The Name I Was Reborn to Bury

As Elian and Emanuelle left the alley, their steps were slow and unsteady.

Emanuelle's small hand clutched his so tightly it felt as though she wanted to fuse their skins together. She trembled. So fragile, so afraid, and yet… clinging to him like someone holding on to the last light before the abyss.

Elian glanced at her sideways, his face bruised and chest still heaving. She was a little taller than him, but in that moment, she seemed so much smaller. So defenseless. And even so, it was she who held onto him as if nothing bad could ever happen as long as he was there.

He was about to say something—anything that might sound comforting—when a voice cut through the silence:

— "Elian? Emanuelle?"

Elise emerged from the shadows of the street, her steps calm but her eyes frantic. She had just found Arthur—and the panic in his gaze had sent her running through the entire village.

She looked them up and down.

— "I was going to ask if you're alright… but I suppose that would be a foolish question, wouldn't it?" she said, noting the bruises on Elian's face, grotesque like a twisted painting.

He limped. One eye nearly swollen shut, dried blood at the corner of his mouth. His right hand was swollen, the index finger bent at an unnatural angle. A cracked rib. His whole body screamed in pain, but Elian stood—on his own two feet.

Emanuelle said nothing. She just trembled. A bruise bloomed on her right cheek, and her small hands clung to the hem of Elian's shirt as if they were part of it.

— "What happened?" Elise asked in a softer tone, almost a whisper. "What happened to you two?"

— "Two boys dragged me away…" Emanuelle murmured. Her voice trembled. "I saw a stall with tangerines… I wanted to ask daddy to buy them for mommy… then they pulled me into the alley…"

She swallowed her sobs, but the tears flowed anyway. The sound of her weeping was the only noise in that corner of the village. She tightened her grip on Elian's fingers, as if needing to be sure he was still there.

— "And Elian appeared… and saved me," she finished, burying her face in her brother's bloodstained shirt.

Elise knelt in front of them. She gently touched Emanuelle's head, then looked straight into Elian's eyes.

— "And what did you do?" she asked. There was no judgment in her voice. Only curiosity.

Elian hesitated. His golden eyes avoided hers for a moment, then he nodded and answered firmly—with the same merciful lie he'd told his sister:

— "They're… sleeping. They'll sleep for a long time."

Elise stared at him for a moment in silence. Then she smiled, a curious glint in her eyes.

— "Sleeping, huh? I see."

She stood slowly and snapped her fingers.

— "Stay here. I'll be right back."

She vanished into the alley.

★★★

There, among the mold and shadows, the two bodies lay discarded like broken dolls. Death still lingered in the air. Elise stared at them in silence for several seconds.

— "So young… so foolish."

With a motion of her hands, an orange flame appeared. Then blue. The flames shaped themselves into fiery serpents, dancing around her wrists.

She pointed at the bodies.

— "Burn. And take this mistake with you into oblivion."

The flames consumed them in silence. No bones, no smell would remain. Only ashes. And even those would be scattered by the wind.

When she returned to Elian and Emanuelle, there was a shadow of resolution in her gaze.

— "Let's go. Your father is frantic, and you need care."

As they walked, Elise thought to herself:

"Maybe it's time to take on an apprentice."

Elian only nodded, and Emanuelle, still clinging to his arm, walked without letting go. The two of them moved through the village… leaving behind the bodies, the pain, the muffled screams—but not the trauma.

Elian and Emanuelle walked side by side without speaking a single word. But it wasn't necessary—the silence between them said more than any sentence ever could. All they wanted, in that moment, was each other's presence.

Elian wanted to protect.

Emanuelle wanted to be protected.

The weight of that moment still echoed in every step they took. The alley might've been left behind, but the terror that had filled it walked with them, like a shadow clinging to their skin.

Elian knew what had happened there—and worse, he knew what had almost happened. Not just his life, but Emanuelle's life… her innocence… could've ended within those damp, filthy walls.

He had saved her. But just barely.

"Thank the gods… I got there in time," he thought, fists clenched.

"If I had been just one second later…"

The thought gnawed at him, even though he knew there was no point drowning in what ifs. The only certainty he had now was this:

— I killed… but I don't regret it.

They were two boys. Two boys who would never return home. Two boys who might also have been someone's sons.

But to Elian, that didn't matter.

Better their mothers mourn them than Maria.

