Areia stared at the crisp parchment straining in the old man's hand, her chest heaving as the howling wind whipped around her. Her amethyst-purple eyes, usually as sharp and unyielding as polished gems, were glassy and drowning in hot, bitter tears. For a few agonizing seconds, the crushing gravity of the mini black hole continued to warp the air, humming with her absolute desire for blood.
Then, she closed her eyes.
The violent purple sphere above her head snapped out of existence, collapsing into a quiet breeze that rustled the broken cornfields. With a single, blisteringly fast motion—a display of her impossibly fluid, slim physique built for high-speed flexibility—she snatched the letter from the old man's grip. Before the dust could even settle, her silhouette blurred, and she vanished entirely from the clearing.
Toby and Mandevor approached the old man slowly, their clothes covered in dirt from the blast, their eyes carrying a thousand heavy questions. The old man didn't look at them. He simply leaned his slumping frame heavily onto his wooden cane, letting out a long, tired sigh.
"Let's all wait at the great hall," the man said simply, turning his back to the ruins of the field. "She'll find us if it's necessary."
High above the transformed landscape, Areia sat alone on the peak of a towering stone roof, her long, snow-white hair blowing wildly across her face.
Seeking comfort from the suffocating heat of her own emotions, she had taken off her thick white fur coat, leaving it discarded on the stone beside her. She sat cross-legged, dressed only in her dark skirt and her simple bra, her slender, athletic frame shivering slightly as the warm wind brushed against her exposed skin. She held the sealed parchment with both hands, her grip so tight the edges crinkled.
Slowly, her gaze drifted down to her hand. She stared at the delicate ring resting on her finger, then reached up with trembling fingertips to gently touch the pristine white Camellia tucked into her white hair.
Aside from these two precious things Dan had left behind for her on the day he vanished, she hadn't received a single scrap of news, a whisper, or a sign from him. It had been almost two years of agonizing, empty silence now. Yet here, in her hands, was a ghost from the past—a letter written by Dan roughly four years ago, buried in the custody of her worst nightmare, explicitly waiting for the day she finally returned home.
Her hands shook violently as she stared at the fading seal.
Would this letter be able to quell the white-hot, suffocating anger burning in her throat? Would it finally make her understand his reasons for leaving her abusers alive?
Her eyes ran over the ancient paper, which was visibly worn down and yellowed by the passing years. God, she missed him. She missed him so much it felt like a physical ache in her chest, overriding all the trauma of her childhood. She wanted nothing more than to tear across the continent and find him this very second, but she knew the truth: Dan had forced this separation so that both of them could grow into their own people. Finding him in a reckless hurry would be going directly against his wishes.
Areia bit her lower lip until it turned white, and with a sharp, breathless gasp, she tore the paper open.
POP!
Immediately, a vibrant burst of magical sparkles erupted from the envelope, scattering into the warm afternoon air. The glittering dust swirled frantically before taking the shape of a small, colorful, low-resolution representation of Dan. It was hilariously poorly made—the lines crooked, the proportions completely off. Areia knew for a fact that Dan was incredibly, hopelessly poor at drawing, and she had absolutely no doubt he had clumsily woven this spell himself.
A small, breathtaking smile broke through her tears as the floating glitter figure finally stabilized in front of her face.
"Hey there, pretty old hag," Dan's cocky, familiar voice boomed from the magic.
"I'm not an old lady!" Areia retorted instantly, her voice cracking. Her mind flashed back to their early days together—the loud, stupid arguments they used to have every single day because he insisted on calling her an old lady just because of her striking white hair.
As if completely anticipating her exact reaction across a four-year gap, the glitter figure crossed its tiny arms and teased, "Right, right. If you're not ancient, then explain the white hair."
But before Areia could snap back again, the miniature Dan's expression softened, the playful tone dropping into something deeply intimate. "Enough of that."
The figure stepped closer in the air. "Areia... my knight. I know it must have been incredibly hard for you to make this journey back to this place. I don't know the exact circumstances surrounding us right now in your time, but I want you to know... I had your absolute best wishes at heart when I did the stuff I did. So please, stop frowning, stop looking like you're about to cry, and just read the letter."
The copy offered a bright, dazzling smile that made her heart physically throb. "I'll be sure to thoroughly savor all the praises you're going to have for me when we finally meet again. And please, try to understand..."
The tiny figure reached out a shimmering hand, almost as if trying to brush a tear from her cheek. "Not everything in this world can be solved with blood. Know that I truly, deeply care about you."
With a soft, melodic pop, the glitter construct burst into a million tiny, shiny pieces, scattering into the wind. Areia instinctively shot her hand forward, her fingers clawing at the empty air as if trying to stop his presence from fading away, but she knew it was entirely useless.
