Orin Alpheratz (15 years old) Location: Solaris Date: Year 873 / Crow Cycle (3) / Blacksmith's Day (8)

  Orin clutched his bleeding arm, breath ragged, eyes darting from the knight's looming armor to the dagger lying useless on the ground, then to Sirius, who stood a few paces away with sword in hand but no clear path forward.

  He had never fought a Summoner before. Facing one now, he felt as though he had slammed into a wall far beyond his reach. No matter how he racked his brain, every solution fell apart if his skills were sealed. Without them, it was as if his very weapons had been stripped away.

  The armored man's voice cut through the square, distorted by the helm until it sounded almost inhuman.

  “Now, boy. If you don't want your friends to suffer further... step back. Go join the others and wait quietly.”

  Orin froze, torn between surrender and one last reckless strike. His grip tightened on his wounded arm as hesitation gnawed at him.

  But before the knight could press further, another voice broke the tension.

  “I'm afraid I can't allow that.”

  Aran's words rang clear, her tone firm with unusual weight. She stepped forward, her eyes sharp. “This boy is under my care. I have business with him... important business. You will not take him.”

  Even through the visor, Orin could feel the knight falter, caught off guard by her sudden defiance.

  “…Priestess,” the knight finally said, his tone colder, steadier. “You misunderstand. My orders are absolute. These boys are to be taken, and I will not tolerate interference... even from a servant of Lady Bhizenti.”

  He gave a sharp nod to the mercenaries. At once, the one guarding Gina and Cor moved to flank Aran, joined by the brute watching over the two unknown boys. Their boots echoed as they closed in, weapons raised.

  Aran shook her head slowly, almost in disappointment, muttering under her breath with a bitter sigh.

  “This is exactly the kind of mess Felis should be handling. But it seems…” Her hands lifted, faint light gathering at her fingertips. Her voice hardened, resolute. “…I'll have to take matters into my own hands.”

  The two mercenaries flanking Aran sneered, their laughter coarse and mocking. One reached out, intent on seizing her arm.

  But Aran was already prepared. Her voice rang out, clear and commanding:

  “PRAYER: Heaven's Spears!”

  Light shimmered above them. Two spears of radiant energy formed in an instant, descending like divine judgment. One impaled through the shoulder of the first mercenary, the other pierced the neck of the second.

  There was no blood, no torn flesh, no wound to be seen. Yet both men collapsed to their knees, clutching at the seared points of impact, their faces twisted with agony. Their blades fell slack at their sides, all will to fight driven out of them.

  Aran moved forward between their writhing forms, her steps measured, her eyes unyielding. “You're fortunate,” she said, voice calm yet cutting. “Priests are not trained to kill. Offensive Prayers aren't meant to spill blood. But by reshaping the light's flow, I can weave techniques that burn from within. Harmless on the surface, crippling within.” Her gaze shifted toward the knight, her words striking like arrows. “Enough to leave an enemy unable to continue.”

  She stopped beside Orin, placing herself deliberately in front of him, and raised her chin toward the armored captain. “So tell me, Captain... don't you think it's time you surrender and let us walk away?”

  The knight let out a low, distorted laugh, the sound scraping like iron on stone. He raised his sword, leveling the edge at her.

  “An impressive display, Priestess,” he admitted coldly. “But do not deceive yourself. My Summoner's gift is not so limited. It does not only strip offensive skills from fools like these boys.” His presence pressed heavier, like the weight of a looming wall. “Your Prayers, too, will find no purchase against me.”

  Aran's expression hardened, but she didn't flinch. She stepped closer to Orin, her hand brushing lightly against his uninjured arm as if to steady him.

  “We'll see about that,” she answered, her voice low but unyielding.

  Orin stiffened as Aran stepped close, her words a whisper in his ear.

  “I'm afraid he's right. I doubt I can defeat him... but when you see the chance, take the girls and run. We'll regroup later.”

  Orin shook his head sharply. “No. I won't leave you behind. If you're in danger, I'll fight, whatever it takes.”

