Three sunrises had passed since the impossible took root.A woman, cimed by death, had opened her eyes. She spoke. She breathed. She lived.No one understood. They had seen the sickness before—It did not release its prey. It consumed.But this time...Something shifted.They did not speak of it aloud.They whispered.Not with fear. With reverence.He had not moved.He had not spoken.And yet—The world obeyed.

  ---Ange had believed he would vanish, just as suddenly as he appeared. A passing shadow.A dream mistaken for memory.But he remained.Not from want. Not from duty. Because something—quiet and formless—told him to.He had heard it before. By the river. In the forest. In the silence between blood and breath.And so, he stayed. Beneath the tree. For three nights and three dawns.He did not wait. He did not hope. He simply existed.The vilgers had begun to come. One by one.At first out of curiosity. Then, with offerings—bread, fruit, quiet words.He did not ask for these things. He did not speak.He only watched.Some tried to engage him.Most left in silence. But each visit left a mark on the air—a shift in the rhythm of the vilge.He could feel it.Their fear had lessened.Their awe had grown.

  ---And then—on the fourth morning—a man approached.Cautious. Awkward.Calloused hands and a soot-stained apron.> "Good sir," the voice came, hesitant.There was a tremor in his tone—hope wrapped in disbelief. "They say you… helped a woman."

  The elf opened his eyes. The grass stilled. The air thickened.> "She wasn't supposed to live, " the man said quickly. "But she did. I saw her walk. I heard her voice. It's—"He swallowed. "It's a miracle."

  The elf said nothing.> "She's a friend of mine," the man continued."Her name is Pauline. Most of us had already mourned her."

  A beat of silence.> "Pauline," the elf repeated slowly.As if tasting the name.

  > "Oh—right. I'm Jeff. Bcksmith. My forge is just past the bend. "He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flicking between the elf's expressionless face and the ground.

  Still no response.Then, the elf spoke. Low. Unmoved.> "Not now."

  Jeff blinked.> "Ah—of course. Sorry to intrude. I just… wanted to thank you. You're a blessing. A miracle. Sent by the gods, maybe."

  The elf's face didn't change. But something inside him twisted.The gods. Again.As if they would ever look upon a pce like this.But he said nothing.

  ---Ange came again.Every day.Sometimes alone. Sometimes with Pauline, now walking.And each time, she stayed longer. She talked. About the vilge. About her dreams. About the weather, the market, the stars.Sometimes she ughed, and sometimes—just for a moment—her voice trembled when she mentioned her mother.She was not afraid. She smiled more each day. Once, she even whispered:> "I was afraid you'd vanish after saving her… but you stayed."

  As if the silence surrounding him was a comfort, not a wall.He rarely spoke. But he listened. And that seemed to be enough for her.He said little. But more than before.Something inside him stirred. A voice. Or something older. It did not whisper. It called.To the forest.He stood.A tremor passed through the grass.The trees creaked.The clouds slowed. Even the insects fell quiet.A droplet fell from his brow.> "…Sweat."

  His gaze narrowed.> "New."

  From the distant treeline, he felt it—A pulse. Low. Dark.Wrong.He stepped forward.Was this fear?The sensation curled like smoke around his thoughts. Unfamiliar. Unwelcome.He clenched his fists.> "I shall know no fear, " he said."For I shall banish it from this world."

  The feeling left him. As if afraid to remain.

  ---Each step stretched the world. Time unraveled. The forest thickened. The sky dimmed, though no clouds passed. Even the birds forgot how to sing.He walked.> "This is my first real challenge in this world, " he murmured."The others… were child's py."

  He had never needed strategy before.But now—he pnned.> A draconic beast? A demon lord? A trial from the unknown?

  The pulse grew louder.Then—he saw her.

  ---A figure. Still. Waiting.A woman in bck.Skin pale as frost.Eyes red like a scarlet moon.A crimson aura bled from her figure, like vapor rising from open wounds. The shadows twisted around her, swirling, coiling, as if obeying an unspoken command.Her presence swallowed the light, each step cloaked in deceptive grace. Not brute force. But calcution. Power that did not shout—it whispered. Schemed. Waited.The air twisted. Leaves curled to ash.A single bck butterfly nded on her shoulder—and crumbled.She turned to him.> "There you are," she said."I've been looking for you."

  The elf did not flinch.He watched her magic ripple around her, not wild—but deliberate.Cunning.A web waiting for prey.He did not feel threatened.But he remained alert.> "I have no business with you."

  Her voice remained steady, but her eyes shone.> "I don't wish to fight," she said."I came to serve."

  His gaze sharpened.> "Serve?"

  > "I had a dream," she said, stepping forward. "A vision from the goddess. To find the elf whose aura is darker than the void. To offer myself to him. Entirely. Without question."

  She paused. Then added:> "I do not know your name. But I know your power. It called to me like hunger. It frightened me… and yet—I wanted to be near it."

  Her hands, though steady, gripped her cloakas if to still a storm beneath her skin.Something flickered in her expression.Not madness. Not fear. Something far more dangerous :understanding.Devotion. Not born from light. But from recognition of something greater. A predator yielding to an apex force.

  ---Something moved within him. Low. Coiled. Not rage. Not recognition.Dominance.> Was this why I waited beneath that tree? Was it her… the one guiding me?Not a voice. Not a command. A goddess, perhaps…?No. I do not serve.

  He stared at her.> "Goddess?" he said, distaste thick on his tongue.

  "I do not believe in gods."