The boar was taller than the trees—larger than a house. Scarred across its face and body. Typical.
"Run into the woods!" Alira shouted.
Schillian froze. Fear locked his legs in place. Alira acted fast—casting a sudden gust of wind that blasted him backward, just as the boar charged.
It came straight for her.
She conjured a thick aetheric barrier. It held—but only for a second. The corrupted aether pouring off the beast broke it instantly.
Alira dove out of the way as the boar smashed through a cluster of trees. She began chanting again. She knew: brute force wouldn't be enough. A beast of this size doesn't fall that easily.
Far off, hidden between the trees, Schillian watched.
Terrified.
But also… captivated.
His legs trembled too hard to move. But his mind stayed sharp—he watched every spell, every chant. Fear and awe twisted together inside him.
Then the boar turned.
Its body erupted in flames.
It wasn't just a beast.
It was casting magic.
Alira's eyes went wide.
"monster, casting a spell…?" she whispered. "That's not possible…"
Schillian watched from the trees. "This isn't good…" he murmured.
The boar roared, flames curling around it. Alira responded in kind, summoning a wall of water out of thin air. It surged forward—a crashing wave. The flames hissed and died down, but the beast didn't stop.
Alira pivoted, sidestepped the charge, and slashed. An aether-forged sword shimmered into her hand—she cut deep into its side.
It bled. Badly.
She struck again, again—but the wounds weren't deep enough.
The boar, already exhausted and injured, roared again. This time, it cast haste—a wind spell.
Its massive body lightened, its charge quickened.
Alira was caught off guard.
By the time she reacted, the beast was already meters away.
"Is this it?" she thought. "I should've been more prepared for combat…"
A tear slipped down her cheek.
And then—
An ice lance soared in from the forest, glimmering blue, wrapped in spiraling wind.
Crack—
The impact tossed the boar sideways. It slammed through the trees and didn't get back up.
Alira's eyes widened. "What just happened?!"
She stared at the dead beast—then followed the direction the lance came from.
There.
Schillian stood, still frozen in the stance of his throw.
"Did—did you do that?!" she called out.
"Y-Yes, Miss…" Schillian replied, a nervous smile curling across his face.
Alira hurried toward him, her boots crunching over broken branches and scorched leaves.
Schillian was still breathing heavily, his fingers twitching from the lingering pulse of magic.
"You cast that without a chant?" she asked, almost breathless.
"I just... thought about what to do." His voice was small, uncertain. "I was scared. But I didn't want you to get hurt."
Alira crouched in front of him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.
"You idiot," she whispered. "You should've run farther."
"I know."
"…But thank you."
Her voice trembled—not from fear, but something else. A crack in her hardened shell.
"You saved me," she said. "And that was real spellwork. You combined ice and wind instinctively. That's not something even trained mages can do easily."
Schillian blinked, unsure how to respond. A quiet wind rustled through the trees, blowing away the tension.
Alira gave him a long look—half proud, half shaken.
"Alright," she said, standing up and offering him her hand. "Let's go home, hero."
He took it.
And for the first time, he felt something warm beyond fear or awe.
Trust.