CHAPTER SIX: RECOVERY

Claire Boyce paced relentlessly back and forth at the grand iron-wrought gates of Luyas Castle. Ever since the Commandant and the Rescue Brigade had departed in haste, a sense of dread had lingered in the air like the bitter bite of a coming storm.

Throughout her decorated career as a soldier and Vice-Commandant of the Luyas military force, Claire had never seen her commanding officer wear such a heavy expression – one carved from fear, fatigue, and a foreboding sense of finality.

As if the warning of a potential Spirit attack weren’t enough to rattle her, Claire’s composure nearly shattered when Luna had staggered back through the gates like a ghost in her own skin – pale, wide-eyed, and trembling. Her words were brittle and fragmented as she reported the sudden Spirit onslaught at Andania Town and relayed the Commandant’s urgent plea for reinforcement.

An emergency order was dispatched immediately. Reinforcement Brigade rode out with speed and precision. Bound to her station, Claire, had stayed behind and awaited desperately their return while busily organising the castle’s defensive lines should there be a need for it.

An hour passed. Then three.

By the time dusk kissed the horizon and stars began to prick the purpling sky, Claire’s nerves frayed to the edge. From the tall guard tower overlooking the castle entrance, she stood with several knights, jaw tight and arms crossed over her chest. She hated waiting. Especially when the silence grew so loud, it felt like a verdict.

Andania Town was only a thirty-minutes away from the Kingdom of Luyas. That distance should’ve ensured a quick return – or at the very least, news.

A carrier pigeon. A scout. A signal. Any damned thing!

And yet, still, nothing.

Had the unthinkable occurred? Had they all perished?

Claire shook her head.

No. She could not – would not allow such dark thoughts to fester. Not yet. Luyas still stood tall. There was still hope. And if fate had truly claimed the Commandant and his men, then it would fall to those who remained to protect this Kingdom.

The Knights of Luyas would stand. They would defend to the last breath.

Claire cleared her throat and addressed the watchman beside her. “Any movements on the horizon?”

“None, Ma’am.”

Claire’s boot tapped softly against the stone floor as she ran contingency plans through her mind when the towerman suddenly cried out.

“There! I see him! Madam Boyce, the Commandant has returned!”

***

Grants Rogue walked limply through the outer gates like a revenant returned from the dead. His once-polished uniform hung in tatters, caked with dirt and dried blood. Some of it was his. Most was not.

His face was gaunt. Hollow. Eyes unfocused.

He did not speak. Barely blinked. It wasn’t fear that clung to his every breath – it was something heavier.

Despair.

The only survivor.

Each step forward was a punishment. Every breath drew with it the stench of fire, blood, and memory. Visions of Andania plagued him. The screams, the bodies, the Spirits, the devastation.

And her – Mika.

A Spirit child he had taken in under his wings. Whom he had trained and mentored. A young knight he had vouched for her disciplines. And now...

Grants stopped at the threshold of the castle. Raising his gloved hands, he stared at the bloodstains, unmoving. The massacre at the Andania Town had been a calamity unlike any he’d known. And it had been delivered not by an army… But by the same girl he’d be proud to call as a daughter, who had vanished into the arms of strangers.

Grants remembered it clearly.

The young man who’d saved them all, still unconscious, but clutching Mika in his arms, when a group of mysterious figures cloaked in white, emerged from the smoke. Their wolf masks obscured all features – save for the eyes that gleamed with quiet menace. Tattoos of ancient symbols adorned their forearms.

The White Wolf Clan.

Mysterious. Elusive. Rarely seen.

One man stepped forward — their leader, perhaps — and raised a single hand in silent command. Not a word was spoken. But the rest of the clan members knew that this was not a negotiation. They had taken the young man and Mika with them.

***

“The Commandant is suffering from extreme mental fatigue, bordering on post-traumatic stress,” reported Doctor Wan, a physician known for his quiet discretion and precise diagnoses. He placed a small scroll of paper into Claire’s hand. “Here’s the prescription. Have the castle apothecary fill it tonight. No delays.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Claire said with a firm nod, escorting him to the doors. Once outside, she gave a signal to the guards to see him out. Then she returned.

Grants sat in his chamber, newly bathed, wrapped in a white robe, seated on the edge of his bed like a statue of grief. His face was unreadable.

Claire pulled a chair closer and waited.

“I don’t know where to begin.” Grants exhaled shakily. “But if I don’t get this,” he pointed at his chest. out now, it’ll rot in my chest.”

Claire’s hands were folded tightly in her lap. Her lips pressed tight once Grants finished with his story of what had happened in Andania.

