One night had passed since the barn was destroyed. Helda Village lay cradled in the morning light. Early summer rays illuminated the wheat fields, and golden ears swayed gently in the breeze. It should have been a landscape unchanged from any other day, yet the air itself seemed to whisper that something had shifted. Kestra stepped from her cottage and made her way toward the village center. Her footsteps were heavy. She had not slept the previous night. In the early hours, she had heard villagers speaking of a mercenary captain named Darius who would soon arrive. The village elder Eda had summoned him, they said. ——For defense. Those words pressed down upon Kestra's chest with unbearable weight. The village hall stood at the heart of Helda—a stone structure that had once served as a warehouse before being converted for the community's important meetings and decisions. Already, several villagers had gathered before it, their anxious gazes fixed upon the building. "Kestra." The voice belonged to Elder Eda Persion. She stood at the entrance to the hall, her deep chestnut waves catching the early summer sunlight. Her gray eyes held a calm composure, and a small silver ornament at her right ear gleamed softly. At forty-three years old, her bearing—intelligent, encompassing—spoke of her former life as a schoolteacher. "The meeting is ready. Come inside." Her tone was gentle, yet carried an undeniable certainty. Eda was a leader who commanded absolute trust from the villagers. None would dare disobey her. Kestra nodded and entered the hall. The interior was dim. Sunlight filtered through high windows, but the ceiling hung low, and the stone walls held a subdued color. A long table occupied the center, surrounded by chairs. The village's prominent figures were already seated—merchants, agricultural representatives, the blacksmith. They noticed Kestra's entrance and turned their gazes toward her. In their eyes mingled caution and unease. Since yesterday's incident with the barn, the way people looked at Kestra had changed. From "the enigmatic woman" to "the dangerous mage." Eda guided Kestra to a seat and took her place at the far end of the table—the position of a village leader. "Captain Darius will arrive shortly," Eda said, her voice low and measured. "Yesterday's incident has made village security an urgent matter. Our defensive capabilities alone cannot address the threat of magical beasts going forward. Therefore, through the 'Hall of Covenant'—Grancel's mercenary bureau—I have sought the cooperation of a trustworthy captain." Kestra listened in silence. She knew the name 'Hall of Covenant' woven into the world's fabric. A mercenary bureau overseen by the kingdom's military strategists. The most reliable intermediary across all of Versahn, one that even the magical council "Septila" cooperated with. "The village's reserves can cover his compensation. It appears he has set one week of residence as his condition." At that moment, the hall's door swung open. Darius appeared. He was tall—easily one hundred eighty-three centimeters. Dark chestnut hair, tousled and short, caught the light. A small diagonal scar marked his left cheek, and that scar itself held a certain magnetism. His frame was dense with muscle, clad in leather armor whose scratches and stains spoke of countless battlefields. He appeared to be in his early thirties, yet his eyes—amber-colored—possessed a depth and sharpness no youth could claim. Darius stood at the center of the long table and surveyed everyone with a single glance. His bearing was less that of a mercenary than a soldier. "I was called. Something about defending this village, I'm told." His voice was low but carried weight. Not a shout, but something that resonated quietly through the space. Already in this single sentence lay a subtle conversational technique—the way he seemed to step into his listener's confidence without warning. Eda rose and explained the situation concisely. Yesterday's barn destruction. The increasing sightings of magical beasts. The village's weak defensive infrastructure. The growing danger from expanding cracks in the sealing pillars. Darius listened with arms crossed. His expression remained still, yet his eyes absorbed every detail. "And this magical outburst. Where is that person." Darius's gaze turned toward Kestra. Kestra rose from her chair. In that instant, the air around her warped slightly. The chair legs creaked. A water pitcher on the table trembled faintly. Her altered magical power unconsciously influenced everything nearby. "I am Kestra. I previously worked as a Grand Mage. Currently—" "A former Grand Mage." Darius cut her off. His eyes narrowed. Those amber irises examined her from head to toe, as if tasting her very essence. "I can tell. Your bearing, the mark on your left wrist, and above all—the traces of ancient magic lingering around you. The 'Soul Seal' that only Septila-certified Grand Mages bear. I've heard rumors that the tower master of the Emerald Spire went missing during the Ashen War. That's you, isn't it." Kestra's face froze. The identity she had spent three years concealing was laid bare in mere seconds. "What do you—" "I can tell because I survived the Ashen War. In that battle, I