[Realm: Álfheimr]
[Location: Heart Kingdom Outskirts]
[Virelheim Mountain Village]
"Thank you kindly, dear."
Gretel's smiled as she knelt down and placed a woven basket with root vegetables at the stoop of a modest wooden house. The chill in the highland air carried through the village.
The old woman standing in the doorway leaned heavily on a cane as she gave a grateful smile.
"No problem, Miss Avia. Always happy to help," Gretel replied with a slight nod, rising to her full height and brushing the dirt from her gloves.
"You truly are a blessing to this village, Gretel," Avia said, chuckling as she placed the basket inside. "Helping with chores when your time could be better spent on yourself. Always running, always serving."
Gretel offered a small, almost bashful smile, her fingers lightly tapping the hilt of her sheathed rapier. "I figure if I can't make the village a better place with these little things, then the sword isn't worth much either. Not everything needs to be solved with blood and steel."
Avia gave a knowing hum in response, as if recalling days long gone.
"I'll linger nearby," Gretel added. "If you need anything more, don't hesitate."
She gave one last smile and turned away. The air bit faintly at her cheeks—up here, the mountains never truly warmed, not even in the sun—but the cold wasn't unpleasant. It was grounding. A gentle kind of solitude that matched the rhythm of life in the highlands. A rhythm Gretel had long come to understand.
("It's a quaint little place. Quiet and steady.") Her thoughts drifted as she moved. ("And safe. High elevation means no easy path for Deseruit Beasts to scale. Most of the lowland settlements are ruins now abandoned or swallowed whole.") Her thoughts trailed as she slowed.
Then something caught her eye.
There was a shift in the atmosphere.
Gazes were being drawn—not by her, but toward the center platform of the village. Heads turned. Conversations paused. Even laughter tapered off, replaced by hushed murmurs and wide-eyed stares.
Gretel followed their eyes, and then she saw him.
Mikoto.
It was strange how something as simple as a change of clothes could transform someone. Gone was the menacing black armor. Instead, he wore a loose, white button-up shirt—just slightly too big for his frame. The sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows, revealing pale, delicate arms, thin. Black trousers hugged his slight hips, tucked into scuffed boots that didn't quite match the rest of the outfit. It was all so plain. Unassuming.
The boy was striking.
His snow-white hair, shoulder-length and still wild, framed a pale face so delicate and ethereal it bordered on doll-like. Long lashes shadowed crimson eyes that seemed caught halfway between apathy and scrutiny. Even in repose, he radiated an otherworldly sort of beauty.
He looked annoyed. And utterly out of place.
Maybe it was the way people were staring. Maybe it was just the weight of this new area still settling onto his shoulders. But Mikoto's expression was grim, his lips pulled into a line as he approached.
Gretel smiled without restraint.
"Tch. What are you smiling at?" Mikoto asked flatly, stopping just short of her. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"Oh, nothing in particular." Gretel tilted her head playfully. "You just look a lot cuter in normal clothes. Less doom knight, more runaway noble."
Mikoto sighed sharply through his nose. "You really have no filter."
"Nope." She grinned unapologetically, folding her arms behind her back.
He shook his head. She was immune to his tone, that much was becoming clear. Her optimism didn't feel forced—it was genuine and strangely disarming. Mikoto glanced away, scanning the highland platforms, the rope bridges stretching between homes, the villagers bustling with life.
"So?" he asked finally. "Why did you call me down here?"
"Well," Gretel said, stretching her arms above her head as she turned, "even though you only arrived yesterday, I figured you wouldn't want to be cooped up in the guesthouse all day. Besides, you clearly don't know anything about this world. Might as well make your stay informative."
She started walking. Mikoto hesitated, then followed.
"I'm heading down the mountain," she continued. "There's a small group of Deseruit Beasts causing trouble along one of the lower ridges. Should be a simple drive-off."
"Deseruit Beasts…" Mikoto echoed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "You mean those things that were crawling in the woods yesterday?"
"I wouldn't call them 'things' exactly," Gretel said over her shoulder. Her tone had softened. "They're not mindless monsters."
As they moved through the village, Gretel nodded at passing villagers who waved or called out greetings. Mikoto remained quiet, eyes darting across unfamiliar architecture and customs.
"What do you mean?" he asked eventually.
"They're intelligent," she said. "Just like you or me. Some of them, anyway. They have their own cultures, language, even politics. A few tribes coexist with humans, mostly on the western isles. Others follow the Beast Lord and keep to themselves."
Mikoto processed that in silence. At first, he had thought of them as beasts—comparable to the Astrothians, perhaps—but that comparison no longer seemed fair. "I'm guessing not all of them are peace-loving philosophers."
"You'd be right." Gretel chuckled softly. "The group we're dealing with today? Tenacious little bastards. Not too dangerous, but a handful."
Then, she glanced back at him with a teasing glint. "But seriously… why are you so clueless? You know less about this world than a newborn."
Mikoto gave a deadpan stare. "Maybe I'm just a dolt."
"That was… remarkably fast acceptance," Gretel replied, blinking.
