Ansel carefully lifted the Viorenving from its resting place, the mystical vessel that housed Rhea's true form. His voice was gentle but firm as he spoke the words that always summoned her. "Rhea, come out..."
Slowly, the Guardian Spirit emerged. Her ethereal form shimmered weakly in the dim light. But something was wrong.
The wound on her wing, deep and cruel, had not begun to close. It was completely unexpected. Ansel knew well the nature of immortals like Rhea. The wounds that should have healed rapidly, as if by magic, were stubbornly open and raw.
His heart tightened with worry. This was not normal.
Andrew, who had been watching silently, finally broke the tense silence. His voice was filled with genuine concern and curiosity. "Ansel, what happened?"
Ansel shook his head, frustration and helplessness evident in his expression. The uncertainty gnawed at him like a relentless shadow. "Don't ask me, because I don't know."
Determined to do whatever he could, Ansel left the room to fetch ice water and a medicine box. Though the remedies were meant for humans, he hoped they might offer some relief to Rhea's unnatural injury.
Back in the room, Andrew gently held Rhea's injured wings, careful not to cause her more pain. Meanwhile, Ansel began to treat the wound as best as he could, applying the cold compress and carefully cleaning the area.
As he worked, memories flooded his dark mind, painful memories of the past. He recalled the tragic moment when Hansel had died, a loss that had shattered him deeply.
Now, it felt as if history was repeating itself. The fear gripped him tightly, threatening to consume his resolve.
He didn't want to lose Rhea. He couldn't lose his Grandpa.
"Andrew, do you think what happened this time will make me lose Rhea and Grandpa?" His voice trembled as he turned to Andrew, the weight of his fears spilling out.
Andrew met his gaze steadily, trying to offer reassurance. "Of course not. Take it easy, Mr McVeigh and Rhea will definitely be fine."
"What if you are wrong? What if they're not okay?" But Ansel's doubt was relentless.
The room fell silent, the question hanging heavy in the air. Neither man had an answer, but both knew that hope was the only thing they could cling to in the face of such uncertainty.
"Don't worry, they will definitely recover and be fine. I'm sure of that." Andrew said gently. He tried to soothe the storm of anxiety swirling inside Ansel. His voice carried a calm confidence, a steady anchor in the sea of uncertainty. He didn't want Ansel to fall apart, not now.
Andrew glanced at Ansel's pale face and sunken eyes, noticing how exhausted and worn down he looked. He knew Ansel hadn't eaten anything since the previous day.
Without hesitation, Andrew offered. "Ansel, what do you want to eat, I will order for you."
"No thanks, I'm not hungry." Ansel replied firmly. His voice was barely above a whisper.
The thought of food was unappealing. His mind was consumed by worry for Rhea and his grandfather. All he wanted was to stay by Rhea's side, hoping she would recover.
But Andrew was persistent. His tone was kind but insistent, like a parent urging a child to do what's best. "You have to eat something. I know for sure you haven't eaten since yesterday. Listen to me! You have to take care of yourself too."
Ansel remained silent, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. He felt helpless and uncertain. One thing was clear in his mind. He had to confront the person who had hurt his grandfather and Rhea.
But what if that person was stronger than him? What if he wasn't ready?
Seeing Ansel's hesitation, Andrew stood up and tried a different approach. He suggested with a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood.
"How about instant spaghetti or pizza?"
Although there was no response from Ansel, he went straight to the kitchen and cooked instant spaghetti.
A few minutes later, Andrew returned to Ansel's room. He gently took Ansel's arm and helped him to his feet. He urged softly. "Ansel, let's eat."
Ansel obeyed, his footsteps weak and unsteady as he followed Andrew. The warmth of the noodles was a small comfort in the cold uncertainty that surrounded him.
Andrew handed him the plate and spoke softly, almost teasingly. "Here for you, if you don't eat, you will die before Grandpa or Rhea recovers."
Ansel forced himself to eat, each bite heavy with reluctance but necessary. The act of eating felt like a small victory against the despair threatening to consume him.
After a moment, Andrew asked gently. "Ansel, what's your next plan?"
Ansel paused, forked halfway to his mouth, and then answered quietly. "I don't know."
"Do you want revenge?" Andrew's question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions. Deep down, he knew the answer was complicated.
No one could accept it when someone they loved was hurt. The desire for justice or vengeance was natural, but the path was never easy.
Ansel remained silent, his gaze fixed on the plate of spaghetti before him. Andrew's words stirred something inside him, but he felt lost, overwhelmed by his own feelings of inadequacy.
He wasn't Hansel, strong, fearless, and capable. He doubted his own strength, his own worth.
"I don't know, I doubt whether I can do it or not. I'm not Hansel. I'm not as strong as him. Nothing I can do." Ansel finally admitted. His voice was tinged with self-doubt.
"Is there someone you suspect?" Andrew leaned forward, his eyes searching for Ansel's face.
Ansel shook his head slowly. "Hmmm.... No one."
He continued eating, the act of nourishment now feeling strangely necessary despite his lingering loss of appetite. Something inside him was shifting. Perhaps it was a flicker of resolve, or simply the need to stay strong for those who depended on him.
As Andrew watched, his attention was drawn to Rhea, who stood quietly on the stairs. Her presence was almost ethereal. He called softly. "Ansel, Rhea ..."
At the sound of his name, Ansel immediately rose and approached her. Gently, he lifted Rhea and placed her on the table, deeply etched on his face. "Rhea, what are you doing? You should recover yourself."
Rhea's voice was barely more than a whisper, so soft that Ansel struggled to catch her words. He urged, leaning closer, desperate to understand. "Rhea, what do you really want to say?"
The room seemed to hold its breath as Rhea
gathered her strength to speak. Her eyes reflect a mixture of pain, determination, and something unspoken. Perhaps it was a secret or a warning that could change everything.
Rhea's voice was barely audible, a fragile whisper that seemed to struggle against the weight of her injuries. Yet, through the haze of pain, she managed to utter a single name, her trembling as she spoke. "He... Ka..."
Ansel leaned closer, his heart pounding with anticipation and dread. He urged gently, bringing his ear closer to her beak to catch every faint sound. "Rhea, can you speak again..."
"Heka..." She repeated. The name sliced through the silence like a blade.
The moment the word left, a surge of shock and fury exploded within Ansel. His grip tightened around the fork he held.
The metal was bending and snapping in his clenched fist as it broke in two. The simple act was a physical manifestation of the storm raging inside him.
This time, Ansel was no longer paralyzed by fear or doubt. His heart burned with a fierce, unrelenting anger. He vowed to take revenge on Heka. The one who had mercilessly hurt both Mr. McVeigh and Rhea.
In that instant, clarity washed over him. He understood exactly how he could defeat Heka.
The answer was clear. Heka had made the first move, had hurt him and those he loved. That was his weakness. Ansel would use it as a reason.
Turning to Andrew, his voice was cold and resolute. It was filled with a darkness that had not been there before. "Andrew, now I know what I have to do. I will take revenge. I'll make him pay for everything."
Ansel's aura shifted dramatically, the warmth and uncertainty replaced by a chilling determination. Shadows seemed to gather around him. It reflected the fierce resolve burning in his eyes.
The path ahead was dangerous and uncertain. But Ansel was ready to face it. For his grandfather, for Rhea, and for the justice that demanded retribution.