Natasha the Halve

Lapia Pofeta, Flame of the East. Daughter of House Pofeta from the ancient Queendom of Maaruhk. Former teacher of Desseyr, a Halve. Master Wizard with years of scholastic life.

She had left her home in the chase of knowledge. To research a species nobody dared to approach with such intentions. Halves, Protectors, Azh'avun, Guardianes, and more. Every language has a word for them, for their purpose, for their role. Yet the people treat them as more than they actually are; people as everyone on Galeia. They are not much different than the rest of the species. They have hopes, dreams, wants, desires, and needs.

There is a saying in Galeia. 'When trouble comes, a Halve soon follows'. Many, if not all, wish to see a Halve in action. Their low number makes meeting one exceedingly rare, and it's the best if they're not chasing you. If you look back and see a Halve, think of what you've done. What evils you may have committed against Galeia and her people. Think hard and quick. They are not ones to butcher without reason. They are driven by conflict, for conflict. A Halve showing up means trouble already found its way there. They are a statement of solution. Of better and safer times against unfathomable dangers.

It's always: Where are you going? What's your class? What are your goals? Yet few ask them: How are you doing? Have you eaten? Does it hurt anywhere?

Though complex in instinct and purpose, Halves are living, breathing people. If they do the protecting all the time, who is there to protect them? From lonely times. From harsh times. Who is there to support their troubled hearts and minds after making hard decisions? Who lends them a hand after they save a city, a country, a continent?

Filestra is a prime example of this issue. Her brutality saved Leks, yet not a soul cared after her. She received praise, yes. Songs were written, cities were named after her, coin changed hands. Yet she remained alone.

Is it a surprise then, that she banned war? Is it a surprise that after years of fighting for the people, she'd make sure they stayed alive? That she'd go to the lengths of threatening to slaughter those she protected to make sure not a single child was orphaned?

All these are Lapia's thoughts on the existence that is a Halve. 'People like us, with different drives and standards, but not much different'.

And yet, she laid on a cart. It had been days since she last saw the suns. Days since she drank any water. Days since she ate any food.

That in itself would be of no issue for a Wizard of her level, since she could hold on for a total of ten days without sustenance. Her constitution, though admittedly low, would extend the time before starvation and dehydration struck her. Being a Pyromancer, she could also actively regulate her body temperature and avoid that, though in a limited way.

The first problem was the nature of the ropes that bound her.

Numbing Rope. Used by Watchers and Wardens to keep criminals from using skills, interacting with E’er, and even moving. Made of E’er starved trees from Makah, the material constantly sucked living things of their fuel. The enchantment that these particular ropes around Lapia held prevented her from even speaking. Even the basic action of appraisal was taken from her.

Only corrupt Watchers or Nobles would let bandits get a hold of Numbing Rope. 'Urgun' she heard the bandits say a few times. A Harpy Noble to the East. Lapia had met the woman a long time ago when she passed through Kelske on her way to Lumin Kingdom. She remembered her as a righteous person, free of bias and corruption. Time changes people, indeed.

The second problem were her wounds.

The bandits that had captured her tortured her in every imaginable way, breaking her body and spirit. Somehow, a healer was among them. He, a boy called Finn, had kept her alive for their amusement with subpar healing.

She was going to die. It was a matter of when, not if. The sadistic nature of the bandits pushed their cruelty into loosening the ropes only for her hands to move. As if to dare her. As if to mock any struggle she could muster. ‘Go ahead and try’ was the message.

And she did try. If she was to die, she would at least go on her own terms, not as a plaything for brutes. Using her hands, she slowly cut the ropes. Breaking and chipping her fingernails, she managed to cut through them in the span of three days.

When the last string of rope was cut, a loud explosion that deafened her shook the cart. Horses neighed in panic and the bandits’ frightened chatter reached her.

Weak and injured, she could only hope for a savior. She was in no shape to fight, and her body would soon fail her.

The sound of horses was heard for a few seconds, then a voice that made her quiver in fear spoke.

“Who goes there?!” it demanded.

Lapia recognized the voice instantly, it belonged to the leader of the bandits, and had heard his name only once: Bardan. She slowly crawled to the cloth at the back of the cart, slightly opening it and letting a tiny bit of sunlight inside.

Through the gap, she saw an armored figure facing the group. Golden blonde hair reached her knees in a braid, her face had a healthy light tan, and her eyes were those of an innocent maiden just setting out into the world. Not a shred of questioning, suspicion, doubt, or even carefulness. As if she was glad she had met bandits.

Lapia cursed her luck. A Human female. At worst, a demi. What chance would she have against this group of bandits? What she needed right now was a Halve, not a wannabe hero.

“Hello, there,” she said in an awkward tone.

Lapia almost vomited blood.

That was not the tone of an experienced fighter. Not even a fresh graduate from the Army, no matter the country.

Yet her armor was the peak of craftsmanship. So was the long spear in her hands. The Elf thought a Princess had managed to lose her escort, or perhaps the rumored daughter of Perculis and Yulianna was actually real and was now in front of her. Her voice was a silvery and smokey sound that hinted at having spoken some other language instead of Common for most of her life. That meant the woman was young. In her panick, Lapia assumed the woman to be low level. Even lower than her if she was Royalty as she thought.

“Who are you?” Bardan demanded.

His horse moved with a kick of his and approached the newcomer.

Lapia could only see the bandit’s back, and the woman’s face.

“---, you?” she freely gave her name away with a smile.

Though Lapia didn't manage to hear the name as a pang of intense pain coming from her broken left arm interrupter her concentration, she had to swallow the blood her innards demanded she threw up.

