'What is going on!?' Lucy wondered, his heart pounding as he watched warriors on both sides suddenly abandon their battles and sprint toward their respective gods. The clash of weapons and the roar of magic came to an abrupt halt, replaced by the thunderous rhythm of thousands of feet striking the obsidian ground.
Lucy, who had barely managed to avoid being crushed by the falling Giant, was sprawled on the ground, his limbs weak and unresponsive. A pool of warm blood soaked into his armor and his clothes.
But the blood wasn't his.
Next to him lay the severed head of a beastkin soldier, the creature's lifeless eyes locked onto him in a frozen expression of wide-eyed shock. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils, mixed with the heavier, sour odor of death.
Lucy gagged, nearly vomiting, but he forced the nausea down. The last thing he wanted to do was throw up on a corpse.
The Giant's body had landed hard enough to send a shockwave across the battlefield, knocking him off his feet and leaving him dazed. That must have been when the retreat was called—he hadn't even heard it.
'Did both sides just give up on the war?' he thought, trying to make sense of the scene. 'Or are we taking a pizza break or something?'
He didn't laugh. Not even a smile. He wasn't sure he could.
Then a sudden presence behind him made every muscle in his body tense. He tried to roll over, to glance back, but his arms wouldn't move. His body was too battered.
The footsteps drew closer, crunching against the glassy terrain.
"All right," he said aloud, his voice hoarse. "I'm completely helpless. Make it quick."
A familiar voice growled behind him.
"Shut up, human, or I won't help you."
"Tara?" Lucy blinked, not sure if he was hallucinating.
"Don't call on me like we're friends, you idiot," she snapped.
"Well, according to Fenara, we are lovers, so…"
"Yeah. Bye." Her footsteps started to retreat.
"Wait, no, I was kidding! I'll shut up!" he called after her, wincing.
Without another word, he was lifted into her arms, which were covered in short, rough fur, but strong and steady. The sudden movement sent a fresh wave of pain lancing through his body. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out.
'Would it kill you to be gentle?' he thought, teeth clenched.
Then everything around him blurred.
Tara moved so fast that the world became streaks of color. The battlefield smeared into motion, as though someone had taken a painting and dragged their hand across it—blues, blacks, flashes of silver all stretching together into a haze.
'So fast… Is this what she used when fighting Fenara?' he wondered, barely able to focus.
'No. This speed feels different. She used the same movement when she saved me from the Giant.'
'This must be her ability. No wonder she doesn't use it often. It's burning her out. I can feel her breathing harder.'
Within seconds, the battlefield faded behind them, replaced by the familiar cliff where they had first arrived. Before them stood the remnants of the army—rows of injured, exhausted survivors. White tents lined the edge of the cliff, each brimming with movement. Elves rushed between them, carrying water, bandages, towels, and supplies.
Those not helping sat silently on the obsidian ground, clustered in small groups. No one spoke. They only stared at one another, eyes blank or full of grief.
Lucy's chest tightened at the sight.
There were maybe fifteen hundred left.
That meant over three thousand had died.
'All for what…?'
Then he saw her.
Seraphine.
The Goddess of Rebirth stood before the most enormous tent, speaking to Darfin. Her form was reduced to a human-sized projection, her divine body absent. She looked like a vision of light, her hair silver as moonlight, her blue eyes softly glowing, and her white-and-gold dress flowing without a speck of dust or blood.
She looked perfect. Untouched.
But all Lucy could see was betrayal.
She had promised him paradise. She had made him swear loyalty to her-to her cause.
And then she destroyed a village of innocent people in a single, divine blast.
He had killed today. Not just once. Over and over. Watched his comrades die. Felt blood on his skin. On his hands.
Murder had once been a distant concept. Now, it lived behind his eyes.
A surge of rage filled him, hot and violent. Tara felt it instantly and turned him away from the sight.
"Not a good idea to glare at our goddess like that," she warned. "If Darfin saw your face, you'd be dead."
"I don't care," Lucy muttered.
Tara didn't respond. Instead, she pushed through the curtain of a nearby tent.
Ten beds lined the space with soldiers lying upon them—beastkin, dragonkin, elves. All broken.
Some were missing arms or legs. Others didn't seem to be breathing. The smell of burned flesh and iron filled the air. Groans and screams echoed off the walls, a grim reminder of what they'd survived.
Lucy tried not to look too closely.
He almost chuckled, despite himself. 'I wonder how they treat the ogres and giants. They can't even fit in the tent. I guess Llarm will lift healers into the sky for a while.'
Tara stepped forward. "Alia, I need you to heal him."
A blonde elf, no older than Lucy, was tending to a dragonkin's side wound. She didn't even glance up. "I'm busy."
"I don't care," Tara snapped. "He's the Human. If he dies, our goddess won't be happy. Heal him."
Alia looked up then, her expression unreadable.
She was beautiful. That was the first word that came to Lucy's mind. Beautiful, but utterly devoid of emotion. Her green eyes held no warmth.
"Two minutes," she said.
Lucy waited, silent except for his shallow breathing. The screams around him hadn't stopped. He tried not to listen, but they were impossible to block out.
Eventually, the dragonkin rose and limped out of the tent, fully healed.
Alia nodded. "Put him on the bed."
Tara obeyed without a word, setting Lucy down. He tried not to groan.
She turned to leave, but Lucy stopped her.
"Hey… thank you. For saving me."
Tara paused at the exit.
"I don't like being in anyone's debt. Especially a human."
And then she was gone.
Alia wasted no time. She peeled off his blood-soaked armor, her cold hands pressing against his battered chest. He flinched at the contact, more from surprise than pain.
'Okay, maybe war isn't that bad,' he thought, eyes flicking to her face.
Then the healing began.
A green glow radiated from her hands. At first, it felt warm and soothing, but the real pain came seconds later.
Bones cracked as they shifted into place. Torn muscle wove itself back together. Ligaments reattached. Tendons tightened. Every nerve screamed. Every inch of his body burned.
Lucy screamed until his throat was raw.
The agony lasted for over an hour.
When she reached his face, her fingers lightly brushed over the long scar on his right eye left by Ayas. The pain flared again, but Lucy grabbed her wrist.
"Leave that one," he whispered, breathing hard.
That scar mattered.
Not out of sentimentality. Not for honor.
It was his first blood.
He needed to remember that.
Alia didn't argue.
When she finished, she stepped back and said, "You're healed, please leave the tent."
Lucy sat up slowly, every movement stiff but functional. He swung his legs over the bed, stood on shaking feet, and then put on new, clean clothes. As he turned toward the curtain, he paused.
"Alia… why aren't you afraid of me?" he asked quietly.
Everyone else had been. Most hated him just for existing. He'd gotten used to it. But this girl—this healer—showed him nothing. No fear. No contempt. Not even curiosity.
She didn't look up from the soldier she was now healing.
"Am I supposed to be?" She said flatly.
Lucy smiled faintly.
"No… I guess not."
Then he raised a hand in a small wave and pushed through the curtain—
Only to find himself face to face with Seraphine.
'shit,' was the only word that came to mind.