The Flame Sword was complete. The blade wavered. Red, hot, as if alive. The hand gripping the hilt felt no strange excess weight. Yet power drained from his entire body—his ether-depleted frame was already signaling its limit. That was the moment. The light enveloping the rocky outcrop exploded outward. From Kael's body—or more precisely, seeping from the Flame Sword—a torrent of ether erupted. Not orange. A whiter, hotter light. The rock surface blazed bright, the torch flames fading to nothing beneath a radiance that swallowed the entire outcrop. The mercenaries shielded their faces. Arms raised to guard their eyes, they stumbled backward. Several tripped on rocks beneath their feet. Heat lashed their skin, and cries like screams rose up. Only one person didn't move. Gerda Haul. A black eyepatch over her right eye. Leather armor studded with iron rivets. Short-cropped black hair swayed in the light. The thirty-eight-year-old female mercenary stood bathed in the ether torrent, taking only one step back—and stopped there. Her single eye stared straight at Kael. "[cold]What can a mere apprentice brat do with a single sword?" Her voice was low and quiet. Not a shout. Not a scream. That made her words all the heavier. The next instant, Gerda kicked off the ground. Fast. Impossibly fast. Her footwork betrayed no weight from the leather armor as she drove upward from the rocky earth. Her drawn sword flashed with light. The distance vanished in an instant. Kael's eyes couldn't track the movement— His hand moved. He didn't think. The Flame Sword wavered ahead of his will. The blade's fire swelled large, flickering in response to his motion. Power surged through his entire body. The searing pain of ether burn vanished for a moment. Kael swung the Flame Sword from right to left—one brilliant arc. THUD. A heavy sound echoed across the rocks. A wall of flame spread in a fan, batting Gerda's sword away from the side. The blade skidded across stone, scattering sparks. The shockwave caught five nearby mercenaries and knocked them down. Silence. Gerda bent to retrieve her knocked-away sword. But her footing wavered. The cuff of her leather armor was scorched. For the first time, something "unreadable" flickered in her single eye. Kael felt his knees trembling but didn't lower his blade. His hands shook. Exhilaration and fear mixed together until he couldn't tell them apart. But he stood. He kept standing. --- Then, heavy footsteps echoed from the south of the outcrop. Staggering forward, but advancing. His right cheek swollen, blood seeping through his leather armor. A thin scar above his left eye caught the light of the Flame Sword. It was Kieran. His short hair, streaked with silver, was disheveled. The gray eyes that should have been sharp and calm now held the redness of exhaustion. Yet his spine remained perfectly straight. He drew his sword from its sheath and stood before Gerda. "[serious]Made you wait, boy." His voice was calm. "Your companion's arrived." A beat later, stones tumbled on the north side of the outcrop. After two mercenaries shouted "Not that way!" dull sounds followed. Ryla—her long red-purple hair swaying in the outcrop's wind—slipped in from behind the mercenaries. Gold and violet heterochromatic eyes gleamed in the darkness. She sealed one mercenary's arms with body techniques and positioned herself to block the exit. The mercenaries realized their retreat was cut off and stirred uneasily. Three people surrounded Gerda. Kieran stood before her with his sword raised, blood-soaked. Gerda attempted another charge. Blade met blade with a sharp ring across the rocks. Kieran's swordsmanship hadn't dulled. His output was reduced by injury, but they were evenly matched in the bind. In that opening, Ryla leaped down from the rocks. She neutralized three mercenaries with flowing body techniques—movements honed during her thief gang days. The remaining mercenaries moved toward Ryla—at that instant. "[serious]Fall back!" Kael swung the Flame Sword downward toward the ground. WHOOOOSH!!! A wave of flame raced across the earth. The ground beneath the mercenaries erupted. Blown-back soldiers crashed into rocks, one by one dropping their weapons. Their will to fight crumbled audibly. Kieran and Gerda's bind continued. But Gerda's arm—had reached its limit. Her body, bathed in the ether torrent, hadn't fully recovered. She was pushed back one step. Then another. Her sword fell to the ground. Gerda dropped to one knee. Disbelief flickered in her single eye. Her teeth clenched. "Impossible..." came a trembling voice. "Just an apprentice brat...!" Kael thrust the Flame Sword before Gerda. His gaze wasn't cold. Not angry. Simply quiet. "[serious]It's over. Go." That was all he said. After a long silence, Gerda glanced at her mercenaries. Those who'd dropped weapons. Those who'd lost their will to fight. Her single eye swept the outcrop once—then she slowly rose. Her cheeks twitched with humiliation. But she retreated. As she descended the rocks, she turned back once. "[cold]The Tornia Conclave won't forgive you. Next time, something far more terrible will come." She spat the words and vanished with her mercenaries. Silence returned to the outcrop. Only the Flame Sword's light wavered gently. --- Kael sheathed the Flame Sword. His knees wouldn't stop shaking. His ether-depleted body was now demanding its limit. But his gaze turned elsewhere first. Ryla stood at the outcrop's edge, watching him. She'd only half-released her combat stance from when she'd been restraining the mercenaries. Her gold and violet heterochromatic eyes looked straight at Kael. Waiting for something, silent. Kael walked. His feet unsteady. Still, he moved forward. He reached Ryla and stopped—searching for words. "In the abandoned mine... I decided you were lying." His voice came out smaller than expected. "I hurt you. I'm sorry." He bowed his