Chapter 16: Sophie’s Village
Several months after reaching Level 25, Lyra finally reached Level 30.
The achievement still felt unreal.
Not because Level 30 was impossible.
Because there had once been a time when reaching Level 7 had felt impossible.
For most of her life, Level 30 had belonged to other people.
Real adventurers.
Successful guards.
Veterans with reputations, trophies, scars that people admired instead of pitied.
Now Lyra stood among them.
Not above them.
Not yet.
But among them.
That should have been enough to make her proud.
Unfortunately, Sophie had other priorities.
Namely:
Leaving.
Temporarily.
The request appeared during breakfast.
“I want a vacation.”
Lyra looked up from her plate.
“A what?”
“A vacation.”
“What for?”
Sophie stared at her.
“Because normal people occasionally stop working.”
Lyra frowned.
“That sounds inefficient.”
Sophie immediately pointed at her.
“See?”
“See what?”
“That. That exact sentence. That is why you need one too.”
Lyra returned to eating.
“No.”
Sophie turned toward Morgana.
“Morgana.”
The violet-haired woman sat at the far end of the table, reviewing ledgers with one hand and drinking tea with the other. She did not even look up.
“Take her.”
Lyra nearly choked.
“What?”
“Take her,” Morgana repeated.
Sophie beamed.
Lyra stared at Morgana.
“You cannot simply assign me a vacation.”
“I can.”
“You own a brothel, not my schedule.”
Morgana finally looked up.
“Your schedule currently consists of training, working, training again, glaring at people who suggest rest, and occasionally bleeding on my floors.”
Lyra opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Sophie leaned across the table.
“She has a point.”
“I do not bleed that often.”
“You bled yesterday.”
“That was training.”
“And the day before.”
“That was also training.”
Morgana signed another document.
“Take her.”
Lyra crossed her arms.
“I am not insufferable.”
Morgana’s silence was immediate.
Sophie’s grin widened.
Lyra looked between them.
“I am right here.”
“I know,” Morgana said.
That was how Lyra ended up in a magical transit carriage four days later, sitting beside Sophie while the Crimson Lotus disappeared behind them.
The destination was Sophie’s hometown.
A small farming village roughly four hours from Ashfall by magical transit.
Unlike the coaches Lyra remembered from childhood, magical transit vehicles ran on mana crystals and layered enchantments. They glided over the road rather than grinding against it, carrying passengers smoothly across long distances without needing horses.
The ride was comfortable.
Fast.
Quiet.
Or it would have been quiet, if Sophie had not spent the entire journey talking.
Constantly.
Without interruption.
“You’re going to love it.”
“I doubt that.”
“You haven’t even seen it.”
“It’s a village.”
Sophie gasped.
“The disrespect.”
Lyra stared out the window.
The countryside rolled by in soft waves.
Fields.
Forests.
Rivers.
Tiny settlements.
For once, there were no monsters.
No corrupted trees.
No distant mana storms.
No Velkaris.
Just ordinary life.
It felt strangely peaceful.
That made Lyra uncomfortable.
Sophie noticed, of course.
She always noticed.
“You’re allowed to relax, you know.”
“I am relaxed.”
“You’re sitting like you expect assassins to drop through the roof.”
“That would be inefficient. The roof is reinforced.”
Sophie stared.
Lyra glanced at her.
“What?”
“You’re impossible.”
“I have been told.”
Sophie sighed dramatically, then leaned back against the seat.
“Well, for the next few days, you are going to experience normal life.”
“I have experienced normal life.”
“No, you have experienced training until your body gives out and calling that normal.”
Lyra said nothing.
Sophie smiled softly.
“You’ll like it.”
Lyra looked back through the window.
Fields stretched beneath a clear sky.
People worked in the distance, small figures moving through gold and green.
No one looked powerful.
No one looked important.
No one looked afraid of magic levels.
Lyra did not know what to do with a place like that.
The village itself was exactly what she expected.
Small.
Quiet.
Simple.
And surprisingly pleasant.
It sat between low hills and wide farmland, with a river curling along its eastern edge. Wooden houses lined narrow paths. Smoke rose from chimneys. Chickens scattered whenever children ran too close. A small market occupied the center of the village, little more than a cluster of stalls beneath faded cloth awnings.
The moment Sophie stepped out of the carriage, everything changed.
“Sophie?”
A woman carrying a basket froze in the middle of the road.
Sophie turned.
The woman dropped the basket.
“Sophie!”
Within seconds, half the street seemed to notice.
Shopkeepers looked up.
Children stopped playing.
Farmers straightened in the fields.
Someone shouted her name.
Then another.
Then Sophie was surrounded.
Lyra stood beside the carriage and watched as people hugged her, laughed, scolded her for staying away too long, complimented her hair, asked about Ashfall, asked about the Crimson Lotus, asked if she was eating properly, asked if she had finally learned how to cook without burning soup.
