Several hours later, Leon and Rossweise stood amidst the windswept desolation of the Black Moon Dragon Clan's ruins. Just as Mevis had described, the area was a shadow of its former glory, a territory long since consumed by the ravages of a forgotten war.
Crumbling buildings and the skeletons of broken palaces littered the barren landscape. Overgrown brush and thorny weeds stretched across every corner, while small, skittering dangerous creatures darted among the fallen stones, scavenging for whatever sustenance they could find.
The streets and homes, though overrun by nature's relentless reclamation, still hinted at their original grandeur. The remnants of ornate stone pathways and intricate, half-shattered carvings told the silent, sorrowful story of a once-thriving civilization.
Leon and Rossweise walked slowly through the remnants of the clan's territory, their expressions heavy with thought and the weight of history.
"We should systematically recap what we know so far about Mevis and the peculiarities surrounding her," Rossweise said, her voice calm but deliberate, cutting through the eerie silence.
"Let's start from the very beginning. The first time we formally met Mevis was in Sky City, during the tournament, correct?"
Leon nodded, his eyes scanning the ruins. "Yes. At the time, we were entirely preoccupied with the Odin incident and the subsequent fallout, so we didn't pay much attention to a single combat instructor. It wasn't until the second encounter, at the academy, that I started to notice her... aura, I guess you'd call it. That inexplicable, nagging sense of familiarity."
Rossweise furrowed her brow, a silver strand of hair catching the pale light. "Exactly. But here's the fundamental problem—neither the Silver Dragon Clan nor I have ever had any political or social connections with the Black Moon Clan. It's statistically impossible for me to have met Mevis or any of her family before this. What about you? Any encounters during your... previous career?"
Leon tucked his hands into his pockets and thought for a long moment before shaking his head definitively.
"No. During my entire time in the Dragon Slayer Corps, we never once encountered, nor were we tasked with, the Black Moon Clan. The clan was wiped out nearly 27 to 28 years ago—the same year I was born."
Rossweise gave a quiet hum of acknowledgment before continuing, "So, that unexplainable familiarity remains our first major red flag. It's illogical, a feeling with no basis in fact, yet it's undeniable for both of us."
"And then there's the second issue," Leon added, lowering his voice. "Her so-called habit of resting with her eyes closed. But every time I used my hyper-sense to observe her during those moments, I noticed her consciousness remained unusually, intensely active. It's not like meditation. It's as if... she's holding a constant, silent conversation with someone."
Hyper-sense was a skill Leon had refined over years of life-or-death combat. It allowed him to perceive the subtlest fluctuations in a person's intentions or biological rhythms, almost as if he could read the current of their thoughts in real time. Normally, this ability was invaluable for anticipating attacks, but in Mevis's case, it revealed something much stranger.
"When most people sleep or even rest deeply, their mental activity slows down significantly, even when they're dreaming," Leon explained. "But Mevis's consciousness is different. It's a steady, focused stream of activity, like she's having an ongoing dialogue—only with someone we can't see or hear."
"That's incredibly suspicious," Rossweise agreed, her eyes narrowing. "And it's the second concrete thing about her that doesn't add up."
Rossweise crossed her arms, her silver eyes glinting as she gazed at the cloudy sky above the ruins.
"And the third oddity... is the depth of how much she seems to know about you. Even down to something as trivial and personal as your lifelong hatred of carrots."
Leon cringed at the reminder. "I'd like to think she found that out through Light... but, honestly, even Light wouldn't notice or care enough to share something that specific."
Rossweise smirked faintly. "Exactly. It's almost like Mevis has access to intimate knowledge no outsider should have—or maybe she's going to impossibly great lengths to study you."
"Either way, it doesn't sit right," Leon muttered, the unease settling deeper in his gut.
The pair continued their meticulous search, eventually arriving at the ruins of what once must have been the clan's grand sanctuary. Its crumbled arches and shattered pillars of black-veined marble bore silent witness to the tragedies of the past.
Rossweise shifted into her magnificent dragon form to clear a path through the rubble. With a single, powerful swipe of her tail, the debris blocking the main entrance was swept aside like pebbles.
They entered cautiously, scanning the dark, cavernous interior for any clues. The sanctuary was vast but utterly destroyed, a cavern of ghosts and memories. Hours passed as they combed through every alcove and chamber, finding nothing but ash, dust, and fragments of what might have once been priceless relics.
By sunset, they were seated on the remains of a broken throne platform, weary and frustrated from the fruitless search.
