The wind moved through the ruined square of Lirien's Rest like a sigh that had forgotten how to stop.
Ed remained rooted where the old man had left him, boots planted among cracked cobblestones and sprouting weeds.
The sun had slipped behind the western hills; long shadows stretched across the ash-blackened walls like accusing fingers.
He could still hear the old man's stick tapping away down the broken road—slow, deliberate, the rhythm of someone who had long since stopped expecting miracles.
Ed's right hand rose almost of its own accord.
His fingers trembled once, then steadied.
"Activate exiled skill," he said quietly, voice rough from disuse.
"Akashic's Compass."
A soft chime sounded inside his skull—not audible to anyone else, only to him.
Golden light bloomed in his palm, faint at first, then sharpening into the ghostly outline of an ancient compass rose.
The outer ring began to spin lazily; the inner disc remained still, waiting.
Ed closed his eyes for a heartbeat, gathering the question that had been clawing at the back of his throat since the old man spoke the word dead.
"What I seek," he said, "is the place where Hero Alexis died."
The outer ring accelerated.
The needle inside snapped toward a direction—north-northeast, past the shattered fountain, past the collapsed inn, straight through the blackened skeleton of the town gate and into the demon lands beyond.
Visions flickered across the inner disc like reflections on disturbed water.
A windswept valley choked with ash.
A broken banner bearing the royal crest of Notland fluttering from a snapped lance.
Kyle—Alexis—kneeling in blood-soaked grass, holy sword planted point-down as though it were the only thing keeping him upright.
A final, ragged breath.
Then stillness.
Ed exhaled sharply through his nose.
The image faded.
He opened his eyes.
The compass needle still pointed the same way.
"Confirmed," he whispered.
"The demon lord's capital region. Five years ago."
The golden light dimmed but did not vanish.
Ed swallowed once, hard.
"Where is Okasa the monk's place of death?"
The needle swung in a tight arc—then locked in the exact same direction.
Same place.
Same day.
Ed's shoulders sagged.
He stared at the compass as though it might change its mind if he looked long enough.
"Of course," he muttered.
"They wouldn't have left each other. Not at the end."
The light pulsed once—patient, almost gentle.
He forced the next words out.
"Tia… Lunaria Tia. Where is her place of death?"
The needle hesitated.
For the first time since activation, the outer ring slowed, stuttered, then stopped moving entirely.
No vision appeared in the center.
Just blank, shimmering gold.
Ed's pulse kicked hard against his ribs.
He stared at the motionless needle.
"Wait," he breathed.
He licked dry lips and rephrased the command with careful precision.
"Where is Tia—Lunaria Tia's current location?"
The compass jerked violently.
The outer ring spun so fast it blurred into a halo of light.
The inner disc flickered—fragments of images flashing too quickly to parse: dark forest, a single treehouse perched high in ancient boughs, faint silver light leaking from shuttered windows, the scent-memory of pine resin and woodsmoke.
Then the spinning slowed.
Stopped.
A single clear image crystallized.
A modest wooden structure woven into the canopy of an enormous elder tree.
Vines curtained the windows.
A narrow rope bridge swayed gently in the breeze.
Warm lamplight glowed behind one shutter.
Alive.
Ed's knees buckled.
He caught himself against the broken rim of the fish fountain, breath coming in short, ragged bursts.
"She's… alive."
The word tasted like something holy and impossible at once.
He looked up at the darkening sky, then back at the compass.
The needle pointed due west—deeper into the demon frontier, past ruined villages, past monster-haunted wilds, straight toward the heart of what used to be safe human territory.
Ed straightened.
The golden light in his palm flared brighter for a single heartbeat, then folded itself away until only a faint warmth remained against his skin.
He turned west.
No hesitation now.
No second thoughts.
He broke into a run.
The ruined town fell away behind him.
Broken walls, charred beams, the empty fountain—all swallowed by gathering dusk.
His boots pounded the overgrown road; grass whipped at his calves.
The compass warmth in his palm pulsed in time with his heartbeat, a quiet, steady guide.
He didn't stop to think about the impossibility.
He didn't stop to wonder how an elf who had once burned through mana like kindling could still be clinging to life alone in demon territory after ten years.
He only ran.
Faster.
The first stars appeared overhead—cold, indifferent pinpricks.
Ed pushed harder.
Wind tore at his cloak.
His lungs burned.
Muscles he hadn't truly tested since the divine realm screamed in protest.
He didn't care.
The compass needle never wavered.
West.
Toward the treehouse.
Toward Tia.
Toward the one piece of proof that maybe—just maybe—not everything he had left behind had turned to ash.