They had been running ever since leaving Fostalren. When they passed through the northern gate, the sky was still pitch black. A single streetlamp stood lonely in the darkness. Shouts from their pursuers rose behind them. Kael ran alongside Ryla, running and running and running. Only when they entered the rocky mountain path did their feet finally stop. His breath came in ragged gasps, and he pressed his hands to his knees. His throat burned with pain. At the foot of the Verga Mountain Range—the range that divided the continent east and west—there was an abandoned mine. A tunnel dug and abandoned by miners, now used by no one. Ryla knew of it. He didn't ask where she'd learned that knowledge. "[serious]Get inside," Ryla entered first. Kael followed. The tunnel was dark, reeking of soil and rusted iron. Ryla piled dried branches at the entrance to block it. It would be harder to see from outside. It wasn't much, but it was something. Ryla went to scout the surroundings. Kael moved deeper into the tunnel, pressed his back against the wall, and crouched down, hugging his knees. He couldn't move. In his mind, the workshop burned. Over and over. Again and again. The moment Gerda Haul—captain of the Iron Fang Brigade—threw the torch. The moment the flames spread. The moment the furnace fire and the fire merged into one. Five years of prototypes. The furnace borrowed from his master Yorn Garm. The preparation of red iron ore he'd believed could forge the flame blade until yesterday—all of it, everything, was gone. Kieran had been bound. He'd fought Gerda to let them escape, and that's how he was captured. (It's my fault.) Ur's hammer felt heavy. In his pocket, it felt unnaturally heavy. If only he hadn't picked it up that night in the underground of Tireno Ruins—the unmanaged ancient Zolfa ruins northeast of Fostalren. If only he hadn't seen the vision. If only he hadn't felt the calling of the Three Blades of Astra. Everything would have been different. Ryla returned. "No pursuers visible for now. We have some time," Kael didn't respond. "I brought water," He sensed her offering the water bottle. Kael didn't look up. "Should we talk about food? We have dried meat left—" Kael turned his face toward the wall. He could hear her, but he couldn't form words. No matter what was said, there was nowhere inside him to receive anything. It wasn't that his chest was empty—something was crammed in so tightly that everything was shut off. Ryla fell silent. Silence settled over the tunnel for a while. A faint wind sound drifted from outside. Trees swayed. A bird's cry echoed in the distance. Dawn might be near. It didn't matter to Kael. Morning or noon—it was all the same. The workshop was ash. Kieran was captured. Ryla was— (Ryla was, from the start—) His thoughts stopped. Stopped, then started again. The mercenary's voice echoed in his ears. "That's one of Poori's gang, connected to the Iron Fang." Words he'd heard while running. The night by the campfire, the past Ryla had spoken of—being sold twice by her own comrades—now took on a different color. That she'd known the workshop's location. That moment's expression when she'd said the wall's crest looked familiar. It all connected. It all pierced him. Kael pulled Ur's hammer from his pocket. A small black iron hammer. Ancient characters carved into the hilt, indecipherable. If only this didn't exist—thinking that, he gripped it tightly in his hand. He stood up. His knees trembled. But he stood. He raised his arm, pointing Ur's hammer downward. He was about to smash it against the ground—when both hands grabbed his wrist. "[serious]Wait," It was Ryla. Both hands gripping his wrist. The strength was surprising. Unexpectedly strong. "[angry]Let go," "[serious]I won't," "[angry]You were the enemy from the start, weren't you!" The words spilled out. What he'd been holding back crumbled. "[angry]You got close to me as part of the plan! You were really working for the Iron Fang Brigade, reporting our movements! It was all lies!" Ryla slowly released her hands. Kael stepped back. Still gripping the hammer to his chest, he looked at Ryla. Ryla wasn't crying. But the corners of her eyes glistened. Her heterochromatic eyes—gold and violet—looked straight at him. She pressed her lips together tightly once, then turned her back to the wall. She faced forward, looking at the ground. Then she began to speak. Her voice was quiet. The usual lightness was gone. "[sad]I was already in a thief gang when I became aware of the world," Kael said nothing. Couldn't say anything. "Adults whose names and faces I didn't know taught me to steal. I moved to survive. That was all. It's true I was forced to work as a subcontractor for the Iron Fang Brigade. It's true I couldn't escape. But—" Ryla paused for a moment. "[sad]One night, I had a dream. Flame and ice and lightning—the light of three blades. When I woke up, I just had the feeling to go to Fostalren. I didn't know why. But my body moved on its own. Before I knew it, I'd escaped the Iron Fang Brigade and was in Fostalren," Her voice trembled slightly at the end. "[sad]There's no deception in me approaching you. Really. It was the first time I met someone who'd seen the same vision—that's all," Her voice stopped there. Kael looked at the wall. He couldn't look at Ryla's face. He wanted to believe her. He really did. He remembered the night by the campfire. When Ryla had spoken of being sold twice by her own gang, she hadn't looked like someone who'd told that story to anyone before. The touch of her hands when she'd treated his wounds. The warmth when she'd wrapped a piece of her scarf around his right hand. But. (If I believe and