Regression
I first met Kenna at the orphanage.
Back then, we were just a ragged bunch of parentless wretches banding together to survive. Even among them, Kenna stood apart from the other children, always sitting alone and nervously fidgeting with her fingers. I could never bring myself to look away. Watching her brought back the bitter days right after I had lost my own parents—wandering aimlessly, clutching an empty belly, completely out of reach of anyone's warmth. In her, I saw a reflection of my younger self, drowning in the grief of craving a family's love while knowing none remained to give it.
Though we shared no blood, I raised her in my heart as my own little sister, just one year younger.
"Kenna, hurry and try this."
"It's so good, Oppa! Where did you find it?"
"Snuck it out just for you."
Whenever anything delicious found its way into my hands, it always went to Kenna first. And on the days she broke down crying with a swollen ankle from a clumsy spill, I would carry her everywhere on my back until she healed.
Eight years slipped by like that. When I turned sixteen, our time came to leave the orphanage behind.
Two penniless orphans cast out into the world with nothing but the clothes on our backs—what could we possibly do? For people like us, the only choices were breaking our spines with brutal day labor or selling our bodies on the street. I hauled myself out before sunrise and dragged my feet back long after dusk, collapsing into a dead sleep from sheer exhaustion every single night. Yet no matter how hard I worked, my stomach never knew the feeling of being full. I was jostled by strangers and treated as a walking garbage bin for other people's spite.
Had I been living alone, I might have managed to scrape together a few coins over time. But to keep Kenna—the only real family I had left in this world—from ever having to sell herself, I had to be far harsher on myself than anyone else ever could.
One night, staring blankly up at the full moon through exhausted, bleary eyes, the realization hit me: there was no future down this road. If we kept on like this, ruin was the only thing waiting for us.
I had to find another path.
Then, the moment I picked up a discarded wooden practice sword, the one avenue left open to someone with nothing flashed through my mind.
If I become a knight, I can easily earn enough to keep Kenna fed and sheltered.
From that day on, I swung that piece of wood through the dead of night, carving away at my sleep until my elbows ached deep in the bone and my palms hardened into a thick crust of calluses. Five years into that relentless grind, my luck finally turned when a kind-faced knight happened to notice me.
"Care to spar with me for a round?"
"I'd be honored, sir."
After crossing blades just a handful of times, the knight let out a genuine whistle of admiration.
"Your form is utterly dreadful, but your instincts and split-second judgment are remarkable. With proper instruction, you could make a fine swordsman."
Perhaps I truly did have a gift for it. Just four years later, at the tender age of twenty-five, I had ascended to the rank of Knight Commander. It was a meteoric rise—a breakneck ascent that made me believe the path ahead of me would be smooth and golden.
Then came the royal decree.
"Elias. You are to seek out and bring back the six Holy Relics."
"May I ask what these Holy Relics are, Your Majesty?"
"You will know them when you see them."
Six sacred relics scattered across the four corners of this vast continent—it was an undertaking that would consume three whole years at the very least. The king pressed enough gold into my hands to let a man live comfortably for a decade, yet not a shred of joy stirred in my chest. All I wanted was to settle down as quickly as possible and live a quiet, happy life with Kenna. That was my only modest wish.
Yet for a green commander who had clawed his way up by raw skill alone, without a noble patron watching his back, refusal was a luxury far too dangerous to afford. Too many envious eyes glared at my rapid rise, and my service record was still far too short to protect me.
The party the king assigned to my command consisted of a female archer and an alchemist. Along with them came Kenna, whose hidden talent for high magic had only recently come to light through the preparations for this expedition. With our starting funds in hand and our Red Pendants fastened tight around our necks, the four of us set out on the road.
Two months later, the colossal battlements of a foreign kingdom's fortress finally peeked over the horizon. But just as hope flickered, the Desert Boundary cut across the lush green plains like a severed river, barring our advance.
It was a narrow strip—a sprint that would take barely a minute from edge to edge. Yet none of us could bring ourselves to take that first step. Handed down alongside our royal mission had been a stern warning: Do not set foot in the desert.
For reasons left unsaid, no one had bothered to explain why.
"If we take the detour around it, it'll take us weeks at the very least," I said, squinting across the sand.
"That it will, Oppa," Kenna replied from behind me, tucking a stray lock of long purple hair behind her ear with a soft smile.
A sudden gust blew across the plain. She pulled her pointed black witch's hat down low against the breeze and planted her tall wooden staff—the crimson gem set into its head catching the pale daylight—into the turf to steady herself. Her billowing black robes whipped wildly in the wind, curling around the polished wood.
