Her eyes gleamed with a fire, something like a burning flame that lived deep within her, propelling her forward without hesitation. She wasn't speaking of a mere goal, but of a cause that lived within her, one that coursed through her veins and pushed her beyond her limits.
Then, she turned toward Ace and took a small step forward, as though about to add something else—an ultimate piece of her conviction. But the words stopped at the tip of her tongue when her eyes met his expression. Something in his gaze made her pause, made her wonder—did he understand what she meant? Or was something else weighing on his mind?
At that moment, it seemed as though Ace had drifted into another place, as if time had frozen for him. The sounds faded, leaving only a heavy sensation pressing on his head like a cold wave that swept over him without warning.
His hand slowly rose to his temple, fingers pressing gently, as if soothing a familiar ache—a headache that had become a constant companion to his weary mind. The pain wasn't sharp, but it was persistent, like a faint shadow that clung to his thoughts, surfacing at unexpected times to pull him back into a whirlpool of tangled ideas. In that instant, scattered images flashed through his mind, brief sounds darted across his memory—they weren't clear, and he couldn't make sense of them, except that they were probably of children.
Nearby, Catherine stood watching him, concern written clearly in her eyes. She stepped closer and asked in a soft voice that echoed with genuine care:
"Are... are you alright?"
Ace raised his head slowly. His eyes met hers, reflecting a strange mix of exhaustion and a faint desire to appear strong. He tried to form a smile, but it was only a pale imitation of the real thing—a fragile mask hiding turmoil he didn't want to share. He spoke in a low, steady voice, as if trying to convince himself before convincing her:
"I'm fine... it's just a mild headache. I didn't sleep well last night... I was thinking a lot about whether I should join the squad or not."
His words sounded ordinary, but they carried a heavy weight, hinting at a deeper struggle than he cared to admit. She watched him for a moment, her wide eyes studying his expression in silence, as if trying to decode the thoughts he hadn't voiced. Then, gently, she tilted her head and said kindly, in a tone filled with warmth he hadn't expected:
"Would you like me to ease the headache?"
His eyebrows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise and curiosity in his eyes. He hadn't expected such an offer, and wasn't sure whether to take it seriously. He looked at her for a moment, then asked, his voice cautious yet tinged with intrigue:
"And how would you do that?"
A smile crept onto her lips—light as the dawn breeze—as if she had anticipated the question. She didn't hesitate. Instead, she explained calmly, as though revealing a secret she was unafraid to share:
"All I have to do is place my hand on your forehead and use a calming blessing. It'll only take a moment."
Ace stared at her for a moment, a glimmer of wariness and curiosity in his eyes. This kind of healing wasn't something he was entirely familiar with, yet he couldn't stop the question that escaped, revealing his usual caution:
"But... won't that drain some of your energy?"
She shrugged gently, as if it were nothing to worry about, and replied simply:
"It'll only take a little. By the time we reach the town's gate, I'll have recovered what I used."
Realizing that it wouldn't cost her anything that might affect the mission's progress, curiosity overtook necessity, and he nodded in agreement. She then raised her hand and placed it gently on his forehead, whispering phrases he couldn't understand. A golden light began to glow from her palm, and within moments, the magic took effect. The headache vanished completely—replaced by a sensation of peace and calm, the kind he hadn't felt in a very long time.
After he began to show signs of relief, he thanked her. His features had changed completely, as though some sort of burden had been lifted from his shoulders. At that moment, the girl spoke in a soft voice—gentle, yet filled with meaning—as if she were conveying a truth that had never been spoken aloud before:
"I understand what you're going through. Even I, when I was asked to join the team, thought it would be an easy decision. But joining a rising team doesn't just mean a new opportunity—it comes with weighty responsibilities and unexpected dangers."
Ace studied her for a few moments. Perhaps she thought his sudden headache was due to stress, to anxiety. But it stemmed from something much deeper—something he himself didn't fully understand yet.
