"I–I… I'm Anya!"
Her voice was loud, yet it cracked halfway through.
"I'm Anya, daughter of Geralt and Elin!"
The field fell silent.
Geralt froze.
"…Anya?" he said, eyes widening. "What are you doing?! Put that down!"
But the girl straightened her back instead, standing tall like a tiny knight from a storybook. Her legs trembled, yet she forced her stance to stay firm.
"I–I'm the Iron Knight!" she cried. "I must protect everyone from bad people!"
She swallowed.
Then she looked at Lucas.
At the face of Lucian Voss.
The color drained from her cheeks.
Her breath hitched. Her eyes widened as if she had just seen a monster from a nightmare.
That face was—
Too cold.
Too calm.
Too unreal.
Anya flinched, stepping back half a pace.
The stick stayed raised…
but her grip faltered.
Silvara stood frozen.
Lucas frowned, staring at the child, completely unsure how to respond.
"…Huh?"
That single sound wasn't anger.
It wasn't a threat.
It was just instinct.
But to Anya—
