You Were Not Like This Once

Daisy and Aunt Elara soon walked over, their steps quiet on the sand. The younger children from the orphanage were already dozing off, some being carried in the arms of caretakers. Elara smiled softly, her voice gentle as the tide.
“Would you two come now,” she asked, “or stay a little longer? The children are getting sleepy.”

Ninsula bowed slightly, her eyes warm. “It’s alright, I’ll come after a while,” she said with a small smile.

 “You can go ahead.”Elara nodded in understanding and soon departed with Daisy and the others, their lantern lights slowly fading into the distance.

The night was calm and starry — the sea stretching endlessly beside them, silver waves kissing the shore. Ninsula walked quietly along the sand, her brown hair fluttering softly in the cool breeze. When she looked up, the sky mirrored in her blue eyes — vast, glittering, and filled with unspoken thoughts.

Guardian walked beside her in silence, his presence steady but distant. After a long moment, she spoke — her tone gentle, carrying a faint smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Tell me… what do you feel right now?”

He blinked, slightly confused, and replied in his usual calm voice.“The wind. I can feel the waves’ sound as well.”

She exhaled softly, shaking her head with that faint, knowing smile — one she’d worn many times before. “You and your emotionless answers,” she murmured, almost fondly. Then she stopped walking, turning toward him. Her hair swept across her face in the sea breeze, half-hiding her expression.
“Don’t lie,” she said softly. “Do you… remember me from childhood? Back then, you said you wanted to be my friend. So why can’t you understand friendship now?”

His eyes widened slightly — the question striking something deep within him. For a moment, the world around them faded. His purple eyes, usually calm and dull, now shimmered faintly under the starlight. Words hovered on his lips but refused to come out.

Before he could speak, she stepped closer. Her hand reached for his — small, soft, and trembling slightly. She placed something in his palm.
A bracelet.

“It’s for you,” she said quietly. “You always protect me, so I want something to protect you. The people here say these are for the safety of one’s partner…” — she hesitated, her voice faltering for a heartbeat — “…but I only have you. I don’t have anything more special to give.”

Her eyes met his, tender yet unsure. “Take it with you. And no… I’m not ordering you.”

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He just stared at the bracelet in his palm — the delicate weave, the faint shimmer in the moonlight — and felt something unfamiliar rise in his chest.
It was warmth.

And for the first time in his life… he didn’t know what to say.

 After a while, Ninsula looked around. Most of the villagers had already begun leaving, the lively shore now turning still. She turned to her guardian.“Let’s go back,” she murmured. “It’s getting late.”

He gave a silent nod, and together they started walking toward the mountain path leading back to the orphanage.

Crunch! Crunch! 

The mountain path was quiet and covered in light mist. Cold air brushed against Ninsula’s cheeks as she walked beside Guardian. The sound of their steps was the only thing she could hear, along with the faint call of the sea far below.
Between them, a small lantern swung gently, its warm glow cutting through the fog. The light touched the trees, the rocks, and sometimes his face — calm and steady beside her.

 The night air was cool and crisp — insects buzzed faintly, an owl hooted somewhere in the trees, and the leaves whispered with every passing breeze.

As they walked, Ninsula’s voice broke the quiet, calm and curious.
“Would you mind telling me your name?” she asked softly. “I’ve asked you so many times, but you never answer. I remember… your grandfather used to call you by it, right?”

He was walking a few steps behind her. At her words, he glanced away, his gaze unfocused — as if pulled into a distant memory. The lantern light caught in his eyes, making his violet pupils glimmer like tiny fragments of amethyst in the dark.

“Master,” he said quietly, “my answer is the same. You may call me whatever you wish. But if it’s an order to tell you the name my grandfather once used… then I will obey.”

It's in reality that the master of guardians always gave them new names. But she somehow does not like this rule. 

Ninsula stopped for a moment, her breath forming small clouds in the cold air. The mist swirled gently between them — one holding the light, the other holding a question still waiting to be answered.

Sigh! 

She sighed, her breath curling into the cool night air. Her long hair fluttered softly behind her in the wind, glowing faintly under the lantern light. Turning around, she stopped climbing — now standing just a little higher than him on the slope. From that height, her eyes looked deep and hurt.

“You know… you’re so stubborn,” she whispered, voice trembling. “And you also know I don’t want to order you. I hate it. You know this, but you still say things like that.”

The Guardian lifted his gaze. Their eyes met — his silent, hers burning with something fragile. His lips parted for a moment, as if he wanted to speak… then pressed closed again. The night wind brushed past them, carrying the sound of their robes rustling — his black cloak and hair moving like liquid shadow against the pale mist.

Swish—
Groan—

The sound came too fast. From the darkness behind him, an arrow sliced through the air — too silent, too sudden. It struck him near his heart before he could fully move. His eyes widened, and a harsh gasp escaped his throat as blood splattered across the stones.

“Ah—!”

“hey!!” Ninsula cried, her voice breaking.

He staggered, falling to one knee, pressing his hand against his chest as the red spread quickly beneath his fingers. His breath came ragged, his vision already dimming — it wasn’t just any arrow. He could feel it — poison. His strength was fading fast.

“Hey—hey! Please! Answer me!”

 Ninsula fell to her knees beside him, her hands trembling as she grabbed his shoulders.

He tried to focus, but the world wavered. Her voice grew distant, like an echo through water. 

If I hadn’t let myself be distracted…
He bit his tongue hard — the taste of iron shocking him awake. With a sudden burst of will, he pushed himself upright and grabbed Ninsula, pulling her against him protectively. Her breath caught as he drew both swords from his back — twin blades that shimmered like blue fire in the dark.

The wind roared. His eyes, now glowing faintly violet, swept the forest around them — cold and sharp as ice.
From the mist, the rustling grew louder. Shadows shifted — one, then another, then a whole group emerging from between the trees. Their weapons were strange, glinting in the moonlight — and none bore the mark of the Hagen Tribe.

One man stepped forward, his smirk wide and taunting. He bit down on a thin stick, then spat it aside with a chuckle.

“Hah! I told you,” he sneered, “the poison will take effect soon enough. And then…”His gaze slid toward Ninsula, cruel and gleaming.

“…this Moon Princess of lorian Kingdom will be ours.”