"You know..." Rossweise said, leaning back against the cold stone wall. "What if our assumption is wrong? What if Mevis isn't royalty from this clan at all? What if she's just... someone who happened to learn etiquette from a book or a wandering tutor?"
Leon raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And how do you explain her innate behavior, then? The way she carries herself, the subtle authority—it screams ingrained nobility, not learned mimicry."
"Who says a commoner can't learn to act noble if they practice hard enough?" Rossweise teased, though her heart wasn't in it.
Leon sighed, running a hand through his dust-streaked hair. "I guess. But something still feels fundamentally off about her. It's like there's this invisible thread connecting her to everything we're doing, everything that's happening, but we can't see where it leads or who's holding the other end."
Rossweise stood and dusted off her clothes. "Well, if we find nothing here, we'll just have to keep looking elsewhere. We're not done yet, Leon. We can't be."
Leon chuckled weakly. "Your relentless enthusiasm is both inspiring and terrifying sometimes, my queen."
The hours stretched on, and the last of the daylight began to fade, their hopes of finding anything tangible dwindling with it.
Just as they were about to concede defeat and leave the sanctum, Leon pulled open a decrepit, half-rotten drawer in a shattered desk, its wood petrified with age. He froze.
"Rossweise... I think I found something."
She hurried over as Leon carefully, reverently, pulled out an old, dust-caked diary, its leather cover brittle and cracked with age.
The cover was worn and stained, but the title, etched in faded ink, was still legible: "The Diary of Kate Damirlo."
Flipping it open with trembling fingers, Leon began to read the spidery handwriting aloud:
"Creation Calendar 1697, August 22: My sister was accepted into the Black Moon Royal Guard today! Mom and Dad prepared a big feast to celebrate! I'm so proud of her."
"Creation Calendar 1698, February 17: My sister returned from a dangerous mission. She was badly injured but said it was an honor to fight for the Black Moon Clan. She's so brave."
"Creation Calendar 1702, July 16: The Captain of the Guard came to our home today. He told us my sister didn't make it. She stayed behind to cover their retreat, surrounded by enemies... I refuse to believe it. She can't be gone."
The final entry made Leon's breath catch in his throat, his blood running cold:
"Creation Calendar 1702, December 2: On a snowy, gray day, the king released the spirit lanterns for the fallen warriors. One of them bore my sister's name: Mevis Damirlo. Now I have to believe. Now I have to say goodbye."
.
.
[Flashback - Creation Calendar 1702, July 16]
On a battlefield strewn with the dead and dying, Mevis Damirlo stood her ground, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She was the last line of defense, holding a narrow pass to allow her retreating comrades to escape. She knew it was a suicide mission. As the enemy closed in, a strange calm settled over her. Her thoughts were not of fear, but of a promise unfulfilled, a life cut short, and a deep, burning hatred for the architect of this war.
As her strength failed and the world began to dim, a presence manifested beside her—not a physical form, but a coalescence of will and profound sorrow. It was the spirit of a woman with eyes like pools of midnight, a wife who had lost everything to the same enemy.
"Your hatred echoes my own, warrior," the spirit whispered, its voice a soothing yet powerful balm in Mevis's fading consciousness. "Your body is broken, but your spirit is strong. I have the power to bind us, to grant you a second purpose. Lend me your vessel, and I will see justice done for the one I loved and lost. When my vengeance is fulfilled, your body will be returned to you, and you shall live again—reborn into a second life."
Mevis, with the last spark of her will, accepted. There was no formal pact signed in blood, but a fusion of intent and soul in that fleeting, eternal moment between life and death. A contract was forged in shared loss and singular purpose—two spirits entwined, one body, one path of vengeance.
[End Flashback]
.
.
Leon's hands trembled violently as the diary slipped from his grasp, falling to the dusty floor with a soft thud.
A faded, sepia-toned photograph fluttered out from between the pages.
He knelt and picked it up, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
The image showed a happy family: a young, smiling girl who must be Kate, her proud, beaming parents, and...
"Mevis," Leon whispered, his voice shaking with disbelief.
There was no mistaking her. The same black hair, the same composed, serious dark eyes, the same set of her jaw—it was undeniably her, frozen in time over three decades ago.
Rossweise's face paled as the horrifying realization dawned. "Leon... if Mevis died on that battlefield over thirty years ago... then who, or what, is the one teaching our daughter at St. Heath's Academy?"
Leon clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white, his jaw tightening like a vice.
The mysterious familiarity, the active consciousness, the intimate knowledge—it all snapped into a terrifying, impossible picture.
"We need to find out. Now."