Gilly lay on the ground as her legs slowly healed. She had saved Zenora, so she thought relief would follow—but instead, that uncanny feeling from earlier gnawed deeper in her chest.
In fact, it had only grown worse.
When Zin and Siel returned, she noticed they were far more drenched in blood than she was. They must have fought far bigger opponents.
She listened in as Zin spoke quietly with Siel. Their words carried weight—these strange monsters that appeared out of nowhere were a bad omen.
By the time her legs knit back together, she forced herself upright. Zenora knelt by the stream, washing her head with water magic. The blood was gone, but magic couldn't erase the scars left behind.
Gilly rose, wearing a bright smile as a mask. It fooled no one but herself. Zin only patted her on the back, silent but steady.
Siel's gaze fell on the slain kobold at her feet. He was glad Gilly was capable, yet guilt pricked him—he should have tracked every enemy, and failing to do so nearly cost them.
Zin quickly ordered the gathering of loot, including whatever the new enemies had brought.
Zin wandered off toward the ocean, intent on catching fish. Fish, or at least something like it, Gilly thought. Probably a shark in Genesis.
But no matter how she tried to distract herself, the sense of dread clung to her like a shadow.
Siel worked methodically, stripping salamander scales. Gilly, meanwhile, was given the unsettling task of extracting kobold teeth. By the time the first moon rose in crescent and the fourth moon joined it, their grim work was complete.
They sat together around a crackling campfire, quietly chewing through the catch Zin had prepared.
Then he spoke:
"Something might happen when we reach Loran."
He tossed the last scrap of his meal into the flames.
"So rest up. It's going to be a long journey."
Gilly wanted to press him further, but she didn't even know what questions to ask. In this world, she was oblivious—she didn't understand why finding demons where dark mana was scarce mattered, or what creatures lived where, or what their habits were. She still had so much to learn.
One by one, they drifted down into rest. Siel first, then Zenora. Zin lay back next, with Gilly at his side, the campfire snapping softly in the silence.
"Gilly," Zin said with a faint smile, "you can break a few bones and recover. But if you fail when it comes to saving a friend, you'll never recover from that."
He turned to the sky, lying on the grass.
Gilly thought of the battle's end, her hand tightening. If she had missed, she wouldn't have been able to strike again. Worst of all—Zenora might have died. But what other choice had there been? The ache in her chest swallowed any words she wanted to speak.
Exhaustion claimed her. She collapsed onto the grass and drifted into sleep.
But Zin remained awake, listening. Beneath the fire's crackle, he could hear Zenora sobbing.
---
Laughter echoed through the tunnels.
A high, familiar giggle—Amy.
The girl darted between the stone walls, twin brown ponytails bouncing, a screaming helmet clutched in her arms. A headless knight gave chase, armor clanging as he stumbled after her.
"Amy, stop! Give it back!" the head howled from where she carried it.
She weaved from side to side until she reached the great intersection. At its center stood a massive stone door etched with glowing inscriptions. Amy circled it gleefully, the armored body thundering after her.
"Don't you dare, Amy!" the head cried again.
When the knight nearly caught her, Amy tossed the helmet into one of the dark branching tunnels. She laughed as the body staggered toward it—yet when new footsteps echoed, her smile faltered.
They were silent, but their presence pressed against her chest as they drew closer.
Three figures emerged from the shadows.
First, a young man with dark skin.
Second, a masked figure, a question mark etched across his face.
Last, a tall silhouette carrying a massive sword, his entire body formed from shifting shadow, eyes glowing faintly.
Amy froze. She recognized the man in the mask. But the dark-skinned one—his presence unsettled her. It stirred nostalgia, but also fear.
"Uyi…" she whispered.
Kandili heard her clearly. His expression did not change, but his chest tightened. That was the name of this body's true owner. I cannot let myself be discovered yet.
He studied Amy. She was strange, uncanny even. Her aura felt familiar—almost overwhelming. The great stone door behind her radiated with such force that even in his weakened state, Kandili knew whoever lay beyond was powerful.
The only reason he could still move freely was his deep mastery of knowledge—magic manipulation, dismantling, unraveling barriers.
But then, another shock.
With a shimmer of light, a massive tome appeared in Amy's hands. She hugged it tightly, and her childish playfulness fell away, replaced with sharp focus.
The one behind them… and this dark-skinned man… they carry the same energy as me and Aunty, Amy thought.
Kandili's heart jumped. Until the tome appeared, he could hear her thoughts—but suddenly, the noise was cut off. His eyes narrowed at the inscriptions glowing faintly along its edges.
"Magic jamming…" he muttered.
It was familiar, but his fragmented memory couldn't place where he had seen it before.
Footsteps approached again. The armored knight returned from another tunnel, his severed head firmly reattached.
"Oh, Hazaril," the knight rumbled, chuckling. "You've brought some friends. Well, I'm not sure Master is—"
The sentence broke off.
The giant stone door behind him shuddered. Its inscriptions blazed to life. Slowly, it opened, spilling light into the cavern and revealing a crimson carpet stretching into shadow.
Amy darted inside at once.
Kandili's frown deepened. The pressure leaking from beyond the door pressed down on him like a mountain.
The black knight knelt low, bowing as the door finished opening.
At the far end of the vast hall, upon a throne, sat a woman cloaked in jet black, her long hair as dark as midnight. Amy leapt into her lap with childlike ease, but the woman's gaze ignored the girl.
Her eyes fell instead on the dark-skinned man.
"It seems you've brought me an interesting one this time," she said, smiling faintly.
Kandili's throat tightened. This one is dangerous… Sweat beaded at his temple. Of all beings he could stumble across, a dark dragon was the last he wanted to meet.
"Who is this new friend?" she asked.
"Darkone," Hazaril replied, voice smooth behind the mask. "Allow me to introduce Kandili, an apostle who awakened from a long slumber."
Kandili's body locked. He had forgotten to warn Hazaril to stay silent. Even with all his skill—like when he had dismantled the elven barrier—facing a dragon in his weakened state would be suicide.
Then came her voice again.
"An apostle, you say?"
Her eyes glowed faintly. A subtle pressure filled the hall, heavy, probing. Kandili resisted easily enough—but chose not to. There was no use in provoking her. She had been testing him since the moment he walked inside.
And now she knew exactly what he was
---