Whose hand was she holding?

Drip, drop.

As Elene stood motionless under the rainless sky, a chilling sound reverberated through the air: drip, drop, drip, drop. Each haunting droplet echoed in her mind, drowning out all other thoughts and leaving her with a single, haunting question: How long had she been frozen in this moment? How long had she been entranced by the ceaseless rhythm?

Drip, drop.

Time stretched out, its passage feeling eternal, as if a thousand years had elapsed. In reality, only an hour had slipped away, and it might have continued on indefinitely if not for the sudden eruption of a blazing flame and the piercing screams of terror that shattered the oppressive silence. Even as a hand slapped Elene's cheeks in an attempt to rouse her from her numb stupor, the coldness that had settled within her remained unyielding. Minutes later, a crowd of villagers congregated, drawn by the harrowing cries. Insults cascaded like a relentless river, each word an arrow of scorn, as the mob bore witness to the sight of the brown-haired mage, her wounds oozing a pool of crimson.

"I knew she was bad news from the start!" cried a woman to her husband, her voice laced with vindication.

"We should have dealt with her earlier!" shouted a vengeful teenager.

The collective agreement reverberated through the crowd as a man stepped forward, his fist clenched, ready to strike. But there was no reaction, no flinch, no cry of pain.

"Monster!" whimpered an elderly woman, her voice trembling with fear.

The onslaught continued unabated, blows raining down upon Elene, yet she remained motionless. Her relentless question continued its ceaseless loop in her mind. Whose hand had she been clutching? The riddle persisted, impervious to insults and physical assault. Blood trickled from a wound on her head, but she stood unaffected, seemingly oblivious to the crowd that encircled her.

Until, with desperate cries, a middle-aged woman sprinted forward, tears streaming down her face, a glint of steel in her hand. She was undoubtedly going for the kill, perhaps Kristophe's mother; the resemblance was striking. The knife hurtled toward Elene's eye at inhuman speed, but before it could strike, it was deflected by a forceful punch. The scent of coal and steel mingled in the air, permeating the surroundings.

"What in blazes do you think you're doing?" roared the man, his voice saturated with fury.

"She killed him! Can't you see? She killed my baby! Your... MONSTER slaughtered my Kristophe!" the woman wailed, her voice dripping with anguish as she pointed her trembling knife toward the severed arm that Elene had held all along. It seemed that the shock of the accusation jolted Elene back to reality, or perhaps it was the key to her unanswered question.

The haunting drip drop sounds had ceased. Elene's gaze fixated on her hand, scanning the area, her eyes widening as she made a discovery. It was indeed Kristophe's hand, or at least it felt like it. But where was he? She struggled to form the words on her tongue, straining to voice the question that clawed at her thoughts, but no sound emerged. The mage could barely produce a whisper, let alone coherent speech.

A final slap across her reddened cheeks captured her attention. She finally mustered the strength to look at her attackers. Two fierce green orbs locked onto her gaze. Eric's eyes. This last blow seemed to have been delivered by the blacksmith himself, as his gaze darkened upon meeting hers.

Inside her mind, Elene pleaded her innocence, a desperate attempt to convince herself. She had only sought to bring the young boy to safety, to shield him from impending danger. She had made a promise, vowed to protect him from harm. But the pain of the pointed arrows lodged in her back served as a cruel reminder. As the dissipating adrenaline left her, a searing ache settled in, intensifying her physical torment. Soon, Elene's own eyes darkened, and she crumpled to the dirt, her strength depleted.

When her eyes flickered open once more, they were met with a concerned gaze. It was Eric again, but this time the old man's presence held no hostility, only worry and guilt. He stood by her bedside, his voice trembling as he spoke.

"I'm sorry," Eric said, his voice filled with remorse. "I should have given you a chance to speak before passing judgement. I never should have silenced you with my blow."

Emotion trembled in his voice, revealing the depth of his regret. The young princess attempted to sit up, but the agony pulsating through her wounds immobilised her. Her entire body protested the slightest movement.

"Water," Elene croaked, her parched throat making speech difficult.

