The forest, after the storm had passed, was still breathing out dampness.
Along the narrow path marked by broken branches and the scars of rushing water, the night wind moved quietly, brushing everything it touched.
At last, Araya pushed the lid of the coffin open.
With a groan of straining wood and metal, the heavy seal was fully released.
Inside—
a boy lay sleeping.
His pale face was half-veiled by hair that clung softly as if still wet from rain, seeming almost to carry a faint, inner light.
The crests and ornaments that should have rested beside him were gone, vanished as though they had never existed—no more than an illusion.
Araya carefully lifted the boy and laid him down upon a rough bed of straw.
At that instant, a strange tremor ran deep through her chest.
Along with the sensation that something which had enveloped him had fallen away, there remained an inexplicable hollowness in its place.
Instinctively, Araya peered back into the coffin.
There was nothing—
only the joints of wood and iron.
And yet, from within, a faint presence still drifted upward.
It was neither fragrance nor medicinal herb.
It did not even resemble the dampness of the forest—
it was closer to an unnameable aura, something beyond words.
As though the air itself were glowing softly, it seeped inward, reaching deep into her chest.
The girl stepped back, drawing in a small, sharp breath.
For reasons she could not explain, her heart trembled—not with fear, but with a longing for something far older, something remembered without memory.
"…This isn't an illusion…"
Her whispered voice sounded hoarse even to her own ears.
She brushed her hand along the bottom of the coffin, but no trace remained—no clue, no sign.
When she listened closely, she could hear the boy's breathing.
Steady and deep, like the slow rise and fall of a great tide in sleep—
yet its precision was too perfect, carrying a mystery unlike any human heartbeat.
Araya sank to her knees and gently covered his shoulders.
His body was slender, yet there was a weight to it—
the kind of quiet solidity one feels when touching an ancient stone monument.
At the same time, somewhere deep within her chest, an alarm bell seemed to ring—
a precarious stillness, beautiful and dangerous.
Outside, the wind stirred the leaves, and the shadows of the forest stretched and swayed.
Far above, the shattered ring traced a silver band across the night sky, gazing down upon the forest in silence.
Araya lowered the light and brought her hands together in prayer.
In her eyes lingered the afterimage of that presence.
Deep within her heart, it pulsed like a wordless tremor, beating in time with her breath.
(This night will surely change something—)
A prayer meant for no one faded into the damp darkness of the forest.
Fate had already begun to move, quietly, beyond all notice.