Ryoma walked heavily through the embrace of the dense trees until he reached the graveyard where Ivan lay. He sat beside the small shrine, and his tone softened as he whispered:

— Ivan… You sacrificed your life for my sister. What a noble man you are. I know I’m late, and I’m sorry for doubting you all. I’m truly sorry. I’m not the real Carter, but someone who came from another world… I couldn’t find the words to tell you that before now.

The words fell silent, and hot tears streamed down his cheeks. Ryoma gathered his strength and continued, his voice trembling:

— I lost you on my first day here, and I failed to save Cain… and I don’t know how long he’ll survive there. I wonder: will I be able to protect those who remain?

A faint ghostly aura appeared around him, and a shadowy sweat moved lightly, touching his right shoulder. Ryoma turned slowly, thinking for a moment it was an illusion, then stood, speaking with a gentle tone laced with resolve:

— Ivan… see you in another life. I will search for those who bear the ancient weapons, to prepare them for the confrontation when that power reappears with the gate. I promise you, I will take revenge on all who caused this evil.

He whispered within himself: “Just wait for me, my friend.”

Ryoma walked back home, where Sylvas and Clara were standing at the door, their eyes filled with tears. As his steps reached them, Clara threw herself into his arms, and Sylvas wrapped around his waist, while the sounds of crying and emotional chokes drowned the silence. They embraced him like two siblings who lost a companion. Ryoma held them tightly, and words of condolence and regret filled the air, wrapping the moment in an echo of hope and determination.

Ryoma raised his eyes toward them, and a faint smile appeared on his lips, not hiding the glow of his sorrow:

— Don’t worry, I’m fine… I just collapsed from exhaustion.

Clara stood close to him, staring into his eyes boldly as if discovering hidden secrets:

— You’re lying, Ryoma. You’re not fine, and you’re just saying that to clear your conscience and ease our hearts.

Ryoma’s smile trembled slightly, but he struggled to make his voice reassuring:

— Believe me, I’m really fine. I was just extremely tired. But I won’t allow myself to fall again.

Both Clara and Sylvas clung to the face of truth, not easily convinced. Adam burst out in a voice standing on the edge of anger:

— Ryoma was truly exhausted… He tried to carry the burden alone, trust me, he mourns Ivan’s loss, and the guilt that haunts him for not saving Cain.

Sylvas sighed in a sharp tone:

— And why this self-torment? The disaster struck us all, but that doesn’t mean we drown in despair. We lost Ivan and Cain, but not to the extent that I’d lose consciousness for a whole month. You are kind, brother, and it’s time to make firmer decisions.

A brief silence grew intense, then Adam interrupted angrily:

— Stop talking! You know nothing of pain…

Ryoma quietly rose, raising his palm to return him to silence, then turned to Sylvas with a calm and firm tone:

— Maybe I’m weak and gentle… but what’s clearer is this: the time for surrender is over. Let’s all prepare. We’re leaving this place.

Their faces registered shock and confusion, and Adam sighed, his voice trembling:

— We leave…? Are we really going to abandon this house we grew up in, here where you carried your first memories and the echoes of our laughter? You want us to set out as if these words were just tossed into the air?

The echo of his voice faded in the room, and in that moment each of them felt the weight of the decision and a tragic shadow loomed on the horizon.

Ryoma lifted his gaze to Adam, Clara, and Sylvas, sorrow’s deep glow in his eyes, and spoke in a calm, responsibility-laden tone:

— I know very well that leaving this village is no light matter, but we must meet others.

Adam exchanged glances with Clara and Sylvas, then spoke with difficulty tinged by bewilderment:

— Others? Who do you mean, Ryoma?

Ryoma nodded, his brows knitting in stern resolve, and answered in a steady voice:

— Those who bear the ancient weapons.

The words hung silent in the air. Adam bowed his head in quiet sorrow and said:

— Are we to abandon our childhood memories here? Our first home?

They lapsed into silence, then began packing their belongings in a hush weighted with tension. Ryoma hoisted his heavy pack and made his way to the cliff’s edge overlooking the abandoned village. There he sat, hands clasped, staring at the houses beneath whose shade their laughter once rang out.

Leaning forward slightly, Ryoma’s voice turned cold, like a sliver of dawn in a silent night:

— Is this truly what you want? That we leave this village? Wait for me… I will tear your skin.

His siblings moved closer, eyes brimming with tears, sharing a look of farewell. Then Ryoma rose and stood firm, addressing the village and the faint murmur of dusk:

— Farewell, O flower of ages, O shade of trees and whisper of rivers… you were our sanctuary, and you will live within us forever.

