Arc III Part 1 Chapter 31-35: Lyselle's Resolve

Dusk descended slowly over the horizon of Ardellon, bathing the ruins of the old palace in a coppery red light. The rain that had poured down that afternoon left the scent of wet earth, mixed with the smell of rusty iron from the long-abandoned crumbling walls. This place, it was said, was once an ancient watchtower before the great war a thousand years ago. Now, it was just a nest of shadows.

Lyselle stood in the middle of the weathered hall. The hem of her white robe was wet, dripping water onto the moss-covered floor. Her eyes scanned her surroundings, full of caution, while her magic staff glowed faintly in her grip.

"Caelan, do you feel it too?" she whispered.

The black-haired young man stood not far from her, his gaze sharp as a sword. "Yes. Something is watching us... no, someone."

Silence. So thick, it was as if the air itself was holding its breath.

Lyselle straightened her body, feeling a coldness creep into her bones. The aura was so alien, not just ordinary magic. It felt as if the world itself rejected its presence, yet at the same time could not get rid of it.

Then—shadows began to creep. From cracks in the walls, from small holes in the floor, from the darkness of the twilight sky that seeped in, they all merged, forming a dense black silhouette.

A whispering voice, low but clear, echoed in every corner of the room.

"Finally... I am summoned to this stage."

Lyselle gritted her teeth, her staff raised. "Who's there? Show yourself!"

The shadow swayed, like smoke played with by the wind, before slowly solidifying, becoming the figure of a tall man with long silver hair. His eyes glowed blood-red, his lips curved into a faint smile that made one's skin crawl.

"A name you may have heard among the whispers of darkness..." His voice was heavy, flowing like a forbidden hymn. "I am Remiel Oris."

The name was like a hammer blow. Lyselle held her breath. Caelan even closed the distance, his instinct compelling him to protect the high elf girl.

"...Remiel Oris." Lyselle repeated, her voice cold. "The mastermind behind all the chaos that has enveloped Eirenthal all this time. The mover of shadows in the four kingdoms. The man who laughs at the people's suffering for his 'concept of freedom'."

Remiel gave a small, mocking laugh, as if the words were just a toy. "Mastermind? A title too narrow. I am not just a manipulator... I am a mirror of the world you love. Chaos is the true face you cover with words like 'system' and 'order'. And me? I am simply the one who dares to admit it."

His gaze pierced towards Lyselle, so deep it seemed able to tear the contents of her soul. "And you, the High Elf girl—the incarnation of a 'reformer' who is said to be sent to tear down corruption. You are as hypocritical as the kings you oppose. You think the freedom of the people is born from new rules? No. All rules are just shackles with a different face."

Lyselle felt something constricting her chest. The voice wasn't just words. There was magic in it, magic that suppressed willpower, sowing doubt.

"Don't listen," Caelan muttered, patting her shoulder, his voice firm. "He's just toying with words."

But Remiel only laughed again, this time louder. "Oh? Caelan Ardyn, the wanderer who lost everything. You want to protect her? Or are you afraid that she will see the truth you've been avoiding all this time?"

Caelan drew his sword, a faint blue magical light surrounding it. "Enough, Remiel. If you've only come to sow verbal poison, I'll end you here."

Remiel raised his hand, and the shadows around them suddenly tensed, turning into sharp black blades that hung in the air, surrounding them like a thousand spears.

"Of course, I could kill you both right now." He smirked. "But... that's not my goal. I want to talk. I want you to hear. Because the world is about to be divided: the system you uphold... versus the chaos I embrace. And in the end, whoever wins... will determine the face of Eirenthal's future."

Lyselle raised her head, a white glow of magic beginning to emanate from her staff, resisting the pressure of that aura. "In that case, speak. But don't think I'll be affected by your poison."

Remiel looked at her, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "Good. You are indeed not easily swayed. That's why I chose to reveal myself now, before you. Because our debate—you, me, and the young man by your side—will become the foundation for the coming war."

Dusk turned to dark. The shadows drew closer, closing every gap of light.

And in the midst of that darkness, only Remiel's red eyes shone.

The temple's underground chamber in Ardellon felt more and more like the belly of a dragon holding its anger. The torchlight on the walls flickered erratically, as if afraid of the presence of something far beyond human strength.

The shadow slowly sharpened, forming the figure of a young man with hair as black as charcoal and golden eyes that seemed able to penetrate the soul. Although his body was just a silhouette, every detail of his movement was clear, blurring the line between reality and illusion.

