That night's parting words from Luna still seemed to linger in the air. "Sheryl. At the hot spring yesterday, when you touched Leon's mark... was it really just to test the results of the sedation?" Sheryl had only responded with "What do you think?" without giving an answer. The three of them parted quietly after that. Leon stared up at the inn's ceiling, repeating those words over and over in his mind. Luna's question. Sheryl's evasive smile. His left hand's mark glowed faintly above the thin blanket. The quiet pulse of night. (If this were something I could answer, it would be easier.) He sighed and closed his eyes. --- The next morning, the cobblestones of Lostclare were wet with night dew. The rusted claw-shaped ruins in the city's central plaza—the remains of an ancient structure that gave the city its name—floated vaguely in the morning mist. Every time he came to this city, it caught his eye, but today it seemed to have more presence than usual. Sheryl was already there. She leaned her back against an old stone wall at the edge of the plaza, arms crossed. Her mahogany-colored long waves swayed in the wind, and the sweet scent of fragrant wood mixed with the morning air. Her amber eyes narrowed slightly the moment she saw Leon. "You're late," Sheryl said. "It's still before the appointed time," Leon replied. "I said yesterday that it feels late," Sheryl said. It felt like they'd had the same conversation yesterday. Leon smiled wryly and stood on the opposite side of the wall. Luna appeared a few minutes later. She had her emerald-green long wavy hair loosely tied back and wore a sword at her waist. The silver tattoo-like marking on her left cheek glimmered faintly in the morning light. Her pale purple eyes confirmed both Leon and Sheryl, then she nodded quietly. "Have you decided on a location?" Luna asked. "The scrap yard on the edge of town. No one goes there, and it's spacious," Sheryl said. "...A scrap yard," Luna said. "Don't expect romance. I chose it for practicality," Sheryl said. Luna looked like she wanted to say something but swallowed it. Her fingertips trembled slightly. --- The scrap yard was exactly as Sheryl had said—devoid of any human presence. In the center of a space piled with crumbling wood and the remains of rotted carts, there was a reasonably open area. The ground beneath their feet was a mix of gravel and soil, making a dry crunching sound with each step. Sheryl pulled a small pouch from her bag. The fragrant wood powder used as a catalyst for the sedation barrier—finely crushed ash-white particles leaked slightly from the pouch's opening and scattered in the wind. The sweet smoke-like scent intensified for just a moment. "Let me confirm again," Sheryl said. Sheryl put the pouch away in her waist pouch as she spoke. The usual lightness in her tone was thin, replaced instead by the composure of a practitioner. "I'll set up the barrier. Leon will draw out the mark just a little. Luna will watch the surroundings and stop us if anything happens. We'll try once like this," Sheryl said. "What if you can't maintain control?" Luna asked. "The barrier will hold it. If that's not enough, Luna draws her sword. But it shouldn't come to that... probably," Sheryl said. "The word 'probably' concerns me," Luna said. "It means I can't guarantee one hundred percent. But I'll do my best," Sheryl said. Luna paused for a second, then placed her hand on her sword's hilt. It was her way of consenting. Leon removed the glove from his left hand. The mark stood out clearly beneath the cloudy morning sky. The sacrifice's mark—a spell burned into him at the ancient ruins of "The Silent Sanctuary," drawing forth the power of his prime while shaving away his lifespan with each use. A forbidden technique. The outline seemed even more distinct than yesterday. "How much should I draw out?" Leon asked. "Just a little. In terms of flame, about one matchstick's worth," Sheryl said. "One matchstick's worth," Leon said. "I don't need you to burn something down. I just want to observe the flow of magical power when the mark activates," Sheryl said. Leon took a deep breath and directed his consciousness to the back of his hand. The heat of the mark rose gradually. Like sending a little air into a furnace, he opened the door to power thinly. The pulse strengthened. A sensation of something flowing through the inside of his arm. Hot. But still within his control. In that instant, Sheryl moved. She took the fragrant wood powder on her fingertips and spread it thinly through the air while rolling a short incantation silently in her mouth. The sweet smoke's scent intensified, and something invisible wrapped around Leon. The sedation barrier—a spell that suppressed rampaging magical power from the outside—deployed quietly. Leon pushed his power out a little further. The mark pulsed. The flow thickened. But at the same time, he felt the barrier tighten in response. It was like a tug of war. Power tried to overflow, and the external spell held it back. (This could work.) He maintained it for about ten seconds, then slowly closed the door. The heat receded. The mark's glow faded. Sheryl stopped her incantation. Looking at her hands, she spoke quietly. "The response is more obedient than I thought. It was thrashing during the last battle," Sheryl said. "That was because of your barrier," Leon said. "Maybe. Or perhaps you're getting used to it," Sheryl said. Luna removed her hand from her sword and quietly observed Leon's left hand. "Were you able to maintain control?" Luna asked. "This time, yes. But if I keep drawing it out longer, things