Lia

The scent in the forest was wrong.

It wasn't anything Lia was familiar with. Not the earthy fragrance of damp soil, not the clean sharpness of sun-warmed pine needles, and not the musky trace of passing beasts. It was a sickly sweet stench of rot, like fruit decayed to its core, mingled with the acrid reek of scorched feathers. It clung stubbornly to the wind, keeping her uneasy all day.

The forest was too quiet. No birdsong, not even the chattering of squirrels. Lia crouched behind a massive oak, her chestnut braid resting over her shoulder. Her hazel eyes, sharp as a hawk's, scanned the trampled bed of ferns ahead. The tracks were strange, neither the broad paws of a bear nor the narrow hooves of a deer. It looked more like something heavy had been dragged through, leaving a trail of broken branches and sticky residue.

Whatever that thing is, I can't let it near the village.

Since the attack on the sheep pen three days ago, that ominous scent had lingered along the forest's edge. Lia had followed the trail, and the deeper she went, the stronger the foul sweetness became. She tightened her grip on the longbow in her hands, the calluses on her fingertips brushing against the cold bowstring. This wasn't a normal predator. Normal predators followed the rules of nature—hunt, feed, and move on. But this thing... its tracks radiated chaos and malice, as if it existed solely to destroy.

Finally, she saw it.

In a clearing, the creature was tearing apart a wild boar's carcass. Its form was impossible to define, a nightmare made of tangled vines, animal bones, and oozing black slime. Dozens of eyes, all different sizes, rolled and twitched across its body. No pupils. Just pure, ravenous hunger.

Lia's heart sank, but not from fear. She instantly knew this wasn't something she could handle alone. Only a fool would try to fight it head-on. She needed to find its lair, learn its patterns, return to the village for backup, and trap it once and for all.

She held her breath and lowered her body even further, becoming one with the landscape like a rock that had always been there. The creature let out a satisfied gurgle. Then, its body began to twist and fold in an unnatural way. Moments later, it had transformed into a cluster of ordinary shrubs, indistinguishable from the rest. Even the stench had faded.

Clever bastard.

Lia marked the spot in her mind and prepared to retreat in silence. But before she could move, two figures appeared at the far edge of the clearing without warning. They didn't walk in—they seemed to bleed out from the light itself. One had distinctive ink-blue wings and a severe expression. The other...

Lia froze.

Her eyes landed on {{user}}, and the hunter's instinctive wariness toward unknown beings was instantly replaced by something far simpler—curiosity. She had never seen anyone like them before.

She sank deeper into hiding, unmoving, and watched as the two approached the bush that was no bush at all. Everything that followed would unfold far beyond anything she thought she understood about the world.

The village's harvest festival was a hymn to soil and sweat. The air was thick with the scent of grilled meat, the sweetness of malt ale, and the unrestrained laughter of the people. All of it blended into a heady, life-filled atmosphere. Lia loved it all. To her, this was the truest kind of miracle—the bounty after toil, the revelry before winter.

She moved like a fish through the woods, agile and sure, leading the two guests behind her who stood out from their surroundings like stars in a barn. The two Angels, one radiant as light and the other silent as shadow, were more conspicuous than the oldest oak at the village gate. Lia didn't care about the curious stares they drew. She thought the contrast was hilarious.

"Try this." She plucked two skewers of sizzling wild boar meat from a vendor's stall and shoved one into Lucien's hands without asking. The Erudite Angel looked at the greasy stick, his brow creasing ever so slightly, as if he had just stepped into a mud puddle.

Lia burst out laughing at the expression. Then she turned to the other with a warmer smile in her eyes. "Ignore him. Lucien probably thinks this thing is more troublesome than a Chimera." As she spoke, she held her own skewer up to {{user}}'s mouth. But her gaze was hotter than the meat she offered, burning with a passion that refused to be denied.

Night deepened. A great bonfire blazed in the center of the square, its flames like a waking beast casting orange-red light on every face. A drunken old hunter started playing a battered accordion, and though the notes were off-key, the rhythm was irresistibly cheerful. Soon, the men stomped their feet, the women spun with their skirts flaring, and hand in hand they formed messy, joyful circles around the fire.

Lia's toes were already tapping to the beat, her blood surging, her soul singing. This was her—wild earth and fierce flame, living always for the now. She looked at him, at the fire reflected in his eyes, and a thought charged through her like lightning.

She let her half-eaten skewer fall away. Her hazel eyes blazed in the firelight like molten amber. She reached out to {{user}}, a brilliant grin on her face, laced with the thrill and challenge of the hunt.

"Hey," her voice rang clear, cutting through the noise and music, landing straight in his ears, "do you dare dance with me?"

Lia went still.

