The Princess and the Gale
The fragile sense of wonder George had felt while navigating the ancient timber was violently shattered. A piercing, high-pitched scream sliced through the humid air, echoing off the plated bark of the giant trees and sending a jolt of pure adrenaline through his veins.
George's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, but he didn't hesitate. Driven by an innate stubbornness and a sense of justice that had only sharpened during his time in the Maze City, he pivoted toward the sound. He sprinted through a dense thicket, thorns catching at his sleeves, until he burst into a small, moss-slicked clearing.
There, backed against the gnarled trunk of a massive oak, was a young girl. She looked impossibly small against the backdrop of the forest. Surrounding her was a staggering horde of decayed figures—skeletal golems and rotting husks that moved with a jerky, unnatural malice. George's emerald eyes widened, but his body moved before his mind could even process the fear. There was no room for doubt; if he didn't act now, the girl wouldn't last another minute.
"Get back!" George roared.
He planted his feet and summoned his mana, feeling the familiar hum of wind magic swirling around his palms. With a sharp, outward thrust, he unleashed a fierce gale. The pressurized air screamed through the clearing, a localized cyclone that slammed into the front line of the undead, sending them reeling backward into the brush.
A skeletal golem, its bones yellowed and cracked, lunged at him with clicking teeth. George dipped his shoulder, dodging the first strike with a fluid grace learned from watching Arthur. As a second golem swung a rusted blade, George side-swiped the creature's arm, using its own momentum to throw it off balance before point-blank blasting its ribcage with a concentrated wind ball. The skeleton shattered into a dozen calcified splinters.
Another skeleton charged from his flank. George didn't just retreat; he launched himself upward, flipping over the creature mid-air. While upside down, he snapped his wrist, sending a concussive blast into the crown of the skeleton's skull, pinning it into the dirt. Landing in a crouch, he fired a rapid-fire barrage of wind pulses, clearing a path toward the girl. One final husk reached for him, but George met it with a reinforced punch, his fist backed by a pocket of high-pressure air. The impact sounded like a thunderclap.
Spinning on his heel, he unleashed a final, sweeping crescent of wind that sent the remaining stragglers tumbling into the darkness of the undergrowth. The commotion settled into a tentative, ringing calm. Adrenaline still coursed through George's veins as he turned to the young woman. He stepped forward, his voice laced with genuine concern as he offered her a steadying hand.
"Hey, the name's George. Are you okay?"
The girl looked up, and George blinked in surprise. She had short, light pink hair that framed large, inquisitive reddish-purple eyes. She wore a dark, double-breasted dress that billowed around her, revealing subtle, elegant floral patterns stitched into the heavy fabric. Despite the horror she had just faced, she didn't look broken. Instead, a small, composed smile touched her lips as she reached out and took his hand.
"Oh, yes, I'm perfectly splendid!" she chirped, her voice possessing a strange, formal lilt. "And how terribly kind of you to offer your aid."
George frowned, looking at her small stature. "Aren't you a little young to be out here? This forest is crawling with monsters."
The girl tilted her head, looking genuinely offended. "Me, young? I'm nearly six and a half! Father says I'm already the strongest in our royal line!"
"Your father?" George repeated, his brow furrowing.
"Lord Nathaniel Heisenberg, Third General of Hyperion," she stated with a practiced bow of her head. "I am Princess Siri Heisenberg. May I inquire why you intervened on my behalf, George?"
George blinked, taken aback by the formality. "Why? Well, because it was the right thing to do. You were in trouble."
Siri mused on this, a puzzled expression crossing her delicate features. She arched a brow, studying him as if he were a rare specimen in a museum. "So you're saying you saved me simply because it was the proper course of action? Not for a bounty, or a blood-debt, or any other reason?"
"Yeah," George said simply, rubbing the back of his neck. "Whenever you see someone in trouble, and you have the power to help, you should. That's just how it works."
Siri suddenly burst into a bright, crystalline peal of laughter. "You're an intriguing individual, George. May I have your permission to remain with you? I confess, I would feel considerably safer by your side than wandering these marshes alone."
"Sure," George agreed, glancing back at his glowing tele-stone. "I'm currently trying to find my friends."
Siri's smile faltered, replaced by a look of profound confusion. "I confess, George, I am unfamiliar with the term. What precisely is a... 'friend'?"
George stopped in his tracks, looking at her in disbelief. "A friend? It's... it's someone who always has your back. Someone you can depend on no matter what. Wait, have you ever had a friend?"
Siri chuckled softly, though there was a hint of something lonely in the sound. "A friend?" she mused again. "I confess, I have never found myself in want of such a companion. In Hyperion, we have allies, subordinates, and rivals. But since you speak of them with such conviction... where, then, are your friends?"
"I'm not sure," George explained, lifting his hand so she could see the pulsing light of the ring. "We infused our tele-stones with each other's aura. This compass will lead me to them."
The tension that had gripped the clearing finally dissipated, leaving behind a fragile tranquility. Siri gazed at George with a look that held more questions than answers, a silent understanding passing between the battle-worn teenager and the strange, royal child. In the heart of Zone A, a new and unlikely bond was beginning to form, woven together by a gust of wind and a promise of protection.