He didn't even ask what it was.
That came later.
It always did.
Elizabeth didn't explain immediately.
She never did.
Instead, she moved.
Not fast enough to draw attention, just purposeful enough that Elliot had to keep up or lose her in the crowd again.
They slipped between people, past stalls and voices and the constant noise of the capital, until the space opened slightly into a row of shops.
Weapons.
Even Elliot could tell that much.
Blades lined the walls, some polished to a mirror shine, others duller but heavier, thicker. Spears rested in bundles. Shields leaned against racks. The faint smell of oil and metal hung in the air.
"…Oh," Elliot said under his breath.
Elizabeth didn't answer.
She had already stopped.
Not directly in front of the shop but off to the side, where she could see without being seen easily.
Her eyes moved.
Left.
Right.
Inside.
Outside.
"…What are you looking at?" Elliot asked.
"The door," she said.
"…It's a door."
"And?"
"And… it opens?"
Elizabeth exhaled quietly.
Then she pointed subtle, quick.
"Look again."
Elliot followed her gesture.
The shopkeeper stood inside, arguing with someone over a blade, his back half-turned. Another customer browsed near the far wall. Near the entrance, a rack of lower quality swords stood unattended.
A guard passed by outside.
Didn't stop.
Didn't look.
"…Oh," Elliot said again.
This time, it meant something different.
Elizabeth nodded once.
"Blind spot," she said.
"…You want to take one?"
"I want to take two."
Elliot blinked.
"…Two?"
"One for you. One for me."
"…Why?"
She looked at him like the answer was obvious.
"To use them."
"That makes sense."
It did.
To him, at least.
Elizabeth leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice not out of fear, but precision.
"When that guard passes again, the shopkeeper will turn back. He already did it twice."
"…You've been watching that?"
"Yes."
"…For how long?"
She didn't answer.
Instead:
"You go in first."
"Why me?"
"Because you look less suspicious."
Elliot frowned.
"I do?"
"Yes."
"…Okay."
That sounded right.
He didn't question it further.
Timing, as it turned out, mattered.
Elizabeth waited.
Still.
Watching the rhythm of movement like it was something she could feel instead of see.
Then.
"Now."
Elliot moved immediately.
No hesitation.
He stepped into the shop like he belonged there because, in his mind, he did. There was no reason he shouldn't.
He walked past the first rack, glancing at the swords with open curiosity, like any other kid might.
Behind him, the guard passed.
Inside, the shopkeeper turned slightly, distracted again.
Elizabeth slipped in right after.
Quieter.
Faster.
Elliot reached for one of the swords.
It was heavier than he expected.
He almost dropped it.
Almost.
"…Whoa," he whispered.
"Don't talk," Elizabeth muttered, already lifting another blade with far more control than she should've had.
Her eyes flicked once toward the shopkeeper.
Still distracted.
Still turned.
"Move," she said.
Elliot nodded.
They didn't run.
That would've drawn attention.
They walked.
Out the door.
Past the threshold.
One step.
Two.
Three...
And then they were outside again.
No one stopped them.
No one called out.
No one even noticed.
Elliot looked down at the sword in his hands.
"…We did it."
Elizabeth adjusted her grip on hers, testing the weight.
"Obviously."
"…That was easy."
"Because you didn't mess it up."
"That means I helped."
She gave him a brief glance.
"…A little."
That was enough.
He grinned.
They didn't stay.
Even Elliot knew that much.
Elizabeth led again, weaving through narrower streets now, away from the main road, away from the heavier foot traffic.
The noise dulled slightly.
The buildings thinned.
Stone gave way to patches of dirt and broken paths.
Eventually, the capital faded behind them not completely, but enough that it felt distant.
They reached a clearing.
Not part of the forest they knew—but similar enough.
Open space.
No people.
No eyes.
Elizabeth stopped.
"This works."
Elliot looked around.
"…For what?"
She turned to him.
And for the first time since they left the house.
she smiled properly.
"Practice."
Elliot looked down at the sword again.
Then back at her.
"…Oh."
That kind of practice.
He adjusted his grip, mimicking what he'd seen earlier in the shops, or maybe from passing knights...he wasn't sure.
It didn't matter.
Elizabeth stepped back, giving them space.
The air felt different now.
Quieter.
But not soft like the forest.
Something sharper.
More focused.
She raised her sword slightly.
Not perfectly.
But not carelessly either.
Elliot mirrored her.