change. Combat impulses rise," Leon said. "Combat impulses?" Luna asked. "Reason thins out. My body moves before my judgment. In a bad way," Leon said. Luna nodded. Her fingertips trembled once, then stilled. "You said before that lust also rises," Sheryl said casually. Leon hesitated for a moment before answering. "...Yeah," Leon said. "So how is it now?" Sheryl asked. "At this level, I'm fine," Leon said. "Then let's try drawing out a little more. Just a little, about twice what we did before," Sheryl said. Luna placed her hand on her sword's hilt again. Silent, but a clear indication that she was ready. --- The second attempt was slightly different. When he opened the door twice as wide, the heat suddenly intensified. The flow accelerated. Sheryl's barrier was a moment slow to respond, and something leaked through the gap. The air trembled. A piece of scrap wood floated up gently. "Oh," Sheryl said. The wood piece flew sideways with force, grazing Luna's cheek. Crack. Luna let out a short sound. Leon quickly closed the door. The mark's heat receded all at once. Sheryl stopped her incantation and blinked while looking at Luna. "...Luna, are you okay?" Sheryl asked. "I'm fine," Luna said. Luna placed her fingertips on her reddened cheek and followed the trajectory of the flying wood piece with her gaze. Then she looked at Leon. Her pale purple eyes held pure observation rather than anger. "How much further can you draw it out before control becomes difficult?" Luna asked. "What just happened is close to the limit," Leon said. "I see," Luna said. Sheryl sighed dramatically. "It's rare to meet someone who gets hit in the cheek with a wood piece and just says 'I see,'" Sheryl said. "Complaining won't heal my cheek," Luna said. "...Well, that's true," Sheryl said. Leon picked up his glove and looked at Luna's cheek. It was slightly reddened, but there was no wound. "I'm sorry," Leon said. "You don't need to apologize. This is what practice means," Luna said. Her response was without hesitation. Leon felt something heavy settle in his chest. That lightness wasn't the lightness of resolve. It was the lightness of someone accustomed to swallowing pain. (She's still carrying the weight of past sacrifices.) He'd heard about it once before. Luna losing comrades. She hadn't gone into detail, but watching how she swallowed it today, he could glimpse the depth of that wound. "Let's take a break," Sheryl said. Sheryl closed the pouch as she spoke. She sat down on the remains of an old cart in the corner of the yard, crossing her legs. Her posture alone looked elegant, but the cart was clearly not something that could bear such elegance. It made a dull creaking sound. "You'll fall," Leon said. "I'm fine. I can sense it before it collapses," Sheryl said. "There's only an instant between sensing it and it actually collapsing," Leon said. "Then you'll catch me," Sheryl said. "Catch yourself," Leon said. "You're cold," Sheryl said. Luna quietly sat down on the sandy ground and placed her sword beside her knee. The three of them were silent for a while. The lingering scent of fragrant wood in the scrap yard slowly faded in the morning mist. "How long do you think it will take to control the mark?" Luna asked. She spoke while looking at the ground, in a way that could be directed at anyone. "I don't know. But if we keep practicing like today, the limit will increase," Sheryl said. "Can combat impulses also be suppressed with practice?" Luna asked. "That's... honestly, I don't know. Controlling magical power and controlling impulses might be separate matters," Sheryl said. It was an unusually vague answer for Sheryl. Her amber eyes looked slightly into the distance. Leon put his glove back on his hand and spoke quietly. "If I lose control, will you stop me?" Leon asked. Both of them looked at Leon at the same time. "Of course," Sheryl said. "Naturally," Luna said. They overlapped. The two looked at each other, and there was a brief pause. Sheryl recovered her smile first. Luna quickly returned her gaze to the ground, but her fingertips trembled slightly faster. Leon watched that and confirmed the heaviness in his chest. The sensation of sharing a burden with someone. It had been growing slowly but surely over these past few days. Sheryl's cart creaked once more. "You really will fall," Leon said. "Then catch me," Sheryl said. "Stand up yourself," Leon said. "You're heartless," Sheryl said. Luna's mouth curved up just slightly, barely perceptibly. --- They attempted one more practice session before the three of them left the scrap yard. The third time was more stable than the second. Sheryl's barrier deployment was a step faster, and no wood pieces flew. Drawing out the mark's heat, having the barrier catch it, and pulling back quietly—he felt like he grasped that sequence a little better. Just a little. There was still a long way to go. Walking back toward Lostclare, Leon found himself thinking. During the practice, there was definitely an impulse in the mark's heat. Not an impulse toward battle, but the other kind. (Sheryl and Luna were right in front of me.) Was it the mark's influence? Or was something that had always been within him simply being drawn to the surface by the mark? The question that couldn't be distinguished remained unanswered today as well. Luna's silver tattoo ahead glimmered faintly in the midday light. Behind her, Sheryl laughed and said something. That voice mixed with the lingering scent of fragrant wood and reached Leon's ears. It felt pleasant. Whether that was because of the mark or not—Leon still couldn't tell.