i.
The first time Miria meets Ophelia, it's on her first awakened hunt as a
single-digit.
It's quiet, save for the soft crunch of pine needles beneath Miria's boots and the
dull thud of her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The breeze tugs at her hair as
she treks up the mountain with her team.
She's nervous at first, afraid of what awaits her as a newly promoted
single-digit. Yet, Ophelia's confidence puts her at ease. They speak
casually—less like they're hunting a powerful beast and more like they're old
friends rendezvousing over a cup of tea. Ophelia's surely done this countless
times. She's number four, after all. Hilda told her there are huge leaps in power
between a number five and six. She and Ophelia are worlds apart.
Miria's caught off guard by Ophelia's friendliness.
Her voice is laced with honeyed thickness, and Miria briefly wonders if she's
being mocked. Yet she can't see any reason for Ophelia to do so, so she swats
the thought away like a fly. The organization told her she has a tendency to
overthink things—that her paranoia will get her into real trouble someday.
So, like the devil on her shoulder that it is, she tunes it out. She finds herself
doing that a lot these days.
Ophelia moves as though she's not entirely of this world—as though she exists
somewhere between light and shadow, her presence pulling at the air itself. Her
movements are effortless. Miria would surely be in trouble if that blade were
ever turned against her.
The mission is over quickly. Too quickly. Miria barely registers getting to the
end. But then she's there, standing over the awakened being, sword poised for
the final strike.
Ophelia's voice is firmer now, more commanding. "Finish it."
When Miria raises her blade, she feels a flicker. A wrongness in the air. When
the creature shifts, something stirs in her— something old, something familiar.
For a second, she hears a whisper. Not from the creature's lips, but within
herself.
Hil—
Blood spatters against her cheek, but she doesn't remember the sword
descending into the creature.
She blinks.
It's done. The awakened is dead.
She turns away before she can see the corpse clearly.
On their way back to camp, Ophelia slows her pace to match Miria's own, falling
in step beside her.
"That was one tough awakened being," Ophelia chirps. Compared to the
powerhouse she was mere minutes ago, her demeanor is much more relaxed
now. Far too relaxed, Miria thinks. "You did great. Better than I expected,
actually."
"It didn't seem so tough for you," Miria says. Her hands are still trembling.
The rest of the walk continues in silence, broken only by the occasional snap of
branches beneath their boots.
ii.
Miria meets Ophelia on her next awakened hunt.
She hasn't seen Hilda for days now and hopes that maybe, this time, the two
will be paired. That she can fight side by side with her best friend. Show her
how far she's come.
"Fancy running into you here." Ophelia is leaning back against the
wall—casually. Too casually. "Phantom Miria."
The surprise must be written all over Miria's face because Ophelia immediately
comments on it.
"Not happy to see me?" Her voice is sharp.
"Oh, nothing like that," Miria corrects. "I just didn't expect to see you. It's not
usually common for two single-digits—"
"This awakened is even stronger than the last one," Ophelia interrupts. "Though
honestly, I could kill the thing on my own. Policy is policy, I guess."
Miria sighs. "Sorry. I didn't mean to give the wrong impression."
Ophelia studies Miria with an expression she struggles to read. Maybe she could
decipher it if she knew more about Ophelia. Right now the woman is an enigma,
and the uncertainty of their interactions leaves a dense uneasiness in Miria's
stomach.
The silence lingers a little too long. Miria almost breaks it herself before Ophelia
finally speaks up.
"You're too tense." Ophelia smiles, tilting her head, a playful edge in her voice.
"Are you always so serious?"
The hunt is a blur of adrenaline and instinct, making it easier to push away the
paranoid voice in her head. Ophelia really does smile too much. It's not the
smile itself that bothers Miria—it's how it lingers. She can't help but feel like a
prey animal being watched from a distance.
The walk back is silent, but Miria feels a pair of eyes on her. She realizes
Ophelia had been watching her closely last time, too.
iii.
Miria steps into the lake, absently skimming the cold water with her fingers. She
can feel the chill, but it doesn't bother her. She can't remember the last time
she was affected by temperature.
She scrubs away the sweat and grime of the day, so lost in thought that her
skin nearly reddens from the aggression of her movements.
As days turn into weeks, Miria worries. It's all she can do. Hilda's never gone
this long without contacting her. She asked around, but with every shake of
their heads, the dread gnawing inside her becomes harder to suppress.
That dread, that doubt—it's been nothing but trouble for her.
A presence snaps Miria out of her trance. A powerful aura. Not a yoma—another
warrior.
"We meet again."
Ophelia stands nearby, settling onto a rock with ease.
"Ophelia," Miria acknowledges, her voice sharper than intended. Without
thinking, her arms fly up to cover her chest, and she immediately regrets the
reaction. There's no real need—they're both women, and the stigma scarring
their bodies is usually more concerning to outsiders. But something about
Ophelia's leer makes Miria uneasy.
Is she waiting for her to leave?
"I'm just finishing up now," Miria says, steadying her voice. "I'll be a minute."
"No rush."
Miria immediately notices that Ophelia's eyes flick everywhere but her own.
"I'm not here to bathe."
Then why are you here? Miria wants to ask. But she doesn't know Ophelia well
enough to predict her temper. Why does she feel like her words could anger
Ophelia?
Ophelia says nothing else, and irritation pricks at Miria's skin. She rinses off
quickly, faster than she should, cutting her bath short. She didn't get to wash
properly—not enough to feel comfortable—but she'll have to deal with the
discomfort.
