The dawn at the harbor began quietly beneath drifting sea fog. The sails of ships moored in the port of Trevain, the Free Trade City, swayed slowly beneath the whitening sky. A stall somewhere had begun its early morning preparations, and the smell of burning firewood and scorched fish fat drifted from a distance. Kael Brightblade checked the knots on his baggage while recalling the exchange at the harbor the previous day. Mira Shadowstep had recited the route without even drawing a map. Aldric Ironheart had given a small nod at that moment. Something wordless had passed between them. Kael still didn't quite understand what it was. "Let's go," Mira said. Mira moved first. The red mesh woven through her jet-black long hair swayed faintly in the pale morning light. Her golden eyes glanced once into the depths of the alley, then she turned with unwavering steps in the opposite direction from the south gate. The Regency Council—the deliberative body of seven noble houses that had seized real power after the royal line of Grione Kingdom ended—had placed checkpoints at key points along the roads, according to what they'd confirmed at a tavern yesterday. To reach the royal capital of Saint Clairvol from the south, there was no choice but to take a mountain detour that avoided the main roads. That was Mira's judgment, and Aldric had followed it. Kael followed as well. The footsteps of three people fell upon the stone pavement still wet with dew. —— As the elevation increased, the quality of the air changed. The salt scent of the sea disappeared, replaced by the resin of conifers and the smell of damp earth. The mountain path was narrow, winding between cliff and cliff. The vegetation on both sides of the road began to take on a strange appearance as they climbed. Moss was bleaching white on the stones. Grass spikes—despite no wind blowing—were crumbling to powder before they could even be touched. Aldric walked while observing this, his face expressing something between seeing and not seeing. Only once did his hand move to press the sleeve of his left arm. Kael saw this and pretended not to. Ever since seeing the carcass of a cow in the abandoned village of Airun, something heavy sank into his chest each time he thought about the meaning of that gesture. He couldn't ask. He didn't yet have the words. When they reached the rocky outcropping of the cliff, Mira spoke. "Once we enter the rocks, keep your eyes on your feet only. The moss on the cliff-side rocks is slippery. Explanation later," Mira said. Kael nodded. He reached into his baggage to pull out quill and paper. "Hey, just to be safe, I want to write this down—" Kael began. "Your feet," Mira cut him off. The moment Mira spoke without even turning around, her own left foot caught on a rock protrusion. Her center of gravity crumbled smoothly. Mira reached out instinctively, but there was nothing to grasp on the rock face. Her body half-rotated— Aldric's arm was already extended, wordlessly. Mira grasped that arm and steadied herself. It happened in less than a second, a quiet event. "…………" Mira said nothing. Mira released the arm. She swallowed something in her throat, then faced forward. The tips of her ears were slightly red. Kael started to open his mouth. "Just now, the explanation—" he began to say, when Mira's eyes flew at him from the side. Her golden eyes spoke: "Say one more word and you're done for." Kael closed his mouth. Aldric said nothing. Something might have flickered in the old man's eyes—too small to be called a wry smile. The three of them crossed the rocky ground in silence. —— The fog descended onto the narrow path along the cliff about half a watch later. The quality of the fog was different. It wasn't the morning mist flowing from the sea side. It was a white that crawled out from deep within the mountain, possessing a viscous quality. A sensation as though the air itself had grown heavy. A distorted silence that came first—as if time's flow had caught on something—there was no other way to describe it. The flowers on the cliff face changed before their eyes. In mere seconds, the petals withered to brown, the stems dried up, and finally crumbled to powder, sliding down the cliff face. A hundred years of aging happened in a single breath. Moss bleached white and crumbled in succession, the rock surface becoming exposed. "Stop," Mira said, her voice dropping low. "Turn back. Now," Mira commanded. The three of them stopped. Mira was already turning on her heel—at that very moment, the edge of the cliff beneath their feet crumbled. The collapse was instantaneous. Two, three stones from the foothold came loose and fell, their sound echoing from below. Kael lost his balance and instinctively placed his hand against the cliff wall. His right arm was pressed hard against the rock face. It had been a rock face—invisible vines were densely packed there. At first it was just discomfort. The skin of his right arm began to take on a rough sensation. The next moment, it transformed into pain. His skin rapidly desiccated. Wrinkles carved themselves from wrist to elbow. His joints stiffened. His fingers became like those of an old man— "Ah—" Kael cried out. Kael looked at his right arm. A nineteen-year-old's arm was aging before his eyes. The skin color changed, wrinkles deepened, blood vessels protruded, joints— Aldric was already rushing over. The speed of the old man's movement was the same as what they'd seen at the ruined fortress. There was no wasted motion. He pulled Kael's right arm away from the rock wall and positioned his own body to block the cliff side. In that series of movements—the gray pattern beneath the sleeve of Aldric's left arm glowed intensely for just an instant. It was only a moment. Neither of them noticed. Mira moved to check Kael's arm, then stopped her hand. "It won't stop," Mira said, her voice low. The aging continued to progress. Within Mira's knowledge, there