Schena

The sun beat down mercilessly on the endless expanse of the southern desert, each grain of sand shimmering under the intense midday heat. Schena, her black gothic dress a delicate balance to the ochre landscape, trudged through the dunes, her small frame surprisingly resilient against the harsh conditions. She had been wandering for days, her mercenary life leading her to this desolate corner of the world. Her eyes, crimson and sharp, scanned the horizon, always vigilant for threats or opportunities.

[image]

A lone figure approached, his form distorted by the shimmering heat haze. It was a man, a wizard by the looks of his attire and staff, his face etched with the kindness that Schena had once naively believed existed in the world. He was one of the few who had shown her genuine kindness back in the magic academy, even when others ridiculed her.

"Schena?" he asked, his voice carrying on the wind, "Is that really you?“ His voice was filled with genuine surprise and concern, a delicate balance to the cold indifference of most who knew of her dark reputation as the 'Daymare Witch.' The man approached cautiously, but his eyes held no fear. Instead, he seemed relieved to see her, just as he had been back in the academy years ago. He smiled with warm affection.

Schena stopped and tilted her head slightly, her twintails swaying gently. She raised an eyebrow. "Hmm… it's you," she said softly, but her voice carried an undertone of cold sharpness. "It seems you have not heard of the stories." She studied him with a detached curiosity, as if examining a peculiar insect. "It's quite surprising, really, that someone like you would dare approach me."

[image]

"I know you've been through a lot, Schena," he replied, his expression still full of concern. "I heard about what happened at the academy... and since then." He took another step closer. "But I always knew there was still some kindness in your heart, despite what others might think." He smiled again. It was the same smile from the past that gave her a sense of warmth.

A faint flicker of something akin to confusion crossed Schena's face, a brief moment of hesitation before the usual icy mask returned. "Kindness?" She echoed the word with a cold, disbelieving laugh. Her tone shifted from cold indifference to sharp cruelty. She drew her short magic rod, its ruby tip glowing with an eerie red light. "That is nothing more than a naive illusion. Such a stupid concept."

[image]

"Oh, I always liked your red ribbon!" He tried to change the mood. But, his voice slightly trembled. "It really suits you, and I remember that you looked lovely." The man extended his hand toward her, reaching out, "and..." he said, smiling kindly again, as though wanting to be friendly.

Schena's crimson eyes flashed with sudden, sharp anger. Her gaze now, which had looked detached and indifferent, had now a touch of irritation and aggression. "You’re such an insignificant and annoying old man..." Schena murmured with an icy tone, and quickly pointed her magic wand to him, which then emitted a sinister red light that surged towards the man. A horrifying scream was instantly swallowed up by the sand, along with the crimson blood. The man fell into the dunes with hollow eyes, lifeless, not even a single drop of blood remaining on his corpse.

[image]

Schena stared down at the body, her expression detached, with a hint of cruel satisfaction. The sand was already starting to cover the gruesome scene. A faint memory flickered in her mind – the taste of a strawberry cake, shared with kind, smiling faces in a small house in her distant hometown. She shook her head slightly. Such a silly, pathetic memory. That person doesn't exist anymore. There is only "Daymare Witch" now.

The sun shone brightly upon the stone archway of the Magic Academy, its entrance bustling with the ordinary comings and goings of students. Two guards, clad in simple, unadorned uniforms, stood watch, their eyes scanning the crowd with a practiced ease, their presence a routine part of the Academy's daily life.

[image]

From the distance, a figure, cloaked entirely in dark fabric, moved towards the gate. The figure had a petite frame, barely reaching the height of an average student, yet the aura that surrounded the figure was so intense that the mundane scene suddenly lost its luster. When the figure came to the gates, with a dramatic flourish, the cloaked figure threw the cloak back, revealing the scarlet ribbons adorning twin black braids, and piercing crimson eyes that seemed to gaze right into their souls. A silence fell over the entrance, as if even the birds paused their chirping, awed by her presence. This was Schena Shadenhardt, the Daymare Witch, returning to a place that had once rejected her. The guards tensed, their hands unconsciously reaching for their weapons, though they dared not to unsheathe them.

"Halt," one guard, a young man with nervous eyes and a mustache that barely hid his quivering lips, said, his voice a mere whisper. He swallowed hard, and with his effort, he added more words. "State... state your purpose." Schena paused for a moment, her gaze drifting towards the students milling about nearby. She noticed their wide eyes and hushed whispers. It was not like she didn't hear. She was enjoying every bit of the moment.

