The outer wall of the royal capital receded into the distance behind them. The gray of dawn was slowly beginning to tint the sky. The stone walls of the imperial city of Verga were hazily white through the morning mist. The smell of grass. The dampness of soil. The mingled scent of stone and people grew fainter with each step forward. Raid kept his gaze ahead and continued walking. A black short blade swayed inside his cloak. The scar on his left arm—the circuit had deteriorated to something close to "charred" from using magic fusion, leaving a faint blue mark on the skin's surface—ached slightly in the morning cold. His back was still warm. He knew the wound from the stone shrapnel was seeping, but he couldn't stop now. Lilia walked to his right. Aira covered the rear. The footsteps of three people were absorbed into the grass. The silence wasn't particularly heavy. It was the kind of quiet that mixed exhaustion, relief, and—multiple nameless emotions—all at once. No one had spoken since leaving the capital. But no one found that strange. The abandoned village came into view when the sky began to turn completely white. Aira's movement paused for just a beat. That was enough. "There's a presence," Aira said quietly, but with precision. Raid had already sensed it. East side of the abandoned village, in the shadow of sparse trees. A human presence—from the way the center of gravity moved, whoever it was wore armor. Imperial knights' scout, he judged immediately. Their eyes met. No words were needed. Aira silently changed direction. Toward the southern alley, the row of abandoned houses. Raid gave Lilia's back a slight push to guide her. All three slipped soundlessly into the abandoned village. The door of the abandoned house—its hinges were already coming loose—creaked open to reveal the smell of rotting wood and damp soil. The floor was scattered with dried grass and broken pottery shards. The wood of the window frame had decayed and fallen away, replaced by vines creeping through the gaps. The three entered. The door was quietly closed behind them. They confirmed the presence outside. It was fading. The scout had apparently headed in a different direction. Lilia let out a small breath of relief. That's when something brushed against their feet. It was a thin stray cat. Its fur was gray, and one ear was slightly torn. It must have been the original resident of the abandoned house, showing no fear whatsoever. Rather, it boldly pressed its head against Raid's ankle. "...Not now," Raid said to the cat, his voice low and serious. The cat ignored him. It purred and tried to curl around and step onto his foot. "You're being taken a liking to," Aira said from beside the door, her eyes still on the corridor outside, her voice completely emotionless. It was a simple statement of fact. "I didn't choose the cat," Raid said. "I understand," Aira replied. The cat tried to climb onto his knee regardless. Raid stepped back half a pace to block it. The cat looked up at him steadily. Its face clearly expressed "why?" Lilia saw this and covered her mouth. She was holding back laughter. But her eyes were laughing—the first truly light expression she'd shown since the stone prison, since the night of running. For just a moment, the tense air of the abandoned house loosened. ──── Lilia spoke a little while after the cat had settled in the corner of the floor. "You said 'later,' didn't you?" Lilia asked. Raid didn't turn around. "...Did I?" he said. "You did," Lilia said. She'd already taken a step closer. Her silver short bob swayed faintly in the dim light of the abandoned house. Her odd eyes—pale purple and light amber—looked straight at Raid. The eyes of the girl who had endured alone while facing the declaration of "academic dissection" in the stone prison now held a completely different color—eyes that wouldn't back down. "It's nothing serious," Raid said. "Show me," Lilia said. "Really, it's nothing serious," Raid said. "Raid," Lilia said. She called his name. That was all. But the tone of her voice had changed. Not pleading, not begging—just straightforward, piercing, that kind of voice. Raid looked into those eyes for a moment. (I'm done for.) That's what he thought. There were eyes in this world that wouldn't accept excuses, and Lilia had them now, completely. "...Understood," Raid said, his voice low and short. He reached for his cloak. The moment he turned his back after removing his jacket—Lilia's expression froze for just an instant. His back was far worse than she'd imagined. Old scars from the burning of magic circuits due to forbidden technique use were visible on his skin as faint discoloration, and they overlapped with fresh cuts from the stone shrapnel. The old scars were pale and discolored, and above them, new wounds were bleeding red. Years-old scars and wounds made just tonight layered on the same back—the sight spoke without explanation of how long this person had been collecting injuries. Lilia didn't move for one second. Then, slowly, she placed both hands on Raid's back. She touched him. Directly on bare skin. From her fingertips, the warm magic unique to the demon race flowed in. Demon healing magic—a technique that couldn't be used by ordinary mages, where one transferred their own magic to repair another's tissue by touching the wound—transmitted as an alien heat to his damaged circuits. Raid caught his breath, just slightly. The heat wasn't pain. But there was discomfort. The sensation of non-self magic entering his own body. His body recognized it as "something external" for a moment. The muscles of his back tensed faintly. Lilia's hands remained still. Unhurried, slow. Not rushing the magic in, but flowing it gently. Not touching the old scars, but carefully tracing the edges of the fresh cuts. After a while, something fell from Lilia's eyes. She herself didn't notice. She was concentrating on moving her hands. But a