The wind that crossed the ruins carried a faint scent of ash and soil–an echo of the lives that once moved through the broken village.
The mists had finally settled. The cries of the cursed were silent. For the first time since their arrival, the air stood still.
Kiaria lifted his gaze to the sky, watching pale sunlight fight through the clouds. "Dia, what do you think about those villagers? Isn't their life quite miserable?"
Diala, standing beside him, folded her arms. "Not at all," she said quietly. "Their life will be miserable. The girl who cursed them showed mercy. She didn't use a deadly curse–only eternal sleep. She was kind, even to the end."
Kiaria nodded slowly. "She spared them. As a descendant from Valley of Rituals, she may have countless ways to torture these people. But even mercy, if misunderstood, becomes tragedy."
Diala looked at him. "She was a good person, wasn't she?"
"Yes," he answered. "A good person, hurt by cruelty." He paused. "But good or not, the law never forgives what harms the living. If my guess is right, she was not alone in this matter, there must be a helper too."
Silence fell again, filled only by the whisper of grass in the cracked soil.
After a moment, Diala turned to him. "Kiaria, can you tell me when you started accumulating blood? And what you've gained from it?"
He smiled faintly, the expression unreadable. "Actually, I don't know what it can do entirely. You remember when I spat blood while we were recuperating in that ruin hideout?"
Diala's brows drew together. "Of course. And you still deserved that pinch for not taking care of yourself."
Kiaria laughed softly. "Ah, yes. My ear still remembers."
He lifted his hand, fingertips brushing the faint mark she'd left there. "That happened because too much spiritual energy drained from me. My body's guard went down, and I inhaled miasmic poison. My blood condensed on instinct to protect my inner sea. But condensation comes with risk."
"What risk?"
"Blood condensation uses the remnant energy of the dead–animals, people, sometimes even spirits. If I'm weaker than what the blood belonged to, its lingering soul can invade my sea of consciousness and try to control me. It's like letting a ghost hold your heart."
Diala's expression darkened. "And you're still using it?"
He looked at her calmly. "Yes. Because I have a trump card in there–a presence that wakes whenever I'm close to death. It's protected me every time."
She didn't answer. For a while, she only stared at him–searching, wondering.
He noticed her gaze. "What are you thinking?"
Her eyes softened, but her tone was distant. "Really, what kind of person are you?" she thought to herself. "You always try to help me… always protect me. You never show affection, but you care more than anyone I've met."
"Dia?" Kiaria tilted his head. "Are you absentminded again? Did you hear what I said?"
She blinked, startled out of thought. "A–Ah? What did you say?"
He smiled faintly. "Too late. I already said it once."
She gaped at him, speechless. "You–!" Her cheeks flushed slightly as he turned away, still smiling.
He stretched his arms. "Anyway, we've settled everything here. But before we leave, there's a small matter left. In the house where I found the vine roots, I discovered a letter–sealed in dried blood. It was protected by that vines and a remnant of soul kept eye on it like closest possession. It might explain everything."
He reached into his robe and drew out a folded cloth. It was old, stiff, and stained with dark red.
Diala frowned. "A cloth letter?"
"Yes. Probably written by someone desperate to leave evidence behind."
He unfolded it carefully. The words, written in blood, were uneven but still legible. He read aloud:
"I'm Xenin, nephew of the village head.
I admit all this was done by me. I don't regret it.
They killed my lover–kind, gentle, always smiling. She healed the sick and helped the weak without asking for a coin. Yet, they slaughtered her family for belonging to the Valley of Rituals.
She was my world. And for that, they burned her life away.
Before her death, she cursed them–but she also left a cure. They don't deserve it.
I will end my life here. If fate chooses to save this village, I won't resist. Whoever reads this, know that we sought justice, not vengeance. If this reaches you, it means we are gone. Please… remember us."
Kiaria folded the letter silently.
Diala's lips parted slightly. "So the nephew… Xenin… it was him."
"Yes," Kiaria said quietly. "He created it all–for love, for loss." He looked down at the letter again. "And now both are gone. He left no hatred, only confession."
