"Is the news reliable?" Aegnor's fingers drummed lightly on the chair's armrest, his gaze steady, though a slight tension flickered beneath the surface.
"Yes, sir," replied the figure standing below, their head lowered in deference. "Our spies have confirmed it; Oliver has fled the city. Just barely escaped."
Aegnor nodded, his mind already racing through possible plans. "I understand. I'll handle it from here. You may leave."
"Yes, sir." The figure gave a small bow and turned to go.
As the figure reached the door, Aegnor's voice cut through the silence again, sharp but measured. "One more thing, I'll be relying on you this time. We still don't know the exact location where we'll confront them."
"Understood." A pause followed before the figure added, with a slight smirk in their tone, "Besides, I'm curious to see how these so-called 'gods' of hers will measure up. Surely, they won't be as underwhelming as you."
Aegnor's eyes narrowed. His fingers ceased their tapping. "Careful," he said softly.
The figure in the shadows chuckled, a low, mocking sound that seemed to fill the room with a chilling unease. "Oh, come now. Without those of us who you've resurrected, what real power do you think you have?" The voice was laced with disdain, and before Aegnor could respond, the figure had vanished into the shadows, leaving only a fading laugh behind.
A sharp knock came at the door, interrupting the silence. Aegnor sighed, knowing exactly who it was.
"Come in," he said, his voice betraying no emotion.
The door creaked open, revealing a woman with a playful smile on her lips. Her blonde hair glowed in the dim light, catching the moonlight that streamed through the window. "What's with that tone?" she teased. "Can't I visit?"
"It's not that you can't," Aegnor replied, leaning back in his chair, his voice still calm but weary. "It's just—"
"Just what?" She strode in confidently, her movements graceful yet assertive. In one swift motion, she slid onto his lap, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. Her lips curled into a grin as she stared into his eyes. "You can tell me. I really want to know what you're thinking."
Aegnor hesitated, then asked, somewhat reluctantly, "Did you... see anything? Anything strange? Like... a large black rat, perhaps?"
Her laughter rang out, clear and melodic, as she shook her head. "I didn't realize you could joke like that."
Aegnor closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, relieved. "Good. I'm glad you didn't see it."
Meanwhile, far from the safety of the room, a figure hurried along the moonlit path, stifling a sneeze as they pressed on through the shadows.
---
Oliver moved swiftly, slipping through one of the many large gaps in the city's crumbling wall. His goal was clear; retrieve the hidden equipment before anyone could find him. As he walked through the quiet night, the rare summer breeze stirred the treetops, and the faint rustling of leaves accompanied his every step. Yet something was off. An unsettling feeling crept into his chest, tightening with each passing second. It was as if a snake lay coiled somewhere, watching him from a distance, its cold eyes following his every move.
Someone was closing in on him.
He cursed under his breath. Having already exhausted his magic for the day, he couldn't summon the power to sense his surroundings or catch a glimpse of his pursuer.
"So, you're the other one, another student of hers, right?" A voice echoed from above. Oliver's head snapped up to see a middle-aged man perched in the branches of a tree, his golden hair glinting faintly in the moonlight. The man's white robes fluttered slightly in the breeze, and his eyes bore a contemptuous glare. "Doesn't seem like much," he sneered.
Oliver remained silent, instinct telling him that this man was dangerous.
The golden-haired man leaped down from the tree with an easy grace. "But I suppose I shouldn't judge based on appearances. Let's see what you're made of." He stretched, cracking his knuckles. "Since you don't have a bow and arrow, I won't use magic either. Seems fair, right?"
Without waiting for a response, the man lunged at Oliver, a blur of motion in the dim light.
---
"Sister, where have you been?" Nisha's voice was filled with suspicion as she cornered her older sibling.
"Nowhere important. Why do you ask?" came the reply, casual but avoiding direct eye contact.
"You've been acting strange ever since you started seeing Aegnor. Sneaking off at odd times... What's going on with you?"
"How dare you, you little brat!" her sister exclaimed, playfully pinching Nisha's cheek. "I ought to teach you not to talk back!"
"Ouch! I'm sorry!" Nisha whined, squirming away from her sister's grip.
After a moment, the older sister sighed, her tone softening. "Fine, I'll tell you. I just... I feel like Aegnor is hiding something from us."
"Like what?"
"I don't know yet," she admitted. "But I think it might be connected to the disappearance of our old teacher."
Nisha frowned, unsure of what to make of this revelation but nodded slowly, her thoughts spinning.
---
Aegnor stood alone, staring out at the distant moon. His mind was clouded with thoughts he couldn't shake. Should he tell the others what had really happened? Could he? What excuse could he possibly give? There was no reason that would hold up under scrutiny.
