Chapter 11: Alice

"You're a rare one…"

The bandit leader's breath reeked of rot as he leaned in, his calloused grip bruising her chin. Alice stared past him, hollow. Not again. She was so gods-damned tired—of hands, of leering eyes, of this endless cycle of being traded like livestock. Part of her almost wished he'd slit her throat after he finished. At least then it'd be over.

Fear? Yes, it coiled in her gut, cold and slick. But worse was the numbness. The resignation. Years of fleeing slavers, of being groped by merchants who saw her as a trophy rather than a person, had sanded her soul raw. She'd learned to dissociate, to let her mind drift somewhere far above her body—a survival trick, until survival itself lost its meaning.

The last merchant who'd owned her, a greasy pig of a man with wandering hands, had at least valued her "purity" enough to keep her intact. "A virgin elf fetches triple," he'd sneered, though his eyes had lingered too long on the curve of her hips. When a bandit's blade had pierced his heart not so long ago, Alice had felt nothing. Not relief. Not gratitude. Just the same dull ache of what now?

Now, apparently, this. A new master. A crueler one.

"Those eyes… they'll fetch a pretty price."

The bandit leader leered at her, his scarred face twisting in satisfaction as he wrenched at her sleeve. Her skin crawled.

"Maybe I'll have a taste first," he murmured, his grip tightening.

The blonde girl, tied beside the crying woman, struggled against her bonds, her blue eyes blazing with defiance. "Leave her alone!"

The back of his hand struck her cheek, silencing her.

Alice barely heard them. Her gaze was locked on the forest's edge, where shadows shifted. A boy—no, a young man—lurked there, golden eyes glinting like a feral cat's. The weird boy. She'd seen him earlier, watching the bandit camp with a blade in hand. His villagers were here, bound and weeping. Of course he's here for them, she thought bitterly. Humans save their own.

Still, she studied him. There was something… off. A flicker in the air around him, a hum she couldn't place. Elves sensed spirit energy innately, and his felt weird. Not human. Not elven. But familiar, like a half-remembered lullaby.

The bandit leader tore at her tunic, snapping her back to reality.

Please, I thought, My lips forming a silent plea. Someone. Anyone.

A sharp whistle. The twang of a bowstring.

An arrow embedded itself in the leader's shoulder. He roared in fury, releasing me as he staggered back.

Chaos erupted.

Bandits scrambled for weapons. A knight stormed into the firelight, his blade carving a brutal arc. The first bandit's throat split open—a spray of crimson against the dirt. Another lunged, but The knight twisted, slamming his armored elbow into the man's temple before burying his sword deep in his gut.

The leader snarled, wrenching the arrow from his shoulder. His axe ignited with fire-imbued mana.

Steel clashed. Sparks erupted. Krow blocked the first swing but was sent skidding back, his boots carving trenches in the dirt.

The level three knights surrounded him and attacked in coordination. He was not giving away any openings—but he was searching for one. Just one.

I watched, breathless, as the knight found his chance and leaped at the leader.

But the leader was ready.

A sudden shift in the air. A pulse of something unnatural.

The flames flickered in sluggish waves. He saw it—the overextension in the leader's stance, the tightening of his muscles, the exact moment his balance tipped.

The boy appeared at this moment. He was fast too fast and precise as if he could see things slower than us.

His blade sliced deep into the man's thigh.

The world snapped back into motion.

Blood sprayed, vivid and hot. The leader stumbled, roaring in agony.

The knight took his chance.

His sword sang through the air. A clean, brutal decapitation. The leader's body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

For a heartbeat, there was silence. No one in the bandits could believe what had just happened. With their moment of shock, the boy and The knight didn't waste a second and targeted all the level threes around them. In an instant, everything changed.

The killing began.

They became monsters.

Panic set in.

"They're not hurting the slaves!" the last Level 3 bandit shouted.

Desperation flickered across their faces—then they grabbed us.

"Drop your weapons!" one snarled, dragging the blonde girl that defended me earlier forward with a knife pressed against her throat. Others followed, gripping me and the others..

I locked onto Alex—desperate, pleading. 'Would you actually choose to save me'

The knight said. "Let them go."

The bandits sneered, stepping back toward the treeline. One by one, they retreated into the dense forest, taking us with them.

And of course with my luck The last Level 3 still is the one holding me and he was waiting for his mates so he can be the last to step back.

If he is gonna take me anyway then might as well help this desperate boy.

And i tried to stumble purposely so i can make an opening for the boy and slow the bastered down.

He yanked my hair, wrenching my head back.

"Useless cargo," he spat, raising his blade to either cripple or decapitate her. "Slowing us down."

I closed my eyes expecting the ending i was looking for my… peace.

"STOP!"

A sound so strong you can feel it not with your ears but with your mana core it was so authoritative and commanding which made me open my eyes.

