The clouds of tension suddenly dissipated to make way for loud, childish laughter, as Arya took on the role of the monster in a game they had always loved to make them forget the bitterness of what had happened moments ago.
She moved through the church in a manner that was both terrifyingly acrobatic and impressive; her body flipped with extreme flexibility until her stomach faced the sky and her back the ground.
She walked on all fours with her head hanging low, moving with a lightness and speed as if she were a human spider weaving threads of joy around them.
The children's screams rang out, a mix of joy and feigned terror, as they ran into every corner, pushing each other and hiding behind wooden pillars, while Arya chased them with that strange gait that only a body with her exceptional strength and flexibility could achieve.
Their laughter echoed through the air, filling the cold church walls with a warmth they had missed since morning, as if the outside world with its threats and sorcerers had vanished behind the doors.
But this spirited moment did not last long, as Mother Joanna's voice pierced the hallway—a calm voice, yet carrying a tone of seriousness that no ear could mistake.
She called Arya by name, telling her that she wanted to speak with her on an important matter.
Arya stopped moving immediately, straightening her posture with a graceful movement to return to her natural form.
The children gradually fell silent as they watched Arya head toward Joanna, her features regaining their seriousness, realizing that playtime was over and a fateful conversation awaited behind those anxious eyes.
Arya approached Mother Joanna, a puzzled question in her crimson eyes:
"What is it?"
wondering about the deep gaze wandering over her features.
Joanna gently took Arya's hands, pressing a few coins into them, and said with a shaky smile trying to hide the fear gnawing at her chest:
"You must choose clothes that suit that place, my little one... go and buy what is fitting for you."
Arya sighed deeply, feeling the heat of the money in her palm like embers reminding her of their poverty. She quietly returned the money to Joanna's hand, then leaned in to lightly and affectionately kiss her forehead.
She said in a warm voice full of steadfastness:
"I don't want that, Mother... I don't want to feign the reality that this test is ordinary, while in their eyes, it is an execution platform for me."
She paused for a moment, tilting her head back as she looked at the ancient ceiling, then continued in a realistic and bitter tone:
"I want to go as I am, as myself and my truth. I don't know what will happen there, so save this money, for I worry about you and the future of the little ones more than myself."
At that moment, Mother Joanna could not contain herself; she burst into tears while laughing bitterly, her tears streaming down her cheeks in grief over the parting of Arya, whom she had spent years raising and caring for.
She murmured in a choked voice:
"My daughter..."
Then she pulled her to her chest with immense strength, stroking her wavy red hair with a love overflowing with fear and anguish.
Arya returned the embrace, burying her head in her shoulder, trying to reassure her with tender words whispered in her ear, vowing in secret to remain as tough as steel for this moment, and for the only family life had ever given her.
After Joanna's outburst of emotion subsided and her breathing calmed, Arya prepared to leave, as the narrow walls of the church were not enough to contain the noise boiling in her chest.
She set off with slow steps, letting her feet lead her automatically toward her secret sanctuary in the Ash Outskirts—that place nestled at the edge of the forgotten forest where she emptied the lava of her anger away from prying eyes.
Images of the morning raid danced before her eyes like vivid nightmares; their contemptuous looks, their faces disgusted by her
"void"of magic, and their laughter that belittled her existence... Every memory fell into her heart like a drop of fuel, feeding the flames of her resentment.
Under the last rays of the sun that began to sink into the sunset horizon, dyeing the sky a burnt orange, Arya reached her
"headquarters."
She stopped in the center of a wide circle, which was nothing but a ring of total destruction amidst the greenery.
The place told the story of her brutal strength; ancient trees uprooted as if a hurricane had hit them, and massive wooden trunks crumbled into small pieces and dust particles by her bare strikes.
The air there was still, as if fearing to provoke the beast lurking behind that beautiful face.
Arya stood in the middle of that wreckage, her shadow lengthening with the sunset, her crimson eyes glowing brighter as the light vanished, ready to turn the silence of the forest into the roar of physical explosions, transforming every ounce of contempt she received from the nobles into a collisional force that shatters rock and tree, declaring that the
"void" they mock possesses a fist capable of shaking the foundations of their kingdom.
Arya erupted in a fit of physical frenzy, her bare hands grinding the scattered wood as if it were mere pieces of paper; she crushed the dry trunks under her fists, turning them into dust that filled the air, while sparks flew from her crimson eyes like volcanic lava about to explode.
With a swift spiral movement, she jumped into the air, kicking an ancient tree trunk with a thunderous kick that split it in two with a single blow that shook the surroundings.