"Remiel Oris..." Caelan's voice trembled, more from holding back disgust than fear. "The mastermind who plants poison in every kingdom. You've finally appeared."

Remiel smiled faintly. That smile was both comforting and terrifying. "Don't call me a mastermind, Caelan. I'm just an observer... who happens to arrange the pieces on this chessboard so the game isn't boring."

Lyselle clutched her staff tightly. A pure high elf magical aura radiated from her body, making the air tremble. "Your game has claimed thousands of lives. You call that... entertainment?"

Remiel turned to her, his gaze full of interest, like a philosopher who had just found an unsolvable puzzle. "Ah, so this is the reincarnation I've always heard whispers of? Lyselle Althariel... or more precisely, Ayaka Ishikawa."

The words made Lyselle's chest feel squeezed. "You..."

"Relax," Remiel continued, his voice like a whisper piercing through her head. "I know who you really are, girl from another world. You want to bring a new system to this world. You want to destroy corruption, unite humans, elves, beastkins, and even demons in a just order. So beautiful, so noble... but also so naive."

Caelan stood beside Lyselle, his sword drawn. "Don't try to play with her mind. You're not a god. You're just a remnant shadow from a bygone era."

Remiel chuckled. "A god? No. I am just a person who has seen this world repeat the same pattern for too long. A system is born, a system grows, a system collapses. And from those ruins, chaos always emerges, far more honest than the false order you're trying to build."

His words struck Lyselle's mind, but she refused to back down. "In that case, tell me. What is your purpose in revealing yourself to us now?"

The shadow stretched, like black smoke twisting around itself. "My goal is simple: to challenge your beliefs. I want to know if you are truly capable of fighting the great current of history that always sides with destruction."

The atmosphere in the room grew heavier. From a distance, the sound of iron chains echoed, as if something was being chained in the depths of the temple. Lyselle could feel a dark energy directly connected to Remiel's existence.

"I have waited a long time," Remiel said softly, "to find someone crazy enough to try to build a system that cannot be destroyed. And it seems, you are that person, Lyselle. So, prove it to me. Show me your ideology. Can your system withstand the storm of chaos that I bring?"

Those golden eyes ignited a spark that made her hair stand on end. Lyselle stared back at him without fear. "If that's what you mean, then I will answer it. But not with a sword or magic. Instead, with words, with belief, and with the future I believe in."

Remiel's grin widened, his shadow seeming to expand to fill the entire room. "Good. Then let's begin... the dialogue of ideologies."

The ruins of Ardellon burned red, the flames consuming the shabby houses, leaving only black wreckage. The smell of iron and blood mixed with burnt wood filled the night air. Amidst the suffocating smoke, three figures stood facing each other.

Lyselle held her magic staff tightly, her emerald green eyes trembling as she stared at the long-silver-haired man who calmly reflected the firelight. He was Remiel Oris, a figure known only in the whispers of darkness, now finally revealing his form.

Beside Lyselle, Caelan stood with his sword drawn, his body tense but his gaze cold.

"So... this is the mastermind behind all of this?" Caelan's voice sounded heavy. "The chaos in Drezhen, the famine in Ardellon... it was all your doing."

Remiel smiled faintly.

"Mastermind? No, Caelan. I am just a mirror. A mirror that reflects the true face of this world. You call it chaos? I call it... honesty."

Lyselle stepped forward, her breath trembling.

"Honesty? By burning people's houses? By making children starve to death in the streets?!"

Remiel didn't answer directly. He raised his hand, letting a drop of blood fall from his finger, and then fall onto the dry ground.

"You see this? Cracked earth, a screaming sky, people who pray but no god answers. This world is rotten, Lyselle Althariel. You want to fix it with a system? The system itself is the disease."

Caelan raised his sword.

"You talk as if without a system, humans can live in peace. But you are the one who created the suffering!"

Remiel laughed softly, but his eyes were cold.

"No, Caelan. I'm just removing the mask. Without laws, without crowns, without rules that imprison... humans return to their true nature. That's not suffering, that's freedom."

Lyselle fell silent, her heart pounding. The words were like a poison creeping into her mind.

"Is it true... that all my efforts are just patching up holes in a system that was broken from the start?"

But she immediately shook her head, trying to chase away the doubt.

"The freedom you mean is just anarchy, Remiel. It only adds to the suffering of the weak."

Remiel looked at her for a long time, as if trying to read her heart.

