The gears had stopped turning. The blocks that once pulsed with elemental essence now sat still. The condensation had faded like steam left behind after a sudden shock. The labyrinth had fallen silent. It was as if even the air understood that it needed to stay quiet in that moment.
Noah remained seated, elbows resting on his knees, hands weaving together and pulling apart as if trying to dispel the anxiety building inside him. Syl sat beside him, her body slightly angled forward, eyes fixed on nothingness. The tension in her jaw was no longer from battle — it was something inward. Something that bled slowly.
Noah kept his eyes on the ground. The words wanted to come out, but their weight had to pass through his throat first. He took a deep breath. And then he spoke, without looking at her:
"As I said, I'll only tell you the truth. So I guess it's best to start from the beginning. Before my grandmother was killed..."
Syl's eyes widened at the words "was killed." Earlier, when they'd talked, Noah had mentioned losing his grandmother — but he had never said how. She stayed quiet. Her chest now felt tighter than before. She wanted to understand more about him, to know what had forced him to build so many layers of defense, what had shaped that cold personality he wore like armor. But at the same time, her heart ached — as if invisible cords were squeezing it, closing in with every word that hadn't even been spoken yet. She didn't want to hear how much he had suffered, how much he had endured alone, and everything that might have been different if... if she'd just had a few more minutes.
She turned her face slightly, just enough to see him from the corner of her eye. Noah still had his gaze on the floor, hands tense on his knees, drawing in breath slowly, as if breathing itself required effort.
Just a little more courage that day, in the lavender field. She wished she had asked his name. Wished she had gone back. Wished she had someone — a friend, maybe — and now, even if it hurt, even if it was too late to change the past, she would still be here.
Sitting. Present. Listening. Because she needed to understand why that boy she once met had risked so much for so little.
"Do you remember when I mentioned the girl from the lavender field? And the necklace she gave me? Well..."
Syl glanced at him sideways, not hiding the weight in her voice.
"You're not going to blame her now, are you?"
"No, it's not that..." Noah waved his hands in the air, shaking his head vigorously. "It's just... the same day I met her, my mom left. No warning. No note. Not even a scribbled message. It was just my grandma, me, and—"
He pulled the necklace out from under his shirt. His hand held it like it was made of crystal, like he was cradling his own heart in his palm. He stared at it for a few seconds before speaking again.
"This necklace... if it weren't for the memory of her, for this necklace, and for the smile I still remember every morning... I wouldn't have made it through all the pain I had to bare."
Syl's chest tightened again. She was right there beside him, wanting to scream that she was the girl from the lavender field — but she knew this wasn't the time. It was a mix of sorrow and joy: that he kept her so close to his heart, yet even that memory hadn't been enough to stop him from risking his life over something so meaningless.
He paused briefly, then tucked the necklace back into his shirt with care — his eyes lost in the sand, as if every grain held an unresolved memory.
"And as if my mother abandoning us wasn't enough, a few months later I overheard my grandma talking to someone at the door. I couldn't see his face, but I know he came back from time to time. Always with that heavy presence... like the debt itself had legs and came knocking."
"That's how I found out my mother owed money to some big shot from the capital — one of those guys who lends to the desperate and runs illegal gambling rings, betting networks, and who knows what else. He got so big that even slums like ours were taking loans from him."
"We were lucky... or maybe he just pitied us. The collector was less cruel than he looked. He'd take whatever we managed to pay, and when we couldn't... he'd say we could cover double the next time."
Noah's voice cracked for a moment. He gripped his knees tighter, as if trying to squeeze the memory out of his body — but it stayed, untouched. He didn't need to close his eyes to see it.
"My grandma had to work without rest. To keep the house. To take care of me. And to pay off the debt that my..." — he swallowed hard. Even just calling the woman who abandoned them 'mother' so many times in a single breath made his stomach turn. "...that woman left behind like it was nothing."
"Over time, my grandma started getting sick. She cleaned an entire school by herself every day. The students... disgusting kids, they looked down on her. They'd tip over the trash cans on purpose. Spill food and scraps all over the cafeteria floor just to humiliate her in front of everyone. They laughed when she bent down to clean it up, threw fruit peels over her just to watch them fall again. And the teachers, the principal — they just said, 'They're just kids. Don't let it bother you.'"
"But it was more than just words. It was daily contempt. It was the weight piling up on her back. It was her body begging for rest... and being ignored."
"And at night, she still worked at a library. Shelving the books people left on tables, on the floor — some even tossed them there on purpose. The owner didn't care. He wasn't the one spending sleepless nights trying to dry stained pages, or putting everything back while her hands trembled from exhaustion."
