2. Smoke.

Alita's eyes shimmered with an ethereal yellow light as she swiftly cast the spell, her hands moving with a precision born of years of practice. The dragon tattoo etched on the stranger's chest disappeared, swallowed by the enchantment she wove around it. A thin wisp of smoke curled from his fingertips—a detail she forced herself to ignore, though it gnawed at the edges of her nerves. It wasn't affection that compelled her to protect him; it was an instinct, an urge she couldn't quite understand, a deep-seated need to shield him from the perilous fate that awaited anyone marked as a dragon in Glazon.

Pushing aside her unease, she examined the gaping wound that seared through his chest, an injury as potent as the aftermath of a fierce battle. Her fingers hovered over the torn flesh, feeling the lingering heat. "Help me get water; the shore is down there," she instructed Elna, her voice tinged with urgency as she prepared for her healing rituals.

"Ali, you can't help everyone you see. Look at him—strange clothes, strange shoes, just like those men who sell our people to the dragons," Elna protested, her skepticism palpable, her voice low and tense.

Alita nodded, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Thank you for your concern. You're a loyal friend, always guarding our safety. Now, please, fetch me water," she insisted, her tone gentle yet firm as she began to remove the man's shoes. Beneath the leather, his skin was pale, almost sickly, and cold to the touch, a sharp contrast to the warm sands beneath them.

"Eww, look at him, so pale," Elna remarked, scoffing in disgust. "He is nothing like us."

"Elna, please. Water," Alita pressed, her tone hardening.

"I feel like screaming," Elna wailed, throwing her hands up dramatically, her frustration mounting.

Alita reached out and pinched her friend's arm, eliciting a sharp yelp. "Water now! I don't want him to die."

Elna stomped away, grumbling under her breath, and Alita turned back to the unconscious man. Her eyes shimmered once more as she placed her hand on his wrist, attempting to delve into his memories. But there was nothing—a void, as if his mind was an impenetrable fortress, locked tight against her magic. Either he was no ordinary human, or he was too far gone to be healed.

"Hmmm," she exhaled deeply, withdrawing her hand just as Elna returned, water jar in hand. Alita could not help but think that whoever this man was, he was lucky they had found him. Not only because she was a healer, but because they always carried a bag with necessities—jars, fruits, food. If he woke up hungry, they could at least feed him. "Who are you, strange man?" Alita murmured to herself, her thoughts swirling with uncertainty. "Should I let you live?"

She accepted the jar from Elna and closed her eyes, focusing her energy as she placed her hand gently on his chest. Her fingers tingled with warmth as healing magic flowed through them, the torn flesh slowly knitting itself back together, the wound closing under her touch as if by threads of light.

"He'll be fine soon," Alita assured Elna, who stood back, watching with a mix of awe and trepidation.

"What now? It's almost sunset. You know what that means," Elna reminded her, glancing nervously at the sky where the first hints of the dying sun were beginning to show.

"Yeah, my father, so strict," Alita sighed, the weight of her responsibilities pressing down on her shoulders.

"You can say that again," Elna grumbled.

"Do me a favor. Don't tell anyone about him," Alita pleaded, her voice soft as she made a pouty face, trying to lighten the mood.

"Your dad would be furious if he found out," Elna warned, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Exactly, I don't want to seem disloyal," Alita admitted, a touch of fear creeping into her voice.

"We don't know this man. He might be an enemy or a slave trader."

"Well, I've healed him already, so if you tell anyone, the village will just end up hating me. Is that what you want?"

Elna exhaled sharply. "Fine! Cross my heart, I won't say a word to anyone. I swear by your spirit…" Elna began, her tone playful.

"What?"

"Duh! You don't expect me to swear with mine. I promise I won't tell anyone."

Alita smiled, relief washing over her as she pulled Elna into a tight hug, catching her friend off guard.

"What are you doing?" Elna asked, trying to wriggle free, her voice muffled against Alita's shoulder.

"It's called hugging," Alita said, squeezing her even tighter, savoring the comfort of the embrace.