“I’d notify Lord Ranfel,” Grants muttered. “But he must have already heard about it.” He sighed heavily. “He’ll call for blood. But with the White Wolf Clan involved, even he will tread carefully. They’re not a force to provoke lightly.”

Claire’s voice was cold. “Why protect her?”

“I’m not. I just… believe there’s more to this. Something greater. Something darker.”

“You believe someone else had summoned the Spirits?”

“Or awakened them.”

He leaned back, rubbing his forehead. “Look, we can’t ignore the implications. If the White Wolf Clan’s going as far as getting their hands involved, then they knew what we don’t. Something’s coming.”

Claire slowly rose. “We’ll prepare for the worse.” She paused at the door. “In the meantime, you should rest, Commander. I’ll manage the Knights.”

Grants nodded. “Thanks, Claire. I owe you one.”

As Grants lay back, closing his eyes, he thought of the past; of a Spirit King who once spared a naive young trainee in a forgotten battle. Of a kindness that had never been repaid.

He would not give up on her. Not yet.

***

An urgent conference for the World Leaders of Fulaina was being held in the northern region, at the House of Eden – a revered structure nestled deep within the towering mountains that overlooked the glittering City of Eden. The House of Eden served as neutral ground, where monarchs, commanders, and representatives convened in times of grave political unrest. Matters of diplomacy and defence were debated within its ancient, hallowed halls – far from the reach of the public.

Presiding over the sacred chamber was the enigmatic Master Oracle, the highest-ranking figure in the Fulainan hierarchy. Traditionally, the role passed to spiritual leaders of great age and wisdom. But the current Master Oracle defied tradition: at just fifteen, King Fye of the Kingdom of the Rose had become the youngest in recorded history to bear the title. Yet his youth belied his authority.

Endowed with a quiet clarity, uncanny foresight, and the subtle steel of leadership, Fye commanded the room as few ever had. He ruled not only the House of Eden, but also his own blossoming kingdom – earning admiration and scepticism alike.

Inside the soundproof chamber, five world leaders sat around a grand rectangular table carved from obsidian and rosewood, its surface polished to a mirror’s sheen. Each chair was flanked by elite bodyguards, trained not only in arms, but in spiritual countermeasures as well.

To the far left sat Lord Khemis, the ruler of Andania – frail, pale, and visibly aged. His once-proud frame seemed withered, his eyes hollowed by loss and sleepless nights. Since the Spirit massacre had razed his homeland, he had spoken little – his voice reduced to the echo of grief.

Beside him sat Lord Ranfel Heartlets. Rage clung to him like armour. Every twitch of his clenched jaw and tapping foot betrayed a man who had no interest in discussion and only judgment.

Opposite them, representing the westernmost kingdom, sat King Lewis XIII. He was a broad-shouldered titan of a man, with snow-grey hair tied in a low ponytail and a reputation both revered and feared. Though known for ruthless tactics, his realm had prospered as the world's leading trade empire. Pragmatic and cold-eyed, King Lewis rarely entertained nonsense and never tolerated hesitation.

Seated to his right was the host of the gathering, Lord Eden Bowyn X. Tall and ethereal, Lord Eden was clad in an opulent dark purple hanfu embroidered with tiny golden blossoms. His long, snow-white hair cascaded over his shoulders, but it was the silver mask covering his face that intrigued most. Smooth and expressionless, the mask revealed only his nose and mouth. Some said he hid a hideous scar. Others whispered that his beauty was too dangerous to be seen. Whatever the truth, the mystery had birthed obsession among Eden's high society.

At last, the young Master Oracle took his seat at the head of the table, and silence rippled through the chamber.

“Now that everyone is seated,” Lord Eden announced in his deep, gravel-edged voice, “let us commence.” He gestured towards the weary Lord Khemis.

The man stood with effort, his hand trembling as he adjusted his spectacles. “A-As you all know, the Spirit attack on Andania occurred nearly two months ago. We are still recovering. Bodies are still being unearthed. Some citizens have not left their homes since that day. Others... swear they still hear them. The Spirits. Whispering at night.”

Low murmurs passed between the leaders.

“We are aware,” Ranfel said sharply, cutting through the silence. “And that is precisely why we must act now. The Spirits must be eradicated at any cost,” He struck the table with his fist, the sound echoing.

“Easy, Lord Ranfel,” Eden replied evenly. “We all share your grief. But blind retaliation will only birth more tragedy. These Spirits are not mortal. They do not fall easily like men. Moreover, none of our knights from each kingdom were trained to face them. We would perish if the Spirits were to retaliate.”

