🩸 ARC10: The Cost of the Plan

The battlefield grew quiet—just slightly.

From the gaps in collapsed rubble, heat-colored light still seeped through. The residue of healing magic dissolved into the air, leaving a cloying sweetness on the tongue. No one had fallen.

That alone let a small relief drop somewhere deep inside.

—We made it.

But the feeling changed, almost immediately, into something else.

My body felt heavy.

Not fatigue. My breathing was steady. My wounds were closed.

And still—only the inside felt hollow, as if something had been scooped out and left to echo.

I tried to clench my hand.

It wouldn’t quite take.

“...Isn’t this strange?”

Someone muttered it, barely audible.

“The loss is deeper.”
“Recovery’s slower than usual.”

Those who should have been restored moved with the same dull lag. The injuries were gone. The bleeding had stopped.

And yet, when they stood, there was an extra beat—an unnecessary beat—before their bodies obeyed.

“Can we measure our reserves?”

The numbers were shared.

And there—clearly—was the difference.

It was lower.

This wasn’t ordinary wear.

Something hadn’t come back.

Not a temporary drain—something that stayed missing. A “gap” inside, the kind healing couldn’t fill.

“...So we used too much?”

No one answered right away.

In this fight, we’d done it differently than before. We forced power into a single point, released it fast, stitched people together by force, dragged them back by force.

It was efficient. The survival rate rose.

But in exchange—

“The more we push it out...”
“...the deeper the loss becomes?”

Someone continued, choosing words like they might break.

“Maybe we’re spending something like life itself.”

The air went still.

Magic had always been convenient. Train and it grows. Rest and it returns.

That’s what we believed.

But the numbers in front of us denied it.

The more we used it, the more it truly decreased.

And—depending on how we fought.

“...Then—”
“If we keep doing it this way...”

No one said the rest.

But everyone reached the same conclusion anyway.

This plan had worked.
We protected our people.
We could answer the enemy.

And in return, we shaved down something that didn’t grow back.

Our time.

All of us. Together.

“We noticed too late.”

A bitter laugh mixed into the words.

No one blamed anyone.
No one spoke of regret.

But we couldn’t go back.

Now that we knew this cause-and-effect, we couldn’t return to the way we fought when we didn’t. If we chased only efficiency, maybe we could avoid being wiped out.

But beyond that, no one would be left.

“...So we have to choose.”

Someone said it.

“Spend it to protect.”
“Or spend less—and think harder.”

Eyes gathered.

This war wasn’t just strength against strength anymore.

Each time we used magic, we were forced to choose what we would hand over.

The power we used to stay alive

was stealing the time we had to live.

Even so—

“Stopping isn’t an option.”

Someone said it quietly.

No one denied it.

The battlefield wasn’t finished.
The enemy had begun to learn our movements.

And we, too, had started to understand the mechanism of this world.

Knowing the cost,

we still fight.

That resolve

was already pulling the next phase toward us—inevitably.

— Lumi🪄💕