Clei turned around, and his breath caught in his throat.
Standing in the dim light of the lounge was Elycia. She had changed out of her battle-worn leather armor and into a simple, pale blue village dress that fell softly to her ankles. Her blonde hair, usually tied back in a messy, practical braid during combat, was now loose, cascading over her shoulders in gentle waves. In the soft firelight, he could see the tall, elegant slope of her nose, the faint flush of rosy cheeks, and the dusting of light freckles across the bridge of her nose.
For a moment, the years melted away.
"We'll be friends forever, right?"
The memory echoed in his mind with painful clarity. Ten years ago, she had been just as small, just as bright-eyed, with those exact same freckles. Back then, the mark on his left hand hadn't been a terrifying, pulsing brand of darkness. It had looked like nothing more than a faint, reddish birthmark. Before everything went wrong, before the stones and the venomous glares, she used to hold that hand without fear. She would tug him along by it, her small fingers wrapping completely around his wrist, anchoring him to a world that was slowly trying to push him out.
Clei stood frozen, the weight of the past pressing against his chest like a physical blow. He blinked, forcing himself back to the present, to the guarded stranger he had become. "Uhm... Miss Elycia, right?" he asked, his voice coming out slightly awkward, lacking its usual steady cadence.
Elycia studied him quietly. Without the mask and heavy travel cloak, his face was fully exposed. He had changed into a simple linen shirt and trousers, looking less like a mysterious adventurer and more like a tired young man. As she carved out the features in her mind—the sharp jawline, the guarded amber eyes—she slowly overlaid them onto the image of the silent, kind boy who used to sit beside her in the church courtyard. The face was older, hardened by survival, but the shape of his brow, the way he held himself... it was undeniably him.
She took a step forward, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. "I... I wanted to personally thank you," she said, her voice soft but carrying a tremor she couldn't quite hide. "You saved my life this morning. And the entire village as well owes you their lives."
As she spoke, a bitter, inward groan echoed in her heart. The sheer irony of it all was suffocating. If this was truly the Clei from ten years ago, the village had treated him like a monster. They had scorned him, cursed him, and driven him out into the cold. And now, the very people who had cast him aside were the ones whose lives he had just saved. To stand here and offer him their gratitude now... it felt so deeply, unforgivably hypocritical.
Clei offered only a slight, stiff nod. "It's nothing. I just had to do what I had to do..."
An awkward silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words and a decade of pain. Clei shifted his weight, desperate for an escape route. He wanted to talk to her, to ask a thousand questions, but he wasn't ready at all.
"Miss Elycia," he said, his tone carefully neutral, "it's already late. Won't your father be worried about you?"
"No," Elycia answered quickly, shaking her head. "Ah, I told my father I'd personally thank you. And... I..."
Another heavy silence fell. Her gaze dropped to his hands, resting at his sides. Her eyes lingered on his left hand, concealed beneath the thick, fire-resistant glove. She looked up, her expression vulnerable and searching.
"You... Can I look at your left hand?"
Alarm flared in Clei's chest. If he showed her his hand, the mark would be exposed, and the fragile lie of his identity would shatter in an instant. But he forced himself to remain still, keeping his voice calm and natural, stripping away any hint of panic.
"Young miss, that would be overstepping," he said gently, meeting her gaze with practiced detachment. "We don't really know each other."
A deep crimson blush spread across Elycia's cheeks and neck. She realized how forward she had sounded, how much she had revealed in a single question.
"I am sorry, I spoke out of turn," she stammered, taking a half-step back. "Again, goodnight. And... thank you for saving the lives of the villagers in Althea."
Before he could respond, she turned and hurried down the hallway, her footsteps echoing softly until they faded into the night.
Clei remained standing in the lounge, staring at the empty space where she had been. Complicated feelings churned in his chest—a mixture of longing, regret, and the cold, necessary steel of self-preservation.
What he didn't know was that he hadn't been alone.
