A wave of nausea washed over Leila as she stirred from her slumber; the makeshift ward, a somber sanctuary of quiet suffering. Anya, Leila's younger sister rushed to her side. "Leila, you're awake!" she exclaimed, her voice joyful. "How do you feel?"
Leila tried to sit up, but her body protested with a sharp pain. She grimaced, her face contorted in discomfort. "Not great," she managed to croak, "My head feels like it's going to explode."
Anya gently pressed a cool cloth to Leila's forehead, her touch a soothing balm against the throbbing pain. "You'll be fine," with a former optimism, she assured Leila, "The healer said you're doing great."
Leila nodded weakly, her gaze drifting around the ward. The sight of the injured villagers, their faces etched with pain and suffering, filled her with a sense of dread. She knew that they were fighting a losing battle, that their village was doomed. All because of she failed.
A tear escaped from Leila's eye, rolling down her cheek. She clenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm. She would not give up hope. She would fight for her village, for her friends, for her family.
Anya's voice trembled as she recounted the events of the night before. "We searched for you everywhere, Leila," she said, her eyes filled with tears. "We thought the worst."
Leila's tried to piece together the fragments of her memory, the chaos of the battle, the deafening crash, and then... a fleeting glimpse of a dark figure. Who was that? Some sort of creature?
"We found you near the edge of the village," Anya continued, relief discerned from her words. "You were unconscious, but alive."
Leila was grateful to Anya and the villagers for bringing her to safety, yet all she could think of was... How?
News of Leila's recovery spread throughout the village like wildfire, igniting a flicker of hope in the hearts of its weary inhabitants. Friends and family gathered around her bedside, their faces etched with joy.
As the villagers shared stories and laughter, Leila's spirits began to lift. The weight of despair that had once burdened her heart began to lighten, replaced by a newfound determination. She knew that her village faced a daunting challenge, but she also knew that they were not alone. They had each other, and together, they could overcome anything.
Kaito squeezed his way through the crowd of villagers, his eyes scanning the room for a familiar face. When he spotted Leila sitting on a bed, a surge of relief washed over him. He had something important to say, something that had been weighing heavily on his mind. But he wasn't sure how to approach the subject.
"Leila," he began, his voice filled with concern, "what happened after you...?"
The memory of the mysterious figure was still hazy, a fleeting glimpse shrouded in darkness. How could she explain something she barely understood?
Frustration bubbled within her as she realized the answer might forever remain a mystery. She had stared death in the face and lived to tell the tale,Yet, truth be told, none so near the abyss should have escaped. Not even she.
"I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "I fell... And then... nothing."
The villagers exchanged worried glances. Leila's story was a puzzle with missing pieces, a mystery that deepened the fear and uncertainty that gripped the village.
She didn't want to talk about what had happened to her, the terrifying ordeal she had endured, thus, a change of subject was a must.
"Where are the others?" she asked, hoping to divert Kaito's attention.
"Making preparations," Kaito replied, his voice serious.
Across the square, a flicker of movement caught Leila's eye. She turned to see Vergil, his figure shrouded in the dim light of the setting sun. His gaze was fixed on her, an unreadable expression playing across his features. She had seen Vergil in action, his healing prowess, but there had been moments, fleeting glimpses of something else beneath the surface, something she couldn't quite decipher, something about him that intrigued her.
Darius stepped closer to Vergil." Leila's eyes are open," he announced, a flicker of relief momentarily breaking through his facade. "Let's plan our next step."
"Our course remains unchanged," Vergil's response was terse, devoid of any warmth. "We must capture one of those creatures. It is the only way to prevail."
Darius nodded, "You're right. But my concern is... her" Darian threw a few glances at Leila. "These creatures are unlike any I've encountered. Their strength is unparalleled. It's a miracle she's alive."
Vergil's eyes narrowed. "No doubt. All the more reason you should stick to my plan and it should work out just fine, albeit, with a bit of patience...
