Nina's eyes snapped open.
The sun had risen. A few unfamiliar faces peered down at her. These weren't the hardened masks of raiders or the cold zealotry of the Order; these were weathered, frightened people. Their palms, pressed firmly against her torso, pulsed with a soft, rhythmic amber glow.
"Who are you?" Nina rasped, her voice catching on the grit in her throat.
"Villagers," one man stammered, recoiling as if her voice alone might burn him. "Only villagers. We aren't raiders—we mean no harm. It's just... you're an angel. We couldn't leave you to the dirt."
"An angel?" Nina echoed, her mind reeling.
She looked down. The jagged tear in her side had closed into a fresh, pink scar, though the silk of her dress remained a grisly, sodden ruin of crimson.
A few feet away, Alice stirred.
As Alice's vision cleared, the weight on her chest felt different—lighter, softer. Lina was there, curled into a ball, weeping with a quiet, rhythmic shudder. The suffocating pressure of the dark mana had vanished; the obsidian scythe was nowhere to be seen. There was no monster here—just a small child, returned to her true age, trembling in the wreckage.
"Lina." Alice's voice was a fractured ghost of itself. She lunged forward, gathering the girl into her arms. "Lina."
She buried her face in the girl's hair, her chin resting atop Lina's head as if to shield her from the very sky.
The crunch of gravel signalled Nina's approach. Without a word, she collapsed onto her knees beside them, throwing her arms around her mother and sister from the other side. She pressed her forehead into Alice's shoulder, her breath coming in ragged, silent hitches.
Alice anchored them both.
Around them, the marketplace had fallen into an eerie, hollow silence. The roaring fires had died down to smouldering heaps, and the heavy black smoke was finally beginning to settle, coating the ruins in a fine layer of grey ash.
Alice held her daughters, her grip unyielding, as if letting go would allow the world to come for them again.
Amelia lay motionless on the scarred wooden planks of her floor, her body a map of white linen. Bandages swathed her shoulder and bound her hand, while a thick wrap around her torso held her side together. The healers had exhausted their mana and their herbs; they had bridged the gap between life and death, but the long walk to recovery belonged to time alone.
The door creaked as Alice, Lina, and Nina filed in. They settled onto the floor beside her, their presence a quiet weight in the dimly lit room.
Amelia's fingers twitched, reaching out until she found Alice's hand. She squeezed it with what little strength she had left.
"Thank you," she rasped, her voice thin but warm. "For coming back for us."
Alice leaned in, her eyes searching Amelia's pale face. "Are you alright? Truly?"
"The healing took," Amelia whispered, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. Her eyes were clouded with exhaustion, yet they remained anchored and steady.
For the first time since the fires started, Alice felt the suffocating knot in her chest begin to unravel.
The peace was broken by the sharp sound of boots on the threshold. Oliver stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the fading light outside. His expression was a mix of bewilderment and urgency.
"A traveller just cleared the southern ridge," he announced, his voice tight. "He didn't come by the road. He arrived on a Pegasus."
Lina's head snapped toward the door, her eyes widening. The trauma of the previous hour seemed to freeze, replaced by a sudden, sharp spark of disbelief.
"P-Pegasus?" she stammered, the word sounding like a myth come to life.
At the village entrance, the traveller stepped through and looked around at the damage.
"Oi," He let out a slow breath. "I guess the village was attacked by raiders."
A hunter nearby pulled his bowstring back, arrow aimed.
Another hunter leaned close to his ear. "What are you doing?"
"He could be a raider."
"Master Oliver said he is a traveller. He is not a danger."
The first hunter hesitated. Then he relaxed his draw, compressed the bow into a mana sphere in his palm, and crushed it.
Oliver came forward.
"The chief allowed you to come here," he said.
"Okay, that's fine. So, give me a place where I can rest my Pegasus. This is not my own, this is rented."
His age was nearly 15. He wears a heavy-duty, dark brown leather field jacket. It is reinforced with padded shoulder patches and multiple button-down pockets for quick-access items. The leather has a weathered, matte finish, showing the wear and tear of the road. His pants are made of a matching heavy-grain leather or thick waxed canvas. Beneath the leather, he wears a thick, ribbed knit sweater in a neutral earth tone. This provides the necessary insulation for cold nights in the enchanted forest.
His face was covered.
He entered the chief's house and stopped in front of Amelia, who was still lying on the floor. Alice and the girls were nearby.
He bowed his head slightly.
"Madam. I am a traveller. I came here to find something out."
"What is your name?" Amelia asked.
"I cannot tell you that."
Everyone in the room looked at him.
"Why can't you tell your name?" Alice said, her eyes narrowing.
"I know. I understand." He raised one hand. "A stranger walks into your isolated village right after a brutal raid. Very suspicious. I don't blame you." He paused. "But I have something that will show you I mean no harm. That I am at least not a danger to you."
He reached into his pocket and brought out a pendulum.
A green gem hung at its end. But the gem itself wasn't what mattered. The symbol on it was.
