Raven — POV
Raven stepped away from the training yard, her resolve unyielding as she refused to cast a glance back at the palace. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and the distant sounds of clashing swords, but she focused on the rhythm of her footsteps—steady, measured, the product of countless hours of discipline. Each stride was a testament to her training, a practice of control that her body protested against with every passing moment.
As she moved through the grand palace gates, the towering stone walls stood as silent sentinels, the watchful eyes of guards and servants lingering on her departure. Yet, she pressed forward, her heart pounding with a mix of determination and an unshakeable sense of urgency.
It wasn't until she was deep within the narrow, winding streets of the lower districts that her pace began to falter. The bustling sounds of the market faded into a dull roar, and the cobblestones beneath her boots felt rough and unyielding. She slowed, the air thickening around her, and raised both hands to her face, covering her eyes as if to block out the world. Drawing in a deep breath—slow and deliberate—she fought against the spinning sensation that threatened to overwhelm her senses.
But the world tilted nonetheless.
"Raven."
The voice of Morivaine sliced through the haze in her mind, sharp and laden with irritation, yet beneath that edge lay a thread of something dangerously close to concern.
"I told you to rest today," Morivaine admonished, her voice echoing like a distant thunderclap. "I warned you that you weren't well. But as always, your stubbornness has prevailed. And now look at you."
Raven exhaled slowly through her nose, trying to regain her composure.
"I'm fine," she murmured, her voice betraying her with a strained quality that belied her confidence. "There's no need to worry."
Morivaine scoffed, the sound biting like a winter chill.
"Don't insult me by pretending," she snapped, her tone cutting through the fog of Raven's exhaustion. "That charade may fool everyone else, but not me. I can see it plain as day—your body is completely drained of mana."
Leaning back against the ancient stone wall, Raven felt the cool surface press against her spine, grounding her in the moment. She closed her eyes, allowing the darkness to envelope her, and, after a long pause, the truth slipped from her lips.
"…All right," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I pushed myself too far."
The memories of the morning flooded back—images of unstable void fractures swirling like tempestuous shadows in her mind, the backlash that had threatened to consume her, and the relentless hours of training layered atop sleepless nights that had weighed heavily on her spirit.
"This morning," Raven continued, her voice low and trembling with the weight of her confession, "I was working on developing my Void ability. It's… difficult. It demands an absurd amount of mana. I kept forcing it, even when I knew I shouldn't have."
Morivaine's tone darkened, echoing with the gravity of their shared reality.
"And now you've paid the price," she stated, the finality of her words resonating in the stillness that followed.
Raven opened her eyes once more, the edges of her vision still blurred, as though reality itself was slipping away. She felt the truth of Morivaine's words settle heavily in her chest, an unwelcome burden she couldn't ignore.
she leaned against the cold, rough wall of the alleyway. The air was thick with tension, and she could sense the weight of inevitability pressing down on her. "I expected this to happen eventually," she said, her voice steady despite the uncertainty swirling within her. "That's why I bought the sword."
Morivaine's eyebrows shot up, disbelief flickering across her features. "The cursed sword?" she echoed, incredulous. "What does that abomination have to do with anything?"
Raven pushed herself upright, taking a careful step deeper into the narrow alley, its darkness swallowing her whole. The silence was punctuated only by the soft echo of her footsteps, a soothing reminder of her resolve. "It's not cursed," she replied, her voice calm, almost serene. "It has an absorption property. It drains energy and mana from anything it touches—rapidly and without restraint. Most people can't wield it because it absorbs mana and would kill them in seconds."
She glanced around, her instincts sharp, ensuring no prying eyes lurked in the shadows. The weight of her secret felt heavy, but she had learned to navigate the darkness with ease. "Because my ability works the same way," she continued, her heart racing with the thrill of revelation, "the sword doesn't drain me or you can say I can control it . But I realized something else."
Morivaine fell silent, her breath caught in anticipation, listening intently as Raven's words unfurled like a spell.
Raven halted in the deepest part of the alley where the darkness felt thick enough to cut. With a controlled breath, she raised her hand, feeling the familiar pulse of her power. A small tear formed in the air—a dense, silent distortion of space itself. A Void Fold opened briefly, swallowing light at its edges, as if the universe itself held its breath.
From within that compressed pocket of nothingness, Raven drew her sword. The blade emerged soundlessly, black metal drinking in the shadows around it, as if it were a creature of the night.
