(Erza's POV)
The memory unfolded like a forgotten dream—soft at the edges, but every detail burned with painful clarity.
I stood quietly beside Grandfather, a ghost watching the past. We were invisible, unable to speak or help, but I could feel it… every tremble, every cry Yuuta had locked inside. His pain clung to the air like smoke.
Blast
A guard burst into the tent, breathless and pale, eyes wide with panic.
"Boss! We're under attack! It's the elf captain—Robert! He's here!"
The slaver boss—a bloated man with grease-stained fingers and a crooked grin—froze mid-bite. Bits of half-chewed meat fell from his mouth as his eyes darted to a ring sitting on the table.
His hand shot out, grabbing it with a shaking grip.
"No… it can't be…" he muttered, barely louder than a whisper.
Then chaos ignited.
"Move! Grab the money, the scrolls—anything valuable! We're getting out of here!" he roared.
Panic spread like wildfire. Tents collapsed as slaves and slavers alike trampled over one another. Boxes toppled. Fires sparked. Screams filled the air.
The boss clutched a bulging pouch to his chest and bolted for the exit. But just before disappearing, one of his men paused at the tent flap.
"Boss… what about him?"
He gestured toward Yuuta—chained, beaten, barely conscious.
The slaver didn't even slow down.
"Leave him," he spat. "Let him rot."
But then, like he couldn't help himself, the man turned back one last time. He pulled something from inside his cloak.
Sophia's ring.
He stalked over to Yuuta and shoved it into the boy's bound hand.
"Here," he said with a sneer. 'TAKE this shit back, little trash."
And then he vanished.
The noise dulled. The tent sagged. The silence returned—but heavier now. Like the world itself had given up.
Yuuta didn't cry. Didn't scream. He just lay there, ribs rising and falling in shallow gasps. The silver ring glinted softly between his fingers.
If I had a family… someone… anyone… they would've come.
He curled his fingers around it like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
And then, so softly I almost missed it, he whispered:
"…I hate this life."
My chest squeezed. My hands trembled. I wanted to scream, to reach through the memory and hold him.
And then—movement.
The tent flap opened again. But this time, it wasn't chaos that entered.
It was command.
Boots stepped in—precise, steady. A figure of calm power led them: tall, armored, sharp-eyed. Captain Robert.
His gaze swept across the destroyed space, his face tight with disgust.
"Shit," he muttered. "Those filthy humans ran off like rats."
He turned to the elven guard at his side.
"Search every tent. Every corner of this damn place. We're not leaving until we find her."
"Yes, Captain!" the elf saluted before vanishing into the smoke.
Robert advanced further into the room. Behind him, an archer scanned the shadows with glowing eyes.
"This was it," she said. "The aura was here… strongest right here."
Their eyes fell on Yuuta.
A thin, broken boy curled near the wall. Chains still bound him. Blood had dried beneath him. He didn't move.
"That's not our target," one soldier said. "Just a human."
But the archer didn't look away.
"No, my Lord. Something's not right. That ring…" she narrowed her gaze. "That's elven-made."
Robert walked over slowly, crouching beside Yuuta. He studied the ring clutched in the child's trembling fingers.
"Boy," he said. "Where did you get this? Did you see her? The elf girl—pointed ears, green eyes."
No response.
Yuuta was barely breathing.
Robert frowned. "He's ignoring us?"
"No," the archer whispered. "He's not. He's broken."
I could hardly look away.
His face was thinner. His body bruised. His lips cracked from dehydration. He wasn't even ten years old. Just a child. But life had already taken everything from him.
"Give him a potion," Robert ordered.
An elf knelt, opening a vial of glowing blue liquid. Gently, she tilted Yuuta's head and poured it into his mouth.
His body responded almost immediately. Cuts closed. Swelling faded. But his eyes… stayed empty.
"Try again," Robert said. "Boy. Did you see an elf girl?"
Yuuta's fingers twitched. He held the ring tighter.
Still nothing.
"Why won't he answer…?" I whispered, heart in my throat.
Grandfather's voice was soft and low beside me.
"Because he doesn't know if this is real. He's been tricked before. Lied to. Beaten just for speaking."
He stared at the boy.
"He doesn't trust anyone anymore—not even truth."
My chest felt hollow.
Robert leaned closer, frustration flaring in his voice.
"What's that you're holding…?"
He gently pried Yuuta's hand open.
The ring caught the light—and Robert froze.
"This… this is Princess Sophia's."
His voice changed—sharpened.
He grabbed Yuuta by the collar and lifted him upright.
"Where did you get this?!"
Yuuta whimpered.
"ANSWER ME!"
"Stop!" I cried out, knowing he couldn't hear me. "Please, stop… he's just a child…"
Grandfather placed a firm hand on my shoulder.
"Look closely, Erza. Even now… with no one left… he still never let go of her ring."
Robert's anger drained away. Slowly, he lowered Yuuta back down, realization sinking in.
