The sun had finally set, and the cold moon now reigned over the world. Darkness spread for miles, save for one beacon of light—the Briston Church, standing like a solitary island in a sea of shadow. It had been hours since the confrontation between Oliver and Elara, and now, both sat across from each other at a table, negotiating terms.
Oliver, seated casually on the left, had changed into a simple black t-shirt and trousers, which gave him a rugged but carefree air. On the right sat Lady Elara, still in her regal attire, her composed demeanor unwavering.
"So, what exactly do you need me for, Lady Elara?" Oliver asked lazily, leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on the table.
"I seek Sir Oliver's partnership. I need your strength, knowledge, wisdom, and support," Elara replied, ignoring his nonchalant attitude.
"I see," Oliver said, lowering his feet from the table and leaning forward slightly. "You want all that from me. And what do I get in return? You know the world runs on quid pro quo," he added, reaching across the table to gently tilt her chin with two fingers, his tone hinting at something more.
Elara met his gaze unflinchingly. "I understand Sir Oliver's concerns. So, tell me—what would you like in return?" she asked, her expression as calm as ever.
"Tch," Oliver scoffed, releasing her chin. Frustrated by her unshaken composure, he leaned in closer, whispering into her ear. "I guess we'll have to see, won't we?" Yet, to his dismay, her expression didn't waver.
Displeased, he leaned back in his chair, sulking slightly, while Elara inwardly smiled. She knew Oliver was trying to get under her skin, but she was determined not to give him the satisfaction. The tension between them thickened, each silently vying for dominance. After a long, cold silence, a knock on the door broke the standstill.
"Come in," Elara called, curious as to who it could be.
The door opened to reveal a soldier—Stephen, one of the men Elara had sent to fight Oliver. His body was bruised and swollen from the battle, but he stood firm as he saluted her.
"Ma'am, Cadet Stephen reporting the results of the battle," he said formally.
"Proceed," Elara replied softly.
"Due to the battle and the lack of supplies, our departure will be delayed longer than expected," Stephen reported.
Elara's frown deepened, her gaze shifting to Oliver. She blamed him silently for the setback, sending him a glare. Oliver, in response, merely smirked, clearly proud of his handiwork.
Stephen, noticing the tension between them, wisely chose to ignore it and continued his report. "We have 20 men in need of medical attention, 40 seriously injured, 30 moderately injured, and 10 with minor injuries," he stated solemnly.
"Is that after distributing the medicine?" Elara asked, concerned.
"Yes, ma'am," Stephen confirmed.
"Very well. Take me to where the men are being treated," she instructed, rising from her seat.
"Yes, ma'am," Stephen said, ready to lead her.
As Elara stood, she noticed Oliver getting up as well.
"Sir Oliver, my apologies, but I must tend to my men," she said, hoping he would wait for her.
"No problem at all, Lady Elara. I understand," Oliver replied with a devilish grin.
Seeing the look on his face, Elara knew he had no intention of staying behind. Annoyed but resigned, she followed Stephen, with Oliver trailing close behind.
It wasn't long before they entered the chapel, where the injured soldiers were being kept. The sight was gruesome—men bruised, broken, and battered, their bodies littered across the floor.
Elara's heart sank. These men were in this condition because of her. She racked her brain, trying to think of a way to help. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Oliver's quiet snickering. She shot him a glance, and he smiled back knowingly.
"Need my help?" Oliver asked, his tone treacherous. Before she could respond, he leaned in close, whispering in her ear, "I could assist you... if you ask nicely."
Elara's anger flared, but she knew if she showed any emotion, he would win. So, with a graceful curtsy, she said, "Would you be so kind as to heal my soldiers, Sir Oliver? I would be eternally grateful."
Oliver frowned internally, realizing his ploy had failed again, but a wicked idea soon crossed his mind. With a grin, he replied, "Of course, my lady. Healing these poor creatures is a small price to pay for the grace of one who can kill me with mere words."
The soldiers around them stared in shock. Could their Lady truly kill the monster they couldn't defeat with just her words? Their respect for Elara grew in an instant. Elara, meanwhile, blushed slightly, aware that Oliver's words held a meaning far different from what the soldiers imagined. Oliver caught the red hue creeping into her cheeks and grinned proudly, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
Not wanting to give Elara a chance to catch her breath or regain control of the situation, Oliver immediately began to chant his spell.
"I, Oliver, the Key of Dusk, call upon the power of life and light. Come forth and comfort from the heavens," he chanted, drawing strange symbols in the air. A beam of radiant light descended, illuminating the room. "Miraculous Light," he finished.
As the light touched each soldier, their wounds began to heal. Satisfied with his work, Oliver stepped closer to the awestruck Elara and whispered softly in her ear, "Your expression is payment enough."
Before she could retort, he vanished, leaving her standing there, too late to respond. Frustrated but with no other choice, Elara turned her attention back to her recovering soldiers.
Elsewhere in the church, Oliver reappeared in a secluded room, his complexion pale.
