Part 1:-
We must accept finite disappointment, but never lose infinite hope.
Martin Luther King, Jr.:
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"They're... average, after all," he remarked teasingly.
And then, there was a scream.
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The boy stood in the open field, waiting.
Of course, he was waiting for the girl.
But there was something else worth noting—a vivid red handprint across his face.
Wait... what? A red handprint? How? And why? For someone as powerful as him, nothing should have been able to hurt him, let alone leave a mark like that.
So, who did it?
"That average bitch actually slapped me," he muttered, his tone a mix of disbelief and irritation.
Ah, so she did that.
Honestly, it wasn't his fault, okay? She just didn't have any sense of humor.
Also, can't a man enjoy a little view after some hard work?
Now, here he was, sitting on the ground, drawing circles in the dirt like a sulking child.
He was upset.
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.
So, naturally, he decided to channel his frustration the best way he knew how.
He started doing squats.
Because, honestly, what better way to burn off anger than a good workout?
And so, squat after squat, he pushed himself, the tension leaving his body with every repetition.
By the time he was done, he had calmed down.
After some time, the girl stepped out of her hiding place and presented herself in full glory.
"Oh, good of you to join us, Your Highness," the boy drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
She caught the tone but chose to play along anyway.
"You should be honored—you even get to look at me," she retorted, her voice equally dry.
"Shameless," he muttered loud enough for her to hear.
"Yes, I am," she shot back without missing a beat.
Their eyes met. The boy looked at her with an unreadable expression, and the girl stared right back, bracing herself for one of his usual cutting remarks.
But then, instead of a jab, he said, "You look cute, by the way."
Her mind blanked. That's cheating, she thought, her composure crumbling.
"What... What are you trying to say?" she stammered, clearly caught off guard.
"I'm saying you look ugly."
Just as a small spark of pride had started to light up inside her, he extinguished it with one cruel flick of his words.
"Fuck you," she spat, her voice sharp with indignation.
But this time, she didn't stop at words. Without waiting for a reply, she began marching toward the boy.
As the boy took in the sight of her, the woman strode confidently into view, sunlight catching the silver buckles of her boots. Her fitted leather pants were practical, sure, though they didn't exactly flatter her "rear-view" situation.
Her loose linen shirt billowed slightly in the breeze, tied at the wrists with simple strings. The pale fabric contrasted sharply with the darker tones of her outfit, skillfully concealing her perfectly average-sized boobs.
A sturdy belt cinched her waist, adorned with small pouches and a dagger sheath, giving her an air of authority—or at least someone trying to look the part.
She stopped in front of him, her boots pressing firmly into the sandy earth.
"So, what is it you wanted me to see?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"What do you mean?" he replied, his voice dripping with faux innocence.
Her look flattened. "You told me there was something else you wanted to show me."
"And why would I say that?" he accused, mock disbelief radiating from him as if she were the one making things up.
"I don't know," she shot back, crossing her arms. "Because you're stupid?"
He let out a dramatic huff. "Fine. First, try using your powers."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the field in a fiery orange glow, she extended her hands, her expression laced with skepticism.
At first, nothing happened. Then—flames erupted, licking up her fingers in vibrant, swirling arcs.
Her boots pressed into the soft earth as her arms moved in a graceful sweep.
The fire obeyed her every command, roaring to life in a towering column that reached for the sky.
The heat wrapped around her, fierce but oddly gentle—like an old friend offering comfort.
She laughed, the sound pure and unrestrained, carried on the breeze tinged with the smoky scent of charred wood.
Euphoria surged through her veins, an intoxicating blend of freedom and strength. She spun, the fire swirling with her movements, alive and eager, responding to her every flick and thought.
Triumph glowed on her face as she grinned.
Beside her, the boy stood silently, arms crossed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
The flames reflected in his eyes, flickers of pride and awe mingling with his usual smugness. 'They grow up so fast,' he mused to himself.
"Well," she said, throwing him a glance, "this is new."
"Told you," he replied, smirking.
Her grin faltered slightly as she examined the fire more closely. "Wait… are you sure this is safe? What if I accidentally burn something down?"
"Like what?" he asked, waving her concern away like smoke.
"I don't know. You, maybe."
The boy tilted his head, considering. "Then I guess I'll have to stay on your good side."
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Good plan. Because if you call my boobs 'perfectly average' one more time…"
Before she could finish, a small puff of flame shot toward him, singeing the edge of his sleeve. He yelped, leaping back and frantically patting at the fabric.
"Hey! That's attempted murder!"
She shrugged, her smile growing mischievous. "Or just bad aim. You decide."
He groaned, throwing her a pointed look. "You're the one who called them perfectly average, not me!"
"And so what?" she fired back, the flames on her fingers flickering lazily, as if amused by the banter.
