The smell of moss and steel hung in the air. The cave was quiet again, the way it always became after the morning ritual—water dripping from the ceiling into the shallow pool near the entrance, each drop loud enough to echo across the old dungeon walls. Light bled through the crack above us, thin and dusty, painting lines across the bedrolls and the half-finished tea on the stone table.
I'd packed everything already. My gear leaned against the wall—two sword cases, a folded jacket, and the sealed crate that held the demigod weapons. They were mine—made from divine-grade ice, born of my own hands and temper. Their runes were dull now, sleeping until I was strong enough to feed them again.
Fran stood across from me, arms folded, eyes half-closed in that way she did when she was thinking three things at once. The old woman didn't look like much—barefoot, hair tied in a messy knot, apron still stained from breakfast—but the air around her always felt thick, like the cave itself bowed a little to her mana.
"Are you sure you can walk that far?" she asked. "Two days to the edge if you don't use shortcuts."
"I've walked farther with worse," I said. My voice sounded steadier than I felt. "And I can't stay here forever."
Fran's gaze drifted along my forearms. The veins under the skin pulsed unevenly, dim lines of pale red against the white. Even so, my breathing stayed even, my body calm and steady.
"You still have a month before those veins finish knitting," she murmured. "Push too much mana and they'll tear again. You remember what that felt like?"
I did. Like swallowing fire backwards.
I nodded once.
She sighed, ladled a cup of dark liquid from the cauldron, and handed it to me. "Drink. It'll keep the pain quiet until night."
The brew smelled like burned herbs and copper. I took a sip and winced as it clawed its way down my throat.
"It tastes worse than the last batch," I said.
"Means it works better." Her mouth curved into a smirk. "You'll live."
"That's debatable."
Fran's smirk faded as quickly as it came. "Kitsuna," she said softly, almost carefully. "You've healed enough to move, not to fight. The world's different now—louder, crueler."
"I'm not surprised, seeing what happened in the capital."
"You don't have to prove anything."
"I'm not trying to." I slung my jacket over one shoulder. "But they'll need me."
"Stacy's army, or your lover?"
"Both."
She snorted. "Same answer every time."
Silence stretched. Only the dripping water and faint hum of the runes carved into the cave walls filled it.
I tightened the strap on my pack. The movement sent a faint throb through my wrists—annoying, not crippling. At least it's honest about it.
Fran stepped closer and pressed two fingers lightly against my chest, just over the heart. A spark of warmth spread through my ribs—her mana, gentle but firm.
"Your core's stable," she said. "That means you can live normally. No combat spells, no Wrath, no channeling. Not until the veins realign. You can use those weapons; you use them like steel, not magic."
I nodded. "Understood."
"Good." She drew her hand back. "Then I have nothing else to teach you—until you break something again."
"Give me a week."
Fran actually laughed. "I'll be here. Don't make me fetch your corpse out of the forest."
"No promises."
She rolled her eyes, rummaged through a shelf, then handed me a small charm—two interlocked rings of silver and glass tied with red string. "Keep it near your wrist. It'll dull mana pressure if you wander into another cursed zone."
I turned it over in my hand. "Didn't you say these were unstable? "
"They are. But it's better than nothing. They stay dormant unless you start channeling—which you're not allowed to."
I slipped it onto my left wrist. The glass ring shimmered faintly, catching the weak light. "You always give the prettiest death traps."
"Flattery won't prevent it from exploding if you disobey."
"Noted."
Fran leaned against the table. "Before you go, there's something else."
I waited.
"The Black Ops are active," she said. "I picked up chatter—squads moving through the eastern routes. Looks like they're hunting something for Stacy."
That made me pause. "You listened in?"
"I listen to everything."
"Of course you do." I retied my braid, mostly to stall. "So they're close."
"Close enough that you'll cross paths if you follow the ridge. Whether you should… that's another question."
"They probably think I'm dead."
"Then they'll be very surprised."
"Maybe that's good." I checked the latch on the crate, making sure the seal held. "They need a reminder: the fox still breathes."
Fran shook her head. "You've been quiet for weeks, and now you want to make an entrance. Typical."
"Would you rather I sent a letter?"
"You could barely hold a pen."
"Touché."
She smirked again, but the humor didn't last. "When you see them, keep your temper in its cage. Wrath might be sealed, but your tongue isn't."
"I'll behave."
"You've never behaved."
"Then I'll improvise."
"Stubborn girl."
"Teacher's fault."
She walked me toward the cave mouth. Outside, the forest waited—trees black with age, roots coiling over broken stone. Morning light barely touched the ground. Mist clung to everything like breath on glass.