The Princess would die at the hands of the bandits. Not before the Elf asked for help. She silently apologized for pulling her into this, but the armored woman would suffer the same fate either way.

A flash of thought made her stop such gloom. No country in Leks had a Princess with the armored woman's description.

Now free of the ropes, she focused the little mental strength she had to appraise the woman in front of the bandit leader.

[Forest Halve, Unknown]

She froze for a second, then took a deep breath.

“Hmm,” Bardan hummed and rolled his shoulders. “Haven’t heard of-”

“HELP!” Lapia screamed with all the strength she had left.

A rush of adrenaline invigorated her weakened body. A Halve had appeared. An Unknown Halve!

The exertion weakened her legs for a moment, making her slump on the inside of the cart.

“Finn!” Bardan commanded. “Go check up on the Lady!”

Lapia’s heart sank. Finn was the healer that had extended her torment. He would blind her, mute her, or worse.

“Yes, sir!” the source of evil responded.

A horse approached the cart and Lapia saw a hand grab the cloth at the back. She was willing to rip her tendons if that meant freedom. So, she bent her better leg and kicked with all her strength when his smirking face showed up.

The strike was true, and a new wave of adrenaline rushed through her. Summoning all that her weakened body could muster, she stood up, jumped out of the cart, and ran.

“HELP!” Lapia screamed again. The suns had blinded her, so she knew not where she headed. “THESE ARE BANDITS! PLEASE HELP ME!”

Her legs immediately started aching, and her bones complained with a creak. Her body was wounded and she was naked. The light of the suns and the warm spring breeze helped in soothing the pain a little. She was not ready to die.

The sound of metal snapping and shattering came from the Halve’s position as a few bandits surrounded the Elf. She fell to the ground. Her legs had given out barely meters away from the cart.

Lapia looked around, and saw the Halve’s face twisted in a fury the Elf had never seen before.

“You tried to kill me!” she accused the bandit.

Her voice had none of the naivety Lapia had heard at first. It was threatening, predatory, demanding, and violent. The edge of the sound promised to cut everyone right where they stood.

A shudder went up the Elf’s spine.

Bardan opened his mouth and shouted.

“HAL-!!”

The Halve’s weapon was already lodged in his chest. The movement was instant. No hesitation, no doubts, no room for argument. Instant death for those who attempt to kill a Halve.

Her face turned into shock, and she pulled back her weapon just as fast.

“Ay, blyat!” the Halve shouted.

Horror was palpable in her voice. Had she not appraised the man and realized the difference in power?

“Oh, fuck!” she took a step back. “I killed him!”

Lapia sighed. A first timer? That would spell trouble when facing the rest.

The bandits that were approaching stopped moving as Bardan slid off his horse. His body fell on the ground with a thud, the gurgle of flooded lungs left him and his body jerked a few times before finally dying.

The Halve took a deep breath and the following seconds were a mess of blood and death. She threw up while slaughtering the bandits, and when it was done, she drank a pink elixir.

Lapia could not follow the fight, she was weakened and malnourished. She could only watch with wide eyes and slack jaw.

With a deep sigh, the Halve approached the Elf.

“You alright?” she asked.

Her voice was monotone. No anger, no horror, no naivety, no worry.

The words brought Lapia back to the present, and she stood up while talking.

“Good riddance. You killed them all. Good. Those were ruthless bandits, and strong too. Good thing you were around. I was kidnapped, you see. They killed my companions and stole the cart.”

She let out a loud sigh after saying those words. She hadn’t spoken in days, and her body was taking the toll of moving so much so fast. Her muscles ached, her bones hurt, her wounds had opened, and her broken arm sent a strong wave of pain to her brain.

But she was alive. Saved by a Halve, no less.

“Dunno, still processing it all,” her savior said back, then asked, “Are you injured?”

The Halve’s eyes went over Lapia’s body. The Elf wanted to vomit blood again. Who asks that of a person full of wounds? Maybe Halves don’t consider such body injures to be a big problem.

“Yeah. They roughed me up pretty bad,” Lapia couldn’t help but chuckle, “I was tied up for three days before I managed to free myself and you arrived.”

Making a Halve understand mortal pain and danger was a difficult task. She thought back on Desseyr and how long it took him to understand the frailty of life.

“Here,” her deadpan saviour's voice said.

An elixir materialized in hand, and she offered it to the Elf.

[Elixir of Life]

“This is a-”

“Yeah, yeah,” the Halve interrupted, then continued, “Drink up first. Talk later.”

“...Sure,” Lapia agreed.

With a shrug, she undid the cork and drank the contents.

Warmth spread inside the Elf, and her body filled with energy. Wounds closed up, bruises faded out, and broken bones were restored.

The feeling of bones fixing made Lapia wince, and the sound must have been loud since the Halve also winced.

She had escaped mortal danger. A wave of relief flooded her and she turned around.

“Okay. Now that that’s dealt with,” she said.

Walking to the cart, she noticed the illusion had vanished. Not giving it a second thought, she opened a few bags looking for her clothes. They were nowhere to be found. She settled with a linen vest and pants.

Returning to her savior, she extended a hand as the Halve turned to face her.

A face devoid of emotions. Lapia felt she was under the gaze of an unfathomable predator.

[Forest Halve, Unknown]

A drop of uneasiness tainted her hopeful heart. Would she die? Was she similar to Holistos? She had a strong reaction to killing, so her mind worked properly. She wondered if that state of uncaring was the effects of the pink elixir she drank.

“I’m Lapia, you?” the Elf asked in a friendly and hopeful tone.

“Natasha,” the Halve simply said.

They shook hands and stared into each others eyes for a second.