1

Like a dog without a home, Izumi followed the avenue north through the city of the Alderians.

“Goodness me, I went to save the damsel in distress but became one myself,” she bemoaned her fate aloud while walking. “Lia’s gonna get so mad at me.”

Calming down a little, Izumi assessed her situation, and eventually decided to look for Waramoti. It would be easier to decide what to do together, and safer, at any rate.

The problem was, she couldn’t tell which way the bard had gone either. Asking around if anyone had seen a tanned, brawny human would have been her next course of action in any other place, but Izumi recalled Carmelia’s parable about mosquitoes, and was reluctant to approach anyone. Not that the Alderians would have understood her questions.

Izumi hadn’t taken Carmelia’s warnings very seriously before, but her mind was quickly changed on the matter. Masses of strangers made Izumi anxious enough to start with, but the cold stares the passers-by gave her only added to her insecurity. They weren’t the sorts of looks one would give another person. They were glares of spite and revulsion, saying, “there’s something unpleasant here and someone had better do something about it!”

Izumi’s prior yearning to meet elves had all but vanished now. The cruel looks, lacking all humane warmth; the tough, tall bodies, hiding violent strength; the pale, faintly glowing matte skin, as if made of plastic; the overall lack of individuality, of identity—no matter how she looked at them, those beings were more terrifying than they were handsome.

Izumi kept to the sidelines and avoided eye contact, feeling like a lone child among a multitude of unsympathetic adults. Without her sword, Izumi was left with only her support-oriented runes to defend herself with, and her courage and confidence both were at an all-time low.

To keep her anxiety under control, she forced her attention to the city in the background.

The kingdom displayed the full extent of its splendor and intricacy in daylight, with the ornate building complexes elegantly interwoven between the enormous trees. Izumi looked at the structures resembling metallic fungi, climbing up the sides of the trees, and the spiraling walkways connecting them. Here and there, she saw roads dive underground, in the fashion of subway entrances, granting access to additional, hidden layers of the city. She saw multi-leveled plazas linked by glassy staircases, and irregularly shaped apartment buildings, like beehives assembled between enormous tree roots. She marveled at the smoothly lined skyscrapers with their countless little windows, as they shone like platinum under the sun.

Distracted like this, Izumi strolled on, even as the sun began to set, but found no trace of Waramoti, nor heard his singing, no matter how she strained her ears. Neither did anyone from the palace come to pick her up, or offer help. Izumi was confident she could have left the island at any time, and no one would have cared to stop her.

“Surely they didn’t just off him?” she tried to imagine the bard’s fate. “Somehow, I can’t picture a guy with his looks staying out of trouble for long...”

—“Immein!” Suddenly, a loud voice called out nearby, making Izumi jump.

She turned around and saw an elven woman approach her hurriedly across the street, an odd, frantic look on her face.

“Immein,” the woman quickly spoke, reaching for Izumi. “Faalan e go’ouinna? Wana Faalan denauvó!?”

“I’m sorry!” Izumi retreated, flustered. “I-I don’t understand…”

Had she done something wrong? Had she gone somewhere she shouldn’t have? There was no way she could infer it just by the stranger’s look or tone.

“Ghi no atoné emiri taloin na aluenné?” the woman continued to demand. “Henó? Faalan! Sako tobas go’ouinna? Immein!”

“I really don’t understand what you’re talking about, ma’am!” Izumi replied and hurried in the opposing direction. The emiri continued to look after her with a nearly tragic look of disbelief and disappointment, while the others passing them were only frowning. Haunted by their stares, Izumi picked up the pace and ran off, and kept running until she had left the venue well behind her.

“I’m starting to remember why I became a shut-in...” she sighed, her heart beating painfully fast for a long time after.

In an attempt to avoid such incidents, Izumi left the busy major avenue, and headed eastward, looking for an alternative path back to the Palace. She ended up following a more secluded lane north-east, through a peaceful grove, and eventually came across a river.

The river was about fifty yards wide, and there was a red-painted, slightly arcing wood bridge built across it. On the right, immediately after the bridge, the river dived down in a breathtaking fall of at least forty feet. From the base of it, the foaming stream continued to wash down the bottom of a rough-walled gulch, east along the sloping land.

“Would you look at that,” Izumi marveled aloud, stopping to admire the scarlet sunset above the waterfall. “Suppose that’s a view to die for.”

Izumi leaned on the balustrade and spent some moments in complete silence, staring at the sea, not thinking about anything at all. The picturesque view stirred a strange longing in her heart, as if a promise of something grand and better had carried from beyond the horizon line.

