The fog parted as if repelled.
Not by light.
Not by wind.
But by something older—mana dense enough to bend nature away from it.
Minus walked alone.
Behind her, Aura's fear still clung to the valley like an afterimage. But the path ahead offered no rest. The north pulled at her bones, not with urgency, but inevitability.
It was late morning when the snow began to fall—light, dry flakes that barely touched the earth before vanishing. The ground here didn't keep warmth. Or memories. Or footprints.
That suited her.
Each step forward drew her closer to the mountains, where the Spire pierced the sky like a needle through faded cloth. It did not gleam. It did not welcome.
It simply stood.
A relic from a time when magic did not yet obey the rules mortals now followed.
Minus knew what awaited.
Serie's domain was never meant to be reached. It was a place for endings. And rebirths. A graveyard for thoughts too dangerous to be written down.
She passed through a forest where the trees had long since petrified, their leaves turned to translucent plates of frozen mana. The silence was absolute. Not magical—natural. Like the world had agreed to forget this place.
That was where the construct found her.
It emerged from beneath the frost, humanoid but incomplete—its limbs stitched together from carved stone and bone-pale wood, its core a single, softly glowing rune: 観察—"Observation."
It did not speak.
Instead, it raised one hand. A pulse of mana swept toward her—diagnostic, precise, ancient.
Minus allowed it. For a moment.
Then she twisted the spell, fed it false data, reshaped the mana in its own pattern.
The construct stepped back, the rune on its chest flickering in alarm.
It lowered its hand.
And bowed.
By dusk, the path narrowed into a cliffside trail. Wind bit at her skin. Even Milliarde's strengthened body strained now—her reborn form not quite immune to the climb.
At last, as the final light drained from the sky, she saw it clearly.
The Spire.
Dark stone, seamless and cold, wrapped in faint threads of magic that shimmered only when the wind moved just right. It stood alone on a plateau, surrounded by broken archways and empty braziers. A sanctum of forgotten things.
A presence stirred.
And then—without spell or fanfare—Serie stepped from the Spire.
Unchanged.
Draped in the same white dress gown she wore ever since they were kids. For a moment, Minus remembered being young—long before war, long before names became weapons. She and Serie had once stood under the stars as equals, if not as friends.
Time had not touched Serie.
But Minus had drowned in it.
Serie's gaze lingered on her with quiet focus. Her voice, when it came, was calm but edged with sharp amusement.
"I was wondering when you'd get here. Taking your time?"
Minus raised an eyebrow, giving her a sidelong glance. "Not everyone's in a rush to walk into a haunted tower, Serie."
"This place isn't haunted. It's a sanctuary for forgotten things. Not quite the same."
Minus smirked, crossing her arms. "Oh, I'm sure that makes it a cozy little vacation spot."
Serie's lips curved into a slight smile, the corners of her eyes flickering with the faintest trace of amusement. "If you prefer shrines and dust, you could always turn around."
Minus rolled her eyes. "Right, because I definitely came this far for the charm. So, what do you have for me? A dusty old book or another cryptic riddle?"
Serie took a step forward, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "I know why you're here. Not just for the answers. You're tangled up in something older, aren't you? This body you wear—"
She paused, her gaze drifting over Minus like an equation, calculating.
"It carries traces of Frieren."
Minus froze for a moment, her lips curling into a sardonic smile. "Always a pleasure to have that particular ghost hanging around."
Serie tilted her head, her tone sharpening, but still measured. "You're wearing more than just a borrowed body. There's something more beneath the surface. Something familiar, yet off. The scent of her is still there, isn't it?"
Minus exhaled, clearly annoyed by the observation. "It's not like I asked for it. Besides, it's not my fault she left me a little… souvenir."
"It's not a souvenir. It's a link. To someone who was once important." Serie's eyes flickered with something unreadable. "The bond between them was not just physical."
Minus narrowed her eyes, eyes flashing with a tinge of sharpness. "That's a lot of words for someone who's trying to sound cryptic. What exactly are you suggesting?"
Serie's voice was a calm murmur, almost a whisper, but its weight carried an unexpected depth. "What do you think I'm suggesting? That you're walking around with a connection to the past. And that connection, whether you like it or not, is still tugging at you. Still guiding you."
Minus shrugged. "Great. A connection. A tether. All I need is another reason to feel haunted."
Serie's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "Yes. But it's not just you. There's more to it. It's always been more than just the body you wear, Minus. It's what's been left behind. The mark of something that even I can't fully read."
Minus stared at her for a long moment, then spoke with a mix of sarcasm and disbelief. "Well, then I suppose you'll just have to tell me how to deal with it. Because I sure as hell don't know."
Serie stepped aside, gesturing toward the Spire's entrance, her tone now warmer but no less sharp.
"Come inside. I'll tell you what I can. And maybe… if you ask nicely enough, I'll help you figure out what your 'souvenir' means."
Minus stared at the open door for a moment, then smirked, her gaze flicking back to Serie.
"Only if you promise not to make me read any of your boring scrolls, okay?"
Serie raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "No promises. But if you don't like my scrolls, you're welcome to leave. It's a long walk back."
Minus grinned, walking toward the entrance.
"Better make it worth my while, then."