The silence is broken.
"Hilda talked about you all the time, you know."
Miria freezes mid-motion. "Really?"
Ophelia nods. The corners of her eyes crinkle as she offers a smile, though it
doesn't quite reach them.
"She even told me that, if something ever happened to her, she'd send her
black card to you. It's heartwarming, really," Ophelia says lightly. "So don't
worry about her. If something did happen, you'd be the first to know."
Was it really that obvious?
"It's written all over your face," Ophelia says, as if reading her mind. "You've
been sulking every time I see you. It's not hard to guess why—you two are
practically glued together."
Miria's brows knit tightly. That awakened hunt was the first time she ever saw
Ophelia. How could she possibly know something like that?
Ophelia's gaze lingers, raking over every detail of Miria's body. Despite their
similar builds, Miria feels small.
iv.
At this point, Ophelia's presence feels predetermined. Miria hardly sees any
other warrior this often—certainly not by chance. Hilda, maybe. It's as if Hilda's
presence has been replaced by Ophelia's.
Miria has been taking missions left and right, cleansing villages of yoma. It
gives her an excuse to wander, hoping to detect Hilda's aura. In one of these
villages, she runs into Ophelia. Or at least, that's how Ophelia wants to frame it.
Miria doesn't believe it's a coincidence but doesn't want to risk upsetting
Ophelia by implying the woman's stalking her. Ophelia insists she just finished a
mission of her own and, without waiting for Miria's input, decides to tag along.
To help. She frames it as a favor—an act of kindness, a way to keep Miria
company.
The next village has more yoma than anticipated. Despite her insistence on
accompanying Miria, Ophelia has no interest in assisting. As Miria finds herself
surrounded, barely blocking their attacks, Ophelia looks painstakingly bored.
Like traveling with Miria is an inconvenience. Despite her promises, she never
once steps in to help. She just leans lazily against the wall, utterly unaffected by
Miria's near-death experience.
Miria wipes her brow and glances at Ophelia from the corner of her eye. Real
helpful, Miria thinks dryly.
As if Ophelia weren't strange enough, she insists they stay in a hotel that night.
Unlike most warriors, she prefers a bed to the ground. She collapses, sinking
into one of the beds with a sigh.
"Join me," Ophelia says, patting the spot beside her.
Miria shakes her head. "I'm fine on the floor."
"Don't be such a buzzkill," Ophelia teases, wrapping a hand around Miria's thin
wrist and yanking her back onto the bed. Miria lets out a yelp. "Seriously, it's
not bad once you get used to it."
"I can't sleep like this," Miria complains. "And besides, there are two beds."
"You don't have to sleep," Ophelia hums, sidestepping Miria's protests. Her
boundaries are being worn away without her even noticing—like death by a
thousand cuts. "It's nice to travel with another warrior. I don't make friends
easily, you know."
Annoyance knots in Miria's chest. She doesn't bother responding. She sucks in a
breath through her nose, forcing herself to relax. Maybe sleep will come quickly
if she just lies still.
After a beat, Ophelia adds, "Hilda really is nice, isn't she? She made me feel
welcome when I first joined the organization."
Miria's eyes soften. Her muscles relax just a little. Hilda really was a comforting
presence.
"How long have you known Hilda?"
"A long time." Amusement flickers across Ophelia's face as she cards a hand
through Miria's hair—uninvited. Miria stiffens but doesn't swat her away. "Since
we were trainees," Ophelia continues.
Jealousy pangs deep in Miria's chest. Someone knowing Hilda longer than she
has—someone being closer to her—doesn't sit right. But before she can dwell on
it, Ophelia's deceptively delicate hands wrap around Miria's own.
Miria flinches, just slightly. But she doesn't pull away. It almost feels rude to.
Ophelia's touch is light, almost delicate, but the way she watches Miria—cryptic,
ambiguous—makes the simple gesture feel like an ant being studied under a
magnifying glass.
Ophelia gives a short, breathy laugh. It's more of a sigh. "Have you ever
fantasized about running away?"
Miria's throat tightens. Ophelia spoke those words so softly that Miria's not sure
she was meant to hear them.
v.
It's been nearly a week of traveling with Ophelia. Nearly a week, and still no
sign of Hilda in any of the villages they pass. Miria asks every townsperson she
comes across, but predictably, there are no leads. She isn't sure if it's because
they truly haven't seen Hilda or if they're simply unwilling to help a
monster—because that's what Miria is to them. No longer human. No different
from the yoma she kills.
The forest is quiet. Across from Miria, Ophelia is slumped against her sword,
eyes closed. She's asleep—though not deeply. Warriors rarely enter the kind of
deep slumber humans do. Miria's only seen it happen with those recovering
from life-threatening injuries; otherwise, it's a vulnerability none of them can
afford.
Sensing no yoma nearby, Miria allows herself to lean back against her sword
with a deep sigh. Her eyes flutter shut, and for a brief moment, she lets the cool
breeze wash over her. The relative quiet of the forest, the humming of birds, the
soft chatter of crickets—small remnants of peace she hasn't felt in a long time.
Not since Hilda was around, anyway.
A sudden clang splits through the air like a crack of thunder.
Miria barely scrambles to her feet in time. Ophelia's sword cuts through nothing
but the apparition left behind by Miria's phantom.
Her pulse pounds as their blades clash. "What are you doing, Ophelia?"