Then, Izumi noticed she was no longer alone.

A pair of elven men stepped on the bridge at the northern end, walking side by side.

Both were dressed in light blue clothes, with a short, sharp navy cut. Their faces were inexpressive, but their stoic gazes were fixed at the woman. Their steps were unnaturally hurried and Izumi didn’t fail to pick up the dangerous tension in the air.

“Matching colors. That’s cute,” she muttered, at the same time glancing southward. There was another, nearly identical pair of elves coming from the south side. What a convenient timing. Both her exits were now cut off. A schoolbook pincer move, if she ever saw one.

“You should put up a notification if it’s a restricted zone,” she said, stepping away from the railing. “Otherwise clueless tourists like me won’t get the message.”

The elves made no sound and continued to walk on, as if on a casual Sunday stroll. Had she been overly paranoid, after all?

Then, right as they were about to pass Izumi near the midway point on the bridge, they made their move. Perfectly in sync, without separate signals or calls, the four of them turned on the lone earthling. Two seized Izumi’s arms. One went for the legs. One stayed on the lookout. Even though she had predicted it, her reaction was hopelessly late. Their swiftness caught her completely by surprise, and their strength was irresistible. Before she could even think of how to best respond, it was already over. Like a small child, she was picked off the ground and wrestled over the railing. Izumi could only applaud their professionalism.

A second after, she was falling, dropping like a sack down the waterfall, the bridge swiftly distancing in her eyes. Above, her assassins went their separate ways, as though nothing unusual had happened.

“Damn it!”

She was going to die.

There was no question of it.

No matter how much water was at the bottom, it wasn’t going to be enough. Dreadful, sharp-looking rocks framed the small pool eroded at the base of the cliff. The riverbed downhill was riddled with similar, deadly edges. Simply being grazed by one was going to mean grievous injuries, if the fall alone didn’t kill her instantly.

“Tauhirn!” Izumi activated the Iron Hide, shielded her head with her arms, pulled her legs together, and hoped for the best.

2

Meanwhile, Izumi’s disappearance from the Palace was overshadowed by an event of a far more portentous quality. A majestic, if not somewhat ominous noise reverberated throughout the elven city, like a gigantic horn being blown. The lasting echo of it carried off deep into the surrounding jungle, and all who heard it stopped in their tracks. That alarm had not been sounded in a long, long time, and the cause to it now was a mystery to all.

Under a suffocating silence mixed with confusion and disbelief, the Alderians crowding the streets of the city awaited to learn the cause. It soon revealed itself, but the sight did little to help their confusion. On the contrary.

A very strange group crossed the bridge from the mainland.

They weren’t elves, and neither were they humans.

What were the odds that Alderia should see visitors from two different species after centuries of isolation, and barely one day apart? No one could calculate the math behind an event so astronomically rare, yet it was unfolding all the same.

A company of around thirty travelers approached the city on foot, holding up dark banners, and carrying their belongings in large, black caskets between them. Had they truly walked across all of Henglog, as they were? That appeared to have been the case, yet the inhuman mile count in such a difficult terrain had left no trace of exhaustion on the visitors’ solemn appearance.

The wayfarers were humanoid, tall as the emiri and even brawnier, though that was as far as the similarities went. These beings all had skin the color of midnight blue, without any hair, and in their emotionless faces were bare, pearl-like eyes without distinct irises or pupils. They were all men by the looks of them, robust and stalwart, and all wore deep purple robes, like monks, with no armors or helmets. No visible weaponry did they bear either, only simple adornments like necklaces of black pearls and images shaped of ivory, wristbands of hard leather, and rings and piercings of clean silver. A human observer from planet Earth might have described the blue men as having a rather religious, harmonious air about them, but no humans were presently there to look at them, and the elves had different opinions about their latest guests.

Indeed, the locals knew their kind well.

Ptoleans, they were called.

An ancient race of starseers, they had a long-running rivalry with emiri. Many were the battles waged between the two civilizations, many the heroes who arose from said struggles, and greater still the number of casualties. Yet, as much as it had shaped the world, such contests of power were now only a thing of the obscure past. The nation of Wór-Had-Deria had crumbled to dust numerous cycles ago, and even the elven lands stood deserted by this point. History had reduced surviving ptoleans as scattered nomads, busied by the ceaseless quest for daily sustenance in place of glory.

