that vibrated through the air.
"Let's stop this, Princess," he said.
"What you gain from this, Princess?" Added him.
"Gain? There's nothing," she said, with a determined look she raised her staff. The surroundings became more bright as she channelled her mana.
"I just want to teach you," she said, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger, "That your path is a futile one."
Erik's expression didn't change. He continued to stare, unyielding, as though he stared deep within her soul. For a moment, the forest seemed to hold its breath but a strong gust blowing more frantic. And then, without a word, Erik turned his back on her, his movement slow and deliberate.
"My path," he said, his voice merely a whisper yet it resonated with the reality, "Is not something for you to concern yourself with, Princess."
Before he reached the shade of the forest before him, a fire struck him. With ease, he tilted his body, made the conjured fire missed him by hair breath. Slowly, he turned his face to the source.
A girl, holding her staff. The surroundings turn brighter than before, illuminating the area with its bright red.
"Pull your weapon," she said, her voice hoarse, holding the anger that she felt rushed within.