Only the void.
After my collapse, darkness swallowed everything. Not sleep. Not blindness. Something deeper, heavier. I floated in an endless abyss, weightless but sinking, drowning in the same question repeating over and over:
Why did this happen to me?
Moment after moment, anger built like a storm. Time stretched and broke. Minutes felt like decades. Then, after an eternity of thought, I reached the only truth that made sense.
There was no good reason.
Only a reason born of cruelty.
The Hierarchy.
The system that ruled Zetrion.
That crushed the weak.
That destroyed my mother—and now me.
The realization made my anger erupt. The darkness pulsed and writhed, absorbing everything—thought, memory, identity.
And then, at the edge of my breaking point—
a single pinprick of light appeared.
It grew—
slowly, then all at once—
until it shattered the void.
As the brilliance peaked, I felt myself rising back into the world.
My senses returned in fragments. Light. Pain. Water in my lungs.
And then—
A face.
A boy's face.
Sturdy build. Squared shoulders. Mud-brown hair. Hazel eyes sharp but amused, like he'd been watching me flop around for entertainment. His expression wasn't soft or worried—it was more like:
Huh. He lived. Weird.
"Ah," he said, nodding. "You're awake. Good. Saves me the trouble of explaining to people why I dragged a dead human into the woods."
I blinked. "Wh… what?"
He held up two fingers in front of my face. "How many fingers? And if you say 'potato,' I'm just leaving you here."
"Two," I croaked.
"Perfect. You're not brain-dead. Well… not completely."
He spoke with a dry, casual tone as if this was a normal day.
"I… almost drowned," I said.
"Yeah, I noticed," he replied. "The whole 'not breathing' thing gave it away."
Despite everything—my pain, my fear—I almost snorted.
"What's your name?" I asked.
"Duke," he said, giving a little salute like he was introducing himself as a knight. "Savior of drowning strangers. Certified river-watcher. And part-time sarcastic elf."
His ears twitched slightly pointed, unmistakably elven.
"I'm Daniel," I said weakly.
"Nice. Daniel the Almost Dead." He nodded as if officially approving the title.
My eyes narrowed. "You're an… elf, right?"
"Last time I checked, yeah." He flicked his ear. "Still attached. Still pointy."
"You don't care what humans think of elves?"
Duke stared at me like I had just asked him whether rocks could cry.
"Why," he said slowly, "would I care what someone with round ears thinks of my ears?"
I stared at him. He stared back.
He shrugged. "Besides, I look amazing."
I had no idea how to respond. I mean the complete ignorance to the prejudices of this world was baffling.
Before I could speak, Duke reached out and helped me sit. His grip was strong, steady, confident.
"You saved me," I murmured. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it," he said. "Seriously. Don't. I don't want rumors going around that I'm 'nice.' I have a reputation to maintain."
"A reputation for what?" I asked.
He thought for a moment.
"Looking busy enough that adults stop asking me to do chores."
I coughed out a laugh before I could stop myself.
"See?" Duke smirked. "You're already recovering. Laughter is step three."
"What are steps one and two?"
"Step one: don't die. Step two: continue not dying."
I shook my head, still dizzy, still hurting, but… lighter.
This boy—this sarcastic, sturdy, unintentionally hilarious elf—had saved me without hesitation.
And in his bluntness, in his humor, in his complete lack of prejudice or fear, I felt something spark.
Not friendship yet.
Not trust.
But something I hadn't felt in a long time.
The beginning of a brotherhood.