"I discovered I can store my own mana inside the sword," she explained, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of her discovery. "And retrieve it when necessary , even if it's not my mana I still can absorb mana from the sword "
Closing her eyes, she placed her hand on the hilt, the familiar chill sending a shiver down her spine. The sensation was immediate—cold, then heat; energy surged back into her veins like water pouring into parched soil. Slowly, carefully, she drew the stored mana out of the blade, regulating the flow with the precision of a seasoned sorceress. She could feel the warmth returning, steadying her breath, banishing the dizziness that had clouded her mind.
Color returned to her skin, and her spine straightened as strength settled back into her limbs. When she opened her eyes again, the world was sharp and stable, vibrant colors painting the scene around her.
She exhaled softly, allowing a small smile to bloom on her lips. "There," she said, a sense of triumph lacing her words. "I'm fine now."
Morivaine's voice broke the silence, quieter this time—impressed despite herself. "…That's actually clever."
With a fluid motion, Raven sheathed the sword and sealed the Void Fold, space knitting itself closed as if nothing had ever been there, the remnants of her power dissipating into the night.
"Where did you come up with that idea?" Morivaine asked, curiosity creeping into her tone.
Raven shrugged slightly, her demeanor relaxed as she began to walk again, each step filled with renewed purpose. "The first time I held the sword, the idea came to me. In my world, there was something similar. We called it a battery—something that stores energy and releases it when needed."
Morivaine let out a low hum of approval, a sound that echoed like a melody in the stillness around them. "That's… genuinely ingenious," she admitted, a hint of admiration coloring her voice. "But even so, you still need rest."
For a moment, Raven's expression softened, just a fraction, like the first light of dawn breaking over the horizon. "I will," she replied, the determination in her voice unwavering. "After I meet my Master."
As she stepped out of the alley and back into the open street, her stride once again steady and controlled, the weight of her journey hung in the air like a promise yet to be fulfilled. This time, Morivaine didn't argue, her presence a quiet reassurance in the tumult of Raven's thoughts.
And for once… Raven didn't feel entirely alone.
As I approached my Master's house, the sun was beginning its descent, casting a softer light across the landscape. The oppressive heat of the day had lessened, a welcome relief that made my walk more pleasant. The journey had taken longer than usual; I hadn't felt the need to rush. Though my body had regained its strength, my mind felt like a tangled web of thoughts I preferred to keep at bay.
Elyra's home stood at the edge of the district, a modest yet inviting structure surrounded by a small yard that always exuded the fresh scent of herbs mingling with clean air. It felt stable, a sanctuary amidst the chaos that perpetually swirled around my life. Here, I could momentarily forget the burdens that weighed on my shoulders.
I spotted her before she noticed me, her figure framed against the backdrop of the setting sun. She was in the yard, carefully hanging freshly washed sheets on a line, her movements fluid and unhurried, radiating the confidence of someone who knew exactly where each piece belonged. Sunlight caught in her red-streaked hair, illuminating the strands like fiery ribbons, as she hummed a soft tune under her breath.
For a brief moment, I simply watched her, lost in the tranquility of the scene.
Then, as if sensing my gaze, she turned her head.
"Oh," Elyra said, her lips curling into a warm smile that lit up her features. "You arrived at a perfect time."
I stepped closer, my feet shuffling to the edge of the yard. "I did?"
"Yes," she replied lightly, her tone inviting. "Would you help me for a moment? I believe you copied a wind technique some time ago, didn't you?"
I frowned slightly, curiosity piqued. "Yes… but why?"
She laughed softly, the sound like the tinkling of wind chimes. Brushing her hands against her apron, she continued, "Could you dry the laundry while I prepare tea?"
I blinked in surprise, then nodded. "Of course."
A thought flitted through my mind: *Is this a misuse of magic? I feel like I've become a dryer.*
Stepping forward, I raised both hands toward the hanging sheets, closing my eyes to concentrate. I focused on the copied ability—air responding to my intent rather than sheer force. A gentle current began to form, weaving through the fabric with the grace of a dancer, ensuring it wouldn't tear or tangle.
Within minutes, the dampness vanished, leaving the sheets crisp and dry.
I lowered my hands, exhaling quietly as the wind stilled, satisfied with my work.
"That should be enough," I said, a hint of pride creeping into my voice.
Elyra clapped her hands together once, her delight evident. "Perfect timing, as always."
I followed her inside, crossing the threshold into a world that felt like a sanctuary. The moment I stepped through the doorway, a cool breeze greeted me, carrying the familiar scents of dried herbs and polished wood. Instantly, the heat of the sun faded, replaced by a calm stillness that enveloped me like a warm blanket. It felt like crossing a boundary—not just physical, but mental.
Elyra had already prepared tea, the steam curling up like tendrils of memory. She also set out the coffee I had brought her days ago—a blend I liked, though she clearly did not. I remembered her grimace when she had tried it once; she nearly choked on its bitterness, a memory that made me smile faintly.
