It's been a couple of days now since that incident.
I took whatever gold and jewelry I could fit into my tattered pockets—most of it probably worth more than I'd ever seen in my life—but out here, it didn't feel like treasure; it felt like time, time to move, time to eat, time to not die. Not enough and never enough.
The road stretched on endlessly ahead of us, dry and cracked beneath my boots—the only sound was our footsteps, mine heavier than hers. Each step sent a dull ache crawling up my legs. The half-healed wounds pulled and tightened like they hadn't decided if I deserved to walk yet. Once, my leg nearly gave out. I kept walking anyway. Stopping wasn't an option. A constant reminder of how close I'd come, how close she'd come.
I glanced down at her as she walked a few steps behind me, small and quiet, her green hair dull under the morning light, tangled and uneven where it had been cut. She hadn't said much since we left—not a complaint, not a question, just silence—and that was good, because silence meant she was still alive.
My grip tightened around the small pouch in my hand, the faint clink of coins inside breaking the quiet. Empire territory, human territory, dangerous territory—I'd seen enough already to know what they did to people like us: sold, broken, forgotten. My ears twitched under the hood; I couldn't stay on the main roads forever, but I didn't know where else to go, not yet, not until a faint sound reached me, footsteps behind us, and I stopped walking. It was nothing, just a normal passerby.
Another couple of days passed as I walked with Sylvie, and man, she was adorable. Most of my food was hard to get—damn near impossible, actually—since shops would slam their doors the moment they saw even a hint of my ears, and once, someone threw a rock that missed, but I didn't turn around to see who did it, and the few that didn't just overcharged like crazy; active racism against demi-humans wasn't even subtle here, it was normal. Why, man… why? Whatever, it didn't matter—I just needed to live, and most of the food went to her anyway; I could handle the hunger—it made everything slower, harder to think, harder to care—but she couldn't.
Sylvie walked beside me now instead of behind, still quiet and cautious but different, her eyes moving more as she reacted when birds flew past, when the wind brushed her hair, when I handed her food. Recently, she'd started showing more emotion—small things like hesitation, curiosity, relief—and once, when she thought I wasn't looking, she tried to fix the tear in my sleeve with her fingers, stopping the moment I noticed like she'd done something wrong.
Whatever they'd done to her, it was bad; I could see it in the way she flinched when my hand moved too fast, in the way she never slept too deeply, in the way she always looked at me first before doing anything. But it wasn't permanent; it was fixable, and I'd fix it somehow—I didn't know how yet, but I would, I had to.
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It's been two weeks now. We'd found a rhythm, or something close to it—scavenging what we could from the edges of the empire, avoiding the centers where the stares turned into shouts or worse.
The nights were the hardest; I'd build small fires in hidden clearings, far from the roads, and watch her eat whatever scraps I'd managed to hunt or trade for, her tiny hands careful not to drop a crumb. She was opening up in bits and pieces—sometimes mimicking the way I sharpened my sword, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on a stick, or pointing at the stars with a faint, wordless wonder in her eyes.
But the Empire's grip felt tighter with every mile; patrols passed us once, their horses kicking up dust that stung my eyes, and I pulled her into the underbrush just in time, holding my breath until their laughter faded. It reminded me why we couldn't stop—why I couldn't let the pain in my side, from a wound that refused to fully heal, slow us down.
We were surviving, but barely; the gold was running low, and hunger was a constant shadow, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.
Still, seeing her smile—just once, faint and fleeting when a butterfly landed on her hand—made it worth pushing on.
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It's been a month now. I hadn't really looked at my status yet—didn't have the time, since every day was the same: moving, hiding, hunting, feeding Sylvie before myself, with surviving coming first and everything else coming after. But now, things were different; I finally got a place to stay, nothing special—just a small, worn-down room above a tavern, where the floor creaked, the walls were thin, and the bed was barely big enough for one person—but it had a door, a door that locked, and I locked it three times that first night, just to be sure.