"Too careless," Ophelia says, her voice light as air. "Yoma aren't going to wait for
you to be ready. You should always be on your guard."
Ophelia moves with quick, practiced ease, while Miria—clumsy in
comparison—struggles to keep up. Embarrassment prickles under her skin.
Ophelia is a force to be reckoned with, and Miria's nerves make it impossible to
perform at her best. She stumbles back, barely maintaining her footing, while
Ophelia remains a smooth blur—vaulting through the air, landing with perfect
precision. As expected of the organization's number four.
Just short of nicking Miria's cheek, Ophelia stops.
Miria's chest heaves as she catches her breath. A mischievous smile tugs at
Ophelia's lips, playful and taunting, like a child provoking an adult just to see
how far they can push before facing consequences.
"There are no yoma nearby," Miria says once she steadies herself. "I checked."
"You're too naïve," Ophelia reprimands. "Awakened beings can suppress their
aura, you know. And humans—" She tilts her head. "They can be pretty
dangerous too."
Memories pass through Miria's mind—rumors and stories she's overheard from
other warriors. That Ophelia has killed humans. Words she always dismissed as
baseless gossip. A waste of her time.
And yet, curiosity gets the best of her.
"Have you killed humans?"
Ophelia's expression shifts. Miria can't read her. Those wide, vacant eyes peel
away at Miria's defenses, forcing their way inside. Searching. Digging. Like
peeling open her stigma and peering into the most vulnerable parts of her soul.
Miria doesn't know what to make of it.
"That's disappointing, Miria," Ophelia finally says, her lips forming a thin line. "I
thought you, of all people, would be above gossip."
A pit opens in Miria's stomach. She upset Ophelia. The one thing she's been
trying so hard not to do.
Ophelia could kill her in an instant. Squash her like a bug before she even has
time to react.
Miria braces for the worst, but Ophelia only laughs. A high-pitched, girlish
sound—more fitting for a schoolgirl than a warrior.
"I don't make friends easily," Ophelia muses, retracting her sword. She steps
away with an air of levity entirely unbefitting of the moment. "People don't have
much patience with me. They always assume I have bad intentions."
Miria's face softens as guilt creeps up her spine. "Ophelia—"
"That's why I'm so drawn to you," Ophelia interrupts. "It's lonely, you know.
Everyone being so intimidated by me."
"I'm sorry for being so inconsiderate," she says. "I shouldn't have said that. I
really didn't mean anything by it. Sometimes I… word things in a way I don't
mean to."
Any tension in Ophelia's face melts away like snow in the sun. Mischief sparks in
her eyes.
"The look on your face is priceless," Ophelia giggles. "Your concern for others is
cute. You really thought I was upset."
Hadn't she been?
Miria has no idea how to interpret the sudden shift. For a moment, she swears
she glimpses something dark inside Ophelia. But it's gone in a flash, so quickly
Miria wonders if her mind is playing tricks on her.
It must be.
That's what the organization is always warning her about—her mind sees things
that aren't there. Assigns meaning to things that have none.
It's hard to trust her instincts when her mind creates so many false positives.
Her mind has always been broken that way. Even before abandoning her
humanity, she was scolded incessantly for it. Curiosity killed the cat. Her
parents told her that time and time again.
She shakes off the feeling. Ophelia is just a strange woman. They all are. Every
warrior has undergone immense trauma.
No one joins the organization by choice. Least of all women. They were girls
once, dreaming of love, of marriage, of families. Each warrior has a tragic past.
Parents. Siblings. Friends. Towns and childhood homes—wiped from existence.
Miria wonders what Ophelia's life was like before becoming a warrior.
vi.
Miria didn't know half-yoma like themselves could dream.
Her dreams since losing half her humanity have long since faded. No, not
faded— they stopped. Abruptly.
Now, there is only void. A nothingness that brings more peace than dreams ever
could. The fleeting pleasure of dreams only made wakefulness all the more
painful. Because moments after she feels the warmth of her mother's embrace,
she's back to reality. The reality that half her flesh is imbued with the very beast
that ripped her mother apart before her very eyes. It was a tragedy, but not a
unique one. And because of that, Miria doesn't bother dwelling on it.
She thinks Ophelia must be having nightmares. Ophelia only sleeps long after
Miria has already lost consciousness, but it's hard not to wake when she hears
the stirs and whimpers.
The first thing Miria notices is that Ophelia doesn't sleep sitting up. Not like the
other warriors. Once Miria falls asleep, Ophelia curls into herself, lying in a tight
fetal position. Clutching her sword, the sharp blade cradled in her arms like a
child clinging to a stuffed animal.
For a moment, Miria wonders if Ophelia is still asleep. Surely, she would have
noticed the shift in Miria's aura if she were awake.
But Miria doesn't want to find out what will happen if Ophelia realizes she's been
seen like this. Not at her most pitiful.
So she rises gingerly, stepping away as silently as she can to bathe in the
nearby lake.
vii.
Thirteen.
Thirteen yoma reside in this village.
Miria has no clue how the place is still standing. Maybe the yoma are keeping
the villagers alive on purpose—preserving their food source. Or maybe it's a
game to them. Some yoma are like that. Some enjoy the cruelty.
"Purple blood…?"
Children watch their mothers' faces split in two. Wives watch the remains of
their husbands burst apart into something unrecognizable—something that can
no longer be called human.