single drop fell from her cheek, past her jaw, and landed on Raid's back. "...Idiot," Lilia whispered. Her voice was small. It sounded angry, but it wasn't. It sounded like she was crying, but the reason for crying was more than one. The terror of the night in the stone prison, relief that Raid had come, anger at the number of scars on this back—everything that couldn't fit into a single word, yet only "idiot" came out. Then she moved her hands again. "Idiot," Lilia said. A second time. Her voice was slightly hoarse. Raid said nothing. He couldn't speak. He knew he had no position to. In that silence, Aira's voice came from beside the door. "Please report on the progress of the injuries," Aira said, her voice completely serious from her position at the entrance. As if it were a matter of duty—assessing the condition of the wounded was a rational judgment. Lilia answered after a slight pause, still with tears in her eyes. "There are so many wounds, I don't know where to start counting," Lilia said. Aira fell silent. Raid let out a small breath. "You're exaggerating," Raid said. "There are many," Lilia said. "It's my body, so I know," Raid said. "That's not something someone who doesn't understand should say," Lilia said. She talked back. Still with tears in her eyes. Her lips were pressed together, but there was a faint heat at the edge of her voice. Whether it was anger or relief, probably even Lilia herself didn't know. But she couldn't stay silent—that much was certain. The tense air of the abandoned house cracked. ──── The treatment was finished. Lilia sat down with her back against the wall. Using demon healing magic directly depleted the caster's stamina. Her silver hair clung to her forehead, and her shoulders sagged slightly. Yet she still had the face of someone saying "I'm fine." She wasn't being stubborn—she genuinely thought she was fine, which was so like this girl. Raid put on his jacket and fastened the buttons of his cloak. Through the gaps in the window frame, the outside light was growing brighter. Dawn was coming completely. The gray sky was gradually turning white. Aira stood near the entrance, facing away. It was ostensibly a watch. Her posture was correct, her hand resting on her sword hilt. She continued to check the corridor—that was true. But Raid knew it was more than that. Her back was trembling slightly. The line of her shoulders swayed in a way that was barely perceptible, barely irregular. She was hiding it—consciously, deliberately. Yet that back couldn't completely contain what was inside. Raid confirmed that Lilia had her eyes closed against the wall, then stood up quietly. He walked slowly toward Aira. His gait was somewhat awkward due to back pain, as usual. But he kept his footsteps to a minimum. "A duty, then," Raid said quietly. His voice was low, controlled—his usual voice. Aira's shoulders stiffened for a moment. Then immediately relaxed. Still facing forward, she answered. "Yes," Aira said. Her voice was crisp and composed—the same tone she'd had since being dispatched as "vice-captain of the advance unit." But the very last sound of the final syllable wavered. It rode on her breath, rippled, and faded. Just one sound. Silence fell. Wind blew outside the abandoned house. Vines rustled. A bird called somewhere. In that silence, Raid thought for just a moment. "Aira," Raid said. He called only her name. No title, no preamble—not "vice-captain," not "you," not "hey"—just her name. Low, quiet, dropped into the air of the abandoned house like a stone. Aira's back stopped. Not in movement, but in something inside. The kind of stopping that happened internally. The strength she'd been holding in her posture slowly drained away. The rigid stance she'd maintained crumbled by just a millimeter. She didn't turn around. She kept facing forward, looking down the corridor. But somewhere separate from the direction her face pointed, something moved. Voices overlapped in her ears. The cheerful voice saying "go on" with a smile, and the single sound she'd just heard. Vector's words had been gentle, sincere, without deception. A good person had sent her off sincerely. So why did it catch in her chest like this? She'd thought about it while running, but couldn't find an answer. Yet now, hearing "Aira" in a single sound, the shape of that catch in her chest seemed to change slightly. —She still didn't know what had changed. It had no name. But in the depths of her chest, around the inside of her ribs, there was a sensation of something creaking. Not warm, not cold, just something that made itself known as "present." Raid didn't continue beyond that. He said nothing. He didn't search for words. He didn't try to add anything after the single sound "Aira." He simply called her name. That was all. The back of her eyes grew hot. Aira slowly, without being noticed, steadied her breathing. That's when a voice came from outside the abandoned house. "Meow." It was the stray cat. It must have gone outside—the gray cat with the torn ear called out in a vacant voice through the gap in the door. The timing was completely wrong. "The pursuers' presence has faded," Aira said. Her voice had returned to that of a knight. Instantly. The speed of the switch proved the tremor inside—that she'd had to switch. "We can depart," Aira said, still facing forward, speaking crisply. Raid didn't ask anything. He nodded. That was enough. ──── When the light of dawn began to filter through the gaps in the abandoned house, the three prepared to depart. Lilia pushed herself up from the wall. She stumbled slightly, but quickly steadied herself. She reached for the sleeve of Raid's cloak—and held it for just a moment. Then she let go. There were no words. But in that instant, everything from the darkness of the stone prison to this moment was contained. The fear, the time spent waiting, all that she'd put into the word "idiot." Aira, still facing for