"You want to go deep in the ocean," Kian said.
An elf who wanted to go under the ocean? What kind of elf would think like that? That's how a normal person would react. What kind of nonsense was Kian talking about?
But upon hearing that, Kyraia's eyes widened in absolute shock.
"What?!" Kyraia's jaw dropped. Her eyes widened in absolute shock. How?
Atlantis, Kyraia thought. It's the mythical city that was said to be sunk by the gods because of its magic technology advancement. It's called a myth for a reason because nobody actually believes it exists. I don't believe in gods, but still, I believe in the existence of Atlantis because of the traces that were recovered thousands of years ago.
Kyraia's dream was actually stepping into Atlantis, a mythical city in the ocean.
The Elven Kingdom is called legendary because it cannot be found but it exists. Atlantis is called a myth because everyone believes it does not exist.
But for Kyraia, she believes it is real. Kyraia theorized that magic artifacts were actually manufactured by the people of Atlantis before it sank.
Magical Tools are magic items that are crafted by humans and other races. But Magical Artifacts are mysterious ones. No humans or other races are capable of crafting them. They just appear in random places in the world.
Because of the impossibility of identifying the origin of these mysterious magical artifacts, the people just accepted them as part of lost history and never asked again where these strange items really came from.
But Kyraia believed all magical artifacts came from Atlantis, but she could not openly say it because every magic researcher in the world would laugh at her for believing such a myth.
So Kyraia keeps her theory a secret and her desire to one day explore and find where Atlantis is.
And that's why Kyraia is stunned right now.
How did this little boy know? Kyraia was in disbelief.
Kian cleared his throat. "Ehem!"
Kyraia snapped back to reality. "I'm impressed. You deduced it correctly."
I deduced correctly? Kian thought. There's no way! I just said a random thing. This elf is just pretending because she cannot bring herself to report a little kid like me.
Kian nodded in silence and felt a sigh of relief.
I guess I have to play along to keep the act, Kian thought.
Kian pretended to be composed. "Yeah. I'm pretty good at figuring things out."
"Do you believe Atlantis exists?" she asked.
Atlantis? Kian thought. What is that?
Kyraia swallowed hard as she waited for Kian's answer.
"Based on the information I gathered and the evidence found a long time ago," Kian lied, "I can say for certain that Atlantis is real."
Kian pretended to be smart.
Then, Kyraia's eyes brimmed with sudden tears.
Kian panicked. No, please, no crying! What did I say? Why is this terrifying elf crying?
"Sorry," Kyraia said as she wiped her eyes. "You caught me off guard. I've never met anyone else who believes. I... I really want to go there. All the advanced magic is there. I'd give anything."
Kyraia was stunned to find a fellow believer in Atlantis, causing a dispassionate person like her to become emotional in that exact moment.
Seeing her cry made Kian's head ache. "One day, I'll go to Atlantis. And I'll take you with me."
Kyraia stared at him, stunned. She knew the odds were impossible, but she decided to believe.
"Alright," she knelt. "That's a promise. One day, we will go."
She kissed his forehead.
Kian froze, his face turning red. Simultaneously, the pendant on his chest underneath his shirt burned, but he was too distracted by the kiss to notice.
"What was that for?" Kian asked, flustered.
"In our tribe," Kyraia said, "kissing the forehead seals a promise."
"What?"
And, in some places, it's a promise of marriage," she teased.
"Huh?" Kian yelled.
Kyraia chuckled, backing away.
"I'm just kidding," Kyraia playfully said.
She checked the sky.
"I have to go. You should leave now. Oh, I guess you don't need to avoid monsters, since you're strong enough to slaughter them."
What is this old hag talking about? Kian thought. I'm strong?
She walked away and vanished into the distance.
That elf was weird, Kian thought. I hope we never cross paths again.
---
Far away, Kyraia slammed a palm against a tree, her knees trembling as she held herself upright. She needed a moment.
I thought he was weak, she muttered, clutching her chest. But I lost about half of my Mana in an instant. What did that kid do?
She remembered his innocent face.
"He pretended to be weak," she whispered. "Who is he?"
Kian kept walking as his pendant remained hot.
