Álva had been turning over his promise with Liese in his mind ever since that night. Would he accompany her to the abandoned workshop tomorrow morning? He'd parted ways without giving an answer. But his body had already made the choice. When he'd risen from his bed at the Ash Furnace Tavern before dawn, there was no hesitation left. The problem was that the lingering resonance of last night's incantation still clung to the back of his ears. That fragment——not the structure of a command, but the structure of a rewrite. The sensation of the mirror of words cutting through the sky at the boundary between dream and reality. The sensation of meaning patterns slipping through the gaps in his fingers. It wasn't enough. Something was still missing. When he reached the edge of the village, the sky was still a deep gray. In the thin darkness just before dawn, ash-silver particles dissolved into the air, scattering a faintly smoldering light. This was always how mornings were in Greyghost——the sun could be rising or setting, the color was ambiguous enough that you couldn't tell. Liese was already waiting. She stood in front of the abandoned workshop's entrance, not even looking in Álva's direction. She held the hem of her coat with one hand while gazing up at the sky. Her silver hair swayed in the wind. "You're late," She said it without turning around. "It's still before dawn," "That's late," With only that, she pushed open the workshop door. --- As Álva stepped inside, his eyes widened slightly. The exterior was just a ruin——half the roof had collapsed, cracks running down the walls. It had apparently been used as a refinery for ash-silver long ago; the blackened remains of a furnace still sat in a far corner. But one section of the floor was distinctly different from the rest. A single work table. Wooden boxes stacked upon each other, with notebooks covered in writing arranged on top. Small medicine bottles lined up in order, containers filled with gray powder sitting with their lids sealed. Ash-silver samples, he guessed. Small fragments of quartz ore lay scattered on a wooden plate. A magic lamp——an auxiliary device managed by the Language Institute that emitted light without incantation——hung from the ceiling, casting a pale blue glow. The fact that it had taken months to set up meant Liese had been hiding in this village for that entire time. Álva approached the work table. His eyes caught on the characters written on the notebook's cover. He tried to read them, and in that instant—— *Pat.* Liese's hand came down on the notebook, closing it quietly. "I'll explain in order," There was no emotion in her voice. Rather than rejection, it was the kind of flatness a teacher uses before a lesson begins, saying "don't do anything unnecessary." Álva took a step back. Just then, a thin shaft of morning light pierced through the large hole in the roof, spotlighting only the top of Álva's head. Just there. Dramatically. "There," Liese said it matter-of-factly. "Where the rainwater drips," As she finished speaking, morning dew that had accumulated on the edge of the roof hole fell in a single drop onto the top of Álva's head. It was cold. （...Why this timing...） Álva shifted a step to the side with a dissatisfied expression. Liese continued without changing her expression. "Are you able to concentrate and listen now?" --- What Liese began to explain was the basic structure of alchemical incantation——the Ash Furnace Covenant, that is, the forbidden technique developed by the secret society established by Dugan Vernacke, a linguist expelled from the Royal Language Institute approximately eighty years ago. "Normal incantations issue commands to phenomena. 'Fire, burn'——they take the form of words that move phenomena," The standard incantation system of Old Laren. The official magic framework that the Laren Kingdom had managed as the foundation of the state since its founding roughly six hundred years ago. The adventurer certification exam tested competency in operating skills based on this system. "Alchemical incantation is different. It transforms the concept itself," Liese spoke while rolling a fragment of ash-silver on the wooden plate with her fingertip. The silver-gray stone that glowed faintly was an essential catalyst mineral for alchemical incantation. It was produced only in the areas around Greyghost and had the property of drastically reducing the success rate of standard incantations. "It transforms the very concept of 'burning.' It rewrites the roots of a word's meaning and overwrites the target's world perception," "...So that's the mechanism of the ash-blight, then?" "Correct. A toxin has been attached to the concept of 'the act of speaking words.' It's designed so that the toxin activates within the body each time a villager speaks," Álva recalled the silence of the villagers he'd observed yesterday. They didn't greet each other. They didn't raise their voices in anger. Even when a child fell, the parent would rush over but wouldn't call out. It wasn't exclusivity or superstition——it was adaptation for survival. In a world where words became poison, people erased words from themselves. （So that's the design...） Álva thought it was precise. Cruelly, precisely so. Liese opened the notebook and placed an ash-silver sample in the center of the work table. Preparation for an experiment. "We'll verify whether the mirror of words can respond to resonance. Starting with the smallest units," The method was to reproduce the resonance of the minimum unit of alchemical incantation within the workshop using ash-silver as a catalyst. Álva would repeatedly iterate that fragment with the mirror of words, grasping the pattern of meaning. If they could get that far, it might become a thread leading to reversal. The theory was clear. The problem was execution. Álva concentrated, listening for the presence of resonance. As the ash-silver