We settled across from each other at the small kitchen table, its surface worn but sturdy, marked by years of shared moments.
"Sit," Elyra said gently, gesturing towards the chair. "Let's talk for a bit before training. I made that new drink you brought, the one you like."
Lowering myself into the chair, I took care not to let my exhaustion show. As she turned away to fetch the cups, I released a quiet breath I hadn't realized I was holding, letting the tension seep out of me.
*I'm really tired,* I thought, the weight of it settling like a cloak around my shoulders.
I lifted the cup and took a small sip, the warmth spreading through me like a comforting embrace.
"…This is good," I admitted, surprising myself with the sincerity of my words.
Elyra's eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she watched me, the corners of her mouth lifting in a smile that felt like home. In that moment, surrounded by the scents and sounds of her kitchen, I felt a flicker of warmth in my heart—a reminder that even amidst chaos, there existed pockets of peace.
Elyra laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "I still don't understand how you drink coffee," she said, shaking her head with a bemused smile. Then, clearing her throat, she shifted her tone, signaling a change in the conversation. "Now—there's something I wanted to talk to you about."
I straightened slightly, my attention fully captured. The lightness of her laughter faded, replaced by a seriousness that drew me closer.
"The offer you mentioned," she continued, her gaze steady and unwavering. "Training the king's soldiers."
I didn't interrupt; I simply watched her, waiting for her to gather her thoughts.
"I've thought about it carefully," Elyra stated, her voice firm. "I don't regret leaving the life of a hunter. I don't dislike living quietly either. But as you said—doing nothing for too long dulls the blade."
Her eyes found mine, and I could see the resolve within them.
"So I decided to accept the position."
Before I could stop it, a small smile crept onto my face. "I'm glad," I said honestly, the words spilling out before I had time to second-guess them. "Being alone isn't bad for a while… but I don't want you isolating yourself forever."
Elyra smiled back, the kind of smile that warmed the edges of my heart. "Thank you . her voice turned serious , But you should tell yourself that too."
I frowned, confusion knitting my brow. "What do you mean?"
"You encourage me not to be alone," she said gently, her voice weaving through the air like a soft melody. "Yet you push everyone away."
I stiffened, her words striking a nerve.
"When someone tries to get close," she continued, her calm tone juxtaposed against the tension in my chest, "you retreat immediately, as if you're afraid of becoming attached."
I looked away, my gaze drifting from the table to the window, the fading light outside mirroring my inner turmoil.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said quietly, my voice barely a whisper. "I haven't done anything like that."
Elyra's expression softened, understanding etched into her features.
"Raven," she said, her voice a comforting balm, "I've known you since you were eight years old. You can't hide from me."
I clenched my fingers around the warm cup, the ceramic pressing into my palms as if it could offer me some kind of solace.
"You've lived in the orphanage for years," she continued, her eyes searching mine. "Yet you never truly let them become your family. You always draw a line—clear and deliberate—between yourself and others. , Although you always smile, you cannot hide the pain, sadness, and anger that lie behind your eyes .
She leaned in slightly, the intensity of her gaze urging me to open up.
"What's wrong Raven ?" she asked, her voice steady and encouraging. "Talk to me. Let me help you."
I stared into my cup, watching the surface ripple faintly, as if mirroring the turbulence within me.
Anger and sadness twisted together in my chest, tightening until it hurt to breathe.
"I can't tell you," I said at last, my voice barely above a whisper. "Not now. Maybe… one day."
Elyra studied me for a long moment, her eyes searching for the truth buried beneath my guarded exterior.
Then she nodded, her acceptance a small comfort. "I'll be here when you're ready."
I nodded back, unable to articulate the torrent of emotions swirling inside me.
After that, we shifted the conversation to lighter topics—her flourishing garden, the changes sweeping through the city, and minor training techniques she had been experimenting with. The laughter returned, a gentle balm for the wounds I carried, but the weight of our earlier conversation lingered in the air like a ghost.
Eventually, we moved outside to train, the cool evening air invigorating against my skin.
I pushed myself harder than I should have, as always, driven by a need to outrun the shadows that clung to me.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, the world around us bathed in shades of amber and shadow, I was exhausted again—but calmer. The training had become a means of release, a way to channel my inner chaos into something tangible.
When I finally left Elyra's home and returned to the orphanage, night had already fallen, wrapping the world in darkness.
And despite everything—
Despite the fatigue that weighed my limbs down, the secrets that coiled like snakes in my mind, and the feelings I refused to confront—
I knew one thing for certain.
Elyra saw me more clearly than anyone else ever had.
And that terrified me more than any enemy ever could.