"It was there. On those same stairs, in that same library, that she fell. One night. From sheer exhaustion. And broke her leg."
Noah stopped, his breath caught in his throat.
"We were lucky... again. A family friend happened to be nearby. Heard her calling for help. Just thinking about what could've happened if he hadn't heard her — it still twists my chest. He was a kind old man. Really sharp. Unfortunately, he passed away a few years later."
"I was fifteen when I took my grandma's job at the library. The next day, I told her to rest. Said I'd tell the owner about the accident. But I didn't. I went myself."
"I told him my grandma was on her way and had sent me ahead. I lied. Because I knew how things work for Nouls like us."
Syl bit her lower lip, and when she spoke, her voice was steady.
"That term has been banned at the academy for a long time. My mother always taught me that kind of prejudice only divides people."
She didn't shout, didn't confront him — but the weight behind every word was undeniable.
"There's no such thing as Noul or Zoul... Being born into a family of summoners doesn't make anyone better. It's been proven for centuries that the only thing that matters is your Soul Heart. That's it. And forming a Soul Link depends on training, effort, and nothing else."
She pressed her fingers against her knees, the old anger returning — but now without a target. A blind resentment, aimed at everything that still hurt even after centuries of progress. She looked at Noah. And the sound of her own blood in her ears was louder than her voice.
"Just hearing that word makes me sick. Knowing that humans still use it—"
She stopped. Her breath caught, and her eyes dropped. She realized what she'd said. The anger had slipped out wrong. It sounded too personal. And she knew Noah wasn't like the others.
"Sorry," she said more softly. "I didn't mean to say all humans are like that. I said it wrong."
Noah shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"You don't have to apologize. You're right. That's why I'm here. Humans didn't even let me try to enter their academy. They took something as pure as what's taught here... and twisted it. Turned it into a weapon. A currency. A privilege."
He took a deep breath, still staring at the sand.
"I'd get it if you hated me just for being human... especially after everything I've done so far."
Syl glanced sideways, one eyebrow slightly raised.
"Yeah, I said something I shouldn't. But let's be clear — your stupidity transcends races. Don't even think about using that as an excuse."
Noah tried to hold it back, but a small smile slipped through.
"You're right. Blaming it on being human would be way too easy, huh?"
He looked down again, his foot tracing slow lines in the sand, as if each mark was a memory he needed to sort through before moving on.
"Like I said... I knew how we Nouls were treated in the Human Kingdom. So I lied. To protect my grandma's job."
"I cleaned everything. Every book, every paper. I'd always had a stronger body since I was little. I didn't tire easily. I had endurance, focus, and a stubbornness that helped me keep going."
"That first night, when I finished everything and came home, I entered in silence. She hadn't even gotten out of bed all day. She was too exhausted. And that gave me room to take on the school shift too."
"So I ended up doing both. School in the morning, library at night. For weeks. I slept maybe three or four hours a night — sometimes not even that. But it didn't matter. The house was warm, she could rest. Every day I came up with a new excuse: said the library owner had found a temporary replacement and told her not to worry, or that the school said since she'd never taken a vacation, she could use that time to recover. She knew it didn't make sense — that I was lying — but she didn't question it. For a while, it felt like enough."
He let the air out hard, like he was finally unloading a weight he'd carried for years.
"Of course, in time, my grandma found out I hadn't just lied about them letting her rest — she knew that didn't exist for Nouls. But she also knew we had no other way out... the way she looked at me, her eyes full of gratitude and pain at the same time... her body's exhaustion screaming, begging for relief. We couldn't afford to lose that income. And she knew it. So we pretended together."
Syl looked at him. The anger she'd felt earlier was turning into something else — pain. She shifted slightly to speak, but Noah kept going. He didn't seem to be there anymore — he looked distant, as if reliving every memory he was recounting.
"Her leg eventually healed, but not her health. I managed to convince the library owner to let me work there. Promised I wouldn't tell anyone I was getting the same pay as my grandma. He didn't seem to care whether I was a kid, a teenager, or an adult... all I saw in his eyes was disdain. To him, I was just a desperate Noul, and he probably thought he was being generous by letting me work."
"After that, my grandma only got worse... her body..." Noah looked like he was struggling not to let the memories consume him completely — tears were already running down his face, each one hitting his skin with the weight of every decision, every moment he'd had to choose between enduring or giving in. Wiping them away felt pointless at that point. He went on, voice hoarse and low.
"...she couldn't even stand anymore. Can you imagine how much pain she must have been in? How long she'd been enduring it in silence?"
He gripped his knees tightly, and as if each word cut deeper.