The emerald sigil pulsed with cold, spectral light. Its concentric rings locked into place like the gears of a cosmic clock. At its heart sat a radiant sun, anchored between ancient runes, surrounded by celestial icons that whispered of a forgotten pact between the stars and the earth. To the uninitiated, it was mere geometry. To those who knew, it was something alive — waiting.
Amelia sat up fast.
A few of her bandages tore.
"Chief, please—" a healer moved toward her.
"A-are you from the Lord?" Her words came out rough, barely formed. She was breathing hard.
"Yes. I have connections with the Lord." He put the pendulum back in his pocket. "Here is my offer. I need information. In return, I will help rebuild your village."
"What information?"
"Ah — forgive me, I am wasting time." He opened his pouch and placed the artefact on the floor in front of them.
The room went still.
They were the same symbol. The same stone. The same shape as the scripture on Amelia's wall.
"Do you see this type of artefact?"
"Where did you get this?" Amelia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lina was also surprised to see it.
"The Lord gave it to me."
Amelia tried to push herself up off the floor.
Her arms gave way.
Oliver crossed the room and caught her.
Amelia sat back down. Oliver went to his room and returned with the artefact.
The traveller's eyes went wide.
"THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN SEARCHING FOR."
He grabbed both pieces and immediately began trying to fit them together. Left side. Right side. Top. Bottom. He turned them over and tried every angle.
Nothing connected.
Lina stepped closer. "Do you know what it is?"
"This is Caradel." He set the pieces down carefully. "If we attach all the pieces together, we can read what is written on them."
"You can read it?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Because the symbols are not from your world." He looked at her. "They are from the World of Soul. Where I come from."
The room was quiet for a moment.
"You are from the World of Soul?" Lina asked. "How did you come here?"
"Long story."
Lina looked at the two pieces of Caradel on the floor.
"What does it say?"
"Hm?" He looked down at them. "Ah. It says — Sorry, but it was necessary. We did what we had to do. A new lord—" He stopped.
The sentence ended there. Incomplete.
"It makes no sense," Lina said.
"If you tore a page from a book, can you read the full text? No. Same with the Caradel. This is only one piece. If we collect all of them, we can read it properly."
"So how did you know one of the pieces was here?"
"When I was crossing the valley, I heard a scream. The piece of Caradel I already had started glowing. I followed it and found this village."
Lina said nothing. But she remembered last night. Her awakening. The scream that had come out of her.
She understood. Something was connected.
"Madam," the traveller turned to Amelia. "May I take this piece with me?"
Amelia hesitated. "It is our family heritage."
He looked down. Disappointed. "Okay." He paused. "Can I at least copy the symbols onto paper?"
Amelia nodded. "You can do that."
"Ah, thank you for. It's enough for me."
The traveller started writing.
Alice, Lina, and Nina came out wearing the dark leather clothes of the village — fitted tunics, layered cloth underneath, laced boots that reached the knee. Practical. Built for long travel through deep forest.
"Why are we wearing these?" Nina looked down at herself with mild suspicion.
"They are the best for long journeys." Alice adjusted the strap on her shoulder bag and smiled. "And now we have a map. And the locations of where we need to go."
Lina stood near the entrance in her new clothes, the dark leather fitting her well, her black hair loose around her shoulders. Something about the way she stood — the way the morning light caught her face, the quiet determination already settled in her eyes — made her look older than twelve. She looked like someone the world had already tested and not broken. Like something that had been through fire and come out sharper for it.
She looked like her father.
The villagers had gathered at the entrance without anyone organising it.
They stood in a loose crowd — hunters, healers, mothers with children on their hips, the old and the young — and as Alice, Lina, and Nina walked toward the gate, the crowd parted and closed behind them, and people reached out. A hand on the arm. A bow of the head. A woman who pressed both of Alice's hands between hers and couldn't find words. A small child ran forward and grabbed Lina around the waist and then ran back before anyone could respond.
Alice looked at all of them.
The village was still damaged. The eastern quarter was still half ruins and ash. These people had lost friends and family two nights ago and were still standing in their doorways with healing mana on their hands.
And they were thanking her.
She pressed her lips together and breathed slowly, and kept moving because if she stopped, she wasn't sure she would start again.
"Alice."
She looked up.
Amelia was at the window of the chief's house, bandages visible at her shoulder, leaning against the frame. She looked tired and stubborn in equal measure — which was, Alice thought, exactly how she had always looked.
"Remember your promise, and take care of your daughters," Amelia called down.
Alice stopped walking. She turned fully to face the window and stood straight.
"PROMISE!" she called back.
Amelia held her gaze for one moment. Then nodded once. Then pulled back from the window.
Alice turned back to the road.
At the window beside Amelia's, Oliver watched the three of them walk away through the village gate. He watched until they disappeared between the trees.
"Alice is very beautiful," he said quietly, mostly to himself. "But a mother of two."
Amelia's fist connected with the top of his head.
"OW—"
"What exactly are you thinking about?" She looked at him. "If your wife hears this, she will cut you into pieces."
Oliver rubbed his head. "I was just—"
"Into pieces, Oliver."
