The warm light from the setting sun filled the small room, casting long shadows across the floor. The faint scent of incense still lingered in the air from earlier, mixing with the earthy fragrance of Roseiral's herbs. It was quiet now; the soft rustling of the leaves outside the window and the occasional creak of the wooden floor as they both settled into the calm after the moment with Godless.
Liliac leaned back in his chair, his posture relaxed, as if taking in the room and everything about Roseiral's presence. His movements, and his gaze held an almost gentle quality to it.
"So," he began, his voice smooth and warm, breaking the silence, "how are you settling in? How's the group treating you?"
Roseiral took a breath, her fingers curling around the edges of her ceramic cup. "I'm doing well," she answered, not surprised about Liliac knowing that she joined the eel fishing shop, though she could feel herself searching for the right words. "I joined the Fragmenters at the eel fishing shop. They've been really kind to me. I'm glad to have found a place... after everything." She hesitated, the weight of the word "everything" hanging in the air.
Liliac tilted his head slightly, "What do you mean, 'everything'?" His voice was light, as though he were gently prompting her, not pushing, simply encouraging her to speak.
She paused for a moment, then continued, "You know... after the village. After... everything that happened."
He was listening, waiting for her to continue, but there was no hint of pressure in his stance or tone. "The village?" His voice was calm, offering no judgment, only quiet curiosity.
Roseiral blinked, a slight furrow in her brow. She suddenly felt the weight of his question and felt a shift in the conversation, but she couldn't quite place why. "Yeah... the village. The one where I grew up. It was... destroyed. That's why I had to leave." She paused again, trying to bring the details into focus. "I had to leave because—"
She stopped mid-sentence, her mind clouded by a brief flash of uncertainty. The memory of the village was there, but the edges of it were blurry, just out of reach. The image was fragmented, as if a veil had settled over it, hiding parts of the past.
Liliac didn't interrupt her. He simply nodded, as if giving her space to gather her thoughts. "I see," he said quietly, his tone understanding. His eyes seemed to reflect a deep attentiveness, as though he were waiting for her to share more when she was ready.
Roseiral met his gaze, her confusion growing just a little. Why couldn't she fully remember the details of that day? Why did everything feel so distant?
But she pushed the thought aside, offering him a smile. "Anyway," she said, trying to ease the tension she felt building inside, "the Fragmenters have been good to me. They've shown me how to do things, helped me fit in. It's... it's been a good change."
Liliac's expression softened, his eyes quiet but thoughtful. "That's good to hear. I'm glad you've found a group where you feel welcome." He paused, and for a moment, there was a quiet between them, like he was carefully considering his next words. "It's important to feel like you belong, especially after going through something difficult."
Roseiral nodded, grateful for his understanding. "Yeah, exactly. It's hard to feel... alone, you know?"
Liliac smiled, though the smile was subtle, calm. "You're not alone, Roseiral. You have a lot of people around you now, people who care. But I want you to know that you don't have to carry everything on your own, either." His voice had a quiet reassurance, as if he were reminding her that it was okay to lean on others when things got hard.
Roseiral felt the sincerity in his words, and it brought her a sense of comfort. There was something about Liliac—something warm and steady, like the anchor of a calm sea. She felt no sense of discomfort from his gaze, only that familiar presence of someone who was truly listening, truly understanding.
"You're right," she said softly, letting herself relax into the chair. "I think I'm finally starting to realize that."
Liliac nodded, his expression unchanged but still full of care. "Just remember that it's okay to take time for yourself, to figure things out at your own pace. No one expects you to have all the answers right now." His voice remained gentile, never rushing her.
She smiled again, a little more at ease. "Thank you, Liliac. I... I really appreciate you being here."
Liliac's gaze softened, his smile barely there but still warm. "I'm always here for you, Roseiral. You've got a lot of strength, and I'm sure you'll find your way. Whatever you need, just know that you're not alone in it."
There was a long pause, but it was comfortable, as though the air had settled around them, the earlier unease melting away. Roseiral looked down at her hands, thinking about his words, and felt a sense of peace that she hadn't known in a while.
"You should get some rest," Liliac said quietly, his tone now calm, like a gentle suggestion. "You've been through a lot already today. Tomorrow will be here before you know it."
She nodded, not just because it made sense, but because she knew he was right. She had a lot to think about, a lot to process, but somehow, the quiet strength in Liliac's presence made it feel like she could handle whatever came next.
As Liliac stood and made his way to the door, he turned back once more, his gaze steady and warm.
"Take care of yourself, Roseiral. Don't be afraid to ask for help if you need it."
Roseiral watched him leave, her thoughts swirling, but there was a subtle comfort in knowing that she had someone who genuinely cared. Someone who was there, even when the answers weren't clear.
