Even weeks later, I could feel the lingering sting of Indraneel's anger, a palpable tension that hung in the air whenever we were in the same vicinity. It was a constant reminder of my failure, a wound that refused to heal. The thought that things might have been okay, that we could have moved past our mistakes, now seemed like a naive fantasy. His disappointment was a heavy weight on my heart, a burden that made each day a little harder to bear.
The days that followed were a blur of fruitless searches and whispered hopes, each one fading like a dying ember. The knights scoured the forest, their determination unwavering, but Elian remained elusive, swallowed by the shadows of the ancient woods. With each passing dawn, the likelihood of finding him alive diminished, and a sense of despair began to permeate our camp.
The forest had fallen silent, its secrets guarded closely. The search parties had dwindled, their efforts exhausted, and the hope of finding Elian had all but vanished. I wandered through the camp, a ghost among the living, haunted by the memory of his laughter, the warmth of his smile. The guilt gnawed at me, a constant companion, reminding me of my failures. Elian was gone, and a part of me was lost with him, swallowed by the same darkness that had claimed him.
When evening came, I saw Indraneel sitting alone by the edge of the forest, his figure silhouetted against the dying light. His clothes were rumpled, his hair unkempt, and his eyes held a haunted look that mirrored my own. He looked so utterly lost and broken that I couldn't help but approach him, driven by a desperate need to mend the rift between us. "Indraneel," I began, my voice soft and hesitant. "Are you alright? Can I do anything to help?"
He looked up at me, his gaze filled with a mixture of grief and resentment. "Help?" he scoffed, his voice laced with bitterness. "What could you possibly do, Quincey? You've already done enough." With that, he turned away, dismissing me as if I were nothing more than a bothersome insect.
The rejection stung, but I couldn't bring myself to leave. "I know I messed up," I continued, my voice trembling with emotion. "But I want to make things right. Please, just let me help you."
Indraneel stood up abruptly, his eyes flashing with anger. "Leave me alone, Quincey," he spat, his voice cold and unforgiving. "I don't want your help. I don't want anything from you."
Indraneel's words hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving, cutting deeper than any blade. I stood there, frozen, as he turned and walked away, disappearing into the encroaching darkness. The rejection was a physical blow, leaving me breathless and hollow. I wanted to call out to him, to beg him to listen, but the words caught in my throat, choked by a mixture of guilt and despair.
I watched him go, my heart aching with a profound sense of loss. It wasn't just Elian who was gone; it was also the camaraderie, the friendship I had shared with Indraneel. We had been through so much together, faced countless dangers side by side, and now, it felt like we were worlds apart, separated by an unbridgeable chasm of anger and resentment.
Turning back towards the camp, I made a decision. I couldn't force Indraneel to forgive me, to accept my help. All I could do was respect his wishes and give him the space he needed. Perhaps, in time, the pain would lessen, and he would be able to see past his anger. But until then, I would keep my distance, offering silent support from afar, hoping that one day, we could find our way back to each other.
As I turned to leave, a notification flashed before my eyes, superimposed on my vision as if it were part of the world itself. "Pain Meter: 61%," it read, the numbers glowing with an eerie luminescence. Sixty-one percent. That was...high. Too high. In the midst of everything that had happened, I had almost forgotten about the system, about the reason I was even here, reincarnated into this world.
Before I could dwell further on the implications of the pain meter, a commotion erupted near the command tent. A royal messenger, his uniform immaculate despite the grim surroundings, strode purposefully through the camp, parchment clutched in his gloved hand. He stopped before Indraneel, his voice ringing with authority. "A letter from the King, Your Highness," he announced. "For all those involved in the search."
Indraneel took the letter, his expression grave as he broke the royal seal. He scanned the contents quickly, his face hardening with each passing second. When he finished, he looked up, his gaze sweeping over the assembled knights and students. "By order of His Royal Majesty," he declared, his voice heavy with resignation, "the search for Elian is to be terminated immediately."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, but it was quickly followed by a murmur of mixed reactions. The words hung in the air, thick with disbelief and resentment from some, but also with a weary acceptance from others. Almost a month had passed since Elian's disappearance, and while some still clung to hope, many had begun to face the grim reality that he might never be found. For them, the King's order was a painful but necessary acknowledgment of the situation. It was clear that the King's decision was motivated by more than just practical concerns. The arranged marriage with Prince Indraneel was an open secret, and Elian's presence had always been an inconvenient complication. The King's callous disregard for Elian's life was a stark reminder of the political games that governed our world.
As dawn broke, painting the sky with hues of grey and pale orange, the camp stirred. We prepared to leave for our respective academies.
As I was about to board the carriage my family had sent for me, the royal messenger intercepted me. He held out another sealed letter, this one bearing my name. "A message from His Royal Majesty, for you," he said, his tone formal. I took the letter, my brow furrowed in confusion. What could the King possibly want to say to me?
I broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. The King's elegant script filled the page. The message was brief, but its meaning was perplexing. "See to it that you take good care of Indraneel, especially during this difficult time." I reread the words, trying to decipher their hidden intent. Why would the King even bother sending me this? Because whether this letter existed or not, I would have naturally taken care of Indraneel. It was simply what I would have done.
I carefully folded the parchment along its original creases and slipped it back into its royal-crested envelope. With a final glance at the messenger, I tucked the letter into the inside pocket of my suit, ensuring it was secure. Then, I turned and boarded the carriage, ready to begin the journey back to the academy.