"Weak or strong, that's just fate. You try to erase fate with your compassion. But in the end, you only prolong suffering that should have ended."

The fire around them grew wilder, as if witnessing the beginning of an inevitable ideological battle.

The sound of the fire creeping along the ruins was soft, like a whisper from hell laughing at humanity. The smell of burning iron mixed with charred flesh stung the nose, adding pressure to Lyselle's chest.

In the middle of the circle formed in the ruined throne room, three figures stood. Lyselle with her silver blonde hair loose on her shoulders, her emerald green eyes trembling with anger and fear. Caelan stood by her side, strong, but his gaze was full of vigilance. And before them, Remiel Oris, the man who seemed to be wrapped in darkness, smiled faintly.

That smile wasn't just a cynical look. It was the look of a man who was certain he understood the world better than anyone else.

"The system you defend... kingdoms, laws, churches, even blood ties... all are just fragile illusions. As soon as one foundation crumbles, everything else falls. And I'm just accelerating a process that is bound to happen."

"You call this destruction... a natural process? You burn people's houses, slaughter their families, and then call it part of 'evolution'?"

"It's funny, isn't it? You still think that humans, elves, demons, or anyone can live in peace just with rigid rules. When in fact, those rules are always made by those in power. Those below... always become the victims."

(Caelan drew his sword, holding back his anger) "So your solution? Replacing rules with chaos? Destroying everything that's left, hoping something better will be born from the ruins? That's not a solution. That's a justification for your own lust for power."

Remiel raised a hand, as if offering the fire dancing on his fingers.

"Power? Perhaps. But don't you ever ask... how long can this system last? How much longer will the common people suffer, while the kings feast? I'm just giving them—" (he stared sharply at Lyselle) "—true freedom. Freedom from a rotten system that even you, the people's proud reformer, can't change with sweet words."

Those words hit Lyselle harder than any sword. Her heart beat fast. She wanted to deny it, wanted to say that she could change the world through reform, through justice. But the faces of the villagers who died at the hands of Baroness Lethia, the suffering of the children she met in Selvaria, and the screams of the Selvaria citizens who burned just now... all of them rushed into her mind.

(Lyselle's voice trembled, suppressing her emotions) "I... I don't deny that this system is rotten. I have seen for myself how nobles indulge while the people starve. But destroying everything with fire and blood... that only creates new suffering. That's not freedom. It's just another chain, but wrapped in a different face."

(Remiel smirked) "You are wrong. The system itself is the chain. Chaos, war, the breaking of rules... that is the only way for people to choose. In chaos, they submit to no one but themselves."

(Caelan interrupted, his voice sharp) "You talk as if you understand their suffering. When in fact, you just make them your tools. Every village you burn, every life you take, only thickens your shadow. Don't pretend to be a savior."

Remiel was silent for a moment, then gave a small laugh, but his laugh was cold.

"You're right, Caelan. I'm not a savior. I'm not a hero. I'm just a mirror. A mirror that reflects the true face of the world you're trying to cover with false morality."

Silence enveloped the room. Lyselle felt her hands trembling, although she tried to hide it.

In her heart, a small voice whispered: "Am I really so different from him? Am I just patching cracks with words, while this world is cracked much deeper...?"

But before she could answer her own doubts, Remiel took a step closer.

Remiel: (softly, but piercingly) "You know, Lyselle... people will continue to die. Under your system, or in my chaos. But at least... in my hands, they die with honesty."

Caelan straightened his body, the sword in his hand trembling, ready to strike at any moment. But Lyselle... she was transfixed. The fire around her flickered, as if it was also laughing at her wavering. The ideologies hadn't truly clashed. But the first crack in Lyselle's heart had already appeared. And Remiel knew that well.

Dusk slowly turned into night, and the underground meeting room grew heavier with the scent of candles that were almost out. The small shadows of the flames on the walls flickered, as if dancing along with the sharp words that were being exchanged.

The three of them sat in a circle, but instead of creating understanding—there was only a whirlwind of ideological fire that burned brighter.

Remiel Oris leaned forward, his fingers joined as if in prayer, though his lips held a cold smile. "Lyselle, you say you want to rearrange the system. But do you know the meaning of the word 'system' in human history? It's just a chain. A chain that binds the common people so they submit to power. You want to create a new chain in the name of 'justice'."

Lyselle snorted, looking straight into his eyes. "Without chains, without rules, this world will fall apart. The people will prey on each other. You speak as if chaos is a cure, but all I know is the suffering born from chaos. I don't want the world to sink back into a barbaric age."