A rasping chuckle followed from King Lewis. “Fine words for the man of your capability, Lord Eden. That’s more than I could say for the tyrant Lord who’s only salvation in solving problems is by spilling blood.”

“Watch your tongue,” Ranfel growled.

“Enough.”

The word came crisp and firm – from the Master Oracle. All eyes turned to Fye, seated calmly, hands folded in his lap. “I understand your frustration and anger,” he said, voice unwavering. “But our duty is not stir more grievance or vengeance, but to protect our people and speak as leaders should. Not mindless soldiers thirsting for war.”

A hush fell. Even Lewis and Ranfel lowered their gazes, chastised.

Lord Eden resumed. “Returning to the matter at hand. Lord Ranfel — the young Spirit who decimated Andania Town... She was once your ward, was she not?”

Ranfel’s face twisted. “Was. An orphan I took in. I gave her a name, a home. And this is how she repays me!”

“And what other measures have you taken?”

“None,” Ranfel spat. “Because she was taken – Seized by the insufferable White Wolf Clan before she could face justice!”

King Lewis stiffened. “...The White Wolf Clan? Are you for certain?”

“Are you questioning my source?!”

“Who called them?” Lord Andania whispered. “Why now?”

The discussion stretched long into the night. Voices rose, debates grew heated, but with Fye’s measured guidance, logic overcame wrath. In the end, an uneasy consensus was reached. Not peace. Not justice.

Preparation.

The war had not yet begun. But it was definitely coming.

***

In a private and spacious chamber of the White Wolf Main Mansion, with pearl-white walls and bamboo-tiled floors, a pair of hands gently soaked a cloth before placing it on the forehead of an unconscious Spirit.

Suzumi sighed softly. Her eyes were heavy with sorrow as she looked upon Mika’s still form, deep in a coma. Her delicate brows furrowed ever so slightly, as if even in unconsciousness, Mika was still battling the nightmare that had nearly consumed her in Andania.

How could this befall a child like her? she wondered silently. It wasn't fair. Not to someone who had already lost so much – someone so young and bright now rendered fragile and broken. Just then, the chamber's sliding door opened soundlessly.

“How is she?”

“There’s nothing more I can do. It’s up to her now. Reverting to her Spirit form must have shocked her entire system.”

“It was my first time seeing it too,” Shinji replied, his voice low and hoarse from sleepless nights. He moved quietly to sit beside Suzumi, exhaustion etched into every angle of his face. Fresh from yet another Clan meeting filled with grim reports and political tensions, he looked ready to collapse.

After a beat of silence, Suzumi rose and gave her younger brother a soft pat on the shoulder. “Have faith in her, Shinji. Let me know when she wakes.”

He nodded wordlessly. Left alone, Shinji rested his head against the wall and shut his tired eyes. The dark circles beneath them revealed how long he had gone without rest. Every second Mika remained unconscious gnawed at his gut like a silent curse.

Then — Cough.

His eyes snapped open.

“Mika?” he whispered.

Her fingers twitched. She murmured something faintly, her brow furrowed deeper, her skin damp with sweat.

Shinji leapt to his feet, yanked the sliding door open and shouted, “Suzumi! SUZUMI!”

A passing servant rushed over, but before she could ask, Shinji cut in. “Call the doctor, now!”

Later that evening, seated upright with a warm cup of herbal tea between her shaking hands, Mika trembled beneath the weight of her thoughts. She recalled everything; the moments she awoken, startled and confused, her body acting on instinct – how she'd grabbed Suzumi by the throat in a haze of fear, only to be quickly restrained by Shinji moments later.

Once she realised what she'd done, she had fallen to her knees and bowed low until her forehead touched the tatami floor, her voice choked with apology. Tears had burned her eyes, but no sound escaped her lips – just raw shame. Suzumi, ever composed, had forgiven her without hesitation.

After some gentle introductions and a patient explanation of the aftermath of Andania, Mika listened quietly. Too quietly. There were no questions. No denials. No visible shock. Her face remained an unreadable mask. That disturbed Suzumi more than anything.

“I... I see,” Mika had said in a tone so soft it barely qualified as speech. "Thank you."

“You should rest. Call the servants if you need anything, alright?” Suzumi’s words were kind, her smile gentle with sympathy. Mika simply nodded in return.

Suzumi and Shinji exchanged a knowing glance as they left the room, hearts heavy with concern.

The moment Mika was alone, she collapsed face-first onto the pillow and screamed.