Miria wants to avoid unnecessary carnage, but she's outnumbered. Badly. And,
as usual, Ophelia doesn't lift a finger to help. She even makes a show of her
boredom—stretching, yawning, playing with the end of her braid like a girl idly
passing time. As if Miria's battle is nothing but an inconvenience.
Well. It probably is.
This wasn't one of Miria's assigned villages. It's rundown, poorly kept. She
doubts they could afford to pay the organization for help. That's probably how
the yoma have been able to fester for this long.
The final beast collapses. Despite the searing pain in her shoulder, Miria drives
her sword into the ground and steadies herself, breathing hard.
"You don't need to pay," she says between labored breaths. "We were just
passing through. We'll be on our way—"
She expects the usual response. Humans keeping their distance. The braver
ones staring, their eyes filled with morbid curiosity—like watching an animal
perform at a circus. The children too stunned to cry. The adults full of
resentment, disgust, fear.
But instead—
Clapping.
One pair of hands. Then another. Then a chorus of applause, an audience
cheering. Even Ophelia is caught off guard.
"Thank you."
An elderly man steps forward, sobbing.
"Thank you, Claymores. You don't know how long we've been tormented by
yoma."
Miria's eyes soften. "Really, it was no problem."
"We have no idea how to repay you," the man says. "Please, if there's anything
we can do—"
"Really—"
A hand rests on the back of her head, like a parent quieting a child.
"A room," Ophelia interrupts smoothly. "The best one you've got."
The man clasps his hands together, nodding eagerly. "That won't be a problem
at all! Please, follow me."
The man guides them inside the entrance of an inn. The cream-colored building
is humble in size and doesn't have much in the way of decoration. Soon
enough, the man leads the two women to their room and leaves the key in
Miria's hands.
Miria yanks her boots off with a sigh, resting her back against the wall and
sliding to the floor. Across the room, Ophelia paces like a restless animal.
"This place is so trashy," Ophelia complains, wrinkling her nose. "What are these
beds made of, straw?"
Miria pinches the bridge of her nose. She can feel her temple throbbing.
"Ophelia."
"And this food they left us—I don't even wanna try it," Ophelia continues.
"These eggs look like snot. What kind of joke is this?"
"They're being more than generous," Miria snaps before she can stop herself,
her voice sharper than intended.
Ophelia turns her head, eyes crinkling in amusement. Miria regrets snapping
immediately.
Ophelia is number four. Miria is number eight. She cannot afford to make an
enemy of her.
Ophelia kneels, lowering herself so they're face-to-face.
"Turn around."
Miria blinks. "What?"
"You heard me." Ophelia's voice doesn't waver.
Miria hesitates before complying, the muscles in her shoulders coiling with
tension.
"Good girl," Ophelia hums, pressing deft fingers into Miria's shoulders, kneading
in slow, lazy circles.
Miria's stomach churns.
"I'm not too good at this," Ophelia muses, "but really, you're too serious. You
gotta loosen up. You're not gonna last long at this rate."
"Of course I'm tense. I was completely outnumbered out there."
"Is this really just about the yoma?" Ophelia's fingers graze Miria's cheek.
"You're still thinking about Hilda, aren't you?"
Miria says nothing, and Ophelia takes her silence as a cue to continue.
"You'd be the first to know if something happened to Hilda," she assures. "She's
fine. Worrying isn't going to change anything."
Miria knows she's right. She knows. And yet—
Ophelia leans in close. Too close.
Miria shifts away, but Ophelia follows, the heat of her breath ghosting over
Miria's skin.
"I can help, you know," Ophelia drawls. "Distract you. Quiet your mind. Help
you fall asleep."
Miria stiffens. "What do you mean?"
Ophelia buries her face into the crook of Miria's neck and inhales deeply. "What
do you think I mean?"
When Ophelia's hands begin to slide around her waist, Miria catches them
before they can finish. "I don't need help sleeping."
"Don't you?"
Sexual relationships between warriors aren't uncommon. Most prefer men, but
humans are out of the question—no human could ever stomach the way the
organization mutilated their bodies. So warriors turn to each other for what is
nothing more than a transactional relationship.
Some do it out of necessity— a need to meet their primal urge. Some, however,
do it because they prefer women.
Miria wonders which one Ophelia is. If Miria is merely an outlet to meet her
primal urges, or if there's genuine desire behind the offer.
Miria has never participated in such things. Never wanted to. Because desire is
the root of all misery— nothing causes Miria more anguish than the
disappointment that follows after having something warm and comforting taken
from her. She's spent her whole life defined by loss, and now—now, she feels
nothing.
"I'm pretty good at it," Ophelia purrs. "You won't be able to think about
anything else."
She holds Miria's gaze, something dark flickering behind her eyes. It isn't
friendship—not like what she had with Hilda. There's something else there.
Something Miria doesn't recognize. Something sharp. Something dangerous.
She tells herself not to overthink it. Ophelia is just strange.
And yet, her mind whispers warnings.
Something happened to Hilda.
You'll never find her.
You'll never see her again.
You'll never see her again.
Miria doesn't remember what she said, but she knows she gave in. Laid bare
beneath Ophelia, she sees the gleam in her eyes—Ophelia was right.
That night, Miria forgets about Hilda.
viii.
Miria flinches as she feels slender hands cover her eyes.
"Guess who?"
"Ophelia," Miria grouses.
"Your one and only," Ophelia teases. She snakes her arms around Miria's waist
and hugs her from behind, burying her face into the crook of her neck. She can
feel a migraine coming on.