Kyraia did not realize her Mana had been drained by the artifact the moment her lips touched Kian's forehead. She failed to notice it because, although the artifact absorbed Mana and magical energy, it emitted none itself.
Anyone wearing the Vorathyn's Hunger would instantly have the Mana stripped from them and from those they touched.
Yet, Kyraia only lost half of her Mana. This had never happened before. In the past, anyone who touched the artifact collapsed to the ground as it drained nearly every drop of their energy.
---
The sun beat down on the road. Kian kicked a stone and watched it skid across the dry, cracked earth.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
He reached up and plucked a low-hanging apple from a wild tree that leaned over the fence. The fruit tasted bitter, so he spit the bite into the weeds and kept walking.
In the distance, the landscape opened up. Golden wheat swayed in the wind. A group of farmers stood in the field, bent over, their backs curved like bows. They moved in a slow, hypnotic rhythm, reaping the harvest with short, sharp swings of their sickles.
Kian watched them for a long time, enjoying the peace. He heard the chirping of small birds hidden in the trees and the sharp bark of a dog coming from a farmhouse nearby.
Everything felt normal. It was nice, in a way, to be just a person walking on a road.
A low grunt echoed from the bushes. A wild boar, its fur matted with mud and pine needles, crashed onto the path. It was a low-level beast, but its tusks looked sharp enough to rip a man's leg open. It snorted and pawed at the dirt, preparing to charge.
Kian turned around and sprinted. His legs moved with efficiency. He moved with the panicked, calculated grace of a man who had practiced fleeing from danger a thousand times.
He vaulted over a fallen log, ducked under a thorny branch, and twisted through the brush without losing speed.
He did not look back.
When he finally stopped half a kilometer away, he adjusted his coat and shot a smug look back toward the woods.
"Amateur," he said. "Running away is the most essential skill in the world."
He walked until the light failed. Night fell, so he found a flat spot under a rocky overhang. He gathered dry leaves for a bed, though he missed his soft inn mattress. He slept for ten hours, sinking into a deep, dark void.
In his dream, he was back at that cheap inn. The lamp was bright and the air was warm. Brown was laughing at a terrible joke, and Pink was playfully shoving Red. Yellow sat in the corner, gently pouring tea into a wooden cup.
They were laughing.
The sound was genuine and happy. It echoed in his ears and pulled him into a warmth he had not felt in weeks.
He woke up with the sun on his face. The dream lingered, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
"Why am I dreaming of them?"
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He needed to get moving.
He crossed through a quiet village, buying a loaf of bread from a baker who did not ask questions. He drank from a clear river and filled his canteen with cold water.
He crossed three more villages, watching mothers hang laundry on clotheslines and children chase chickens through the mud. It was a slow, boring life.
He liked it.
He stopped by a small, rushing stream to catch his breath. A fisherman sat on the bank, casting a net into the cool water. The splash was soft. The ripples cut across the surface, then vanished into the current.
"Fishing," Kian muttered to the wind. "Or maybe a farm."
The thought felt warm. No dungeons. No shouting. No monster attacks.
Just rows of dirt and quiet mornings. He could build a hut near the edge of a village. A small boat would be nice, too.
"A boat. Potatoes. And piles of comic books," he listed.
The idea made him smile and gave him real comfort. The kind that came with a full belly and a quiet room. He would wake up because the sun felt nice, not because a monster was chewing on his leg. He could live without ever knowing the name of a dungeon. It was a simple dream.
Then, the geography shifted. The trees grew twisted and gnarled. A thick, wet fog rolled over the path, blurring the horizon into a gray smear. Kian walked through the mist, his boots damp. He looked up, and his heart stopped.
Four figures stood in the path ahead. They were silhouetted by the gray haze.
He knew them.
He knew the stiff posture of the red-haired boy. He knew the slight, menacing crouch of the pink-haired girl.
Kian stopped dead.
Am I dreaming again? Why are they here?
A black-haired girl stepped forward and stared at him.
"You really did come," Lumina said. Her voice was flat, hollow.
"Alright," a red-haired boy added as he stepped out from behind her. He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Kian is here. Let's start the duel."