Chapter 9
"Well, as fun as this is, I should get going back to my parents," Luna sighed, watching Adam act like a little kid for a while longer.
Adam paused, pulling his gaze from the city around them. His expression grew serious as he looked directly into Luna's eyes, his bright blue eyes locking onto hers with an almost skeptical intensity.
"The same ones you ran away from?"
Luna flinched.
"Yeah, those ones. Now that I'm looking back at it… it's not really their fault," she said, her face twisted into a complicated, conflicted expression tinged with sadness.
That was all it took for Adam to make it his business.
"Look, I don't really get why you're so mad at your parents, but it doesn't seem like the usual preteen angst. And you don't seem to actually blame them either. I might be pushing the boundaries here, but… would you mind if I came with you? Just to see what's really going on?" he asked softly, his golden hair fluttering forward across his chest, a hint of concern in his tone.
Luna stayed quiet for a while, her eyes dropping to the ground as she thought. The silence stretched just long enough to make Adam's nerves spike; doubt crept into his mind, wondering if he'd crossed a line into something deeply personal.
With a nervous laugh and stuttering voice, he tried to walk it back.
"O-Or maybe it's fine!? I mean, I didn't really… grow up with parents or anything like that, so what would I even know?" he muttered, scratching the back of his neck and letting his eyes drift somewhere past her shoulder. "Probably not my place to say…"
Before he could finish the thought, his platinum-blonde-haired ward cut him off, bright and insistent.
"It's fine! You should totally come! They'd definitely want to thank you in person for saving me from the Orc back there and bringing me home!" Luna said with almost too much certainty, her face lighting up with an eagerness that felt absolute.
Adam's curiosity only deepened. If her parents would be grateful and worried enough to want to thank him… why hadn't there been any panic around Elysia searching for their missing daughter? He looked around again, noticing just how few elves were present. Actually… he hadn't seen a single other one.
And so, driven by endless curiosity, concern for his ward, and that unusually perceptive streak of his, his choice was sealed.
He turned back to Luna with a bright smile as the evening sun cast a warm glow over his flowing golden hair.
"I'll take you up on that—"
But he was interrupted once more. This time, Luna's voice dropped so low it barely rose above the hum of the city, indistinguishable from the murmurs of the crowd. Only someone within a meter and paying close attention would even catch it.
"And since you're from another world, you don't have money. Or a home. You're technically homeless. So… you'll have to stay at my place," the almost-thirteen-year-old whispered, her voice carrying a smugness that bordered on pity—though mostly it was the latter.
Adam opened his mouth to protest—then closed it.
Because… She was right.
He motioned for her to lead the way with his right hand—his left arm still feeling off—and began following his elven ward as she skipped ahead, a small, self-satisfied giggle floating back to him.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In a land far away, in a much darker forest, there stood a single cloaked man. Only the faintest hints of maroon hair slipped from beneath the hood of his dark brown cloak, which draped over him entirely, leaving little to observe besides the fabric itself.
From within its folds, the man produced a strange object—an icosahedron, encased in a deep violet metal and etched with unintelligible golden glyphs along each face. Despite being no larger than a human head, a brilliant light pulsed at its center, far too bright for something so compact. The golden glow radiated outward, bathing the man's pale face in shifting amber tones as his violet eyes widened, just slightly.
"How… exciting, isn't it, Enodia? A particularly strong-souled remnant has arrived," he said, voice smooth and composed, the corners of his mouth rising just enough to suggest a smile. He was speaking to someone—something—unseen.
But then, the smile faded, and his earlier expression of disinterest reclaimed its place on his face like an old habit.
"But it is still weak in strength," he continued, his tone flat now, laced with boredom. "It has no use to us, as of current. How drab. It seems we'll have to wait."
The golden light dimmed. Whatever reaction the artefact had shown was no longer of interest to him.
But others had noticed the glow.
Seventeen high orcs emerged from the forest, their heavy wooden clubs gripped in thick hands. They advanced, each of them towering and monstrous, eyes glinting with primal malice beneath the slivers of moonlight breaking through the trees.
The man didn't move. He didn't flinch.
"It seems we have some uninvited guests," he said, tone unchanged—as if the approach of seventeen earth-shaking beasts was no more concerning than a breeze across a field.
"Do take care of them, Enodia. Thank you kindly in advance."
And then she appeared.
Enodia manifested in silence: a towering, pale figure cloaked in a robe of mourning-black mist that trailed like spilled shadow along the ground. Her face was hidden beneath a veil of delicate funeral lace, and even when it lifted, her features remained haunting. Skin corpse-white. Eyes solid black, with torchlight flickering within like trapped flame. Wisps of spectral smoke drifted lazily from her hair, curling like incense ash.
In one hand, she held a twisted, blackened iron key. In the other, a torch—its flame not orange but a ghastly, ghostly green. It gave off no heat, only an unnatural cold, the kind that could draw tears from the living.
She raised the torch with slow grace, dragging it across the air.
In that single motion, a line of green fire slashed across the torsos of every high orc.
And then—
The fire erupted.
The orcs never had the chance to scream. No pain, no resistance. Just quiet, instantaneous obliteration. One by one, the monstrous creatures faded into nothing, their forms erased. Not even ash remained. Only the fading ghostlight of the flames, vanishing as though they'd never existed.
The maroon-haired, violet-eyed man didn't watch. He had seen it too many times before. Unimpressed, he simply extended a hand as a faint ember floated toward him—one of the few remnants of Enodia's work. He tried to grasp it.
It withered before his fingers closed.
He smiled softly.
"Thank you once more, my dearest Enodia." There was nothing but fondness in the way he said her name, an affectionate epithet that stood in direct contrast to his previous apathetic demeanour towards all else
The ghostly spirit gave no verbal response. Perhaps she could not. Instead, she lifted the hem of her shadowy dress and offered a small curtsey, her veil parting just enough for a hidden smile to peek through—faint, but unmistakably fond.
Then, slowly, her form unraveled into glowing green wisps. They drifted toward him, the mist slipping into his chest and vanishing completely, as if returning to a home long abandoned.
The man showed no surprise.
Instead, he adjusted his cloak, pulling the fabric tighter around him, concealing the hair and eyes that had slipped into view. And without a word, he turned and walked deeper into the forest.
Not away from the danger.
But further into it.
For he had nothing to fear there.
He was, without question, the most dangerous being in that forest.