head. Ryla didn't answer. Her lips pressed tight, eyes downcast. The outcrop's wind swayed her red-purple hair. One second passed. Two seconds passed. Kael couldn't lift his face. Then—one tear fell from Ryla's eye. "[crying]Idiot." With just that word, Ryla pressed her forehead against Kael's chest. Kael froze. One second. Two. Three—awkwardly, he placed both hands on her shoulders. In that moment, he felt something quicken in his chest. Thump-thump, intense. His ether-depleted body shouldn't have had such strength left. Ryla's warmth transmitted from his shoulders. The profile she'd shown when she said "go" in the abandoned mine returned to him. The trembling voice by the campfire that night. The touch of her hands tying the scarf. All of it was here now, in this distance. (Why now, of all times...) Kael thought internally. But he couldn't let go. Ryla spoke without lifting her face. Her voice was nasal. "[sad]If you doubt me again, I won't forgive you." "[gentle]I understand." He answered briefly. That was enough. Ryla still didn't lift her face. Somehow Kael understood—Ryla also couldn't lift hers for the same reason right now. So neither spoke. Neither put it into words. But that silence confirmed something. "...I hate to dampen such a touching moment," Kieran, sitting on a distant rock, spoke in a hoarse voice. "[sarcastic]but when exactly will someone tend to my wounds?" Ryla sprang back from Kael's chest with sudden force. "Wait! You were just watching this whole time?!" "[laughing]I merely hoped you'd consider priorities." Kael smiled wryly. Smiling made things feel a little lighter. --- Ryla began first aid on Kieran's wounds. She peeled back part of his leather armor and pressed clean cloth to the injury. Kieran occasionally said "you don't need to press so hard there," and Ryla replied "be quiet and hold still." Kael listened to their exchange from beside them. The air of the outcrop had changed. A different kind of stillness from the tension before battle. Kieran, pressing the cloth, looked up. "[serious]I have one report." By the tone of his voice, Kael naturally straightened his posture. "Right after the Flame Sword's completion—a message arrived via magical communication. An ancient ruin near the border with Levynor Kingdom has collapsed." Magical communication—a fusion technology using ether crystals for written messages, connecting information between cities. Kael would later understand that Kieran had received this during torture. "It collapsed with tremors. The ether currents were greatly disturbed by the completion of a single blade. One ancient seal has weakened." Ryla's hands stopped. Kieran continued. Quietly, but with heavy words. "[serious]This is the first stage of the Void's Echo seal collapse." The Void's Echo. The "ancient evil" sealed by the ancient empire Zolfa—its true nature, whether it even possessed will, was contradicted across old texts. Only traces of seals remained in ruins across the land, from that something. Kieran's expression grew stern. "[cold]It's begun." He spoke low. The words fell into the outcrop and vanished. Kael stared at the Flame Sword. The blade's fire wavering gently. With each blade completed, the world moved—he'd known this intellectually. But now, the reality of a distant ruin collapsing carved that meaning into his body for the first time. "[serious]Two remain. Ice and Lightning." Kieran continued. "With each completion, the seal weakens further. Still—will you continue?" Kael looked up at the sky. The mountain sky was beginning to shift toward dawn colors. Clouds spread thinly, their edges stained orange. Fostalren was distant, the workshop ash no longer visible from here. The flame in Master Yorn's forge either. Five years of training, gone. Still. "[serious]I will." He answered briefly. It wasn't that he had no doubts. It wasn't that he wasn't afraid. But that small flame in his chest—the one first lit in the depths of the Tileno ruin—still burned. It was still there. Ryla, tending Kieran's wounds, glanced sideways at Kael's profile. The expression of someone who'd said "I will" was completely different from the boy who'd wept with muddy knees in the Fostalren workshop. Ryla noticed, and her eyes narrowed for just a moment. Then her gaze returned to her work. "[serious]Then let's hurry. With Gerda retreated, we have time before the next move comes." The three rose. They decided to depart in search of materials for the ice blade. --- As they descended the outcrop, Kael reached into his pocket by habit. He withdrew Ul's Hammer—the black-iron small hammer he'd found in the Zolfa ruin—and confirmed it in his palm. The ancient characters carved into the hilt. Something felt different from before the Flame Sword's completion. The arrangement of characters—seemed somehow shifted. He couldn't tell what had changed. He stared hard, but no answer came, so he returned it to his pocket. It might have been his imagination. He decided it was. —Kael still hadn't noticed that one character had vanished. Meanwhile, at the edge of Fostalren. One man stood alone among the burned workshop ruins. Before the ash-covered forge. Master Yorn Galm—a veteran blacksmith of fifty-five years who'd taken Kael as a live-in apprentice—gazed toward the Verga Mountains. The lingering light from when the Flame Sword completed still remained at the sky's edge. His expression was complex. Not joyful, not sorrowful. As if he knew something and yet silently sent them off—that kind of face. What Yorn knew, the answer wasn't here. Only the aged blacksmith stood in the ash, gazing into the distance. --- Some time after they began walking the mountain path. Ryla bumped her shoulder against his. "[sarcastic]If you're late again, I'm leaving you behind." She said it and faced forward. Kael considered the meaning of those words for a moment. Leaving him behind—yet it was Ryla who'd returned from