The officer coughed, blood dripping from his lips. "Let him leave!" he shouted weakly. "He's only a kid. He has nothing to do with this!"
His attention returning to the officer. "How dare you order me around?"
"You Corps dogs never learn, do you? Always so eager to stick your noses where they don't belong." He raised a hand, and the oppressive pressure intensified, forcing both Elijah and the officer to the ground.
Before Elijah could react, the man swung his blade. The officer's head fell to the ground, his body slumping lifelessly.
The man turned back to Elijah, his movements eerily smooth. In an instant, he was in front of him, his presence suffocating.
Elijah flinched as the man leaned closer, inspecting his face.
"You… with the purple mana," the man murmured, more to himself than Elijah. "Are you… who I think you are?"
Elijah's breath hitched, his heart pounding in his chest.
"But no," the man said, shaking his head. "That wouldn't make sense."
A cruel smile spread across his face. He raised a hand, and Elijah tensed, expecting an attack. But instead, the man patted his head.
"It's hard, isn't it? Being a newbie Esper," the man said cheerfully, as if he hadn't just killed someone. His sudden change in demeanor made Elijah's skin crawl.
Elijah froze, his mind reeling.
"You remind me of my little brother," the man continued, his voice softening with an odd fondness. "He joined the Corps, just like you."
"We never saw eye to eye. Different morals, I guess," he said, shrugging his shoulder.
Elijah froze as a memory surfaced.
"Eli," Augustus had said once, crouching to meet his eyes. "Because I, personally, have always believed in necessary evils... just like Mom did."
The man sighed, stepping back. "I hope you don't stay in the Corps," he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine sadness. "It would be a waste if I had to kill you."
With that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the forest's shadows.
Elijah's legs gave out beneath him. He sat there, his mind racing and his chest heaving with every breath. The man's words echoed in his ears, each one a chilling reminder of the danger he was in.
Elijah took a shaky step forward, but his body betrayed him. Unbeknownst to him, his mana had already been completely depleted. Between fighting Sand and pushing himself to stay conscious, his body had reached its limit. The world blurred and tilted, and he collapsed onto the forest floor, unconscious.
The sterile smell of antiseptics filled the air as sunlight streamed through the large windows of the clinic. The room was spacious, painted in pristine white, with neatly arranged beds lining the walls. Elijah lay on one of them; his face pale wasn't as pale as he first fainted.
The room had an air of calm, interrupted only by the occasional sound of Kieran's dagger slicing through an apple.
Kieran was seated near Elijah's bed, expertly peeling an apple with his blade. He worked deftly, the blade moving with precise, practiced motions. With a flick of his wrist, he finished peeling the apple, its skin falling away in a single ribbon.
"Watch this," Kieran said smugly. He tossed the apple into the air and swung his dagger with a sharp, fluid motion. The fruit fell back onto the plate in eight perfect slices.
Before he could admire his handiwork, Visconti reached over and plucked a slice, biting into it with a loud crunch.
Because as soon as the pieces landed, Visconti reached over and plucked a slice from the plate, popping it into his mouth without hesitation.
"Hey!" Kieran protested, glaring at Visconti. "Why are you eating that? I was the one who cut it! If you want an apple, cut one yourself!"
Visconti raised an eyebrow, chewing deliberately before swallowing. "That's no way to talk to your savior," he said in a slow, mocking tone, reaching for another slice.
Kieran bristled, his face turning red. "Savior? If you hadn't butted in, I could've defended myself just fine!" he snapped, though there was an edge of uncertainty in his voice.
Visconti raised an eyebrow, giving Kieran a look of exaggerated pity. "Sure you could," he replied, his voice filled with sarcasm.
Before Kieran could retort, the door to the clinic swung open, and a woman with long blonde hair strode in. She wore a white. crisp uniform
"I said no yelling in my clinic," she said sharply, startling both Kieran and Visconti.
Both boys jumped in their seats, startled.
"Sorry," Kieran mumbled under his breath, his bravado evaporating instantly.
The woman glared at them for a moment before sighing deeply.
She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You boys are lucky I don't throw you out." Her sharp gaze turned to Elijah, and her expression softened.
She approached Elijah's bed; her gaze landed on the monitors and his vitals. "His mana levels are stabilizing," she said aloud, more to herself than to anyone else. "But he still needs rest. Two days of unconsciousness… he's lucky to be alive."
"Lucky?" Kieran muttered, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "He almost died out there; what's lucky about that?"
"Yeah," Visconti said grimly.
The woman shot them both a withering look. "Do you two ever stop talking?"
Kieran and Visconti exchanged glances before shaking their heads in unison.
The woman sighed again, clearly exasperated. "Well, keep it down. The last thing he needs is you two squabbling like children."
Kieran grumbled something under his breath but didn't argue further.
She stepped back, addressing the room. "He needs rest. Keep it down, or I'll have you both scrubbing floors."
Visconti raised his hands in mock surrender, and Kieran muttered another apology.
Meanwhile, Elijah was trapped in a dream. He was six years old again, timid and small, standing behind Augustus in their old living room.
The setting was familiar—the spacious living room of their old house, filled with sunlight streaming through a massive window that overlooked the yard. It was the home they had lived in with their mother, a place Elijah remembered fondly.