Aiven hadn't realized how quiet his life had become.
For the past three weeks, he'd been lost in the rhythm of his daily clerk duties, his eyes glued to adventuring magazines when no one was looking, or listening to tales of epic adventures in the busy streets. He'd walked past the bustling Guildhouse, gazing longingly at the group of adventurers gathered on its steps. The laughter of multi-race adventurers, with their oversized packs and shimmering swords, filled the air like a sweet melody that tugged at his heart.
Each day, he'd found himself drifting, wishing that his own name could be carved into a history of legend, like those adventurers in the stories.
But no. Aiven wasn't like them. He had no magic of note. No special talent. He was just... him.
And yet, as the days bled into each other, something began to shift inside of him. The tiny flame of longing, the dream he had once tucked away, started to flicker with life again. The idea of adventuring wasn't just a childish fantasy anymore—it was a real possibility. He didn't need to be the best. He didn't need to be the strongest. He just needed to try.
And then, of course, there was Lyra.
Her smile. The way her eyes lit up when they talked about their childhood adventures, about how they'd always promised to set out on something grand together one day. She had encouraged him to pursue his dreams of adventuring. She had believed in him when he didn't believe in himself.
Aiven smiled wistfully, running his fingers through his messy brown hair as he stood by the window, staring out over the cobbled streets. His heart yearned for more than the safe, predictable life he'd settled for. He needed to tell her. He had to.
The next delivery to Hearthport was in two days. It was perfect. He would find her, tell her everything. Maybe they could leave together. Maybe they could finally go on the adventures they had dreamed of.
But then the tremor hit.
At first, Aiven thought it was just a shiver in the earth—nothing to worry about. A momentary disturbance. But then it happened again. A violent shake that rattled the buildings, sending windows shuddering and dust swirling in the air. The ground beneath him seemed to groan, as if the very island were being torn apart.
Aiven's heart stopped in his chest. He snapped his gaze to the sky. The horizon was darkening, the clouds twisting into unnatural shapes, swirling with a force that seemed beyond nature. A strange, heavy silence blanketed the street, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
Something was wrong.
His body moved before his mind could catch up. He rushed outside, his heart hammering in his chest. People were already running, panicked, some screaming, others staring up at the sky in horror. It was like the whole island was holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen.
Then, without warning, the news broadcasts hit.
"A cataclysmic event has been confirmed—Impact confirmed. Hearthport and the surrounding islands have been completely wiped off the map. No traces remain."
Aiven froze, his blood running cold. His mouth went dry as he tried to process the words.
Wiped off the map? He repeated in his mind, but the words didn't make sense.
A wild, disbelieving thought surged in his chest. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.
But then the broadcast flashed more images; dark skies, swirling storm clouds, a vast, empty expanse where Hearthport once stood. It was gone. Completely gone. The island and the surrounding ones were erased as though they had never existed at all.
No rubble. No survivors. Just a blank, unfeeling space.
Aiven staggered back, his mind reeling. His breath came in ragged gasps as his vision blurred. He reached for something, anything, to steady himself, but there was nothing. The ground beneath him felt as though it had vanished.
No, no, no…Panic started surging in.
"That doesn't mean dead," he muttered, barely aware he'd spoken. "It just means… unconfirmed. Probably some large-scale teleportation magic, that has to be it."
Lyra…
A wave of panic hit him like a physical blow. He felt the sudden pressure of a thousand thoughts flooding his mind.
He had to see it with his own eyes.
The airship. He could go there. He could still go. He had to go.
But no. There was nothing. The government had already imposed restrictions, making any airship travel impossible. They were blocking off the entire area.
Aiven didn't remember the walk back to his apartment.
One moment he was standing in the street, the world spinning, and the next he was inside his room with the door shut behind him. The familiar space felt wrong; too small, too quiet, as if it were holding its breath along with him.
The television on the far wall was on.
A uniformed government official filled the screen, posture rigid, expression carefully composed.
"Following a full preliminary assessment," the official said, voice calm and measured, "the government has concluded that there will be no further investigations into the recent catastrophic impact event."
Aiven stopped moving.
