"What's the matter, afraid to eat?" An's voice cut through the silence, noticing Oliver's hesitation immediately. Her sharp eyes didn't miss a thing. "What's wrong with you?"
Oliver sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he stared down at the food in front of him. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he tried to force a smile, but it was more of a grimace. "I... I don't even know where to start."
An raised an eyebrow, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"I mean, I've never seen anything like this before in my life," he said, gesturing toward the strange, colorful dish. "And frankly, I'm a bit terrified. Can you at least tell me what it's made of?"
An smirked, folding her arms as she leaned casually against the cave wall. "You'll know once you eat it."
Oliver's face contorted in disbelief. That answer wasn't reassuring at all. In fact, it made him even more suspicious. "Really? That's supposed to make me feel better?"
An shrugged, her expression indifferent. "If I were going to kill you, I wouldn't use food or potions to do it. You're being dramatic."
He sighed again, realizing she had a point. If she'd wanted him dead, she wouldn't have gone to the trouble of poisoning his meal. Still, that didn't make the dish any less intimidating. "Okay, but... are there herbs in this?" He squinted, trying to identify the ingredients. "Please tell me you didn't sneak potions into my food."
An's smirk grew. "They're all edible ingredients, nothing to worry about. And no, there's no potion in there. Besides, you're not a pharmacist; you wouldn't understand the details even if I explained them."
"Wait, wait." Oliver's eyes widened. "Herbs or not, this looks... dangerous." He shook his head, but before he could back out, An's calm demeanor convinced him to take a leap of faith. With a deep breath, he scooped up a portion and swallowed.
Meanwhile, in another part of the kingdom, Aegnor sat alone in a quiet room, absentmindedly playing with an old badge in his hands. He glanced toward the window, lost in thought, until a familiar voice snapped him out of his reverie.
"What's wrong?" An asked from across the room, leaning forward slightly. She had been sitting there for a while, and yet Aegnor hadn't noticed her.
Startled, Aegnor straightened up immediately, his posture stiff as he quickly apologized. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were there."
An's gaze fell on the badge he was toying with. "That old thing? You've kept it for so many years."
Aegnor gave a small, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his head. "I don't have much worth keeping, honestly. This badge is all I've got."
"Not even something to remember me by?" An teased, leaning in closer, her face inches from his.
Aegnor leaned back, uncomfortable with her proximity. "You can't collect memories like objects, An. Life isn't something you can keep locked away."
An rolled her eyes in frustration. "Sometimes I wonder if you have any emotional intelligence at all." She stood up, crossing her arms as she stared down at him. After all this time, Aegnor still didn't understand.
It wasn't that Aegnor was clueless. It was just that every time he considered letting his guard down, something held him back. Maybe it was fear, or maybe it was just easier for him to keep his feelings hidden.
An sighed, turning away from him. "Forget it. I suppose there's no point in rushing things."
––
At the same time, Chris stood under the fading glow of the sun, his gaze fixed on the horizon as he anxiously waited for Enola's return. Though only half a day had passed, it felt like much longer, and as a close friend, his worry had been gnawing at him.
Finally, Enola appeared, walking toward him. "Did you find what you were looking for?" Chris asked, his voice tense with anticipation.
Enola nodded, though there was a hint of hesitation. "It wasn't a complete success, but I've confirmed that there are elves willing to communicate with us. However, there was... a complication."
"Is it about that person's fate?" Chris asked, concern deepening his voice.
"Yes, and I also ran into Oliver while I was there."
Chris raised an eyebrow. "How's he doing?"
Enola shrugged. "He's a bit worse for wear; dusty and tired, but his spirit seems intact."
"Good to know," Chris said with a sigh of relief. "Come inside."
Enola nodded. "Alright."
––
Oliver found himself standing by a familiar lakeside once again. The night sky stretched above him, stars twinkling like tiny diamonds, but something was different this time. The moon was nowhere to be seen, leaving the scene bathed in an eerie twilight.
But that wasn't what held his. No, his eyes were fixed on the figure standing on the surface of the lake. The shape was still blurry, just like before, as if he were staring at someone through a fogged lens. He could make out the outline now, clearer than the last time, but it remained just out of reach.