"…Take him to the capital," he said quietly. "He's connected to her. One way or another."
The memory dissolved into mist.
(One Week forward)
Note: The memory world and the real world are significantly different. In the memory world, time doesn't exist. The author did research before writing. A more detailed explanation is provided below at the end of the chapter.
Yuuta hadn't spoken a single word.
They kept him in a dim cell below the elven guard barracks, where no sunlight reached. His wrists were chained above his head, feet barely touching the floor, his body hanging like a discarded rag.
The guards tried everything. Beatings. Deprivation. Silence. Harsh whispers and shouted threats. Still… Yuuta didn't break.
Not even once.
He just stared blankly, eyes glazed over, flinching at shadows that weren't there. His lips had long since stopped forming sounds. There was no fight left in him—not from fear, but because he no longer believed anyone would listen.
He had learned, too early, that words could kill.
The old elven warden stepped back from the bars one evening, his voice heavy with frustration.
"Captain… I can't continue. He's just a boy… but there's nothing left of him."
Captain Robert, standing nearby, folded his arms.
"He's hiding something. He must be."
The guard shook his head slowly. "Or maybe… we're too late."
Robert didn't speak for a long time.
Then he muttered, more to himself than anyone:
"Send word to the Queen. We're bringing him to the palace."
The Royal Hall – Elven Capital
The throne room gleamed with golden pillars and silken banners. It had seen centuries of diplomacy, declarations, and royal ceremonies.
But never something like this.
Yuuta was dragged in by two guards, barely conscious. Chains clinked with each step. His legs were too weak to walk, his body too numb to resist. He was brought forward like a criminal, but looked more like a dying child.
The Queen of the Elves stood tall on her throne—an immortal beauty, radiant and commanding. But when she saw him, her poise shattered.
She stood abruptly, her voice cutting through the silence.
"That's the boy?" she asked sharply. "The one who saw my daughter?"
No one answered. They didn't need to.
She stepped down from the dais, her silk train whispering behind her. She walked slowly, almost cautiously, until she was standing directly in front of Yuuta.
He didn't even look up.
"Where is Sophia?" she asked, kneeling down.
There was no response.
"Where is my daughter?"
Her voice cracked slightly, but still—he didn't move. Didn't blink. It was like he wasn't even there.
She reached forward to shake him—but stopped when she saw the ring in his hand.
Clutched so tightly it had cut into his palm.
Her breath caught.
"…That's hers."
She stood again, trembling. "Summon the Elders," she ordered. "Now."
Minutes Later – The Memory Circle
The throne room had been cleared, torches dimmed. Five ancient elves now surrounded Yuuta, standing at each point of a glowing pentagram. They wore silver robes, and their magic hummed in the air like a living force.
The Queen stood at the final point, her hands glowing faintly with emerald light.
Yuuta lay at the center, still and silent.
The spell began.
Chants in the Old Tongue echoed softly. Light rippled across the floor, curling like vines around Yuuta's limbs, his chest, his head.
Then… his mind opened.
And they saw everything.
They saw the lab first—dark, cold, sterile. Metal restraints. A child's scream echoing in a hallway. Needles. Scars. The face of the first man who beat him.
They saw the escape—Sophia helping him crawl through a blood-soaked tunnel, even while her own legs bled from broken bones.
They saw the slaver camp. The beatings. The days without food. The days without words. The sound of chains rubbing against torn skin. The ring shoved into his mouth so he wouldn't swallow his scream.
The moment the boss said: "Let him rot."
And still, the boy clung to the ring.
He never once let go.
When the vision ended, the room was completely still.
The Queen collapsed first—her knees hitting the marble, her face pale and drenched in tears. She covered her mouth, eyes wide with horror.
"No… that can't be… That was a child."
One Elder slowly removed his ceremonial crown and let it fall to the floor with a hollow clang.
Another, the eldest of them all, simply turned and walked away—sobbing so quietly it sounded like rain.
The Elders stood frozen. One covered his mouth, tears streaming silently down his aged face. Another bowed his head, whispering something in the old tongue—a prayer, perhaps, for a child they once called enemy.
One of them finally spoke, his voice hoarse:
"In all my years… I have never seen such pain."
The Queen looked at Yuuta, her hands trembling. She looked at Yuuta, barely able to speak.
"You… suffered that much… and still held onto her ring…?"
She reached out a trembling hand, brushing a blood-crusted strand of hair from his face.
"How… how are you still alive?"
Yuuta didn't respond.
His eyes remained open—but distant.
And in that moment, every immortal in the room felt it:
They hadn't brought in a prisoner.
They hadn't even brought in a witness.
They had brought in a survivor.
One who had endured the worst of humanity—not with strength, not with power, but with something far more rare.
A broken kind of love.
The Queen bowed her head in shame or guilty.
"I owe you more than an apology," she whispered. "I owe you… everything my child."
To be continued...