----Chapter 14----
The hay creaked beneath his weight as the wagon jolted over uneven cobblestones.
Then, the farmer driving it hummed an old tune, oblivious to the young man stretched lazily atop the pile of straw.
As the sun beat down, turning the hay into a fragrant, tickling blanket.
Enix Faust chewed idly on the toothpick in his mouth, one hand propped behind his head as he watched the clouds drift across the midday sky.
He looked like any other wanderer just another vagrant catching a ride into the city. But there was a hardness in his eyes that belied the casual posture.
A subtle tension coiled beneath his relaxed pose, a readiness that spoke of constant vigilance.
Eyes like his did not belong to the carefree. They belonged to survivors.
They held the weight of memories he could never truly escape.
The scent of hay mixed with the faint smoke of forge fires drifting from Ethille's outskirts. The familiar noise of merchants, blacksmiths, and townsfolk filled the air.
Enix shut his eyes against it, though his ears remained alert, picking apart each sound like a man who could not forget what danger once lurked behind every corner.
He was a predator in disguise, always aware of his surroundings.
It had been years since the war between Ragnafiore and Revheek, but the screams of that night still haunted him. He had been a child, crouched in the ruins of his burning home, the bodies of his parents cooling not far from him.
War had stolen everything, left him hollow until he came. He still felt the phantom pain of those losses, the emptiness that could never be filled.
The scarred man.
A warrior with eyes like molten iron, who had dragged him from the ashes and beaten survival into his bones.
Under him, Enix learned the way of the blade not polished knightly arts, but the raw, brutal style of men who fought to live another day.
And when his mentor finally passed, leaving only the greatsword "Incinerator" at his side, Enix had carried on alone.
He had inherited not only the blade but also the scarred man's grim determination to protect the innocent.
Now he was here, drifting into Ethille like a leaf upon the wind. He had no ties, no allegiances, only a burning desire to make a difference.
But his journey was not without purpose. As his blade only meant to protect those who can't and not to for the sake of vengeance.
Because, somehow he knows that somewhere in this city, were whispers of the Trinity of the Abyss stirred.
And where their shadow lingered, Enix's blade would burn. He felt a pull, a sense of impending darkness that drew him towards Ethille.
He rolled the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other, smirking faintly. He was ready for whatever awaited him.
"Let's see what kind of mess I've stumbled into this time…"
The wagon rolled on, vanishing into the heartbeat of Ethille. The city welcomed him, unaware of the storm he carried within.
Meanwhile, at the inn, silence had settled after the storm of tears and gratitude. The knights, though patched and treated by the acolytes, remained weary rest claiming most of them until the sun leaned past its zenith.
The air was thick with the exhaustion of battle, the weight of responsibility.
Azre awoke again to the soft light of afternoon filtering through the shutters. Her body still ached, though not nearly as violently as before.
Every movement carried soreness, yet she could finally draw a steady breath without wincing. She stretched, her muscles protesting with a dull ache.
She rose slowly, feet brushing against the cool wooden floor. The room smelled faintly of poultices and incense, traces of healing rituals still clinging to the air.
She felt a sense of peace, a temporary respite from the chaos.
But the walls felt too close, the air too still. She needed to escape, to find solace in the open air.
Azre slipped from her chamber, careful not to wake Nilda or the others. The inn's common room was quiet now, save for the innkeeper wiping down mugs.
Beyond its doors, Ethille stretched wide a city alive with noise, color, and motion. She yearned to lose herself in the crowd, to forget her duties for a while.
She stepped outside, letting the warm air brush against her face. For the first time since the battle, she could breathe freely.
The cobblestones beneath her boots thrummed with the life of the city: vendors hawking goods, children darting between market stalls, soldiers patrolling with weary discipline.
She closed her eyes, savoring the moment of peace.
For a moment, Azre let herself be simply a girl in the crowd, not a knight, not a vessel for powers she did not fully understand. She allowed herself to feel the simple joy of being alive, of being surrounded by the bustle of everyday life.
But even in that fleeting peace, her mind tugged back to the weight of what had transpired the tome stolen, Holon escaped, and the shadow of the Trinity of the Abyss darkening the horizon.
She knew that the respite was only temporary, that the darkness would soon return.
Somewhere out there, she knew, pieces were moving. And soon, their paths would collide again. She felt a sense of foreboding, a premonition of danger.
Perhaps with an unfamiliar drifter whose hair bore both night and snow. She wondered who he was, what role he would play in the events to come.
The Central Plaza of Ethille was a swirl of life merchants calling out wares, the clang of smiths' hammers echoing, and the laughter of children weaving through the crowd.
Enix leaned against a fountain's edge, chewing on his toothpick as his eyes roamed lazily across the scene.
He observed the people, their faces etched with joy, sorrow, and everything in between.