I established myself in the Hunter's Association as an individual hunter after killing something called an Apeman—honestly, it was just a massive, fat monkey, an ugly thing that was strong, sure, strong enough to tear apart normal people, but nothing really worthy of mention.
Still, the Association thought differently; when I dragged its corpse through their doors, the entire hall went quiet—they stared, not at the corpse but at me, one of them standing up like he was about to stop me, his hand tightening on his weapon before slowly letting go, like the sight of me unsettled him more than the beast I'd slain.
They asked questions after that, lots of them that I didn't answer most of, because I didn't need to; results spoke louder.
They gave me a choice then, a hunter's privilege: I could make my own mask, choose my own identity, and I picked a boar—of course I did; they asked what name I wanted to register under, but I didn't give them one—the mask was enough, names could be taken, the mask couldn't.
It didn't ask who I was. It didn't care. It was crude, dark, featureless except for the tusks and empty eye sockets, but it worked; it made things easier, since hunters were respected here, even in the Empire, even with the racism—behind the mask, they couldn't see my ears, couldn't see what I was, so they just assumed I was a strong human. Fine by me.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I glanced toward Sylvie; she was asleep, peaceful, safe—for now, one of her hands gripping the edge of my shirt, and I didn't know what I'd do if that ever changed, so I made sure I was between her and the door.
I let out a slow breath, my hand stopping halfway as I hesitated—I hadn't looked at it since that day, didn't know what I was afraid of seeing, and for a moment, I almost closed it again—then finally, I opened my status. My chest tightened as the screen appeared.
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Noel Xerlectus
Level: 2
Strength: I000→G239
Endurance: I000→F347
Dexterity: I000→G210
Agility: I000→H189
Magic: I000→H102
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Skills
•Divine Protection of the Death God:
•Steady Ascension
•Vana Arganture
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• Hero's Resolve
When protecting another person, your mind becomes harder to break.
Effects
• Fear resistance increases
• Mental stability increases
• Pain tolerance slightly increases
This effect only activates while protecting someone.
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•X████'S Blessing
Allows one to see a status panel tracking stats
Updates status automatically all the time
Your status cannot be altered or hidden by external forces
(You are not fully worthy of seeing the full ability of this skill)
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• The Woken
Current State: Active
Steady Footing. Swift Rebound. Kick Off.
Permanent Stat Gains: Strength: +10 Endurance: +20 Dexterity: +10 Agility: +60
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Developmental Ability
Strong Defense H
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My eyes moved over the numbers first. They'd all gone up. More than I expected. A lot more. Strength. Endurance. Dexterity. Agility and Magic.
For a second, I just stared at them in silence, taking in the jump from where I'd last seen them. The fighting, the running, the hunger, the pain… all of it had actually become something. It wasn't just suffering for the sake of suffering. My body had remembered it all.
Then my gaze shifted lower.
Hero's Resolve.
I frowned slightly and read it again.
Fear resistance. Mental stability. Pain tolerance.
…While protecting another person.
Sylvie.
My gaze shifted without thinking. She was still asleep. Still holding onto my shirt like if she let go, I'd disappear.
I stared at the words again. So that's all it was. I let out a quiet breath through my nose. A small smile formed before I could stop it.
"…Good," I murmured.
If it meant I wouldn't give up again… if it meant I could keep standing…
Then that was enough.
My eyes moved down.
And stopped.
X████'S Blessing
I froze. There, buried beneath the redacted mess, was something new.
An X.
Just one letter.
But I was sure it hadn't been there before. My expression tightened as I read the rest again.
Then that last line.
(You are not fully worthy of seeing the full ability of this skill.)
Not fully worthy.
Slowly worthy, then.
Or at least… more worthy than before.
I didn't know what X meant. Didn't know what the hell this blessing actually was, or why it was changing now, but it was obvious enough that something had shifted. It had noticed me. Or maybe it always had, and now it was finally showing a little more of itself.
I stared at the screen for a long moment, then looked back toward Sylvie.
Still asleep.