In the shadows near the stairwell, Verdehile leaned against the wall, having just finished her shower and seeking fresh air. She had heard the tail end of the conversation. Despite her typically cold, unreadable expressions, she was just another girl at heart, curious about the world and the people in it. The palpable tension between them had sparked a dozen scenarios in her mind. They definitely know each other, she mused, a faint spark of interest lighting behind her stoic facade. Is it a hidden romance? A tragic past love torn apart by duty?
On the other side of the corridor, partially concealed by a tall bookshelf, Teresa stood in the darkness. Her thoughts were far less romantic and far more complicated.
When she had returned to Althea seven days ago, she had sent a discreet message to the Dean at Ignis Academy regarding Clei Vane—a genius D-rank, barely sixteen, whose father was named Silas Vane.
Just yesterday, the reply had arrived. It wasn't the standard administrative acknowledgment. It was a sealed, high-priority dispatch that made Teresa's blood run cold.
"You must bring him here safely. His identity is of the utmost importance, and you must ensure nothing happens to him. A Magister will meet you halfway to escort you all directly to Anatolia."
Teresa stared into the dark hallway where Elycia had vanished. Hearing the conversation between them, and remembering Clei's careful use of a false student identity during the meeting, the pieces began to click into place. Clei must have some profound, hidden relationship with Althea that he was desperate to keep secret. And Garrick's comment about an orphan child with the same name…
Doubts swirled in her mind, but she kept her expression perfectly impassive. Her curiosity regarding this mysterious young fire mage was only growing. She would hold her questions for now. The answers she sought would have to wait until they reached Anatolia and she could speak to the Dean in person.
—
The next morning, Clei sat in the lounge, his body exhausted but his mind refusing to rest. He had barely slept, the echo of Elycia's voice haunting the edges of his consciousness. He ate a quick breakfast and prepared his gear. The journey to Anatolia would be long; according to his conversations with Toshi last night, they would be traveling southwest for seven days to reach the city.
He was already waiting in the lounge when Teresa, Toshi, and Verdehile finally emerged.
"Is everyone ready?" Teresa asked, her eyes scanning the group. "We're just waiting for one more, then we'll go on our way."
Toshi blinked, tilting his head. "One more? Who's joining us?"
Teresa simply nodded, a knowing smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Just wait."
A few minutes later, familiar footsteps approached. Two figures appeared in the doorway: Village Head Garrick, and beside him, Elycia.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," Garrick said, his voice gruff but warm. He handed a sealed parchment to Teresa. "Elycia woke up late and needed more time to prepare her things. Here's her admission letter. Teacher Teresa, please take care of her."
Teresa accepted the letter with a graceful smile. In truth, Elycia had been invited to join Ignis Academy a year ago, but she had refused to leave Althea, choosing to stay by her father's side and the village she had sworn to protect.
Last night, however, Garrick had a change of heart. The terrifying scale of yesterday's attack had given him a massive scare. If the threat had been ordinary Aetherborn, he would have let Elycia choose her own path. But with the Hollowed appearing and the village defended only by C-rank powerhouses, Althea was no longer safe. The city, protected by a Bishop and numerous high-ranking powerhouses, was the only place she could truly be secure.
Elycia wore a strange, resigned expression. She clearly hadn't wanted to go. Garrick had threatened to send her to the strict, joyless boarding school in Lydia if she refused to attend Ignis Academy—a threat that had finally broken her resolve.
But as she stood there, watching the young man with a blank expression in the corner adjust his pack, she knew there was another reason she had ultimately agreed. For one, as the Village Head's daughter, she understood her father's unspoken terror. Yesterday had proven that she was powerless. As an E-rank, she had been nothing but a burden, unable to help when the Rank 4 Alpha charged. She would only get herself killed in the next attack.
And the other reason... was him.
She met Clei's gaze, her emerald eyes holding a depth of emotion she couldn't quite mask. She gave him a faint, fragile smile.
"Please take care of me... again," she whispered.