Dawn of the Survivors

Day was just beginning to break. A pale light filtered through the heavy, timeworn velvet curtains. The room, modest but neat, retained an old-world charm: a dark wood four-poster bed, faded tapestries bearing forgotten coats of arms, and a chest of drawers whose tarnished bronze handles gently caught the golden reflections of dawn. The air hung with a subtle scent of beeswax and clean linen, mingled with the slight dampness unique to old houses.

Kyle opened his eyes in this unfamiliar setting. His heavy eyelids made him feel as if he'd slept for centuries, but his body was a raw wound. When he tried to sit up, a searing pain shot through his muscles, as if his bones had turned to glass, ready to shatter at the slightest movement. His throat tightened, and a gasp escaped him, halfway between a scream and a strangled breath. He fell back heavily onto the pillow, his forehead beaded with cold sweat.

His instincts screamed at him not to move. Every fiber of his body vibrated with unbearable tension, as if his nerves had retained the memory of the battle. Kyle knew the cause: he'd pushed too hard, burned too much mana and stamina to push his limits. But far from regretting it, a smile played on his trembling lips. He accepted this pain almost like a trophy.

 He thought back to the final battle against the undead: the screams, the flashes of magic, the swords clashing in a world-ending din. He remembered that exhilarating sensation, like a raid in a difficult RPG. But this… it wasn't virtual. Kyle closed his eyes again, letting his body sink into a kind of painful vigil. No real sleep, just a forced rest.

Much later, a quiet tap at the door roused Kyle from his half-slumber. A light scent of soap and fresh flowers wafted into the room. A young woman entered, dressed in a maid's uniform: a perfectly pressed white apron, a simple but elegant black dress, her hair tied back in a tight bun that emphasized the softness of her features. She bowed deeply, her gestures marked by a rigor that betrayed a strict upbringing.

 "Sir, breakfast awaits you," she said in a soft, measured, almost sing-song voice.

Kyle remained silent for a moment—not because of the pain, but because his mind had just frozen.

A maid. In his room.

His gaze slid over her in spite of himself, drawn not by the woman, but by what she embodied: one of his old fantasies. An image he had only known through the pages of manga or the noisy halls of conventions.

He cleared his throat, embarrassed, trying to hide his confusion.

"Um... I'd like to, but... I can't get up. Not yet."

She lowered her head slightly, as if she'd already expected this answer.

"I'm aware. The others have already told us about this problem. But I can help you... if you'd like. It should ease the pain."

Kyle hesitated. His pride screamed that he should be strong, not let himself appear weak in front of a girl. But a part of him knew he had no choice. Taking a deep breath, he gritted his teeth and accepted her help.

Even the slightest movement was torture. His muscles trembled, his ribs seemed to crack with every breath. He could feel his face contorting, ready to wince, but he refused to scream. Not in front of her. There was no way he was going to lose any shred of dignity. Sweat trickled down his temple, his fingers clenched on the sheet, searching for nonexistent support. Yet slowly, with her discreet but firm help, Kyle managed to sit up.

His feet finally touched the cold bedroom floor. He inhaled deeply, each breath hissing like a blade against his lungs. But he held firm. She guided him to the door, her movements precise, measured, never giving him the impression of pity. Together, they walked down the hallway illuminated by the golden glow of morning.

When they reached the stairs, Kyle, despite the pain, couldn't help but smile inwardly. He had survived. And he was still walking. Even though each step seemed like torture, he descended, proud, guided by a maid straight out of his dreams... toward the dining room where his companions were no doubt waiting for him.

The hallway seemed endless, but Kyle walked with a measured gait, each step calculated not to draw attention to his pain. His muscles were stiff, his joints protested with every movement, but he focused on his breathing and maintaining his impassive expression. Beside him, the young woman walked with silent elegance, each step gliding across the polished parquet floor as if she were floating. The air was laden with a subtle scent of wax and old wood, mixed with the faint aroma of food being prepared in the kitchen. Kyle didn't linger, too focused on her presence to betray his suffering.

After a few minutes, they reached the dining room. The room was immense, worthy of a grand nobleman's residence: high vaulted ceilings, exposed beams engraved with antique motifs, and a long oak table perfectly set with white tablecloths, decorated ceramic plates, and gleaming cutlery. The morning sun filtered through large windows, making golden reflections dance on the dishes and the walls lined with red drapes. The smell of the still-steaming food hung in the air, contrasting with the lingering acridity of the wounds still present in the bodies of Kyle and his companions.

