The night sky stretched out clear and deep, presided over by a moon that shone intensely upon the recently saved village. The inhabitants—their hearts still heavy but immensely grateful for the miraculous intervention of Biel and Acalia—had put together an impromptu celebration. The music of flutes and drums, spontaneous dancing, and laughter filled the air, momentarily pushing away the horrors they had lived through just hours before.
Slightly removed from the bustle, Biel rested on a wooden bench near the great central bonfire. He watched the sparks rise toward the stars while the villagers danced with joy. Although he enjoyed seeing such happiness, a sense of unreality kept him anchored in place, making him feel like an outsider.
"What are you doing here all by yourself?" a female voice asked from behind him.
Biel looked up to find the young sorceress he had rescued during the bandit attack. She was smiling warmly, holding two wooden cups in her hands. She offered him one and sat down beside him naturally.
"Thanks," Biel said, accepting the drink. "By the way, your name is Xanthe, right?"
"That’s right, I’m Xanthe," she confirmed, looking him in the eye. "And I wanted to thank you for saving me back there. If you hadn't appeared..."
"Don't worry about it," Biel interrupted, feeling a bit overwhelmed. "I moved on instinct. Besides, it was thanks to Acalia that we were able to save the day. I only... helped."
Xanthe leaned in and took a quick look around the plaza. "Now that you mention her, I don't see her anywhere."
"She’s up in the mountains, getting some air," he explained, pointing toward the dark peaks. "I don't think she likes crowds very much."
"Not to mention you, hehe," the sorceress teased, giving him a gentle nudge with her elbow. "You’re tucked away here apart from everyone else. Not a party person either?"
Biel looked down at his cup, embarrassed. "It’s not that. It’s just... I never thought anyone would thank me for something like that. I’m still processing it."
"You deserve it," Xanthe assured him firmly. "You saved many lives today, including mine."
At that moment, a figure emerged from the peripheral shadows. Acalia had returned. She walked with her usual silent gait, indifferent to the celebration.
"Hey, Acalia," Biel called out, raising his voice slightly. "Don't you want something to drink?"
"No, thank you. I am fine as I am," she replied, sharp and cold as steel.
Cold as always, even though I've only known her for a few days, Biel thought with a resigned smile.
Suddenly, the sound of a sharp thud on wood caught everyone’s attention. Nova, the elderly village leader, had climbed onto a nearby barrel and was raising his cup toward the night sky.
"To our saviors!" he bellowed in a powerful voice. "To Biel and Acalia, who gave us back our hope when all seemed lost!"
The villagers erupted into deafening cheers, clinking their cups and chanting their names. Biel felt the heat rise to his cheeks, blushing visibly. Acalia, on the other hand, watched the scene from a distance with her characteristic impassive eyes, as if the whole thing had nothing to do with her.
Biel approached her, trying to break through that invisible barrier.
"You don't have to feel uncomfortable," he said softly. "They’re celebrating because you gave them back something they thought was lost forever. Why don't you dance with us, Acalia? Dancing is part of life."
Acalia looked at him. For a second, she seemed to process the request, but her face remained unchanged, like a perfect mask.
"I’ll pass," she stated flatly, before crossing her arms and returning to her position as a silent observer.
Biel sighed, but he didn't let it ruin the night. Accepting the invitation from the others, he joined the dance, and the party continued for hours under the silent watch of his protector.
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As dawn broke, the festive bustle of the previous night had given way to the sounds of labor and reconstruction. The villagers, with renewed spirits, were repairing their homes and clearing debris, determined to rebuild their lives upon the ashes of the past.
Away from the hustle, Biel had risen early to head to a nearby lake, seeking a moment of peace and a chance to wash up. The water was cold, but it helped clear his mind. As he scrubbed his skin, his gaze fell upon the mysterious fragment hanging from his neck. He held it between his fingers, watching how it caught the light of the rising sun.
"Why is it that no matter how much I take it off, it always ends up back on my neck?" he muttered to himself, frustrated. "What kind of magical artifact is this?"
"It is an artifact linked to your essence, possessing an immense power that you barely comprehend," a serene voice replied from above.
Biel jumped, and seized by panic, submerged himself up to his nose in the water, trying to cover himself. Looking up, he saw Acalia sitting with total tranquility atop a huge rock jutting out from the shore, watching him without the slightest hint of interest.
"Hey, Acalia!" he exclaimed, spitting out some water. "How long have you been there?"
"For quite a while," she replied matter-of-factly.
"And why didn't you let me know?" Biel retorted, his face burning with shame. "I'm embarrassed for you to see me like this!"
Acalia tilted her head, genuinely confused. "Like what? I do not understand. You are simply a boy. What is 'wrong' or illogical about a girl seeing a boy’s naked body? It is just anatomy."
"It has everything to do with it!" Biel shouted, desperate to explain the concept of privacy to someone who seemed not to grasp it.
Acalia shrugged, brushing it off. "Well, whatever you say. Human logic is strange. I am leaving. Hurry up; we must continue your journey."
Without another word, Acalia turned around and walked away with her silent step. Biel stayed there, floating in the water, processing what had just happened.