What i saw was the knight stopped in his trucks his sword raised high waiting to end me but his face is clouded with shock and …. fear.

The boy's voice ripped through the night.

Golden light exploded from his eyes.

The bandit froze, his arm trembling as if bound by an unseen force. His breath hitched, his fingers slackening.

The knight lunged.

A silver blur—his blade cleaved through the man's throat.

I stumbled free, my gaze flickering between Alex and the knight—relief, fear, awe. And most importantly disbelief what actually just happened now. 

The boy staggered, blood trickling from his nose and eyes.

I approached, my voice soft but shaking. "You… saved me."

'You save a stranger, a slave, an elf !'

The boy wiped the blood from his face. "Not yet." His gaze flickered toward the dark forest. "They shouldn't have gone far yet."

'He is still thinking of saving his people. He is unusually…. good.'

The knight gripped his arm, steadying him. Then he walked to me and hauled me to my feet. "Name?"

"Alice," I whispered.

He nodded. "Stick close, Alice. We're not done yet."

"You can call me Sir Krow and this reckless boy is Alex"

"Al..ex"

I said my voice was unexpectedly shaky and my heart beats were racing.

-----------------------------------------------

I watch Alex from the corner of my eye as he paces the camp's edge, his golden eyes slicing through the dark like twin blades. He's a storm trapped in skin, all sharp edges and restless energy. Why does he feel familiar? Not his face, not his voice—but the hum beneath his bones, that dissonant spirit energy. It prickles my senses, wrong and magnetic.

When he barks at Krow—"Anything?"—I flinch. His anger isn't for me, but it still scalds. I want to tell him I understand. Want to say, I know what it's like to chase ghosts. But my throat closes. Elves don't speak unless spoken to. Slaves don't speak at all.

The bandits' firelight dances on my shackles. I don't struggle. Not when the leader's fingers knot in my hair, not when he sneers about my "twilight eyes." But then—movement. A flicker in the trees. Golden eyes.

Alex moves like vengeance given form. His blade drinks blood before the bandits even sense danger. Krow follows, a shadow with a sword. I should look away. I don't want to i will help him.

Magic hums.

It's instinct. My hands rise, spirit energy coiling like serpents. The air shudders, and the bandit lunging at Alex slams into his own death.

Using magic feels weird after not using it for so long.

Alex freezes. Stares. "Since when…?"

I want to laugh. Since always. Since I learned to smother my light to survive. But his gaze—sharp, startled, almost awed—makes my chest tighten.

You're not the only one with secrets, I say.

He's shaking.

I don't realize I've touched him until my fingers curl around his wrist. Spirit magic spills into him, unbidden. His pulse races under my thumb, a wild thing caged.

"Breathe," I whisper.

For a heartbeat, he does. His eyes meet mine—amber flecks in gold, exhaustion etched into every line. He smells like pine and iron and something ancient, something that makes my own magic stir.

Then he pulls away. "I can't stop."

You'll collapse, I want to scream. You'll die. But he's already gone, chasing ghosts again.

Krow watches us but still searching.

The mountain air bites, but it's the runes on the stone that chill me. House Veyra's sigil glows, sickly green.

Elven souls, bought and broken.

Memories surge—my mother's voice, her hands braiding my hair as she whispered, "Hide your self, little star. Always hide." I dig my nails into my palms.

Alex turns on me. "How would you know about them?"

How? I want to spit the truth. They took my family. They burned my village. They'd take you too, if they knew what you are.

Instead, I laugh. Brittle. Empty. "Elves make prized slaves."

Krow suggests the unspeakable. Bait.

I have the feeling that I want to help or more like I need to help him…

I step forward before I can think. "If I let them capture me—"

Alex's roar shakes the trees. "ENOUGH."

He looms over me, close enough to share breath. His rage is a living thing, but beneath it—fear. For me.

Why?

I didn't drag you out of hell to toss you back, he hisses.

The words unravel me. No one's fought for me. Not since…

I don't remember.

He collapses at dusk, his mana core drained to embers. My hands glow before I decide to act. Spirit energy threads into him, weaving through veins, reigniting what's frayed.

"Stop—" he rasps, but his protest dies. For a moment, he leans into my touch.

You need someone, I whisper.

"I. Need. My. Family."

The rejection stings, but his pulse betrays him—quickening under my fingertips.

Krow murmurs, "Leave him be. He'll realize."

Realize what? That I'm helping him? That I'm as fractured as he is?

I watch Alex scan the cliffs, moonlight crowning him. His stubbornness is a blade. His loneliness, a mirror.

Why do I stay?

Not gratitude. Not hope.

But that pull. That resonance in my bones, like our magics are shards of the same shattered star.

Who are you, Alex?

The night doesn't answer. My heart does—a foolish, traitorous thing, beating faster when he glances back.

Familiar. weirdly familiar.