Atop a small hill that overlooked the recovering fields of Verna stood an old tree.
Its roots were deep, its branches wide, and its shade comforting even under the harsh summer sun. It was a tree that had watched seasons pass, wars begin, and children grow.
And beneath that tree—
Sat a young boy and a young girl.
The boy was Henry.
Not the Henry of now—the baron burdened with responsibilities and sleepless nights.
But Henry as he once was.
A boy with messy hair, dirt on his hands, and dreams far simpler than kingdoms and war.
Beside him sat a girl in a beautiful white dress.
She looked almost unreal, like someone painted into the memory rather than truly living in it. The wind moved gently through her hair, and though Henry could hear her voice clearly…
He could not see her face.
It remained hidden, blurred by the strange mist of dreams.
She laughed softly.
"My father arranged an etiquette class for me again."
Her voice was warm.
"I don't want to go though."
Young Henry tilted his head.
"Then don't."
She smiled.
"If I don't go, everyone gets angry."
"Then let them."
She laughed again.
"I like living like this," she said quietly.
A pause.
"With you."
The wind moved.
The fields below swayed like waves.
And just as Henry tried to look at her face—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The dream shattered.
Henry woke abruptly to the loud knocking at his door.
Morning sunlight cut through the window.
Reality returned.
He sat there for a moment, breathing slowly.
That dream.
It wasn't new.
But it had become clearer.
It was not some random vision.
It was memory.
A memory from before he was lost.
He rubbed his eyes and stood.
Outside, Verna had changed.
The once dying city now breathed again.
People filled the streets. Merchants argued over prices. Children ran between houses that no longer looked ready to collapse. The repaired roads carried carts full of grain and supplies.
The city was alive.
Five months had passed since Henry returned.
Five months of endless work.
And now—
Verna had begun to resemble the city it once was.
Perhaps even better.
As he stepped outside, Nabu was already waiting.
Perfectly dressed.
Perfectly awake.
Perfectly annoying.
"Has it already been five months, Nabu?" Henry asked.
Nabu adjusted his monocle.
"Yes, my lord. Your efforts have brought this place together rather impressively."
Henry gave a tired smile.
"I still feel like I'm losing every day."
"That," Nabu replied, "is the natural state of all good administrators."
They walked toward the villa.
The once ruined Baron's residence had now become the center of Verna's restoration. It still lacked luxury, but it no longer looked like a corpse.
Instead, it looked like work.
Too much work.
As Henry entered his office, he stopped.
There were papers everywhere.
On the desk.
On the chairs.
On shelves.
Even stacked on the floor, leaving only a narrow path to walk through.
It looked less like an office and more like paperwork had declared war.
Nabu stepped in behind him.
"Shall we begin, my lord?"
Henry stared at the mountain of documents.
Then sighed the sigh of a man who regretted becoming important.
"Huuuh…"
Like every other day—
He worked.
Reports.
Trade agreements.
Farming records.
Border warnings.
Tax revisions.
Requests for repairs.
Complaints from merchants.
Complaints from farmers.
Complaints from people who simply enjoyed complaining.
From morning to night.
And by the time Nabu finally said—
"Let us end here for today, my lord."
Henry looked like a man who had survived battle.
He left immediately for his parents' house.
There, unlike the villa—
There was peace.
And warmth.
His mother welcomed him with dinner already prepared.
The smell alone made the entire day feel worth surviving.
As he ate, his mind kept drifting back to the dream.
The girl.
The white dress.
The voice.
His silence was unusual enough for his mother to notice.
She placed another serving beside him and asked gently,
"What's on your mind?"
Henry hesitated.
Then slowly spoke.
"I had that dream again."
Both his parents looked at him.
"The one with the girl?"
He nodded.
"And… the dagger."
His father frowned slightly.
"The dagger too?"
Henry nodded again.
The room became quiet.
Then his mother spoke softly.
"That voice… it might be Juliene."
Henry looked up.
"Juliene?"
His parents exchanged a glance.