saw far too much of how people with uncontrollable power endanger their allies. Towers burning, people fleeing in panic, magical outbursts beyond control. Power like yours is the most troublesome of all." Darius's voice was cold. Beneath the irony and mockery lay deep experience and ancient wounds. He was not criticizing—merely stating undeniable fact. Kestra's fists clenched. Her lips trembled. His words struck true, leaving no room for rebuttal. "I—" "You want no more fighting. You wish only to live quietly. That's what you'd say, isn't it." Darius interrupted again. "But did the barn yesterday remain quiet as it exploded? Were the children safe? Did the villagers escape unharmed? No one can claim your power was 'quietly' controlled." The air around Kestra rippled. Documents on the table slid and scattered across the floor. A transparent wave of force radiated outward. The villagers shrank back. Darius's hand moved instantly to his sword hilt. The motion was swift, positioning him one step away from full combat readiness. "There. You see? This is how you immediately lose control. Proof you cannot manage it." "That's not—" Kestra forced herself to breathe deeply. She pressed down the emotions churning in her chest—the same work she had done every day for three years. The wave around her gradually stilled. The scattered documents ceased their movement. Eda stepped between them. She rose and positioned herself between the two. "Darius, that was uncalled for. Kestra, please calm yourself." Her voice carried equal weight for both. The authority of a leader was embedded in that single statement. "The enemy lies outside. This is no time for internal conflict." Darius withdrew his hand from his sword. He shrugged. A hint of irony colored the gesture. "Understood. I will defend the village. But if her power causes problems, I will handle it. Those are my conditions." It was a declaration, not a threat. Simply a statement of fact. The meeting moved on to negotiations regarding compensation. Eda and Darius discussed specific defense plans and payment amounts. But Kestra no longer heard the words. Her mind echoed with Darius's statement. "There is nothing more troublesome than power one cannot control." ——He was right. She looked at her own hands. Her palms held their usual skin tone. Yet within them swirled a power she herself could not fully comprehend. Something had changed during the Ashen War, and it had never stopped. The meeting ended when the sun passed its zenith. Kestra left the hall and made her way to the village's outer edge—the rolling hills before Mosswood Forest. A place the villagers did not approach, where magical beasts were known to appear. But for Kestra, that posed no problem. Rather, she sought a place where no eyes would find her. Standing atop the hill, the setting sun dyed her hair crimson. From deep within Mosswood Forest came the distant howl of beasts. Once. Then again. That voice seemed to call out for something. （Uncontrollable power.） Kestra gazed at her left wrist. The Soul Seal's mark showed through in the fading light. （I am dangerous.） That realization pressed upon her the weight of three years spent in hiding. Yesterday's barn incident was no mere accident. It was proof that this power posed a constant, latent threat to the village. Perhaps Darius remained not to defend the village, but to watch Kestra herself. That suspicion took root in her heart. As night deepened, the tavern 'The Parched Sickle' filled with more villagers than usual. The arrival of a mercenary captain was a matter of village-wide concern. Darius sat in a corner of the tavern, nursing cheap wine. The proprietor Borga—a stout, cheerful man—approached him. "Is that mage really safe? Kestra is a good teacher, but yesterday's incident..." Darius answered without lowering his cup. "Whether she's safe remains to be seen. But her power is genuine. That itself could work in the village's favor. The problem is that she doesn't fully understand her own strength. That's the most troublesome part." Borga nodded. "Kestra carries something. You can see it in her eyes. She's always looking at distant places." Darius set down his cup and gazed out the window. The night village. Beyond it, the dark shadow of the distant hills. （That woman is in the midst of a battle with herself.） He sensed it. From his experience in the Ashen War, Darius could recognize the signs of someone being consumed by power. Kestra was one such person. Yet not in the usual way. Something else. Something ancient. Something deep. In Kestra's cottage, in the dim room, she sat and gazed at her own hands. The Soul Seal's mark glowed faintly. The old scar on her left wrist. Not a wound from the Ashen War, but a mark inscribed when she was certified as a Grand Mage. That mark had begun to respond differently of late. Something. Something vast, ancient, and profound was resonating with that seal. The power she had hidden for three years. It was awakening. Quietly. Certainly. Kestra closed her eyes. She already knew that the days ahead would not be peaceful like those before. With the arrival of Mercenary Captain Darius, something had changed. The fate of Helda Village had begun to move. Quietly. But with absolute certainty.