 At the table, Felix sat with his head bowed, his face impassive, but his clenched hands betrayed the fatigue and pain he felt after treating the others. Marx, sitting a little further away, raised his hand to greet Kyle.

"Hi," Marx said, his voice tired but sincere.

Kyle responded with a small wave before sitting down, careful not to awaken the pain that still coursed through every fiber of his body. The maid bowed slightly to him, a discreet smile on her lips, then left without a word, her footsteps disappearing into the old parquet floor.

A few moments later, Marx stood up and came to sit next to Kyle.

"Good to see you alive," he said in a warmer voice.

"Hello," Kyle replied simply.

A silence fell, broken only by the crackling of a nascent fire in the fireplace and the distant clinking of cutlery. Then Kyle, curious, asked,

"Aren't you in pain?"

"Yes... but I'm used to this kind of thing," Marx replied with a smile that betrayed as much fatigue as indifference to danger.

"I really wonder if you're actually human," Kyle murmured, frowning.

"Of course I am," Marx replied, almost amused.

"How can a human so... enjoy carnage?" Kyle persisted, his voice tinged with astonishment.

"I didn't do anything special," Marx replied. "I just took out enemies, as usual."

"It's still..." Kyle hesitated, searching for words. "...a special way to fight." »

"You said that," Marx replied, a slight smile on his lips.

"Why?" Kyle asked, intrigued.

"It's the first time I've seen someone fly through the air," Marx explained.

Before Kyle could reply, Felix raised his head, his gaze stern, and asked,

"Keep the noise down, please."

Marx inclined his head slightly, a rueful smile on his lips.

"Sorry to have bothered you."

"Stop playing the victim," Kyle replied with a small smile. "We're all suffering here."

"Unlike you, my suffering is very real," Felix said calmly, but his voice betrayed exhaustion. "I had to heal you after the battle."

"It's true... I'm completely free of injuries," Marx admitted, genuinely grateful. "Thank you, Felix."

"Thanking me is the least you can do," Felix replied, his face still impassive. "I remind you, I was the one who covered your rear while you faced your enemies head-on."

"It's true that if you hadn't been there..." Kyle murmured, a hint of gratitude in his voice. "...I would never have held out. But that's no reason to act so haughty."

Tension rose slightly in the room, the tone of the exchange becoming more heated, until Marx intervened to diffuse the situation, raising his hands and offering a conciliatory smile.

Suddenly, the heavy door to the dining room opened with a slight creak. All eyes turned toward the entrance. A man appeared, dressed in attire that betrayed pseudo-noble rank: a richly embroidered tunic, a dark cape falling majestically over his shoulders, and a calculating expression on his face. A few maids followed him, carrying trays and bowing as he passed. The very air seemed to vibrate with his silent authority, and a shudder ran through the room.

Silence fell again, heavy, laden with curiosity and a hint of fear.

The man stood straight, an imposing figure draped in a dark cloak, and behind him, the group of maids bowed as one, their foreheads almost touching the ground. The contrast between their respectful silence and the man's grave aura accentuated the solemnity of the moment.

His voice resonated, deep and vibrant:

"I thank you so much for saving the city."

Marx, uncomfortable under so much attention, gave a hint of an embarrassed smile. His fingers nervously played with the hem of his tunic.

"W... we haven't done anything incredible," he said hesitantly. "But... who are you?"

Beside him, Felix straightened slightly in his seat, fatigue weighing heavily on his features. He said in a weary, almost ironic tone:

"Speak for yourself, after accomplishing such an act... I'm exhausted." 

Kyle, for his part, stared at the man cautiously. His gaze tried to pierce the mask of confidence, but he didn't know how to react. In a neutral voice, he simply asked,

"And you, who are you?"

The man inclined his head slightly, a calm smile on his lips.

"My apologies for not introducing myself sooner."

He straightened his posture then, and his voice took on a solemnity that filled the room like a ringing bell:

"I am the mayor of this town. My name is..."

But before he could even reveal his name, Felix raised a weary hand, cutting him off with blunt candor.

"No need to tell us everything. I just want to know what the hell I'm doing here."

A slight silence fell. Yet, far from being offended, the man merely huffed in amusement.

 "I'm bringing you here for two things: to thank you... and to reward you for your bravery."

Marx shook his head, his gaze shifting.

"It's not necessary... really."

"For once, I agree with you," Felix added with a sigh.

Then, abruptly, he stood up. His legs gave way for a moment, and he had to grab the arm of the chair. A grimace of pain crossed his face, but he forced a swaggering smile.