I paused at the threshold. The air smelled different after so many months underground—cleaner, sharper, and full of noise. Birds somewhere far above. The low rumble of distant beasts. The world was alive and indifferent.
Fran stopped beside me. "If you hear the forest singing, turn around."
"That old myth again?"
"Not a myth." She glanced toward the treeline. "Something's wrong with the north sector. Even the corrupted beasts avoid it. Stay away."
"I will." Probably.
She must've sensed the hesitation because she clicked her tongue. "Kitsuna."
I looked at her.
"Promise me."
The weight in her voice wasn't anger—it was fear. That alone made me nod. "I promise."
Her shoulders eased. "Good. Then go before I decide to chain you back to the bedroll."
I stepped out. The ground was damp beneath my boots, soft moss giving way to stone. Pain flickered once through my calves where the veins hadn't fully settled, but it passed easily. My stamina held steady; whatever limits I had left, endurance wasn't one of them.
Behind me, Fran called out, "And remember—no mana!"
"I heard you!"
"You always hear me. You never listen!"
I waved my hand without turning back. The echo of her voice followed me until the trees swallowed it.
[Forest Path: Two Hours Later]
The path wound downward, following an old stream that had long since dried into gravel. Sunlight filtered through thick leaves, painting everything in uneven gold. My pack felt heavier with every step—mostly the weight of the crate, not fatigue.
The forest breathed around me: low hums, chirps, and the crack of branches in the distance. Somewhere east, a beast roared, deep enough to shake dust off the trees. I tightened my grip on the strap and kept walking.
By midday, the air grew heavier. The forest pressed on my ears like water. I recognized the boundary—an old corrupted zone, cleansed long ago but still scarred. The trunks bore faint burn marks, and the soil glittered faintly with residual mana dust.
I rested a hand on one of the trees. The glass charm on my wrist pulsed once, then quieted. The air tasted metallic.
Still poison in the ground. Guess the Church never finished their purge here.
I kept moving.
A low growl broke the monotony. Ahead, something moved between the trees—too smooth for wind, too silent for prey. I crouched, hand drifting to my sword hilt before remembering the rule: no mana.
Fine. Steel would do.
A corrupted boar stepped into view, flesh mottled with black veins, tusks glinting with crystallized rot. It snorted, steam rising from its nostrils, and pawed the dirt.
"Of course it's a boar," I muttered. "Never something graceful."
It charged.
I sidestepped and drew my blade in a clean arc, metal singing as it cut through air. The strike caught its shoulder; the impact jarred my wrists. Black blood splattered the ground. The boar turned, eyes burning faint red.
Another charge. I ducked low, slammed the flat of the blade against its snout, pivoted, and drove my boot into its neck. The creature crashed sideways into a tree.
I exhaled slowly. Still fast enough.
The boar staggered up again. I grabbed the shorter blade, curved for close work, and advanced. One step, two—then a precise slash across the throat. The beast collapsed, gurgled once, then stilled.
Silence returned. I cleaned the blade on the moss and slid it back into its sheath. My heartbeat is steady. No dizziness, no strain.
Good. Still stupid enough to fight without a warm-up.
Overhead, ravens circled—three of them, black against the sunlight. Watching. They followed as I resumed walking, keeping distance but never leaving sight.
Old superstition said ravens marked roads to change. I wasn't superstitious, but I didn't argue with patterns.
By the time the sun began sinking, I'd cleared the corrupted zone and reached the ridge. Wind swept through the trees, carrying the distant scent of metal and smoke—civilization. On the horizon, past the veil of heat and dust, something glinted. A moving line, metallic, rhythmic.
I shaded my eyes. At first it looked like a caravan, then shapes resolved—figures in formation, armor catching the light, banners folded against the wind. Not beasts. Not travelers. People.
And among them, faint but unmistakable, the silver-and-red insignia of the Draig squads.
A slow grin tugged at the corner of my mouth.
So they really were here.
[Nightfall—Edge of the Ridge]
I set camp in the hollow of a broken tree, a small fire hidden behind stones. The night air has turned cooler, laced with the promise of rain. I sat with one sword across my knees, polishing the blade with a rag soaked in oil. Each scrape of cloth on metal steadied the rhythm in my chest.
The forest crackled with distant sounds—wings, the scurry of small creatures, and the sigh of leaves. Somewhere far off, thunder rolled.
I sheathed the sword and leaned back against the trunk. The stars were faint through the canopy, blurred by the rising clouds.
Tomorrow, I'll find them.
And whatever comes after, we deal with it one blade at a time.
The fire cracked softly, throwing small sparks into the dark. I closed my eyes and let the forest breathe around me, the scent of rain thickening, the quiet settling deep.
For the first time in months, the world felt wide again.