Caelan also interrupted, his voice loud, full of fire. "The system is necessary. But the problem is, the old system is rotten. A new system must be built with the blood of tyrants, not just a new coat of paint. I believe in revolution, not compromise!"

Remiel turned to him, his eyes as sharp as a knife. "And a revolution without direction only gives birth to a new tyrant, Caelan. History always proves it. You kill one king, another is born from his shadow."

A moment of silence. The candle flame trembled, as if feeling the tension.

Lyselle slammed the table, her tone rising, no longer able to hold back her emotions. "Then what do you want, Remiel? You claim you want freedom. But what kind of freedom do you mean? Freedom for whom? For the strong to oppress the weak?!"

Remiel slowly stood up, letting his robe hang to the floor. The silhouette of his body was reflected on the wall, large and oppressive. "I don't believe in the concepts of 'weak' and 'strong' as you understand them. The world doesn't need rules made by a select few. The world must be left wild. In chaos, people find themselves. In chaos, humans test their limits. And only those who can survive are worthy of leading. That is the justice of nature."

Caelan punched the table so hard that the wooden board cracked. "Your nonsense only makes the people suffer! I once lived in chaos. I saw children starve to death in the streets. That's not the justice of nature—that's a hell made by people like you!"

Remiel stepped closer, looking down at him. His smile never wavered. "And that hell will continue to exist as long as you believe that the world can be fixed with 'rules'. Rules are an illusion. The harder you try to fix it, the more it falls apart."

Lyselle tightly gripped the necklace around her neck, her eyes trembling. "Then... what is left for me? Is all my effort just an empty dream?"

Remiel looked at her with a gaze that was almost pitiful—but not compassion, but pity for her foolishness. "You'll realize it yourself, High Elf. When you see the blood of the people flowing because of a war you could never stop... you'll know that you are just another piece in a great game. Not a savior."

The sound of a marching army came from outside the corridor, signaling that the meeting time was over.

Caelan turned to Lyselle, his face still furious but his voice lower, more personal. "Don't listen to him. You're different, Lyselle. You're not a tyrant, and not a coward. We can still fight—as long as you don't waver."

But Caelan's words actually pierced deeper, because in Lyselle's mind, Remiel's sentence still echoed: Not a savior. Just a piece.

The candle flame went out. Darkness swallowed the room. And in that darkness, Lyselle felt something inside her begin to crack.

The sound of the battlefield finally subsided. Not because someone won, but because there was nothing left to lose. In the streets of a small village on the border of Ardellon, the smell of blood mixed with the ashes of burned houses. Corpses lay strewn about: soldiers, merchants, children.

Lyselle stood rigidly in the middle of the dusty road, her white robe stained with blood that wasn't hers. Her eyes stared blankly at a mother lying on the ground, embracing a baby who was no longer breathing. Her hands trembled.

"This... it's all because of me..."

The whisper broke from her lips, almost inaudible. Caelan, who stood behind her, wanted to reach for her shoulder, but he knew it wasn't the time.

Memory after memory spun in Lyselle's mind. She remembered the promise she made on her first day stepping into Eirenthal—a promise to stop the people's suffering, to uphold justice. But now, all that was left were a destroyed village and innocent victims.

Am I really bringing change? Or just bringing disaster in the name of idealism?

Lyselle covered her face with both hands, holding back sobs she could no longer hide.

Night fell quickly. A small campfire glowed in the village ruins. There were only a handful of surviving residents, sitting around the fire with blank faces, too tired to cry.

Lyselle sat apart, her back resting against a half-ruined house wall. Her gaze was blank, staring at the night sky. The stars shone brightly, as if mocking how small her struggle was compared to the vastness of the world.

Caelan finally sat down next to her. He didn't speak right away. He just stared at the campfire, waiting for Lyselle to speak. But what came out was a whisper full of guilt.

"If I were truly worthy of being called a leader... they wouldn't have all died like this. I... I failed, Caelan. I only brought destruction."

"...No, you didn't fail."

Lyselle: (turning quickly, her eyes red) "You saw it yourself! They died right in front of us! What's the difference between me and that corrupt king if the people still suffer?!"

Lyselle's voice cracked, trembling with emotion. Her hands clenched, her body shaking.

Caelan looked at her in silence. For him, Lyselle was not just a leader, but a girl who was bearing too heavy a burden alone.

"...Lyselle, you're not a goddess. You can't save everyone. But you tried. And that's what makes you different from them."

