Icariel stood frozen, the scent of roasted meat still clinging to his fingers. The elf girl had backed into the cave wall like a cornered animal, eyes wide, lips trembling, almost in tears.
He looked at the cooked rabbit leg in his hand, then back at her.
"Why are you complaining when your stomach growled like that?" he asked, his voice genuinely puzzled.
"Get that away from me… please…" she said, her voice frayed and shaking.
Then the voice in Icariel's mind broke through—calm, but firm. "Remove it. Now. Elves—this kind—don't eat meat."
"What?" Icariel replied inwardly, stunned.
"It's cultural. Sacred. Rule-bound. They don't break that line—not for hunger, not for survival."
He lowered the rabbit leg slowly, still confused. "So what do they even live on?"
"Forest-grown plants. Unique vegetation. Everything rooted in nature's veins."
Icariel blinked, scoffing under his breath. "No wonder they're all so thin."
He glanced at her again. Still curled against the stone, still watching him like he was something feral.
"I can't live like that. Meat gives strength—not just food. I'm glad I wasn't born an elf. What kind of life has no meat?"
Since he could remember, meat had been a constant. The steam of fresh kill, the blood staining hands, the warmth in the belly. It wasn't just sustenance—it was survival made flesh. Cutting it out was like refusing breath.
Still, the voice's words echoed with weight. And though he didn't agree, he understood.
He placed the rabbit leg aside. "It's gone. Relax."
The silver-haired girl gradually eased her shoulders, though her eyes remained locked on him like a deer that never forgot the scent of blood.
"What is wrong with you?" she snapped suddenly. "It's not just disgusting—it's wrong! How could you eat creatures the gods have bestowed upon us? It's a sin!"
His eyes darkened. Not angry—just empty. A hollowed stare carved from old bone. "Stop. That's nonsense."
"I need to eat to live properly. To stay strong. What do the gods have to do with that? Bears can kill us if we don't kill them first. You think they're gifts? You think they were sent to rip us open while we sing hymns?"
He turned away from her and sat near the fire again. The meat still sizzled faintly in the embers. He bit into it without hesitation.
Survival didn't wait for sermons.
She flinched. Her face twisted. "Wild beasts only attack when provoked. If you don't harm them—"
"A lie," Icariel muttered through his food. "A starving creature doesn't wait for permission."
A memory flickered—one of a dog back in Mjull, bones showing beneath fur, eyes glazed with madness. It had turned on its owner—not out of fear. Out of desperation.
"Even a loyal dog will rip flesh when it's hungry enough."
"You're strange…" she whispered now, her tone wary, like someone studying a strange shape in the dark.
Icariel looked up mid-bite. "You've never met a human before?"
"Plenty." She paused. "But none who eat like that. So… heartlessly. And with such rudeness."
Her gaze dropped. Her next words came soft—like breath through leaves.
"Still… I've never seen anyone with such… pure mana…"
He didn't hear. His mouth was still full. "Did you say something?"
"Just… finish eating where I can't see it."
A while later, Icariel licked the grease from his fingers and leaned back with a satisfied sigh.
"Ahhh… I feel full. What a great feeling that is." He smirked faintly, drawing the words out in theatrical relief.
"Your stomach's already growling again. What are you going to eat—moss and tree bark?"
She glared. "I'm going out. I need to find something—plants, anything."
Then the voice stirred again in his skull.
"If she performs healing magic, watch. Observe. You'll learn more from seeing it than any explanation I could give."
"Fine," Icariel thought back. "Useful if I ever want to learn it myself."
The elf girl stood carefully, adjusting her torn clothes and retying the bandage over her wound. She glanced toward the cave entrance—then tilted her head at him.
"Why's a kid like you alone out here?"
Still shirtless, Icariel turned to her, his expression unreadable. "Same reason as you."
"I told you mine." she pouted.
"Then I choose not to. Balanced trade."
A vein in her temple ticked. Her fists clenched. "You jerk."
Icariel stood, stretching. Bones popped. "I should grab water before I sleep."
