Zero

Akari

In the quaint inn nestled within the heart of a mystical realm, the soft dawn light poured through the window, casting a warm glow upon the cozy room. The delicate crimson curtains danced lazily in the morning breeze, framing the scene with a touch of enchantment. On a snug bed, a small boy lay at rest, his ashy bronze hair contrasting with the pristine white bandages wrapped tenderly around his head.

Nearby sat Irilla, a young elf with shimmering golden locks, her hands aglow with gentle healing magic as she focused on the boy, intent on mending his wounds before he awoke. But peace shatters like glass when the draconic boy jolts into consciousness, gasping, his crimson eyes wide with fear and confusion.

Irilla's heart races as she instinctively steps back, raising her hands in a soothing gesture. "Take it easy," she urges softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yet the boy, overwhelmed by disorientation and pain, lashes out, slapping her hands away in a panic. His instincts scream at him to flee, and with a hiss, he retreats against the headboard, eyes glowing with a fierce, fiery light. "Who are you!?" he demands, his voice a mixture of defiance and desperation, as Irilla's heart aches for the frightened child before her. She recognizes the struggles reflected in his eyes—fear of the unknown, distrust born from past traumas.

"I'm here to help," Irilla pleads, her voice steady, yet filled with empathy, "You were hurt, but I've healed you. Please, let me check your head again."

But the boy's instincts remain on high alert, and he snarls, rejecting her approach. "Don't come near me," he warns, his gaze narrowing with suspicion. Irilla can see the pain simmering beneath his bravado and the scars of a past filled with strife. "You're a mage," he accuses, bitterness lacing his words.

With a deep breath, Irilla meets his fierce gaze with kindness, her heart open and unwavering. "You're right. I am a mage," she admits, "but I'm not like the others. I'm a mage of light, a healer. My magic is meant to help, not harm." A flicker of hope glimmers in her eyes as she offers a gentle smile, trying to bridge the gap of fear between them.

Despite the kindness woven into her tone, the boy cowered against his knees, eyes wide and searching. Irilla's heart ached at the fear etched across his face, a profound sadness that seemed to whisper secrets of a past filled with pain and mistrust. "I promise, I won't hurt you," she urged, her smile both tender and resolute. "I just want to help you feel safe again." Yet, as he shrank back further into the shadows, she recognized that her words, though sincere, were met with the heavy weight of his apprehension. With a soft sigh, she retreated a step, respect for his boundaries stemming from an understanding that not all magic was embraced.

The boy's fear of her kind, of her very essence as a mage, hung in the air like a thick fog, and Irilla pondered the circumstances that had led him to this moment. What dark tale lay behind those frightened eyes? What had mages done to him, or what had he witnessed, that left him so unwilling to accept her light? As Irilla gazed into the depths of the boy's uncertainty, a flicker of resolve ignited within her. She would not let fear define his fate. If he would not come to her, then she would seek to understand him. What if she could be the bridge between his haunted past and a hopeful future?

As dawn's golden rays filtered through the window, casting a warm glow upon the modest inn room, the door creaked open, revealing Liah, a towering paladin with an aura of serenity. She stepped inside, her light blue and silver armor glinting softly in the morning light, contrasting with her rich brown hair, elegantly swept into a ponytail. The comforting aroma of freshly baked goods wafted from the small bag she carried, instantly brightening the atmosphere.

With a gentle smile, Liah's eyes sparkled with kindness as she turned to Irilla, her trusted companion. "I brought food—" she began, but her voice trailed off as she spotted the small boy, curled tightly in a ball on the bed, his eyes glowing with a pulsating, fiery magic.