get hurt again—) He was afraid of what came after. Ryla herself had said that trusting was a losing game. Now, Kael felt like there was nowhere left inside him to believe in anything. It felt like that place had burned away with the workshop. "……" He couldn't say anything. The tunnel's silence returned. --- Just before dawn, the dried branches piled at the entrance collapsed with a sound. From outside. Ryla moved quickly. She peered through a thin crack in the wall. She was back in less than a second. "[serious]Three of them. Carrying torches. Iron Fang Brigade pursuers," Kael looked up. "[serious]There's another exit deeper in the tunnel. If we split up and draw them out, we can escape," Her voice was low. Emotion stripped away, only judgment remaining. Not the trembling voice from before. The way she'd survived in the thief gang. Kael nodded. Not with words, but with action. "[sad]Kael," His name was called. "[cold]Go," Ryla froze for a moment. She looked at his profile. She started to say something—her mouth opened slightly—but closed it. She ran deeper into the tunnel. Her reddish-purple hair disappeared into the darkness. Kael burst from the entrance. Three torchlight beams turned toward him. "There!" He ran. Up the mountain slope. The ground was rocky, and he nearly fell several times. The mercenaries' footsteps followed behind. He heard their rough breathing. He wove between rocks and boulders. He squeezed into narrow spaces. The footsteps grew distant. He went deeper. Turned, then turned again. Then the footsteps were gone. Kael stopped. He stood wedged between rocks, catching his breath. Only the early morning mountain air surrounded him. Cold. His fingertips were numb. The wind blew. Tree branches rustled. Ryla's presence was nowhere. He was alone. Only Ur's hammer was in his hand. Kael looked up at the sky. The sky was turning white. Clouds drifted. It was dawn. Dawn had come. That was all that was certain. And his stomach growled. A loud, unmistakable rumble. Kael closed his eyes. (……Ryla had the food.) Bad timing. He couldn't even laugh. He couldn't laugh, but his cheek twitched slightly. That was all. --- Gripping Ur's hammer, Kael continued walking across the rocky terrain. He had no destination. He simply walked. His feet moved forward, so he walked. If he stopped, he'd think about everything. He couldn't stop. The cold numbed his fingertips. Hunger made his legs heavy. The morning mountain air was moisture-laden, slowly stealing his body heat. Still, he walked. The workshop's flames burned in his mind. Kieran was bound. Ryla's voice called his name. Everything spun noisily in his head, and walking was the only thing that kept it at a distance. When he neared the ridge, he reached the cliff's edge. His feet stopped. Below, a sea of clouds spread out. White clouds stretched endlessly, swallowing everything beneath the mountain. The direction of Fostalren, the roads below the mountain—all of it was consumed in white, invisible. Only the sea of clouds remained. With each gust of wind, the surface moved slowly. Like waves, Kael thought. He thought it and felt nothing. Everything was gone. The workshop. The proof of his training. His master's furnace. Kieran was in the enemy's hands. He didn't know where Ryla was. He had the least faith in himself—Kael thought that far and realized he was crying. He didn't know when he'd started. His cheeks were wet. He wiped them, but it didn't stop. It didn't stop as he stood at the cliff's edge, looking down at the sea of clouds. He thought it was pathetic to cry while standing at a cliff. He thought it, but he couldn't stop. Then. His pocket grew warm. Slowly. Gently. He placed his hand there. The red iron ore—the ethel-infused mineral he'd collected from the upper Toora River—held faint heat within the cloth. Kael took it out. It glowed orange in his palm. Faintly, but unmistakably. The next moment, Ur's hammer's hilt began to glow. The carved ancient characters shone faintly for an instant. They faded in less than a second. But in that moment— It came back. That night in the underground of Tireno Ruins when he'd first touched Ur's hammer. The light that pierced his body in the darkness. The flame blade, the ice blade, the lightning blade—three blades of light spreading across his vision, something igniting deep in his chest. That moment came back. (I felt it then. Truly.) Not some grand talk of being chosen or having a mission. Just—a small flame had ignited deep in his chest. That sensation was real. It hadn't gone out. Kael wiped his tears with the back of his hand. They came again. He wiped once more. With trembling hands, he gripped Ur's hammer again. "It's not over yet," He spoke the words aloud. In the cliff's wind, his own voice sounded smaller than expected. Fragile. But he'd said it. His master Yorn Garm's voice echoed faintly. ——If you have no furnace, make your own ethel the furnace. Words spoken long ago in the workshop. He'd only half understood them then. But now—without a furnace, without tools, if he had hands to pour in ethel. He had Ur's hammer and the red iron ore. With just those, he might be able to start. He might have to pour in ethel until it burned. He didn't know if he could do it alone. But. Kael turned his back to the sea of clouds. His feet faced forward. He took one step into the rocky terrain. He didn't know where Ryla was. He had no way to get Kieran back. The Iron Fang Brigade was searching somewhere in these mountains. Everything was uncertain. Everything was terrifying. Yet the hammer was in his hand. The red iron ore was in his pocket. He would forge the flame blade alone. That resolve alone, he gripped now.