Caelan Herdos sat on the stool by Elshua's bedside, his eyes fixed on the sleeping face of the boy he'd sworn to protect.
The fire in the inn's hearth cast a soft glow across Elshua's features, his golden hair splayed across the pillow like a halo, his fair skin almost luminous in the flickering light.
Even in sleep, Elshua looked fragile, his small frame barely disturbing the furs piled atop him. Caelan's chest tightened, a mix of relief and lingering fury at seeing his master—his friend—in such a state earlier, bruised and battered in the forest.
The memory of finding him, slumped against a tree like a broken doll, stirred the same rage that had burned in the knights' voices.
Three years had passed, three years of grief and searching, and yet here he was, alive. His Holiness, His Master, the Spark of Aeloria, slept soundly under Caelan's watch, and the weight of that miracle was almost too much to bear.
Caelan's gauntlets rested on his lap, their polished silver glinting as he absently ran a cloth over them, more out of habit than need.
His hands, calloused from years of training, trembled slightly, betraying the calm he tried to project. He was Elshua's Sworn Protector, bound by a covenant sealed in the monastery's sacred halls when they were children.
The covenant was more than words, more than a vow of loyalty. It was a bond of magic, known only to the select few who took the oath, a power that let him feel his master's emotions through touch.
When he'd hugged Elshua in the forest, his arms wrapped around that frail, bruised body, he'd felt it—a storm of uneasiness, confusion, and fear swirling beneath the boy's neutral expression.
Elshua's claim of amnesia wasn't a lie; the covenant confirmed it. His memories were gone, or buried so deep they might as well be. Caelan's heart ached at the thought, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the present.
His Holiness was alive, and that was enough for now.
The room was quiet, save for the fire's crackle and the occasional creak of the inn's wooden beams.
Outside, the village of Eldenreach hummed with life—villagers whispering about the Spark's return, their voices carrying through the window like a distant prayer.
Caelan glanced at Elshua again, his golden eyes hidden behind closed lids, his breathing slow and even. He looked so small, so unlike the radiant child Caelan remembered from three years ago.
That boy had been his closest friend, despite their difference in status—Elshua, the divine Spark, and Caelan, a lowly initiate chosen for his unwavering faith.
They'd grown up together in the monastery, sharing secrets and dreams under the starlit cloisters, their laughter echoing through stone halls. Those memories were a treasure, one Caelan clung to during the long years of Elshua's absence.
His mind drifted back, the past rising like a tide. Three years ago, they'd been on their way to the Holy Empire of Aeloria, a pilgrimage to present Elshua to the High Pontiff.
The monastery, perched on a remote cliff, had been their home, a sanctuary of light and prayer. Elshua, even at nine, had carried a quiet strength, his golden eyes bright with curiosity, his laughter infectious.
Caelan, three years older, had been his shadow, training with a wooden sword while Elshua studied sacred texts, their evenings spent sneaking apples from the orchard or whispering tales of heroes under the moonlight.
The journey to Aeloria was meant to be a brief stop, a chance for Elshua to be anointed as the Spark before returning to their quiet life.
But the monastery had harbored shadows. Caelan's grip tightened on his gauntlets, the cloth creasing under his fingers.
Some priests, trusted guardians of the faith, had been demon worshippers, their hearts turned to darkness.
They'd deactivated the sacred barrier, a shimmering veil of divine magic that protected the monastery, and opened the gates to a horde of demons.
The memory was a wound that never healed—screams echoing through the halls, the clash of steel against claws, the stench of sulfur and blood.
Caelan had been sparring in the courtyard when the attack began, the sky turning red as demons poured in, their roars drowning out the priests' chants.
He'd fought his way to Elshua's side, his wooden sword useless against the monsters, but Elshua had been calm, his small hands glowing with a faint light as he tried to shield the younger initiates.
Chaos had swallowed the monastery. Priests fell, their robes stained red, and initiates scattered, some fighting, others fleeing.
Caelan had grabbed Elshua's hand, pulling him toward the hidden tunnels beneath the chapel, but a demon—a hulking beast with eyes like burning coals—had blocked their path.
