Grace had been...busy since the incident in Wolfdale.
Ever since the portals began opening across Aetheria—slowly but steadily bleeding demons into the world—her life had shifted from, well, existing to near-constant cleanup. She couldn't close the portals, not yet. Not permanently. But she could fight, and so she had. Town by town. Road by road. Demon after demon.
It had taken time, but through sheer repetition Grace had developed something like a sense for demonic energy. A pull, an itch just behind her eyes. A prickling in her skin. It wasn't flawless, but it was usually right.
And right now, it was flaring.
Her gaze flicked toward the strange woman across the tavern—or was it a woman? Grace wasn't entirely sure. The stranger was androgynous, with sharp features and the kind of presence that made people turn away rather than look too closely. And what she wore—strange, loose black clothing that clung to her figure like half-robes, half-uniform—was unlike anything she'd seen anyone else wear. Definitely foreign. Maybe not even from Aetheria.
But what caught Grace most wasn't her look. It was the feel.
Demonic… but not completely. Like someone had poured oil into clean water and shaken the bottle. It clung around her but didn't define it.
And then there were her thoughts.
Grace was seeing them clearly—violent, volatile, seething with rage. All of it directed at the white-haired man sitting across from her.
That man—he was another mystery.
Grace's brows knit.
He was different. Grace couldn't feel anything from him. Not a whisper. No emotions. No surface thoughts. Just… silence. Absolute, deafening silence.
Still, he sat there casually, tearing into a piece of chicken like he didn't have a care in the world.
That alone made her wary. The only people she'd ever encountered who blocked her mental sight like that was the Demon Lord… and—
Her core pulsed.
—Xain.
She shut her eyes for a moment. *Focus,* she told herself, pushing away the name and the ache that came with it. She couldn't afford distraction. Not now.
Grace opened her eyes again, sharp and quiet as a blade. Her gaze drifted back to the strange pair.
*I have to keep an eye on these two.*
At their table, Winter was still working on his food like it owed him money.
"So are we near one yet?" he asked as he swallowed another mouthful of food.
"Yes," Weeping Phantom replied flatly with a sigh, barely glancing at him. "Somewhere northeast of here." She bit into a piece of bread before adding, "Unless someone else already closed it."
Winter made a thoughtful noise, lifting his mug. "Well, that'd be great, honestly. Goddess knows, closing these things one by one by myself is gonna take forever."
Back on her table in the corner, Grace's eyes narrowed further. *Portals? They're closing portals? And that woman is reluctantly helping? Her fingers began to drum slowly on the table. Just who are you? And how do you close the portals?*
Back at their table, Weeping Phantom eyed Winter with her usual mix of disdain and disbelief. "You'd be fine letting others close the portal?"
Winter blinked mid-chew, swallowed, then raised a brow. "Yes? Why wouldn't I be?"
She stared at him with a flat, unimpressed look. "I don't know. I expected you to be a glory-hungry bastard. One of those who wants all the credit for defeating demons and stopping the big bad invasion."
Winter slowly raised a hand. "Okay, first off—yes, I get that you hate me, but why would you even think that? I had an entire party of friends helping me before in the previous invasion. It's not like I was doing all of this solo from the beginning."
Weeping Phantom shrugged, tearing a piece off her bread. "You're a Chosen One. Your kind's name pretty much guarantees you get all the credit whether you want it or not."
At her words, back at her corner table, Grace went very still.
*What?*
Her thoughts halted. Her pulse did not. She stayed perfectly still, eyes sharp on the woman. The woman wasn't lying—Grace could see that clearly in her thoughts. She meant what she said. That man really was—
Grace's gaze shifted back to him. The white hair. The silence. The way she couldn't see a single trace of thought in his head.
*You… You really are him. You're Winter. The Chosen One.*