Vivian struggled to tend to Sophia's wounds. No matter how carefully she worked, the damage was impossible to ignore. Rafael stood nearby, fists clenched, watching in silence.
Bruises darkened Sophia's arms, her legs, her ribs. Her face was swollen, fingers bent unnaturally where bones had broken and reset poorly. When Vivian gently rolled her onto her side, she froze.
"…There are marks here," Vivian said quietly. She pointed to Sophia's ankles. Then her wrists. Faded bruises—thin and circular. Rafael's expression hardened. "She was tied up," he said. "For a long time." Vivian nodded grimly.
Rafael exhaled slowly, anger simmering beneath his calm. Tortured. There was no other word for it. Who would do something like this to the chief's daughter? And how had they even managed to take her in the first place?
His shadow magic stirred instinctively, as if responding to his thoughts. Should I heal her? he wondered. But he hesitated. This wasn't his place. "Will she be alright?" Rafael asked. Vivian looked up at him. "She's badly hurt," she said honestly. "But it's nothing I can't fix." She stepped back. "Please—move away." Rafael obeyed.
Vivian placed one hand gently on Sophia's forehead. With the other, she raised two fingers—index and pinky—forming a precise hand sign. She inhaled, then began chanting softly.
Her eyes glowed. So did her hands. A warm, steady light spilt from her palms, washing over Sophia's body. Before Rafael's eyes, bruises faded. Swelling vanished. Fingers straightened. Broken bones knitted together as if they had never been broken at all.
Rafael stared, stunned. This was healing magic—true healing magic.
Within seconds, Sophia looked whole again. Untouched. Vivian released the spell. The moment she did, she collapsed to her knees, breathing heavily, sweat clinging to her skin. Rafael rushed forward. "Vivian—" She waved him off weakly, forcing an awkward smile."That never… gets easier."
Rafael looked at her with open awe. "So… you're a diviner." She nodded. "Yeah. I am." Without realising it, Rafael stepped closer—far too close. "How does it work?" he asked, words spilling out. "What kind of abilities do you have? How do you channel your aether—do you—"
"R-Rafael—" He didn't stop. "I've never met a diviner before. Is the light pure aether or—" Vivian's face burned. He was so close she could feel his breath. And in that moment, she really looked at him.
His blue eyes—bright and focused. His dark hair, slightly messy. The way he smiled when he was excited.
He's… handsome. She thought to herself. Her blush deepened. The room fell silent. They stared at each other, caught in a moment neither fully understood. Then— "Cough." Vivian nearly jumped out of her skin.
Sophia stirred, eyes fluttering open. "…Where… am I?" Vivian straightened instantly."You're in the church," she said gently. "The basement. You're safe." Rafael added, "You don't have to worry anymore."
Sophia looked down at her healed hands. Unbroken. Unmarked. "…The men," she said shakily. "They were chasing me." Rafael met her gaze. "Don't worry about them. I took care of it." The words broke something in her. Tears spilt freely as she surged forward, burying her face in Rafael's chest.
Vivian froze, startled. "Thank you," Sophia sobbed. "Thank you… if it wasn't for you, I would've died." She clung to him, shaking. Then she pulled back slightly, staring into his face. Her eyes widened.
"…It's you." Rafael looked away instinctively. "What do you mean?" She leaned closer, voice trembling. "You're the bounty hunter," she whispered. "The one who saved me before."
He didn't deny it. Sophia covered her mouth, eyes shimmering. "You've saved me again…" She grabbed his hands, holding them tightly. "For that," she said earnestly, "I owe you my life."
Meanwhile, where Rafael had killed the men, the road was silent. Bodies lay scattered across the dirt like discarded refuse, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Blood soaked into the earth in thick, dark patches, pooling where heads had rolled and spraying across nearby rocks and tree trunks. The air stank of iron and rot, a nauseating blend that clung to the throat.
One corpse was missing a hand—its severed limb lying several paces away, fingers still curled as if grasping for the sword it once held. Another had been cleaved clean through the neck, the cut so precise it looked unreal, the head resting beside the body with glassy, unseeing eyes. Horses lay dead among the men, their bodies split open, entrails spilling onto the road where flies had already begun to gather.
It was a massacre.
Hoof-beats broke the silence.
