The Author's Will

92 | Time Limit

　　In the heart of the woods enveloping Pelto Village, a slumbering temple stood - a silent witness to bygone eras. Its weathered stone walls were adorned with ivy and the proud scars of time's relentless passage.

The sagging roof traced a skeletal silhouette, casting shadows amidst dappled sunlight. Nature, relentless and untamed, reclaimed the space with ferns defiantly sprouting through cracked tiles. And somewhere within, a small white stone lay open on a pedestal. A relic that had been sought after by many - but none achieved in disturbing its peace.

Shattered stained glass cast fractured rainbows across dusty floors. As Mikael stared skywards at a stream of sunlight gushing through a gaping hole in the roof, his tired mind clouded with cogitations.

A week had passed since their group arrived at the village of Pelto - a town of people hailing from the silver lineage who lived their lives in secrecy from the rest of the world. During their visits to the Temple of Leojura, they discovered that the spirit stone they came here for in order to save Irene, was virtually impossible to take back. The villagers foretold that the only way it could be achieved, was if the divine beast inside moved it willingly.

They had tried numerous methods to try and spur the spirit into action. From using strands of Irene's hair and rubbing them on the stone, to telling it stories about her, or taking a tiny sample of her blood River carefully extracted, dripping it over the rock's surface. At one point, they even attempted to destroy the alter it sat upon, but to no avail.

Nothing seemed to work. This temple, despite how worn it had become, was still protected by some strange, unseen force.

Mikael quietly took a seat at a wooden stool brought in by the villagers. They had agreed to help them in trying to activate the spirit ever since hearing about Irene Cherliann. Normally, such reclusive people who had little trust in outsiders would never welcome such a strange group - but because their leader was Rayvis Cherliann, a direct pure-blooded descendant of the First Saintess, and because they were accompanied by a majestic spirit - Snow, Pelto quickly opened up to the knights.

As of now, the soldiers rotated shifts to keep an eye on the stone, but one among them offered to remain there longer than the others. Uncomfortable with the villagers' attention, Mikael chose seclusion within the deserted temple, staring at the rock for hours in silence.

How long had it been since all of this began? To think that the only thing he could do for her right now, was stare at a pebble.

Honestly... She's always making me do strange things.

His mind weighed with regret as he recalled the last time he had seen Irene's smile. Illuminated by the subdued glow of streetlights during that festival. Her face partially obscured by the mask that concealed his face. The warmth of her hand as she guided him confidently through the crowds.

Mikael lowered his eyes to his hands, contemplating the slender, pale fingers that had intertwined with hers countless times. The warmth of her touch had become a natural part of his life, so much so that her absence now felt peculiar and inexplicably yearned for. In that moment, he couldn't fathom why, but an intense longing for the solace of her presence consumed him.

...I hope she wakes up soon.

A simple wish. One that everyone was doing their best to make reality. The Cherlianns, the knights, the people of Pelto... And even Prince Daniel himself. Everyone had been putting in the greatest efforts to save Irene Cherliann. A girl adored by those who knew her, but also...

Someone who had powers akin to that of the First Saintess.

...I wonder...

When Irene wakes up, will things be the same as they were before?