The swordsman collapsed beside his apprentice, their blood soaking into the cursed soil.
When he awoke, it was to the rustling of leaves.
A bed—crude, made from foliage—cradled his broken body.
His head throbbed, a sharp, unnatural pain clawing through his skull. His breath came short.
Then, a voice—smooth, almost playful—broke the silence.
"Oi! Don't overexert yerself, old man."
He reached for his sword.
It was gone.
Panic shot through his veins. He grabbed at a leaf, willing his aura into it.
Nothing.
The green, blood-soaked foliage remained limp.
His power—his aura—was locked away.
He turned, eyes narrowing at the figure standing before him.
A tall girl with pale skin watched him with an amused smirk. Her accent was strange, her words fluid yet foreign.
"Ye don't need to be so on guard, me mean no harm."
His gaze hardened.
"You don't seem human… If this place has taught me one thing, I shouldn't trust you."
She shrugged.
"A fair point… but I just saved yer two, and it's not like ye can do much in the state yer in."
The swordsman sighed.
She was right.
His body was barely functional, every movement a punishment.
"Where are we now?"
"Oh, this's my place. Found yer both lyin' on the ground, figured ye needed help."
He glanced at his apprentice.
The boy's wound, though still present, had been bandaged with an odd white cloth.
He looked… better than he should have been.
The girl stretched, then waved a hand.
"Anyway… rest up a bit, we'll talk later."
The swordsman didn't trust her.
But he had no choice.
Even breathing hurt.
So, he centered himself, drawing in deep breaths—trying to call back his aura.
Nothing.
It was still there, buried somewhere inside him. But he could not reach it.
The Embers of Infinity had taken its toll.
Later that evening, they gathered around a small campfire.
The apprentice had finally awoken, his expression calm, but his eyes distant.
The girl attempted small talk, her tone light.
The swordsman's responses were cold.
One word. Two at most.
The boy tried to fill the silence, but something weighed heavy on his mind.
A whisper.
A voice, echoing in the back of his head—The soul of the knight.
Even unconscious, it still spoke to him.
It made him wonder.
Made him question.
Who was the swordsman, truly?
What was his power?
And at what cost had he achieved it?
The young man wanted to ask, to voice the question that clawed at his mind.
But the moment wasn't right.
Instead, his gaze drifted to the girl.
Until now, he hadn't really looked at her.
And when their eyes met, something inside him shifted.
Her ash-grey hair fell in loose strands, partially hiding the black horns that curved from her skull. Her purple eyes shimmered, reflecting the depths of space itself.
And then there was her smirk.
Playful.
Something he had forgotten.
Something he had lost.
A sharp sting surged through his chest—not pain, but sadness.
It had finally caught up to him.
For six years and a half, he had never looked back.
Never let himself grieve.
But now, staring at this girl—this strange, fearless girl—he was reminded of something idyllic. Something warm.
Something the Red Horizon had stolen from him.
His voice shook as he whispered,
"You are beautiful…"
A moment of silence—
The swordsman's expression changed.
The girl's eyes widened.
Then, with an awkward cough, she waved a hand.
"Eh… thank yer… I try to keep in line even in this wasteland."
She straightened her back, as if to prove a point.
"These clothes? Made outta the skin of the toughest bastards out there. A real queen of the hunt, I am!"
She wore pants crafted from animal hide, stitched together with surprising precision.
Draped over her shoulders was a jacket, its surface stained with pigments drawn from the wild. Splashes of color—chaotic yet deliberate—melded into an abstract pattern, carrying an odd, untamed beauty.
Then she sniffed the air.
"Speaking of which, the meat's ready."
The three of them bit into the tough, charred meat.
It was stringy, dry, the texture almost rubbery.
The taste? Nothing great.
And yet, for the first time in a long while—
They were simply sharing a meal.
And for now, that was enough.
They slept in the "shelter" the girl had built—a crude structure of loose branches bound together with handmade rope. She rested in a hammock, swaying slightly with the wind, while the two men lay on the wet ground.
The young man did not dream that night.
Most nights, his sleep was haunted by the echoes of the Red Horizon—whispers slithering into his mind, visions of grotesque horrors clawing at his subconscious.
But this time?
Pure, sweet silence.
Morning came, dim and red like every day before it.
The swordsman sat up, rubbing his forehead before glancing at his apprentice. His voice was quieter than usual, but heavy.
"Yesterday… what you said… Don't get too attached to her. Once I get my aura back, we're leaving."
The young man frowned.
"What? Why? Can't she come with us?"
The swordsman exhaled sharply, his gaze hardening.
"She's not one of us. You don't know what these things are capable of."
"She saved us."
"For now."
The young man clenched his fists.
"Why do you always assume the worst?"
The swordsman hesitated, just for a moment. His fingers curled slightly, as if gripping something invisible. Then, his voice dropped lower.
"I've seen what happens when you let your guard down. I've seen people cling to something warm, something fleeting, only to watch it turn to ash in their hands. This world doesn't let us keep things."
He shook his head.
"Don't let yourself believe it will be any different."
The young man turned away, jaw tight.
"You don't know that."
He hesitated, then muttered,
"Since I was dragged here, all I've done is train, fight, survive. Never once have I had anything to myself."
A silence stretched between them.
The swordsman sighed, his voice softer now—but no less certain.
"I'm not telling you to kill whatever hope you have left. Just don't let it blind you."
He looked away.
"We must get out of this hell. And for that… I need you."
He didn't say what he really meant.
The young man didn't answer. He only stared at the fading embers of last night's fire.