Back in the barracks, Henry lay down, placing his left hand over his left breast, channeling aether from his palm into his chest. A crimson skull tattoo gradually materialized, then greedily devoured his aether. Henry gasped, a wave of exhaustion washing over him, yet he sensed nearly half his aether remained untapped within his core.
He glanced down at his left breast. Despite his continued attempts to infuse it with aether, the tattoo remained stubbornly invisible. A strange chuckle escaped his lips.
"So, it's finally full, after all this time… eight years." Henry thought, a silent shout of triumph.
For eight long years, ever since his awakening and the unsettling mark's appearance upon his left breast whenever he wielded aether, Henry had diligently poured his day's accumulated energy into it each night, invariably succumbing to sleep in the immediate aftermath of exhaustion.
He couldn't be certain how long it would take to fully activate this hidden power, but the echoes of his past experiences and the cryptic records within the church had instilled in him a profound certainty: this Mystic Sense was an invaluable asset.
Falling back against the roughspun blanket, Henry tested his newfound ability. Beyond the familiar ceiling his eyes beheld, a spectral, familiar space bloomed within his mind's eye.
"This is the soldiers' dormitory… our room, mine and everyone else's." he recognized instantly. "But only a sliver of it."
Cross-referencing the room's layout with the nascent image in his mind, Henry realized the sensed space encompassed a radius of roughly ten meters around him. He channeled the remaining dregs of his aether, and the radius expanded - twenty meters, then thirty. It was at this point that he felt the telltale tug of his aether reserves beginning to dwindle.
In the world of Tehra, aether was the lifeblood of magic, the energy source that animated everything from the mundane to the magnificent. Rank disparities weren't merely about the quantity of aether one possessed, but also its quality - the very essence that forged the chasm of power between different Ranks.
"Testing Mystic Sense's danger prediction isn't exactly convenient right now. That'll have to wait for another day."
But no matter. He now wielded an extraordinarily rare power, a treasure that had been coveted by nations, formidable warriors, even the demigods themselves.
Slowly, slowly, I'll learn to wield it wisely. Henry drifted towards sleep, the fragmented memory of the events ten years prior gently resurfacing before oblivion claimed him.
"Hello," the young girl said, her small hand waving slowly in front of Henry's face. "My name is Sophia."
He stared at the girl before him. Brown hair, golden eyes like shards of crystal imbued with the warmth of honeyed sunlight - neither piercing nor mystical, but simply… warm.
"H-hello… I'm… Henry." he stammered, his body a symphony of aches, his mind a blank canvas of confusion.
"My parents said you fainted. Are you hungry?" young Sophia continued, her brow furrowed with concern.
"Ah… yes… I fainted from hunger." Henry mumbled, a half-truth that resonated with the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. Five days of desperate flight, sustained only by stream water and wild berries, had left him truly famished.
"You're very lucky. My father saw you floating unconscious and pulled you ashore. You almost died." Sophia's clear voice grounded Henry in his present reality.
"Thank you… thank you all… My refugee caravan was attacked by bandits. I've been running for days." Henry offered a fabricated explanation for his presence.
"Poor child, you must be starving. Here, take this to tide you over." the woman offered a piece of dry bread to Sophia, who dipped it into a steaming bowl of broth before handing it to Henry.
"Eat this. Bread dipped in warm broth is easy to swallow."
Henry's trembling hands accepted the offering from Sophia. The broth-soaked bread melted softly in his mouth. He couldn't discern the exact flavor, only that it was incredibly delicious - the taste of kindness. A sudden wave of longing for his former family, for the memory of the kind woman the slavers had deceived, washed over him. He ate, tears silently tracing paths down his grimy cheeks.
"Why are you crying? Is the food not good? Or are you hurting somewhere?" Sophia asked, her small face etched with worry.
"No, no, the food is delicious. It's just… it's been so long since I've eaten something so good. Thank you… thank you all so much." Henry stammered, embarrassed, and continued to eat with his head bowed.
The man and woman exchanged a deep, meaningful look. The woman nodded, and the man knelt before Henry.
"Young man, would you like to travel with us? Our family isn't wealthy, but we always have enough dry bread to share." his voice was gentle and warm.
"R-really? I… I can go with you?" Henry's voice trembled.
"Of course. As long as you don't mind our dry bread." the woman offered a kind smile.
"Yes, ma'am, sir. Thank you." he choked out between sobs.