"I didn't do all this to receive any reward or thanks."

His voice cut through the room like a cleaver. Slowly, he began to walk, his steps heavy and uneven, each movement betraying the pain of his injuries. He looked for the exit, but after a few steps, he turned around. His eyes fell on one of the young maids.

 A charming, almost insolent smile stretched his lips. His voice took on a seductive hue, half serious, half playful:

"Miss... could you help me get out of here?"

The maid, surprised, hesitated for a moment. Then she approached slowly, her face tinged with a faint pink. Seeing his struggle to walk, she timidly extended her hand. Felix took it without hesitation, his fingers closing around hers with deliberate warmth.

A mischievous glint in his eye, he said with satisfaction:

"There... much better."

And together, they crossed the threshold, his unsteady step supported by the gentle hand guiding his own.

A few moments after Felix left, Kyle stood up as well. His movements were a little stiff, as if his body hadn't yet fully recovered from the previous day. He bowed slightly to the mayor and thanked him in a low voice for putting him up for the night, before crossing the threshold of the large house.

Marx remained alone facing the man. A heavy silence hung until he spoke, his eyes lowered.

"I... I want to apologize for their behavior."

The mayor gave a tired but sincere smile.

"You don't have to apologize," he replied. "On the contrary... I find them admirable. All of you, in fact." You saved this city, and yet you seek neither glory nor riches. That's rare... very rare. To me, you are true heroes."

Marx, uncomfortably, looked away. His fingers automatically tightened on the hilt of his sword.

"Heroes...?" he murmured, almost ashamed. "I have done nothing to deserve to be treated like this."

Outside, the daytime air was still thick with humidity and ash. Kyle leaned against a stone wall, briefly closing his eyes. His breath formed light white plumes that dissipated in the cold air. He remained there for a few moments, motionless, listening to the sounds of the city. Unlike the first time he had crossed it, silent and bleak, the city now vibrated with a new energy. Voices rose from the alleys, oil lamps lit the facades, and the smell of warm bread mingled with the scent of alcohol coming from the already bustling taverns.

He slowly stood up and resumed his walk, his footsteps echoing on the uneven cobblestones. The pain in his body sometimes made him wince, but his mind wandered elsewhere.

'So this is it...' he thought. 'An epic battle, a dragon, even if it was only an animated corpse... and a dungeon conquered. All of this... it's already more than I ever thought I'd experience.'

A smile tugged at his lips. He let out an amused breath.

"Logically, the next step would be a demon... why not a Demon King, eh? That would be really cool."

His eyes lit up briefly at the thought, before falling back into a discreet melancholy.

"Does the guild even know how to reach the demonic territories...?"

Drowsy in thought, he set off without really looking where he was going. The narrow streets followed one another, lined with similar houses, until he lost himself completely. After turning again and again, without any logic, he suddenly stopped: in front of him, the creaking wooden sign of the Adventurers' Guild swayed gently in the wind.

Kyle pushed open the heavy door of the guild. Immediately, an eerie silence fell over the room. The conversations died down one by one, replaced by gazes fixed on him. But, to his surprise, there was no hostility in those eyes: only gratitude, sometimes even a form of discreet admiration.

This invisible weight of gratitude immediately made him uncomfortable. His back stiffened, his shoulders tensed, and yet he pretended not to notice. With calculated, almost mechanical steps, he advanced towards the counter.

He didn't have time to reach her. Jane, the receptionist, came around the desk with a sincere smile that contrasted with her tear-filled eyes. Without warning, she took his hands in hers.

"Thank you... thank you so much for saving the city," she said in a vibrant voice.

The contact felt like a burning sensation. Kyle's muscles immediately tensed, his breath caught in his throat. His instincts made him rip his hands away, almost scream, but it wasn't just Jane: everyone was watching. And most importantly... it was a girl holding his hands. This disarmed him even more than the general attention.

He managed to remain calm, but his gaze quickly shifted, as if searching for an invisible escape route.

Fortunately, Jane seemed to sense his discomfort. She gently released his fingers, slightly confused, and cleared her throat to compose herself.

"Excuse me... I... So... why did you come to the guild today?" she asked in a more professional voice.

Kyle blinked, slowly regaining his composure.

"I... I don't know. I just came to see."

"Shouldn't you be resting instead?" Jane persisted.

 "It's probably the most logical thing to do," he admitted with a slight shrug.

"So, what are you doing here?"

Kyle stared at her for a moment, as if the answer eluded him.

"Since it's the only place I know in this town."

Jane sighed softly, half amused, half saddened.