Not out loud.

Muffled.

Tangled in sheets and grief.

She’d done it. She’d killed. She’d let it happen. Blood soaked her memory, and no matter how tightly she shut her eyes, she could still see it. The demon inside her had awakened and it had smiled.

***

Shinji stood outside Mika’s room, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips, its smoke curling into the cold air. He sighed – hard for what felt like the hundredth time that day. His fingers drummed against the tray in his hand as he debated walking away. Again.

But he didn’t. Because this was his responsibility now.

With a grumble, he pushed the sliding door open and stepped inside. His violet eyes immediately landed on Mika; sitting upright, but barely there. She looked like a porcelain doll left too long in the sun. Pale. Fragile. Hollow-eyed. A wraith in human skin.

She didn’t acknowledge him.

In his right hand, Shinji carried a tray laden with a simple yet nourishing meal: a warm porridge, thin slices of grilled meat, a small bowl of fresh vegetables. He’d cooked them himself. His other hand rested on his hip as he cast a pointed glance at the previous untouched tray, still sitting cold at the edge of the bed.

After learning what had happened in Andania, Mika had shut down entirely. The trauma, the guilts... It crushed her. She refused food, refused words, refused comfort. She didn’t bathe. Didn’t move unless forced. A magical hydration charm kept her alive, but even that wouldn’t last forever.

The servants had tried. Gods, they’d tried. But every effort had been met with silence or sudden violent outbursts. Eventually, they had gone to report to Suzumi.

“You’re the only one she hasn’t strike. Yet,” his sister had said.

And that somehow sealed his fate.

Shinji set the tray down on a small table and dropped to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of Mika.

“Eat,” he ordered, pointing at the food.

No response.

He reached for his cigarette but stopped midway. The girl already looked like she’s on the edge of death. Smoking in front of her felt like pouring salt on a fresh wound.

“Damn it,” Shinji swore, brushing his hair back.

Mika didn’t even blink. Her eyes were vacant. Lifeless.

“Come on. You have to eat something,” he tried again, gentler this time.

Still nothing.

Shinji scooped a spoonful of porridge and held it in front of her mouth. “Open.”

She stared blankly at him.

“Mika. I’m feeding you. Open your mouth.”

No reaction.

Shinji inhaled deeply. Counted numbers in his head.

“One. Two. Three...” He barely made it to five before he snapped. “Open your goddamn mouth. Either you eat, or I’ll force-feed you. Don’t test me, Mika. I mean it.”

PAK!

The spoon hit the floor with a metallic clatter.

Shinji blinked in stunned silence. Mika’s hand had moved — fast. She had slapped the spoon out of his hand with precision and strength he hadn’t seen in weeks. Emerald flames blazed in her gaze.

For a second, Shinji thought she might just hit him.

Then it was gone.

The light in her eyes faded like dying embers.

Mika slumped backward again, as though the fight had never happened.

Shinji exhaled sharply and wiped the sweat forming on his neck.

Plan B it is.

He reached into his robe and pulled out a sweet bun. Still warm from being wrapped earlier that day. He had skipped lunch during the Clan’s meetings — this was all he had. Tearing it in half, he held out a small piece.

“Mika.”

No reply.

“Open your mouth.”

She shook her head.

“Mouth. Open.”

She hesitated. Then opened her mouth slightly.

Immediately, Shinji gently but firmly hold her chin and slipped a small piece of the bun into her mouth and he clamped his hand over her mouth.

“Close.”

Mika’s eyes widened. For a moment, rage threatened to resurface. But Shinji didn’t let her retreat again.

“Close. Now chew.”

Mika narrowed her eyes.

When she began to spit it out, Shinji gritted his teeth. “I said chew.”

Silence.

Then, grudgingly, her jaws gradually moved.

“Swallow.”

She did. And then — Mika broke down.

Tears came first. Then sobs. Ugly, loud, heart-wrenching sobs that tore from her chest. Her shoulders shook as she collapsed against him, burying her face in his chest like a child.

Shinji said nothing. He simply held her and let her cry.

It took over an hour before her stomach growled loudly in response. Shinji cracked a faint smile as he guided her trembling hand to the spoon, he helped her take the next bite of porridge.

And the next. Bit by bit, colour returned to her skin.

Shinji stroked her hair gently, his voice low as Mika continuously ate.

“Good girl. You’ve won your first battle.”

That night alone, Mika finished three full rounds of porridge, meat, and vegetables. The kitchen had to work overtime. The plates returned empty.

For the first time since that awful day in Andania, Mika slept soundly.