Still holding onto my shirt.
My eyes returned to the blessing.
"…What are you?" I muttered quietly.
The screen, of course, gave no answer.
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Half a year had passed. Somewhere along the way, people had started stepping aside when I walked in. Not everyone. Not most. But enough. Enough that I noticed, and damn if it didn't make me feel a strange mix of pride and unease—like I was turning into something more than just a survivor scraping by.
The mask helped, no doubt. The boar's tusks were darker now, worn and chipped from too many close calls, stained with grime that no amount of scrubbing could fully erase.
When I wore it, nobody stared at my pointed ears anymore, the ones that marked me as an outsider. Instead, their eyes flicked to the weapon slung at my side, or the faint bloodstains that lingered on my cloak, reminders of hunts gone right... or wrong.
Hunters talked. I'd catch whispers in the taverns, fragments of stories about "The Boar"—not my name, Noel, but this persona I'd stumbled into. They said it like it meant something fierce, someone to reckon with. It made me wonder if I was becoming that, or if it was just the mask wearing me.
Sylvie stayed close, her small frame a constant shadow at my side.
Not because she was afraid anymore—no, she'd grown past that. It was her choice now, and that simple fact warmed something in my chest I hadn't felt in awhile.
She walked beside me with those tiny, steady steps, her little boots scuffing the cobblestones in a rhythm that matched my longer strides. Her hand would occasionally reach out to grab the edge of my sleeve when the streets swelled with crowds, her fingers curling in tight like a lifeline. Sometimes she'd tug on it for no reason at all, just a quick pull to confirm I was still there.
When I'd glance down, she'd feign innocence, her wide eyes drifting upward as if the clouds had suddenly painted a masterpiece, her cheeks flushing a soft pink.
She smiled more now, too. Not the big, boisterous grins that kids her age might flash, but these quiet, secret ones that lit up her face small but clear.
Like when I'd hand her a piece of fresh bread or an apple from the market, and she'd try to hide her excitement by nibbling at it daintily, her eyes sparkling with that unspoken "thank you" that made my heart twist in the best way.
Or when she'd spot something silly—a stray cat batting at its own tail in a futile loop, tumbling over itself in the alley—and she'd let out this soft, muffled giggle, clapping a hand over her mouth as if laughter was a treasure too precious to share freely.
I'd catch myself smiling under the mask then, feeling like an idiot for how much those moments grounded me, pulled me back from the edge of whatever darkness I'd been flirting with.
A few nights ago, I woke up to find a threadbare blanket draped over me. Crooked, uneven, comically small—it barely covered my shoulders, let alone the rest of me.
She'd clearly tiptoed over in the dim firelight, her best effort at tucking me in like I was the one who needed protecting.
And there she was, slumped against the wall, fast asleep sitting up, her tiny hand still resting on my arm as if to say, "There, now you're safe and warm." I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling beams, a lump forming in my throat. How had this kid, with her messy braids and endless curiosity, wormed her way into making me feel... human again? Protective, yeah, but also soft around the edges, like maybe I wasn't just a blade in the world anymore. I didn't move the blanket. Hell, I didn't want to. Instead, I shifted just enough to pull her closer, letting her head rest against my side as the fire crackled low.
These days, I was strong enough that I didn't have to glance over my shoulder every second to check if she was still there—though I did anyway, out of habit, or maybe just because seeing her skip along, humming some tuneless melody she'd made up, reminded me why I kept fighting.
We'd stop at the market sometimes, and she'd point out the brightest fruits or the fluffiest loaves, her voice a whisper of wonder: "Noel, look at that one—it's like a little sun!" And I'd grunt in agreement, buying an extra one just to see her beam. It wasn't much, this life we were piecing together, but in the quiet moments, with her hand in mine or her laughter echoing in my ears, it felt like enough. More than enough.
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An
Didn't post yesterday because got uni and all that yk
Lmk if over explained or if something didn't make sense
and howed you find Sylvie and Noels interactions?