Halfa came to her senses in a void of pure white. There was nothing around her—only a boundless expanse of white stretching as far as the eye could see. Aside from the void itself, the only things present were her and her own shadow.
“Tort! Spira! Hey, is anyone there?!”
Driven by a surge of anxiety, Halfa called out for her companions. No one answered. Far from it, her voice seemed to be swallowed by the void, vanishing without leaving so much as an echo.
She swallowed the urge to burst into tears, forcing herself to stay calm.
(I need to assess the situation first. I can cry later.)
She scanned her surroundings once more, but the world remained stubbornly blank. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all the same clinical white. It was a space where one could easily lose their sense of direction—and eventually, their sense of up and down. Deciding that moving aimlessly would be a waste of energy, Halfa sat down. Her spirit hadn't broken; she was simply trying to conserve her stamina.
While sitting, she began to organize her thoughts.
Given the events immediately prior, she had likely been teleported here by the magic circle. That circle had encompassed the entire room, which meant there was a high probability the others were trapped in similar spaces.
The more she thought about it, the more desperate the situation seemed. Yet, whenever she thought of her companions—of Tort—a strange sense of courage welled up within her.
(After all, there’s no way Tort would just stay captured without a fight.)
Wondering what kind of stunt he would pull this time brought a natural smile to her face.
Back in the Wingfolk village, Halfa had always been special. Those born with white wings were of noble blood. While their status differed slightly from human nobility, they belonged to the Leader Clan that guided their race. On top of that, she possessed the aptitude to be a Maiden of the Destiny God.
Apostles and Maidens weren't particularly rare among the Wingfolk as a whole, but they were still chosen by the gods. While not exactly worshipped, she was always approached with a distinct sense of reverence.
Halfa had been treated that way by the village adults since she was a small child. And children are always sensitive to the attitudes of the adults around them.
If the other children had found her status annoying and tried to pick on her, Halfa was the kind of spirited girl who would have fought back, brawled with them... and then forced them to become her friends. She was an otenba through and through.
Unfortunately, she was part of the Leader Clan. The children around her had been raised with strict discipline and were constantly told of the great debt the Wingfolk owed the Destiny God. They held no malice toward her, the God's Maiden. They treated her as a noble being. However, that meant they never saw her as an equal. As a result, Halfa grew up isolated.
Frustrated by her stifling life in the village, Halfa began to sneak out frequently. That was how she had been caught by the slave hunters. And just as she was about to be sold off, she met Tort.
Tort was a strange boy. He didn't look particularly strong, nor did he seem exceptionally clever. But being near him felt safe. Above all, he didn't look at her as a Maiden—he just saw her as Halfa. It made her incredibly happy. The only ones who had ever looked at her like that back home were her parents and her older brother.
(Though if there’s one thing that annoys me, it’s how he treats me like a younger sister! We’re friends, so we should be equals!)
She had been so happy when Tort offered to help her find her way home. The loneliness of being separated from her village had faded the more time she spent with him. Life was never boring with Tort; fun things always seemed to find them. Adventuring with Sally, Mil, and Rei had been a blast. Shiroru was cute and hilarious. She had made a dear friend in Spira, and Spira’s older brother, Lowell, was always kind. Before she knew it, the desire to return home had almost vanished.
If she could, she wanted to keep traveling like this forever. With Tort.
Halfa had fully realized this during her divine audience with the Destiny God. The God had told her that she could return to the Wingfolk village if she wished. Seeing Halfa struggle for words, the Destiny God had suggested she continue her journey instead. She had jumped at the proposal without a second thought. After seeing her reaction, the God had smiled gently and said, “Take care of Tort for me, okay?”
(The Destiny God looked happy then... but maybe a little lonely, too.)
At any rate, Halfa had accepted the request. Since the God of Destiny had asked her personally, she had to respond as a Maiden. Of course, that was mostly a pretext. It simply gave her one more reason to stay by Tort’s side.
(Oops, I shouldn't get lost in my thoughts. I have to find a way out of here!)
Her anxiety had completely vanished.
“Alright!”
Halfa stood up, psyching herself up for action. Right then—
“Ah, found you. Halfa, are you all right?”
A relaxed, familiar voice called out, accompanied by a presence that appeared out of nowhere. She spun around to find Tort standing there, looking as unperturbed as ever.