"I'm adaptable,"
She tilted her head, amused. "So what's your story, then? Were you locked away in a noble's tower all your life? Some highborn daughter sheltered from the world until one day, she fled into the unknown?"
Mikoto stiffened. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
"I'm still a guy, dipshit."
His voice was sharp as he glanced down and fiddled with a cuff button as if the conversation had veered too close to annoyance.
("Wait… Angels don't have genders. Technically. So what does that make me?") His brow furrowed faintly as the thought slipped unbidden into his mind. ("I mean, I still have a dick, so that should settle it. I'm a guy—for now, anyway. Not like I'm planning to change that anytime soon…") He sighed inwardly. ("This girl's brain is infecting mine with her stupidity.")
Gretel didn't press the matter.
"Fair enough," she said simply.
And they walked on.
--------------------
[5 minutes later]
"I'm surprised you managed to keep up, Mikoto," Gretel remarked with a lightness in her voice, descending in a graceful arc as her boots touched the dead ground of the forest clearing.
Behind her, Mikoto hit the ground with far less poise—a sharp thud of impact absorbed by an enchantment just before his delicate frame crumpled. Standing upright as he brushed a few errant strands of his hair from his eyes. His red gaze flicked toward her with irritation.
"Don't flatter yourself," he muttered, one small hand settling on his narrow hip. "You're not that fast."
Gretel turned slightly, offering a dramatic pout over her shoulder. "Oh, come now, that's hurtful, you know?" she teased, half-laughing. "I pride myself on my speed and stamina. It's not easy keeping up appearances."
Mikoto gave no answer, just exhaled lightly. The journey down from the mountain had taken them only minutes, but the strain was minimal for him—not because the descent was easy, but because he'd layered his movements with enhancement spell. What surprised him more was Gretel's endurance. She wasn't just keeping up—she was almost matching him.
("These Nil... They're more than just physically capable. Subtle control over their own bodies, maybe... or something else entirely. Just like the Von Auerswald's. There's probably more to them than meets the eye.")
The forest around them was silent—tall trees, shafts of light breaking through the dead branches. There were cretins here and there as well.
"This is usually the spot where those Deseruit Beasts show up," Gretel said suddenly, rolling her shoulders with a tired stretch. Her arms reached to the sky before falling limp at her sides. "Ugh. What a bother."
Mikoto glanced around, unimpressed. "If it's such a 'bother,' then why even come down here?" he asked.
"Hm? Why not?" she shot back, her tone laced with innocence—but it was the kind of response meant to deflect, not explain.
He narrowed his eyes. "That's not an answer."
A breeze blew through the clearing.
"You're doing this to keep the village safe," he continued. "That much is obvious. But it seems like... it wears on you. You said you were a traveler, didn't you? Travelers don't plant roots. They move. You're lingering in a place that clearly relies on you. When you're gone they'll be defenseless."
His voice wasn't accusatory, just observant.
Gretel didn't answer right away. For the briefest moment, her expression slipped—just a flicker. Her eyes lowered, lips pressed into a thoughtful line. Then, gently she spoke.
"I suppose... I just want to be useful," she said. The words were soft and stripped of pretense. "I have power, right? Enough to make a difference. I may as well use it while I can."
Mikoto blinked, just once. Something about that answer—its simplicity, its acceptance—stirred something in him. A frown crept onto his porcelain features.
"That's it?" he asked. "That's your reason?"
Under normal circumstances, he might have understood her—respected her sense of duty. But right now, when his own purpose felt scattered, it only made the dissonance louder inside his chest.
("Protecting humans... constantly. That kind of devotion—it feels exhausting. Why do it? I don't understand. I don't comprehend.")
As if sensing the shift in him, Gretel tilted her head. Her gaze, unusually clear, settled on him with curiosity.
"But what about you, Mikoto?" she asked suddenly, gently. "You have power too. What do you do with yours?"
Mikoto stiffened, slightly.
"…What?"
"I'm just curious," she said with a small shrug. "You're strong. It's obvious. But you don't seem like someone who flaunts it. So… what do you do with it?"
The question was innocent. But it hit deeper than he expected.
He opened his mouth to answer, instinctively reaching for the line he'd always told himself. To return home. That was the answer. It had always been the answer. Or to protect others.
And yet the words didn't come out.
They hovered on his tongue, hollow and uncertain. For the first time in what felt like ages, that once-unshakable conviction faltered.
("Is that really it?")
His mind echoed the question, louder than her voice ever could. He looked away, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, and found himself staring into the forest beyond. He tried to grasp that fire inside—the one that used to burn so fiercely when he thought about returning. But all he found was silence. A dull emptiness. His fingers tensed slightly at his sides.
"…I don't know," he said finally. The admission left a strange taste in his mouth.
Gretel watched him carefully, her expression softening. She was about to say something—something gentle, maybe even kind—when a sudden crack echoed through the forest.
Both of them turned sharply, eyes narrowing.
"The beasts are here," Gretel murmured.
The sound of footsteps rang out.