They waited together until the last rays of the sun slipped below the horizon. Without another word, they set out on a long journey across rugged plains toward the vast East.

They crossed lands where towering trees had grown and passed through forests cloaked in terrifying silence, noticing the scattered carcasses of wild beasts. The sky awakened with a soaking rain, but they pressed on, sharing bits of hard bread and sips of cold water. Together they realized that reaching the East would not be easy, but their determination was stronger than any obstacle ahead.

They came upon a village larger than their own, only to find corpses strewn in every corner—some missing limbs, their faces twisted into the likeness of the monsters that consumed them. They proceeded cautiously in search of any sign of life, but found only silence.

At sunrise, they left the village without the sky ever breaking for the awaited gateway—its absence a sign that Cain still lived in the underworld. They then turned toward Seraphin, the bustling trade city.

After a long trek over rough roads and through dense forests, their journey seemed endless until at last the circular walls of Seraphin rose before them. Ryoma stood before a massive iron gate, its surface etched with deep scratches that spoke of monstrous danger.

He knocked silently; no answer came. Then he called to Adam:

— Adam, come here.

Adam approached, puzzled:

— Why?

Ryoma smiled faintly and whispered:

— Bend down a little.

Without protest, Adam planted his feet firmly. Ryoma deftly leapt onto his back, whispering:

— Steady yourself.

Perched on the edge of the iron gate, Ryoma caught his breath and then tried to jump upward. But Adam stepped back, throwing Ryoma off balance and sending him crashing onto his back with a cry of pain laced with indignation.

Ryoma thought for a moment that his anger would last, but it vanished when he saw Clara, Sylvas, Luna, and Adam laughing with innocent spontaneity at his expense. His fury dissolved as if it had never been, and his laughter burst forth alongside theirs:

He sank to the ground, laughing warmly, then whispered to himself:

“I wish this smile would always remain on their faces.”

Adam reached out his hand to Ryoma, and Ryoma rose:

— I’m sorry… Ryoma, but when you smiled at me and asked me to bend over, I really wanted to make you fall.

Ryoma laughed and said, “It’s okay—thanks to you, I saw something I haven’t seen in a long time.” It was that feeling of happiness Ryoma had been longing for.

Ryoma hadn’t experienced any joy or cheer since arriving in this world, and he added, “Come on, Adam, lean again.”

Their combined strength pushed against the heavy gate; the screech of metal accompanied its slow movement until it swung wide open. Ryoma then grabbed the rope hanging beside it and pulled with all his might to seal the gate shut from the inside.

Others tried to enter, and here lay the problem: closing the gate was very difficult. He seized a long rope from a basket by the gate, slipped out, and secured it from the outside.

He gripped the rope firmly and tossed it back to Adam, who caught it easily and hauled it up. Ryoma returned the rope to its place, then set off down the city’s dark streets in search of shelter. Every door was barred—there was nowhere to rest.

His siblings and Luna succumbed to exhaustion, so he led them into a narrow alley reeking of waste. There he told them to rest; there was no time for complaints. Everyone lay down—Adam, Luna, and their brothers and sisters—eyes turned toward the crimson moon hanging in the sky.

Silence reigned for a moment, then Ryoma lifted the sparkle in his eyes to the heavens and said to Adam: — Thank you, brother. You’ve made this night much easier…

Adam hugged him gently and replied: — No need to thank me; that’s what an older brother does.

Adam turned his gaze back to the moon and mumbled hoarsely: — This world lived in peaceful ease, without hurry, without wars, without anyone watching its moon—until Carter came and changed everything.

Surprise lit up Ryoma’s face, and he gripped Adam’s hand tightly. Sleep overtook Adam quickly, and he drifted off. Ryoma remained seated beside them, his eyes still fixed on his sleeping brother, and whispered: — The time hasn’t yet come to learn the truth.

Ryoma gently removed his coat and wrapped it around sleeping Luna to shield him from the night’s chill. Suddenly, a faint light glowed behind him; he spun around to investigate but saw nothing. Turning back, he heard a soft sound and saw in the darkness a glow emanating from the center of his back.

Anxiety surged through Ryoma as he began removing his clothes to locate the source of the light, but the mist blurred his vision. He called out to Adam in a muffled voice: — Adam… wake up!

Adam opened his eyes slowly, astonishment widening his expression as he saw Ryoma bare-chested. He stammered: — Ryoma… why are you naked…?

Ryoma answered reassuringly: — Come with me.

