"At the edge where light and shadow meet, a shattered soul was rebuilding itself, carrying the echo of a latent power the world had yet to understand." —Excerpt from unpublished manuscript: Ink and Swords.
???'s Point of View.
"Abomination! This is all your fault! Your fault that my husband died! You bring nothing but misfortune, demon! You are a curse brought into this world to stain it with your evil!" bellowed a voice, torn apart by absolute hatred.
"Plea... please, ma... ma-ma, le-le-let me go..." stammered a little girl, her tone fractured by fear.
"Don't call me that! I'm not your mother! My daughter is dead, and you replaced her with your lies, demon!" screamed the woman who was once lovingly called mother.
Smack! The sound of a slap echoed, harsh and cruel. Two figures stood opposed: one, curled up on the floor, sobbing in helplessness; the other, towering above, her face contorted with fury as she unleashed her loathing.
The pale skin of a cheek turned red, beautiful silver eyes spilled tears of despair. "Stop crying. Your lies don't fool me. Demons have no feelings!" the woman spat.
Smack! Another slap landed, followed by another and another, each one harsher than the last. The little girl, no more than six years old, tried to shield herself with her small hands, but it was no use. Her face was flung from side to side, tears gushing uncontrollably.
"Ple-please, ma-ma, it hurts..." the child whispered, barely able to speak.
"I won't fall for your lies!" The woman, consumed by feverish madness, clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture. Her voice, once dripping with hatred, turned reverent.
"Erislysse, forgive this sinner for bringing this spawn into the world! Guide me, oh great goddess! Tell me what I must do to atone for this sin!" she cried, lifting her gaze to the ceiling, as if seeking a divine sign. Something gleamed in her eyes, a spark of sick excitement.
"What? Solve the problem at its root? If that is your will, my lady, so be it!" she said with a deranged smile as she stood with determination. Grabbing the girl by her hair, she dragged her across the floor of the house, once a home filled with love and laughter. Splinters of wood scraped her skin as her screams of pain and fear were drowned out by the woman's prayers. She kicked and pleaded for mercy, babbling incoherent apologies, but... nothing worked.
"Ma-ma, you're hurting me!" she shrieked, trying to break free, but was ignored. The pale-haired woman kept walking, dragging her without pause until they reached the kitchen. With a violent motion, she threw the girl against the wall. The frail body hit with a dull thud before crumpling to the floor. Her bruised, swollen cheeks, tear-filled eyes, and trembling mouth struggled to find words for a pain she couldn't comprehend.
"Erislysse, help this humble servant fulfill your will! Grant me the strength to rid the world of this demon!" cried the mother as she continued her fervent prayers. In her hands rested a knife meant for cutting meat, her gaze lost in a world of madness.
The little girl tried to stand, mumbling apologies through sobs: "I-I... I'm sorry if I d-did something wrong, please f-forgive me... mom..." Her words fell on deaf ears. They were neither heard, nor accepted, nor even sought.
The mother approached, her steady hands unwavering. Before her stood a small, innocent child who couldn't comprehend the magnitude of the situation, who was simply apologizing as any child would, unsure if she had done something wrong. A sickening sound echoed in the kitchen.
"Ahhhrrgh!" screamed the little girl. Blood and other fluids splattered across her. Her face twisted in pain, despair, and terror—emotions she had never known before.
A sharp knife had plunged into her eye socket, plunging her left vision into darkness. Shades of crimson stained her clothes. Instincts took over, as they do with any human. The little girl fought with all her strength, struggling against the person who had given her life. But... her fragile form was no match for the woman in her prime.
She ended up on the floor again, her mother straddling her. Pain devoured her senses, leaving her unable to think or grasp why her mother acted this way, why this was happening when she had done nothing to provoke it. And yet, she kept fighting, clinging to the hope of escape because... she was human, like anyone else.
"My goddess! I beg for your forgiveness, I implore and plead for mercy upon this sinner who gave birth to a demon."
"Ahhhhhh!" Another scream echoed through the room. The mother had grabbed the child's face with her free hand, while the other finished what it had started. The same knife was yanked out with fury from its resting place and plunged into the other eye.
An abyss of darkness consumed her vision, trapping the innocent child in its grasp for eternity. Screams, endless screams reverberated. The little girl felt unimaginable pain, one comparable to the agonizing ache in her chest, where she gasped for air and something far more vital.
