The fire crackled quietly in the snowy dusk.
Aether-powered tents glowed with faint pulses across the plateau where they'd made camp. Just beyond the flickering perimeter, the peaks of the Aldana Mountains loomed like frozen giants, unmoved by the shame that settled like lead over the group.
Elric stared into the fire, jaw clenched.
No one spoke.
Even Leon, seated stiffly a few feet away, avoided meeting his eyes.
The soldiers moved in silence. Eating in silence. Breathing in silence.
Like ghosts.
"...So that's it then?" Elric finally muttered.
The wind whistled.
No one answered.
He stood.
"You all just gonna sit here pretending like nothing happened?"
Still no response. Only the faint crunch of snow and the slow sizzle of burning pine.
His voice rose.
"Are you seriously not even gonna talk about it?!" He pointed toward the distant cliff where they had last seen him. "He saved us!"
Lena flinched. Mira looked away.
Leon stayed quiet.
Elric stepped closer to the firelight, teeth gritted, fists shaking at his sides.
"He scouted Charlie without asking questions. He spotted the refugee camp no one else could see. He saved dozens of lives!"
He jabbed a finger in Leon's direction.
"You sent him to the rear guard. Alone. Again."
A pause. A flash of guilt in Leon's eyes.
"And when the Titan came, you left him." Elric's voice cracked. "You left him."
"Enough," Leon finally said, voice low. "We made a decision."
"You mean you made a decision!" Elric snapped.
He turned to the others.
"And all of you just followed. No one spoke up. No one said a thing. Not even a damn protest."
Still, no one moved.
Elric's voice softened, trembling.
"You all saw it. You knew he wasn't one of us. He didn't belong to any rank. And still... he took all the crap. All the suicide missions. He never once complained."
He thought of Matteo's crooked smile. That sarcastic tone. His stupid doll-like face and that unshakable calm—even when facing death.
"He fought like a madman, yeah," he whispered. "But didn't he fight for us?"
No answer.
Elric closed his eyes. His throat burned.
He reminded him too much of—
No.
He wouldn't say it. Not now. Not aloud.
He drew in a breath, then stepped back.
"You wanna know the worst part?" he muttered. "I didn't even know the guy for that long... and I still feel like I lost someone I've known for years."
Silence.
He slung his gear over his shoulder.
"I'm done."
Leon looked up. "What do you mean?"
"I'll go with you to Sedan. I'll make sure the civilians make it there safely. After that..." He stared at the snow-dusted mountains beyond.
"I'm out."
He didn't wait for permission.
He just walked.
No one followed.
No one stopped him.
---
Back in the manor where Matteo was recovering...
The warm scent of roasting meat still lingered in the room.
Matteo sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, wrapped in coarse linen bandages. His fingers absently traced the faint lines of the ticking tattoo that coiled over his skin like some ancient relic—glowing faintly in the sunlit room.
His eyes drifted toward the doorway, where the old man stood.
"You saved me..." Matteo said. "Why?"
The horned man waved a dismissive hand and stepped inside. "It was nothing."
He moved like someone far younger than he looked. Under those robes, his frame was thin—shrunken with age—but there was no denying the power behind his movements.
"That Titan was one of the weaker ones anyway." he said casually.
Matteo blinked. "Weaker?"
"Yes." The old man sat across from him. His golden eyes glowed faintly. "There are worse things coming. You've stumbled into a dying world, child. One on the brink of its final war."
Matteo remained quiet.
"I assume you're not from here."
"...No." But how did this old man know?
The old man nodded. "Thought as much."
He reached into his robes and produced a small, jagged stone inscribed with a symbol— a rune. It shimmered faintly with deep red light, pulsating like a heartbeat.
"What's that?" Matteo asked.
The old man held it between two fingers.
"A Rune. A Draconic Rune, to be exact. A forbidden source of power... one even the laws of this world despise."
He tossed it. Matteo caught it, barely suppressing a flinch from the heat.
"Why give this to me?"
"Because," the old man said, leaning back, "I'm dying."
The words landed like thunder.
"What?"
"I have maybe a few months. A year if I'm lucky. My body's old. My time is ending."
Matteo stared.
"I need someone to protect her." He glanced toward the hallway where the girl had vanished. "My granddaughter. Her name is Yurisha—it means starry sky in an old tongue. She's all I have left."
The room fell quiet for a moment.
Matteo lowered the Rune.
"You want me to be her bodyguard?"
"No," the old man said. "I want you to be her shield. To stand between her and the coming fire."
Matteo looked down at the rune in his hand.
"And this? What's the catch?"
The old man's expression darkened.
"Burning it into your body will be... excruciating. Worse than any torture you've known. The mark will tether you to the world in a way no mortal was ever meant to endure."
He leaned forward.
"You'll grow stronger with each battle. Absorbing strength. Evolving. But the world will see you as a thorn in its side. Fate will work against you. You'll be pulled toward danger. Always. Forever."
"And the benefit?"
"You'll awaken a trait... one that only dragons carry. A singular, powerful feature."
"What kind of trait?"
The old man smiled faintly. "You'll find out when it awakens."
Matteo looked at the rune again.
Warm. Dangerous. Alive.
He chuckled bitterly. "I've had a shitty hand since birth. This might just be the final nail in the coffin."
The old man stood.
"Or the first step toward reshaping your fate."
A pause.
"Will you accept?"
Matteo kept staring at the Rune.
What was the harm? The world was already against him from the start.
He exhaled.
Then nodded.