Night descends quietly upon the small village of Zepharia.
The oil lamp upon the dining table burns steadily, its soft yellow light illuminating the faces of the three people seated around it. Only half a bowl of soup remains. The rice is nearly finished. The fried chicken is reduced to bones.
Lucy curls in the corner of a chair, her tail moving gently as the atmosphere begins to settle.
Vorn Krieger sits upright, both hands folded upon the table. His face appears older than Rose remembers. The hard lines along his jaw speak of years that have not been easy. Yet his eyes are different from earlier that afternoon—no longer empty, no longer pale.
Within his gaze, there is awareness.
There is himself.
The sorcerer still exists within his subconscious.
He senses it like a shadow standing behind his thoughts. It does not speak. It does not take control. Yet it remains. From the beginning, he knows one thing: as long as he stays away from the magic orb, the sorcerer's presence can be suppressed—at least as far as he understands.
He looks at Anne and Rose in turn.
"That is the story, Anne, Rose," he says calmly, once dinner has truly ended.
Silence lingers for several seconds.
Anne holds her cup with both hands, staring at Krieger as though afraid that if she blinks, he will vanish again.
Rose lowers her head, her fingers clasped together in her lap.
"Does Father know," Rose says softly yet clearly, "that during Father's absence, followed by Brother's… for years Rose waits for news. Rose hopes someone finds that crystal."
She pauses and draws a breath.
"Rose hopes to be with him. To search for where Father and Brother are."
Krieger looks at her deeply.
"And then, my child?" he asks gently.
Rose slowly lifts her face. Her eyes are already wet.
"It is granted," she says quietly. "Someone finds the crystal. His name is Hiro."
The name causes Krieger to narrow his eyes slightly.
"However," Rose continues, her voice beginning to tremble, "at the end of one night… Hiro disappears before everything happens. And Brother… is gone because of them."
Tears fall slowly down her cheeks.
Anne immediately embraces Rose's shoulders from the side, rubbing them warmly.
"That is enough, dear…" Anne whispers.
Krieger lowers his head. His hand clenches softly upon the table.
"Forgive Father entirely, my child," he says quietly. "Father follows your mother's message before she passes. She asks to uncover the truth. She asks to ensure this world is not continually deceived."
He draws a deep breath.
"Father believes he is able to do it. Father believes he is strong enough."
Anne looks at him, her eyes gentle yet carrying old wounds.
"You nearly die, Vorn," she says softly. "We believe you are truly gone."
Krieger nods.
"The news of my death is allowed to spread," he says calmly. "It is not an accident. It is not a mistake."
Rose raises her face again.
"What does Father mean?"
"That news is created deliberately," Krieger answers. "So the Government loses their sorcerer. So they suffer from believing they lose control. So they search for something that no longer exists."
Anne remains silent.
"Since that day," Krieger continues, "Father decides to disappear for some time. To wait until the great war truly occurs. To wait for them to destroy one another."
He looks at his own hands.
"As long as Father remains distant from the magic orb, the sorcerer can be suppressed. He still exists within Father's subconscious, yet he cannot fully emerge."
Rose closes her eyes briefly.
"So all this time… Father waits?"
Krieger nods.
"And the war has already occurred," he says quietly. "The Government collapses. The world changes."
He looks at Rose more sharply.
"So… the enemy of the world who travels merely to survive… was once with you?"
Rose nods slowly.
"Yes."
"Is he captured by them?" Krieger asks again, his voice slightly tense.
Rose shakes her head.
"No. He disappears. No one knows where."
Krieger exhales long.
"Thank goodness."
He leans back in his chair.
"In Father's view… that enemy of the world is the true hero of the world."
---
The journey toward Gaelvorn, though a full day has passed and night has arrived, is only halfway across the Solcendria Continent—the land between Nimurelle behind, Notchollow to the side, and Gaelvorn ahead.
The vast stretch of green fields feels even farther with the nearest village so distant.