Then he heard it soft at first, nearly drowned in the din. He pricked his ears, his senses sharpening.
A child's sob.
Turning his head, he spotted her: a small girl, no more than six, standing alone in the press of people, cheeks streaked with tears. She clutched a tattered doll, her small body trembling.
Enix sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn't the sort to get involved. But his feet moved anyway. He couldn't ignore her distress, the echo of his own childhood pain.
"Hey, little one," he said, crouching down, voice rough but not unkind.
"Why the tears?" He softened his tone, trying to reassure her.
The girl hiccupped, wiping her eyes.
"I… I'm lost. Mama was just here a while ago." Her voice was small and trembling, filled with fear.
That struck him harder than he expected. Still, he looked away, shaking his head.
"Sorry, kid. Can't help you with that." He tried to distance himself, to avoid getting involved.
But before he could rise, her tiny hands clutched his leg. Her eyes wet, desperate looked up at him with wordless plea.
He saw his younger self reflected in her gaze, the desperate cry for help that had gone unanswered.
Enix froze. The world seemed to blur, and for a heartbeat he wasn't in Ethille anymore. He was back in the ruins of his home, smoke choking the air, a boy crying out for help while the world walked past him.
The memory was vivid, painful.
No one came.
No one, except the scarred man. The hand that had pulled him from despair. He remembered the man's gruff kindness, the strength that had given him hope.
Enix's jaw tightened. With a heavy sigh, he patted the girl's head.
"…Alright. Let's find your mama." He made a decision, a vow to protect her.
The child's tears slowed, her small smile trembling with fragile hope.
Together, they wandered the plaza, Enix scanning the crowds, asking merchants if they had seen her mother. He used his height to his advantage, searching for any sign of the missing woman.
But soon, the girl tugged at his arm.
"Mister… I'm hungry." She looked up at him with pleading eyes.
Enix exhaled, amused despite himself. He guided her to a nearby vendor, handing over a few coins.
"Here. Eat. Stay put right here, got it? I'll keep looking." He wanted to ensure her safety, to give her a moment of comfort.
She nodded, munching happily. She devoured the food, her hunger momentarily forgotten.
For the first time in a long while, Enix felt a ghost of warmth in his chest. He felt a sense of purpose, a connection to something beyond himself.
And then the sky split open with a roar. The moment of peace shattered, replaced by chaos and terror.
A massive shadow passed overhead as a wyvern swooped low, wings spanning the plaza. Its claws dug into stone as it landed in the very heart of the marketplace, sending up shards of broken pavement.
The ground trembled, the air filled with the stench of sulfur.
Panic erupted instantly. Merchants abandoned stalls, citizens screamed, guards scrambled uselessly. The plaza became a scene of utter pandemonium.
The wyvern bared its fangs, throat glowing like molten steel. It was a creature of nightmare, a harbinger of destruction.
Azre felt it before she saw it the oppressive weight of the beast's aura, like a storm pressing down on her lungs.
Despite the ache still lingering in her body, her knightly instincts flared. She sprinted toward the plaza, her heart pounding, her legs burning.
She knew she had to protect the innocent, to stand against the darkness.
And then she saw it.
The wyvern's eyes locked onto a single figure. The little girl. The beast seemed drawn to her innocence, her vulnerability.
The child stood frozen, trembling, too scared to run. She was a lamb facing a wolf, helpless and terrified.
Azre's chest constricted. She pushed harder, shouting, "NO"
But she was too far. The wyvern's jaws opened wide, fire gathering like a miniature sun in its throat. She watched in horror, powerless to stop the impending tragedy.
The girl closed her eyes. She braced herself for the inevitable, accepting her fate.
The world blazed. The heat intensified, threatening to consume everything.
But the fire never touched her.
A figure had stepped between the child and death itself. His sword, broad and battered, was raised in a single hand.
The flames, roaring and violent, curled against the blade's edge but instead of consuming, they bent, sucked inward, vanishing into the steel like water swallowed by parched earth.
He stood defiant, a shield against the inferno.
The fire was devoured. The heat dissipated, leaving only a sense of awe and disbelief.
Enix stood unmoved, his eyes glowing faintly, the greatsword Incinerator pulsing with strange heat.
The plaza, moments ago drowning in chaos, now rang with stunned silence. He had protected the girl, defying the odds, defying the very nature of the beast.
Azre stumbled to a halt, her breath caught in her throat. She stared at the scene before her, her mind reeling.
She had seen miracles before. She had felt divine power coursing through her veins.
But this this was different. This was something she had never witnessed, something that defied explanation.
A stranger, draped in shadow and light, his blade drinking flame like it was nothing. A man who should not exist, yet did, standing as a shield for the weak. He was a paradox, a force of nature.
Azre's lips parted, her voice a whisper carried only to herself. She was awestruck, bewildered by what she had just witnessed.
"…What are you?"