As the door clicked softly behind him, Roseiral allowed herself to take a deep breath, the unease she had felt earlier finally subsiding. She wasn't sure what the future held, but for the first time in a while, she felt like she might just be able to face it.
-
The air outside the eel fishing shop was as dead as always, the streets barren, the market silent, save for a few shadows lurking in the corners of the most criminal district in the kingdom. Roseiral's boots scraped against the grimy cobblestone as she made her way to the shop. There was something unsettling about this place—its quiet, oppressive atmosphere always felt as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen.
She pushed open the shop's door, and the low, familiar hum of activity greeted her—a mixture of low murmurs, the clink of tools, and the scent of brine. Ryker was at the counter, his back turned as he worked with a tangle of ropes.
"Roseiral," he called without turning. "You're just in time. Got something important for you today."
Roseiral approached, her heartbeat quickening at the shift in the air. The usual calmness in Ryker's demeanor was replaced by a hard edge today, something different in his tone. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice betraying a hint of unease.
Ryker straightened, his eyes narrowing as he took in her tense posture. "Arvo will be going with you today," he said, his voice almost casual but laced with an undertone of warning.
Roseiral blinked, her heart skipping. "Is two people really enough?" She had heard of Arvo being one of the strongest in the group, But two people? Against what exactly?
Ryker gave a small shrug, but there was no humor in it. "Arvo's a seasoned fighter. He's handled worse." He paused, his gaze assessing her. "He's more than capable. You'll see when you meet him."
As if on cue, the door to the shop swung open, and in walked a tall, broad-shouldered figure. Arvo, unmistakably. His presence filled the space with a palpable weight, and for a moment, everything seemed to grow quieter in his wake. He was dressed in heavy, dark armor that gleamed faintly even in the dim light. His face was obscured by a hood, casting his features in shadow, but his cold, unblinking eyes glinted with a quiet intensity.
"Yep, that's me," Arvo said simply, his voice gruff but steady. He nodded at Ryker, then at Roseiral, not offering much else. He didn't seem like a man who cared for pleasantries.
Roseiral swallowed her unease. She knew Arvo was more than capable, but the sheer silence around him, the aura of deadly competence, made her feel like an amateur in comparison. Still, she pushed those thoughts away, focusing on the task ahead.
Ryker's voice broke through her thoughts. "The reason we haven't mentioned the monsters you'll be facing today," he began slowly, eyes flicking between her and Arvo, "is because we cannot talk about them."
Roseiral frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"
Ryker's gaze sharpened. "Simple. The moment you talk about these monsters—what they are, what they do—they know exactly where you are. And they can kill you. Mentally."
Roseiral's throat went dry. "Kill us… mentally?"
Ryker nodded. "Yeah. These things… they're different. They've been exposed to the Fragmenting process long enough that they've transcended human understanding. They know things they shouldn't, and the moment you speak about them, they latch onto you, crawling into your mind. The more you think about them, the more they can manipulate you, until you lose everything."
Roseiral's heart skipped a beat. A monster that could kill through the mind? It sounded like something out of a nightmare.
"So… how do we fight them?" Roseiral asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You face them," Ryker replied bluntly. "You don't think about it. You don't speak about it. You just fight. In the case things get serious, though," he added with a sly glance at Arvo, "I'll be watching. I'll keep an eye on you both from a distance. If you need help, I'll be there. But you'll need to face this on your own."
Roseiral swallowed. The weight of his words hit her like a physical blow, and for a moment, she wondered if she was truly ready for whatever awaited them out there.
Arvo didn't say a word, simply waiting as Ryker turned and grabbed a set of sleek leather armor from the wall. The armor shimmered faintly in the dim light as Ryker inspected it carefully before handing it to her. "Get suited up," he said, his tone more businesslike now. "Arvo will be ready in an hour, and I need you both to move quickly. Trust me—this one won't wait for you to be ready."
Roseiral hesitated for a moment but nodded. Her hands felt clammy as she accepted the armor, the weight of it pressing down on her like an invisible force. She turned and retreated into the corner to change, the cool leather against her skin strangely reassuring. The tight fit of the armor felt more like a second skin than protective gear, and as she adjusted the straps, she felt the weight of the task ahead settle heavily on her chest.
Ryker stood at the counter, looking at Roseiral with an expression that was both reassuring and unyielding. "You took the potion from Vero, right?" he asked, his voice steady, but carrying a sense of urgency. "The one that strengthens your mind up to Stage 3? Your physical endurance and awareness will be heightened, and your reaction timing will be faster than ever. You'll be fine, Roseiral. Trust me on that."
She nodded, the memory of the bitter concoction still fresh on her tongue. Vero had warned her about the risks—the burping, the potential for long-term effects. But right now, those concerns were buried beneath the heavy weight of the mission ahead.
"I'll be okay," Roseiral said, more to herself than to Ryker, as she gathered the armor and prepared to leave.
