Yyvone hovered in silence, the street lights flickering beneath her like frightened candles. Rain teased the air but didn't fall—held back by the pressure of something far more violent brewing in that alley.
There he was—a boy, no older than twelve, cornered by a trio of older kids. Fists flew like they'd been waiting for an excuse. His cries weren't weak… just used to not being heard. And the worst part?
His friend stood nearby. Arms crossed. Saying nothing.
A "nice guy" when it suited him, toxic in the shadows. Smiling. Silent. Safe.
Yyvone's fingers clenched. Her aura pulsed.
She could end it. Right there.
One barrier could send them flying. One pulse could turn bullies into blood stains.
> Redan (appearing beside her like a thought laced in venom):
"Still think this world's worth healing, angel girl?
Still think kindness changes people?"
He gestured to the scene.
"Look at him. That was you, remember?
The kid in the chair. No parents. No protection.
You gave kindness like it was candy…
And they spat it back in your face."
Yyvone's eyes shimmered.
Not just from power. From memory.
The cold wheelchair wheels. The sideways glances. The empty bed where parents should've been. She'd been beaten too—but not just by fists. By life.
And yet...
She extended her hand, murmured a spell laced in emotion, and conjured an invisible barrier—gentle, like a whisper, firm like a mother's embrace.
Between the boy and the bullies.
The next punch struck air and cracked a wrist. The next shove bounced off like they hit an iron balloon.
Confusion. Panic.
> "What the hell?!"
The bullies stepped back, their cruelty turning into cowardice.
The boy looked around.
And then… he smiled.
Not with joy. Not with relief.
With darkness.
He bent down, picked up a sharp-edged stone. And then another. And another.
Yyvone's heart skipped.
> "Wait..."
The first stone hit one of the bullies square in the temple.
A scream.
The second one cut into a cheek. Blood sprayed across the wall like graffiti.
A third landed with a crack against a forehead.
> Yyvone (gasps): "What are you doing?!"
But the boy wasn't listening.
His lips curled into something twisted, ancient—older than his years. A kind of rage that had been waiting for permission.
And now he had it.
The bullies fled, bloodied and stumbling.
The boy stood there… breathing heavy.
Victim turned monster.
The line between justice and vengeance smudged like chalk in rain.
Redan chuckled, slow and rich.
> Redan:
"Humanity… is the king of plot twists."
He looked at Yyvone, eyes glinting like knives made of reflection.
"You thought you saved a lamb.
Turns out you unleashed a wolf."
Yyvone fell to her knees in midair, the light around her flickering.
She whispered—more to herself than to him:
> Yyvone:
"Was I too late...
or did I just make it worse?"
And Redan?
He vanished, whispering in the breeze:
> "You're starting to ask the right questions…"
Yyvone hovered above the alley like a forgotten prayer—unfinished, unanswered.
Her fingers trembled.
The light around her flickered like a dying star.
The energy of her Avia—once pure, soft, and radiant—now sparked erratically, like a candle in the wind trying to remember what fire felt like.
Below, the boy stood panting.
Blood on his hands.
A grin too crooked for innocence.
She thought she saved him…
But she had unleashed something worse than the bullies.
She believed in kindness.
In mercy.
In the idea that no one was too far gone to be healed.
But what if she was wrong?
> Redan (calmly, too calmly):
"You thought healing could fix everything.
That love could redeem anyone.
That light always wins.
You wanted to believe that so badly you stopped seeing clearly.
You were used, Yyvone.
Again."
His voice slithered around her ears, not loud, but precise.
Like a scalpel carving truth into bone.
> "You chose this world.
The world that broke you.
And now you want to save it?
Even now?
Are you sure who you're saving is worth it?"
Yyvone's mouth hung slightly open, no sound emerging.
She blinked—finally—and a single tear drifted down her cheek like a falling piece of hope.
Her Avia pulsed again—then dimmed.
The barrier that once wrapped around the world like a hug… began to crack.
The air around her stilled.
The wind dared not blow.
> Redan (whispering):
"This is it…
You're so close, Yyvone.
Let it go.
The kindness.
The belief.
Let it die.
Be free."
Her mind splintered.
Memories collided inside her:
—Her wheelchair.
—The empty foster homes.
—The fake smiles of fake people.
—The nights she held herself while others mocked her voice, her limp, her dreams.
—The countless people she healed who never even said thank you.
And now...
This boy.
This twist.
Her faith trembled.
Was it all just a lie wrapped in warm words?
Her Avia sparked one more time—then flared out.
> Redan (grinning, softly):
"Yes…
Almost there."
The temptation sang like a lullaby laced with poison.
And then—
A faint, faint whisper in her own voice, barely audible over the silence:
> "No…"
She didn't say it for Redan.
Not for the boy.
Not even for the world.
But for the girl in the wheelchair.
The one who still believed—even when no one else did.
The flicker of her Avia… stabilized.
Faint. But there.
Like the last ember in a freezing world.
> Yyvone (weakly):
"I don't know if it's worth it...
But I am."
Redan's smile twitched.
Just slightly.
Yyvone's lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came. The world around her slowed—like the pause between lightning and thunder.
> Redan (voice like velvet over broken glass):
"C'mon…
You're winning the game now.