An impatient urge to wrap up this mission clawed at me, whispering to just sprint across the gap. But knowing the danger it might pose to Kenna, I decided to exhaust every other option first. I pulled open my pack to see if we had the provisions to skirt around the hazard, only to be greeted by a hollow emptiness that could sustain us for three days at best.
Instantly, our little party erupted into chaos.
"We haven't got any other choice, then, do we?!" squawked the petite archer, barely reaching up to my chest. She stomped her feet in a flustered fury, her short golden bob swaying over her leather armor while the massive hunting bow strapped across her back clattered noisily against her frame.
"Still, it gives one pause," murmured the alchemist—or rather, the pyromaniac bomber masquerading as one. His deep navy robes fluttered in the gale, emphasizing his gaunt, bony frame. Beneath neatly preened black hair that refused to yield to the wind, his composed, scholarly face seemed entirely unbothered by the crisis. "Could there truly be no other way?"
If I wanted to guide this motley crew around the desert perimeter, procuring rations was an absolute prerequisite. If we hunted the monsters roaming the wilderness for meat, we could at least stave off starvation.
"What about living off the land? We could hunt wild game."
Every single one of them immediately piped up to object.
"Eating things that look that grotesque is a bit..." Kenna muttered, trailing off with an uneasy grimace.
"That's only because you gluttons eat way too much in the first place!!" the archer shrieked.
"Perhaps I could construct a few snares?" the bomber offered politely. "They have a lovely mechanism that triggers a brilliant burst of fireworks the moment prey is caught."
It seemed Kenna and I were of one mind. The mere thought of butchering and chewing on those hideous, misshapen monsters turned my stomach completely. That left foraging for wild plants, but the surrounding brush was thick with deadly nightshade and toxic weeds; gorging on random foliage was a surefire way to die screaming in agony. To sift the edible from the lethal, at least one of us needed proper botanical knowledge.
"Does anyone here actually know which wild plants are safe to eat?"
The bomber's hand shot into the air, his cheeks flushed with sudden excitement. "I promise not to be greedy, Commander. If you would only allow me to detonate just one—"
Look at him, raising his hand just because he's desperate to see something explode.
"Let's shelve that idea and think a little harder," I said, cutting him off before he could pitch another manic scheme.
As the debate dragged on, the sun slipped from its midday perch, descending until it hung level with our tired gazes. After an endless volley of bickering, exhaustion finally settled over the group, reducing our loud squabbles to a sullen, heavy silence.
"You absolute fools! How are we ever going to get anywhere at this rate?!" the archer barked, her patience completely snapping as she threw her arms up in disgust.
As the party's leader, the burden of choice rested on my shoulders. It was such a minuscule stretch of sand. If we just sprinted across with everything we had, wouldn't we make it across safely? Surely nothing catastrophic could happen in the span of a single minute.
"I'll take the point," I announced, resting my hand on the hilt of my longsword. "We dash across the sand at full speed."
"I'll run as fast as I can, Oppa," Kenna nodded readily.
"As if you slowpokes could ever keep up with me anyway!" the archer scoffed.
"Must we rush so rashly?" the bomber pleaded with a disappointed sigh. "I could easily fashion a trap designed merely to blow off their limbs if you'd reconsider taking the long route..."
Everyone except the pyromaniac gave their eager consent. Three against one—what else could he do? In the end, he trailed reluctantly behind us, his shoulders slumped in dejection.
Just one step forward, and our boots would touch the sand.
One minute. Please, just give us one single minute without disaster.
I swallowed hard, my heart hammering violently against my ribs, and took that fateful stride. The grains rasped beneath my right boot, sinking slightly into the soft, sun-scorched earth. When nothing happened, I unleashed every ounce of strength in my legs and burst into a dead sprint.
One second. Two seconds.
Without warning, the world flipped violently upside down. Instead of the familiar overcast sky, a dreamlike, impossible vista unfolded before my eyes. To one side stretched a blazing firmament crowded with countless interlocking rings of roaring flame; to the other, a terrifying void so profoundly black it seemed ready to swallow the soul whole. The two skies blended seamlessly together in a haunting gradient, like an alien world bleeding through the seams of reality.
The view spun violently again, and my companions rushed back into frame. The three of them were still charging forward, blissfully ignorant of whatever had just occurred.
Wait... Why am I looking behind me? I haven't even turned my head.
Bewilderment seized me, but my perspective continued to rotate in a sickening blur, completely defying my will. Through the spinning chaos, a towering silhouette caught my peripheral vision—a colossal presence dwarfing even the largest ogres by several orders of magnitude. I desperately wanted to get a clearer look at its shape, but my neck refused to respond.