Apparently, she had not.
“I burned one pot,” Sophie protested.
An older woman snorted.
“You burned three.”
“That was one incident.”
“It was three pots.”
“They were near each other.”
Lyra almost smiled.
Sophie saw it.
“Do not laugh.”
“I am not laughing.”
“You are thinking about laughing.”
“I am considering it.”
Sophie pointed at her.
“Betrayal.”
By noon, Lyra had learned three things.
First, Sophie had once stolen peaches from Old Mara’s orchard and blamed a goat.
Second, Sophie had tried to start a village theater troupe at age eleven and assigned herself every leading role.
Third, every person in the village had a Sophie story.
The baker gave her extra honey rolls.
The blacksmith called her “little river rat.”
Two children followed her through the market, begging her to show them city magic, even after Sophie insisted she was not a mage and never had been.
Lyra watched all of it quietly.
At the Crimson Lotus, Sophie was adored because she was beautiful, charming, and good at making people feel wanted.
Here, they loved her because they had known her before any of that.
Before the confident smiles.
Before the polished teasing.
Before the Lotus.
Before survival had become something pretty.
Here, Sophie was just Sophie.
And Lyra found herself looking at her differently.
Sophie noticed that too.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“I am observing.”
“That’s what Morgana says when she’s being nosy.”
“I am not nosy.”
“You absolutely are.”
Lyra looked away.
Sophie laughed and grabbed her wrist.
“Come on. I want to show you something.”
Sophie’s childhood home was smaller than Lyra expected.
It sat near the edge of the village, tucked behind a crooked fence and a row of herb planters that had clearly been repaired too many times. The roof sagged slightly on one side. The front step creaked. A faded ribbon still hung from one of the window latches.
Sophie stopped at the gate.
For once, she was not talking.
Lyra noticed immediately.
“This is it?”
Sophie nodded.
“Home.”
The word sounded different from her mouth here.
At the Crimson Lotus, Sophie said everything brightly, like every sentence was part of a performance. Here, the brightness softened. Became quieter. More real.
Lyra looked at the small house again.
She had seen Sophie flirt with customers, laugh with guards, tease Morgana, and cheer through brutal training matches.
She had never seen Sophie look shy.
“It’s nice,” Lyra said.
Sophie glanced at her.
“You don’t have to lie.”
“I’m not.”
The blonde studied her for a moment, then smiled.
“Good. Because I was going to make you sleep in the storage room if you insulted it.”
“I thought this was a vacation.”
“It is. A threatening vacation.”
“That sounds more familiar.”
Sophie laughed and opened the gate.
The house smelled like dried herbs, old wood, and sun-warmed fabric. It was simple, but cared for. A small table stood near the window. A faded blanket hung over one chair. Several shelves carried clay cups, preserved fruit, old books, and little carved animals Sophie claimed she had made as a child.
Lyra picked up one that vaguely resembled a bird.
“What is this?”
“A horse.”
Lyra stared at it.
Sophie snatched it from her hand.
“I was nine.”
“It has wings.”
“It was an ambitious horse.”
Lyra actually laughed.
Sophie froze.
Then grinned so widely Lyra immediately regretted it.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You laughed.”
“I have laughed before.”
“Not like that.”
Lyra crossed her arms.
“I am leaving.”
“No, you’re not. I need witnesses. I made Lyra laugh in my childhood home. This is historic.”
For the next three days, everything went smoothly.
Sophie showed Lyra the fields where she had played as a child.
The river where she had fallen in.
Repeatedly.
“Three times,” an old farmer said.
“It was one day,” Sophie snapped.
“Still three times.”
The old market where she had once tried to sell painted stones as “rare mountain gems.”
The bakery she constantly talked about.
The hill where she used to watch magical transit carriages pass, imagining where they might be going.
The village was not exciting.
Not dangerous.
Not powerful.
But it had roots.
Memories.
A kind of warmth Lyra had rarely known.
One evening they sat beside the river, watching the sunset bleed across the water.
Sophie skipped a stone.
It bounced twice, then sank.
She frowned.
“That was terrible.”
“Yes.”
“You’re supposed to say it was good.”
“It was not.”
Sophie nudged her shoulder.
“You could lie to be nice.”
“I could.”
“And?”
“I chose honesty.”
“You’re lucky I like you.”
Lyra looked away.
The words settled strangely in her chest.
Like you.
Simple words.
Sophie said things like that easily.
Too easily.
But Lyra had learned that easy words could still be true.
Sometimes.
Sophie picked up another stone.
“You know.”
“What?”
“I’m glad you came.”
Lyra watched the river.
“You threatened me.”
“That’s friendship.”
“I do not think that is friendship.”
“It absolutely is.”
Lyra rolled her eyes.
Yet she found herself smiling anyway.
Then she felt Sophie’s shoulder relax against hers.
Not flirtatious.
Not dramatic.
Just comfortable.
Trusting.