The air was thick as they stepped into the eerie forest, the oppressive silence of the criminal district far behind them now. The trees towered above, twisted and gnarled, their branches reaching like hands desperate for something.
Arvo remained silent, his eyes scanning every shadow, every corner of the path. Roseiral couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, though there was nothing but stillness around them.
As they moved deeper, the tension in the air grew heavier, as if the forest itself were holding its breath. And then, in the distance—a sound.
A faint, almost imperceptible humming. It was so subtle at first that Roseiral wasn't sure if she had imagined it. But it grew, slowly at first, then louder, until it seemed to vibrate in her chest. Something was near.
They rounded a bend in the trail, and that was when Roseiral saw it.
A child.
He was sitting on the ground, his knees drawn up to his chest. His skin was pale, as if drained of life itself, and his clothes hung loosely on his small frame—ragged, torn, and covered in dirt. There was a hollow look in his eyes, a haunting emptiness that seemed to pull at the very air around him. He didn't seem to notice them as they approached, his gaze distant, lost somewhere far beyond this world.
Roseiral froze, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the sight of him. "Is he…?" she started, her voice faltering, unsure of what to make of this strange, unsettling figure.
Before she could finish her sentence, Arvo was at her side. His hand shot out and pressed firmly against her mouth, cutting off the words she was about to say.
"Shh," he hissed, his voice low and tense.
Roseiral's eyes widened in confusion, but she instinctively obeyed, her breath quickening as she stared at the child. She wanted to speak, to ask what this was, who this child was—but something about the scene felt wrong. Everything about him felt… off.
And then, the humming began again.
This time, the sound came from the child.
At first, it was almost pleasant—a soft, soothing lullaby, carried on the wind like the echo of a far-off melody. But the longer it went on, the more unsettling it became. The tune seemed to twist, like it was growing darker with each passing second. Roseiral felt her stomach churn as the song wrapped around her mind, its melody sinking into her thoughts.
And then the child's eyes snapped to her.
His gaze was sharp, focused, filled with an eerie, predatory awareness. In that instant, everything changed.
The boy stood up slowly, his movements jerky and unnatural, as though his limbs were not his own. His face remained expressionless, but his body... it began to warp.
Roseiral watched, horrified, as the boy's body began to elongate, his arms and legs stretching like rubber, his small frame expanding in grotesque ways. His skin rippled and twisted, veins bulging from beneath as though something beneath the surface was pushing to break free. His eyes never left Roseiral.
But it wasn't just the physical change that was disturbing—it was what happened next.
The boy's mouth stretched open, far too wide, unnaturally so, as if his jaw could unhinge. From it, a thin, whispering voice emerged, the same lullaby that had been humming earlier, now distorted and malevolent. As the melody echoed from his mouth, tendrils of darkness began to curl around him, snaking through the air like living creatures.
The worst part? The tendrils had faces—faces of children, twisted and grotesque, their eyes empty, their mouths frozen in silent screams. The tendrils reached toward Roseiral, crawling along the ground, their twisted faces leering up at her as they moved closer.
The boy took a step forward, and Roseiral felt a sharp pressure in her mind—a searing headache, a dull throb behind her eyes. The lullaby, the twisted song, seemed to seep into her thoughts, filling her mind with memories that weren't hers. It was like she could hear the screams of the children, the desperate cries for help, even though no sound escaped their mouths. The weight of their pain pressed against her chest, threatening to suffocate her.
It was like the boy—the monster—was feeding on her emotions, pulling out her deepest fears, her weaknesses. She felt herself losing control, her thoughts becoming clouded, blurry, as if the song were slowly twisting her sense of reality.
But Arvo didn't move. He stood still, watching with cold, calculating eyes as the boy's form continued to stretch and contort.
"Do not listen to the song," Arvo muttered quietly, his voice sharp. "Focus, Roseiral. Fight it."
She clenched her teeth, trying to shake the feeling off. Her head throbbed, but she fought to keep herself together. The faces on the tendrils, the voices echoing in her mind—she couldn't let them overwhelm her.
Arvo stepped forward, unsheathing his weapon, but he didn't charge. He knew this wasn't a battle of physical strength. This was a battle of will.
The boy—no, the monster—was still humming that twisted lullaby, its face stretching into something even more grotesque, more alien. But Roseiral could feel the strain on her mind, the tension in the air. She focused on her breath, on the clarity she had gained from the potion, and forced her mind to push through the disorienting effects of the creature's power.
Arvo moved first, his blade slashing through the air with precision. The tendrils recoiled at the strike, but the boy—monster—was relentless, his body warping and twisting, dodging with unnatural speed.
Roseiral stepped forward, her own weapon drawn, her body responding with a newfound clarity and heightened awareness. She couldn't let this thing—this twisted reflection of something once human—consume her. She wouldn't let it.
And with that thought, she lunged.