"There are no remains, no residual mana signatures, and no spatial distortions left to analyze. The affected islands have been completely erased. There is, regrettably, nothing left to investigate."
His fingers twitched at his side.
"We extend our deepest condolences to the families, friends, and loved ones of those lost. Memorial services will be announced in the coming days."
The broadcast continued, but Aiven couldn't hear it anymore.
"No," he whispered.
His eyes drifted to the corner of the room, where his satchel rested against the wall. Inside it was the delivery ledger. Hearthport's name was still written there in neat ink, unchanged, untouched.
He crossed the room in a daze and pulled it out, flipping through the pages with trembling fingers. Dates. Routes. Cargo lists.
Two days.
"They didn't look hard enough," he said, louder now, his voice cracking. "You can't just decide there's nothing left. You can't—"
The room offered no argument.
Aiven sank onto the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees. His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms as if pain might keep his thoughts from unraveling.
Lyra was strong. Reckless, sometimes. Clever. She wouldn't just— She wouldn't disappear without a trace.
The television continued to murmur behind him, replaying the same words in different phrasing. No further investigations. Nothing left. Condolences.
His gaze drifted to the window, to the endless sky beyond it. Somewhere out there, airships were grounded, routes locked down, the sky itself treated like a closed case.
Slowly, painfully, something began to sink in. Not all at once, not cleanly, but like cold water seeping through cracks he hadn't known were there.
If the government was done…
If even they were saying there was nothing left…
His shoulders trembled. He bent forward, breath hitching, still refusing to cry; clinging to the last fragile thread of hope even as it frayed beneath his fingers.
Deep down, beneath the denial and the whispered promises, he understood.
She's gone.
The thoughts clawed at him, gnawing at his insides.
The first time they had adventured together. The time they had snuck into the forest behind their homes, hearts pounding as they made up tales of treasure buried beneath the roots of ancient trees, the promise to "come back when we're older and find it for real." The way Lyra had laughed, light and free, when he had slipped into a puddle trying to show off his "adventurer skills." The way she had taken his hand to pull him up, her fingers warm and firm in his.
"You know, we'll be the greatest adventurers when we grow up, right? You and me. Side by side. We'll find the best treasures, fight the fiercest monsters, and never look back."
Aiven choked on a sob, the memory like a blade to his chest. He had promised her. They had both promised.
And then there were the years that followed—those lazy afternoons where they'd sit in the shade of the village's ancient oak tree, talking for hours. "I'm going to explore every corner of Aerilis," Lyra had said one day, her eyes sparkling with that fire that Aiven had always admired. "I'll take you with me. We'll discover all the hidden places no one's ever seen. You'll be amazing at it, too. You'll see."
And what had he done? Stayed behind, tucked away in the quiet life of a clerk. He had let his dreams slip through his fingers like sand, telling himself that it was too late, that he wasn't made for it. But Lyra had always believed, even when he didn't.
Her voice echoed in his mind now, soft and tender, just like it had the last time they had spoken.
"I want to go on adventures with you. I've seen the way you light up when you talk about it."
A sob tore through his throat.
He had always thought there would be time. That someday, when I'm ready, when he had gathered the courage, he would go to her, tell her everything. That he loved her, that they could have this life together.
But now that chance was gone.
Gone.
Her smile, her warmth, the way her eyes always seemed to understand him even when words failed. Gone.
The grief washed over him in waves. He bent forward on the edge of his bed, his hands gripping the worn fabric of his trousers as if he could anchor himself there, before the ache tore him apart.
"Just don't give up on your dreams because you're afraid," she said. "I promise I'll always be here, cheering for you. But you have to believe it too."
He had nodded then, but deep down, he hadn't believed it. He had thought there would always be time. More time to prepare. More time to figure it out.
But now, she was gone. And so was that time.
A thin, broken sound slipped from his throat. He folded in on himself, elbows braced against his knees, burying his face in his hands as the grief finally surged past what he could contain.
The apartment was unbearably quiet. No footsteps outside. No voices.
Everything was gone. The dreams. The promises. The chance to stand beside her like they had always said they would.
His shoulders trembled as the tears came, hot and unstoppable. He didn't bother to wipe them away.
He had lost her.
And he had never told her the truth.