...not my greatest virtue, I'd say." Vergil then walked away, leaving Darius to ponder his words.
Darius glanced at Leila once again. She seemed so determined, so willing to sacrifice herself for the good of the village. But was she making the right decision?
Darius, overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness against an enemy whose true power remained hidden, let out a defeated sigh. The task was impossible, but they had no other option. They must press forward, fight, and survive.
For the sake of his village, for Leila, for all those he loved, Darius would do whatever it took. He would trust Vergil, even if his gut is against it.
~
With his gaze fixed on a weathered map, Vergil traced the winding paths and rugged terrain of the surrounding landscape. Darius had handed him the map upon his request. He didn't know what Vergil needed it for, and Vergil couldn't be bothered to explain this to him.
Vergil examined the map more closely, his frustration growing with each passing moment. The map was not as detailed as he had hoped, its contours and landmarks vague and indistinct. He needed more information, more context.
"Is this the best you have?" he demanded.
Darius nodded, "It is."
Vergil's frustration boiled over. "Well, this is useless. Surely, you must have tried to track the summoner?"
"We couldn't," said Darius. He did not appreciate Vergil's rudeness.
"You couldn't??
Darius' face hardened. "We did try," he replied, his voice low and menacing. Vergil was getting on his nerves.
"We sent a party north, to investigate the source of the attacks." A wave of silence followed suit.
"And?"
"They never returned," Darius continued, his voice trembling. "We lost many good people that day. And then, the attacks only worsened."
Vergil's gaze, sharp as a honed blade, pierced Darius's facade. He sensed a lie, a deception lurking beneath the surface of Darius's words. "Tell me everything," Vergil demanded, his voice carrying an undercurrent of steel.
Darius, caught off guard by Vergil's perceptiveness, hesitated. Could Vergil truly be onto him? He knew he couldn't hide the truth any longer, hence with a heavy sigh, Darius began to recount a chilling tale.
"Months ago," he began, his voice low and somber, "news reached our shores of the fall of Elysium, a city renowned for its strength and beauty. We were alarmed, of course, but nothing could have prepared us for what came next."
Darius's voice trembled as he continued, "Creatures born from darkness, twisted and vile, fell upon us. Children, women... they were torn apart before our very eyes." He paused, his fists clenched tightly. A memory, a horror he had tried to bury, had resurfaced. "Our lord, Aether, Elara's father, set out on a perilous journey to Elysium. With a warden and a force of formidable soldiers, he vowed to cleanse the world of the evil that had befallen the city."
Vergil's brow furrowed. "So you believe the attacks on your city are connected to whatever happened in Elysium?"
Darius nodded firmly. "The evidence points to it."
Vergil didn't need to ask about the fate of Aether and his men. The unspoken truth was clear: they had never returned. But at least now, he had a starting point.
The city of Elysium was marked on the map, its location unmistakable. A place so renowned would surely be depicted.
The journey to Elysium was inevitable, Vergil knew. It was there, within the heart of that ancient city, that he would find the summoner and uncover the secrets he craved. Power, the ultimate prize, awaited him. But Vergil was no fool. In his weakened state, a head-on confrontation would be nothing short of suicide. He would need to play his cards with cunning and precision.
A somber atmosphere had descended upon the village as they gathered for the funeral of those lost in the recent battle. The crackling flames cast dancing shadows upon Vergil's face, painting him in an eerie light. He stood amidst the mourners, a solitary figure shrouded in an aura of quiet detachment.
As the bodies were laid to rest and consumed by flames, Vergil felt a gaze upon him.
It was Leila. He recognized the familiar pattern of her energy, a unique signature that he had imprinted in his mind during their brief encounter.
Vergil's eyes wandered from the dancing flames, but she turned away swiftly. Nevertheless, for a split second, their gazes collided, and in that instant, Vergil perceived a mix of emotions: sorrow, fear, and a flicker of something else, something that he couldn't quite decipher.