CHAPTER 12 — The Breath Between Battles
When I woke, I wasn't in my home.
And it wasn't a hospital ward either.
The room was quiet, lit by a dim amber lamp.
Clean sheets. Bandages wrapped around my ribs.
The smell of healing herbs.
When I turned my head, Serin was asleep beside me.
Human form.
Silver hair scattered softly across the pillow.
One arm resting on the edge of the bed, as if she had fallen asleep while healing me.
My breath caught.
I shifted away—just a hand's distance—because I didn't know how to exist in that moment.
I tried to sit up.
Pain shot through my chest.
Footsteps sounded—two figures.
One wore a black mask, wrapped in dark tactical cloth. The other was the commander's assistant.
The masked man spoke first, voice steady and low:
"Don't move. Your ribs are barely knitted."
The assistant said, "The commander wishes to identify you and present a national honor. Badge ceremony and reward."
"I refuse," I said.
But inside, my heart jumped—
Is my mask still on?
My hand lifted instinctively.
The masked man answered before I asked:
"You're still covered. No one saw your face."
I exhaled, slow.
I looked at him carefully.
"Who healed the injuries on my face?"
He replied, "Serin. She didn't allow me to uncover your face. Said you wouldn't want that."
Something warm tightened in my chest—something I didn't know how to name.
I spoke quietly.
"I don't fight for reward.
If I don't stand up, then who protects my family?
And if no one protects them—who protects anyone's?"
The assistant lowered his head.
The masked man nodded just once.
"What do you want instead of reward?" he asked.
I swallowed.
"Just one thing.
My family is somewhere in Lahore.
Keep them safe.
No publicity.
No exposure.
No questioning.
Protect them the same way I protect Lahore when you were absent"
The assistant responded immediately, voice formal:
"They've already been relocated to the underground civilian safety chamber. It's secure. No one will touch them."
My breath loosened.
The masked man handed me medicine.
"These will put you to sleep. Your mana is depleted. Rest is necessary."
I took them.
They were heavy on my tongue.
The world dimmed almost instantly.
I fell asleep.
I did not see anything after.
---
The room was still.
For a moment, Serin remained motionless—breathing slow, pretending to be asleep.
Then she opened her eyes.
Quietly.
Gently.
Her gaze settled on Ryn's sleeping face—soft, peaceful, completely unaware.
The masked man let out a slow breath.
"You can stop acting now, Serin."
She sat up, pulling her hand back from healing him.
"…How is your wound?" she asked.
"It'll hold," he replied simply.
She looked at Ryn which is still wearing mask again.
There was relief in her eyes.
And sadness older than memory.
The masked man slowly lifted his hand.
He removed his mask.
Eron's face appeared, weary but alive.
Serin was not surprised. She only nodded.
"I knew," she said quietly.
Eron leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.
"You cried for him when you were separated. But now you can't even say hello?"
Serin's voice shook—but only barely.
"When I try… something stops me. Like a hand around my throat. I don't know why."
Eron's tone softened—not teasing, not sharp, just real.
"Do you care?"
"Yes."
Then, after a breath:
"Not the way others would think.
I am his older sister.
He just… does not know yet."
Her fingers brushed Ryn's hair—careful, like touching something breakable.
"He hasn't rested in a year. Even when his body sleeps, his soul trains."
Eron nodded grimly.
"He'll be healed in two days.
And the Elites are returning tomorrow.
We'll use them for joint rehabilitation and training."
Serin's expression changed—sharp, protective, absolute.
"He is not joining the war frontline yet.
His mana core nearly collapsed.
He forced his power far beyond his body's limit."
Eron lowered his hand.
"…Understood."
There was no more to say.
The room was warm.
Quiet.
Heavy with unspoken history.
Ryn slept—unaware of any of it.
---
Frontline — Sarno Valley, Italy
The war raged.
The sky over Sarno Valley was ash-black.
What once had been green cliffs and vineyards was now a broken basin of molten stone and shattered earth.
The air vibrated with mana — thick enough to taste, heavy enough to drag in the lungs.
The demons came in waves.
Their skin was iron-dark, eyes hollow with white burning cores.
Every step they took cracked the ground.
A mage raised his staff.
"Lucian Draev — prepare light burst!"
Lucian inhaled once, steadying his feet on charred rock.
His voice was quiet—almost prayer-like.
"Lux—Refractura."
A spear of white radiance burst from his hand—
not heat, not flame, but pure blinding clarity.
The demons staggered, roaring, eyes seared shut.
Only the human squad stood unaffected—their helmets lined with silvered anti-flare lenses.
"Now!"
Mira Solace stepped forward.
Frost bloomed from her fingertips. Not snow — shards sharp enough to pierce bone.
The ground beneath the blinded demons froze, locking their feet to the earth.
"Hold them." Mira whispered.
Ravia Dawn did not answer.
She was already in motion.
Her sword ignited — not with normal flame, but a living inferno that pulsed with her heartbeat.
She swung once—
and the first demon split apart in molten halves.
Arina Vale raised her arm.
A shimmering barrier unfolded —
not around them, but around the demons.
Like a glass dome.
Silent. Absolute.
Ravia stepped back and exhaled into the barrier.
"Burn."
The fire inside detonated, filling the dome with a swirling storm of heat and roaring crimson.
The demons screamed, bodies melting, cracking, collapsing into blackened fragments.
Ravia watched, sweat on her brow, breathing hard.
"It works," she whispered.
Mira smiled, tired but proud.
Arina simply nodded once.
As they moved to regroup, the ground trembled.
Lucian looked toward the center of the valley.
There, towering above the lava flows, stood a statue—
ten meters tall, carved of obsidian and bone.
It had no movement.
No breath.
Yet its eyes followed them.
Ravia swallowed.
"That thing… it hasn't moved since the war began. Is it watching? Waiting?"
Mira didn't answer.
No one had an answer.
The lava lake around the statue boiled, bubbles bursting with the stench of burning blood.
The wind carried screams—both human and demon—far across the valley.
This battlefield was not a place of victory.
It was a warning.
A voice came through their earpieces:
"Hold your position.
The Demon War Chief has not yet entered the field
---
Ryn woke again was it dream nevertheless
Serin was there—seated by his side—expression calm, composed.
She flicked his forehead lightly.
"You're not using that power again. The price you paid this time was a month of your life. Next time, it could be all of it."
Ryn blinked, still dazed.
"…Alright."
He didn't know why—but the world felt safer than before.
Someone had been watching.
Someone had stayed.
He just didn't know who.
Your legs are healed want to do some practice ?