The boot connected with her ribs.
Lyriel hit the ground hard, dust exploding around her small frame. Her glasses flew off and landed somewhere in the dirt. She didn't cry out. She had learned not to.
"Useless," the warrior spat. He was a large man, muscles bulging under cheap armor. "Absolutely useless. How many times do I have to tell you? Stay in the back. Heal when I tell you to heal. Don't do anything else."
"I-I thought the mage was hurt," Lyriel said quietly. "I was trying to help."
"You ran into the boss's attack range!" The mage stepped forward, her staff crackling with residual magic. "I almost died because I had to save your stupid ass!"
"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."
"Sorry doesn't cut it." The third member, a rogue, tossed a handful of copper coins at her feet. "Here's your share. Don't bother showing up tomorrow. We're done with you."
"But the raid isn't finished. You still need a healer."
"We'll find another one. A real one. Not some F-rank burden who can't even stand in the right spot."
They walked away. Lyriel stayed on the ground for a long moment, watching their backs disappear around a corner. Then, slowly, she pushed herself up, found her cracked glasses, and put them back on. She walked home.
***
Lyriel's home was a small plot of land at the edge of town. Nothing fancy. A tiny shack, barely enough room for a bed. A garden where she grew carrots. That was it.
She had lived here for forty years. She was seventy-eight now, though elves aged differently than humans. She still looked like a young woman, green hair slightly tangled, round glasses always slightly crooked.
She knelt in the garden and started pulling carrots.
The tears came without warning.
"Why?" she whispered to the vegetables. "Why are they always so mean? I try. I really try. I do everything they tell me. I stay in the back. I heal when they say to heal. But it's never enough. I'm never enough."
The carrots didn't answer.
She finished harvesting in silence, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Then she loaded the carrots into a basket, strapped it to her back, and headed to the market.
The market was busy as always. Lyriel took her usual spot in line, waiting to sell her carrots to the vegetable merchant. The line was long. She would be here a while.
Then she saw him.
The crowd parted like water around a stone. People stepped aside, whispering, pointing. A knight walked through the market, his armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. His hair was pink, bright and unmistakable. His face was hidden behind an oval mask.
Lyriel knew what that meant. Everyone did. A masked knight walking through town, heading toward the eastern road. That road led only one place.
The Demon Queen's domain.
"Poor man," someone muttered nearby. "Another one going to his death."
"Maybe this one will succeed. He looks strong."
"They all look strong. None of them come back."
Lyriel watched him pass. Tall. Broad shoulders. Confident stride. Even through his armor, she could tell he was well-built. And that pink hair. So unusual. So striking.
A thought flickered through her mind.
What if...
She shook her head. No. That was ridiculous. She was an F-rank healer. He was a peak-rank knight. There was no world in which someone like him would look twice at someone like her.
But the thought wouldn't leave.
Free money. A protector. A strong, handsome husband who could keep her safe from adventurers who kicked her and called her useless.
She grinned.
She stepped out of line and followed him.