The mother stood, her bloodstained hands clutching the weapon as she began to pray: "May this sacrifice appease your wrath, my lady!"
The girl, traumatized and horrified, did the only thing she could—try to flee. However, in a world now darkened and riddled with agony, all she could do was crawl. Her fingers slipped across the floor, slick with her own blood. Desperation burned like a fire consuming her chest. "I don't want to die..." she thought, as the sound of footsteps behind her made her body tremble.
Wooden planks became stained; her fingers dug into the floor, dragging her fragile figure forward. The footsteps drew closer, scaring her, urging her to move faster. Unfortunately, blind as she was now, she had no way to know where to go—and slammed directly into a wall.
The footsteps drew closer, her mother approached, her shadow falling over the child like a harbinger of death. With both hands, she raised the knife above her head, ready to deliver the final blow. A macabre scene unfolded, where a once-happy family had existed. The little girl, still unable to comprehend why all this was happening, knew only one thing—she wanted to live. Desperation flooded her system, so deep it began to burn in her chest.
Her mother knelt down, her gaze euphoric, the knife lifting high above her head, gripped tightly in both hands. Without hesitation, she brought it down with all her might on the back of the demon that had taken her husband and daughter.
But in that home, in that room, Mana surged like a storm, answering the desperate cry of a young girl. The world itself, the very prana of existence, bestowed its legacy upon the child—her own Innate Ability.
Light. All that could be seen was light—a pure, blinding whiteness that would have seared the eyelids of anyone who witnessed it. Light that, when it vanished, revealed an infernal scene: the woman, impaled against the ceiling by dozens of spears of light that pierced her body like divine lances. Her form, mangled and bloodied, was barely recognizable. Blood dripped steadily, staining the floor with grotesque symbolism. All that remained was a repulsive sight unfit to behold.
The little girl, unaware of the scene she could no longer see, called out in a trembling voice: "M-mom? A-are you still there?" Her innocence, even after everything, was a testament to the unconditional love she held for her mother. But that love was no longer returned.
Still trapped in the darkness of her new world, the little girl reached out with trembling hands, searching the floor desperately. She didn't understand what had happened, only that something within her had changed.
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Half a year later...
Location: Eldoria Territory.
Xylarion's Domain: The City of Lirvandrel.
The sea breeze was ever-present here in Lirvandrel, the largest mercantile city on the continent. Its prosperity was evident in the bustling docks and the vibrancy of the markets. With its ships traversing hostile seas, it was one of the few safe routes across the mountain range. With its idyllic beaches, the city was both a trade hub and a coveted tourist destination, but that was a story for another time.
In the less fortunate streets, in one of its crowded squares, a grim reality played out under the sanction of the city's rulers. Here... a slaver displayed his macabre wares.
"Come, come! The finest slaves in the city! You won't find better: humans, demi-humans, Folkmmurd, and Elfcors! Guaranteed quality!" The raspy voice of an overweight merchant boomed, drawing curious and resigned glances alike. "Need a servant, a companion, or a bedmate? You'll find them here!" he bellowed, sweating profusely under the weight of his own greed.
Before his makeshift display, the crowd shuffled past. Some curious onlookers paused; others turned away in disgust. In front of him stood a lineup of miserable beings, chained together, the last remnants of their dignity shattered. Their battered bodies bore the shackles binding their necks, wrists, and ankles. Among them was his prized offering: five beautiful women in chains and a silver-haired girl. Thin to the point of fragility, she trembled under the weight of her chains. She was... the brightest jewel of the lot. If no one bought her by the end of the day, the merchant had decided to keep her for his own twisted desires.
Then, heavy footsteps resounded through the chatter. An imposing man strode up to the merchant. He was so massive that he dwarfed the slaver, even as the latter stood on his makeshift platform. His dull green hair, his eyes gleaming like blades, and the veiled menace in his smile sent a collective shiver down the spines of those nearby.
"How much for the little one?" His deep voice carried a calm yet unmistakable threat. The fat merchant swallowed hard, forcing a nervous grin. "T-twenty gold coins, good sir. She's untouched, no one has laid a hand on her."
Without a word, the man pulled out a small leather pouch, let the gold coins tumble onto the ground before the merchant, and smiled. But the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Good. If they had, you'd already be dead."
The merchant took an instinctive step back, sweating profusely as he hurried to scoop up the coins. But his relief was short-lived.
"Now that you've got your money, release her slave contract," the man's voice was devoid of any calm now, each word an unyielding command.