At some point, she'll have to tell Ophelia not to put too much thought into what
happened last night. She should have made it clearer that she desires nothing
deeper—not with Ophelia, not with anyone. These kinds of relationships put her
at risk of becoming too attached to something that was doomed from the start.
There's no reason to begin a relationship when she already knows how it will
end. The world stopped being a safe place to hope when the yoma began their
reign of terror.
"You're so cute," Ophelia murmurs as she fiddles with Miria's hair. "Your noble
heart really is endearing, as stupid as it is. I guess stupidity is endearing in its
own way. It kind of reminds me of—"
She pauses, and the silence stretches on for a little too long.
"Of?" Miria prods.
"A stupid person," Ophelia finally says. "A stupid person who wanted to look like
a hero, thinking nothing of the people they left behind."
There's a distinct sadness in Ophelia's voice, and Miria can't bring it in herself to
take her words as an insult. Ophelia isn't talking to her anymore—she's
speaking past her.
"Risking your life for humans who despise us," Ophelia continues. "Are you a
masochist, or just a people pleaser?"
"These villagers don't hate us," Miria assures. "I...don't blame humans for being
scared. Maybe if we tried harder to communicate—" Miria pauses mid-sentence
as realization dawns on her. "Right, of course! These villagers might know
something about Hilda. I need to go ask around."
Ophelia rolls her eyes. "I was just about to take a nap."
"You don't have to come with me." Miria gently pries herself from Ophelia's
grasp. "I'll be back by nightfall."
"Nah." Ophelia shakes her head. "I gotta be there to protect you."
Miria rolls her eyes. "I don't need it, but whatever makes you happy," she says
dryly.
ix.
By nightfall, Miria is no closer to finding Hilda.
She tries to show the villagers her human side— she's still half human, after all.
For once, they're receptive. She makes small talk, and they welcome her. They
even show interest in her—not in her status as a warrior, but in the organic
parts of her. Who is Hilda? Is she a friend? How did you two meet?
Despite everything, the optimism is short-lived. With every villager she speaks
to, her questions yield no results beyond empty words of consolation and vague
promises to keep an eye out.
The disappointment must be showing on her face because Ophelia places a
gentle hand on Miria's shoulder. For a moment, Miria thinks Ophelia might offer
her real comfort. Instead—
"Even I'm starting to lose hope," Ophelia says, but her tone lacks sincere
disappointment. "Maybe she became a yoma, and that's why no one recognizes
your description!"
As if burned, Miria yanks Ophelia's hand away. "Don't joke about that," she says
slowly, gritting her teeth to steady the shaking.
"Ooh, scary." Ophelia's lips curve into a wry smile. She's toying with her. Miria
reminds herself not to take the bait.
The walk back to the inn is quiet. Miria feels too hopeless and dejected to
entertain conversation. Ophelia trails behind her, and Miria can feel her eyes
raking over her— scanning every inch of her, tracking her like prey.
When the door closes behind them, Ophelia corners Miria into the wall until their
bodies touch.
"Let me distract you again," Ophelia says, lifting Miria's chin. "You've had a
rough day. I can tell it's weighing you down."
Miria squeezes her eyes shut, and she can feel her cheeks burning. With need
or with shame, she can't tell. She told herself last night would be the only time.
But she's reminded of why she never allowed herself this kind of intimacy in the
first place. Once a person gets a taste, it becomes something they miss— far
more unbearable than never having it to begin with.
Ophelia cups the side of Miria's head with her other hand. "You need this." When
Ophelia slides their lips together, Miria's head grows fuzzy with conflicting
emotions— need, shame, arousal, fear, doubt. When Ophelia withdraws, she
goads her further. "Isn't it nice to forget about the bad stuff for a while?"
Miria can't help it. When Ophelia's warm, wet tongue descends on her
collarbone, she almost crumbles under Ophelia's weight. Ophelia has to catch
her.
And just like that, thoughts of Hilda flee her mind. It's even more of a relief the
second time around.
"I like seeing you let go of your inhibitions," Ophelia murmurs once they finish,
stroking Miria's sweaty hair. Miria doesn't respond; all she wants now is to fall
asleep.
Just as she thinks she's about to, Ophelia's voice breaks through the silence.
"You should run away with me."
Miria remains silent, hoping she can feign sleep well enough to fool Ophelia. She
knows she can't, though; she's fully aware Ophelia can see right through her.
Maybe Ophelia never even said anything. Maybe Miria was already dreaming.
x.
The next morning, Ophelia speaks abruptly—before Miria even has time to
prepare a response.
"Run away with me."
Miria turns to her, startled. Ophelia takes her silence as a cue to elaborate.
"It wouldn't be too different from what we're doing now. We'd just have to keep
a low profile. You can only do these missions for so long, after all."
"The organization would kill us," Miria tries. She knows it's futile. Once Ophelia
has her mind set on something, there's no talking her out of it.
Ophelia smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Her gaze remains sharp. "You
don't give a shit about the organization," Ophelia dismisses. "If you did, you
wouldn't be sneaking around. Asking so many questions."
The moment Miria was afraid of. The other shoe dropping. When she would have
to be honest with Ophelia— tell Ophelia that she was nothing more than a
distraction to her.
"You're not just asking about Hilda," Ophelia continues. "You're asking about the
organization. About when they started. Who's really in charge. You're playing
coy about it, acting like it's just casual conversation."
Miria's heart stops.