The decisive blow on the ptoleans’ society was delivered two centuries ago.

Lured by the promise of regaining their primordial homes, the ptoleans had joined the proud Alliance to reclaim Amarno from the daemons. And while their contribution had been small in the totality of the effort, the price they came to pay by the end of it was among the heaviest.

Not one war priest returned from this grievous crusade.

Unwilling to retreat, scorning death, the ptolean army was eliminated down to the last. They had wagered much, and lost it all. Though not everyone joined and were thus spared, there was no way for the ptolean community to recover from the losses they suffered as a species that time.

In light of this, that formal entourage was an unexpected sight indeed.

Under the suspicious stares of the elven populace, the ptoleans marched on, across the jungle and through the city, only coming to a stop at the plaza before the Royal Palace. There they proceeded to face the central stronghold of the emiri kingdom, stared down by the assembled Royal Guard, not allowed in, but with no apparent intention to leave either.

For a time, no one knew what to do.

It was clear that the ptoleans couldn’t be turned back without a fight, and openly slaughtering foreign emissaries in front of the masses of civilians was still a measure too drastic for the emiri administration. It was not purely a problem of ethics or codes of conduct either. Even if greatly declined as a people, ptoleans were still powerful beings, and an open fight was sure to result in an unpredictable number of casualties. Casualties, which the Alderian side could hardly afford.

In the end, it appeared to be less trouble to simply hear them out.

Following a painfully long wait, orders were delivered from the Palace. Subsequently, a smaller group of ptoleans detached from the rest and allowed themselves to be escorted to King Quaran’s hall.

The King looked, if possible, even more displeased by these guests than he had been with Carmelia on the previous night. His face was dark with wrath as he leaned deep back in his seat, scowling at the dark visitors gathering before him. The sorceress’s political alignment, on the other hand, had been momentarily set aside, and she had assumed a position in the back row, among his majesty’s retinue.

“Speak,” Quaran’s sharp command cut the heavy silence.

The ptoleans all looked nearly indistinguishable from one another to a casual observer, but one of them now took a step forward and spoke to the King, with a voice deep as a drum beat in the mountains.

“Hail, King of Alderia,” he spoke. “I am Koolon, son of Klaum, the Archdeacon and representative of my people. In the name of our old alliance, I greet you.”

The formal address failed to impress the King.

“The alliance you speak of was not formed with us, but with those we now consider traitors to our kind,” Quaran educated his guests. “Therefore, we advise you to reconsider with great care whatever course of dialogue you are about to seek here.”

Koolon wasn’t intimidated by the King’s retort.

“If such is indeed the case, King, how come one of the chief architects of said alliance stands there, by your side?”

Koolon’s eyes met Carmelia. In all black, she stood out like a sore thumb in the otherwise white court. Her role in the Alliance two hundred years ago was not unknown to anyone, but no one could have predicted that the awkward fact would come to haunt them here and now. She shouldn’t have been in the island in the first place. How could such a wretched timing be possible, the servants all lamented in intolerable anguish.

King Quaran gritted his teeth and said nothing.

The ptolean ambassador seized the opening to continue,

“At the time this oath was sworn, two hundred years ago, your people were still considered one, were they not? Whatever conflict has occurred among you since is none of our concern. All we ask that you honor the terms given at the time, sworn in blood, and do not hide behind semantics. Such is beneath you, King.”

“Keep your unwanted advice to yourself, son of Klaum,” Quaran barked. “What is it that you lot want of us? Mind, it is not a kingdom of open charity I lead!”

“Why, there can only be one thing we seek with you and yours,” Koolon answered with nearly infuriating calmness. “And sooner than charity, I would label it equality. Payment for our sacrifice—that, which is our rightful share. Whether it pleases you or not.”

“Your rightful share?” the King repeated in a chilling tone. “There is not one thing, not one withered strand of weed upon our dominion that you hold any rightful claim over, ptolean. Not now, not ever. Cast aside such illusions, before you are betrayed by your folly, and led down to paths whence there’s no return.”

“Betrayed...” Koolon left his spot and measured the floor with unhurried steps, while the guards shifted, alerted. “So strange to hear that word from your lips, King. Verily, betrayal is what comes most naturally to your kind. Think back on the days of Giolgnam and Yaoldabath. Yours will find any excuse they can to turn on those who depend on them, when it best serves their needs.”

No one made a sound at his offensive words, the audience being too angry to control their voice.