Lyra sat very still.
For once, she did not pull away.
That was when she noticed him.
The village chief stood near the road leading back to the square.
Broad-shouldered.
Well-dressed.
Clean-shaven.
Level 40.
His mana was controlled, but Lyra could still feel its pressure from where she sat. Not overwhelming, but heavy. Solid. The mana of someone used to being the strongest person in every room.
He was watching Sophie.
Not openly enough to be accused.
Not subtly enough to be missed.
Lyra’s smile faded.
Sophie followed her gaze.
The change was immediate.
Her posture stiffened.
Her expression did not collapse.
That was what bothered Lyra.
It stayed exactly where it was.
Bright.
Perfect.
False.
The chief approached.
“Sophie.”
His voice was warm.
Too warm.
“Our wandering flower returns and barely spares me a greeting.”
Sophie stood.
Lyra rose with her.
“Chief Harven.”
The man smiled.
“It has been too long.”
“Has it?”
The answer came lightly.
Almost playful.
But Lyra heard the edge beneath it.
Harven stepped closer and took Sophie’s hand before she could fully avoid him. His thumb lingered over her knuckles.
Lyra’s eyes narrowed.
Sophie gently pulled her hand free.
“This is Lyra,” she said quickly. “My friend.”
Only then did Harven look at her.
His gaze passed over Lyra once, measuring and dismissing her in the same breath.
“Level?”
Lyra’s expression cooled.
“Thirty.”
His brows lifted slightly.
Not impressed.
Only interested.
“Strong for someone so young-looking.”
“I’m twenty-six.”
“Ah.”
His smile returned.
“Then old enough to know when not to involve yourself in village matters.”
The words were polite.
The warning beneath them was not.
Sophie’s hand brushed Lyra’s wrist.
A silent request.
Not here.
Lyra remained still.
Harven looked back at Sophie.
“We should speak before you leave.”
“There’s nothing to speak about.”
His smile thinned.
“There are always things to speak about.”
Sophie did not answer.
For several seconds, the river was the only sound.
Then Harven inclined his head.
“Enjoy your evening.”
He walked away.
After he left, the road did not immediately return to normal.
That was what Lyra noticed.
A woman who had been carrying laundry suddenly moved faster.
Two men near a fence looked away.
A child who had been running toward Sophie stopped when his mother pulled him back.
No one said anything.
No one warned them.
But everyone had gone quiet.
Lyra looked at Sophie.
Sophie was still smiling.
Too brightly.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Sophie.”
The smile remained for one more second.
Then cracked.
“Later,” Sophie said softly. “Not here.”
That night, Sophie told her by the river.
Not everything.
Lyra could tell there was more.
But enough.
“He became chief a few years before I left,” Sophie said, her bare feet hanging over the water. “Everyone liked him at first. Strong. Confident. Generous when people were watching.”
Lyra said nothing.
Sophie picked at the grass beside her.
“When I got older, he started paying attention to me.”
Lyra’s jaw tightened.
“He brought gifts. Found excuses to visit. Told people I had a future here if I was sensible.”
“Sensible,” Lyra repeated.
Sophie laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“That was the word he used when he meant obedient.”
Lyra looked at her.
Sophie stared at the river.
“I said no. More than once.”
“And?”
“And he smiled like I had said something childish.”
The river moved quietly beneath them.
“That was when I decided to leave.”
Lyra’s hands curled slightly against the grass.
“Did he hurt you?”
Sophie was silent for too long.
Then she shook her head.
“Not like that.”
The answer did not comfort Lyra.
Sophie continued, quieter now.
“He made things difficult. Little things. Work offers vanished. People who liked me suddenly became careful. My parents started receiving advice from him. About my future. About what was proper. About what I owed the village.”
Lyra’s voice became cold.
“You owed him nothing.”
Sophie looked at her then.
For a moment, the old brightness was gone completely.
“I know that now.”
Lyra heard the words beneath the words.
Not always.
Sophie looked back at the river.
“That’s why I wanted to come home. I thought it would feel different after everything. I thought maybe I had outgrown being afraid here.”
Lyra watched her carefully.
“Have you?”
Sophie smiled faintly.
“I was doing well until he touched my hand.”
Something hot and violent moved through Lyra’s chest.
Pink mana flickered briefly beneath her skin.
She forced it down.
Sophie noticed.
Of course she did.
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I have not done anything.”
“That is not the same as promising.”
Lyra said nothing.
Sophie sighed and leaned against her shoulder.
“I didn’t bring you here for trouble.”
“I know.”
“I wanted you to see where I came from.”
“I have.”
“And?”
Lyra looked across the river.
At the village.
At the warm windows.
At the quiet paths.
At the place Sophie loved, and the shadows hidden inside it.
“It’s beautiful,” Lyra said.
Sophie went still.
Lyra continued.
“And it failed you.”
Sophie did not answer.
But her hand found Lyra’s.
And held on.