He closed his eyes, the familiar weight of loneliness settling over him once more. Even with his lover by his side, even with allies surrounding him, this gnawing solitude never left him. It was a void none of them could fill.
Oliver barely dodged the opponent's high kick as it crashed down with the force of a landslide. Though it seemed like an ordinary strike, the ground shattered beneath the elf's foot, mud spraying in all directions, leaving a gaping pit. Oliver's heart pounded in his chest; this was only a fraction of his enemy's power, and if that kick had landed, he knew it would have been the end for him.
The elf didn't pause to catch his breath, immediately following up with a vicious right punch. Oliver dropped into a crouch, narrowly dodging as the punch whistled past. The tree behind him, thick enough that two grown men would struggle to wrap their arms around it, exploded as the fist passed through it like it was made of paper. The tree split cleanly in two, crashing to the forest floor with a deafening crack.
Oliver's eyes widened. The elf's strength was unbelievable. If it weren't for the long, pointed ears, he might have mistaken him for an demi-human. And yet, he wasn't even using magic. That realization made his blood run cold.
Without thinking, Oliver reached out, grabbing the elf's forearm with his left hand. He balled his right fist, aiming for the joint, hoping to at least disable his opponent's arm. But the moment his fist connected, pain shot up his arm, sharp and burning. It felt as though he had just punched solid stone. His knuckles throbbed, swelling immediately, and his hand went limp, useless.
What kind of monster was this?
Oliver quickly retreated, putting distance between himself and the elf. His mind raced. His opponent had terrifying strength, near-impenetrable defense, and blinding speed. On top of that, he was an elf, which meant his magic power was likely formidable. And he claimed to be an expert in archery. How had such an unstoppable force gone unnoticed until now? Surely someone like this could wipe out entire human settlements with ease.
"You've got decent reflexes," the elf said, rubbing the spot where Oliver had struck him. There was barely a mark. "But your attacks? A little lacking. If you had more time to grow, maybe you'd be a real threat."
He scratched his head casually, as if they weren't in the middle of a life-or-death battle. "Come on, try again. Put some effort into it."
Oliver suppressed his ragged breathing, his mind whirling. Running was futile; the elf would catch him easily. But how could he fight against such overwhelming power?
The elf charged again, moving like a blur. Desperation surged through Oliver. He took a half-step back, and the faint rattle of a bottle caught his ear. His hand brushed against the holy water he had been carrying; the one he hadn't yet handed over. If he could restore his magic, there might be a slim chance.
Without wasting a moment, he pulled the bottle out and uncorked it, bringing it to his lips. But the elf was quicker than he'd anticipated. His sharp eyes caught the motion, and with a flick of his foot, he kicked a stone from the road, sending it hurtling through the air. The stone struck the bottle just as Oliver was about to drink, knocking it from his hand.
"No!" Oliver shouted as the bottle spun through the air, its contents spilling in a glittering arc. He tried to step forward, but before the liquid even hit the ground, the elf was already upon him, blocking his path.
Time seemed to slow as the holy water, filled with restorative magic, rained down. It splashed across the elf's skin, and in an instant, the elf's smug expression vanished. His body seized up. He dropped to his knees, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. He stared at Oliver with a mixture of shock and fury.
"Why… Why do you have holy water?" he gasped, his voice trembling.
Oliver froze, eyes wide. What just happened? The holy water wasn't supposed to do this. It was only meant to restore magic power, not cause harm. Then it dawned on him. His eyes flickered with sudden understanding.
He turned on his heel and ran, his heart pounding in his chest. So that's what it is.
The elf's body was unnaturally tough, almost impervious to physical attacks, but that came at a cost. Elves, by nature, had incredibly high magic power, and to avoid the common problem of magical overload or "magic runaway"—they needed to regularly release their magic. But this elf's stone-like skin had hindered that natural release. When the holy water, which amplified magic power, was absorbed into his body, it had fed an explosive increase in his magic. Unable to release it, the buildup had overwhelmed him.
Oliver's pulse raced as he fled into the darkness, pushing through the pain in his hand. He had been lucky this time, if the holy water hadn't worked in this unexpected way, he would have stood no chance. It wasn't the holy water itself that had done the damage but the elf's inability to manage his own magical power.
Behind him, the elf's voice echoed weakly through the trees. "You… you won't get far…" But Oliver didn't stop. He wasn't going to test his luck again.
Sighing, he clutched his sprained fingers, still aching from the earlier impact. He was alive, for now, but the battle had left him shaken. His mind raced ahead; what other enemies might he face? Would his luck hold out the next time?
One thing was clear: he wouldn't be able to outrun his pursuers forever.