Earlier, a carriage is found along the road. Now none remains.
Exhaustion weighs heavily. Yet the night sky, illuminated by moonlight among hundreds of stars, eases the fatigue when seen.
Steps come to a halt. There seems no harm in lying upon the green field.
Both hands rest behind the head, watching the beautiful night sky.
Eyes slowly close. There is no harm in resting briefly. Time remains abundant; the harbor can still be reached.
Without realizing it, sleep arrives.
---
Anne looks at him in shock.
"A hero?" she repeats.
Krieger nods firmly.
"The Government needs that crystal for their absolute power. Yet the boy named Hiro does not allow it to happen. After its discovery, only hope is given that he continues to survive and struggle along the right path. Unlike before," Krieger says halfway.
"Hmm?" Aunt Anne murmurs.
"As long as the crystal is not found, life is lived in vigilance. As long as the Government continually sends envoys to seek it, if they obtain it, all must bow and obey. The world would be fully controlled. Now, the story differs. That boy bears the burden of everything. One day, Father truly wishes to help him. That is why he is called the true hero."
---
WUSH—
The body suddenly sits upright from sleep.
A groan escapes.
The stomach and chest throb with pain, as though something squeezes from within, twisting without mercy. A hand reflexively presses against the side of the chest, trying to restrain the sudden surge.
Breath becomes uneven.
The night sky is observed.
"Damn it, will I be late?!" comes a low yet sharp murmur.
The moon is no longer as bright as before. Its light fades, a sign that night is nearing its end. Dawn approaches. If too much time is wasted here, the morning ship will depart without waiting.
Slowly, the body rises.
The first step feels heavy. Recovery is incomplete. A wound that once closes now seems to reopen, a reminder that healing is unfinished.
A village is visible in the distance. The rooftops resemble dark shadows at the edge of the horizon. The distance deceives—appearing near, yet not quickly reached at such a slow pace.
Only one thing is needed upon arrival—a carriage toward the harbor.
Yet uncertainty remains whether the morning ship can still be caught.
"Damn," comes another murmur.
Step by step.
At times, the gaze lowers to the rocky ground. At times, it lifts to the sky. The hundreds of stars that once shine brightly now appear dim.
The night wind pierces lightly against the skin—cold, yet clearing the mind.
The ship cannot be reached at this pace.
Steps stop.
Silence lingers.
The body stands upright upon the deserted dirt road. Only the sound of wind and the rustle of clothing is heard.
Eyes close.
The head tilts upward.
A long breath is drawn.
The cold, clean night air fills the lungs.
Doubt that once restrains movement is cast aside.
Breath is exhaled slowly.
Eyes open, ready to run.
Yet before the feet move—
The gaze fixes upward first.
Something streaks swiftly across the sky.
A long line of light splits the heavens.
A falling meteor?
Eyes narrow.
One.
No.
Another appears on the right.
Three?
Focus sharpens.
The streaks do not cease. They continue to appear, one after another, as though the sky itself cracks and releases fragments of light.
Five?
Breath is held.
Never before are so many meteors seen at once.
Usually one. At most two.
But this—
Eight?
Madness seems near if the number increases further.
The sky above fills with slanted trails of light descending toward the horizon. They are not a single color, not like ordinary meteors glowing pale white.
These are multicolored.
One burns red like embers.
One shines blue like the sea beneath sunlight.
One glows dim green like a wet forest.
The others are golden, purple, bright white, and one more—an indescribable shimmering blend.
They leave glowing dust in their wake, long trails that slowly fade.
They descend in the same direction.
Not directly overhead, yet close enough to create the sensation of standing at the center of something immense.
The body stands motionless.
Unaware that all steps have ceased.
"I wonder how it feels to fly in the air," comes an unconscious murmur.
Eyes close briefly—not for long. The sight is too magnificent to miss. The night wind is felt against the face, imagining being among those streaks of light.
But—
"HUUHHH?!"