The Guild Hall felt different now. There were fewer loud voices, fewer arguments, fewer triumphant adventurers boasting their winnings. Instead, there were lists of the dead. Requests for supply. Notices of ruined towns. The walls seemed to breathe with exhaustion.
Yoshiya and Omina stood before the quest board in the main hall, eyes drifting across parchment after parchment of requests. Most were battlefield duties or high-danger scouting. But one sheet—plain, unremarkable—asked for something simple.
"Logging: Oakwood Forest. High demand for lumber. Caravan materials prioritized."
Omina tapped the paper lightly. "This one."
Yoshiya nodded. "Supplies for the city… and wood for the horses' transport."
A small quest. A breath between storms.
They accepted it and left through Korvath's east gate, the city's stone walls fading behind them. The sky was clear, open, blue—the kind of sky that didn't feel like it was watching.
---
Oakwood Forest greeted them with the gentle hush of leaves rubbing against one another. Birds called lazily overhead. The ground was soft with moss, and the air smelled green and living. It was a world that didn't know war—or pretended not to.
They worked together, the way they always did.
Yoshiya swung the axe in steady, strong motions. Omina watched the trunks fall and began bundling them with twine and rope. There was rhythm to it. Familiar. Almost comforting. They didn't speak much. They didn't need to.
The logs piled up quickly. Far more than the minimum.
"We'll need extra for the caravan frame," Omina reminded.
"I know." Yoshiya knelt, selecting the straighter branches and thicker pieces. He trimmed and shaped them with careful whittling, hands steady, strokes clean. Then he wove the vines tight, binding wood to wood, forming the body of a sleigh small enough to hitch behind their horses.
It was rough, yes—but sturdy. Practical. Enough to bear the weight of supplies back home.
Omina stepped back, hands on her hips. "You build weapons, armor, traps, barricades, sleds. At this point, I think you just like making things."
Yoshiya shrugged with a faint smile. "If I don't make what we need, nobody else will."
She didn't deny it.
---
As shadows stretched longer across the clearing, Yoshiya removed the gloves from his hands and lifted them in front of him. The mana rings glinted faintly—each carved from Giggleburg's heart crystal, embedded with stored mana shards. Ten in total. One for each finger.
He breathed in slowly.
The mana surged—not as a single wave, but as ten threads, each one vibrant and alive, pressing against his skin. The power inside him swelled—vast, deep, heavy—but it did not break loose. It stayed. He held it.
The ground did not tremble. The air did not shake. Nothing burst.
It was controlled.
It was his.
Across the clearing, Omina leaned against a tree, watching. Not speaking. Just watching.
Nagare and Hayate grazed nearby, calm and content. Omina walked toward them, brushing her palm along Hayate's mane, then letting her fingers rest against Nagare's neck. Both horses breathed slow, peaceful breaths.
No blades drawn. No screaming orders. No burning towns.
Just the soft sound of wind moving through leaves.
---
Yoshiya look at his hands. The rings dimmed.
"It's stable," he said quietly.
"It has to be," Omina answered. She didn't tease this time. Her voice was warm, but heavy with truth. "Whatever comes next… we can't face it unprepared."
He nodded.
They stood together in the fading light—the sleigh ready, the horses calm, the forest breathing around them.
Their bond deepened here, in silence.
Their fear followed them still.
Their future waited.
Unwritten. Uncertain.
But shared.