The voice spoke again, calm and commanding. "I didn't bring you here to see me. Look at it carefully. Prepare yourself, and you will understand what I mean."
Oliver didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the mysterious figure. There was something familiar about the voice, something that tugged at his memory, but no matter how hard he tried, the connection eluded him. He stood still, feeling the weight of the unknown pressing in on him, waiting for the truth to reveal itself.
Oliver's gaze was suddenly yanked to the side, and the world around him shifted dramatically. The once-familiar landscape vanished, replaced by an eerie scene. A thick, gray liquid oozed across the ground, creeping over everything in its path. Stones, trees, even the smallest weeds were consumed as the liquid advanced, slowly swallowing everything until they disappeared completely from sight.
The gray mass continued to expand, growing larger with every passing second. It advanced relentlessly, inching closer to Oliver's feet, stopping just as it was about to touch his toes. For a moment, it rippled; proof that it was a liquid; but then it stilled, becoming unnaturally smooth.
It was like looking into a mirror, except this mirror reflected nothing, an emptiness that sent a chill through him. There was something deeply unsettling about it, as if he was staring into the void.
Then, without warning, cracks began to spiderweb across the liquid's surface. At first, they were small, but they grew wider, deeper, until the entire thing shattered like fragile glass. The gray mass exploded into a storm of dust, the particles swirling around him in a strange, chaotic dance before finally dispersing.
"Ah!" Oliver jolted awake, his breath quick and uneven. His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at his hand, confused and disoriented. When had he fallen asleep? He couldn't remember. The last thing he recalled was reading, feeling slightly off after eating that strange meal, and then... nothing. Just blank.
Cold sweat trickled down his back as he stood abruptly, scanning the area. His eyes flicked over his body, his surroundings, trying to find any evidence of what had just happened. He checked for any strange marks on his skin, reached for his quiver; everything was in place. Nothing was missing.
Was it all in his head? Had he been so exhausted that he'd slipped into a dream without realizing it?
He sat back down, scratching his head, his eyes falling on the now-empty container that had held the food. There didn't seem to be any sign of drugs or anything tampered with. Still, a deep sense of unease gnawed at him. Something about the experience didn't sit right. It felt too real to be just a dream, and yet, he couldn't quite piece it together.
There was this strange sensation, as if something had been forced into his mind, but he couldn't remember what. Was it just his fatigue playing tricks on him?
With a sigh, he glanced back at the book in his hands. It seemed like the only thing he could do now was bury himself in its pages, searching for something; anything; that could distract him from this unsettling feeling creeping under his skin. Maybe the answers he sought were hidden in those pages.
---
In the depths of a dark, shadowy realm, a single beam of light pierced through the blackness, illuminating a small patch of ground. Beyond that, countless figures clad in heavy armor lay prostrate, their bodies pressed low to the earth. They were elite warriors, their movements precise and disciplined, each of them driven by unshakable faith. Fear had no hold on them; they crawled forward on their knees, not from cowardice, but from devotion.
From their lips poured an unholy murmur, words that were once human but now transformed into something else, something reverent. They believed in the light, bathed in it, worshipped it. Their mission was simple; to bring that light into every shadowed corner of the world, to ensure nothing escaped its cleansing gaze.
In their left hands, they carried scales, symbols of judgment. In their right, sharp swords gleamed, ready to enact punishment. They measured the sins of others with those scales and, when the time came, they would sever them with the swift, decisive stroke of their blades. Their mission was to bring about redemption, tirelessly working to influence even the vilest of souls, their commitment unwavering even if it meant a lifetime of endeavor.
To them, all were equal: age, gender, status held no sway. They were blind to wealth, power, and all temporal temptations, eschewing any notion of prejudice or preconception. They disregarded any racial distinctions, united in their singular focus.
Their sanctuary, simply named the Church, was known across the lands. To them, it represented not just a place of worship but a beacon of their utopian dream; their only dream. They prayed daily, either to absolve themselves of their own sins or to keep these sins at the forefront of their minds as a reminder of their purpose. Their sincerity was evident not in spells or enchanted artifacts, but in their pure, heartfelt actions, day in and day out.
Their timelines differed, one under the cover of night, the other not yet veiled by darkness; but their devotion was the same, timeless and unyielding.