A few minutes had passed since Gabriel had been thrown from the cliff—falling off the roof of the speeding train into the darkness below.
Now he found himself in a coastal forest, wrapped in his oversized black coat.
A small campfire crackled in the biting cold of the season, while a few fish roasted slowly over the flames, releasing a warm, salty aroma.
From time to time, his mind wandered back to the earlier events.
He had plunged into the sea—not because he failed to save himself, but because Morgan had deliberately used the Water Mirror, dropping him into the icy water before transferring him to the nearest shore.
Morgan's reasoning was simple, yet cruel in her own way: Gabriel needed to be "awakened" by the cold of the ocean first, a small punishment very characteristic of her style.
But all of that was no longer the focus.
Because now, Gabriel was not alone.
Not with Morgan, but with a woman elf whose face was gentle yet resolute.
Not Alpha.
But Beatrix.
The elf girl had long platinum hair that shimmered in the firelight, clear blue eyes, and pale skin that seemed almost like porcelain.
Her figure was slender yet graceful, hinting at hidden strength beneath her beauty.
She wore a white bikini top and a short black skirt accented with gold.
A thigh-high stocking covered her right leg, while her left leg remained mostly bare, adorned only with two thin straps.
Black gloves covered both her hands, her hair tied with jeweled ornaments, and a sapphire-eyed necklace rested calmly on her chest—reflecting the flickering light of the campfire between them.
Their encounter was simple.
Beatrix had been lighting the campfire to roast fish when she spotted Gabriel—soaking wet, approaching from the distance.
Without saying much, Beatrix poured warm water into a cup and held it out to him.
"Do you want some?" Beatrix asked calmly. "To warm you up."
"Ah…" Gabriel parted his lips slightly and reached out through the air, finding the cup. "Thank you."
He sipped the warm water slowly.
Meanwhile, Beatrix's gaze fell on the wooden sword at Gabriel's waist.
Her eyes held an unmistakable curiosity, while the firelight reflected off the unusual-looking blade.
After finishing the warm water, Gabriel returned the empty cup to her.
Beatrix accepted it with a calm motion. Yet her gaze didn't return to the fire—it remained fixed on the wooden sword at Gabriel's side.
Her eyebrows furrowed slightly.
"…That sword," she said flatly, though the curiosity in her tone was clear. "Is it yours?"
Her eyes then flicked to the cloth covering Gabriel's eyes.
"I thought you… couldn't see."
She paused for a moment.
"Is it not… just a walking aid?"
Gabriel remained silent for a fraction of a second—then smiled faintly.
"Ah… no," he said lightly. "It's my training sword."
"Training?" Beatrix asked, curious.
"Yes." Gabriel tilted his head slightly toward the fire. "I was training with someone on top of a moving train. Quite… intense."
His tone remained casual, as if falling off a cliff was just a minor detail unworthy of exaggeration.
"Unfortunately," he continued, "I enjoyed the moment a bit too much. And my foot slipped."
Beatrix stared at him a moment longer.
A blind boy.
A wooden sword at his side.
Training atop a speeding train.
It made no sense.
On top of that, she faintly caught the scent of an elf from Gabriel—subtle, nearly imperceptible, yet unmistakable to her senses.
She had briefly considered asking if he had ever seen an elf with a face like hers.
But the question felt pointless for a blind child.
In the end, she let it go and refocused.
"…But," she said slowly, "if you can't see… how do you use a sword?"
"You know," Gabriel replied softly, "seeing isn't about the eyes. The world has many openings you can step into."
He turned his face directly toward Beatrix, though his eyes remained covered.
"Wind, vibrations, intent, flow—even silence… they all give shape to space."
His smile held something difficult to define. "As long as someone is willing to listen… there's always a way to see."
Beatrix fell silent for a few seconds, watching him as if weighing something unspoken.
Then, at last, she said—flat, but firm,
"Go on. Swing your sword."