With every strike that shook the earth, her curses poured like a flood upon
"Aetheria"
and its inhabitants, cursing the sorcerers and everyone in whose veins ran a single drop of Mana without exception, holding them responsible for a world that measures dignity by the glow of magic, not the beat of hearts.
Suddenly, Arya stopped and froze in place; her chest heaved as she panted heavily, while her sharp senses picked up something beyond the rustle of trees.
The sound of strange footsteps and reckless youthful laughter began to break the silence of her circle of destruction.
Voices of youths loitering on the edge of the forest were approaching her with an eerie slowness, their talk mixed with arrogance and indifference crawling toward her bit by bit.
Arya wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her wood-stained hand, her eyes burning with a predatory caution; at this time, loiterers do not come to the Ash Outskirts unless they are looking for trouble, and at the height of her anger, she was ready to give them more than they expected.
The noise of laughter and talk suddenly stopped, replaced by a heavy silence broken only by the rustle of dry leaves under the weight of the stillness.
Arya felt their presence right behind her; she felt the heat of their rapid breath brushing her neck, as if they had frozen in their places from the horror of the destruction they saw.
She slowly leaned toward the ground and gripped her fingers tightly around a solid piece of wood she had just shattered, turning it into a primitive weapon in her steel hand.
Cautious questions ran through her mind as she felt their stillness behind her:
"Why don't they speak? What is this curse that makes them content with just staring at me like this?"
Arya turned with a majestic slowness, moving her neck into a fighting stance, aiming at them with looks as sharp as sword blades. Her crimson eyes glowed in the creeping darkness of the forest, clashing with the faces of three loitering youths.
Instead of screaming or attacking, astonishment was the master of the situation. The youths exchanged looks full of wonder and silent questioning; their features read like an open book:
"What is a girl of this beauty doing in the heart of the forgotten forest? And how can she stand alone in this place from which wild beasts flee?"
Their eyes met in a space charged with tension, between a girl protecting her solitude with terrifying strength and youths who lost their way only to find themselves before a human enigma that does not beat with magic, yet overflows with danger.
The silence lasted for a moment, before it was broken by the voice of one of the youths who swallowed his saliva with visible difficulty, and said in a polite tone that surprised Arya:
"What are you doing here, Miss?"
That tone of respect puzzled Arya; in her world full of contempt, this youth was the first to speak to her with such politeness. Her thoughts scattered between fear and doubt: Does this represent respect?
Is he planning a vile plot?
The second youth took several steps forward to stand beside his companion and said in a worried tone:
"Do you need help? Have you lost your way?"
While the third youth stared at the shattered place in amazement and said in a voice clearly carrying fear:
"Guys, I think we are in the lair of some monster."
Then he lowered his gaze toward Arya, examining her condition and her tattered clothes.
Arya replied coldly, staring at them sharply:
"That is none of your business, so get out of my sight."
The youth stepped toward her with slow, calm steps, as if he had words he wanted to pour into her ear, but Arya did not give him a chance to get closer.
She raised the thick wooden stick in front of his face in a fighting stance and screamed with a tone that shook the leaves of the trees:
"Do not come closer! I am warning you!"
The youth froze in his place immediately and raised his hands in front of his head in a clear sign of surrender, trying to instill reassurance in her rebellious heart, and said in a calm voice:
"Hey, girl... calm down a bit, I won't do anything, I just wanted to help."
But words of kindness were strange to her ears, so she rebuked him even more strongly:
"I didn't ask any of you for help, you there!"
At that moment, where strength exploded from her veins unconsciously, Arya did not feel herself pressing on the hard wood between her palms until a terrible sound of crushing rang out; the trunk she was holding had turned into pulverized splinters under the weight of her steel grip.
The eyes of the three youths widened in a shock that silenced their tongues, and they retreated backward in real terror, as the youth who tried to help her murmured:
"Fine... fine... we're going!"
His companions fled through the trees as if they had seen a nightmare, but before he disappeared, he turned toward her with a strange smile not devoid of admiration, waved his hand, and said:
"By the way... my name is Christoph, nice to meet you, Redhead!"
Then he turned to catch up with his companions, vanishing into the forest fog.
Arya exhaled heavily, releasing the charge of anger and tension from her chest, then collapsed to sit on the dirt ground in the middle of her circle of destruction.
She remained staring at the trail Christoph left, her mind boiling with questions:
"What is wrong with them? Were they hit on their heads until they lost their minds?"
She was not comfortable at all with this sudden kind treatment; in a world that sanctifies Mana, kindness to a
"hollow"
like her was a harbinger of something incomprehensible, or perhaps the beginning of something she had never known before.