The words pierced Lyselle's heart, but she couldn't just accept them.

"...If just trying is enough... why does it still feel this bad? Why does every step I take always leave blood behind?"

Tears fell, wetting her cheeks.

The night grew late. The campfire began to die down, replaced by a bone-chilling cold. Lyselle remained silent, as if her body had turned to stone. She felt that all the beliefs she had built so far were wavering.

Do I really deserve to lead change? Or am I just a selfish girl who doesn't understand the world?

She looked at her own hands—hands she once prided herself on for being able to protect, now felt dirty, full of the blood of people she couldn't save.

Caelan finally reached out, touching her shoulder gently. Lyselle flinched slightly, then turned.

"You're not alone, Lyselle. If you can no longer believe in yourself... at least, believe in me."

The words made Lyselle's chest constrict. She wanted to refuse, wanted to say that it was all pointless. But behind Caelan's gaze, there was a sincerity she couldn't ignore.

Lyselle looked down, holding back her tears. For the first time, she truly looked fragile—not as a leader, not as a reformer, but simply as a girl who was tired of bearing the world's weight.

And that's where the first crack opened. A crack that would bring Lyselle closer to Caelan, towards a deeper bond.

That night, the air in Ardellon felt heavy, as if the sky was also bearing the burden of its inhabitants' hearts. The usually dry desert wind carrying the scent of dust and sand, now mixed with the faint smoke from torches lined up along the village street.

Lyselle sat on the edge of an old well, her gaze blankly piercing the darkness. Her fingers squeezed the end of her white robe, her body still trembling slightly. The faces of the starving children in Ardellon kept appearing in her mind—hollow eyes, thin hands, soft voices begging for bread.

"I tried... but something always fails. There's always someone I can't save..." she murmured to herself.

The torchlight swept across her pale face. Her tears, which she had held back in front of the people, finally fell slowly, wetting her cheeks.

Not far from there, Caelan stood leaning against a wooden pole, watching. He knew Lyselle was trying to be strong. Since he first met her, the girl had always shown firmness, although her heart was clearly full of wounds.

Slowly, Caelan approached. The sound of his heavy footsteps on the sandy ground was rhythmic.

"Lyselle," his voice was deep, calm, but full of warmth. "If you keep holding everything in by yourself... you'll break."

Lyselle was surprised, quickly wiping her tears, trying to force a faint smile. "I... I'm okay. This is just... a little tired."

Caelan shook his head, then sat down beside her. His sturdy shoulder lightly touched Lyselle's side, providing a warmth that was strangely comforting.

"Don't lie in front of someone who wants to protect you," Caelan said softly. "I know that pain. Because I also once... felt like a failure."

Lyselle turned, looking at Caelan. Her eyes trembled. "You... too?"

Caelan took a deep breath, his gaze directed at the night sky filled with faint stars. As if gathering courage, he began to open the door to his past—something he had kept tightly locked all this time.

The silent forest in northern Ardellon was filled with the whispers of leaves touched by the night wind. In the midst of the darkness, only the faint light from a magical circle glowed.

The quiet night in the wooden room was only broken by the occasional crackling of the fire, splashing warm orange light. The smell of burning wood mixed with the scent of herbal tea that had not yet been drunk. Lyselle sat in her chair, her long fingers tracing the surface of the cup, but her eyes were more focused on the man in front of her—Caelan—who, for the first time, was revealing a fragile layer of himself.

"...I'm not a person worthy of being a role model, Lyselle." His voice was low, almost trembling. "I once ran away. I once betrayed my own oath as a knight. To survive, I left them—the people who entrusted their lives to me."

His silver eyes faintly reflected the firelight. It wasn't the firm gaze of a prince, nor the face of a always confident knight. For the first time, Lyselle saw Caelan as an ordinary human—wounded, wavering, but brave enough to admit it.

Lyselle was silent for a long time before answering. "And you think that by admitting it in front of me, it makes you weak?" Her voice was soft, but her tone held something sharp. "No, Caelan. It makes you much stronger. Those who hide their wounds will forever be bound by them. But you... you chose to reveal them."

Caelan looked down, his hands clenched in his lap. "I just... don't want you to place too much hope in me. I'm not a hero in a story who always wins. I'm just a man who once failed."

Lyselle sighed deeply, then stood up. Her long white dress shifted gently, and she walked closer, standing in front of Caelan. For a moment, only the sound of their heartbeats felt real in the silence.