As the magic dissolved, a single sheet of crisp white paper fluttered down, dropping softly onto her lap.
Areia sat frozen for a moment, then slowly reached up to wipe the fresh tears from her eyes, her chest tightening with a beautiful, overwhelming warmth.
"How did you even know I'd cry, you absolute idiot...?" she muttered to the empty sky, her voice thick with a mixture of anger and profound affection. She looked down at his messy handwriting on the page, her heart finally beating in a steady, calm rhythm. "I just hope you have a damn good explanation written down here... otherwise, you're getting a massive scolding the moment we meet."
With a soft, lingering smile, she picked up the letter and began to read.
Areia smiled through her tears, her fingers gently smoothing out the edges of the ancient parchment as she continued to devour Dan's messy, uneven handwriting.
"Well, where do I begin? You were trapped in that other dimension for an awfully long time, and of course, I was incredibly pissed when I found that out. Cyra fought that spatial sorcerer, and the two of them honestly almost broke the entire country with their clash. I was so furious that I straight-up ripped the immortality right out of your master's body, and he aged instantly. Right after that, I got terrified because I didn't actually want him dead yet, so I had to begrudgingly give him back a little bit of vitality.
'Why?' you may ask. Because there are other kids just like you, Areia. Kids who weren't able to escape the Lair of Amag. Kids who were still actively going through the exact same hellish training that you managed to break free from. I wanted to kill him so badly—after all, I promised you with my life that I'd permanently free you from his custody. But he and I had a little conversation, and I decided to try another course of action.
We tried getting you back instantly, but that stupid bald guy—sorry for the insult, but the wizard literally didn't even know where the hell he had sent you. I was minutes away from violently kicking his teeth in, but Cyra and Thranduil had to physically hold me back.
We forced Berald to take us directly to the lair you grew up in, and to be entirely honest with you... you are an incredibly strong person, Areia. I couldn't believe that while I was happily growing up in a cozy cabin, eating my mother's absolutely horrible cooking, kids my exact age were going through that. Of course, you've told me about it before, but seeing the shackles and the blood with my own eyes was... well, it was quite troublesome.
Well, I naturally gave Berald another round of severe beating right on the spot, until Cyra and Thranduil had to hold me back yet again."
Areia let out a soft, melodic chuckle at this line, a beautiful sound that carried over the rooftops. The letter was admittedly poorly written, lacking any sort of formal grammar or elegant punctuation, but nonetheless, it was wildly entertaining and carried Dan's raw, clumsy emotions perfectly across the gap of time. She could practically see his frustrated, pouty face as he wrote it.
"Then, we made a strict rule: for every single gruesome piece of machinery or starving child we spotted in that facility, I would forcefully take a whole year off Berald's remaining lifespan. Of course, the old man didn't dare resist. And to top it off, Cyra would give him a solid punch to the jaw for good measure. I know deeply that it will never be enough compared to the agonizing trauma you guys went through, but we absolutely needed Berald alive to transition the facility.
He spoke directly to the children about the massive change that was coming. Of course, there were only children and young teenagers left there at the time—I mean, you did ruthlessly kill every single adult back during the battle in Villia! But still... with the absolute help of Cyra's blessing of fertility and my own powers, we systematically made the harsh, dead soil fertile again. We originally planned to plant all the seeds for them, but to my absolute surprise, Toby suggested that we didn't.Ps we named them all,Cyra contributed heavily too, she's the hero after all.
His exact reasoning was that they had to learn the art of farming themselves somehow, and if we did all the heavy lifting for them, they would just get lazy and complacent. It then suddenly struck me... despite all the horrific, monstrous training those disgusting geezers put you guys through, not a single one of the kids was truly, fundamentally broken inside. Well... of course, apart from Number 0.
But before we proceeded with the farming plans, I took another twenty years away from Berald's life anyway. And with the combined, enthusiastic efforts of all the facility kids and myself—obviously acting as your official proxy since you weren't there—we gave Berald a beautifully coordinated beating once again."
Areia laughed sweetly at this, the golden evening sky and the gently setting sun carrying her pure, melodious voice through the whispering wind. The sound was like a chime in an open field, entirely washing away the icy dread that had gripped her moments before. She could picture the scene perfectly in her mind—the absolute chaos, the ridiculous arguments, the sheer, unyielding stubbornness. She knew exactly how Dan would act in cases like this, flexing his power like a reckless god just to make a point, yet entirely driven by a heart that bled for the helpless.
