The Starting Point

I watched as Elira stepped into the abandoned house, her small frame disappearing behind the crooked wooden door. The light above the cave ceiling told me it was about 3 p.m.—still two and a half hours before dark. My mother always told me to be home before then.

With time to spare, I wandered through the streets, hands in my pockets, letting the sounds of the bustling market fill my ears. Merchants called out their wares, children ran past, and the smell of grilled pork filled the air. My stomach grumbled at the scent, and without thinking, I found myself stopping at a food stall.

"One stick," I said, placing a few coins on the counter. The vendor grinned, handing me a skewer of freshly grilled meat.

I took a bite. The smoky, slightly charred flavor mixed with the rich seasoning was perfect. Beside the stall, a vendor sold chilled fruit juice, and I grabbed a cup, taking a long sip. The cold drink soothed my throat, washing away the lingering heat of the grilled pork.

As I ate, my mind drifted.

Elira. The way she hesitated before speaking. The way she always glanced around, as if expecting danger. She was getting better, though. Less afraid. More comfortable. That was good.

Then my thoughts turned darker.

The men I killed.

I had become a murderer. That was an undeniable fact. Even if it was to protect Elira—even if those men were slavers, people who deserved death—my hands were still stained with blood.

But I didn’t regret it.

I knew I should feel something more, maybe guilt, maybe remorse, but all I felt was certainty. If I had to do it again, I wouldn’t hesitate.

My grip tightened around the wooden skewer before I forced myself to loosen it.

I shook my head, finishing the last of my food before making my way home.

When I stepped inside, the familiar warmth of our home greeted me. My mother was tending to some herbs, the scent of fresh leaves and dried flowers lingering in the air. She glanced up as I entered.

"You're back," she said. "Did you eat?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I grabbed something at the market."

She set down a bundle of herbs and walked over, her sharp green eyes scanning me. "And your injuries?"

I knew this was coming.

"They're fine," I replied.

She crossed her arms. "Fine?"

I sighed. "Healing. Not that bad."

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she handed me a small bottle of salve. "Use this before bed."

I took it without arguing.

Dinner was quiet. My father hadn’t returned from work yet, so it was just me and my mother. We ate in comfortable silence, the occasional clinking of bowls and utensils the only sound between us.

Afterward, I drew a warm bath, sinking into the water with a deep breath. My muscles ached from training, but the heat soothed them.

I found myself thinking about Elira again.

Was she safe? Was she eating well?

I considered checking on her but quickly dismissed the thought. I had already seen her earlier. There was no reason to go back. She’d be fine.

I leaned my head back, exhaling.

Instead of dwelling on it, I decided to go to the library. I needed to clear my mind. Learning something new always helped.

The next four days passed in a steady rhythm.

Each morning, I went to the abandoned house, and Elira would follow me to our secret training ground. She was getting more comfortable, speaking without stuttering as much.

During training, I pushed my limits. By the third day, I could summon and control three elements at once.

Water and fire combined to create mist magic—a perfect cover for stealth.
Fire and wind merged into lightning magic—quick, destructive, and efficient.

But my strongest spell so far?

Earth-lightning bullet.

A small chunk of earth, propelled by lightning, moving so fast it could pierce through stone. It was precise, deadly, and perfect for long-range attacks. I realized that at my current stage, I wasn’t suited for close combat. My body was still immature—I wouldn’t win in a pure physical battle. But if I could stay hidden, strike from a distance, and move quickly, I’d always have the advantage.

The more I trained, the more satisfied I became.

I was getting stronger.

On the evening of the fourth day, I was in the kitchen, slicing some spices to help my mother prepare dinner. My mind drifted to my progress, thinking about how I could refine my magic even further.

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.

My mother glanced up from the pot she was stirring. "Oh, I think that’s your father. Rain, can you get the door?"

I wiped my hands on a cloth and walked over. "Yes, Mother."

As I pulled the door open, expecting to see my father, my breath caught in my throat.

Standing there was Elira.

She looked nervous, her small hands gripping the hem of her dress. Her eyes darted around as if afraid someone would see her.

"E-Elira?" I asked, confused.

What was she doing here?