Suddenly, a cough echoed from behind them, and they spun around, fear rippling through the air like a sudden chill.

"The foreigner…" Elna muttered, her voice trembling as she darted away from the shore, leaving Alita alone with the stranger.

"Hey…" the man said, his voice weak but gaining strength as he looked at her with a mixture of curiosity and gratitude. "Who are you?"

Alita remained silent, her mind racing. Who was this man? And why had she gone against her instincts to save him?

"You don't speak English?" he tried again, frustration edging into his tone.

"This is bad," he sighed, crossing his arms as he scrutinized her with those piercing gold eyes.

"What are you?" he persisted, his gaze narrowing with a sharp intensity that made her skin prickle.

"I should be the one asking the questions here, not you," Alita frowned, crossing her arms in defiance. "What are you doing here?" she finally asked after a prolonged silence, her voice low and guarded. His presence was a mystery, one she wasn't sure she wanted to unravel.

"Alita, let's go!"

He gasped and took a hesitant step closer, sensing the shift in her demeanor. But before he could respond, Elna called out to her again, breaking the tense silence.

"Alita!"

"You speak English? That's really weird," he remarked, raising an eyebrow, his confusion clear.

"We're not cavemen; we're supposed to speak properly," Alita shot back, irritation flaring at his dismissive tone.

"Thanks for saving my life," he said sincerely, his eyes softening, the sharpness fading.

"Please go away, just stay away from us. If my people find out what I did, I could be beheaded, and you could die too. Just go," Alita turned her back to leave, but he reached out, stopping her with a gentle touch.

"Thanks for everything. I'm Azrael. What's your name?"

"We don't give names. You should leave. If you get caught, we won't save you," Elna interjected, suddenly appearing beside them, grabbing Alita's hand and pulling her away.

"I'm sorry. It was nice helping," Alita smiled at him, but he stopped her again, his expression earnest.

Elna growled low in her throat, and Alita lightly smacked her arm in reprimand.

"Just a minute," Elna scoffed, crossing her arms impatiently.

"I really can't tell you my name," Alita admitted, feeling a pang of guilt twist in her chest.

"It's okay. But can I see you tomorrow before I leave? I'll wait here," Azrael asked, his tone almost pleading, as if something important hinged on her answer.

"No, you can't stay till dawn. Just take your pale skin and weird shoes and leave. We're leaving now," Elna insisted, dragging Alita away, her voice tight with concern.

Alita glanced back one last time, finding Azrael still standing there, a soft smile on his lips. That look—it was different, haunting and beautiful in its own way.

"Alita…" she whispered, her name rolling off her tongue in a moment of quiet revelation.

Ignoring Elna's protests, Alita couldn't help but giggle. Elna bit her lip, then hoisted Alita up onto her shoulders as easily as if she were lifting a child. Elna towered over her; her stature much taller and her complexion lighter compared to Alita's smaller, darker frame. Her eyes were oval-shaped, contrasting with Alita's smaller, more feline-like eyes, framed by full lips.

Alita playfully growled in mock protest as Elna carried her, her hands dangling behind her friend's back as they continued walking. Elna's steps were steady despite the added weight on her shoulders.

"Elna, did you see his eyes?" Alita asked, batting her lashes, though she knew no one was paying attention.

"It's just a man," she added, a little louder, hoping to be acknowledged.

"Not just a man, a foreigner. Alita, you're the next chief; act like one," Elna scolded, her voice firm.

"Aww… he's so dreamy," Alita smiled as Elna groaned. She disliked him, Alita knew. And if her people found out about him, she'd be dead.

She'd be treated like a traitor, even if she was the next chief. These humans—they had abducted her people, sold them to the wolves who enslaved them, turned them into mistresses, slaves, maids, and yet she saved one.

He could be a witch hunter, and still, she saved him.

"The dragons are coming," Elna murmured, her voice tinged with concern. "We must prepare, Alita. Your abilities as a Dream Walker are our greatest hope. You must remember those whose lives depend on you and those who are your enemies. That man is your enemy."