Elshua had pushed Caelan away, shouting for him to run, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. Caelan had hesitated, his heart screaming to stay, but the other knights dragged him to safety, their grips bruising as he fought to go back.
When the dust settled, the monastery was a ruin, its walls scorched, its halls silent. Elshua was gone, presumed dead, taken by the demons or lost in the chaos.
The surviving knights had searched for months, following every rumor, but the Spark was lost, and with him, the hope of Aeloria.
Caelan's eyes stung, and he blinked hard, focusing on Elshua's sleeping form. The covenant had kept him tethered to that loss, a faint pull in his chest that never faded, as if a part of him still searched for his friend.
Finding Elshua in the forest, battered but alive, had been a miracle, but the covenant's magic revealed a truth that cut deeper: Elshua's confusion, his fear, his lack of memory.
He didn't remember the monastery, their friendship, or the covenant that bound them. Caelan's duty as a Sworn Protector was unchanged, but the boy he'd known was a shadow, replaced by someone who wore Elshua's face but carried a stranger's heart.
He stood, moving quietly to avoid waking Elshua, and adjusted the blanket, tucking it around the boy's shoulders with care.
The gesture was instinctive, a habit from their childhood when Elshua would fall asleep during late-night talks, and Caelan would drape his cloak over him.
He smiled faintly, brushing a stray golden lock from Elshua's face, then caught himself, blushing at his own boldness.
"Rest well, Your Holiness," he whispered, settling back on the stool.
He pulled a small leather pouch from his belt, fishing out a dried apricot and placing it on the bedside table, a silent offering in case Elshua woke hungry.
The boy's earlier refusal of food worried him—Elshua had always loved sweets, sneaking them from the monastery's kitchen with a grin.
Did he still?
The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney, and Caelan's thoughts turned to the high demon still lurking in the forest. The knights had tracked it for weeks, its raids on Eldenreach's outskirts growing bolder.
Finding Elshua so close to its territory was no coincidence—the demons had wanted him three years ago, and they wanted him now. The covenant's magic pulsed faintly in his chest, a reminder of his oath to protect the Spark, no matter the cost.
Elshua's basic skills—Heal and Shield, as the priests had once whispered—were meant for others, a divine gift to bolster allies.
Caelan's own healing power, honed through years of training, could support him, but facing a high demon would require more than divine magic. It would require strategy, courage, and the knights' unity.
The system's presence in Elshua's life was a mystery Caelan couldn't see, but he sensed its influence in the boy's uneasy emotions.
The covenant let him feel Elshua's turmoil, a knot of confusion and determination that mirrored Caelan's own resolve.
He didn't know what Elshua had faced in the forest, but the skitterbeast corpses they'd found near the outcrop spoke of a fight he hadn't expected from a boy with no combat skills.
Elshua was still the Spark, memory or not, and Caelan would ensure he lived to fulfill that destiny.
A soft ping echoed in Elshua's mind, though Caelan couldn't hear it. A golden window appeared in Elshua's vision, unseen by the paladin:
༺═════════════════༻
System Notification: Safe Haven Reached!
Objective Updated: Defeat the High Demon Threat.
༺═════════════════༻
⟪Note: The Spark of Aeloria carries a legacy of hope and sacrifice. Protect your allies and face the demon to secure your path, Saint Elshua.⟫
Elshua stirred slightly, his brow furrowing in sleep, and Caelan leaned forward, ready to soothe him. But the boy settled, his breathing steadying, and Caelan relaxed, his heart swelling with a quiet pride.
He'd failed Elshua once, three years ago, when the monastery fell.
He wouldn't fail again.
The knights were ready, their faith in the Spark unshaken, and Caelan's covenant bound him to Elshua's side, through demons or darkness.
He reached out, placing the wooden lion carving closer to Elshua's hand, a silent promise of protection.
The inn's warmth and the fire's glow lulled Caelan into a watchful calm, his eyes never leaving Elshua. The high demon was out there, a shadow waiting to strike, but for now, the Spark was safe.
Caelan would guard him, fight for him, and help him reclaim the memories stolen by time or trauma. The covenant pulsed, a steady rhythm of loyalty, and Caelan whispered, too soft for anyone to hear.
"I'm here, Elshua. Always."