“I knew the High King well,” the ptolean continued. “He was a man of integrity. Of strength. Though there was never love between ours and his, I could bring myself to respect him. But I do not respect you, Quaran, son of Fanarann. Your father was weak. And so is the blood that courses in your veins. Tell me—do you truly consider this land and her people as in your power?”

The royal guards gripped their spears and took a step forward.

“Villainous lout!” Jordith exclaimed, about to draw his sword.

However, despite the staggering insult, the King gave no command to attack. The ptoleans made no move to defend themselves either, but stood still, at the mercy of the numerous spears.

“Yes,” Koolon spoke. “You should kill us and bury your shame, King. Such is the way of your noble people. Hide and erase all that which does not please you. Pretend it never existed. Cower behind lies, cling only to beautiful memories. I know all too well how alluring the sights of the past are. How else would you endure the growing weight of the present, as an immortal?”

“That is enough!” the commander of the guard shouted. “Be silent, dog!”

But instead of speaking for himself, King Quaran remained quiet still, gripping the arms of his throne, his knuckles pale. With not a word did he defend his honor, or stand up to the insolent ptolean, much to the confusion of his retainers.

“Have I said enough?” Koolon asked him. “Then tell me to be silent and I will. But you will not do that. Because you know that by silencing me, you will only prove my words right. The seeds of mistrust are sown. Shameful deeds cannot be buried with more of the same. Keep treading down that path, and one day the fading memories alone will not suffice to outweigh the sins your kingdom is built upon. Nay. Honor, once lost, requires a sacrifice to be restored. And that is why, I am here. To help you make amends. Yes. Let me help you, King. To settle the debt. To silence the voices.”

Everyone in the room looked in confusion at the King and the ptolean emissary. Even now, the King would not speak. He only glared at Koolon, a deep scowl splitting his brow, but remained silent.

“We shall leave it at greetings today,” the ptolean said, turning to his escort. “I will return to discuss the details of our transaction, after a full day has passed. Expect us. Fare thee well, King, until then.”

Just as suddenly as they had appeared, the ptoleans departed from the Palace and the central plaza. They accepted no housing from the elves, even were it offered—it was not—but chose to set up their camp in a remote pasture on the city’s southernmost limits. They were kept under watch from a distance, but remained in one place and showed no sign of being up to anything foul.

Why had they come, and why did they insist on waiting a day before stating their demands? No one could understand their intentions.

The King departed from the Throne Room, his destination unknown even to his closest attendants. The Royal Guard busied themselves with making appropriate arrangements for the situation and setting watch posts. Carmelia saw that there was no progress to be made on her own business today, and put her initial plans on hold. Whatever she felt about the ptoleans’ appearance, none of it could be discerned from her expression. Instead of stopping to explain her thoughts to anyone, she merely moved onto the next item on her lengthy to-do list, while reminding herself to go visit the humans at first available opportunity. For some time now, an unpleasant premonition had haunted her.

3

The experience was similar to being put in a giant washing machine together with large stones, and then running the full show. There was no rinse but as the spin part slightly settled, Izumi’s fingers managed to dig into the coarse riverbank, and she dragged her abused form from the freezing stream.

Incredible was Iron Hide’s protection, and farsighted the sorceress’s decision not to restrict it. Drawing upon the full effectiveness of Izumi’s spiritual link to mighty Aiwesh, the spell guarded the champion against many dreadful hits, shocks, and twists, that would have ground an ordinary fleshly being to a pulp. Alas, even this remarkable protection was not absolute, and the primal forces of the current tested it thoroughly.

Coughing up the water from her lungs one mouthful after another, Izumi felt immense pain in her sides, which made breathing even more of an effort than it already was. For a time, she laid on the riverbank, focused only on inhaling what little oxygen she could, the bare minimum necessary to keep on living. Hovering on the brink of darkness, she persisted through sheer force of will, knowing that succumbing to sleep meant never opening her eyes again.

Torturous minutes that felt like hours crawled by. But, gradually replacing the liquid in her lungs with air, Izumi’s condition slightly improved. Rather than the pain growing lesser, she grew numbed to it, to the point that she could breathe more or less normally, and felt situational awareness gradually return to her. With it, she recognized the danger of being pulled away by the current again, and started to drag herself further up onto solid land.

In the process, Izumi made a worrisome discovery.

Her right leg was broken.

There was no question of it.

Completely broken.

Tauhirn had kept the limb together like a cast, but as the rune’s effect was deactivated, Izumi’s leg became immediately a source of unrestrained agony, nearly causing her to pass out on the spot.