Then—
For the first time—
They told him properly about his childhood.
Henry had been an energetic child.
Too energetic.
He climbed where he should not climb, ran where he should not run, and asked questions nobody had the patience to answer.
He spent most of his days playing with the neighboring children, usually returning home dirty and somehow proud of it.
One day, while running through the streets like a small disaster, he crashed directly into a little girl.
She fell.
And immediately began crying loudly enough to summon judgment from heaven itself.
Young Henry panicked.
He tried apologizing.
It failed.
He tried explaining.
It failed worse.
Finally, desperate, he offered her the only sweet candy he had bought with his saved coins.
She accepted.
Peace was restored.
That little girl was Juliene.
After that day, she came almost every day.
At first for the candy.
Later for Henry.
They played together constantly.
As they grew older, they became inseparable.
Henry learned some merchant skills from his father, but his true interest was farming. He preferred fields over shops, soil over silver.
His mother taught him much of what she knew.
Juliene, meanwhile, was very different.
She was clever, stubborn, and far too refined for someone who kept following Henry into muddy fields.
Yet she did.
Always.
Then—
The demonic encroachment began.
Verna changed.
Fields failed.
People starved.
And the Baron refused to help.
When the people begged for support and received only silence, Henry stood with them.
Alongside his father.
Alongside his friends.
They protested.
They demanded aid.
And for that—
Knights were sent.
The suppression was brutal.
Henry was among those injured the worst.
Not because he was strongest.
But because he kept trying to protect others.
He was bedridden for days.
When he finally woke after ten days—
Juliene was there.
Sitting beside him.
She had stayed.
She helped him recover.
She brought medicine.
Food.
Silence when needed.
And then—
She apologized.
"For my father."
Henry stopped eating.
He looked up sharply.
"Wait."
His voice was low.
"What do you mean… apologizing for her father?"
His father sighed.
Because Juliene was not just Juliene.
She was Juliene Vicara.
The second child of the Baron of Verna.
The daughter of the very man who abandoned the people.
Henry sat there in stunned silence.
The girl beneath the tree.
The girl in white.
The girl in the dream.
The Baron's daughter.
When the Baron finally fled Verna, Juliene tried to stay.
She wanted to help.
She wanted to remain with the people.
But her father dragged her away by force.
Around that same time, the commander had formed the vanguard expedition against the demonic threat.
Henry joined.
Not for glory.
Not for duty.
But to protect his family.
And the people he loved.
Then came the report.
The vanguard had fallen.
Henry was presumed dead.
His parents had been devastated.
His father hired adventurers to search for him.
Many.
All returned empty-handed.
There was no body.
No remains.
Only disappearance.
And because of that—
They never gave up hope.
His mother finished speaking with tears in her eyes.
His father quietly comforted her.
Henry sat there silently.
Then he asked—
"What about Juliene?"
His father shook his head.
"We only know that she was taken with her father."
His mother added quietly,
"Later, we heard the Vicara family was captured. After that… nothing."
No further news.
No certainty.
Only absence.
Henry stood slowly.
"I see."
He forced a small smile.
"Take some rest, Mom. Dad."
He left the house quietly.
Outside, the night air felt colder.
Nabu stood nearby, waiting like he always somehow did.
"Shall I look into this, my lord?"
Henry stood silent for a while.
Then shook his head.
"No."
"We have too many things already."
A pause.
"And the Vicara family was sentenced for their betrayal."
His voice grew quieter.
"I don't want to hear some tragic ending."
He exhaled.
"Let's leave it there."
Nabu did not argue.
Far away—
In a dark church hidden from the world—
A different conversation was taking place.
A woman stood before a man cloaked in shadow.
Candles burned low.
The air felt heavy.
The man spoke.
"Have you received your new identity?"
"Yes."
"Do you know who your target is?"
A pause.
Then—
"Yes."
"Good."
Silence.
"You may leave."
The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind her.
The man remained in darkness.
Watching.
Waiting.
Then he whispered to the empty hall—
"The day is nearing."