The farmland lay quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Stone fences stretched across the cavern floor, reinforced with Viora-conductive metal. Crops artificial light, rows perfectly maintained. This place was supposed to be safe—protected by patrol routes, sensors, and layered defenses.

  Ren walked ahead, hand resting near the hilt of his massive sword.

  Yura followed, staff held lightly, eyes scanning the air rather than the ground.

  “…Ren,” she said suddenly.

  He glanced back. “What?”

  Yura hesitated.

  “When Shura asked me why you’re so protective,” she said carefully, “I didn’t know what to say.”

  Ren slowed.

  “So I’ll ask you instead.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  “…Why?” Yura asked. “Why do you always step in?”

  Ren exhaled through his nose.

  “…You look like my younger sister,” he said at last.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Yura blinked. “Oh.”

  They walked a few more steps.

  “…Where is she now?” Yura asked gently.

  Ren stopped.

  His voice dropped—deep, steady, final.

  “She’s not with us anymore.”

  The words didn’t shake.

  They ended things.

  Yura’s chest tightened. “…I’m sorry.”

  Ren didn’t answer.

  Then—he smiled.

  Not wide. Not fake.

  Just enough.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “You’re still here.”

  They continued walking.

  Yura changed the subject softly, like stepping around broken glass.

  “My family hates this,” she said. “Guild work. They say we’re already rich. That we don’t need to risk anything.”

  Ren hummed. “Sounds familiar.”

  “They want me safe,” Yura continued. “Still. Protected. Quiet.”

  She looked ahead, eyes bright.

  “But I like traveling. Seeing the world. Even this one.”

  She smiled faintly.

  “I’m glad I met all of you.”

  Ren didn’t respond—but his pace slowed to match hers.

  They reached the farmhouse.

  The door was broken.

  No scorch marks. No clawed walls. No alarm residue.

  Ren’s eyes narrowed.

  Inside—

  Three bodies lay on the stone floor.

  Farmers.

  Cleanly killed.

  Too clean.

  “…This can’t be real,” Ren muttered. “How did a monster get through security like this?”

  Yura knelt, fingers glowing faintly as she traced a sigil in the air.

  “And where did it go?” Ren added.

  The glow pulsed.

  Then pulled upward.

  Yura’s eyes widened.

  “…Above us.”

  Ren followed her gaze.

  The upper floor.

  The monster was hiding.

  Thinking.

  Ren’s jaw tightened.

  “That’s critical,” he said. “A monster that plans?”

  He straightened.

  “We need to inform the Empress. Immediately.”

  Yura nodded. “Before it’s too late.”

  The light dimmed.

  The farmhouse watched them back.

  Elsewhere — Ossuarium Academy

  Orin adjusted his collar, standing far too comfortably at the center of a small crowd.

  “So there we were,” he said smoothly, “surrounded on all sides. Minimal resources. No retreat.”

  Emma leaned in, eyes shining. “And?”

  “And then,” Orin continued, smiling, “we survived.”

  She laughed. “You Guild types exaggerate.”

  “Only the boring ones,” Orin replied.

  He didn’t notice the chill crawling up his spine.

  Throne Room of Ossuarium

  Empress Rose stood alone.

  The air before her shimmered, forming intricate symbols—ancient, precise.

  “Asteal Word,” she whispered.

  The message fragmented into light, threading itself through space, distance, and sealed domains. Slow.

  But absolute.

  “To all Kingdoms,” Rose murmured. “The fall-child has awakened.”

  The symbols vanished.

  Rose closed her eyes.

  “Move carefully,” she said to no one. “The world is listening again.”

  Far away, something shifted.