Less precise.
More instinct.
They stood there for a second.
Facing each other.
Then Elizabeth tilted her head.
"Don't hold back," she said.
Elliot nodded.
"Okay."
There was no hesitation.
Not from him.
Not from her.
And that was the problem.
There was no hesitation between them.
No instinct to pull back.
No line that said this is too far.
Just two children, holding real weapons
...and treating it like a game.
Elizabeth moved first.
Not clumsy.
Not wild.
Clean.
Elliot barely had time to react before steel met steel with a sharp, jarring sound that echoed too loudly in the empty clearing.
He grinned.
"Again."
She didn't answer.
She stepped in again, faster this time.
Elliot raised his sword, slower than he thought he was, the weight unfamiliar in his hands. The impact rattled his arms, forced him back a step.
He laughed.
It was fun.
It was fun.
The way the metal rang, the way his body moved without thinking it felt new. Different from anything in the forest. Different from running, climbing, breaking things.
Elizabeth's eyes sharpened.
"Don't just block," she said.
"I am...!"
She cut him off.
With motion.
Another strike.
Closer.
Elliot twisted, barely catching it. The edge slid off his blade instead of meeting it cleanly, sending a shock through his grip.
"Like that," she said.
He nodded quickly.
"Yeah."
His heart was beating faster now.
Not from fear.
From excitement.
They circled.
Small steps.
Uneven ground.
The distance between them shrinking without either of them noticing.
Elizabeth adjusted her stance.
Then lunged.
Faster.
Too fast.
Elliot reacted on instinct, bringing his sword up.
...but not enough.
Not in time.
There was a moment,
brief, almost invisible.
Where everything felt like it paused.
Like the world held its breath.
Then...
impact.
Not the sharp clash of metal.
Something else.
Something wrong.
A sudden, burning pressure across his face...
followed by warmth.
Too much warmth.
Elliot stumbled back.
The sword slipped from his hands.
"...Huh?"
His vision blurred.
One eye refused to focus.
Something was running down the side of his face thick, hot, and wrong.
Elizabeth stood frozen.
Her sword still raised.
Her expression unchanged for a second too long.
"...Elliot?" she said.
He touched his face.
His hand came away wet.
Red.
"Oh..."
The ground tilted.
Or maybe he did.
His legs gave slightly, catching himself just enough to stay upright for another second.
Everything felt distant.
Muted.
Like the forest had swallowed the world again, but this time it wasn't soft.
It was empty.
"…That… hurt," he said faintly.
Elizabeth took a step forward.
Then stopped.
Something in her expression shifted.
Not fear.
Not guilt.
Just… confusion.
Like something hadn't gone the way she expected.
Elliot blinked.
Slow.
Heavy.
The light felt too bright.
Too far away.
"…I'm…" he started.
His voice didn't finish.
Because something else cut in.
Not outside.
Inside.
A thought.
No.
A memory.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Wrong.
White walls.
A quiet room.
The constant, steady beeping of something that never stopped.
A screen glowing in the dark.
A voice.
"It's not a harem game."
Another voice smaller, weaker.
"…I'm eleven."
Hands holding a console.
A world on a screen.
A boy sitting beside a bed.
Staying.
Always staying.
Elliot's breath hitched.
No...
Not Elliot.
A girl.
Lying in a hospital bed.
Too small.
Too weak.
Looking at the same screen.
Hearing the same voice.
Feeling the same tightness in her chest.
The same fear...
"I don't want to stop playing."
The memory cracked open.
Not gently.
Not slowly.
All at once.
The clearing snapped back into place.
The forest.
The sky.
Elizabeth.
The sword still in her hand.
And the pain.
It surged back, louder now, sharper, impossible to ignore.
Elliot's knees gave out completely.
He hit the ground.
Hard.
Air left his lungs in a broken gasp.
"I..."
His voice trembled.
Not from the pain.
From something else.
Something deeper.
Something older.
"…I'm going to die again?"
The words came out small.
Fragile.
Terrified in a way he didn't understand,
but his body did.
His mind did.
His memories did.
The sky above him blurred.
Light stretching.
Breaking.
Fading at the edges.
Elizabeth's figure moved.
Closer now.
Finally.
Too late.
Elliot's fingers twitched against the dirt.
Gripping nothing.
Holding onto nothing.
The beeping sound echoed again,
louder this time.
Faster.
Then...
silence.
And everything went dark.