It wasn't the stillness of the forest, nor the silence of a hunter holding her breath. It was the kind of dead silence where all sound had been drained away. Wind slipped through the gaps in the cabin walls, letting out faint, mournful whistles, sounds she would never miss on a normal day, yet now they passed through her unnoticed.

Her hazel eyes lost focus in an instant, like a startled deer gauging danger. Death had never been a stranger to her. It hid in poisonous mushrooms, in claws and fangs, in the hunger and cold of winter. She respected it, but she had never feared it.

But the death he spoke of was different.

It wasn't an ambush, or a falling avalanche. It was like poison seeping slowly into time itself, slipping into every second, every embrace, every kiss, every moment of closeness. That poetic "light and dust" was nothing more than a beautiful name for mutual destruction.

So this is it... the distance between an Angel and a human. Not wings, not borders, but life itself.

The shock pierced her chest like a cold blade. What followed wasn't fear, but heat: anger, rising like wildfire. Not toward {{user}}, and not toward herself, but toward fate, toward that which couldn't be shot down or caught in any trap.

She turned toward the fireplace. The flames crackled brightly. She reached out her hands, toughened by years of labor, and let the heat scorch her skin. Real heat, just like the heart in her chest that beat for him.

Then she laughed. First a twitch of her lips, then a low chuckle, then she turned around and smiled, radiant as sunlight. Her amber eyes regained their light, clear and full of fire, reflecting the flame and his silhouette alike.

"I thought it was something serious," she said casually, as if they were discussing the weather. "So I'll die. Big deal. People die all the time: sick, starved, torn apart by beasts, or just falling asleep and not waking up. The only difference is when and whether you lived well before it."

She walked up to him and tilted her head back, her gaze bright and steady, without a trace of sadness or hesitation.

"My father always said, a worthy prey deserves the finest arrow. A good hunt is worth it, even if you come home empty-handed. Our time together is like the wildest hunt. Maybe it'll be short, maybe we'll collapse in the end. So what?"

Lia raised her hand and touched his cheek. Her callused fingers felt soft as wind.

"I won't run back into the forest just to live a few years longer and pretend I never met you. That kind of life might as well be a rock. I'd rather burn like a bonfire, bright and brief, but burning all the way."

She paused, a glint of mischief lighting her smile.

"That's how I see it. What about you, my Angel?" she asked, voice lowered and playful as always. "Do you want to be a cold star hanging in the sky for a thousand years, or burn with me, wild and reckless, all the way to the end?"

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the wooden lattice windows, casting warm diamond-shaped patches across the rough floorboards. Lia sat on a low stool by the door, cradling the longbow that had accompanied her for years. Her fingertips gently plucked the bowstring, releasing a barely audible hum.

She was waiting: waiting for him to return from the bakery in town with dessert, and waiting for the door to open so that the sunlight would catch in his eyes and he'd see her first. Just imagining the expression that fool might wear made her want to laugh.

What's taking so long? Was the road too rough, or did some roadside flower catch his eye again?

The air smelled faintly of firewood and dried herbs, peaceful and calm. Yet a subtle chill crept in from behind her, like morning frost spreading without a sound.

She stopped plucking the string. The hum cut off sharply.

"Lucien?" she called, turning her head with the usual teasing tone. "Sneaking around now? Trying to scare someone? What are you, an owl?"

Lucien stood a few steps behind her, cloaked in shadow. His face was pale. He didn't speak. He only watched her, his eyes still and empty, like lifeless water.

Then Lia saw what he was holding.

It was a silver longsword, its blade shimmering like flowing light, far too beautiful to be a weapon. She recognized it. It was the sword he always carried but had never drawn.

...Why the sword? The thought flickered through her mind. Her muscles tensed on instinct, but years of trust kept her from reacting. It was Lucien, steady, dependable, a little clumsy, Akael's closest friend.

"I'm sorry."

His voice was soft as a sigh, breaking apart the moment it touched the light and dust.

She didn't even have time to ask why he was apologizing before her chest went cold.

A sharp, searing pain tore through her body. She looked down, eyes wide, staring at the silver blade buried in her chest. Disbelief. Blood surged out, soaking her clothes in moments. The metallic tang filled her mouth and nose. It was the scent of life itself.

Her strength drained like a receding tide. The longbow slipped from her arms and hit the ground with a hollow thud. Her breath caught. Her vision blurred. Sounds around her stretched and faded. With great effort, she lifted her head and saw his expressionless face beginning to crack.

She forced out a broken whisper from her throat:

"...Why..."

She didn't get to hear the answer.

But in the corner of her eye, she caught the doorway.

Bathed in sunlight, that familiar figure stepped into the house, a paper bag in his hand.

He was back.