They trekked along the path for hours, Reigo now miles behind them—though its smoke still rose higher than the mountains. Azriel couldn't afford to turn back; death awaited him there. The same went for Gio, who had slain enforcers. Staying would've been suicide. With heavy steps and heavier hearts, they set their sights eastward—toward Neuraleth.
It was where the Grace of Senses resided, though she never bothered to rule. The countries on that continent were independent, yes—but standing alone didn't mean standing strong. Famine, rebellion, and fractured resistance movements had turned Neuraleth into a land where only the ruthless survived.
Even the realm of the lazy Grace of Time seemed like paradise in comparison. At least there, time slowed rather than snapped. The Grace of Senses had "better" things to do than govern, leaving her land to rot. Neuraleth wasn't as advanced as Evascera, but for now, Azriel would rather face desperate bandits than the forces of the Grace of Life herself.
It was convenient that Neuraleth was only two days away from Reigo on foot—if they kept walking through half the day, they'd make it in time. As they trekked along the dirt path, the towering smoke from Reigo still stained the sky like a scar.
Azriel glanced at Gio and gave a tired but genuine smile.
"You know… even if we've only known each other a few days, I trust you more than anyone else I've met. Maybe it's the years of isolation making me sentimental, but I mean it—I'm glad you're with me, old man."
Gio blinked in surprise. The words caught him off guard, especially after everything they'd just survived. His emotions, still raw and tangled, stirred painfully at Azriel's sentiment. He had a son once—but the boy had grown distant, resentful of a father who was never there, off fighting in a war against the Vanderen. Gio had always wanted to be close to him, but the gap between them only widened… until the boy ran away.
Now, hearing those words from Azriel—someone he barely knew, but fought beside like family—something inside him softened.
He gave Azriel a firm pat on the back.
"Quit getting mushy on me, kid. We've got a long road ahead—might as well walk it together."
Azriel laughed, and Gio let out a rare chuckle. They continued down the path, sharing stories as they went. Azriel even opened up, for the first time, about what had happened to his parents.
Time passed quickly, and by dusk they'd reached the halfway point to Neuraleth. They decided to set up camp near a cave just before entering Evascera's forest—a place infamous for its relentless population of wild beasts. With no supplies or food, they chose to wait out the night and the hunger inside the cave.
But as they approached, a flickering light glowed from within.
Fire.
Its erratic movement gave it away
immediately.
The two, tense and on edge from recent events, instinctively drew their stolen guns and aimed at the source. But fatigue had already begun to slow them, and one misplaced step triggered a faint alarm—some kind of tripwire near the entrance.
They darted behind nearby bushes.
Footsteps echoed from the cave. And then—
A figure stepped out.
A woman.
She looked like she hadn't slept in days. Pale, with heavy eye bags and a gaunt frame, yet her presence was striking. Snow-white hair framed her face, and her deep red eyes glowed faintly in the firelight.
Azriel's eyes widened.
"An Ionian woman?!" Gio whispered, equally stunned.
"Iona's on the other side of the continent," Azriel muttered. "What the hell is she doing here?"
Despite her weariness, she carried herself like someone used to danger. A long, worn staff rested in one hand, a small dagger holstered at her side. She was a mage—no doubt about it.
And even in her fragile state, there was something formidable about her. Mysterious. Dangerous. Alone.
"Do we retreat?! What do we do?!" Azriel whispered urgently.
But it was already too late—her ears, sharp as her senses, had caught the rustling. Her staff whipped toward the bushes, glowing with swirling green energy. Wind affinity—she was drawing power directly from Signo's core.
She was about to unleash it when Azriel, thinking fast, tossed his gun out into the open and stepped out with both hands raised.
"Wait! Please—we mean no harm!"
But the enforcer uniform he wore said otherwise.
Her crimson eyes flared with rage as a pressurized spear of wind exploded toward him. Gio tackled Azriel out of the way, shouting as they hit the ground:
"We aren't enforcers! These uniforms are stolen!"
The woman didn't drop her guard. Her staff trembled slightly in her grasp, her breathing shallow and erratic. Panic flared in her voice.
"How do I know you're telling the truth?!"
Gio slowly raised his hands again. "My name is Gio. This is Azriel. We escaped from Reigo. We're heading to Neuraleth."
Her staff still glowed, though her gaze had softened.
"Prove it."
Without hesitation, Gio and Azriel pulled at the edges of their tattered uniforms, revealing the fresh bloodstains and wounds beneath—deep cuts, bruises, gunshots, barely scabbed over. No ordinary enforcer would still be standing.
Her staff lowered.
"…Come."
The cave's warmth greeted them, thanks to a modest fire. Above the flames, small birds roasted on sharpened sticks, filling the space with the scent of crisping meat.
Azriel eyed the fire, grateful. The woman finally broke the silence.
"So… the Grace—no. That witch went to Reigo too?"
"Yep. Ordered a purge just to revive them all," Azriel said, though he couldn't admit yet that he was the reason they came. "What about Iona?"
"It was the first to fall," she replied, her voice heavy. "They came in the dead of night. I fought back. I knew if I got revived, they'd just kill me again for resisting."
Gio, grabbing a small bird from the fire, looked at her.
"May I?"
She nodded. "Go ahead."
Gio took one with a quiet grunt of thanks.
Azriel soon followed, taking a bird of his own. They sat in silence for a few moments, the crackling fire a soft contrast to the weight of their thoughts.
