The winds circled the slopes of Mount Etna.
They came drifting in from the nearby ports, carrying the faint briny scent of the sea.
After several millennia, nearly seven hundred thousand people now lived around this volcano. The rich soil, born of countless eruptions and layers of ash, had made the region densely populated and prosperous.
From afar, the hot wind echoed through the mountain ridges, its voice carrying upward in waves that sounded like sorrowful cries.
Under the blazing brilliance of the sun, travelers camping on the slopes looked down to see two figures making their way up from below.
A silver-haired man walked slowly but steadily, hand-in-hand with a young girl. As they passed through the camp, the leader stepped out of his tent, offering a full waterskin to the unknown but kindly strangers.
"You must be tired. Please, take this."
"Thank you."
The man accepted it without hesitation, giving a polite nod before drinking deeply. In just a few gulps, the two-liter skin was emptied. The girl with him did the same.
The way they drank—like warriors downing strong liquor—left the other travelers watching in awe.
And yet, it was not the girl who drew their eyes, beautiful though she was. It was the man beside her.
The one who smiled so gently seemed to turn the harsh brilliance of the sun into something like moonlight, soft and tender as it touched his silver-white hair. No spell, no mystery—just his presence alone filled hearts with warmth.
The people in camp, men and women alike, all felt the same strange certainty: If I knew this man, I'd get along with him just fine.
"Are you two traveling as well?" someone asked.
"Something like that," the man replied. "We're mostly here to meet someone."
"A companion?"
"A beloved," he said simply. "Thank you for your help. We'll be moving on."
"Yes, that's right," the girl quickly added, nodding with a warm, soft smile that swelled in her chest at his words.
"Ah, I see. Then I won't hold you back."
The leader laughed, waving them on. "Go well, you two. Be happy."
Through the sweltering land they continued, their forms concealed from modern eyes by the veil of magecraft.
By dusk, the volcano's summit loomed before them, its fires like an eternal beacon in the darkening sky.
"Eh? Novia, are you planning to just jump straight in from here?"
Melusine wasn't worried for herself, but for him—for what the heat might do to his body.
Novia only nodded lightly. His gaze followed the magma as it rose and fell like waves of crimson fire, carrying a pulse that had never ceased since that day long ago.
Something had changed, though. Unlike millennia past, all other vents of the volcano were now sealed—leaving only the main crater open.
That must have been Typhon's doing.
"When it happens, I'll need you to keep the eruption from harming anyone, Melusin."
She had already told him: Etna had grown restless again the moment she arrived. Perhaps Typhon had sensed Albion's presence and was sending a territorial warning.
Novia could feel it too—the same fiery spirit that had dwelled here a thousand years ago.
"Leave it to me!"
As she answered, glowing runes appeared around him. Without hesitation, Novia leapt into the crater.
He passed through the orange magma and descended deeper, into a lake of blood-red fire. It rolled and surged like molten flame itself, bubbling and bursting with sharp hisses, its low roars like the bellow of some vast beast.
"Get out of here, Albion!"
The furious voice shook the air as endless lightning burst forth from the magma.
Does she think I'm Albion? Novia wondered.
But the moment that storm of lightning touched the runes around him, it vanished. The volcano, poised on the brink of eruption, fell silent.
And there—he saw her.
Deep in the magma's core, cloaked in writhing black, as though countless serpents coiled around her.
Her red hair spread like flame against the crimson glow. Her eyes—one golden, one dark—held both radiance and shadow.
Just as she had been the first time they met.
"You… it's really you…"
Typhon lowered her gaze, staring at the molten reflection of herself and the silver-haired man.
"Yes. I'm here, Typhon."
She looked up. His eyes hadn't changed. The weight in them made her heart skip.
The unease and fear that had circled her thoughts melted away like illusions.
Because when he spoke, it always came true. No matter how impossible it seemed at first glance, his words became miracles.
Typhon believed that. She always had. As naturally as breathing.
There are no miracles, she thought. Only inevitabilities, and coincidences that entwine with choices. Words become action, action becomes reality. Without wishes, nothing happens.
Her breath caught. She clasped her hands before her chest, unconsciously tightening them.
And then, she and Novia simply stared into each other's eyes.
A thousand years had passed. They should have endless things to say.
But silence was enough.
For Typhon, just being here with him once more was enough to soothe her heart.
It felt like the old days.
The centuries since their parting had stretched on unchanged, as if time itself had frozen. She had wept, laughed, remembered, endured, through every season. Waiting. Always waiting.
And when the memories grew too heavy, she curled into herself and cried, powerless in her longing. For the day he would come. For the chance to stand beside him again.
She could have left—her bindings broken, her cage undone. But she stayed. Because no place in the world felt like hers. No destination. No home.
So she remained. Waiting.
If only I could see you again. If only… never again, alone.
She opened her mouth to speak those words—
"──Typhon Ephymilos."
His voice stopped her breath. Her lips closed, her hands pressed together tighter against her chest.
She didn't know why, but she felt it: Novia was about to say something unlike anything before.
He stepped forward. The magma rippled beneath his feet.
"You know, Typhon… I've always been good at pursuing people. But I'm just as good at finding them."
He smiled at her, his silver hair catching the glow, his eyes never wavering.
"And that's why—"
He gazed into her gold-and-dark eyes with no hint of rejection, only warmth.
"I'm here. I came for you. To take you with me. I want you by my side—for all of life, and forever."
Her eyes widened. Words failed her.
Because she felt the same. She had always felt the same.
She wanted nothing more than to remain at his side. To stay with him. Forever.
She had known his answer a thousand years ago, but still her heart soared with joy.
Before she could think or speak, her body moved.
There was less than a step between them. Typhon closed it.
She seized his shoulders, as if to hold him in place, and rose on her toes.
Her lips touched his, carefully—gently.
She kissed him.