"I lost the school job because of my own arrogance. My grandma was getting worse, and I needed to get that day's pay fast, when I saw two students tipping over a trash can on purpose. I just stood there, watching it. They had everything — wealth, education, status — and even if they were lowborn Zouls, they were still Zouls. Egocentric, lost in their own privilege, making life harder for those who already had nothing. But that day, my arrogance and my patience outpaced the maturity I had at the time. I walked up to them. They looked at me like they knew I wouldn't do anything... but unfortunately for them, I had forgotten 'my place.'"
"I'd started working at a forge near home. The owner was a quiet old man who made swords and other weapons and armor for low-ranking soldiers. I asked him to train me, and for some reason, he said yes. I'll never be grateful enough for that. But the school boys weren't so grateful after what happened next."
"I dropped the first one with a kick to the chest. The second one, realizing I didn't care about the consequences, tried to fight back — but he wasn't fast enough. I ducked, dodged, and landed a blow straight to his stomach. I enjoyed every second of it. I dumped every bit of trash I could find on top of them while they cried, screaming that I'd regret it."
"Those words echoed in my head when I got fired. They said I was lucky — because the two of them were too ashamed to admit they'd been beaten by a Noul. Because if they had said anything... I could've ended up being hunted by their families. Even a low-ranked Zoul, could ruin our lives. We could vanish from the map and no one would care. That truth hit me hard. And at just sixteen, I already knew I wouldn't get lucky a second time."
"Not long after that, I found a weekend job as a security guard. It paid better than the school, and I worked fewer hours — but it was riskier. Thankfully, the training — even if simple — made things a lot easier for me."
"For two years, I managed to work, pay off our debt, and take care of my grandma. And about a year ago, things finally started to look like they were turning around. I was saving up for better treatment. She was able to stand again, even started cooking again. She was happy."
"Until the day I came back from the forge and found our front door open. Two summoners were tearing everything apart. My grandma was cornered in the back, trembling in fear, trying to stop them from taking the money I'd been saving — for her treatment and to finish paying off the debt. They were new collectors — summoners sent by the new man in charge. They said paying on time wasn't enough anymore. They said Nouls had no right to make demands. That we should be grateful just to be alive..."
Syl watched him, each word feeling crueler and more unnecessary than the last. She knew Noah had been through something difficult... but she hadn't imagined anything like this.
"I tried to fight back," he said, clenching his fists so hard that red marks began to appear on his palms. "Even though I landed a hit on the first one, the second had something I didn't even know existed... a Soul Link."
"Now I understand that I could've died that day. My master later taught me that Soul Links are like contracts a summoner can form with creatures from our world... or from other dimensions. That every Soul Link needs Elemental Essence to be formed. And that only through training and study can you expand your Soul Heart — the bigger it is, the more Elemental Essence you can store — and stronger your Link becomes."
Syl nodded gently, adding in a calm voice:
"Yes... that's exactly why I said — maybe not too gently — that the terms Zoul and Noul haven't meant anything in our realm for a long time. Even if you're born with noble blood, it only gives you a head start in elemental manipulation — but that alone doesn't expand your Soul Heart. Only training and study can do that. It's effort that allows you to store more Elemental Essence..."
Noah furrowed his brow, eyes falling back to his hands.
"That day... I saw the difference between someone who had access to training and someone who didn't. The second summoner's Soul Link hit me head-on. I could barely even see what it was. All I remember is a massive stone arm coming straight at me, slamming into my stomach. According to what my master told me later, I was lucky I didn't die — only a seasoned summoner can summon just a part of their Link like that. But before I blacked out... I saw a symbol."
Slowly, Noah reached into his coat and pulled out a black notebook — the cover already worn and fading. When he opened it, Syl saw that every page held the same drawing — a single symbol, repeated hundreds of times, as if he needed to burn it into memory, as if it had been etched into his soul. A golden chalice with red liquid inside. Below it, one word: Zoul.
Her eyes widened. Her fingers trembled as they brushed over the symbol. She remembered that day clearly — when she'd accompanied her parents to the Human Kingdom. The same day she'd met Noah. She had seen that symbol. Not on common soldiers. Not on ordinary summoners. She had seen it on the Human King himself. Worn proudly, embroidered over the tabard that covered the official royal crest. Outside the castle, the banners bore the kingdom's traditional symbol... but inside, in the halls reserved for the highest nobility and royalty, the golden chalice was everywhere.
She hadn't understood the gravity of it at the time — but now, her stomach twisted as the truth sank in — the Human Kingdom's corruption wasn't just deep, it was deliberate. Institutional. And she had seen it with her own eyes.