“Okay,” she huffed. “Can’t codec through this one. Gonna need a real medic.”

Naturally, Izumi was better than aware that there were no medical personnel around. She took a few short breaths, bracing herself, and then lifted her upper body to look down, to assess the damage.

Femur, above the knee, tibia, the shin bone under it, both were quite obviously shattered, to the point that her leg resembled a miniature train crash. Left hand ring finger and middle finger were fractured as well, in addition to an uncertain number of ribs. There were bleeding cuts, dark bruises, and other injuries all around too. Compared to the leg, however, the rest felt barely worth listing.

“And I didn't even pack bandage.”

Doing her best to endure the pain that followed the slightest move, Izumi continued to drag herself away from the river, inch by inch. She had to find someone, anyone, and hope they were gentle enough at heart to help her. Tall grass bordered the riverbank, hampering progress. Izumi couldn’t see where she was going at all, or if there were even any buildings in that direction. Getting up to check was impossible.

After worming on for maybe fifteen feet, Izumi’s remaining strength left her. The pain rendered her dizzy and feverish, and the earth spun violently under her. She was drenched in sweat for the effort, yet shivered uncontrollably at the same time.

“Alright. Take a five, soldier. Then we go on.”

Izumi laid on her back, trying to estimate how far the river had carried her from the city, certain only of the fact that none of her allies would be able to find her there. Not without some truly extraordinary measures. Perhaps the ever-dependable Court Wizard knew such measures, but she would have to learn of Izumi’s disappearance first, before she could start looking, and there was no telling how long it would take.

Meanwhile, Izumi likely didn’t have that long.

With her body in a state incapable of naturally recovering at all, she was going to keep on bleeding to death, and nothing could be done about it. In all likelihood, her remaining lifetime was now mere minutes.

“This...could be bad,” she gasped in between short breaths. “Really, really bad. I don’t think I’ve had this bad before. It’s definitely record-breaking bad. Shit.”

She kept breathing. Breathing was all she could do.

“You know what? My language has turned so bad since coming here. Going into other worlds is—not good for your manners. Bad influence! You should tell your kids not to dream about...being transported into medieval fantasy lands...Oh damn, it hurts.”

Wind rustled the trees above her. The foliage was dense enough to hide the sky from view. Izumi would die here, in the shade, hidden from the world, alone.

“Now that it’s come to this, how should I spend my last moments alive? Recounting my remaining regrets? Eh, ‘here lies Itaka Izumi, she never scored’. Aah, it hurts. No, let’s think happier thoughts. My, if I knew I was going to die today, I should’ve pushed her down when I had the chance. At least go for a kiss, past me! I’m such a loser. A loser, a coward, a chicken…! No. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Let’s see. If I could have one last wish, just any wish, what would I wish for? No, could I get two wishes? Then, I’d use the first one to get a kiss. Then, the second wish, I’d like to rub Lia’s washboard chest for as long as I like...! Cough, cough...Could I get a third wish too...?”

The woods were getting visibly darker.

The sun had been low when she was on the bridge, it was probably close to gone by now. In the dark of the night, the chances of anyone finding her in time were going to be even worse than they already were.

“...Yule. I’m sorry. About not saying goodbye. Be a good ruler, okay? You’ll be fine. You’ll do great. Without me there, anyway. Mira-rin’s with you, and all those other great people, who always make the smart choices and don’t mess up. Yeah. It’s fine. No, really. I got to adventure to my heart’s content. I defeated an evil Emperor. I killed a dragon—well, a wyvern. Close enough. I met elves. So I can say I died happy. Cough.”

Izumi tasted blood in her mouth. It coated her tongue like warm, thick oil. A broken rib might have punctured a lung. It was getting harder and harder to stay conscious. She struggled to keep awake, clinging onto the soil, but the darkness around felt all too enticing. Comforting. Like a veil being pulled over her, asking her to sleep, to rest.

Was it the approach of the night which clouded her sight?

Or——the proximity of death...?

“Content,” she nodded. “Let’s not say happy, but content. Accomplished, in a sense. There were still...things I wanted to do. Try. Like, come back after a few years, see what you’ve become...Look at you...for at least one last time...”

It felt like even the pain was growing lesser.

“...Oh wow. And I’m seeing things now.”

It should have been dark. Izumi could hardly see only a moment ago and the blackness of the night should have, by reason, only grown more permeating over time. And yet, the trees above were suddenly drawn with uncanny clarity in Izumi's vision, as though someone had lit up a bright lamp beneath them.