"Have you eaten yet?"

"Maybe... I think. I'm not sure."

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"He has food at the other guy's place."

Jane couldn't hold back a small laugh.

"You mean the mayor?"

"Affirmative."

Kyle looked away, a little embarrassed, then turned around.

"I'll come back when I'm a little better."

"Wait!" Jane said, taking a step toward him.

He stopped.

"Let me take you somewhere. You can't just stay like this, wandering aimlessly."

"No thanks," Kyle replied. "I'd rather be alone."

But Jane didn't give up. She crossed her arms, frowned slightly.

"You don't know anywhere around here, do you?"

A silence passed. Kyle sighed.

"...I'm right."

Jane's face lit up with a determined smile.

"Then follow me." Elma, my big sister runs a tavern not far from here. You're safe there, and at least you'll eat well."

Kyle hesitated for a moment, staring at the ground, then finally gave in resignedly.

"Okay... let's go."

The murmurs resumed behind them as they left the guild. Their gazes remained fixed on his back, heavy with silent gratitude. Kyle discreetly clenched his fists, trying to calm the tension still coursing through his muscles.

Jane, for her part, moved with a lighter step, almost relieved, as if she finally had a chance to give back a little of what he had given to the city.

So, the two of them headed towards the tavern, their silhouettes receding into the streets still marked by recent events.

The road to the tavern was plunged into semi-darkness. The sky, still heavy with clouds left by the past storm, filtered a gray and monotonous light. Jane's footsteps echoed on the wet cobblestones, lighter, almost skipping, while Kyle's dragged, heavy and disinterested.

Jane would throw out phrases, innocuous questions—"So, do you plan to stay in town for a long time?" "What's the city of Helion like?"—but they would fade almost immediately, like pebbles falling into a bottomless pit. Kyle responded only with nods or muffled monosyllables. In truth, he didn't want to be there. Every attempt at connection reminded him of Lys, and the painful comparison made him withdraw even more into himself.

Arriving in front of the tavern, Jane forced a small smile and opened the heavy wooden door, which creaked on its hinges.

The interior was eerily quiet. Usually, taverns teemed with shouts, laughter, and the smell of beer and sweat. But here, a strange emptiness reigned, as if the air itself had lost its density. A few empty tables, a poorly maintained fireplace, overturned tankards reeking of rancid malt.

And then... this scene.

At the back, at a rickety table, Felix was slumped against a young woman, their lips intertwined in a kiss far too long to be merely affectionate. The priest's hand slid with studied slowness along the girl's waist, and his muffled laughter vibrated in the air, almost indecent in the silence.

Kyle froze, his gaze hardening. Then, without a word, he spun around, ready to turn back. But Jane, her eyes wide, grabbed his arm and, pulling him with her, walked over to the table.

The girl raised her head, her lips still glossy. Passing Jane, she blinked before smiling.

"Jane? But... what brings you here?"

Kyle raised an eyebrow.

Jane frowned, her tone oscillating between embarrassment and anger.

"Elma... can you explain what you're doing?"

Felix straightened slowly, his smirk still plastered on his face.

"Hey, you didn't tell me you had such a cute sister," he said, his voice deliberately flirtatious.

"You didn't ring!" Jane spat.

 But Felix, unperturbed, placed a hand on his chest as if to solemnly swear:

"My apologies, miss. How could I not salute such a beauty?"

Kyle, however, remained in the background, arms crossed, observing the scene like a theatergoer, his face impassive, but his slightly narrowed eyes betrayed a mixture of boredom and exasperation.

Jane, beside herself, turned to her sister:

"Will you stop, will you? You always get fooled by the first idiot who comes along!"

Elma burst into a short, slightly forced laugh.

"Oh, stop being such a mother, Jane. I do what I want, and he... well, so does he. Besides, what brings you here?"

Jane took a deep breath to calm herself.

"I came to bring you a client." 

She gestured toward Kyle. He raised his hand in a shy, almost embarrassed gesture, as if to say, "Hey, I'm stuck in a bad sketch."

Felix turned toward him and, his eyes narrowing, asked in a drawled voice,

"And you, what are you doing here?"

Kyle met her gaze without raising his voice:

"I don't want to argue with you."

Then, turning to Jane:

"It's better if I find another place to eat."

Jane, panicking, grabbed her sleeve:

"No, wait! Stay!"

Then she fixed her eyes on Felix's:

"Besides, how did you know... that?"

Kyle gave a thin, ironic smile, as if savoring his choice of words.