  Aran let out a long sigh, her expression unreadable. It was a strange mix. Half weary, half faintly amused.

  “…Then at least go check on your friends,” she said at last.

  Reluctantly, Orin obeyed. He hurried toward Gina and Cor, still glancing back over his shoulder. Behind him, the knight's hollow voice echoed through the square.

  “Do you not understand? This is futile. None of you will escape. My men are already on their way. Even if, by some miracle, I fell here... it would be far too late.”

  His words were not a threat, but a grim revelation.

  Aran, however, did not answer. Her voice rang out instead, strong and resolute:

  “PRAYER: Lightsaber!”

  Orin turned just in time to see it, light condensed into a blade within Aran's hand, pure radiance shaping itself into a sword. She raised it, stepping into an offensive stance with practiced grace.

  The knight scoffed and surged forward, his massive sword cutting a lethal arc. “I told you! Your techniques are worthless against me!”

  Steel met light with a ringing crash, yet to his shock, the radiant blade held. The knight's strike was deflected, sparks scattering.

  “What—?!” he snarled. “Impossible! No Prayer can manifest within Divinity's Witness! Unless…?”

  Aran's eyes sharpened, her voice calm but carrying iron conviction.

  “…Unless my Guardian Spirit outclasses yours,” she said, driving her glowing blade forward. “Did you truly believe you were the only Summoner here?”

  Orin couldn't tear his eyes from the clash as he hurried toward Gina and Cor. His chest tightened with astonishment. Aran... is she really a Summoner?

  When he reached his friends, he found Cor lying pale against the cobblestones. Her wound had stopped bleeding, though her breaths came shallow and weak. Gina, her eyes red and brimming with worry, rushed into Orin's arms the moment he arrived.

  “Orin... thank you for coming for us!” she said, her voice trembling as she held back tears. “When Cor collapsed, I thought... I thought we'd never make it out alive.”

  “Don't worry,” Orin said softly, steadying her with one arm. “I'll get you both out of here. Safely.”

  But Gina's eyes flicked past him, to the duel blazing in the square. “Who is that girl? And... do you think she can really handle him alone?”

  Orin hesitated, then forced himself to nod. “Don't underestimate her. She's stronger than she looks.”

  On the battlefield, Aran's lightsaber clashed against the knight's steel in a shower of sparks. The rhythm of her strikes—precise, flowing—betrayed more than holy training. Both Orin and Sirius, watching wide-eyed, could see it clearly: she had been trained as a swordswoman too.

  The knight chuckled darkly, his voice distorted by the helm. “What's wrong, Priestess? No more of your little light tricks? I'll admit, you fight better than I expected. But I haven't even used my skills yet. How long do you think you can last?”

  Aran's blade pressed against his with defiant force, her expression calm and unshaken. “Heaven's Spears won't pierce that battered armor of yours, true. But don't think I'm finished.”

  “…Good.” His voice dropped lower, colder. “Then let's see how you handle this.”

  The knight stepped back, raising his weapon high. His voice thundered across the square.

  “ACTIVATE KNIGHT SKILL: Longsword!”

  A surge of bluish light engulfed his blade, stretching it outward until the steel doubled in size. The weapon gleamed with a spectral edge, a sword meant to strike far beyond its natural reach.

  With the sudden extension of his blade, the knight's strikes became relentless. Each swing carved the air with brutal reach, forcing Aran back step by step. Her lightsaber clashed against the glowing edge, but every parry rattled her arms.

  “Is that all you've got?” the armored man mocked, his voice echoing from within the helm. He unleashed slash after slash, a storm of steel and light that left Aran with no room to advance.

  Her defense wavered, her footing faltering under the weight of his assault. It seemed only a matter of time before the knight broke through—

  Until a defiant roar split across the square.

  “ORAAAAH!”

  Sirius charged headlong, sword raised. His boots pounded against the stone as he hurled himself at the captain with reckless resolve.

  The knight turned with a scoff. “Brat... haven't you learned your lesson?”