“Now that's really weird.”

Then, the head of another person appeared in Izumi’s view.

The vision looked like a girl, of maybe sixteen years of age, by a human estimate. At the same time, the girl was a beauty far removed from mortal constraints, with a face that looked more like a computer-rendering than anything possible in the natural world. Large, round eyes stared at Izumi, full of open curiosity, the irises of them pale green, like cleanly polished jade stones. The being gave off a gentle, warm glow, banishing the night with her presence. She was not a sinewy giant like the other elves, but small and slender, more human. Delicate as a lily, dressed in a light, white dress that left her arms and legs bare. Moving her elongated ears up and down, the girl knelt beside Izumi, gazing at the woman.

“Dalen tu deneva?” the girl asked and her voice was like that of a little bird.

“Sorry,” Izumi wearily answered. “Don’t speak elvish much.”

“You,” the child spoke again. “Where did you come from?”

“Eh? You know common speech?” Izumi was surprised, and immediately grimaced, for the motion was followed by another wave of intense pain.

“I learned,” the child answered, examining her. “I was...taught.”

“Well, good for you.”

“What are you doing?” the girl asked, leaning closer.

“Can’t you tell by looking?” Izumi asked in return, feeling like a bug under a microscope. “I’m dying.”

“Dying?” the girl repeated.

“Yeah. Gonna be dead.”

“What is it like—to die? To be...dead?”

“You don’t know?”

“I have never died,” the girl answered. “I think.”

“Well, me neither,” Izumi sighed. “This is gonna be a first.”

“Firsts are good, no?” the child pondered with a contemplative look. “Or so I have been told. Is dying something to rejoice at?”

“Depends on who you ask, I guess. Personally, I’d rather not.”

“Then, why will you?”

“Because...I can’t help it,” Izumi answered, nearly unable to contain her laughter. The conversation was quite absurd. “My body’s broken. So I’ll die. The end.”

“Ah yes,” the child nodded in understanding. “Death will mean a being’s end.”

“You must be an honor student, for sure. Right on the first try.”

“And you wish to go on living then?”

“Who wouldn’t? My life might not have been all that great, but...dying doesn’t seem too fun either.”

“In that case, would you like me to fix you? Your broken body.”

“You mean, you can?” Izumi asked, raising her brows.

“I can,” the girl replied. “It is very easy to do. Your body is...easy.”

“Now you’re boasting.”

“What is ‘boasting’?”

“Bragging.”

“Bragging?” the girl tilted her head.

“Saying something’s easy for you when it’s difficult for everybody else,” Izumi explained.

“I see,” the child nodded in understanding. “But there are many things that are easy for me and difficult for everyone else. They say that is the reason why I exist.”

“Why, isn’t that nice?”

“I don’t know. It is what it is. To be honest, I don’t quite understand what they mean.”

“Well, hope you find out some day. Hey. It was real nice to meet you, but...I think I’m going to—”

Feeling like her overburdened heart was about to fall off its place, Izumi’s body was assailed by agony far more intense by anything before, making her tense up all over. Unable to even keep breathing, her sentence was cut short and she was left paralyzed, in death throes.

“I see,” the girl observed her. “I admit I am a bit curious to see what dying is really like, but...I also wish to speak with you more. For I have not seen anything like you before.”

The girl took hold of Izumi’s head and slightly lifted it.

Then, leaning forward, she brought her face down and pressed her lips on Izumi’s mouth.

I’m gonna get arrested!—Izumi thought, but in the next moment, her mind became filled with a light that rendered her blind to all else. As if her spirit had been forcibly booted out of her body, she lost all her senses, weightlessly floating in nothingness.

She saw—or imagined seeing—a limitless, radiant energy flowing through everything. It shone with stark intensity in the being beside her, but it also coursed in the trees above, filling every leaf from stalk to tip, it reached deep into the soil underneath, it poured through every blade of grass, and vibrated within all the tiny insects and rodents crawling by, binding together everything that lived.

Then, that intense flood of vitality was driven into Izumi through her contact with the elven child, infused into her whole being, as a sensation hotter than magma, surging more fierce than any current. As the force ran through Izumi's being, it reverted her broken form instantaneously back into the pattern encoded in her genes.

Overcome by an influx of sensations that were horribly painful and fantastically pleasant at the same time, unable to resist or withstand it, Izumi wanted to scream, scream as hard as she could, but had no voice.

And then, her consciousness finally left her.