She turned the page, her slim fingers gently brushing against the rough texture of the paper as the breeze caught her white hair, making the long, silken strands dance against her bare shoulders.
"Well, long story short, we tried to change the lair as much as we could. And hey, you see the sun up there?"
Areia instinctively paused, tilting her delicate head upward to look at the massive, blazing orb of the setting sun, bleeding warm shades of amber and violet across the sky.
*"I made that myself. Though it's obviously not like the original cosmic sun, I basically just conjured a massive, hyper-dense fireball, threw it as far away into the upper atmosphere above the village as possible, and set a specific magical grid for it to follow day and night. By the time we were entirely done with the renovations, brand new wooden houses had been built, and the children had clean clothes and actual names. Though they didn't smile at first—I guess they forgot how—eventually, the absolute joy that they were finally, truly free sunk in.
When the kids asked me why on earth I was doing all this heavy lifting for them, I just simply mentioned that I had been sent directly by you. After all, I'd really love to officially visit your hometown together with you sometime in the future. Surprisingly, you were incredibly popular there, Areia. They wouldn't stop asking how you fare these days and begging to hear your tales.
So, naturally, I told them the absolute truth: I told them you had become a terrifyingly ugly witch who constantly terrorizes my sanity. A quiet, awfully composed mess who rarely ever gets angry or voices her opinion aloud. A fiercely strong woman... with tears that can make any grown man completely break down."*
Areia burst into a chaotic, breathless laugh devoid of her character, fresh tears streaming down her eyes like liquid crystal. She laughed so hard her slender chest physically ached and her delicate bones rattled beneath her skin. She laughed until her throat got completely dry and her jaw joints ached, her pale face flushing a deep, radiant pink in the evening light. She held out the ancient letter again, her hands trembling with a profound, aching affection as she eagerly read the final bits.
"After doing absolutely everything I physically could for your hometown, I gave Berald one final beating for the team. Each and every one of the kids took turns punching him right in the torso, and then we finally let him be. With a collective smile, the village kids actually appointed him the official chief of the village. Well, of course, by the time we were completely through with him, the old man looked exactly like a helpless snail drenched in boiling hot oil."
Areia giggled again at the vivid, ridiculous imagery, her shoulders shaking as she sat cross-legged on the stone roof, her bare skin catching the cool, descending night air.
*"If you ever come upon this letter, Areia, please know that I didn't mean to lie to you about his death. Of course, it was entirely necessary at the time to protect your peace of mind, but still... I am so incredibly sorry if I caused you any distress today. And please, between you and me... you should absolutely give Berald your own personal share of the beating. I don't know what fragile state he'd be in by the time you actually read this letter, but it is entirely within your right to do so.
Have fun in your new, beautiful home. It's all entirely worth it just to see a genuine smile on your face. And with that... I'd like to truly thank you for always being there for me. As a loyal friend, as my unbreakable knight... and as the person I care about most in this entire world. Please take care of yourself.
I like you."*
Thump.
A heavy, warm tear dropped directly onto the faded ink of the page, smudging the messy handwriting beneath her tightly gripped hands. Areia's face flushed a deep, burning crimson, her heart pounding violently against her ribs like a trapped bird. The simple, clumsy confession cut straight through her defenses, melting the last remnants of her ten-year-old trauma into nothingness.
"You absolute, hopeless idiot..." she muttered into the open wind, her voice trembling with an overwhelming, romantic ache. "I'd be sure to yell at you until your ears bleed the next time we meet... you made me get so angry for absolutely nothing."
Then, her eyes caught a tiny, rushed postscript scribbled at the very bottom of the letter in little, cramped words:
"Get to know your people. Though you may not be bound to them by blood, you are all a real family at this point. Now, get off your lazy, stubborn butt and go play in the cornfields with them, you old hag..."
"I'm not an old hag!" Areia muttered, a brand new trail of hot tears forming and tracking down her porcelain cheeks. She pressed her knees tightly against her chest, her slim form looking incredibly fragile yet breathtakingly beautiful under the twilight canopy. "Don't call me an old hag, you insufferable dolt..."
Areia stared fixedly at the final stroke of the pen, desperately wishing with everything in her soul that the ink would just keep going, that his voice would continue to echo in her mind forever. But it didn't. It was the absolute end of the message, and she knew it. The silence of the realm crept back in, but the suffocating cold was gone, replaced by a permanent, burning warmth.
Gently, with an infinite, heartbreaking tenderness, Areia folded the ancient paper and held it tightly against her bare chest, right over her pacing heart, closing her eyes as the wind gently caressed her white hair.
"Thank you, Dan," she whispered softly into the fading light, her voice a sacred vow. "I love you."