"What's your name, by the way?" Azriel asked.
The woman looked over at him. "Forgive me, I forgot to say—I'm Lysara. And yes, I'm a mage, though you already figured that." She gave a small, respectful bow of her head.
Azriel smiled gently.
"Pleasure to meet you. I'm Azriel, and that's Gio. Where are you headed?"
Lysara looked into the fire for a long while, the flames flickering in her weary red eyes.
"…I don't know. I was just trying to get as far away from Iona as possible. Thought if I kept moving, maybe I'd find a place the Graces hadn't corrupted yet."
Azriel tilted his head slightly. "You made it here fast. Iona's on the other side of the continent. How'd you manage that?"
She exhaled. "They purged Iona at night. I flew out immediately—through the forests, over the hills, as far and fast as I could, avoiding that witch at every turn. Eventually, my strength gave out. This cave was the first shelter I could find."
Her voice was flat, but her trembling hands said the rest.
Azriel and Gio exchanged a brief look—both impressed and concerned.
"We're headed to Neuraleth," Azriel said. "It's not untouched, but… it's quieter. The Grace of Senses doesn't really interfere. Might be safer. For now."
"Safe doesn't exist anymore," Lysara replied with a bitter chuckle. "Just… less dangerous."
"That's good enough for us," Gio said, wincing as he leaned back. "We've seen what happens when you wait too long to move."
A calm silence fell. Not awkward—just shared weariness. Survivors acknowledging each other's scars.
Azriel gently poked at the fire with a stick.
"…You said you fought back in Iona. What happened?"
"They called it a census," Lysara said, her tone sharpening. "Said they were updating records. Then they rounded us up in the square. Mages first. Said we were being 'relocated.' I knew what that meant."
Her hands tightened around her bird.
"I ran. Fought my way out. I don't know if anyone else made it."
Azriel stared down at the food in his hand.
"I'm sorry."
"You don't have to be," she said, voice quiet but resolute. "We've all lost something."
Gio tossed the bones into the fire.
"We've lost everything. But if we don't keep going, we lose whatever comes next too."
Lysara nodded. After a pause, she looked between the two men.
"…Then I'll come with you. At least until Neuraleth."
Azriel met her gaze with a soft smile.
"Until Neuraleth."
They sat in silence again, but this time it felt lighter—like an unspoken understanding had formed. Tomorrow, the road would still be dangerous. But tonight, they had fire, food, and the faint hope of surviving together.
And sometimes, that was enough.
The next morning, they set out through the thick, tangled forest of Evascera. Vines clawed at their boots, the air was damp with dew, and small creatures chittered and darted between the underbrush—more curious than threatening, but a constant nuisance.
As they reached a clearing, the sound of cracking branches made them freeze.
A hulking shadow emerged.
A lovbare —a bear-like beast, its fur bristling with moss and its grotesquely twisted claws glinting in the morning light. Those claws didn't just cut; they tore deep and left wounds that festered fast, refusing to close. Its yellow eyes locked onto them.
Gio reacted instantly.
Bang!
A bullet struck the creature in the eye—but it only roared louder, unfazed, blood trailing from the wound like it meant nothing.
"RUN!! THAT THING DOESN'T DIE TO SIMPLE BULLETS!" Gio shouted.
But Lysara didn't move. She planted her feet, her staff crackling with green energy. With a precise, graceful motion, she unleashed a spell—an explosion of force and wind that tore through the lovbare's chest. It let out a final, horrible groan before collapsing, dead.
Gio blinked in disbelief.
"...Oh right… they're weak to magic."
Azriel burst into laughter. Lysara chuckled, winded but pleased.
The tension faded as the scent of blood mixed with morning mist. They decided to make use of the beast, cutting strips of meat and cooking it over a fire they built right there in the clearing. For Lysara, it was the first full meal she'd had in days.
Azriel, watching the flames, tilted his head.
"So… how do you draw magic? I've never really understood how it works."
Lysara chewed thoughtfully before answering.
"It's not complicated. The staff's just a medium. What really matters is our link to Signo's core. That's the source of all elemental magic. Our minds align with a particular element—like wind, water, fire—and that's what we channel."
She poked at the roasting meat.
"The Graces are… different. They tap into Signo's core too, but they can control things far beyond elements. Life, death, time, minds… No one really knows how."
Azriel leaned forward, eyes wide.
"Does it wear you out?"
She nodded.
"Depends on the spell. Big ones chip away at your mind. Others drain your stamina. The balance is always shifting. That's why mages train—so the price doesn't kill them."
Gio and Azriel both nodded slowly as the meat finished cooking. They tore into it hungrily—finally, a real meal.
Lysara paused mid-bite, her brow furrowing as her eyes turned to Azriel.
"Wait. You said you can't use magic, right? Not even the basics?"
"Yeah…?" Azriel replied, chewing slower now.
She tilted her head, frowning.
"Then why can I feel your connection to Signo's core? It's immense—overwhelming even. At first, I thought you were some elite mage in disguise, but… you don't even understand how it works."
Azriel froze.
He hadn't told her. He couldn't. Not yet.
Not that he was the reason Voralis, the Grace of Life, was purging cities. Not that his resurrection—twice now—was the spark that reignited this storm.
He looked down at the fire. The meat in his hands suddenly felt heavy.
"I…"