"Do you know the difference between you and those I call corrupt rulers?" she asked in a flat tone. "They fail, and then they cover it up. They lose, and then they blame others. But you—you stand here, admitting it. That's not weakness. That's honesty."

Caelan straightened his head, looking at her, as if trying to read whether Lyselle was truly sincere with her words. But all he saw was an undeniable sincerity.

A faint smile appeared on Lyselle's face. "If I'm being honest... I also often feel like a failure. I want to save everyone, but in reality? I can't. There are many lives that have been lost before I even had a chance to reach out. And I hate it... I hate myself for not being strong enough."

Her voice lowered at the end of the sentence. For a moment, she looked like a young girl lost in a great destiny that was forced upon her. And Caelan saw that—the fragile layer that was usually always hidden behind her strong and cold demeanor.

Without realizing it, his hand moved. He reached for Lyselle's fingers, holding them firmly. Lyselle was surprised, her body tensing slightly, but she didn't pull her hand away.

"In that case," Caelan said in a hoarse but determined voice, "from now on, let me be the one who bears that burden with you. You don't have to save the world alone. If you waver, I will support you. If you fall, I will pick you back up."

The words were simple, yet Lyselle felt something in her chest tremble violently. She rarely trusted others, let alone handed over a part of her burden. But this time, that warm grip... felt real. As if for the first time, she truly wasn't alone.

"...Caelan," she whispered softly, her voice almost breaking.

Their gazes met, more deeply than before. The fire in the fireplace seemed to dim, giving its light only to two pairs of eyes that were searching for answers from each other.

And in that silence, an invisible emotional bond began to form—not just as allies, not just as a prince and a High Elf. More than that, they became two souls who were supporting each other in despair.

That night, the air in Ardellon felt different. After the emotional storm that had entangled Lyselle all day, the sky now looked more spacious. The stars twinkled like small lights trying to strengthen the heart of anyone who looked at them.

In a simple room in the lodging they were staying at, Lyselle sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clutching the thin nightgown she had just put on. Her silver hair was loose, reflecting the soft flickering candlelight.

The door to the room was gently knocked. "Lyselle," Caelan's voice sounded, soft but full of caution. "Come in," she answered in a low tone, although she was still hesitant to talk further.

Caelan stepped inside, closing the door slowly so as not to make too much noise. His gaze fell on Lyselle's fragile figure, which was very different from the image of the High Elf who was always brave in front of the people.

"I... I wanted to make sure you're okay," Caelan said after a moment of silence.

Lyselle looked down. "Do I look okay to you?" The atmosphere immediately froze, until Caelan could only pull up a chair and sit in front of her. His gaze was direct, full of sincerity.

"You don't have to pretend to be strong in front of me," he continued. "If there's someone who's allowed to see your fragile side, let it be me."

Lyselle slowly raised her face. There was a wet shine in her eyes, but she held back the tears as if her pride still wanted to maintain a little dignity. "Do you really want to bear my burden, Caelan? Even when I can't bear it myself?"

Caelan nodded. "Yes. Because I once lived alone, with no one who cared about me. I know how heavy that feeling is. And I don't want you to feel it anymore."

The words made Lyselle fall silent. She remembered Caelan's story from the day before—about his past, about loss, about the feeling of despair that almost made him give up. But now, it was Caelan who was standing as a support for her.

Slowly, Lyselle reached out her hand. Her fingers trembled when they touched the back of Caelan's hand. "In that case... stay by my side. Don't let me go, even if one day I have to bear a greater sin."

Caelan held her hand tightly. "I promise."

The silence that followed was no longer a heavy one. The candle flickered, the night wind whispered through the window crack, and for the first time since those dark days, Lyselle felt a little relieved.

"Caelan..." she whispered, almost inaudibly. "Thank you... for not giving up on me."

Caelan smiled faintly. "And thank you... for finally letting me into your world."

That feeling hung between them—not just a feeling of trust, but something that was slowly turning into a deeper bond. Lyselle no longer just saw Caelan as an ally or a travel companion, but as the person she truly needed to survive.

That night, they talked for a long time. About the bitter past, about the still vague future, and about the small hopes they knew might be difficult to achieve. However, that was what made it worthwhile.

And when their eyes met for the last time before sleeping, Lyselle realized one thing—she was no longer walking alone.

The silent forest in northern Ardellon was filled with the whispers of leaves touched by the night wind. In the midst of the darkness, only the faint light from a magical circle glowed.