Protector

Jarathia | Slums | Sunthia’s House | At The Same Time

Hanla rises quietly, her gaze falling to the cluttered table. Papers cover its entire surface. She begins to sort them, her old journalist’s habits kicking in.

Transaction records. Dozens. Too many.

These cashflows… they don’t make sense.

Her brows knit as she studies the numbers.

Water stones and fire stones sold for 100 rupees each. Dirt cheap. On my island, one of those stones cost at least 10,000—a true rarity. Yet here, they sell them at one-fiftieth the value, year after year.

She flips through more sheets. Export routes. Merchants heritages. Names repeating over and over: Alpas. Retoka. Dajavea. Zuzia. Travias.
All dominions. All familiar kingdoms.

So the stones never leave through Jarathia’s own merchants. They’re laundered straight to foreign ones. Bought up cheap, exported quick.

Hanla turns another page. Year after year, the numbers increase. The number of stones harvested climbs higher and higher. And at the same time, an illness among the locals—pale skin, red eyes—it increases.

One page makes her stop cold.

“Work Safety Report – Compiled by the Kingdom of Alpas.”

Her jaw tightens. She scans the chart.

“Stones-per-Death ratio.”

How many stones one local can mine before their body collapses. How much a single life is worth, measured in productivity.

It’s presented clinically, sanitized—columns of figures, projected yields. Even a “guideline for safety.”

Hanla’s hands start to tremble. She knows the truth now.

She forces herself to stay calm, exhaling sharply.

They’re keeping them poor on purpose. But why keep prices this low? Even exploitation usually leaves crumbs for survival… but here, it’s just despair. Don't they need these workers? Why let them waste away like this?

Hanla’s eyes wander to a shelf nearby, where thick folders are stacked. She tugs the most dusty one free. Inside are reports dating back a decade.

The cover page is completely different.

A raven emblem stamped across the front. A bold header:

Financial Year – Jarathia – Mayor Torvea – Alliance – White Ravens – Leader: Mythical Adventurer Raven

Her chest tightens. She quickly flips through the pages.

And here—it makes sense. Exports fairly priced: 1568 rupees per stone. Transparent routes. No merchant families named, only the kingdoms themselves: Regona. Alpas. Retoka.

A completely different system.

Hanla frowns, her fingers lingering on the raven emblem.

I know the truth now. And in this world, I am strong enough to rewrite the future.

She closes the folder. “I’m strong,” she says, “and I can rewrite this part of history.”

When she steps back outside, the street is almost empty. A few small faces watch from doorways. Hanla studies every movement, every shadow. Heavy footsteps approach, then a long, deliberate scrape across stone. Sparks light along the cobble.

Chisa’s form becomes recognizable, dragging a huge axe along the walls to make them shriek. White pants, an oversized white shirt, her jaw clenched and eyes burning. She slings the axe onto a shoulder, strides to the nearest house, and shouts: “Nine! Where is he?”

Violet bursts crackle over her axe; veins along her arms glow a furious red. One angry slash—and the building crumbles. A woman is revealed in the ruins, clutching her baby, frozen with terror, then she bolts for the street.

“I want Nine!” Chisa roars. Her steps catch up to the woman, who trips. “Answer me—or I’ll kill you all. And I’ll start with—”

Hanla is already moving.

“Please, have mer—” the woman begs, her voice breaking, baby crying.

Steel drops—halfway. A metallic hand blocks the axe.

Hanla stands between them now, silver eyes catching Chisa’s. “Why the drama?”

Surprise flashes across Chisa’s face—then rage drowns it out. “I told you not to cause trouble. Walk away now, and I’ll forget it this once.”

“No way,” Hanla answers. “If I left, who would protect them?”

Chisa shouts, her axe glowing brighter, violet sparks dancing across its edge as the scent of ozone builds in the street. Hanla braces herself, meeting the crushing pressure to keep the axe trapped.
The woman finally manages to get back up, fleeing with her child.

Hanla releases her grip, letting the axe slam into the ground. The impact rumbles through the entire block, dislodging earth and splitting the street wide open.
From the weathered houses, children peek out in fear.

Sunthia stumbles into the open, drawn by the noise. The children gather too. None run—they only stare, transfixed.

“Leave already!” Hanla shouts.
“I will!” Chisa’s voice tears through the air, raw with rage. “Once I know where Nine is!”

Her burning eyes lock on Sunthia. With a scream, she lunges at her, axe raised high.

Hanla rips the box out of her bag, fingers brushing over a water stone. Black spreads up her arms, veins glowing with blue liquid energy. The same pattern surges down her legs.

