Hansel, Witch of Light

"Covering yourself in your own blood... Talk about a freak show."

The moment the words left my mouth, I halted my attack and morphed the swords into thin threads. Then, with a quick puff, I summoned Puffy.

Without delay, I spread the threads around him, aiming to restrain him—but he charged through as if they were nothing. My arms jerked forward from the force, and a flash of frustration coursed through me. Not a scratch on him.

I tightened my grip, trying to think of another plan when a jolt of ominous danger seized my mind. Instinctively, I shifted my gaze to him—just in time to see the black liquid clinging to my threads, creeping toward me.

Before I even registered the thought, my body reacted. I cut the threads on reflex. When I came back to my senses, he was already gone. Clicking my tongue in irritation, I barked out, "Puffy!"

**Swoosh!**

Puffy darted past my shoulder, tearing through the air at insane speed. In an instant, he caught up, slashing wildly.

The man dodged a few strikes but still got clipped—though the wounds were shallow, revealing skin for a split second before sealing over as if nothing had happened.

Seeing that, I ordered Puffy to back off. Continuing would be pointless—and dangerous.

Not only might he find a way to seize control of Puffy, but something else gnawed at me. Why wasn't he fighting back? His power clearly had the upper hand against mine. In fact, it almost seemed tailored to counter me... yet he kept retreating, defending, avoiding a head-on clash.

If I were an idiot, I'd think he was weak, that I had the advantage. I'd chase him straight into a trap.

Luckily, I wasn't that naive.

Perhaps realizing I'd stopped pressing the attack, he seized the chance to pick up speed. Little by little, he slipped further away, vanishing over the horizon.

I watched him disappear, a quiet bitterness settling in my chest.

I hadn't extracted any information, nor accomplished my objective—but at least I was still breathing. I hadn't become his puppet. That was a win, however small.

For now, he was no longer my concern. I had more pressing matters.

I looked down at my missing legs and let out an exhausted breath. Puffy floated nearby, and when I glanced at him, I noticed—he had no legs either.

Somehow, that made me feel a little less alone.

I patted Puffy's back a few times before dismissing him. He dissolved into a lazy cloud of smoke, drifting away.

As for me, I needed to get my limbs back.

Luckily, there were clinics that specialized in regrowing missing limbs. Rare, expensive—but I knew a guy.

I made my way to one of those hidden places. Watching my legs regenerate was still a surreal experience, even though it wasn't my first time. The sight of flesh weaving itself together was mesmerizing in a way that words couldn't quite capture.

Afterward, I paid the bill—thankfully with a discount, courtesy of the owner—and left, grateful.

Now, it was time to find Hansel.

Hansel belonged to an infamous group—a collective of outlaws, war criminals, and twisted freaks. They hid so well that even Synth couldn't wipe them out, no matter how hard he tried. Their whereabouts were a mystery even to me.

But I didn't need the whole group.

I just needed one member.

After taking a puff and shaping a hoverboard, I flew to Aegis. It took some time, but eventually, I arrived at my destination: a small public library.

The building was tucked between two larger ones, easy to miss.

A faded wooden sign hung above the door, barely legible. Dust-caked windows blurred the view inside. Wild plants choked the pavement, their roots cracking the concrete.

I pushed the door open. To my surprise, despite the dust outside, the interior was clean.

Warm light from hanging bulbs filled the room with a cozy glow. The scent of pine lingered in the air—someone had recently mopped.

The small library had four rows of shelves, a tiny reading area, and, oddly enough, a bar tucked into the corner. Behind it, a bartender stood ready, polishing glasses.

Four patrons sat scattered around, immersed in their books, oblivious to each other. The occasional soft rustle of a page turning broke the heavy silence, creating a strangely comforting atmosphere.

I took a seat and let my eyes drift across the pub section, searching—until they landed on her.

Silver hair in a wolf cut. Ocean-blue eyes. Long legs and a slim frame. She sat with effortless elegance, flipping pages with a grace that was almost hypnotic.

Anyone would be drawn to her, yet the other patrons barely glanced her way. Strange.

With her beauty, she could've been a top model overnight. One photo would skyrocket her to fame.

Maybe she sensed my gaze, because she glanced at me from the corner of her eye. I didn't look away. Let her think I'm a creep if she wanted.

She returned her attention to the book, completely unfazed.

That stung a little, honestly.