"Not that I really care," Ophelia goes on. "But the organization isn't exactly the
forgiving type. They'll get rid of you at some point. Why wait for them to kill
you?"
"I just want to find Hilda," Miria says. "I don't plan on betraying the
organization. You're misunderstanding me."
For a moment, something unrecognizable flickers in Ophelia's expression. But
whatever it is, it's gone as quickly as it came.
"Gotta pee," Ophelia excuses herself, stretching as she gets up. "I'll be out by
the lake."
By now, Miria is used to these sudden shifts. Maybe Ophelia has mood swings?
Miria sighs, gathering herself before heading outside. There's nothing left to do
in this village, so it's time to get going.
When Miria reaches the lake, the sight she walks into is... unexpected.
Ophelia kneels by the water's edge, speaking softly to a small animal. Upon
stepping closer, Miria realizes it's a dog. A small one.
"Isn't it cute?" Ophelia hums.
Miria's eyes soften. "Does it belong to someone?" She kneels beside Ophelia.
The animal really is cute. It's a small thing with short legs, a long body, and a
vigorously wagging tail. "Maybe we should find its owner."
The creature is excited by Miria's mere presence, and she finds herself smiling—
genuinely, for the first time since she last spoke to Hilda. It's easy to forget the
little things that made the world a little more bearable. The little pleasures that
still exist, somehow.
Miria is so lost in the moment that she doesn't notice Ophelia leaving her side.
She doesn't notice anything until Ophelia stands in front of her and picks the
creature up by the underarms.
Before Miria can react, the creature flies through the air. She hears the sound of
frantic splashing as the creature swims instinctively towards land.
Ophelia's laugh is deafening. Loud. Hysterical. The last time she laughed, Miria
remembers thinking that she looked so carefree and beautiful. But right now,
her pretty face is twisted into something unrecognizable. Unrecognizable, but
not fully surprising. It's…ugly.
The dog, thankfully, knows how to swim. It paddles desperately towards land,
and once its feet reach solid ground, it sprints past the women. Shivering
pathetically. Not looking at either of them. It lost all trust in them.
"Why did you do that?!" Miria nearly shrieks.
Ophelia tilts her head, as if Miria's the one acting strange. "Because it's cute,"
Ophelia states plainly. "Isn't it fun? To take something cute and watch it lose its
sense of comfort?"
The more Miria ignores the dread that presses against her mind, the more
persistent it becomes. It knocks, and knocks, and despite Miria's attempts to
subdue it, it's only a matter of time before it'll break through.
She ignores it, but it's always speaking to her. It whispers warnings. About
Hilda. About Ophelia. About the organization.
The rumors. The things her fellow swordswomen have said about Ophelia.
There's something deeply wrong with her.
Miria repeats the same words over and over in her head, like a mantra, like a
prayer against the thoughts creeping in.
It's just gossip. It's just gossip. It's just gossip.
Maybe if she says it enough times, it'll become true.
xi.
Against her better judgement, she accepts Ophelia's "distraction" once again.
The dread that lingers in her mind isn't a voice but a sensation. Something like
hopelessness, something like pointlessness—yet not quite either.
Not the sharp despair of facing an unbeatable enemy. No- this felt duller,
heavier. It could be ignored for a while, but it always comes back stronger than
before. One that festers inside Miria like a chronic condition; worse than any
awakened being she's ever fought.
"You don't understand my affection," Ophelia says, burying her face into the
crook of Miria's neck and inhaling her scent. Right now, Ophelia's overbearing
presence was easier to face than the alarms screaming in her head.
Ophelia's warm, wet tongue descends on her, and for a brief period, Miria
forgets herself. Forgets Hilda. Miria thinks she'd be happier if she let herself go,
just like this.
Ophelia yanks her head up by the hair, and Miria gasps involuntarily. Tears
threaten to spill before Ophelia slides their lips together.
"Run away with me," Ophelia breathes between kisses. "If you come with me, I
might change. I could be nicer. I could get along with humans. I could stop-
everything."
"Stop what?" Miria rasps, angling her head away from Ophelia to catch her
breath.
Ophelia ignores the question. "From now on, anything I do will be because of
you."
The words hang in the air like a threat, but Miria doesn't press for clarification.
Thankfully, Ophelia is good with her hands and her mouth, and Miria's senses
are too clouded with need to care about whatever nonsense she's blabbering on
about.
xii.
Ophelia is becoming more affectionate by the day, and Miria knows she can't
wait any longer to end things.
It was a mistake to let this relationship—whatever it was—drag on for so long.
Ophelia's already too attached. Miria's already given her the impression that
she's anything more than a fleeting distraction.
She tries to forget Ophelia's words from before. Tells herself it's more
nonsense- words uttered between sex. And as far as she's concerned, what
they say and do during sex has no bearing on anything else. It's an escape from
reality.
And once it becomes anything more than that, it's time to break things off.
When Miria returns to their hotel room after yet another failed attempt at
gathering information on Hilda, she hesitates in the doorway. Ophelia is sitting
on the loveseat, staring blankly at the pages of a book. The Bible from the
drawer, Miria assumes. But she's not sure Ophelia is actually reading a single
word. "What were you talking about last night?"
Ophelia doesn't twist her head to greet her. "I talk a lot. You'll have to be more
specific."
"Last night," Miria steadies herself. "About running away. About wanting to
change. About stopping something."
Ophelia rolls her eyes. "Did I say that?"