Better those hands be stained than for Emanuelle to be broken.

As much as Elian truly wished for a peaceful life—free from violence, blood, death… he now understood.

The world would not leave him in peace.

The truth had found him again, even in the form of children.

And it had forced him to kill.

Elise walked beside him, offering her shoulder for support. Her eyes watched Elian closely, but there was no judgment in them. There was respect.

Respect and… a faint spark of curiosity.

"This boy…" she thought.

"Even wounded, even outmatched… he won. And more than that… he protected. Without hesitation, in the end."

Even if he had hesitated for a moment, Elian had done what needed to be done. With precision.

And now… she wondered:

"Why not take him as my apprentice?"

What once seemed absurd now made perfect sense. Elise had turned down the sons of nobles, of wealthy families… but Elian, though frail, wounded, and bloodstained, showed something the others lacked: conviction in what mattered.

They walked a few more minutes until they saw Arthur—and when their eyes met, the world seemed to freeze for a moment.

Arthur stood in the middle of the street, eyes wide, chest heaving, as if he had run across the entire village.

When he saw his children, he ran to them with a nearly desperate impulse.

Emanuelle let go of Elian's hand for the first time since they had left the alley—but only to throw herself into her father's arms.

She cried.

Not like a bratty child, not like someone who scraped their knee.

She cried with her whole body. With shaking shoulders, with a trapped voice, with a frightened soul.

Arthur embraced them tightly, trying to hide his anguish. But one look at Elian made it clear that something terribly wrong had happened.

The boy's face was swollen, bruised purple and blue. The corner of his mouth still bled. One finger on his right hand was swollen and bent—clearly broken. His body was covered in scratches and marks. He limped.

Arthur looked at Elise, silently begging for answers.

She nodded seriously.

— "Let's go to my house. I'll explain everything there. And Elian needs treatment immediately," she said, with restrained urgency.

Arthur didn't argue. He just nodded, his face drawn with concern.

He tried to lift Elian in his arms, but the boy asked him not to. He didn't want to seem weak. So, with effort, he climbed into the cart by himself.

Emanuelle climbed up right after and instinctively grabbed his hand again. Tight. As if needing to make sure he was still there.

Arthur arranged them in the cart, then walked beside Elise, leading the old mule by the reins. The path to the healer's home would be short… but Elian knew the wounds from that day would take far longer to heal.

★★★

The way to Elise's home was quiet.

Arthur walked ahead, leading the cart with firm, hurried steps. Elise followed beside him, from time to time glancing worriedly at Elian, who kept a hardened expression, though his eyes were fogged with pain.

Emanuelle remained glued to him, her fingers entwined in his like she feared that if she let go, he would vanish.

The village of Brumaria seemed to shift as they left the central market behind. The muddy, manure-slicked streets gave way to firmer, more even paths. The houses, once crooked and dirty, now had more symmetry, with low walls, well-kept wooden doors, and small garden fences.

It wasn't a noble district, but it was… different.

Better.

It was as if, for some forgotten reason, time moved slower there.

— "This is the upper part of the village," Elise commented, sensing Elian's curiosity. "Artisans live here, a few healers… and the few who still manage to sell something worthwhile in this place."

Elise's house emerged like a whisper amidst Brumaria's decay.

Unlike the crooked buildings of the village center, her home stood with dignity. Two stories tall, built of dark wood and carefully placed stone, with broad windows of bluish glass that reflected the gray sky.

Out front, a small garden bloomed like a green sanctuary—long-petaled flowers shared space with medicinal herbs, neatly trimmed shrubs, and a lone tree with thin leaves swaying softly in the wind.

Elian looked at it and thought, almost unconsciously:

— "It's like she lives in a place that doesn't belong to the village…"

There was beauty there. Not the ostentatious beauty of castles, but the simple beauty of care.

Like Maria cared for mended clothes.

Like Arthur cared for the land.

Arthur stopped the cart near the dark wooden gate. Elise was the first to descend, gently pushing the fence open to make way.

Arthur lifted Emanuelle into his arms—she didn't want to let go of Elian, but he convinced her with a gentle whisper. Then he extended his hand to his son, who shook his head, preferring to get down on his own, even if limping.

The three of them climbed the wooden steps to the porch and entered.

The door creaked softly, as if it too respected the silence of the moment.