"And what’s up with her?" he wondered, sighing. "Well, it’s true, I can’t get distracted. I have to keep going. I need to find information about Bastián’s whereabouts and figure out how to get back to my world. Charlotte must be so worried about me."
Minutes later, dressed and with his backpack ready, Biel was adjusting his straps when Nova appeared, walking toward him.
"So, you are leaving?" the village leader asked, noting the determination in the young man's eyes.
"Yes," Biel replied firmly. "I have to keep looking for my friend. I can't afford to waste any more time."
Nova nodded, understanding the urgency, and pointed toward the horizon where the sun was beginning to climb.
"Follow that path to the northwest. You will reach a great city called Claiflor. It is a hub of commerce and knowledge; there, you may find much of the information you seek."
Biel gave a respectful bow, inclining his head. "Thank you, Nova. For everything."
"It is we who are grateful," Nova replied with a fatherly smile, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder. "What you and Acalia did is priceless. This village will always be your home, should you ever need it."
The old man paused, eyeing Biel’s worn-out clothes. "But before you go, I have prepared something for you."
Nova extended his hand toward him, and with a soft flash of practical magic, Biel’s attire was transformed. The simple fabrics were replaced by sturdy, lightweight travel gear of far better quality, designed to withstand the hardships of the road.
Biel looked himself over, admiring the change. "Whoa..." he murmured, spinning on his heels. "Now I actually look like an A-rank adventurer, haha!"
"Speaking of ranks and adventurers," Nova commented, seizing the moment, "to the southeast lies the city of Lunarys. There you will find the Guild, and regarding what you just said, you might even run into true A-rank adventurers or higher."
"Thank you, Nova. This information is very important to me," Biel thanked him sincerely. "I'll let Acalia know."
However, before he could go look for his companion, he noticed two figures approaching. It was Xanthe and Easton, each carrying a fully packed travel bag.
"What are you two doing?" Biel asked, surprised by their luggage.
"We’re going with you," Easton replied, direct and to the point.
Biel arched an eyebrow, confused. "With me? Why?"
Xanthe looked down, fidgeting with the hem of her robes, visibly blushing. "It’s... our way of thanking you for what you did," she whispered in a timid voice.
Biel, feeling somewhat awkward at the intensity in Xanthe’s tone and the sudden commitment, tried not to make a big deal out of it so as not to embarrass her further.
"Well... if that’s the case, I guess there’s no problem," he accepted, scratching the back of his neck. "But are you sure about leaving the village unprotected?"
Easton shook his head confidently. "There’s no need to worry. The bandits who attacked are all dead. Besides, Nova and the villagers are better prepared now. They don't need us as much as they used to."
Biel nodded, accepting the warrior’s logic. "Alright then. Let’s go before you change your minds."
Acalia, who had been listening to the entire conversation in silence from the side, simply began walking toward the village exit without a single word—neither of welcome nor rejection. Xanthe watched her walk away, intrigued by such a distant attitude.
"Is she always this serious?" she asked Biel in a low voice as they hurried their pace to keep up with her.
"Most of the time, yeah," Biel replied with a knowing smile.
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As the sun began to illuminate the heroes' path, in a dark and forgotten corner of the nearby forest, reality was much grimmer.
A wounded man stumbled forward, clinging to tree trunks to keep from collapsing. He was the sole survivor of the gang—a bleeding exception to Easton’s confidence. His breathing was an agonizing rattle, and his torn side stained the undergrowth crimson as he passed.
"I have to make it..." he gasped, spitting blood. "Great Lord Gard has to know..."
Branches and roots seemed to come alive to stop him, tangling in his boots, but desperation pushed him forward. Finally, through the morning mist, he spotted the entrance to a hidden cavern at the base of the mountain.
His eyes filled with a sickly hope. He believed he had found salvation. But before he could take another step toward the refuge, a shadow materialized in front of him.
It was a tall figure dressed in black robes that seemed to absorb what little light reached the forest floor. Their face was hidden behind an ornate mask that radiated a mystic aura; its intricate engravings glowed faintly with a violet shimmer, as if containing unfathomable and forbidden secrets.
"W-who are you?" the bandit stammered, instinctively recoiling, his fear outweighing the pain of his wounds.
The hooded figure did not respond. The silence of the forest became absolute, broken only by the metallic ring of a dark dagger being unsheathed. The blade, black as obsidian, emanated a sinister energy that chilled the air.
The bandit understood his fate and fell to his knees, trembling.
"Wait! You don't have to do this!" he pleaded, raising his blood-stained hands. "I can be useful! I know who defeated them!"
Without a word and with a fluid, almost elegant motion, the hooded figure slashed through the air with the dagger. It was a clean, lethal cut. The bandit’s body collapsed onto the damp earth, his glassy eyes staring at nothing, taking his information to the grave.
The figure in black leaned slightly over the corpse, wiping the blade on their own robe without showing a hint of remorse.
"There is no room for the weak in Gard's realm," they whispered in a voice that sounded like dry leaves being crushed.
Before the echo of the words could fade, the figure dissolved into the shadows, leaving the lifeless body behind as the only warning.
Far from there, under the warm light of the sun, Biel and his group continued moving east, laughing and talking, unaware that the forces beginning to rise against them were far more ruthless and dangerous than they could ever imagine.
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