Morning sunlight spilled through the small window of the inn.

For the first time in what felt like forever…

Ashen awoke to something other than birdsong and the whisper of the forest.

Voices drifted up from the street below.

Merchants opening their stalls.

Children laughing.

The distant clang…

Clang. Clang. Clang.

…of a blacksmith already hard at work.

For a brief moment…

He forgot where he was.

Then, almost instinctively, his hand found the pendant resting against his chest.

He closed his fingers around it.

“…Good morning,” he whispered.

Not to anyone in the room.

To Virelia.

It had become a habit.

One he hoped, somehow…

She could still hear.

⸻

Downstairs, Lyric was already waiting.

A steaming bowl of porridge rested on the table across from her.

Ashen quietly took his seat.

Unlike the week before…

He reached for the spoon.

Lyric noticed.

She didn’t say a word.

Instead, she calmly poured him a cup of warm tea and slid it across the table.

It was a small gesture.

But to her…

It meant something important.

He had finally chosen to keep living.

⸻

After breakfast, they stepped back into the bustling streets.

Ashen looked around with growing curiosity.

“So many people…”

“They all have somewhere to be.”

Lyric nodded.

“Every town has its own rhythm.”

Ashen watched merchants haggle over prices while children chased one another through the square.

Then his eyes landed on a massive stone building near the center of town.

People constantly entered and exited through its enormous wooden doors.

Adventurers.

Merchants.

Hunters.

Scholars.

“So… does every town have one of those?” he asked.

“It depends.”

“What is it?”

“The Adventurer’s Guild.”

Ashen tilted his head.

“…Adventurers?”

A faint smile crossed Lyric’s face.

“You’ve read books.”

“I have.”

“Then you’ve probably imagined heroes slaying dragons.”

Ashen nodded.

“…A little.”

Lyric chuckled.

“The truth is much less glamorous.”

She continued walking.

“The Guild accepts requests from towns and villages.”

“Escorting caravans.”

“Hunting dangerous mana beasts.”

“Gathering medicinal herbs.”

“Exploring ancient ruins.”

“Protecting travelers.”

“They’re paid according to the danger and difficulty of the work.”

Ashen listened intently.

“So…”

“They help people?”

“When they’re willing.”

She glanced toward him.

“They also have to earn a living.”

Ashen nodded thoughtfully.

“So… you’re an adventurer?”

“I am.”

“Since when?”

Lyric was quiet for a moment.

“A long time.”

Ashen opened his mouth to ask another question.

Then he remembered the last time he’d asked about her past.

He quietly closed it again.

⸻

Eventually, they wandered beyond the town walls.

The cobblestone roads faded into open grasslands that stretched beneath an endless blue sky.

The wind rolled gently across the hills, carrying the scent of wildflowers.

No crowds.

No noise.

Only nature.

Ashen looked around.

“Why are we here?”

Lyric stopped walking.

“I want to see something.”

She turned toward him.

“When we met…”

“You kept staring at that dagger.”

Ashen instinctively rested a hand on the hilt hanging from his belt.

“You didn’t look afraid of it.”

“You looked…”

“…comfortable.”

Ashen frowned.

“I don’t know why.”

“I believe you.”

She stepped back several paces.

“Draw it.”

Ashen hesitated.

Then slowly unsheathed the dagger.

Shing…

The polished blade caught the afternoon sunlight.

“Show me.”

“I don’t know how to fight.”

“I didn’t ask you to fight.”

She folded her arms.

“I asked you to move.”

Ashen stared at the blade.

The memory of the wooden stick beneath the waterfall surfaced in his mind.

He closed his eyes.

Took a slow breath.

Then—

His crimson eyes opened.

His stance shifted naturally.

One foot slid back.

His body lowered.

The dagger rose into a guarded position as though it belonged there.

One step.

A pivot.

A clean slash through empty air.

Fsshhh…

Another step.

Another cut.

His movements flowed together effortlessly.

Not polished.

Not trained.

But…

Natural.

Lyric watched every movement without blinking.

He doesn’t even realize it…

With guidance… this child could become a monster.

Not one born of cruelty.

But one born of overwhelming talent.

Ashen wasn’t copying techniques.

He wasn’t recalling lessons.

His body simply…

Knew.

As if instinct itself guided every motion.

When he finally stopped, he lowered the dagger awkwardly.

“…Was that bad?”

Lyric didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, she slowly circled around him.

She studied everything.

His posture.

His footing.

The angle of his shoulders.

The way he gripped the weapon.

Everything about him looked like a complete beginner.

Yet…

Everything else said otherwise.

⸻

“Again.”

Ashen nodded.

He repeated the sequence.

This time…

Lyric noticed something different.

The air around him stirred.

Barely.

Almost too faint to perceive.

A gentle current of wind curled around the dagger’s edge before disappearing.

Ashen remained completely unaware.

But Lyric saw it.

Inside her soul…

Her Serpent Spirit shifted.

A low hiss echoed through her consciousness.

Not fear.

Not hostility.

Caution.

It was reacting…

To the boy standing before her.

Lyric’s expression remained calm.

But her thoughts raced.

What… are you?

⸻

Ashen lowered the dagger.

“…Was it really that bad?”

Lyric blinked, returning to reality.

“No.”

She stepped closer.

“It was surprisingly good.”

Ashen looked genuinely confused.

“But…”

“I’ve never trained.”

“I know.”

She rested a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“And that’s exactly what concerns me.”

His brow furrowed.

“Why?”

Lyric looked toward the distant horizon.

The wind swept across the open hills, rustling the tall grass.

“Because talent…”

She paused.

“…can become something extraordinary.”

Her voice grew quieter.

“…or something terrifying.”

Ashen followed her gaze.

Neither of them spoke for a long while.

Finally…

Lyric turned back toward the road leading into town.

“We should head back.”

Ashen slid the dagger into its sheath.

Click.

As they began walking…

One thought echoed quietly inside Lyric’s mind.

If this child survives…

…the world may one day remember his name.