was no means to halt this. The three of them were losing what they could do—when a voice echoed from above the cliff. "You there—please don't move," a woman's voice called out. —— The woman who descended from above the cliff was young. Early twenties, wearing a white overcoat with the emblem of the Lunar Temple—a silver clasp modeled after a crescent moon—pinned to her chest. Her pale chestnut hair swayed at her shoulders, unbound, and her grayish-green eyes quickly read the situation. Her baggage was minimal, her equipment designed for mobility. There was no hesitation in her footsteps as she descended the rocky cliff. The Lunar Temple—a religious organization that enshrined Lunashela, the moon goddess, with healing and requiem as its primary roles—why was one of its priests on this mountain path? That question was set aside for now. "I am Elena Moonwhisper. I was dispatched by the Ashiron Knight Monastery—a militant monastic order formed by former kingdom knights after the Void Annihilation War—to investigate the true nature of the Void Vines," Elena said, her voice matter-of-fact yet calm. She knelt immediately upon seeing Kael's arm. "Please show me your right arm," Elena said. Kael extended it. Elena's hands enveloped his arm. Her hands began to emit a faint light. Spiritual essence—the conversion of atmospheric microparticles into life force through the Lunar Temple's standard healing technique. Elena immediately judged that while she couldn't completely reverse the vine's aging, she could halt its progression. The aging stopped. Kael looked at his arm. The wrinkles receded. The desiccated skin gradually regained its original color and elasticity. The stiffness in his joints eased. Most of his arm recovered—except for one point on the back of his wrist. A small, but indelible age spot. A brown stain, roughly one centimeter in diameter. Elena withdrew her hands from Kael's arm. "Only this remains," Elena said quietly. "I cannot restore it completely. This is the limit of what can be done for marks left by the Void Vines," Elena said. Kael stared at that stain for a while. It was not an enemy that could be cut down with a sword—that was what he'd felt when he saw the carcass of the cow in the abandoned village of Airun, and now it was carved into his own flesh. If it were an enemy that could be cut, he could face it head-on. Even if he couldn't win in speed, even if he lost in strength, he could hone his technique and eventually—but this was different. Merely touching it caused aging. It was invisible. Unavoidable. For the first time, a new kind of fear took shape in the heart of a nineteen-year-old swordsman. "Are you alright?" Elena asked. Elena's voice reached Kael's ears. When he looked up, her grayish-green eyes were looking directly at him. Whether she was worried or confirming—or perhaps both—her eyes were quiet. Kael tried to respond, but words wouldn't come. He wanted to express gratitude. He should have been able to say "Thank you," but those four syllables caught in his throat. Elena's eyes were too direct. "You'll be fine now," Elena said. She spoke first, a beat before Kael could. The gentleness in those words left Kael momentarily speechless. That was all. She didn't probe deeper. Just that one moment—and in the not-distant future by a campfire, something would exist because of it. Elena stood and looked around. Her gaze stopped for just a beat on Aldric. Elena didn't voice the reason it stopped. In the lingering aftermath of her healing technique, she had sensed something subsidiary—a sensation that something deeply ancient and utterly unlike the normal flow of life force was filling the old man's body—that still remained in her fingertips. It was something close to certainty, a direct intuition. Elena simply looked into Aldric's deep purple-tinged gray eyes. She knew the old man was aware of her gaze. She asked nothing. The four of them began to retrace their steps through the fog. —— They made camp at the forest's edge as the sun began to set. A small fire burned. Dry wood crackled, its sound echoing low through the quiet forest. The group of four, now with Elena's addition, exchanged almost no words on the descent down the mountain. Each carried something unspoken as they sat around the fire. Kael occasionally looked at the stain on the back of his wrist. Each time he looked, something sank in his chest. He couldn't organize his thoughts. Mira sat on the opposite side of the fire, checking the contents of her baggage. At one moment, her hands stopped. The bottom of Aldric's baggage. That place where the left side was heavy. Mira's fingers pinched the edge of cloth. Slowly, she pulled it out. A cloth bundle emerged. She pulled further, and it revealed itself completely from the bottom of the baggage. She unwrapped the cloth. A single sword was exposed to the firelight. It was old. The leather cord of the hilt was faded, fine scratches etched along the rim of the crossguard. Yet the blade bore not a single spot of rust. No cloudiness. It bore a clear, dignified light that seemed impossible for a sword that had hung on the wall of a blacksmith's shop in a mountain village for twenty years. Mira's golden eyes read the pattern engraved on the blade in an instant. The seal mark of the Kingdom Knights. And one more—the mark of the Kingdom's strongest knight. A title borne by only seventeen people in the past two hundred years. Aldric turned at the disturbance. Their eyes met. Mira held the sword out with both hands toward Aldric and looked at him. It wasn't anger. It wasn't accusation. "You're not just a blacksmith," Mira said quietly, stating a fact. Kael stopped moving. Elena looked up from the fire. A silence enveloped the four of them, falling among the trees. Aldric walked to Mira's side. He took the sword and wrapped it in cloth again. In that motion—unhurried, composed, yet bearing the movement of hands carrying something hea