Kayron stood over the defeated dark mage, finally feeling the tension ease from his shoulders. The battle was over. He took a deep breath, surveying the battleground and trying to process all that had happened.
The silence was broken by light footsteps behind him. He whirled, sword still in hand. Aya was approaching—her steps unsteady, her breathing labored, yet she kept moving forward.
"Oh, it's you… Thank you for helping me," he began, but the words caught in his throat.
Aya didn't stop.
She walked right past him without even a glance in his direction. Kayron frowned, turned around—and froze in astonishment.
Aya had knelt down beside the injured mage, her palms softly glowing with golden light.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked, his voice low and almost threatening.
"I'm healing him," Aya replied wearily, without turning around.
Kayron clenched his fists. Everything in him rebelled against this action. He'd just risked his life fighting this man, and now the one who saved him was trying to save the enemy, too.
"You're healing him?" he said harshly, all but scoffing at the absurdity of it. "He's a dark mage, a murderer—he deserves to die by my sword!"
"Then I deserve death, too," Aya said in a tired, almost emotionless voice. "I'm a dark mage as well."
Kayron froze.
"What?"
"By law, mages aren't allowed to use their magic without permission," Aya turned to Kayron. "I spent the day healing people without permission. Doesn't that make me a dark mage, too?"
Kayron's mind spun. He didn't want to acknowledge it. The law was meant to be fair, to protect people. But right before him was a girl who had saved dozens, maybe hundreds of lives in one day—and, by that same law, she was a criminal?
He grit his teeth. Part of his conscience struggled with everything he knew. He'd grown up in the Empire, understood its rules and regulations. They existed for a reason. But was this law still just, if it condemned an innocent? If the Empire wasn't as flawless as he'd believed?
Yet he couldn't let himself doubt. Not right now.
A coarse laugh broke the silence. The dark mage began chuckling, then coughed up blood.
"What's the matter, Imperial knight?" he rasped.
"You're no better," Aya said flatly, her tone as drained as her expression.
"What?" His voice grew cold. "What did you—"
"I said you're no better," Aya repeated. "You shouted that the Empire isn't worthy of magic. But you're not worthy of it either," she said, voice firm.
The dark mage went still, then managed a weak smirk.
"Help the Empire? Protect it? I'd rather die than do anything for those filthy scum."
"I live in the Empire, too. Does that make me scum?" Aya asked quietly, forcing a faint smile.
"Yes," the dark mage answered, meeting her gaze.
"Then my magic must be filthy, too?" Aya's smile remained exhausted, but unwavering.
He fell silent.
He could say anything about her appearance, her character, her lineage. But he couldn't deny her magic—warm, pure, unfettered. Where there had been pain only moments before, there was now peace. He couldn't admit it out loud, but he couldn't refute it, either. He turned away.
Kayron stood there, stunned by what was unfolding. The mage, who only moments earlier had spewed venom at both him and Aya, was now silent. This seemingly fragile girl had reduced both foes—who'd been at each other's throats—to wordlessness.
"You—"
Before Kayron could speak, someone seized his shoulder and spun him around.
"Explain yourself, soldier! What happened here?" a rough voice barked in his ear.
He found himself face to face with the city guard captain: a sturdy older man in an officer's breastplate. Behind him stood several guards, all in formation.
Kayron jerked his shoulder free of the man's grip.
"There was a battle with a dark mage," he answered calmly.
"Oh, you little—!" The captain's face turned red with anger. "Give me your name, rank, and unit—now!"
Kayron absently twisted the ring on his left hand. The captain, ready to explode, paused upon noticing Kayron's hand. The ring. A moment of confusion, then recognition, and finally…fear flickered across the captain's face. In the span of an instant, his posture straightened, hands clasped behind his back as though at attention.
"My apologies," the captain said, his voice suddenly controlled and tense. "We're proud that our city is protected by such valiant soldiers."
Kayron waved it off, his tone brisk.
"Forget that—first, lock up the dark mage and get some answers out of him. And the girl…"
He turned, but only saw the lone figure of the mage lying on the ground.
"Where's the girl?" he demanded, turning sharply to the captain.
"The girl?" the captain repeated, glancing at the officers behind him.
They all looked at each other, then shook their heads in unison, indicating they had no idea.
Kayron covered his face with his hand, frustration building.
"Fine—lock up the dark mage. We'll deal with him later. Put notices around the city—"
He paused, thinking.
"No—order your men to stay on the lookout. If they see a girl with golden hair and golden eyes, they must report to me immediately. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," the captain replied.
"Good. I have something to take care of."
"What's the meaning of this, soldier? Speak up!"
Aya heard the harsh voice unexpectedly. She reflexively looked back and saw Kayron being berated.
"Looks like he's in trouble…" Aya said in a weary tone.
"You think so?" Leticia's voice was cold—almost icy. "Aya, dear, care to join me for a moment?"
Aya perked up, as if a chill ran down her spine. Without hesitation, she turned and hurried away down the nearest dark alley.
"I can explain everything!" Aya began.
"Oh, you certainly will," Leticia's voice was too calm. "For starters, how could you be foolish enough to heal someone who nearly killed you a minute ago?"
Aya swallowed hard, bracing herself for a long lecture. She dropped to her knees, listening as Leticia listed her every reckless move, from the merely thoughtless to the outright insane.
"Healing civilians wasn't enough for you? You had to go and save a dark mage? Did you have any idea what you were doing at all?"
Aya stayed silent.
"Are you even listening to me?"
"Sorry, Leticia. I'm listening…I'm listening…" Aya's voice trailed off into silence.
Suddenly, Leticia felt something shift—a heaviness. The familiar sensation of regaining control of her body.
"Aya?"
But there was no response. Leticia felt a chill of fear grip her. She called out again:
"Aya?"
Only silence answered.