"Your shamelessness knows no bounds," he quipped, shaking his head dramatically.
"Yep."
He sighed again, shaking his head with exaggerated exasperation. "Fine. How do you feel?"
The fire dimmed slightly as she turned to him, her expression softening. A wide grin spread across her face, her voice breathless but steady as she said, "I feel incredible."
He tilted his head, studying her with quiet intensity before a smirk crept back onto his face. "Guess you're not useless after all. Honestly, I thought you'd lose your powers after breaking your contract."
"You thought the fire was the contract?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yep."
"The tendrils were the contract." She clarified.
"I see."
She turned her attention back to the flames, her fingers curling and uncurling as the fire flared brighter for a moment before settling back into its usual rhythm.
It danced around her hands, alive but controlled, as though it had always belonged there.
Slowly, she let the fire fade, a final burst of sparks scattering into the air like fleeting stars.
As the glow dimmed, she turned to him, her eyes still shimmering with the joy of discovery. "Thank you," she whispered.
Those two words held more weight than their simplicity suggested.
He had helped her without hesitation, without needing her to ask—and for that, her gratitude ran deep.
He shrugged, his smile widening just a little. "Anytime."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward or empty; it was filled with something unspoken yet understood.
It carried the weight of newfound freedom, the quiet promise of hope, and the kind of connection that needed no words to be felt.
The world ahead felt vast, full of possibilities—and she was ready to face it, with her fire and her Servant standing by her side.
The boy broke the silence, narrowing his eyes at her. "You know I can see your smile, right?"
She tilted her head, pretending ignorance. "What smile?"
He sighed but didn't say anything more, a slight smirk also tugging at his lips.
Satisfied that she had control over her powers and was at peace with herself, she was basking in the moment's stillness.
But the boy clapped his hands together, breaking the stillness. "Alright then. Time to move. Ready to face whatever's next?"
The fire in her eyes hadn't dimmed; if anything, it blazed brighter. "More than ready."
And with that, they began walking toward the end of the loop, the world before them wide open and uncertain—neither seemed to mind.
Part 2: Monstrous Granny, Adorable Idiot
Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.
Carl Gustav Jung:
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But the boy clapped his hands together, breaking the stillness. "Alright then. Time to move. Ready to face whatever's next?"
The fire in her eyes hadn't dimmed; if anything, it blazed brighter. "More than ready."
And with that, they began walking toward the end of the loop, the world before them wide open and uncertain—neither seemed to mind.
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Two figures traveled together through the fiery expanse. The air shimmered around them, heatwaves distorting the landscape like a living, molten painting.
One of them, a boy with whitish-brown skin, wore simple blue pants and a black T-shirt—an outfit that seemed comically casual for such an intense environment.
He looked no older than fifteen, though his demeanor often hinted at an older soul hidden behind his youthful appearance.
Beside him walked a girl dressed in a loose white shirt and fitted leather pants.
Her petite frame and doll-like features gave her an air of innocence, but her sharp eyes and sharp tongue betrayed her true nature—she is an old grandma.
"So, boy?" she began, breaking the silence that stretched between them.
"Yep?" he replied lazily, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
"I have a question."
"Of course you do," he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for her to hear.
She ignored his snide remark and continued. "I just realized something."
"And what's that?" he asked, his tone as uninterested as ever.
"I still don't know your name."
"Yep."
She stopped mid-step, staring at him like he'd grown a second head. "What do you mean 'yep'? Shouldn't you have told me by now?"
"Well…" He dragged out the word, finally turning to look at her with a deliberate slowness that only fueled her irritation. "You never asked."
Her eyes widened in disbelief. The audacity! She clenched her fists, resisting the urge to throw a punch.
Fighting him wasn't worth the energy—not yet, at least. Instead, she sighed dramatically and folded her arms.
"Fine. Can you tell me now, then?"
"It's Amel Latem," he said nonchalantly, as if his name wasn't even worth mentioning.
Then, with a smirk that could make saints swear, he added, "And since we're doing introductions, what's your name, Your Highness?"
She ignored the mockery laced in his tone. "My name is Yuno."
"Just Yuno?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.
"Just Yuno."
"No second name? Didn't your daddy give you one?" he teased, his smirk growing wider.
Her expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something heavy, fleeting, and unspoken.
"I was a commoner," she said flatly, her tone devoid of emotion. "So no, I didn't get one."
"Ah," he said, his teasing faltering for a moment. "Is that so?"
"That is so," she confirmed, her voice cool and steady.
A silence fell between them—not the awkward kind, but the heavy kind that seemed to carry unsaid things.
They walked on, side by side, through the endless fiery landscape.
The air crackled around them, alive with heat and energy, but neither of them seemed to care.