That thing... That thing is the one spinning my vision. There's nothing else it could be.
The scenery twisted once more, and this time, someone's back filled my view. A figure stood upright, fountains of brilliant crimson geysering high into the air from a clean, severed stump where the neck ought to have been.
Hold on. Iron plates riveted over hardened leather... That's my armor. The standard-issue longsword at the hip... That's my blade.
My instincts screamed the truth before my mind could catch up, but the sheer absurdity of the sight made me reject it. No, that can't be me. It can't.
One rotation past the waist. A second past the hips. A third past the calves. Then came a dry, rasping crunch. A sharp sting flared across my eyes, followed by a gritty, suffocating dryness coating my tongue. I tried desperately to spit the sand out, but my tongue only twitched uselessly against the roof of my mouth.
Denial was no longer an option. I had to face the reality of my own demise.
Am I... really dead? Just like that? My head sheared off in the blink of an eye?
As the chilling weight of death finally sank into my consciousness, the faces of my companions racing directly into the trap flashed across my thoughts. My head lay half-buried in the scorching sand. If they crossed into this territory, every single one of them would be slaughtered. I had to save them—I had to stop them somehow.
I tried to scream, but not even a whisper of air passed through my severed throat. My lips only fluttered like a dying fish, dragging more grit into my mouth. Even as the edges of my vision darkened and blurred into gray, I fought with everything I had to make something move. Straining my eyes to the absolute limit, I caught a glimpse of my headless body still standing tall and rigid on the edge of the desert.
I willed my fingers to twitch.
Whether they actually responded was impossible to tell, but an instinct surged through me that if I pushed with all my might, my body would obey. All or nothing. One last gamble.
I commanded my knees to bend, firing the muscles in my thighs, winding my torso to unleash everything in a desperate lunge.
In that instant, my consciousness snapped into pitch blackness—then jolted violently back to life.
I wasn't staring out from the dirt anymore. My sight sat at its natural height, solid, level, and entirely still. There was no spinning, no blood-soaked sand.
Now!
Whirling around on instinct, I hurled my entire weight backward, crashing bodily into my companions and tackling them off their feet.
"...!"
"Ow! What was that for, you brute?!"
"Commander? What on earth came over you?"
I lay sprawled on the grass, utterly drained and panting for air, while the others groaned and rubbed their bruised shoulders where they had struck the dirt. I stayed collapsed in the meadow, drawing ragged, heaving breaths to calm my pounding heart.
Suddenly, something warm and exquisitely soft pressed hard against my lips. Before I could process the sensation, Kenna's face filled my entire field of vision, hovering over me with fierce, unblinking intensity. A slick, supple warmth forced its way between my parted lips, tangling greedily with mine in a frantic, suffocating kiss.
"Mmh—mmph?!"
Shock froze me solid for a heartbeat, but I quickly came to my senses and shoved her back. A delicate, silvery thread of saliva stretched between her parted peach-colored lips and mine.
"How much it must have hurt..." she whispered, her eyes brimming with bright red veins as she reached out with trembling fingers to caress my cheek.
A strange, unsettling warmth flared deep in the pit of my chest, but I quickly shook my head, scolding myself. She is the only family I have left in this world. I have to protect her and treat her with care.
Reaching out gently, I wrapped my arms around her trembling shoulders and patted her back. Kenna hugged me back in kind. At least, I thought it was an ordinary embrace—until her slender hands slid down my spine, traveling from my shoulder blades to my waist, slipping lower and lower until her fingers gripped tightly onto the waistband of my trousers.
Reflexively, I caught her wrists to stop her, but my mind went entirely blank. My eyes darted around in pure bewilderment.
Why? Why is Kenna doing this all of a sudden?
Pulling my scattered thoughts back together, I forced myself to speak in a calm, measured voice.
"Kenna. What's wrong with you?"
"Because... this is the only thing I can give you," she murmured softly, her gaze heavy and unfathomable.
In all the years we had lived together, not once had she ever offered or demanded anything like this. My mind swarmed with static as I stared at her, entirely at a loss for words.
"Eek—! Aaaahhh!!"
Kenna's eyes flicked to the meadow around us, and the color instantly drained from her face as she let out a piercing shriek. That sharp cry finally shattered the daze paralyzing my senses.
"Kenna! Pull yourself together!"
Kenna pinched her own cheek with trembling fingers, her eyes wide with sheer, disbelieving horror.
"Uh... Did we really... come back?"
"Come back? What are you talking about?"
"I'm... I'm actually alive?"
"What?"