Noah tucked the notebook back into his coat, as if it were the only proof of something too dangerous to let be forgotten.
"My grandma... she couldn't survive it all. Maybe if I hadn't fought back... maybe if I hadn't passed out... maybe I could've saved her. But when I woke up... she was already—"
He tried to wipe the tears away, but the effort was pointless. They kept falling. The pain was still there — alive, raw, pulsing.
"She smiled at me every time I brought her medicine. She was like a light in the middle of all that darkness. She suffered... so I wouldn't have to. And even then... if it hadn't been for my master during training, and for you now... I might've thrown away everything she fought to give me. A life. A chance..."
"They probably think I died alongside my grandma that day. If it weren't for my training... I would have"
Syl simply shook her head. She didn't know what to think. Or what to say. But she knew — with a pain growing in her chest like a crack spreading through glass — that none of this was fair. And it hurt... in a way she'd never felt before.
How can it hurt this much, just thinking about everything he had to endure alone...?
I was stripped of my freedom to live for my kingdom — that hurts, and it hurt every day.
But Noah... he wasn't stripped of his life for a 'greater cause'.
It was ripped away from him. Brutally. Mercilessly.
And all I want is to hold him and tell him it's going to be okay... but...
Do I even have that right?
She looked at Noah, her eyes overflowing with sadness, grief, and emptiness. The same eyes he'd had when he lied after they entered the new part of the labyrinth. The same eyes he had when he walked into that corridor without hesitation. And what once had been a question in Syl's mind became something involuntary, instinctive — as if nothing else mattered anymore — kingdoms, heirs, elf or human — all she knew was that, for the first time in her life, responsibilities no longer felt like the priority.
With a gentle motion, Syl leaned closer, took both of Noah's hands in hers, and rested her head softly on his shoulder — as if that one gesture was the only undeniable truth she knew in that moment. And with her eyes on the path that had quietly revealed itself when Noah pulled the lever — as if waiting for them all along — she spoke, her voice as soft as dawn brushing against skin on a cold morning.
"I'm really sorry, Noah... I didn't mean to force you to remember all of that."
Noah felt something shift in his chest when she wrapped her hands around his. Until that moment, he'd been consumed by an uncontrollable coldness, a numbness that kept him adrift — but Syl's touch was different. It was more than kindness. More than empathy. He felt protected. As if, with her there, leaning on his shoulder, the pain was no longer an endless abyss. He didn't understand it. He'd known her for so little time... yet his heart — once a dark, solid block of ice — now felt it: cracks forming, not from damage, but from warmth. Her warmth. And through those cracks, something inside him began to stir — something soft, something alive. Something he couldn't yet name.
And when he looked at Syl, her gentle, pure expression fixed on the path ahead — as if silently saying, "It's okay. I'm here. Nothing will hurt you" — he found himself wanting to believe that feeling. And somehow, he did.
And like a storm that, after tearing everything apart, finally settles, he took a deep breath. The tears began to fade, and Noah gently squeezed Syl's hands — as if responding to her care, as if to say without words that, with her there, he could manage.
"Thank you, Syl... You really must be some kind of angel who got lost and ended up as my partner. And you don't need to apologize. Even if those are heavy memories, they're not an excuse for what I've done. I just... I hope one day you'll consider being my friend."
She nudged his shoulder with her head, reacting lightly to his words.
"You really need to learn how to say thank you without insulting people, you know that? Just because you called me an angel doesn't mean I didn't notice you also called me directionless, again."
She leaned back slightly, slowly letting go of his hands, though her shoulder still touched his. And with another nudge — soft, teasing — she added:
"And you're kind of slow, huh? I thought I was already your friend. We had breakfast together, I've gotten us lost more times than I can count and you always got us back on track, you lent me your jacket, I've seen you cry twice, and we've almost died like three times... I think that already checks the friendship boxes, don't you?"
A brief smile crossed his lips, and he nudged her back with his shoulder.
"You forgot the part where you were spying on me shirtless..."
She blushed and shoved him hard enough to make him wobble, laughing as he caught himself before falling over.
"You idiot! I wasn't spying — you're the one who doesn't know how to be civilized!"
She looked at his face, still smiling as he straightened up from the shove — and for the first time, she saw it clearly: light in his eyes. Real light. Joy.
He looked... happy. Something inside him had softened. And for the first time, she felt — truly felt — that she was there for him. Not just as a memory. Even if he didn't know she was the girl from the lavender field.
That feeling inside her — that timid, tangled thing she couldn't name — was no longer just fluttering in silence. It was growing. Taking shape.
And with every moment they shared, it became clearer, more certain. Like something waiting to be said... but not quite ready to be spoken.