Tragic Memory of Novillios

The Sun's rays were absorbed by the Darkness that enveloped the young hero's body; they did not disturb him in his sleep since he could not perceive them.

His face bore a tortured expression—a testament to the pain his body had accumulated. That same expression was also born of his endless, interminable nightmares...

Always the same act, always the same sequence—it was as if the reel of his memory consisted solely of that moment.

That tragic moment in his life… when his village was set ablaze and drenched in blood. The houses burned, his neighbors were incinerated by the flames, the roofs of buildings creaked and collapsed, and the screams and tears of children were drowned out by the carnage wrought by monsters whose cruelty matched their hideousness—whether they were human or fairy. For some, their faces had become putrid; for others, emaciated—they had lost all trace of this world.

The young boy, not yet the Hero, trudged through the labyrinth of that hell brought upon the earth. He ran until he was breathless, dragged along by the hand of the Sister who had once reprimanded him in an old, half-forgotten memory. Her grip was strong and firm—so much so that he felt it might rip his arm away—and from the small portion of her face that was visible, he could see the unmistakable mark of distress.

Clutched tightly in her orange-clad wrist was an enormous sword whose iron gleamed with a thousand fires; it must have been nearly as tall as its owner.

Racing through that infernal maze, they nearly reached the exit when an explosion erupted just to their right. The Sister narrowly evaded it by scooping the young boy into her arms, but still collided head-on with a wall.

"Are you alright?" the boy asked, worried.

"Don't worry—it's nothing."

"I certainly hope so!" came an unknown voice.

Scaling the rubble of the house that had just exploded, a knight emerged to face them. Clad in a massive suit of stained white armor, he was outfitted with state-of-the-art technology: on his right arm, he sported a mini atomic explosion cannon—probably the weapon that destroyed the abbey—and on his breastplate, a luminous circle shone at its center, above which was a symbol unknown to the young boy but very familiar to the Sister—a Cerberus with a tail shaped like a winged serpent.

In his left hand he held a Blitzstrike—a weapon consisting of an iron rod connected to two other iron rods that generated electricity. It was as powerful as a magical sword like Stelenincia, the blade that vanquished the troll king three hundred years ago.

He also wore a white helmet with an ebony-black visor that extended over the top of his head. The darkness was so intense that one could not discern his face.

Nevertheless, he courteously removed his helmet to converse with the Sister and her charge. His long, silver hair framed a face marked by enormous scars on his right side while the left was burned; his eyes were red with a golden halo around his pupils, and his teeth were as sharp as a shark's. Beneath his armor, he surely possessed a sturdy build—his gear having been designed to help him bear such heavy weapons.

The young man helped his mentor to rise and face the stranger.

"I've searched for you everywhere, my dear," said the knight as he descended from the rubble—from the North of Landarcot to the South of Casterbaran, from Meteor City to Drakmar, from brothels to sanctuaries—but you were already gone. He lamented, "I know it is my duty to find you and confront you before you do, yet others have taken the initiative to find me, as has always been the way, while you chose to hide all this time. Won't such behavior bring disgrace upon your predecessors?" he jeered.

"I've got better things to do than perpetuate that absurd tradition," spat the Sister.

"That's interesting!" the infernal warrior rejoiced. "In the end, it really is the Hero!" he laughed heartily. "Unless you wish to contradict me..."

"Your happiness is my happiness, huh?" the Sister retorted with irony. "As for me, I couldn't care less about this world."

"And yet you're lugging around a kid who belongs to this world," he countered, "and you can't even deny it, seeing how he clings to your leg like a frightened puppy."

The Sister wrapped the boy around her left arm and reassured him by gently stroking his battered head.

"Someone has to care for those this world rejects," she said with a loving smile.

The knight—with his long, ashen hair and piercing yellow and red eyes—burst into laughter.

"It's ironic that I care more about this world than you do. I'd be willing to make a deal: you transfer your Will to me, and I promise to stop this massacre and let you go," he proposed.

"You can always run!" she retorted.

She released the little boy and slipped on a mysterious iron gauntlet beneath her dress. As she did so, her dress shredded into a thousand pieces upon contact; a brilliant white flash coursed over her entire body, and an armor appeared—similar to the one the Hero had when he arrived in Paris, the Fallen—with the same pristine orange cape and the identical turquoise triple triangle. Only her head remained uncovered.

She instructed the boy to take shelter behind some debris, then took the sword she had carried with her all this time and grasped it with both hands.

The mysterious assailant then aimed his Blitzstrike at the Sister and generated an electric orb.

"Do you really think you can defeat me, Elena?" he challenged.

"Absolutely!" she replied.

He hurled the ball of lightning at her, but she nimbly dodged it before attempting to strike him on his left flank… before…

Before...

And then the dream ended in a blinding flash, plunging him back into the darkness of his mind.

With his eyes still closed, he was enveloped in darkness. The throbbing pain that coursed through his entire body grew ever stronger until it became unbearable for the Hero. He tried to wake up, but a force greater than himself held his eyes shut. He shifted from side to side, yet none of his limbs would respond.

He was still trapped in his body because of his excessive use of Ymir—this sleep paralysis that was nothing like true sleep. By wielding that damned weapon so relentlessly, he was on the verge of losing his body, perhaps even his humanity. He would be stuck in the darkness—this time, forever!

He wanted to cry out for help, even if it meant incurring more injuries, but not a single word could pass his lips. He was trapped in that lethargy with no means of escape.

Then, suddenly, he felt a gentle warmth on his forehead. That comforting sensation spread throughout his body, marred by countless wounds that stubbornly refused to heal despite his "immortality." It relaxed all his muscles and eased his tension and frustration.

It had been so long since he had felt this good.

Is this what dying feels like?

Yet there was no white light at the end of any tunnel leading to Paradise where he might see it again. Instead, there was nothing but emptiness. Would he be doomed to Hell for all his past crimes—or was everything he believed in false?

He didn't have time to find out, for he began to regain mobility. He felt a gentle hand with delicate fingers caress his forehead. As his senses gradually returned, he realized that his body was immersed in a liquid that, at first glance, might have been mistaken for water—but its sensation was far softer, far more honeyed than water. It was as if he had been placed in a spring of liquid that could simply be described as happiness; he felt so light inside.

It was far better than that sophisticated Alpha One bathtub—even though it lacked all the extra gadgets.

The young man slowly opened his eyes and saw above him the face of a beautiful young girl with rosy cheeks whose eye sockets sparkled like stars. She had lovely, delicate pale-pink lips and adorable dimples that perfectly complemented the cute little bump on her nose—but what was most remarkable were her magnificent long hair.

She was a girl who took perfect care of herself.

She approached the young warrior and, with a big smile that revealed her small buck teeth, said in Franca:

"Hello, my hero."