Sliding forward across the ground, she intercepts the strike just in time. Her water stone arm catches the axe mid-swing. The earth shatters beneath them, the force blasting Sunthia and Faisc backward.
“Arghhh! Don’t stop me! I’ll kill you!” Chisa roars, frenzy twisting her face.

Hanla stays calm. With one fluid motion, she pivots and slams a kick into Chisa’s ribs, launching her into a wall. She crashes through it, that side of the house collapsing in a thunderous crash.
Blood spills from Chisa’s lips as she crawls out of the rubble, her abdomen forming a bruise.

Hanla picks up her fallen axe, carrying it casually over to her. The street goes silent—citizens stare in disbelief at the white-haired stranger who dared to stand up to Chisa.
“Why are you looking for Nine?” Hanla asks, her silver eyes cool, locked on her opponent.

Meanwhile, Sunthia shakily pushes herself up, while Faisc kneels at her side.

Chisa staggers to a stand, her breaths ragged. She stares at Hanla, then screams hoarsely, “Why… why are you like her? Him… and you—why are you like her? Why are you here now? Why?! WHY?!”

She slams her fist into the ground, blood streaking across the dirt.
“Do you think it’s that easy? Nine killed Jerome! Because of Sunthia! And now he’s running!”

Sunthia’s face goes pale. She drops to her knees again and starts to heave.

Hanla’s expression hardens. She grabs Chisa by her shirt and pulls her close.
“I don’t care how much you’re hurting right now,” Hanla says coldly. “She’s endured enough. Killing innocents and pushing the blame on her? That’s not justice—it’s rotten. And if that’s your solution, then your life is worthless.”

Chisa bites her lip until it bleeds, unable to answer.

“You’ve got the eyes of a killer,” Hanla continues. “And every killer loses the same thing—the respect for life. You’ve forgotten what it means.”

Sunthia’s trembling voice breaks through. “Let her down… please. I… I don’t want this…”

Hanla exhales, then releases her grip. Chisa crumples, falling to her knees. Slowly, she drags herself toward Sunthia, staring at her as though finally seeing her, with a traumatised face, holding her stomach in disgust.
And realization begins to take hold.

Chisa stumbles back, her breath ragged. “No—don’t tell me… they—” Her gaze sweeps over everyone, wild and despairing. “No… no…”

Hanla steps forward, silver eyes hard. “Go, before I change my mind. Enough is enough.”

Chisa’s eyes flick to Sunthia’s trembling figure, her body shaking violently, her face pale and her stare empty.

Faisc runs to his sister, his small legs nearly tripping over themselves, his pants wet. He stops before her, arms wide, shielding her. His little face twists in fear. “D…Don’t touch her!”

Chisa freezes. Her voice cracks, brittle. “Nine… killed my brother. Nine killed Jerome. And even now—”

Faisc shouts back, his voice sharp despite his fears. “Nine never kills! Nine is a hero!”

“Faisc…” Sunthia whispers, weak.

Chisa takes a step forward. “Sunth—”

Hanla cuts her off, her voice like steel. “Leave this street, now.”

She tosses the axe back at her. Chisa catches it, staring at Hanla—and for a moment, she doesn’t see the white-haired girl standing before her. She sees Raven instead: long black hair, calm composure, that same unshakable presence.

The words echo in her mind.

Hanla and Raven’s voices overlap, steady and unyielding:

“Think clearly, not with emotion. Understand first. Otherwise you’ll regret every decision.”

Chisa lowers her head. “…We ARE sorry for breaching the contract. We didn’t know. Believe me, Sunthia… and you, adventurer.”

With that, she turns and leaves.

Hanla exhales, her arm fading back to normal as she touches her cheek. She steps closer, gently patting Faisc’s head before offering her hand to Sunthia.

Sunthia looks up at her, eyes wet, then slowly takes her hand.

As Sunthia stands, the children rush forward—first five, then ten, then twenty, until the entire street swarms around Hanla. Even the weary adults watching from ruined homes allow themselves faint smiles.

“Superhero kick!” One kid shouts.
“That was so cool!” Another cries.
“I wanna be like that—fight them head on!” A third laughs.
“And Faisc! He stood up to her too!” Another excitedly points out.
“And defended Nine too! She totally backed down when he did! So cool!” One more joins in.

Hanla chuckles softly, patting their heads one after another.

Sunthia breathes steadier now, and Faisc tilts his face up toward Hanla, admiration gleaming in his young eyes.