Gabriel felt the subtle shift in the air—a small ripple in Beatrix's ki, the distinct vibration of someone preparing to fight. He lifted his face toward her, tilting his head slightly.
"You want to spar?" he asked, curiosity in his voice.
"If you don't mind," Beatrix replied.
Gabriel gave a small nod, and they both took their stances.
Instead of using her real sword, Beatrix picked up a dry piece of wood from beside the campfire. She weighed it briefly in her hand before gripping it as a weapon—matching Gabriel's wooden training sword.
They stood in an open patch of ground, far enough from the campfire that only the edges of the clearing were touched by its glow. Between them, the cold wind moved freely, carrying the scent of salt and snow. About ten meters separated them.
Silence settled.
"Who goes first?" Gabriel asked, curious. "You, me… or do we move at the same time?"
Beatrix tilted her head slightly, blue eyes studying him as if measuring something invisible.
"…You first," she said at last. "If you truly can see without eyes, I want to feel it from your very first step."
"All right," Gabriel replied simply.
The next second, he stepped forward, wooden sword raised as though preparing a horizontal slash.
Beatrix readied herself to block.
But when only three steps remained between them, Gabriel suddenly pivoted and slid to her side—his movement smooth and gentle, like a brushstroke across a canvas.
Beatrix was caught off guard—if only for a fraction of a second.
In one nearly unbroken motion, Gabriel's wooden sword came down in a vertical slash. Beatrix instantly raised her stick horizontally to block.
Tak.
The impact sounded light—yet the force behind it was anything but.
Gabriel poured Zetten into the strike, and from the point where the two wooden weapons met, a burst of wind exploded outward, sweeping over the campfire and sending nearby leaves thrashing wildly.
Beatrix frowned.
"…Your movements are soft," she murmured, "like someone painting. But the power behind them… is no joke."
"Yeah," Gabriel replied casually. "It's called the Ash Sty— ahem, I mean… Following the Ink: Drawing Heaven."
"…Strange name," Beatrix said flatly. "Strange movement, too."
Gabriel lowered his wooden sword slightly. A faint cracking sound came from its tip—the aftereffect of the clash.
"…Looks like our weapons won't last much longer," he said lightly. "If they break, we can't continue this spar. Is that a problem?"
Beatrix glanced at the stick in her hand, then back at Gabriel.
"No problem," she said flatly. "Sparring isn't about the weapon. That's just a tool."
She lifted the piece of wood slightly, weighing it.
"If it breaks, we stop. That's all."
"What I want to know isn't how long we fight… but how you fight."
After that, the two of them returned to the campfire. The flames still burned steadily, casting warm light over tree trunks and the thin layer of snow on the ground.
Beatrix picked up one of the cooked fish and handed it to Gabriel.
"Here," she said shortly.
"Thank you," Gabriel replied, accepting it with both hands.
He began eating slowly.
For a while, only the sound of fire and the sea wind could be heard.
Then Beatrix spoke, without turning her head. "We haven't exchanged names."
Gabriel paused mid-bite, then smiled faintly.
"Ah… right."
He tilted his head slightly toward her.
"A name is the meaning of one's existence," he said calmly. "I… am No Name."
Beatrix studied him quietly.
The name sounded like a paradox—both a denial and an admission at the same time.
"…No Name," she repeated under her breath.
"Then…" Gabriel said gently, "what is your name?"
"Beatrix," she replied shortly.
"Nice to meet you," Gabriel said lightly.
But beneath his calm tone, his thoughts were moving fast.
Beatrix.
The name wasn't common—and within the web of knowledge he carried, only one figure matched all the pieces: an elf, and a master of the sword.
The faint elven scent about her, her combat instincts, her interest in swordsmanship—everything aligned too cleanly to be coincidence.
So it really is her.
In the flow events were supposed to follow, Beatrix would meet Cid sometime in the future.
But like many things tonight… Gabriel had stepped onto that stage first.
___
Author's note:
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