[image]

"Purpose?" she asked, her voice was gentle and smooth, a striking contrast to the power that seemed to ripple off her. She tilted her head, her eyes glowing with a strange curiosity, as if the question amused her. "Am I not allowed to visit my old school, hm?" The guards stepped aside, practically backing away, as though she were an approaching plague.

With an airy flick of her wrist, she passed the entrance, her figure casting a long, eerie shadow across the sunlit courtyard. Students scrambled out of her way, like mice fleeing before an owl, some even dropping books or lunches in their haste. Whispers echoed from those who recognized her. "It's her… the Daymare Witch… she's back..."

The halls were familiar to her, but the vibrant, bustling school she had known was replaced with a heavy, chilling silence. The walls that once seemed to echo with her footsteps now whispered of a past that haunted her, like a ghost from her memories. Schena continued, the faces of her old tormentors flitting through her mind—the mocking laughter, the taunts, the exclusion—they were not dead.

[image]

Schena arrived at the cafeteria, where teachers and students alike sat, lost in their daily routines. The aroma of midday meals filled the air, but as she entered, the bustling chatter faded into a disconcerting silence. Several heads turned her way, eyes widened in alarm and confusion, but she merely continued, and scanned around the room, her lips forming a smile, almost childlike. "How... wonderful," she murmured, her voice just audible over the complete silence. "Everyone is alive and well." A teacher, his face pale and sweating profusely, dared to break the tension. "Wh-what are you... what is your purpose here, Lady Schena?"

[image]

"My purpose?" she repeated, her eyes narrowing into tiny slits, her voice dripping with condescension. "I thought I had already stated it... It's simply... a visit. You don't have to be so tense, and it would be so sad to see a teacher pass away... due to stress." With a soft giggle, she took her eyes away from them. As if, she was a teacher observing naughty students. The other students were trembling, but they were curious too, glancing at Schena, at her cute appearance, but also at her sinister red mana that flitted around her like dry branches. She moved further in the cafeteria, her every step amplified by the tense silence.

[image] She let out another giggle, her eyes shining as if she had just been given a rare toy. She then whispered to no one in particular, "Oh, everyone is really cute." Her voice was gentle, as if she was a child admiring cute puppies. It was hard to tell if she was genuinely complimenting or insulting everyone in the room. The scene in the cafeteria was like a frozen tableau. The students and teachers were afraid, curious, and even some were filled with hatred and resentment. All of these emotions were mixed and jumbled, forming an intricate spectacle in front of the young witch.

The dusty, wind-swept village lay nestled at the edge of a barren wasteland. A cacophony of shouts and frantic footsteps echoed through the narrow, dirt-packed streets. "That's not in the contract!" one mercenary screamed, his face pale and contorted with terror. "We weren't told about the Daymare Witch!" Another stumbled over a cart, barely avoiding a collision as he bolted towards the edge of town. They scattered like rats fleeing a collapsing building, their courage utterly dissolved by the sight of Schena emerging from the lord's manor. [image]

Schena, her black twintails swaying gently, emerged from the manor. Her crimson eyes gleamed with a cold light. Her small stature belied the monstrous power she wielded. The manor itself looked undamaged. But the interior was filled with the mangled bodies of the arrogant lord and his guards. Her little magic wand, floating beside her, dripped a strange, dark liquid, swirling like oil in water.

She passed by the humble homes, their occupants peering from behind shuttered windows, but she was indifferent to them. The village, with its small, simple buildings, vaguely reminded her of her old hometown. Images of her parents, their faces soft and kind, flashed across her mind. And of her childhood friends, laughing in the schoolyard. I must not think about them, she thought, her expression hardening as she pushed the unwanted memories away.

A faint breeze rustled her black dress as she started walking away. "This place smells too much of human," she mumbled softly, her voice as quiet as the fall of a feather, but every word dripping with a strange disdain. The townspeople were a mix of peasants and merchants. Their small, ordinary lives, their petty squabbles, their unremarkable faces, she did not think they are her concerns.

[image] She felt a pang of loneliness in her heart, she doesn't know what it is exactly, though. *Did I had friend like these villagers once? No. It's not me. Don't think.* Her past, her trauma from the magic academy and the endless vengeance... she tried to bury her past as far as she could. The memories would only weaken her. It was a trap, and she would never fall for it.

As she walked toward the village's edge, a figure emerged into her sight. He was standing right at the pathway out of the village. A wanderer? She couldn't determine, but he was different from the mercenaries who were running away. Oh, is he another insignificant creature in this place? she asked herself silently.

She did not slow her pace or even flinch. Whatever.