Somewhere in the stillness, Amel glanced at her, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk. "So… no daddy, huh?"
Her steps faltered for half a second, and her fiery gaze locked onto him. "Don't start," she warned, her voice low and edged with a threat.
The glint in her eyes wasn't from the fiery expanse surrounding them—it was her own.
For once, the boy showed a glimmer of wisdom and chose silence, though the smirk stubbornly remained plastered on his face.
As the boy and the girl moved steadily across the molten expanse, their steps were light and unhurried despite the rivers of lava lazily winding around them.
The air shimmered with oppressive heat, distorting the horizon like a mirage, but neither of them seemed fazed.
The ground beneath their feet glowed faintly, softening just enough to capture the faint imprint of their steps before hardening again as they moved forward.
After some time, the fiery haze began to thin, and the air grew subtly cooler.
The molten terrain shifted, its vibrant reds and oranges giving way to jagged, brittle rock.
Frost crept across the landscape like a silent invader, defying the lingering heat. An icy tide stretched forward, claiming dominion over the charred wasteland.
The contrast was surreal: fire and frost clashing yet somehow coexisting, as though the land itself couldn't decide which element held true power.
The heat was relentless, but it remained a mere backdrop to them. One was cherished by fire; the other was simply a monster.
As they crossed the threshold between fire and frost, the crackling symphony of molten rivers gave way to silence.
In its place came the eerie stillness of snowfields stretching endlessly before them. A biting wind swept across the expanse, carrying the faint scent of ice and ash.
Frost swirled around their boots, but neither flinched.
The girl stopped abruptly, her boots crunching softly against the frosted ground.
Her breath hung in the frigid air, though the cold didn't seem to touch her. She turned to the boy with a scowl.
"Great," she muttered, crossing her arms. "Now we're in stupid lizard territory."
The boy glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Wait... you know about it?"
She rolled her eyes, her expression screaming exasperation. "Of course, I know. I was the one who created it, to begin with."
He froze mid-step, his face contorting into a mix of disbelief and mild horror. "You what?"
She smirked, clearly enjoying his reaction. "You heard me."
"Why?" His voice rose, incredulous. "Are you insane?"
"Maybe," she said with a shrug. "Or maybe I was just bored."
"Bored?" He stared at her as if she'd just declared herself Queen of the Moon. "You created a frozen wasteland filled with those weird lizards because you were bored?"
"Yes," she said matter-of-factly, as if she were talking about a casual afternoon hobby.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, suffering sigh. "You're unbelievable."
"Thanks," she replied, her grin far too smug for his liking.
He resumed walking, while also muttering. "Most people read books or pick up knitting when they're bored. But no, you go and make a death zone for oversized iguanas."
"Knitting is for grandmas," she retorted, her grin widening.
"Well, aren't you one?" he shot back, his tone dripping with mockery.
Her glare could have melted the frost beneath their feet, but he only smirked and kept walking, hands stuffed casually into his pockets.
The wind howled around them, but their banter burned hotter than the lava they'd left behind.
Scoffing, she crossed her arms as if daring the universe to disagree with her.
"What? You think I'm going to sit around waiting for some Prince Charming to swoop in and save me?"
"I am a Prince Charming," Amel declared, smirking like the human embodiment of a bad pick-up line.
The audacity. Yuno blinked at him, momentarily speechless—a rare and fleeting miracle.
"Go on, say it," Amel teased, leaning in as though he'd just delivered the ultimate zinger. "You know you want to."
"Say what?" Yuno deadpanned, her expression a masterpiece of indifference.
"That I'm the best-looking prince you've ever seen."
Yuno stared at him, her face blank and unamused. "I was actually going to say you look like the discount version of Prince Charming. You know, the kind they sell in a 'buy one, get one free' bin."
His jaw dropped in mock outrage. Her sweet smile was the final nail in the coffin.
"What? Too much?" Yuno asked innocently, batting her lashes.
"Ughhh," Amel groaned, collapsing dramatically onto the frosty ground like a wilted flower.
A pitiful sound escaped him, somewhere between a whine and a dying animal's cry.
"My poor heart," Amel lamented, clutching his chest as if she'd mortally wounded him. "One of these days, it's just going to give up on me."
"Good," she said with a snicker, stepping over him like a discarded rug. "Maybe then I'll finally get some peace and quiet."
"Monstrous granny," he muttered, dragging himself upright.
"Adorable idiot," Yuno fired back without missing a beat, her grin both teasing and triumphant as they continued their trek into the icy expanse.
Just as Yuno was about to take another step, the ground beneath her rumbled violently.
Cracks spiderwebbed out in all directions, and a deafening roar tore through the frozen expanse.
The girl didn't flinch, though. Her eyes narrowed as flames instinctively erupted around her hands, casting a fiery glow against the pale frost…
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