THE FIRST STEP

The return to the Coliseum was a surreal blur. The system, in a desperate attempt to maintain normalcy, declared the event over. There was a small fuss, forced congratulations from a shaky-voiced announcer and the automatic handing out of consolation prizes. It felt like a farce, a curtain painted over an abyss.

Ikel tried to break the tension with a joke, but his words died in the air. The energy had left him. It was as Sacres put a hand on Asimil's shoulder, his face a mask of grave concern, that the world finally gave way. The adrenaline that had kept him on his feet faded, and the shock of the battle, of the sight, of the recognition of the creature, hit him like a sledgehammer. His vision filled with black static, and he collapsed to the ground.

The darkness took him to a dream. A flashback. He was in a workshop, the smell of oil and wood filling the air. A tall man, a faceless person, was showing him how to fix something, his calloused hand guiding Asimil's. He felt a surge of pride, of confidence.

Then, the warmth froze. A shadow lengthened, and from it emerged his other self, a destroyed, devastated Asimil. With terrifying calm, he murdered his father figure in cold blood. Then, his Void eyes bore into him. He did not speak. He only looked at him, and in that gaze Asimil understood a promise: I can destroy every thing you love.

He woke up with a gasp.

He was in a bed, in a stone room lit by magic crystals. The clan infirmary. The smell of medicinal herbs filled the air. Next to him, in another bed, Noelia slept soundly. Her face, normally a mask of cold arrogance, was now stripped of defenses, marked by deep exhaustion.

— Relax. You are safe. — Sacres was sitting in a corner. — His face showed immense relief. -You fainted. Her too, she was on the edge. I brought her here. Lyra! He woke up. —

A lavender-haired, white-robed girl entered. It was Lyra. Her presence was serene, reassuring.

— Well, so the real sleeper decides to join the world of the living — she said with a touch of dry humor. — She examined him with a magical light. — Mana depletion, severe psychic setback... and it looks like you haven't eaten properly in three days. Your main problem isn't you, it's malnutrition. — 

His straightforward diagnosis was a strange comic relief that took Asimil out of the horror of his dream for a moment.

Night fell. Ikel had visited him earlier, but had to go to rest together with Sacres. In the quiet of the infirmary, Noelia finally awoke. She sat on the edge of her bed, her silhouette frail against the digital moonlight.

— What Saitras did.... — Asimil began, his voice low, wanting to offer her a bridge of comfort. — It was incredible. He saved us all. He died a hero. —

He expected her to nod, to share in the mourning. Instead, she let out a laugh. A short, dry sound, devoid of all mirth. 

— Hero? —she replied, her voice an icy edge. — It was stupid. —

He froze. — What? —

— He was strong. He could have fought. He could have found a way to win — she said, her gaze fixed on the wall, as if she saw a ghost. — But instead, he chose the easy way. He sacrificed himself. He gave up. He was weak. —

The word echoed in the room, profane and brutal. — Weak! — Asimil jumped, his own voice rising with disbelief and rage. — He gave his life for you! For all of us! How can you say that?! —

— Because it is the truth! — She spat, turning to face him, and in her eyes he saw a storm of pain and fury. — The strong do not sacrifice, Asimil! They win! They do not die so that others may flee! He... he chose to lose. And that, to me, is the worst form of weakness. —

Asimil understood then. It was not contempt. It was a defense. An armor forged with a pain so deep that she had to twist the most heroic act into a weakness in order to bear the guilt.

She stood up, her body still shaking from exhaustion.

— I have to... leave. I need to be alone. —

— Noelia, you don't have to... —

— Yes, I have to —she cut him off, her voice now brittle, on the verge of breaking.

She walked toward the door, staggering slightly. He saw her back, her shoulders slumped, and he no longer saw the elemental Queen. He saw a frightened girl, fleeing from a pain that was eating her up inside. She stopped at the threshold, without turning around.

He was left alone in the room, his heart heavy. Not from the sadness of Saitras' loss, but from hers. He understood that her arrogance was not pride. It was armor.

And he had just seen the deep cracks running through it.