  The heavy shield slammed into Sirius with brutal force. The impact reverberated like a thunderclap, sending him sprawling across the ground.

  But his desperate intervention had given Aran the heartbeat she needed. She steadied her stance, her eyes burning with focus.

  “PRAYER: Morning Blessing!”

  A divine radiance burst from within her, bathing her body in luminous warmth. The wounds and fatigue that weighed on her moments before seemed to vanish, her presence now brighter, stronger, almost untouchable.

  The knight sneered. “Another trick? It won't change a thing.”

  But Aran did not flinch. Instead, she raised her voice again:

  “PRAYER: Heaven's Spears!”

  Her lightsaber dissolved in an instant. But instead of a single radiant weapon manifesting above her foes, countless spears of light and lightsabers materialized in the air. Dozens, then hundreds. Circling high above the battlefield, their tips gleaming like stars ready to fall.

  Orin, watching from the sidelines, felt his chest tighten in awe. She chained them together... three techniques, flowing into one.

  Aran's eyes narrowed, her voice resolute as she thrust her hand forward.

  “COMBO SKILL: Solar Kingdom!”

  The heavens themselves answered her call. Hundreds of luminous spears screamed down at once, descending upon the armored knight in a blinding storm of divine light.

  After the blinding flash, Orin shielded his eyes, struggling to see through the haze. Gina clung to his arm, her voice trembling.

  “Did she... did she do it? Did she defeat him?”

  Orin wanted to believe it, but the thick cloud of dust hung heavy in the air, obscuring everything. Only when it finally began to clear did the truth reveal itself.

  The knight still stood. His massive frame loomed unshaken, sword and shield firmly in hand. Around him, a dozen translucent copies of his shield orbited like ghostly satellites, deflecting the last fragments of light that had rained down.

  Total Defense... Orin's chest tightened as the hope drained from him.

  “That was close,” the knight said coolly, his distorted voice echoing. “But it seems your strength is gone.”

  He was right. Aran's body trembled, her breaths ragged. She barely remained standing.

  “So this is where it ends.” The knight raised his sword high, energy crackling along the length of the extended blade. He brought it down in a merciless arc—

  SLASH!

  —but instead of cutting through Aran, the strike slammed against a sudden earthen wall, shards of mud and stone scattering from the impact.

  “SPELL: Mudwall!”

  Gina's voice rang out, her staff trembling in her hands. She had cast just in time.

  The knight snarled. “So... a sorcerer. It seems I should deal with you in the proper order.” His visor turned toward them, anger rumbling in his words. “It’s time to purge these blasphemers once and for all.”

  Orin's heart pounded. Without his dagger, and with no way to close the distance, they didn't stand a chance against that monster in direct combat.

  Frantically, his eyes searched the ground for anything, any opening, any weapon. And then he saw it: Cor's bow and a scatter of arrows lying just within reach.

  Without hesitation, Orin seized the bow. The moment his fingers wrapped around the grip, a strange familiarity washed over him, as if his body remembered something his mind did not. He nocked an arrow, breath steadying as instinct took hold. The pain in his arm was killing him, but there was no time to back down. The words came unbidden, flowing from his lips:

  “ACTIVATE HUNTER SKILL: Piercing Arrow!”

  The knight's helm tilted slightly. “Fool. Didn't I tell you? Your skills cannot—”

  His words cut short.

  The arrow, glowing with a sharp blue light, streaked across the battlefield. It tore through the air, faster than the eye could follow, and punched straight through the knight's armor as though it were nothing but paper. The projectile buried itself deep in his chest.

  The armored man staggered, disbelief twisting his voice. “Impossible... my ability... it can't... The priestess... she—” His head turned toward Aran, whose hand still shimmered faintly with golden light.

  “I can temporarily nullify your Guardian Spirit,” Aran whispered, a tired smile on her lips. Her body trembled, every ounce of strength drained.

  The knight dropped to his knees, his sword slipping from his hand and striking the stones with a hollow clang.

  And in the silence that followed, a new sound broke through. The distant thunder of hooves, the clatter of armored men approaching fast.