Reflynne - Infirmary
Yoshiya's eyes snapped open long before dawn, long before any bell or healer declared him fully cleared. He sat on the edge of the cot, fingers tapping against his knee like a man trying to outrun his own thoughts. The room still smelled faintly of medicine and incense—Reflynne's trademark blend—but the quiet only made the storm inside him louder.
Forty-eight hours. That was the deal. Rest. Recover. No field work.
He had tried. Truly. But every word of the rescued child's testimony threaded itself through his mind, weaving itself together with Nishi's fragmented analyses. A dragon that did not behave like a dragon. A presence that hummed in the air like a forgotten prayer. Something in the north calling—no, warning.
"Spiritual," he murmured to himself, rubbing his temples. "We're trying to treat it like a machine, but something higher is moving."
From the hallway came the unmistakable sound of steel whistling through air.
Omina was in mid-twirl, blades slicing invisible patterns, her hair swinging like a banner in revolt. "Rest time is over," she declared without looking his way. "My blades are getting bored. If we don't move soon, they're going to start cutting the furniture."
Yoshiya didn't doubt it.
Further down the corridor, two figures sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by ink-stained notes and hastily drawn maps. Yami and Fukashi argued in sharp whispers while flipping through Nishi's compiled observations.
"The mana residue doesn't match any known dragon species," Fukashi pointed out.
"But the heat signatures do," Yami countered. "Unless the thing changed halfway."
They paused as Yoshiya approached, bowing their heads slightly before returning to their frenetic comparison of field data. They were supposed to be resting too, but intellectual rest was not something they understood.
Inside what had once been a meditation room, Akihiro sat motionless—except for his brows, which were knotted so tightly they looked carved. His hands hovered just above his knees, palms trembling faintly.
"Aki?" Yoshiya asked.
Akihiro spoke without opening his eyes. "There's a pulse in the north… like a drum hitting the earth. It resonates with the ogres the scouts saw. Blue eyes, wasn't it? That color wasn't mana—it was will."
Yoshiya felt a chill skitter up his spine. He didn't know what that meant, but Akihiro rarely felt things without reason.
Across the county, City of Korvath, Team Kenji was conducting their own brand of recovery: armoring up like wolves about to be let out of their cage.
Kenji strapped a bracer onto his arm with unnecessary force. "The forty-eight hours are up," he said, as if announcing a holiday. "We're heading to the war room. If they don't give us a mission, I'll assign one myself."
Anzuyi was already at the door, silent as stone, posture straight and uncompromising. She didn't tap her foot, she didn't sigh—but somehow her entire body radiated Can we go now?
Near her, Mikage, Seikaku, and Mireina finished checking their gear, muttering about scout reports that grew more disturbing by the hour—empty towns, vanished enemies, wandering ogres with glowing eyes. Nothing fit together, not even sideways.
"This feels like the prelude to something," Mireina murmured.
"Something big," Seikaku replied.
"Something stupidly dangerous," Mikage added.
Kenji grinned. "Good. I was getting bored."
By the time the sun finally crested the horizon, both teams were already filing out of the recovery wing—half healed, wholly restless, and very aware that the world outside had shifted while they were forced to lie still.
Their mandatory rest was over.
And whatever waited for them… wasn't resting at all.