They stood there without speaking for a long time. The mist moved slowly between the ruins, like breath leaving the dead.
Finally, Kiaria spoke again. "Dia… you never asked me where we're heading next."
She glanced at him. "Would it make a difference?"
He smiled faintly. "Maybe not. But still… I'd like to know why you trust me so easily."
She looked away, lips curving slightly. "Maybe because you've never lied to me."
He didn't respond–just smiled again and began walking.
They crossed the outskirts of the Broken Mirror City as the light dimmed. Ahead lay the border path, and beyond it, the endless Grasslands.
Near the entrance, several campfires burned. A group of armed men stood around them–mercenaries, their armor mismatched but polished.
"Hey, kids!" one of them called. "You lost? Where are you going?"
Kiaria stopped politely. "We're travelers. Brothers, can you tell us what place this is?"
The man laughed. "Oh, this one's polite! Ferlin, look at them. Maybe we should take them as helpers!"
Another mercenary grinned. "Not a bad idea. Hey, kids–it'll be an honor to serve us!"
A third voice cut through sharply. "Ellein, don't scare them. You'll make them run off again."
Kiaria's eyes narrowed. "And what if we're not willing?"
The air changed. A flicker of violet shimmered across his fingers as he reached for his weapon.
The group froze. "Tch, look, someone here has some guts."
A tall man with dark silver hair stepped between them, expression stern. "Enough." He grabbed the two mercenaries by the ears, twisting hard. "Ellein, Ferlin–you fools! Don't bully children."
He turned toward Kiaria and Diala. "Forgive them. I'm Sheriff Staley, captain of this fools's group. They mean no harm, only stupidity."
Kiaria eased his hand away from his blade. "Understood."
Staley smiled faintly. "Where are you headed?"
"Grasslands," Kiaria said. "We're travelers."
"Well, we're heading that way too. Join us if you wish. Safer together–bandits roam these borders at night."
Kiaria studied him for a moment. A gentleman beneath the roughness. "Alright," he said finally. "But if any of you have ill intentions, I won't hesitate."
Staley chuckled. "Fair enough. I give you my word–no one will harm you under my command."
He waved a hand. "Come, it's getting dark. You can rest in our camp tonight. We'll leave at dusk. A cart will be ready for you."
They followed him through the camp. Fires burned low, casting red light across armor and tents. The men greeted Staley respectfully as he passed.
He pointed to two tents nearby. "You can rest here."
But Diala stepped forward. "We'll share one tent. That's enough."
The camp fell silent for a second. Someone muttered, "Wait–what?"
Staley blinked. "That's… not appropriate–"
Diala's cold stare silenced him immediately.
He coughed. "Right. As you wish."
They entered the tent and laid out two separate bedrolls. Outside, Staley turned to his subordinates. "Ferlin, Ellein–come here."
The two hurried over.
Staley's expression hardened. "Do you two even know who you just mocked? That scar on his forehead–can't you recognize it?!"
They exchanged puzzled glances.
"That's the mark of the Wolf Elder's heir! The Elder Saint Wolf himself sent word that his successor would pass this route. These two match every detail he gave–appearance, aura, even can't you realize that vertical birthmark within that white mark!"
The men went pale.
"If I hadn't stopped you," Staley continued, his voice low and sharp, "your heads would be lying in the dirt by now. Maybe families too. He is son of that Preceptor. No one knows how much distance his eyes can cover, if he noticed… Remember this–if we can help them now, our lives may finally change or else doomed."
The campfire crackled in uneasy silence.
Inside the tent, Diala sat cross-legged, eyes distant. "Wolf Elder's heir…" she murmured. "So they already know."
Kiaria looked toward the tent flap where faint light flickered through. "It doesn't matter. Let them think what they will."
"Still," she said softly, "you should rest. Tomorrow, the path ahead begins."
He nodded, closing his eyes. Outside, the wind brushed through the camp, carrying the scent of grass and smoke–the smell of the road waiting.
And beyond the hills, the endless plains of the Grasslands shimmered faintly under the moonlight, calling them onward into another chapter of fate.