The stone castle walls came into view on the morning of the third day, beyond the great forest of Morlune. Feryn—a trading city flourishing in the middle reaches of the Tira River. Roughly forty-five kilometers northwest of Hasla village. A town of fifteen thousand souls, the largest in these parts. Flags stood atop the ramparts, and cargo wagons lined up before the gates. At the sight of human presence for the first time in days, Elara felt the tension in her shoulders ease just slightly. For three days, the two of them had spoken almost nothing. The first day, they practiced manipulating mana while walking through the forest. The second day, the old man's memories from the abandoned house wouldn't leave her mind. The third day, they simply walked. Strangely, the silence was not unbearable. Kael walked three paces ahead, and Elara followed. That distance had become natural without her noticing. Suddenly, Elara became aware of her own change. *When did I become so comfortable with someone so taciturn?* Half a month ago in Hasla village, she had felt irritation at Kael's curt responses. Now, she could read the quality of his silence. Whether he was angry, thinking, or simply tired. She could sense the different weight behind his words. It frightened her a little. Kael spoke a word to the guard standing beside the gate and entered. Elara followed. The moment they passed through the stone walls, the smell of paving stones mixed with oil and spices from the marketplace hit her nose. Human voices, the creak of carts, the distant sound of bells. It was her first "city" in a long time. Kael named the inn. "The Raven's Perch"—a place where adventurers and shadow hunters—those who made their living slaying beasts and spirits corrupted by mana—gathered. Two silver coins with meals included. Not a cheap price by local standards, but valuable for its notice board where requests were posted and information gathered. She recalled hearing that requests were posted on the back board as well. As they walked the old quarter's stone streets, a voice called from across the way. "—Elara!?" Elara stopped. Chestnut-colored short bob hair she recognized. A single strand of green mesh woven into her bangs. A leather apron with scorch marks, white scars from smithing work on the backs of her hands. Emerald green eyes wide open. It was Mira. "Mira...!" Before she knew it, the distance between them had closed. Elara reached out first, pulling Mira into an embrace. Mira went rigid for a moment, then hugged back with a small sound. Three months. Since that night, the fact that she was alive was there in the warmth of her arms. Elara's eyes grew a little hot. Neither said anything. There was something to confirm before words. How long they stood like that, she couldn't say. A thick voice cut through from behind. "Well, well, a touching reunion. But if you're going to cry, do it outside—you're blocking the entrance and the other customers will complain," said Belotta, the innkeeper. A woman in her mid-fifties stood solid beside the inn's door. A sturdy build, the bearing of a former mercenary. The innkeeper Belotta. Arms crossed, but her mouth was slightly relaxed. Elara and Mira burst out laughing at the same moment. "Come on, read the room," Mira said. "Silver coins matter more than the room," Belotta replied. Kael passed through the door without a word. Watching his back, Mira asked Elara quietly, "Who's that?" When Elara answered, "A shadow hunter. My traveling companion for now," Mira looked at Kael's back for just a moment and said, "...I see." The tone of her voice—Elara couldn't quite read what it meant. ◇ They took seats in the inn's dining hall, and a drink came out—drier in taste than the herbal wine from the Wheat Ear tavern. What Mira told them was not simple. The damage to Hasla village had been severe. Thirty percent of the buildings destroyed, twelve dead. Most of the survivors had scattered to neighboring villages. Mira had been taking day work with a blacksmith in Feryn, and in her spare time, she'd been slowly crafting farming tools and short swords for the village's reconstruction. No one had asked her to. "For when the village can return someday," Mira said, her tone blunt, eyes averted. Her local accent was a bit stronger. The way she spoke hid embarrassment. Hearing this, Elara felt something strange in her chest—painful and warm at once. *Mira has been waiting all this time.* As she spoke, Elara noticed Mira's gaze drawn to the sword at Kael's waist. Subtle, but with a craftsman's eye. The sword Kael wore—Frostbite—was a double-edged straight blade with fine scratches running across its surface. Worn by years of real combat, yet the grip bore the habits of its wielder worn into the handle. A tool that had become an extension of his body through long use as a shadow hunter. Mira's eyes observed the blade's outline visible at the scabbard's mouth and the overall wear pattern. Kael seemed to notice. Without a word, he drew Frostbite from its sheath and laid it horizontally on the table. Mira reached for it. Her fingertips stopped just short of the blade, confirming with her eyes alone. "May I touch it?" Mira asked. "Go ahead," Kael replied. Mira took the blade in her hands, examining each scratch against the light. Her mouth set firm, her emerald eyes narrowing. After a while, she looked up. "I can fix it. I won't erase the scars' history, but I can restore the strength. Lend it to me for one night," Mira said. Kael paused for a moment. Elara considered what that pause meant. Frostbite was a sword passed down from Kael's mentor. The act of entrusting it to someone was rare for this man, she somehow understood. "Please," Kael said. Just two words. Mira took the sword. In that moment, pure craftsman's satisfaction crossed Mira's face—for just an instant. But in that same moment, something withdrew inward, as if Mira had noticed Elara reading Kael's