activated, a thin fluctuation was born in the air. The same kind of "something" he'd felt last night——not the phonemic structure of standard incantation, but something like the pressure of meaning attempting to rewrite concepts. He repeated the contour in his mouth. Searching for form. Grasping the pattern of meaning—— It slipped. "Not close," Liese scored him without expression. Once more. This time changing the pitch. It slipped again. "Not close," Same volume, same temperature. Third attempt. Álva raised his level of concentration. He recalled the intuition he'd felt last night, the sensation of the structure not as command but as rewrite. Near that sensation, something was—— Again, the pitch was subtly off. "Not close," "...That one should have been closer," "It's like trying to recreate a dish using only pork bones," She countered immediately. （...Pork bones...） He searched for words to respond. When it came to manipulating language, he'd thought at least his experience ran deeper. But Liese's metaphor was too precise, leaving no room for rebuttal. The skeleton is there, but the meat is missing——that's what she meant. While Álva was searching for his next words, Liese had already begun preparing for the next experiment. --- After several more failures, Álva spoke after a brief pause. "...When this skill received the lowest evaluation on the certification exam," Liese's hands stopped. Her gaze remained on the notebook. "I perfectly reproduced the examiner's incantation. Same intensity, same range, same form. But the evaluation was a failure. 'No originality,' they said. 'You can't start anything on your own,'" It was true. The certification exam——the adventurer qualification review conducted at the White Tower Hall in Brügen——had the examinee demonstrate their skill in response to the examiner's incantation. Álva's skill, <<Mirror of Words (Wortsspiegel)>>, was the ability to perfectly duplicate another's incantation. But to the examiner, it had looked like "parroting." "But last night, I felt it for the first time. Not the structure of a command, but the structure of a rewrite. When I heard the resonance of alchemical incantation——the mirror of words responded differently," As he spoke, he felt as though he was verbalizing something for the first time. The intuition that had been vague until now was becoming words. Liese's eyes changed. Not the eyes of an emotionless teacher——but eyes that were confirming something, she quickly opened the notebook and began searching for something. Her page-turning was rapid. （...Did I hit something...） Álva observed. Liese found something and stopped at a certain section of the notebook. The change in her expression was subtle, but it was there. --- As the experiments continued, Liese cited her father's research theory to explain the deep structure of alchemical incantation. "Conceptual penetration divides into three layers——surface meaning, intermediate structure, deep foundation. Only when the foundation layer is reached does the rewriting of the concept complete. This analysis is...," She stopped mid-sentence. Álva looked at her. Liese had realized what she'd said, and her mouth closed. Words praising the precision of that theory had nearly escaped her lips——and Liese herself had swallowed them. Silence fell. （...So that's it...） Álva read the weight of that silence with a mirror-of-words kind of perception. Beneath the hatred, there was something that hadn't faded. She couldn't deny her father's intellect as a researcher——couldn't deny it. Perhaps she hated herself for being unable to deny it. He didn't point it out. He chose to wait. After a moment, Liese spoke quietly. "The last memory I have of seeing my father, twelve years ago...was his back in the research room, copying fragments of the original language," The original language——Ursprache——was said to be the root language that described the laws of the world, and the Ash Furnace Covenant aimed to decipher it. Liese didn't continue beyond that. Álva said nothing either. The memory of being told at his exam that he was "just repeating words" surfaced quietly. The form of his skill was complete. But it lacked originality. He couldn't start anything on his own. That's what they'd said. ——He thought it shared a structure with the pain of Liese's inability to deny her father's intellect. Where love inverts, hatred is born. Talent you don't want to acknowledge, yet acknowledge anyway. Then——Álva leaned forward slightly to check the notebook where Liese was scribbling. It was closer than he'd expected. A strand of Liese's silver hair brushed softly against his cheek. The motion stopped for an instant. （...What...） A faint scent like flowers brushed his nose. Medicinal herbs, perhaps, or soap, or maybe ash-silver powder mixed in——he couldn't tell. But something that had definitely brushed his nose created a small leaping sensation deep in his chest. Liese continued writing as though nothing had happened. Only the speed of her pen had increased slightly. Álva caught that from the corner of his eye. Neither of them mentioned it. --- Liese stood up and turned toward the workshop entrance. "We'll ask the villagers for cooperation," She called over a nearby villager——he didn't catch the name——and they decided to attempt a small-scale reversal experiment using the ash-blight pattern on his arm. He was a man with a dark gray pattern running down his right forearm. He apparently knew Mildar, the tavern keeper, and when Liese explained, he nodded. For the villagers, if there was a possibility that something might change——that alone was reason enough. The method was this: Liese would read aloud the structure of the alchemical incantation, and Álva would reverse the pattern of meaning with the mirror of words. The first attempt failed. Álva couldn't quite grasp the pattern and swung empty. "Not close," The same evaluation again. The second attempt