Though a murder had taken place, life carried on as it always does, and before anyone could properly process the tragedy, a week had passed, disappearing as quickly as a blink.
During those days, the principal, filled with worry for his little granddaughter's safety, had forcibly taken her away. His fears of harm lingered heavily, and he wouldn't allow her to stay any longer. Meanwhile, the other teams remained largely unchanged, going about their daily patrols under the guise of mission work, though nothing of note seemed to happen.
As for the group of mysterious elves who had briefly made their presence known, they vanished as quickly as they had arrived. Oliver, despite his curiosity, couldn't track their whereabouts; they seemed to have melted into thin air, leaving no trace behind in the city.
"Starting today, the alert has been lifted, and all patrol missions are officially over. I want to thank you all for your efforts. If you don't mind, please accept this small token of appreciation," the portly city lord droned on from the stage, his voice flat and uninspiring. He gestured to a pouch of coins, but his words felt hollow. The crowd gathered below squinted under the oppressive sun, uninterested in his long-winded speech. The only real threat now seemed to be the heat of the encroaching summer. Even the cool sea breeze failed to offer much relief from the relentless glare of the sun.
Finally, when impatience rippled through the crowd and even the soldiers began to fidget, the city lord wrapped up his monotonous monologue and awkwardly descended from the stage.
The jingle of freshly minted coins, each embossed with a crow's head, brightened the mood of most of the crowd. The weight of the coins in their hands seemed to ease the tension in their faces, if only a little.
But Oliver stood apart, uninterested in the so-called reward. With a faint smile, he slipped away, unnoticed, leaving the money behind.
"Not taking the mission today?" Enola's voice floated after him as she fell into step beside him.
Oliver stifled a yawn, stretching slightly after standing under the hot sun for too long. "Not today. I think I'll take a break." He waved dismissively, his fatigue apparent. "You guys go ahead and wander if you want. I'm heading back to the inn."
Enola watched him, sensing something unspoken, but didn't press. Oliver, for his part, felt a familiar unease bubbling up inside him. Though the competition was still ongoing, his mind was elsewhere. More than the game, he found himself obsessing over the elves, wondering where they had gone and why they had left so suddenly.
Before, he had been able to slip under the radar, but now things were different. Too many eyes were watching, too many questions left unanswered. Leaving now would only draw suspicion, especially with the competition edging toward its climax. If he withdrew suddenly, it would be more than just noticeable; it would be incriminating.
There had already been close calls. The elves had caused enough of a stir with their rescue efforts, and if anyone had bothered to investigate him closely during that time, they would have found things best left undiscovered. He wasn't like the others; his background wasn't something that could be easily explained away. One wrong move, one careless mistake, and it could all unravel.
"Such a hassle," he muttered under his breath, dragging his feet as he made his way back to his room. Whether it was the heat or his tangled thoughts, a sense of frustration gnawed at him.
Enola, still trailing behind, sensed the shift in his mood but couldn't quite put her finger on it. She bit her lip, wanting to ask but unsure how to breach the subject.
By the time he reached his room, Oliver felt completely drained. Without bothering to undress, he collapsed onto his bed, shutting his eyes, eager to escape the chaos swirling in his mind, even if only for a moment.
While Oliver rested, the others, Lesley, Sandra, Enola, and Chris, took the opportunity to explore the city. The streets they roamed were familiar; paths they had traversed time and time again, but today, their footsteps were slower, more aimless, as if they were simply going through the motions.
Lesley and Sandra, hands clasped together, walked in quiet harmony. They exchanged no words, just the occasional smile, content to follow the twists and turns of the city's dilapidated streets. At each fork in the road, they wordlessly chose the same direction, as if their feet instinctively knew which path to take. It was a stroll of shared memories, a quiet reflection of all the walks they'd taken together before.
For them, the destination didn't matter. The journey was enough, as long as they were by each other's side.
Meanwhile, Enola and Chris wandered aimlessly, finding themselves atop a rooftop, one of their favorite spots in the city. The breeze was stronger here, the view more expansive. The two of them stood side by side, gazing out at the sea, taking in the deep, salty breath of the ocean air. As they leaned against the railing, the horizon stretched out before them, limitless and full of promise, even in this tired, crumbling city.
Neither spoke. Sometimes, the silence said more than words ever could.