The chief arrived on horseback, flanked by armed guards. He was a large man, broad-shouldered, his presence heavy and commanding. A thin beard framed his jaw, trembling slightly as his anger boiled beneath the surface. His eyes swept over the scene—and hardened.
One of the guards dismounted, stepping carefully among the corpses. He knelt, checked a neck, then another. "No survivors, sir," the guard said grimly. "They're all dead." The chief's grip tightened around his reins.
"Who," he demanded, voice low and shaking with fury, "could have done this?" No one answered. The silence only fed his rage. "I want the one responsible tracked and found," he barked. "Immediately." Then— "Sir! Look!"
A guard pointed down the road. A lone figure staggered toward them. The chief narrowed his eyes, then spurred his horse forward, his men following close behind. As they approached, the man came into focus—one of the chief's own guards.
He was barely standing. His arm hung limp at an unnatural angle, the elbow dislocated and twisted grotesquely. One leg dragged uselessly behind him, shattered. Blood soaked his clothes, dripping steadily onto the dirt beneath his feet. Each step looked like it might be his last.
The chief reined in his horse directly before him. "What happened?" the chief demanded. The man lifted his head with trembling effort. His eyes were wide, unfocused, filled with raw terror. "…Sir," he rasped. "He's a demon."
The chief stiffened. "He killed us in an instant," the man continued, coughing blood. "It wasn't human. It couldn't be." The chief dismounted. "Who did this?" he pressed. "Give me a name."
The man's legs gave out. He collapsed to his knees, barely conscious. "I don't know who he was," he whispered. "But I know this—he wasn't human." The chief knelt in front of him now, urgency seeping into his voice. "How did he look?" "Tell me."
The man's breathing grew shallow. "…Dark hair," he murmured. "…Blue eyes." The chief's eyes widened slightly. "He was a boy," the man continued weakly. "Maybe… fourteen."
His body went still. The man fell backwards into the blood-soaked dirt, eyes staring at nothing. Dead.
The chief rose slowly, shock rippling through his fury. A boy. "Blue-eyed demon, you say."
The basement was quiet.
Sophia sat on the thin mattress, both hands wrapped around a steaming bowl of soup Vivian had prepared. The faint light of the lantern cast long shadows against the stone walls as she drank slowly, her movements careful, almost fragile.
Rafael sat nearby, watching her in silence. After a moment, he spoke. "Are you ready to tell us," he asked gently, "who did this to you?" Sophia's hands trembled. She hesitated, then slowly lowered the bowl and placed it beside her. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then she lifted her gaze and met Rafael's eyes.
"It was my father."
The words hung in the air. Rafael froze. Vivian sucked in a sharp breath. Neither of them spoke at first. They exchanged a brief, disbelieving glance before Vivian finally whispered, "But… why would he do that?" Sophia looked down, her fingers curling into the fabric of her clothes.
"It started when he arranged my marriage," she said quietly. "I was to be married to a wealthy chief from another village. In return, our village would receive a monthly tax—gold, supplies, influence." Rafael's jaw tightened. "How could he—" "My brother tried to stop him," Sophia continued, cutting him off. "He opposed our father. For that… he was imprisoned."
Vivian's hands clenched at her sides. Sophia swallowed hard. "After that, I was forced to share a bed with the man," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I refused. Of course, I refused." Her shoulders shook.
"That's when it began," she continued. "The torment. My father kept saying it was for the good of the village. That my suffering was necessary. When I refused again… he beat me." Rafael's fists slowly tightened.
"One night," Sophia said, tears finally slipping free, "he tied me up. He tortured me until I would agree. He said I'd break eventually." Vivian covered her mouth, eyes wide with horror. "But one day," Sophia went on, "my brother came. He freed me. He was in even worse condition than I was, but he still smiled and told me to run."
Her voice cracked. "He stayed behind. He lured the guards away so I could escape. They caught him." Silence swallowed the room.
Rafael's breathing was slow and heavy now, anger simmering just beneath the surface. The man they had trusted—the chief meant to protect the village—had turned it into a private hell.
Vivian's face twisted in disgust. She moved without hesitation, pulling Sophia into a tight embrace. "You're safe now," she whispered.
Rafael stood.
He walked toward the stairs.
"Rafael?" Vivian called out. "Where are you going?"
He stopped at the doorway and looked back. For a brief moment, they saw it—his eyes faintly glowing blue in the dim light.
"I'm going to set things right for this village," he said. Then he turned— And walked out.