"Let's just say he was... somewhat useful during the fight against the undead."

Felix exploded:

"Somewhat useful?! If I weren't there, you and that other savage would already be six feet under!"

Kyle didn't blink. His voice remained cold, sharp as a thin blade:

"That's what I was saying." Staying back and healing us... that was your only use."

A heavy silence fell, broken by the sound of a chair scraping the floor. Felix jumped to his feet, his face shadowed by barely contained anger.

"Hindered the monarch and drove away the other creatures. You think that's nothing?!"

But before he could go any further, Jane stood up in front of him.

"That 'thing' chasing my sister... is also one of the city's saviors!"

A flash of amusement crossed Kyle's eyes. He allowed himself a retort laden with irony:

"I'm afraid so..."

Felix, annoyed, finally clicked his tongue.

"Stop acting like I'm not here."

Kyle slowly turned his head towards him. His half-closed eyes, slightly circled by fatigue, reflected a coldness rarely seen in him.

"The problem, Felix, is precisely that you're still here."

The atmosphere immediately became heavy, as if the air between them was thickening. Elma, tense, stood up and placed a light hand on Kyle's shoulder. Her voice, soft but firm, tried to break the tension:

"Sit down, Mr. Kyle. Let's take the time to talk calmly."

Kyle took a deep breath, as if relieved to have an escape route, and accepted in a measured tone:

"Gladly."

The young woman then turned to Felix, her trembling fingers betraying her discomfort.

"And you, Felix... can we continue this discussion a little later?"

"Okay," he replied curtly. "But I don't plan on leaving."

A brief silence followed. Then, seeing that Felix wouldn't move, she gave in with a sigh:

"Very well... stay, then."

The two men found themselves face to face, sitting opposite each other, a distance that seemed both too short and unbearably long. The silence was heavy, so dense that one could have heard the buzzing of a pin.

Jane, uncomfortably, approached Kyle. She nervously played with a strand of her hair, avoiding eye contact with either man.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked timidly.

Kyle shrugged, looking absentminded.

"I'll let you choose."

"Are you sure?" she persisted, uncertain.

"Affirmative. I'm not in the mood to make choices right now."

He had barely finished when Felix, in a strange mimicry, declared in turn:

"I'll let her choose too."

Jane stood frozen for a moment, her gaze shifting from one to the other. A pang of guilt tightened in her chest. On one side, Felix, seen by the town as a savior. On the other... the man who was trying to approach his sister in a way that made her uncomfortable. Her heart wavered.

 Elma, aware of his hesitation, gently placed a hand on his arm.

"Let them talk like men, Jane. It's better."

Jane pursed her lips, but finally nodded.

"You're right..."

And the two women left the room, their footsteps echoing faintly until they disappeared into the hallway.

Only Kyle and Felix remained. The silence, once again, became crushing. The air seemed colder, each creak of the wood in the house amplified the unease. Kyle stared at an invisible point in front of him, his chin resting in his hand, while Felix, tense, rocked slightly forward as if to break the stillness.

Finally, it was he who gave in:

"Tell me, Kyle... you're an archmage, aren't you?"

The mage raised an eyebrow in surprise. His lips hesitated for a moment before opening. Then, in a neutral voice, he said,

"Why do you ask?"

"Because the ability to fly," Felix replied confidently, "is a faculty only archmages can acquire."

Kyle let out a slight, bitter laugh.

"Yes, but me. It's just... thanks to an artifact. A book."

Felix's eyes widened, his fingers clenching in his lap.

"Don't tell me... you got your hands on a tome of forgotten arcana?"

"Exactly."

Felix's breath quickened, a glint of fascination crossing his eyes.

"In the Church, they said these books were impossible to find..."

"That's true," Kyle replied distantly. "But after a final dungeon... I was lucky enough to stumble upon the one who granted me the ability to fly." 

"I see..."

A silence fell again, even heavier than before, almost suffocating. Felix fiddled with his fingers, his gaze shifty. Kyle narrowed his eyes, as if lost in a mixture of caution and weariness.

Then, suddenly, it was he who broke the silence:

"You mentioned the Church, right? So tell me... what were you doing there, exactly?"

Felix froze, his jaw immediately tightening. He looked away, a shadow darkening his features.

"I don't want to discuss this."

Kyle maintained his silence, without pushing the issue. But the awkwardness returned, even heavier, like a stifling mist seeping between them.

Fortunately, before the air could completely freeze, light footsteps were heard in the hallway. The two sisters reappeared, bringing with them a breath of normalcy and a welcome glimmer of escape.