Enola leaned heavily against the railing, his eyes distant and his demeanor unusually subdued. There was a heaviness about him, a weight in his expression that stood in stark contrast to his typically cheerful self. Whatever thoughts were swirling in his mind, they seemed to pull him deeper into a quiet despair. For a moment, the world around them felt as if it had paused; no sound but the low hum of the wind breaking the silence.
Chris watched him for a while, observing the subtle tension in his friend's posture. Finally, unable to ignore it any longer, he broke the silence. "Just tell me what's bothering you."
Enola turned, startled out of her thoughts. "Is it that obvious?" She asked, a faint, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips.
Chris raised an eyebrow, his tone teasing but gentle. "Your face looks like it's twisted into knots. I'm not blind."
Enola sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I didn't even know how to ask."
"It's alright. Just tell me. Even a rough idea is fine."
Enola hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "What do you think is the right thing to do?" Her voice was soft, as if even asking the question took effort.
Chris considered her for a moment before answering with a knowing smile. "That's the thing; everyone has their own idea of what's right. It's hard to measure right or wrong through someone else's eyes."
"Is that so?" Enola responded quietly, his gaze lowering, clearly troubled.
For a moment, their conversation fell into silence, broken only by a heavy sigh that escaped Enola's lips. She seemed to wrestle with her thoughts before speaking again.
"Let me put it another way," Enola said thoughtfully. "If there were an external threat, would you protect humans, no matter who was in the right or wrong?"
The question seemed to catch Chris off guard, and he blinked in surprise before answering. "If there's an external threat, you deal with it first. There's no time to sort out right and wrong while people are in danger. If you let the threat through, the innocent will be harmed, and the real criminals will slip away in the chaos. I think anyone would first focus on stopping the threat; then you can figure out who's to blame."
Enola's tense expression softened, her shoulders relaxing as though a burden had been lifted. "Really?" He smiled faintly, looking relieved. "Thank you. That… actually helped a lot."
Chris grinned, shrugging it off as though it were no big deal. "What are friends for? I'm glad I could help you sort it out."
For a second, Enola just stood there, surprised by the sincerity in his friend's voice. He blinked and then chuckled softly. "You're right. Let's go for a walk."
As Chris began to lead the way, Enola followed close behind, her mood lighter but still contemplative. Slipping her hand into her pocket, she pulled out a letter; the one she'd received just the day before. Without a second thought, she began tearing it into tiny pieces, letting the fragments of paper scatter in the breeze.
The last thing visible on the torn remnants was the word "Father."
---
Far away, in a grand but dimly lit house, a scarred man sat alone on a worn wooden stool, his muscular frame still and imposing. His eyes stared out toward the horizon, but his thoughts were far deeper. The lines on his face were etched with years of hardship, memories of battles both won and lost. Echoes of a voice; his own voice from years ago, played in his mind like a ghost from the past.
"How many times have I told you? When you face someone in battle, you must do so with honor and justice! Why do you keep resorting to tricks?"
"But Father, I can't beat them head-on," a younger voice, full of frustration, responded in his memory.
"Even if you can't win, you must face them with honor!" the man had barked back. He could still see the young girl standing there, small fists clenched in frustration, her face a mixture of defiance and sorrow.
The man stood abruptly, the memory so vivid it felt as though the girl were standing before him again. How long had it been since he'd last seen her? The scarred man sighed, recalling the letter he had sent just days ago, hoping that after all these years, his child would return. Maybe he would finally come back to the home he had once known.
---
In another part of the city, an elf sat upon an ornate throne, his expression unreadable as he listened to the report being given by a kneeling figure before him.
"Are you sure? The man in the expressionless white mask really shot the iron arrow at you?" the elf asked, his voice calm yet laced with an undercurrent of intrigue.
The kneeling elf bowed lower, his voice steady. "Yes, my lord. Without a doubt."
The elf on the throne nodded slowly, deep in thought. "I see… It's almost the time of year when he tends to disappear."
The kneeling elf finished his report and exited, but doubt lingered in the air. The seeds of suspicion had been planted, and soon enough, when Oliver returned to this city, he would likely find that the landscape had shifted in ways he hadn't anticipated. And perhaps, in retrospect, he would think he had lost his mind.
As the elf stood, staring into the distance, the weight of unanswered questions loomed heavy, and the uncertainty of what was to come lingered like a storm on the horizon.