You think they'll ever thank you?
The world you heal will bleed again tomorrow.
Those you protect will still curse your name when it suits them.
You know this."
He stepped closer, his silhouette flickering like a shadow trying to pretend it's the light.
> "You say you're doing this for yourself, for that little girl inside you…
But even she is tired.
Even she wonders… what's the point?"
Yyvone's hands clenched. Her breath was jagged.
The broken boy still sat in the alley, twitching, laughing.
The bullies groaning in pain.
This was the aftermath of her mercy.
> Redan (pressing now, voice rising just enough):
"You're not evil.
I'm not asking you to be a monster.
I'm asking you to be brighter.
To rise higher.
To stop limiting yourself to their fragile expectations."
> "Heal, yes…
But heal with wisdom. With freedom.
Heal those who deserve it.
Withhold your light from the leeches.
Let your power choose."
He stepped closer, right to her shoulder, whispering—
> "I'm not your enemy, Yyvone...
I'm your evolution."
Yyvone stared at her hands—crackling, dimmed, not from power loss but from hesitation.
From uncertainty.
She wanted to be kind.
She wanted to be just.
She wanted to be better than what the world had been to her.
But…
What if mercy without discernment just fuels the cruelty?
Was Redan right?
Her Avia pulsed—this time not from fading—but from conflict.
A battle between faith and fire.
> Yyvone (whispering):
"I wanted to heal everyone…
Because I didn't want anyone to feel what I felt.
The loneliness.
The helplessness."
She turned, eyes shimmering with unshed tears and something else… something new.
> "But maybe… maybe healing should come with boundaries.
Maybe light isn't for everyone.
Maybe…"
Her wings formed—crystalline, sharper than before, a new shimmer to her aura.
Still beautiful. But now—cautious.
She looked at Redan.
> "I'm not joining you.
But I'm listening now."
Redan's grin widened—this time not in victory, but in recognition.
> "That's all I ever wanted."
Yyvone's eyes flared—not with rage, but clarity, like moonlight slicing through thick, choking fog.
> Yyvone (soft, but piercing):
"So this is how you Ghouls operate…
Drape poison in philosophy,
Wrap chains in the velvet of freedom…
And call it liberation."
She took a breath, steady, grounding herself in who she was.
> "If I hadn't known who I am,
If I hadn't felt my Avia pulsing in the pit of my soul…
I would've believed you.
I would've bent."
She stepped toward Redan, the alley behind her still soaked in the echoes of pain and confusion.
> "But you forgot the heart of it all.
Avia doesn't require perfection.
It demands truth.
Not the truth others want, or the one you spoon-feed in shadows.
The truth that breathes when no one's watching.
The messy, flawed, shining self."
Her aura surged—like a galaxy in bloom—fragile yet impossible to extinguish.
> "You want me to become someone else.
But that would kill my Avia.
And without it, I'm no longer me.
So… no."
Redan's grin twitched. Not anger. Something worse. Pity.
> Redan (low, mocking):
"Then watch.
Watch as he falls.
You saved a monster, and monsters breed ruin.
He'll fall—maybe not by my hand, but one of ours.
And you'll know… it was your hesitation that doomed him."
He turned, fading like mist under a morning sun.
> "Maybe then… you'll come back to finish what you started."
Yyvone stood there, the street now quiet.
Only her breathing.
Only her thoughts.
But the truth remained—she chose herself.
And that... was enough.
For now.
Yyvone didn't blink. Her expression was carved from stillness, like a statue made from both sorrow and steel.
Redan took a step closer, voice silk-wrapped in poison.
> Redan:
"You lost, Yyvone. Not because you weren't strong...
But because you refused to evolve.
You stood your ground on a broken ideal,
Thinking restraint is righteousness.
But that boy you saved? He's already rotting from within."
He gestured vaguely toward the distance, as if her failure was echoing through timelines already sealed.
> "Succumbing to the Liberation Force isn't evil. It's not a devil's deal.
It's not some comic-book corruption with horns and fire.
It's freedom.
No leash of morality, no chain of rules, no cage of expectations.
You get to be. Unchained. Unjudged.
Isn't that what you wanted?"
Yyvone finally spoke, voice trembling—but not weak. It trembled like a storm in a bottle—contained, but cosmic.
> Yyvone:
"Freedom without direction…
Is just falling without wings.
You call it liberation.
I call it abandonment.
You offer me a sky with no stars to follow.
No boundaries, sure—but no meaning either."
She took a step forward, meeting Redan's gaze, not with defiance but understanding.
> "And that boy?
Maybe he will fall.
But I'll still be there.
Not to control him,
Not to fix him,
But to remind him that there's another way.
One that doesn't erase who he was just to create who he could be."
Redan narrowed his eyes, lips curling into a half-smile, half-snarl.
> Redan:
"Still clinging to your shackles, I see."
> Yyvone:
"If being me is a shackle…
Then I'll wear it like a crown."
The wind stirred between them—silent applause from the universe.
Redan turned his back.
> Redan (fading):
"When the next one falls… and the next… and the next…
Don't say I didn't offer you a key."
> Yyvone (whispered to herself):
"You did.
But I've already got one.
It's called hope."