"Me too. I'm going to gather now… I think I can move well enough," she muttered, limping toward the entrance.
The night lay thick outside, draped in a silver sheen. Crickets sang like ticking clocks in the quiet dark.
"Be careful out there," Icariel said, already half-lost in the fire's warmth.
"I thought you were coming with me," she frowned. "How can you let a wounded girl wander the forest alone?"
"You didn't want the meat. Don't blame me—I'm exhausted."
"Unbelievable," she muttered. "How can you—"
"Go with her," the voice interrupted. "She isn't healing yet. If you miss this, you'll lose the chance to witness her spell in action."
"Tch… fine," Icariel grumbled, rising reluctantly.
She was already outside, limping into the moonlight, when he called—
"Wait. Wait—I'm coming."
She paused, glancing over her shoulder with a raised brow. "I don't want your company anymore."
"Shut up. If you faint again, I'll have to drag you back."
She looked sideways at him, then turned forward again.
A small smile tugged at the edge of her lips. "Guess you're not entirely a jerk."
"Huh?"
"Forget it," she said, picking up her pace.
The forest shimmered under moonlight, dew clinging to leaves like sweat on skin. The air was sharp with pine and damp soil. Crickets kept chirping, a clockwork hum underneath it all.
Icariel followed silently, watching her crouch beside bushes, brushing through herbs and moss. They neared his training spot now—the place where trees lay cleaved and stones shattered.
She stopped suddenly, eyes wide. "What happened here?"
"You did this?"
"Yeah," Icariel said simply. "I was training."
She gasped, appalled. "You defiler of soil! Wounding nature for selfish gain!"
Her glare could've bent metal.
Icariel blinked at her. "Hey," he muttered mentally, "is it just me, or are elves not really in their right minds?"
A pause. Then the voice admitted, a bit sheepishly—"They're… different."
"That doesn't answer my question."
Another pause.
"I'm with you on this one…"
Icariel smirked. "Of course you are. You told me to cut the trees in the first place."
The voice fell silent again.
A few minutes passed. The elf girl stood, arms full of herbs and mushrooms.
"I've got most of what I need. Just one more thing." She turned and handed the bundle to Icariel. "Here. Hold these."
He took them without complaint. She paused, exhaling slowly.
"My mana's recovered enough now… I should be able to heal my wound. But I'll wait until we're back at the cave. Doing it here would leave me exposed."
"Why?" he asked.
"Because healing is hard. Even for elves." She winced as the pain stabbed deeper. "It takes time. And the control required drains everything. I'll be vulnerable."
"Voice?"
"Healing defies logic," it answered coolly. "It's not calculation. It's conviction. Emotion. Sacrifice."
Icariel nodded slightly. "Still... I want to see how it's done."
She winced again, clutching her side. "I need that last herb and then we can—"
"Heal it here," Icariel said, cutting her off.
She blinked. "What?"
"Now. Heal it. I'll watch the perimeter. If something comes, I'll sense it."
"You can sense threats?" she asked, skeptical.
"Questions later. Just heal. You're in pain, aren't you?"
She hesitated. Then slowly sat down, brushing her silver hair from her face. Her hands trembled.
"You'll keep watch… right?" she whispered.
He didn't answer. Just nodded once, turning to the forest.
His White Sense forever activated—waves of color and life rippling through the trees, the air alight with orbs of drifting mana.
Then he turned to her—and saw something new.
Her entire body shimmered. Not like fire. Not like current. But like breath. Like a heartbeat of the forest itself.
She peeled the bandage back. The wound pulsed raw and ugly.
Then she placed a hand over it—and exhaled.
A verdant light unfolded from her palm. Gentle as spring rain. It spilled into her wound like ivy through a crack in stone. Through Icariel's eyes, it was more than light. It was life.
Emerald threads stitched themselves into her flesh. Not with force—but grace. A rhythm as fragile as bird bone, as slow and certain as roots crawling through earth. Her aura pulsed with every heartbeat—shaking under the weight of her will.
This wasn't just magic.
It was faith, given form.
[End of Chapter 21]