"Guess Eldritch spells are still too much for me," he muttered, blood trickling from his lips. "But it was worth it... seeing her face." With a grin, he wiped the blood away and collapsed onto a bed, satisfied with the day's events. "I suppose I have a new toy now," he mused, before drifting off to rest.
It was a new day in the wasteland, the sun's light illuminating the sky and casting its rays on the desolation below. The full extent of the destruction was laid bare: bodies of humans and creatures scattered across the land, and tattered, broken buildings stood as ruins of a once-thriving world—a grim reminder for those who remembered how things used to be. Amidst the devastation, a large group moved cautiously down a cracked street, armed and alert. Elara led the procession, returning home with their latest acquisition: Oliver.
"I almost forgot how slow humans walk," Oliver said with a playful grin, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
As expected, there was no reply from Elara. She had been ignoring him since the incident the day before. Her silence was her shield against his provocations. But that didn't deter Oliver—if anything, it fueled his persistence.
"Oh, is little Elara still upset from yesterday? That's so tragic," Oliver teased, his eyes glinting with mischief.
Again, nothing. But Oliver was persistent if nothing else.
"You should be proud, my lady. Few have ever killed me in such a unique way. To die by—"
Before he could finish, Elara cut him off, her tone hurried but cool. "What lovely weather we're having, don't you think, Sir Oliver?"
"It is, isn't it, Lady Elara?" Oliver responded, his lips curving into a victorious grin.
Seeing his smug expression, Elara sighed in resignation. She realized that in this battle of wits, Oliver was always one step ahead. After a long silence, she relented, her sigh one of defeat.
"Fine, I'll indulge you," she said, her voice soft but carrying the weight of exhaustion.
Several hours passed before the group finally came to a halt. Elara pointed toward the towering walls ahead. "We're here."
The sound of a bell echoed through the air, signaling their arrival. A man standing watch called out, "Lady Elara has returned!"
The gates opened, revealing the city beyond—a sight that almost brought tears to Oliver's eyes. This place... it shouldn't exist, not in a wasteland like this. Paved roads, clean streets, sturdy buildings, and people living with smiles on their faces. It was a glimpse of the world before—the world Oliver had once known, before his mistakes, before the pain, before the mark.
"Welcome to the Town of Dawn," Elara said with a knowing smile.
Oliver's gaze lingered on the city, caught in a whirlwind of memories, until the sound of marching footsteps snapped him back to reality. A group of men approached, dressed in uniform similar to Elara's retinue. However, their leader was different—a hulking man clad in armor that seemed forged from some rare, indestructible metal. Markings adorned the plates, enhancing his battle-hardened presence. He moved with the confidence of a warrior who had seen countless fights.
"My lady Elara, you've returned," the man said, kneeling before her.
Oliver's eyes flicked toward the man, intrigued. "A Level 5 Chosen at his age? That's rare."
"Stand up, Ronan," Elara said softly, acknowledging the man's loyalty.
"My lady, your coach is ready. The council awaits your presence," Ronan replied, gesturing toward a sleek vehicle parked nearby.
Elara nodded, ready to attend to her duties, but she hesitated when she noticed something unusual—Oliver wasn't following her.
"Aren't you coming, Sir Oliver?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. It was the first time since they met that he hadn't followed her.
Oliver responded with a cold tone, his usual composure faltering slightly, betraying an undercurrent of emotional instability after entering the city. "I'd love to, my lady, but I'd rather explore this fine city of yours."
His words immediately caused a shift in the atmosphere. Ronan and his men bristled, their hands instinctively moving toward their weapons. Insulting their lady was a dangerous game.
"I see," Elara said calmly, raising her hand to stop her men from acting.
As the tension eased, Oliver turned to walk away, but before he could take another step, something flew toward him. Instinctively, he caught the object mid-air, turning slowly to face the culprit. It was Elara, looking mildly annoyed.
"What is this?" Oliver asked coldly, inspecting the item—a golden card, intricately etched with the markings of a sun and a blade at its center.
"Consider it a welcome gift," Elara said, her voice even. "You'll need money and identification to live here, after all."
Oliver raised an eyebrow, intrigued by her calm demeanor. Before he could say more, Elara turned and stepped into the waiting car. Just before it drove off, she looked back at him with a slight smile.
"Enjoy your day in my town, Sir Oliver," she said, her words lingering in the air.
As the carriage disappeared into the distance, Oliver stared at the card in his hand. For a moment, he simply stared, then a slow grin spread across his face.
"What an interesting toy," he murmured to himself before heading off to explore the city.
In the vehicle, Elara held a glass of wine, sipping slowly, her expression calm yet calculated. After a while, she turned to Ronan, who sat across from her, his gaze heavy.
"If you have something weighing on your chest, say it. Your stare is ruining my drink," she spoke with her usual composed tone.
Ronan straightened. "Forgive me, my lady, but I don't understand why you let him go like that, and even more so, why you gave him the royal card."
Elara swirled her wine gently, barely glancing his way. "Hmm... I see your point. So tell me, Ronan, what would you have me do to him?"