expression. Elara still didn't understand what that withdrawal meant. ◇ At dusk, after Mira headed to the smithy, Elara and Kael stepped out onto the inn's outer corridor. The Tira River was visible. The autumn sunset painted the water surface orange and gold. Small boats moored at the riverbank swayed in the gentle current. Beyond the castle walls, the market's bustle echoed distantly. In the forest, the two of them had always been one behind the other. Kael in front, Elara behind. For the first time now, they stood side by side. Elara noticed this change while looking down at the stone beneath her feet. "...It's bright. Cities, I mean," Elara said. It was meant as a murmur to herself. Kael replied briefly. "My eyes have adjusted to the forest's darkness," he said. That was all. But the way he answered was different from the three days of silence. Not the near-absence of response from the forest, but a warmth that said he had truly been listening. Something without a name was born in the depths of Elara's chest. *I don't need to name it. Not yet.* The sunset dissolved into the river's surface. The two stood side by side, watching it for a while. ◇ The next morning. Kael had left the inn at first light. When Elara came down to the dining hall, he was already gone. Belotta gestured with her chin toward the back. A small notice board stood behind the inn. Among several posted requests, Kael stood waiting. Beside him sat a man in his sixties. A once-sturdy frame now slack, the worn mark of an old sword at his hip, deep wrinkles around his eyes—a former mercenary, or perhaps an information broker. As Elara approached, she heard their conversation. Blight beasts—savage mutations that had lost normal animal behavior after being corrupted by mana—had been sighted with increasing frequency over the past month in the southeast, toward Morlune. The pack's movements showed no scatter, as if they were being driven by something, moving with deliberate regularity. And—the ruined fortress "Ashen Spire"—once built as a border watchtower for Duke Voldern's house, now a place no one approached—suspicious figures had been spotted near it. The old mercenary spoke a name. Kael's hand stopped. He held his cup motionless. One second, two seconds. In that span, something—all emotion—was stripped from Kael's expression. Not blank. Something whiter than blank. The stillness that appears on the outside of a human whose insides are moving violently. The old mercenary asked, "A name you know?" "A name I know," Kael said, low and brief. He said nothing more. Even after the old mercenary took his silver coins and left, Kael stared at his cup for a while. Elara took a step forward. "Kael," she said. "You heard," he replied. "Some of it. ...What does it mean that you know that name?" Elara asked. Kael didn't answer. The silence wasn't rejection. Elara already knew that. It was the silence of a human whose insides are moving violently, whose words can't keep pace. The night when the old man's fingertips had turned gray, the coldness she'd felt through his clothes—this man had something deeply carved into him, and it was moving now. Kael tried to stand. Elara reached out impulsively. She grabbed his sleeve. Both of them froze. Elara was surprised at herself. She didn't know why she'd done it. There was only the sense that she couldn't let him go—not logic. Kael turned slowly. Deep blue eyes looked down at her directly. Under the weight of that gaze, Elara's fingers opened. Her hand slipped from his sleeve. Neither said anything. Kael's expression was unreadable. But the air between them in those few seconds was the heaviest of the day. Something pulsed in her chest. Elara noticed her face was a little warm and unconsciously wrapped her right hand with her left. Kael looked away first. ◇ At dusk, Mira returned with Frostbite. The sword placed on the dining hall table was different the moment it was drawn. The scars hadn't disappeared. Each one remained, etched as a memory of battle, but the blade's fundamental strength had been restored. The sword's outline looked sharper than yesterday. "I kept all the scars. It felt wrong to erase them," Mira said. Kael held the blade to the light and looked at it for a while. "...You see well," he said. It was a short comment. But it was the first time Elara had heard Kael praise someone's work with words. Pure joy flashed across Mira's face—and in the next moment, Mira's eyes turned to Elara. Noticing that Elara was looking at Kael's profile, something descended into the depths of Mira's expression. Not quite a shadow, something more complex. Elara pretended not to notice. At the evening meal, Elara brought up the southeast. The Ashen Spire, the blight beast traces, the cult's presence. Kael listened silently. Mira set down her cup. "I'm coming too," she said. Elara was about to say it was dangerous. Kael spoke first. "We depart southeast the day after tomorrow," he said. It was neither a response to Mira's will nor a rejection. Simply a fact, placed like a stone. Elara took it as a postponement. Mira's expression was unreadable. ◇ The night grew late. As Elara tried to return to her room, Mira stopped her in the corridor. "Just for a moment," Mira said. They went out to the alley behind the inn. There were no stars in the sky. Clouds hung thick, and the orange glow of Feryn's mana lamps—street lights fueled by mana crystals harvested from the Seam of Sighs—seeped weakly onto the alley's stone pavement. Mira was silent for a while. Her usual blunt tone was gone. "That person looks at you differently," Mira said. Elara didn't answer. "I know it's not like... romance or anything. But—" Mira cut herself off. Her emerald eyes fell to the alley's stones. "You can use magic, and I only have smithing. That's fine. It's always been that way. But somewhere along the way, the place beside you changed," Mira said. After finishing, Mira seemed to