As they stood there, Margola's voice interrupted, calling them not to drift off or fall behind. They hurried to catch up with the others. Then the girl continued, trying to keep her tone steady, but something in her betrayed her—a faint tremor that hinted at a confession she hadn't meant to voice aloud, yet it slipped out despite her:
"In the capital, healers have grown scarce. Most have joined the major teams, and there are no longer enough to meet the demand. Even among us beginners—those of us still stumbling through our first steps—opportunities arise to join up-and-coming teams. But we hesitate. We fear the dangerous missions. We fear disappointing those who rely on us. That's why we gravitate toward newer teams, where everyone is on more equal footing, where we don't feel inferior or weak. And there's another reason too... Being among our peers brings us a comfort we can't find around seasoned professionals—especially those from renowned teams, where every move is calculated, and each mistake could be fatal."
"Weren't there any silver- or gold-ranked healers they could have chosen instead of you?"
After he asked that question, the three ahead of them kept walking with steady steps. They were listening, paying attention to her tone, ready to catch any hesitation, any sign that might reveal more than she intended.
Catherine could feel their gaze, even though they didn't turn to look. She knew her answer might change everything. She wasn't sure—had she truly chosen to be in this position, or had the circumstances chosen it for her? She took a deep breath, as if trying to draw courage from the air itself, then slowly exhaled. She raised her eyes, weighing her words before she spoke in a quiet voice, shaded with uncertainty:
"I wondered about that too—why they chose me specifically. But when I learned we'd be facing the Rotwood Tree Beast, I finally understood why. I... unlike most healers, have a special blessing: the ability to cleanse toxins from the body. It's true that it's not a perfect power, but it's rare enough to make me stand out from the rest. Maybe higher-ranked healers have similar abilities, but reaching them is like trying to catch light, whereas I... I'm just a beginner, easy to summon and recruit."
She paused briefly. Then, as if she had made a sudden decision, she lowered her head, her eyes fixed on the cobbled stone beneath her feet, as though searching for an answer there—or maybe gathering the courage to ask her next question. Finally, her voice came, barely above a whisper:
"Do you believe in fate?"
For a moment, it felt as if the very air held its breath, waiting for his reply. The question, though seemingly simple, carried a weight that couldn't be ignored. It was the kind of question that could strip someone bare before themselves, forcing them to confront thoughts they might not be ready to face. Ace Farland showed no obvious signs of surprise, but he didn't respond right away.
Instead, a long silence stretched between them as they walked. Ace was trying to find an answer that would satisfy not only her but himself as well. He kept staring at the cobblestones, as though searching their grooves for some hidden truth. Then, at last, he spoke. His voice at first was no more than a whisper, but it grew more distinct with each word, each phrase, until it became something palpable in the air:
"I'm not sure whether our destinies are written for us from the very beginning. But I'm inclined to believe that we carve our path with our own hands—with our free choices and the decisions we make to shape the road ahead. But..."
He paused, as if the next words were reluctant to emerge all at once. Then he continued, his voice quieter, yet carrying an unseen weight:
"But those choices aren't always absolute. Life throws circumstances at us that we can't ignore—conditions that shape the paths we think we've chosen freely, when in truth, they may have been waiting for us from the start."
At that moment, the girl saw something in his words—something like light filtering through a closed window. A smile crept onto her lips; it wasn't a casual response or mere politeness. It was a smile born from deep within her, from a sense of calm she hadn't felt in a long time. She didn't raise her eyes to him—she didn't want him to see it—but she spoke in a warm voice, one that carried both conviction and ease:
"That's not exactly what we were taught in the church... but it's close. And it feels more real when I hear it from you."
She fell silent for a moment, then lifted her head slightly to glance at the others ahead of them, and added:
"Maybe it's because the idea that our lives aren't completely written, and that we have a hand in shaping them... gives me a little peace."
A quietness fell over them—a long, satisfying silence. As if, in that instant, they had reached an invisible meeting point where words were no longer needed, and understanding ran deeper than anything spoken aloud.