The vendor hesitated, glancing nervously at the Mythril plates hanging around his customer's neck. This man was a high-ranking Adventurer. The twin axes strapped to his back, scarred and worn from countless battles, solidified his decision not to argue over the financial loss of freeing a slave from their contract.
"Right away, sir," he said. With trembling hands, prana surged from within him, illuminating the back of his hand and revealing a tattoo of a serpent devouring itself, similar to the one that appeared on the neck of the silver-haired girl. Without hesitation, he broke the contract binding her.
In moments, the shackles fell to the ground with an echo that seemed to liberate more than just flesh and bone. The girl, however, remained still, too devoid of hope to comprehend what was happening. The other slaves didn't lift their heads; their lifeless gazes couldn't bear another's hope. The girl, frail and hunched, was pushed toward her new owner. He knelt on one knee before her, his smile this time genuine, warm.
"Tell me, little one, do you have a name?" The girl didn't respond. Her emaciated figure trembled under the weight of his words. Her gaze, hidden behind filthy bandages, and her dress, barely a rag shielding her from the cold, bore silent witness to unspeakable suffering. Her hands, marred by dark bruises, fidgeted with the wrists where the shackles had left their mark.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" the man asked, his voice unusually gentle for someone of his stature. "If you'll allow me, I can help with the pain." Saying this, he pulled out a small jar of ointment from his belt. The kindness in his words starkly contrasted with his berserker-like appearance. Yet, somehow, the girl felt that warmth reach her, and slowly, her head, previously bowed to the ground, began to lift.
Docile, she extended her arms, and with the care of a healer, the man applied the ointment to her wounds. She, astonished by a gesture of kindness she thought forgotten, felt a warmth bloom in her chest for the first time in months.
"Much better. Now, if you don't mind, can you tell me your name?"
"E-Eris, s-sir..." Her voice was barely a whisper, hoarse from disuse.
"That's a beautiful name, Eris. And you're very strong. Few could endure what you've been through," he said bluntly, his gaze growing icy as it shifted to the merchant, who had already endured enough for one day and was preparing to close shop. The comment made the girl lower her gaze, her trembling hands clenching against her chest. Seeing her, the man felt a cold fury rising within him. If fate had brought him here, it was to stop one more injustice in this world.
"I know a place where they can take care of you and give you what you need. Would you like to go?" Once again, the girl felt the sincerity in his words, as if it were an absolute truth. And for the first time in weeks, she wanted to cry again, but her tear ducts were damaged, so she did the only thing a desperate child could do in her situation.
She threw herself at him, clinging tightly. She hugged the one who had freed her chains, her body wracked with spasmodic hiccups that imitated a sob. Her cold, underdressed frame trembled. Her pain, the kind that kept her awake night after night, lessened. And as if it were a sign, the first person to treat her kindly in months returned the embrace.
"Don't worry. I'll take you somewhere safe. I know the caretaker; nothing will happen to you."
Unfortunately... the moment was interrupted far too soon, much to the girl's dismay. Approaching footsteps marked the slaver's quick retreat.
"So this is where you were, Berlian," came the coarse voice of a woman. An authoritative-looking warrior, followed by a motley group, approached with decisive strides. Among them, a dwarf quickly added, "You never change, do you?"
"Mmh, in my opinion, he's just throwing money away," the coarse voice echoed again, amusing the warrior's companions. "Well, you know Berlian—always wearing his heart on his sleeve despite looking so terrifying," another figure chimed in, drawing a few chuckles.
Berlian glanced at them with resignation, gently stroking Eris's hair to calm her. He shook his head as a sigh escaped his lips. Yes, those idiots were his companions... the Oathbound Sons, one of the most renowned Mythril-ranked adventurer companies.
"Guys, change of plans. We're taking a little detour before raiding that dungeon." Berlian continued stroking the girl's hair, who reminded him so much of Brián. They seemed to be about the same age, and just imagining something like this happening to his son made his blood boil.
The girl, still clinging to his pants, tried to hide from the new voices, but he reassured her softly.
"Yeah, we'd better listen to our ex-leader. After all, he came out of retirement to help us," another voice said, and everyone present smiled cheerfully, throwing jabs and comments, none with ill intent.
Berlian gave a faint smile, taking Eris's hand. For the first time in a long while, the girl felt a spark of hope return.
"Alright, let's get moving," Berlian said, grinning like the big-hearted fool he was.
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The author speaking here.
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