"Ophelia—" Miria knows that look well—disappointment, the silent accusation
that she is the one in the wrong. "Sorry. It's a bad habit I have," Miria blurts. "I
overthink things. I know I do. The organization's always scolding me for it."
Ophelia says nothing. She just sits and waits.
Miria exhales. "It's…a personality flaw of mine. That I ask too many questions.
I'm trying to be okay with not knowing things. I'm sorry that you're seeing that
side of me."
Ophelia smiles, but her gaze is sharp when she finally looks at Miria. "How will
you make it up to me?"
Miria catches the ulterior motive coloring Ophelia's words and shuts it down
before it takes root.
"I'm not meant for close relationships," she says. "Sorry, Ophelia."
Ophelia doesn't blink, doesn't react. She only watches Miria for a moment
before asking, "Are you not close with Hilda?"
Miria thinks. "No." Not in that way.
A wry smile tugs at Ophelia's lips, and something unreadable flickers in her
eyes.
"That's right."
xiii.
"I wish you were a rabbit."
Miria jumps and whirls around to face Ophelia, who's been lurking behind her.
"O-Ophelia," she squeaks. Why was Ophelia masking her aura? She couldn't
possibly be doing it by accident.
"Did I scare you?" Ophelia giggles. "I think you'd be a cute one."
She approaches slowly. They're the same height, but Miria feels smaller in her
presence. Ophelia's very being is overwhelming, suffocating. A deceptively
delicate hand presses against Miria's lower back.
"I'd keep you inside a little box," Ophelia murmurs. "And I'd keep it locked, so
I'd never lose you. You could never run away."
Her tone is too light, too casual—like she truly believes her words are
endearing. But the weight behind them says otherwise.
Ophelia's hands brush lightly over her ribs. "You have such a small waist—"
"You misunderstood me," Miria blurts, jerking back to sidestep Ophelia's
advances. "I want to stop the sex, too."
She's being too assertive, but she knows if she isn't, Ophelia will keep pushing.
For a few seconds, Ophelia's smile falters and something grave passes her
expression. She looks conflicted, like she's locked in an internal debate.
Miria expects her to protest. To pretend she didn't hear her. To keep pressing
forward, unrelenting. Miria is painfully aware that, if Ophelia really wanted to,
she could force herself onto her.
To her surprise, Ophelia does none of that. Instead, she simply smiles.
"I'm going for a walk," Ophelia says, her touch lingering for a beat too long
before slithering away. "See you in a bit."
xiv.
The setting sun drapes the field in gold.
"Have you ever wondered what it feels like to awaken?" Ophelia asks without
looking at her.
Miria stiffens slightly. "Yes," she says slowly. "If only to know what to watch out
for."
"What do you think makes an awakened one powerful?"
"They were once high-ranking warriors, right?"
"And what makes someone a high-ranking warrior?" Ophelia speaks with the air
of a teacher leading a pupil towards an answer she already knows. She doesn't
give Miria a chance to respond. "I can't say I know for sure, but I think it's
hate."
"Hate?"
"It's true for me. Technique only got me so far," Ophelia continues. "What really
drives me is hate. Stronger than I've ever felt. I wouldn't have been able to
make it this far without it—without the desire to slaughter every last awakened.
Really, I couldn't care less about saving lives." Ophelia laughs a little too loudly.
"Humans are pretty worthless anyway. The warriors motivated by fantasies of
playing hero never…"
Ophelia trails off and stops abruptly. Miria nearly bumps into her.
"I feel a familiar aura," she says, her head spinning to look towards hills in the
distance.
"An aura?" Miria pauses, scanning their surroundings.
She doesn't feel anything, but it wouldn't surprise her if Ophelia's senses were
stronger than her own. If it's Hilda…
Without another word, Ophelia changes direction, heading towards the cliffs she
had been studying. Miria jogs to catch up.
Ophelia twists her head to look at Miria. "Wanna hear a funny story?"
Miria hums, still searching for the aura Ophelia mentioned. She doesn't sense
anything. "Sure."
"One time, I was on a hunt for an awakened…"
Her words drift over Miria, barely registering. Miria is too focused on the hope
swelling in her chest. This is the first time in weeks she's felt it. After so much
disappointment, the sensation is almost euphoric. She lets herself believe, if
only to spite the doubt and dread that drains her world of color.
She has so many stories to tell Hilda. Hilda must have stories to tell her, too. If
something really happened to Hilda, Miria would've known. She's foolish for ever
doubting her.
"I didn't even get to the funny part yet," Ophelia says, watching her closely.
Miria blinks. She hadn't realized she was smiling until Ophelia pointed it out. "As
I was saying, we were paired up before. On an awakened hunt."
"Yes. Twice."
"You really aren't listening," Ophelia chides. "I said we've been paired up three
times."
"Three times?"
"About a month before that second hunt, I was assigned to lead three others—
including you. But there was no awakened, just a bunch of yoma. So I thought
you guys could handle it without me."
A branch snaps beneath Miria's boot. She feels a strange déjà vu. "Oh, that. I
did think it was weird we didn't have a single-digit with us."
"So I stayed back, watching from a distance. While I was doing that… I noticed
a lone warrior coming up to me."
The landscape around them—the cliffs, the rough terrain—stirs something inside
Miria. She's been here before.
"Her breathing was weak, and I could tell she was approaching her limit. That
she'd awaken at any moment. She even handed me her black card and asked
me to give it to the next black cloak I saw…" Ophelia slows to a stop. She's
looking away from Miria at the sun setting behind the cliffs. "Are you listening?