Understanding softened the lines of the old man's weathered face. He nodded and swiftly left the room, leaving her alone to assess her surroundings. Bandages enveloped her body, wrapping her from head to toe, as she lay upon a spacious, comfortable bed in the centre of a well-appointed chamber. With her focus on her right hand, Elene slowly comprehended that she had been clutching Kristophe's severed hand. However, the rest of Kristophe's body was nowhere to be found, leaving behind only a clean cut where his hand should have been. It defied logic. Elene had only sustained injuries because she had channelled all her powers into protecting the young boy at her side. And no one in this realm could surpass her in strength. It had been proven time and again. Yet, examining the state of her heart, her powers had not waned with the time reversal. Only her mana capacity had diminished.

A fresh glass of water materialised at her lips, and she greedily drank, consuming the liquid with desperate gulps, feeling the coolness soothe her parched throat.

"I' want to apologise on behalf of this whole town," Eric spoke again, his voice now weak and frail. It trembled uncontrollably as he repeated the apology, his remorse palpable. But what was he sorry for? Elene had failed him, after all.

"As the mayor, as the one you trusted for this partnership... I have failed you Elene," Eric confessed, his voice laden with regret. "Never should I have even thought about striking you.

"More water..." Elene attempted to formulate a sentence, but her voice faltered. Her dtill raw throat made it impossible to speak. Carefully, Eric placed another glass of fresh water to her parched lips, and she eagerly quenched her thirst.

"I apologise if this seems rude, but... what changed your perception of me? Why do you now believe I didn't kill him... Kristophe, I mean?" she began, her voice raspy.

"Do you truly wish to delve into that now? You should rest," Eric responded.

"Now. I partly deserved the beating for failing to uphold my promise, but look at my condition. I demand answers, now."

Elene's voice sliced through the room, commanding attention. Frustration and desperation intertwined in her tone, a reminder of her true nature—a princess of noble lineage. But she was wrong about one thing. She did not deserve this fate, and it was his fault.

"When you collapsed, your back was covered in wounds, with two arrows lodged within. I knew Vella and Himir would not have done such a thing, so I sent a group of villagers to search for Kristophe or any remains..."

Eric paused, as if struggling to find the strength to conclude his sentence or find the right words. Elene's curiosity intensified, hoping he held the answers to why her magic failed and where Kristophe had disappeared.

"I... they found him—or rather, what was left of him. There were no remains besides a pool of blood and his clothes. One of the men claimed to sense a dark aura, something not of our realm."

"Our realm?" Elene questioned, her confusion mounting.

"You may not be familiar with Menhstir's beliefs. Our people believe that each high being race has its own realm—demons, gods, angels, and so on."

"And your man was able to sense them?"

"It's hard to say. It's been centuries since anyone has reported sightings of higher beings, as you well know. But he knew it, as instinctive as breathing. It felt natural to him," explained the old man, hoping his words would make sense.

"Okay... Let's say I believe you. What could have caused such a thing, and why?" Elene inquired, her confusion still evident.

While the assumptions of Eric's people made some sense, they also raised further questions. After Kaleb was sealed, it was believed that all higher beings vanished, even the mighty dragons. At least, that was what the legend stated. But if a powerful non-human entity had breached Elene's barrier without her knowledge, it would explain the situation. This theory held merit, but why would it have killed the boy?

"Hah. What do you know about Kaleb?" Eric asked, his voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

"Like everyone else, he was once human, turned into a monster. That he fucking consumed a demon and sparked a war so devastating that higher beings had to seal him to save Manvalchan."

"I didn't take you for the type to swear, Princess, but you're right."

"When someone gets beaten to a pulp and learns that a demon or something killed their protege... Yes, they end up cussing. Every inch of my body hurts," Elene retorted, the venom in her words palpable.

"That... is true. No matter how many apologies I offer, they won't heal your wounds or mend your broken heart any faster."

"Yes, they won't. Now, why would a higher being kill this boy? As far as I know, we were pursued by humans."

"Pursued, you say? I'm sorry, I still don't know your side of the story. If you're willing, I would like to hear more," Eric whispered gently.

"I suppose I owe you that much, and for his mother, whom I failed.