He took Adam’s hand and led him deeper into the alley, where they stood under the faint glow. Ryoma whispered gravely: — Tell me, brother, what do you see?

Adam hesitated, then lifted Ryoma’s shirt with a trembling hand. There, on his back, a mysterious mark had appeared, glowing with the same light. They stood in silence, each staring at this new sign:

“How did this mark appear on your back?”

Ryoma drew in a sharp breath as he stared at the light-pierced skin, then turned to Adam in quivering shock: — A mark? What does it look like exactly?

Surprise etched itself across Adam’s face. He paused, pondering the sight before answering: — I don’t know… I see many signs and symbols I don’t understand.

Ryoma approached him with quick, eager steps, his eyes shining with curiosity:

— Strip off your clothes, Adam!

Adam hesitated for a moment, but at Ryoma’s agitated shout he lifted his shirt to expose the small of his back. Ryoma sighed anxiously, his gaze roaming in search of a mark like the one on his own back. He found nothing. He stood frozen, stunned.

— Why has this mark appeared only on me? — Ryoma murmured.

Thoughts swirled in his mind until he remembered the strange book that had appeared the previous night. He dressed himself quickly and said:

— Don’t worry, Adam… go back to sleep. I’ll handle this.

Ryoma sat alone, stripped off his clothes again, and called in a low voice:

— Book!

The moment the word left his lips, the book reappeared before him, suspended in midair. The light that had poured from his body receded, but the mark remained, proof of his bond with the book.

He gently returned the book to its place against his skin, stifling the hesitant glow. Ryoma dressed, then waited until the crimson moon’s halo faded from the sky and dawn bathed the world in its soft light.

He turned to Adam and Luna and shook them gently:

— Wake up—it’s time to depart.

They stepped out of the alley into the city’s sleeping streets, breathing in the scent of dawn on its stones. The bustle of the waking crowds did not trouble him this time; his heart was occupied with questions.

He wove through the throng in search of those who wielded the ancient weapons. Store signs hung over every street, and at last he stopped before a massive door bearing the inscription: “Heroes’ Assembly.”

Inside, he found people surrounded by a strange aura, dressed in dark garments and carrying weapons humming with power. Ryoma felt a hidden pulse emanating from their swords, as though they were calling him, acknowledging his presence.

Words proved unnecessary—eyes turned to him and the echo of his footsteps reached the speaker’s ears. He drew near and found a burly man whose strong jaw defined his stern features. Addressing the assembly, the man said:

— A full month has passed, and no one knows why the gates have ceased to appear.

Silence fell until Ryoma stepped forward with confident strides and spoke in a clear, resonant voice:

— I know the reason for their halt.

A hush gripped the room. Then one attendee sighed and, with mocking irony, asked:

— And do you also carry an ancient weapon?

Ryoma turned to him with unwavering confidence:

— Yes—and this is my weapon.

A gasp of shock rippled through them; an eighteen-year-old boy claiming to wield an ancient weapon. They whispered among themselves in astonishment: none of them were older than twenty-five, and yet they possessed expertise far beyond his years.

The burly man advanced, challenge gleaming in his eyes, and demanded:

— Then tell me—what has stopped the gates from appearing?

Ryoma answered, his voice heavy with grief:

— The gates stopped because someone fell within them… and death awaits him swiftly.

Derisive laughter broke out. The man sneered:

— Do you really believe any mortal could survive that?

Ryoma trembled with righteous anger, then replied in a firm tone:

— You wouldn’t believe me because you haven’t seen it with your own eyes.

The man pressed on:

— I suppose you witnessed the one who entered the gate yourself?

Ryoma nodded. The assembly imagined their own faces frozen between doubt and dread.

In a softer voice, Ryoma concluded:

— He is my friend.

The man recognized the sincerity in Ryoma’s tone. He regarded him thoughtfully and asked:

— What is your name?

Ryoma replied:

— My name is Ryoma, my lineage unknown; and who are you?

The man replied:

— I am Loren Nelson. Pleased to meet you, Ryoma.

Then he returned to his serious tone:

— Tell me how much information you possess.

Ryoma answered confidently:

— I possess far more than your stores, yet lack any reason to compel you to break my silence…

Adam leaned toward his brother and whispered in his ear:

“— Ryoma, enough provocation. You don’t want trouble.”

Adam straightened and addressed the assembly:

— We apologize for my brother’s behavior; he spoke without awareness.

Loren was not appeased by their remorse. He lunged forward, pushing Adam to the ground with one hand. Ryoma sprang up to face Loren and said defiantly:

— Apologize to my brother, or…