Ronan's voice was firm, confident. "He should've been punished for his insolence, shown his place. No matter how powerful he is, he can't take all of us."
Elara's lips curved slightly as she focused on her wine. "Are you sure about that?"
"Absolutely, my lady," Ronan said, his hand clenched to his chest in loyalty.
Elara put down her glass, locking eyes with him. "Do you know what happened to the men we sent after him?"
Ronan puffed his chest with pride. "Judging from your expression, they must've given him a run for his money."
Elara's tone turned razor-sharp. "He beat them into a stupor. It wasn't even a fight. Your men lasted all of five minutes."
Ronan blinked, shocked. "That's impossible."
Elara's gaze was unwavering. "Oh, and it gets worse. He didn't use a weapon."
Ronan's face fell further. "The Ripper, known to cut anything with his blade, didn't use his blade to defeat a hundred of our finest?"
As the car came to a stop at their destination, Elara stepped out, turning to face Ronan. "So tell me, Knight Ronan, did I make a mistake?" Without waiting for an answer, she left him there to contemplate.
Inside the building, Elara's footsteps echoed through the grand hall, each step accompanied by the bows and greetings of those in her path. Her authority was palpable, and she carried it with grace until she reached a door guarded by two armored men.
"Open the door," she commanded with authority.
"Yes, Lady Elara," the men responded, opening the door for her.
At the end of the room stood five individuals—three women and two men—all awaiting her arrival.
"My lady, you've returned," Victor, a man dressed elegantly in meticulous clothing, bowed deeply.
"It's good to be back, Victor. Thank you," Elara smiled, her tone gracious yet commanding.
"Where's Ronan? It's unprofessional for him not to stay by your side," a young woman in a formal, male attire, arms folded, remarked with clear disapproval.
"Who cares about the gorilla? Evelyn, where is our guest of honor, the feared Ripper?" Marcus, a man in a lab coat, adjusted his glasses as he peered behind Elara eagerly.
"So uncivilized," Evelyn scoffed, her voice cold. "Show some respect, Marcus."
"At least I'm not a stuck-up snob like someone," Marcus retorted, casting a sharp glance her way.
"What did you just say?" Evelyn's voice dripped with fury, her hand already gripping the hilt of her sword.
"I called you a B.I.T.C.H. What are you going to do about it?" Marcus said, glaring back at her.
"You little—!" Evelyn seethed, drawing her sword.
"Well, I guess that's my cue!" Marcus attempted to flee, but Evelyn was faster, catching him by the collar.
In a desperate plea, Marcus cried out, "Help me, Leona! Evelyn's going to kill me!"
""Don't worry, she won't," Leona said with a kind smile, adjusting her lab coat.
"Thank you, Leona! You truly are the kindest of them all," Marcus sighed in relief, thinking he was saved.
"Are you really going to stop me, Leona?" Evelyn asked, her glare locked on her.
Leona grinned mischievously, sending shivers down Marcus' spine. "Me? I never said that. I just said he wouldn't *die*. Anything else is out of my control—I'm a medic, after all."
"True. I must have heard wrong," Evelyn said with a wicked grin, dragging Marcus by the collar.
"Now, ladies, let's be civil!" Marcus pleaded, trying to wiggle out of her grasp.
"Oh, sorry. I thought I was a *bitch*. Didn't know I'm a lady now," Evelyn quipped, still dragging him across the floor.
"And me? A *useless milkmaid*," Leona added, moving alongside Evelyn.
This was the last thing Marcus heard before the beating began.
As Marcus got the beating of his life (again), Elara walked towards a quiet girl sitting in the corner, seemingly unaffected by the chaos. The girl, Clara, was absorbed in a book, reading calmly despite the noise.
"Hey, Clara, I've got a surprise for you," Elara said with a warm smile, pulling a book from behind her back.
Clara looked up, eyes lighting up the moment she saw it. "Is this...?"
Elara grinned. "Yes, it is."
Clara immediately hugged her, whispering, "Thank you."
"You're welcome, sweetie," Elara replied, returning the hug.
The scene could've shocked anyone familiar with this group. These were no ordinary people; they were the Council of Dawn—the most notorious figures in the wasteland.
Victor Hawke, the cold and calculating master of logistics.
Evelyn Carrow, the ruthless mistress of law, often called the angel of justice.
Marcus Voss, the mad scientist, the crazy genius.
Dr. Leona Calder, the goddess of life, the bringer of health.
Clara Fontaine, the keeper of knowledge, the guardian of the books.
And finally, the formidable Elara Hartford, the blaze of dawn.
"Sorry I'm late," Ronan said solemnly, joining the group.
Ronan Drake, the mad titan, the Dawn's knight.
Together, these were the council—leaders of the Town of Dawn, a beacon of hope in the wasteland, the first glimmer of light in a world of destruction.
Elara looked around, and with a slight smile, she said, "Well, I guess we can begin."
Everyone took their seats, the air thick with purpose. The council meeting was about to start.