Utopian System

With his eyes closed, Elio could see the elemental world in all its complexity. The interactions between elements, their patterns, their infinite possibilities unfolded before him like a living tapestry.

But knowledge only made the realization more bitter, no matter how much he understood, how many combinations he mastered, how much he improved his defense and utility... his damage remained insufficient against Zahyla's two million resistance.

The summoning structure that the god had left floated in his mind like a mockery: H + 2He + 3Li* + 4Ni* + 5Fe* + 6C* + 7N* + 8O* + 9F* + 10Ne* + Mana = Summoning Matrix

Ten different elements, each requiring precise and simultaneous control.

The supposed amplification it promised seemed more distant each time he attempted it.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

Controlling so many variables at once was like trying to hold water with open hands; something always slipped away.

From her nearby position, Zara silently observed as Elio sank deeper into his frustration. She saw the tension in his shoulders, how his fingers occasionally clenched, the small grimaces that crossed his face each time another idea proved insufficient.

The only "realistic" option was to use the elite squad. Twenty-five transformed warriors, attacking simultaneously...

But the cost was prohibitive.

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One hundred million mana would take two months to gather without squeezing the population, and getting all the necessary potions would take more than four years.

And even if they got the resources... Elio knew it would be a suicide mission.

The image of Taron, his last smile before death, haunted him. How could he even consider dragging his closest friends to near-certain death?

After his promise to lose no one else...

Zara took a step toward him, her hand extending but stopping halfway. She wanted to console him, tell him they would find another way, but she knew at this moment, her words would be insufficient.

She could only be there, a constant presence while he fought against the apparent impossibility of his situation.

But she was wrong.

Elio felt Zara's presence behind him, her familiar warmth an anchor amid his mental storm. The frustration, the powerlessness, all the weight of his responsibilities and failures suddenly overwhelmed him.

He rose abruptly, turning toward her.

There were no words.

His hands found her waist with desperate urgency, drawing her to him.

Zara didn't resist, understanding this need, this way of releasing the tension consuming him. Their lips met fiercely as they moved backward until colliding with the wall, the contact grounding them both in the moment.

Elio's hands traced her form with an almost frantic intensity, as if trying to forget everything in the warmth of her skin. Zara responded to his urgency, allowing him to pour his frustration into every caress, every kiss, her own hands mapping familiar paths across his shoulders.

But then, as suddenly as it had begun, Elio stopped.

His hands froze against Zara's skin, his breath ragged against her neck.

"Taron," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Enid, Arnaud, Varick, Raelar..." The names weighed like lead. "Even Fathoran... or my father... So many sacrifices for this city and I... I'm sorry, I was..."

He pulled away, collapsing into the nearest couch. "What right do I have to seek happiness when so many have died? Do I even want to bring new life into this cursed world? To hell with the gods and their demands, reproducing just so Zahyla can grab more..."

Zara approached slowly, her hand finding his cheek. "They fought precisely for this," she whispered. "For a future where we can live, not just survive."

Her fingers gently traced the line of his jaw. "To hell with the gods and their demands, you're right. But this..." she leaned in to kiss him softly, "this is ours, not because they force us."

The previous tension transformed into something different.

Where there had been desperate urgency before, now there was an almost reverent softness.

Elio's hands found her waist again, but this time with gentleness, drawing her onto his lap.

Zara let herself be guided, her fingers threading through Elio's hair as their lips met again.

It wasn't a battle now, but a slow dance, each touch charged with meaning beyond even physical desire.

Elio's hands slid beneath her armor, tracing soft patterns on her skin. Zara arched against him, a sigh escaping her lips. The temperature in the room seemed to rise with each shared caress.

The outside world began to fade away.

There were no artromus, no responsibilities, no guilt, only the two of them, losing themselves in each other with an intensity that threatened to consume them.

Zara's fingers began dismantling the clasps of his armor while Elio traced a path of kisses down her neck.

Her skin burned under each touch, each caress more intense than the last.

Zara pulled him closer, needing more contact, more closeness.

Elio responded by lifting her effortlessly, his hands firm on her thighs as he pressed her against the wall. A soft moan escaped Zara's lips as their bodies aligned perfectly.

The moment grew, tension building between them like a storm about to break.

And then...

Three firm knocks on the door shattered the spell.

"Elio?" Lila's voice penetrated the wood, timid but insistent.

Zara tensed in his arms, instantly recognizing the voice. Her eyes met Elio's, frustration and pity in them.

"One moment," Elio responded, his voice rougher than intended.

They separated slowly, the air between them still charged with electricity. Zara adjusted her armor with deliberate movements, a predatory smile forming on her lips.

But they both knew the moment had broken. Lila's voice from the other side of the door had brought with it all the reality they had managed to keep at bay, the city, their responsibilities, the complications of their relationships.

♢♢♢♢

The figure slipped between the shadows near the outer barrier. The moon barely illuminated her silhouette as she waited, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Punctual as always," Zahyla's voice floated in the air before her form appeared. "Have you thought about our conversation?"

"I shouldn't be here," the girl whispered, her voice trembling but determined.

"And yet, here you are." Zahyla smiled, approaching the barrier. "Because you know I can give you what you truly desire."

"I don't trust you."

"Wise decision. But..." Zahyla tilted her head, studying her, "does trust really matter when love calls?"

The girl tensed visibly, but didn't respond.