Chapter 4
Elrize's eyes snapped open.
A sharp, burning pain seared through her chest—like fire and ice were fighting inside her lungs. She gasped, coughed, choked—her body desperate for air, as if she had been drowning and had only just broken the surface.
But it wasn't enough.
The sky spun above her. The ground tilted beneath her. Her fingers dug into the dirt, shaking, grasping, clawing for something solid—something to anchor her.
She was alive.
She could breathe.
Her tiny body shook violently, but none of it mattered.
Because she remembered.
The forest. The blood. The screaming.
Her family.
And then it haunted her—the battlefield. The flames. The suffocating heat.
She could still feel it. The weight of the mech crushing her. The deafening sound of steel groaning, collapsing. The blaring alarms in her ears—
No.
Not her.
Aeri.
But the pain had been real.
She could feel it in her bones, in her trembling hands, in the way her entire body rejected reality.
Her lips parted—a sharp inhale—
And suddenly, the ringing stopped.
Instead, a new sound.
Armor.
Footsteps.
Voices.
Then she saw them.
Knights.
Figures rushed toward her from the massive gates up ahead. The light from their torches blurred and wavered in her vision. Their armor clanked as they moved, their voices muffled against the wild, erratic thundering of her heart.
Elrize tried to push herself up—her legs failed.
She collapsed onto her elbows, fingers clawing at the dirt as she dragged herself forward.
No.
No, no, no—
She had to move.
She had to tell them.
"Please—"
Her voice was so small, so broken. Barely more than a whisper.
The nearest knight lunged forward, catching her before she collapsed completely. His face was creased with concern.
"Easy, child—calm yourself—"
"West."
Her trembling fingers latched onto his sleeve, clinging so hard her knuckles turned white.
The knight stiffened. "What?"
"Forest!" she gasped, trying to pull him forward, but she was so weak, too weak— her tiny hands slipped, barely holding on.
Her chest heaved, her breathing ragged, frantic, erratic. Every muscle in her body screamed for air, but she forced the words out. Forced them to listen.
"My family—They're still there—They need help—"
"Please—please—"
Her vision blurred, swayed, but she could still see them.
The knights exchanged looks—
Too slow.
Too slow.
One of them turned away. "We'll send scouts—"
"No!"
Her scream tore through the night, ragged and raw, as she thrashed against the knight's grip.
Her tiny fists clutched at his cloak, pulling, begging—
"Don't—don't send just scouts! Go! NOW!"
Tears streaked her dirtied cheeks. Her small body shook violently with every breath.
But they weren't moving fast enough.
"Please!" she sobbed, trying to push forward, trying to run, to crawl, to do something—
But her legs—her arms—everything hurt.
Her voice broke.
A child's voice. High-pitched. Small.
Yet it carried the weight of sheer terror.
Still—they weren't moving.
They weren't running.
They weren't saving them.
"Please!" she sobbed again, "please—"
One of the knights cursed under his breath. "Damn it."
Another sucked in a sharp breath before giving the order. "We move. Now."
They finally listened.
But it was already too late.
The ride was a blur.
The knight had lifted her onto his horse, but she barely felt it.
The wind lashed against her tiny frame, cold and biting, but she didn't shiver.
She didn't even blink.
She could only stare ahead, wide-eyed, unseeing, her small hands clutching the knight's cloak like a lifeline.
It was too slow.
Even as the horses thundered beneath them, it was too slow.
The moment they entered the forest, she felt it.
The air was wrong.
Thick. Heavy.
Suffocating.
The smell hit her first.
Metallic.
Blood.
She froze.
No.
The ground—
The ground was red.
Too much red.
She was moving before she realized it.
The moment the horse slowed, Elrize threw herself off.
Her legs gave out beneath her.
Her small body crashed to the ground, knees scraping against the bloodstained dirt.
A knight caught her, his grip firm, steady—
But she wasn't looking at him.
She was staring.
At the bodies.
Scattered. Motionless.
Armor crushed, weapons broken, fingers twisted in unnatural angles—
The blood—
So much blood—
A choked sound left her lips. Her small hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms.
Where—
Her vision blurred.
Where—
And then she saw him.
Her father.
His broad form lay sprawled in the dirt, his once-gleaming armor drenched in crimson.
His sword was still in his hand.
He had been fighting.
Even until the very end.
Her lips parted, trembled.
A breath—sharp, broken, strangled.
A child's voice—small, fragile, lost.
"…Papa?"
No answer.
The silence pressed down on her.
Suffocating.
Drowning.
Crushing her ribs.
This isn't real.
It couldn't be real.
She tore herself from the knight's grip, stumbling forward, crawling, gasping, shaking.
The ground tilted beneath her, but she didn't stop.
She couldn't stop.
Her knees hit the dirt hard, but she barely felt it.
She was staring, staring, staring—
If Papa was here like this—if he was—
Then where was Mother? Where was Brother?
Her tiny hands clawed at the dirt, eyes darting wildly.
Are they here too? Are they lying just out of sight, waiting for me?
Her stomach twisted.
A cold, suffocating horror sank its claws into her chest.
She wanted to scream, but her throat closed.
Her entire body locked up, seized, refused to move.
No. No, no, no—
She felt something break inside her.
A raw, unbearable pain tore through her tiny body.
The knights moved—saying something, reaching for her—
But she didn't hear them.
She was trapped in the silence.
In the weight of the blood-stained earth.
She was too late.
Too late.
Too late.
Too late.