"It's time for us to move on. Sophia, hop onto the cart, dear." the man said, having heard the calls of the departing caravan. He gently lifted Henry onto a laden supply cart. "You must still be tired. Just lie there and rest, regain your strength."
Sophia ran over and hopped onto the cart beside Henry. Silently, she took a cloth and wiped his face, offered him water to drink, then sat close, humming a soft, soothing melody. Her father pushed the cart, her mother walked alongside. And so, amidst the rhythmic sway of the cart, the crunch of wheels on gravel, and the distant chirping of birds… Henry drifted into unconsciousness.
.
He didn't know how much time had passed.
Henry groggily opened his eyes in a dim, hazy atmosphere. He felt a crushing weight, as if something heavy pressed down on him. A cold, stiff mass, reeking of a metallic tang.
He squirmed, then abruptly jolted upright, shoving away the thing that had been pressing down on him. It was a corpse, its eyes wide and staring, its mouth agape in a silent scream. Its chest had been brutally torn open, the dried blood forming dark, jagged patterns.
Henry recoiled, gasping for breath, his hands trembling violently. The scene around him was a vision of hell, the kind that only materialized in the darkest nightmares.
The bustling caravan was now a flattened wasteland. No cries of sorrow, no survivors to wail in despair. Only the whistling wind through the frozen corpses and the groaning of shattered wagons. The sky was a suffocating black, as if even it held its breath in the face of this infernal tableau.
Henry stumbled through the devastation, each step landing on something yielding and soft - a hand, an arm, a fragment of a body. He dared not look down.
Henry realized this was no mere bandit raid. Everything had been crushed, torn apart. Horses lay headless, supply wagons overturned, all submerged in a grotesque morass of flesh and blood. He clenched his fists to quell the tremors wracking his body. What had happened here?
Moving through the horrifying silence, Henry felt his gut twist into knots. His breath grew ragged, the air thick and heavy, as if trying to crush his lungs. Then he stopped.
A small, familiar figure sat beside two lifeless forms.
Sophia.
She sat on the ground, amidst a pool of already-darkened blood. Her eyes were wide, but empty, devoid of life. Her brown hair was matted and clung to her face in sticky clumps of blood and mud. The dress that had been clean just days before was now dyed a gruesome crimson.
Her parents lay beside her, the father's arms outstretched as if to shield his daughter even in death. The mother's hand clutched his tightly, as if they had faced this final horror together.
Henry swallowed hard. He wanted to call her name, but his throat constricted. He took a step closer, then another, slow, deliberate movements, as if fearing the slightest sound might shatter her fragile stillness.
She didn't cry. No sobs, no whimpers. Just sat there, silent as a stone statue. But it was that very silence that tore at Henry's heart. He knelt before her, lost in a sea of helplessness. Part of him yearned to embrace her, but his hands hovered hesitantly in the air. Finally, he placed a hand gently on her shoulder.
"Sophia…"
She didn't react.
He swallowed again, his voice trembling with fear. "It's me. It's Henry…"
Still no response. He froze, then carefully placed his hand over her small hands resting on her lap. They were ice-cold, devoid of any warmth. Henry squeezed them gently, trying to impart his own meager warmth.
"We have to go," his voice was a barely audible whisper. "I'll take you somewhere safe."
At that moment, Sophia blinked slowly. Her pupils seemed to reflect an endless abyss. She turned her head to look at Henry, but said nothing. He felt each beat of his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for her to speak. But she remained silent.
Only tears began to silently track down her pale cheeks. Henry bit his lip, inching closer, gently wiping away the wetness with his hand.
"I'll stay with you. I won't leave you here."
Then, he wrapped his arms around her small frame, gently pulling her to her feet. At first, her body was stiff, unresponsive. But then, very slowly, she leaned against him, her small form trembling uncontrollably. Henry held Sophia tightly, wanting her to feel his presence, to know she wasn't alone.
After a long moment, Sophia whispered, her voice so faint Henry had to strain to hear.
"Where… where will we go?"
Henry looked towards the horizon, where faint rays of light still struggled to pierce the oppressive darkness.
"Anywhere… anywhere as long as you don't have to stay here."
Henry helped Sophia stand, then bowed deeply before the lifeless bodies of the two people who had shown him such kindness. Now, he would care for and protect Sophia in their stead - the only way he could repay their selfless act.
As the two children took their first steps, they saw distant lights flickering in the woods. They were no longer alone. But the danger, the true horror of the world of Tehra, came not only from monsters, but also from those who called themselves human.