This is where the funny part comes in."
Miria's head grows foggy. Her senses are drowning in noise— her blood coursing
through her veins, her heart rattling in her chest. Too loud, too deafening. She's
lightheaded, and all she wants to do now is sit down.
Ophelia drops her voice. "She told me who it was— the warrior she wanted to
entrust her card to. But…"
Miria gnashes her teeth. She's seen this place before. She feels both too hot
and too cold— feels like she's wearing too much, too little. Warriors of the
organization aren't supposed to feel either.
"The warrior in question was actually close by," Ophelia exhales, dragging the
moment out. "No more than a few meters away. But somehow, she had no idea.
She couldn't even sense her aura anymore."
Ophelia's face comes into sight again.
"That was just too fucking hilarious, so I tore the card to pieces and threw it
away on the spot."
Miria's stomach flips. Nausea hits her in waves. Ophelia's face contorts into
something hideous. Not a warrior, not a woman. A monster, worth no more than
the yoma she slaughters with ease.
Just like that day by the lake. Just like when she grabbed the small dog by its
underarms.
"Guess who that warrior was?" Ophelia goads.
Miria knows. She's known for minutes. Weeks. Months. She doesn't even know
how long it's been anymore.
How long has it been since Miria killed Hilda? Days, weeks, years?
Her mind's eye knew. She knew, but she buried it. Felt that reality could bend to
her sheer will. Felt that if she ignored something enough, that if she willed
herself to forget, it would stop being true.
"Oh, Miria." Ophelia exhales her name. "You look like you're about to cry."
I don't cry, Miria wants to say. But I've seen you do it.
Ophelia smiles like she's savoring the moment. Slow. Indulgent.
Something tears inside Miria. She doubles over, overwhelmed. Her skin is too
tight for her insides. A thick ball of revulsion clogs her throat, and she can't
breathe. Can't speak, can't spit biting words at Ophelia. Can't scream. It's too
much. Like the world is swaying around her, like there's too much blood for her
veins to hold, like she's being pulled underground. The sense of who Miria is
becomes fainter— fainter, until she's fragments of herself.
"Phantom Miria, said to fight better in a group than number one." Ophelia barks
a laugh. "I can't wait to fight you once you awaken."
Awaken. She's awakening. Somehow, the thought doesn't scare Miria as much
as she thought it would.
If she awakens, she'll be strong enough to kill Ophelia. In her mind's eye, she
sees it clearly— sees herself grabbing Ophelia by the face, digging her nails into
her cheeks, pressing into her until something cracks. Breaks.
"You usually look so pretty when you're beneath me." Ophelia's voice is
sickeningly sweet. "I wish you could see yourself now. So ugly. So misshapen. I
never would've fucked you if I knew what an abomination you'd become."
In her mind's eye, she sees herself slamming Ophelia into the dirt, pressing a
knee against her ribs until they shatter. Tearing through her with teeth and
ripping flesh from bone. Breaking her. Consuming her. Splitting her wide open
and leaving her gasping, retching, begging, whimpering—
Whimpering—
In her mind's eye, she sees Ophelia whimpering. Curled into a fetal position
across her, cradling her blade like a lifeline. Not a monster, but a child. Not
dangerous, but pitiful. Calling out a name Miria doesn't recognize.
Within the whirlwind of sensation, she finds cognizance. As if watching herself
from a bird's eye view, she's cognizant enough to see that killing Ophelia will
not kill the thing that took Hilda.
Within that cognizance, she feels a renewed sense of something— purpose,
maybe. Spite. Duty.
"Come on, hurry up and awaken."
She wants to kill Ophelia—the monster that's been corrupted by the
organization.
"Awaken already."
She wants to protect Ophelia—the pitiful girl curled up beside her, whimpering
like a child stolen from the life she was meant to have.
"Come on, dear ."
She trespassed somewhere she can never come back from, but somehow she
does make it back. Something that's impossible. Something the organization
told her is impossible.
Miria's not sure what saves her. If it's the surge of trust she feels for herself, the
trust Hilda told herself she should never take for granted. The intuition which
guides her. The feeling of spite that tells her Ophelia can't win this— can't be
the one to drive her to this.
Miria collapses in on herself. When she cracks her eyelids open, she sees
Ophelia staring down at her. She didn't notice that this whole time, Ophelia had
slowly been inching towards her.
Ophelia clicks her tongue. "How boring."
Disgust is bubbling inside Miria. "Fuck you." Miria tries to spit, tries to add
sharpness to her voice. But all that comes out is a croak. She's shuddering and
feels weaker than she ever has. Ophelia will surely kill her in this state. Her legs
feel as though they're made of jelly, and there's no way for her to muster the
strength to even stand— let alone fight back.
The sunset bleeding through the sky should be beautiful, but every sunset will
remind Miria of this moment. The streak of yellow and crimson that sets behind
Ophelia, who looks down at Miria with a blank expression. Lips parting like she
wants to say something, then thinking better of it.
Miria hears a quiet scoff. And then— footsteps. Ophelia turns, blade slung over
one shoulder and walking away with the effortless stride of someone leaving
behind nothing of value.
The adrenaline, the energy coursing through her veins just moments ago— the
intense desire to break and ruin Ophelia was all but gone. No matter how hard
she tries to muster up an ounce of that energy again, all she can do is collapse.
And sob.
Tears are already on her cheeks. She hadn't even realized she was crying the
whole time.