The sun was barely hanging around the corner of his eyes, the shadow now stretching far longer and languidly across the cobblestone road. The hustle and bustle of the city road gradually subsided, leaving Erik in the middle of silence.
Lyria,....
The name lingered in his thoughts like the echo of a familiar melody, she was just as he remembered—bright-eyed and full of energy. Her lyre was strapped on her back as she wove through the thinning crowd. Sometimes, she glanced back, her hand lifted in a cheerful wave, her smile as warm as the golden light that had framed her.
The game mascot, the girl who greeted the player like an old friend.
A smile crept onto his face, but it was fleeting, dissolving into a more pensive as he continued to walk down the deserted street. His finger lifted with glasses in his hand and wear it.
To any passerby, he might have appeared as lost in thought, his gaze was distant, and his expression was unreadable. But behind the lens, his vision was filled with text.
The world around him blurred at the edge, leaving the text unfolding before his eyes.
[Unavoidable Death of The Bard]
The title hovered in front of his eyes, a discussion he had read countless times.
Death itself varies as tough as it leads to certain things, self-sacrifice. In the end, whenever the story unfolded, she would be the sacrifice, sacrificing herself to prevent major changes to the story itself.
The dying sunlight catches on Erik's glasses as a familiar voice slices through the brooding silence, "I don't know you wear glasses..."
Edna stood beside him as if she'd materialised from the lengthening shadow. Her chestnut hair was aflame in the sunset's glow. She leaned closer, her reflection warping around the curved glass as she studied them with curiosity.
The words flickered in his vision like a branded paper hovering in the air. When his eyes blinked, Lyria's laughing face superimposed over Edna's—then dissolved as he turned around.
"Edna..." Her name muttered, his voice carried the weight of interrupted thought as he halted.
When he fully faced her, his brow furrowed at the sudden appearance. "What are you doing here?" His voice is daunted with curiosity—most of the students are either training or already in the dormitories.
Her amber eyes narrowed in response. "I am the one that supposed to say that," she countered, crossing her arms. The motion made her uniform sleeve strain slightly across her shoulder. "What are you doing here?"
He frowned, as if hearing something that ridiculous coming from her mouth. His voice was low, but preaching to her to explain what she meant. "It's not like I don't want to, but the professor won't even let me."
"Huh?" A question hung from the voice she uttered. She tilted her head like a bird spotting something strange in its path as she asked the person next to her.
"They said that I don't need it since the path I chose is different," he explained. "What path, anyway?"
Understanding dawned across her face as she caressed her chin. Her finger taps, in thought, "I see, no wonder. After you show them a battle like that."
"What battle?" The question left his lips before he could stop it.
"Huh?" This time, her incredulity was palpable, her eyes staring in utter disbelief as if there was something wrong with her ears. "When you fought with Elria inside the dungeon, of course."
His eyes widened, and with his low voice, he said, "Huh? How?"
"You... " She squinted her eyes as the word came from Edna's lips like smoke from a dying candle. "Don't tell me you've forgotten?"
The silence between them congealed into something palpable—a living thing that slithered through the space between shadows. A bell tolled the hour somewhere in the distance, its echoes bouncing off empty streets as the glimmering light of the golden hours gradually glided through the horizon.
Edna's voice slowly dropped into a whisper, as though afraid the wind would carry her voice over to the unknown. "Erik, the professor is monitoring us with their familiars."
Silence hovers in the air as time passes by, leaving the two of them standing still, facing each other. As the regressor herself, Edna's knowledge was carved in the scars of lived apocalypse. But his understanding as a player came filtered through the monitor. The first dungeon dive had been but a tutorial for him—a fleeting challenge before the main story began.
Her gaze flickered towards the waving basket, a simple attempt to lighten the atmosphere. "Oh, it seems you bought something. What is it?" her voice carried a bit of curiosity.
In his hand, a basket can be seen hovering beside him. "Weapon," he said.
His hand lifted the basket in front as Edna leaned closer, her breath stirring the air between them as she peeked into the contents inside. The basket's lid opened, revealing a collection of objects that gleamed dully.
"An... Axe?" Her voice was low, carrying the faintest tremor of disbelief.
As though a kid flaunting their toys, Erik's expression looked triumphant. "Hand axes," he corrected, the words practically vibrating with satisfaction.
Her gaze was piercing and skeptical as she looked at Erik. In her mind, the correlation between the knight that she knows and Erik was colliding.
Are you sure he is a knight? The question slithered through her thoughts.
As if sensing her skepticism, he picked up the axe, lightly throwing it. As the axe flipped skyward in a silver arc, his hand caught it without batting an eye. "I can't always use a kitchen knife," his voice dropping with a serious tone. "As they tend to break easily."
In fact, after the first simulation of the dungeon dive. Two of Erik's kitchen knives were broken, chipped, and eventually broke into two as he used them to battle two brilliant mages. A ridiculous fighting style against the top 10 rankers of the academy, though the results left the onlookers in awe.
The two were continuing their walks until the echoes of someone's steps caught their attention. At the bridge that connects the academy and the town, a person from behind was calling her names at a similar pace.
"Edna."
From afar, a languid voice called to her. His demeanour was a portrayal of someone special as he walked closer. His white hair fluttered, glimmering in gold as the sky turned into dusk. Wearing his embroidered academy coat—tailored to emphasize his breadth shoulders. The grandson of the tower master didn't slouch as he was destined to stand in a lesser being's presence with pride. His gaze flicked from the axe to the scant space between Edna and Erik, his lips pursing as if he'd bitten something sour.
"Professor requires you," he announced, his lies smooth as gilded poison.
Edna arched her brow, "At this hour?" she said.
"He was insistent." Kian stepped forward, filling the scant space between them with envy in the air. His hand hovered near Enda's back—not touching but enough to stake a claim. "Something about your... assignment."
As he spoke, he urged Edna to move—leaving Erik behind. When they're far but not far enough, Kian's head turned, looking at Erik with a gaze of caution as if he had found a worthy tiger.
"Edna," her name came out of his mouth like a sigh. "What the hell did you do in this one week to make him infatuated like that...."
A droplet of sweat formed beside his cheek, worrying about the person who seems not realised the situation.