That night was too quiet. The Emerald Twilight Forest—a deep woodland sprawling across the southern foothills of the Jade Peak Mountains in the empire's east, where the demon race had dwelt since ancient times—the night air was clearer than usual. More stars. No clouds. Despite the absence of torches, the sky was bright enough that the outline of the stone pavement was visible in starlight alone. Leyd leaned his back against the outer wall of the abandoned cottage, gazing up at the night sky. His brief exchange with Kalva had just ended—"We're switching watch duty tonight," that was all it had been—and the lingering echo of those words still hung in the air. A man of few words, but over three days, Leyd had come to understand: the fewer words he spoke, the heavier their weight. His left forearm held a faint warmth. Heat rising from deep within his magical circuits. Not an injury. The atmospheric mana of the Emerald Twilight Forest—the magical essence drifting through the air—conti