He said nothing further.
The forest took them in, green and deep and quiet, the village disappearing behind the first bend in the path.
The three of them walked together — Alice with the map, Lina with the scythe gone and just her two hands and the morning ahead of her, Nina close on her other side.
The journey to Warkuron had begun.
Nina looked down at the map over Lina's shoulder. "Where do we go now?"
"Our next destination is Orchard." Lina traced the route with one finger.
Then a scream split the sky above the treeline.
"PLEASE HELP ME!"
All three of them snapped to attention.
"Where is that coming from?" Alice turned, scanning upward.
Lina looked at the sky through the canopy gap.
She saw the Pegasus — white, enormous, climbing fast through the open air above the forest. The traveller was not riding it. He was hanging from its tail with both hands, his cloak whipping wildly behind him, his legs dangling over nothing.
Lina snapped her fingers without thinking.
Her wings spread, and she launched straight up through the canopy, breaking through the leaves into open sky.
The traveller's grip slipped. His hands lost the tail.
He fell.
Lina caught him.
She pulled him in and turned, angling back toward the trees, and landed on a wide branch near the top of an old oak. She set him down and steadied him until he found his footing on the bark.
"Are you alright?"
"Not particularly," he said, catching his breath.
"What happened?"
He pulled the scarf from around his mouth and took a long breath of clean air. "Some children in the village were playing near the Pegasus. He spooked and flew. I grabbed his tail before he could get away." He looked up at the sky where the Pegasus was now circling calmly at high altitude, completely unbothered. "He took me with him."
"Thank you," he said, turning to her. "Genuinely."
He had pulled the scarf away, and his face was fully visible for the first time. He was around her age — maybe a year older — with sharp, clean features and eyes that caught the morning light in a way that made them look like they belonged in a painting rather than a tree. Something about his face was almost too composed, too well-made, like the world had been more careful than usual putting it together.
Lina looked away quickly.
Then looked back. Then away again.
She sat down on the branch beside him.
"You and I are the same age," she said, keeping her voice casual. "Why do you hide your face? You don't need to."
He tilted his head slightly. "I am hiding my identity."
"From who?"
He glanced at her sideways. The corner of his mouth moved. "From girls like you."
Lina blinked. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Why would I tell you?"
She crossed her arms. "Fine. What is your name then?"
He was quiet for a moment. He looked out through the leaves at the open sky where his Pegasus was still drifting in lazy circles.
"I cannot tell anyone," he said. Then he looked at her. "But you helped me."
"LINA!"
Both of them looked down. Alice and Nina were below, standing at the base of the tree, looking up through the branches.
"There you are," Nina called.
The traveller pulled his scarf back up over his face in one smooth motion. He stood, found his footing on the branch, and stepped off the edge.
"Hey!" Lina leaned forward.
"I am fine," he called up from two branches below, already climbing down with easy confidence, hand over hand. "I grew up in trees."
"You didn't tell me your name!"
He reached the ground. He looked back up at her through the leaves — just his eyes visible above the scarf, calm and unhurried.
"My name," he said, "is Alexander Baros the Second."
Then he walked away through the trees toward his Pegasus.
Lina sat on the branch and watched him go.
Jennifer pressed closer to her mother on the branch, arms wrapped tight around her arm.
"Mother." Her voice was small and careful. "What happened to your curse?"
Lina was quiet for a moment. The garden below them was still. The evening light moved through the leaves slowly.
"It took many things from me," she said. "Before it let go."
On the branch above them, Johan had gone very still. His mouth was open. He had been doing the math quietly for the last few minutes and had just arrived at the answer.
"Oliver," he said. "And Amelia. Amelia Jurin."
"Mm." Lina smiled faintly. "Oliver became the father of Richard."
"But the biggest question—" Johan pointed at her. "The traveller."
Jennifer straightened. Her eyes went wide as it landed. She turned and looked directly at her mother's face.
"You met Father there." She said it like a discovery. Like something that had been sitting in front of her the whole time. "That was the first time you met him."
"Mm."
"He was travelling between worlds at that age?" Johan leaned forward. "He was already doing that?"
Lina looked up through the canopy at the darkening sky. Something soft and private moved across her face.
"He had discovered so many things by then," she said quietly. "So many things that he never told anyone about. Not even me. Not all of them."
She didn't say anything else about it.
From inside the mansion, a cry broke the evening quiet — small and insistent, rising in volume the way only a baby could.
Lina straightened and looked toward the house.
"Story time is over for tonight."
She climbed down from the branch — quick and easy, the same way she had climbed trees her whole life — and crossed the garden toward the mansion door without looking back.
Johan and Jennifer sat in the branches and listened to the baby settle as their mother went inside.
Then Jennifer noticed the book.
It was sitting on the branch where Lina had been. She had forgotten it.
Jennifer reached over and picked it up. She turned it in her hands. Old cover. Worn spine. The kind of book that had been opened many times and in many different conditions.
A diary.
She looked at the mansion door. Then back at the diary.
She opened it.