Serar sat across from them, watching their clasped hands. A complex glint flickered in his deep blue eyes.
He lowered his head and opened the book he carried with him, but didn’t read it.
The carriage continued forward. The sound of wheels crushing snow was monotonous and dull.
From somewhere far away, a wolf’s howl echoed.
Long and lonely, as if calling for something, or warning of something.
The carriage stopped before dusk fell. Serar jumped down, surveyed the terrain, and chose a sheltered slope.
There were a few old pines with dense crowns that could block some wind and snow.
He pulled out a tent and sleeping bag from his Space Ring, setting them up with practiced ease.
Lyra stood nearby watching, wanting to help but not knowing what to do. In the end, Serar tossed her the smaller tent.
“You set this up. For Freya to sleep in.”
Lyra hugged the tent, crouched on the ground, and studied it for a long time before figuring out how the ropes and poles connected.
By the time she had the tent up, crooked and lopsided, Serar had already started a fire.
The flames lit up the small camp, casting the surrounding snow in warm orange-red.
“I’ll go hunting.”
Lyra stood up, brushing the snow off her skirt.
“What does Boss want to eat?”
Serar glanced at Freya.
She sat by the fire, wrapped in her dark gray coat, her light purple hair taking on a warm hue from the flames. Her eyes were half-open, as if watching the fire, or spacing out.
“Get something easy to digest. Her stomach’s bad.”
Lyra nodded, pulled out the short dagger Freya had given her from her waist, and swept her red eyes over the surrounding woods.
There were rabbit tracks in the snow—fresh ones. She crouched to check the direction, then walked deeper into the forest.
Her footsteps gradually faded, swallowed by the wind.
Serar sat down across from Freya and added a few dry branches to the fire.
The flames licked at the new wood, letting out crackling sounds and scattering a few sparks.
“You look terrible.”
He spoke.
Freya didn’t answer.
“Is that shard still inside your heart?”
Freya looked up.
The firelight danced in her light purple eyes, but couldn’t reach the darkness deep within.
“You know?”
“Guessed it.”
Serar’s voice was very soft.
“That day at the Training Ground when you collapsed, I thought something was off. Then those wolves later—you forcibly triggered the power of the Mana Heart Crystal, but your body couldn’t handle it.”
He paused.
“Only that shard could make you like this.”
Freya fell silent.
The firelight flickered between them, casting their shadows on the snow, sometimes short, sometimes long.
“When you get to Severe Winter City, what are your plans?”
“Go to the library.”
“And then?”
“Look up information. Find answers.”
“What if you don’t find them?”
Freya didn’t answer. She really hadn’t thought about that question.
If the library in Severe Winter City had no records about the black crystal shard, if there was no way in this world to extract it or seal it—
What would she do?
She didn’t know.
Maybe just keep living like this, carrying a time bomb that could go off at any moment, living one day at a time.
Maybe one day it would completely devour her, like Irina losing control.
Maybe—
“Freya.”
Serar’s voice broke her train of thought.
“Do you remember how you felt when you held the Holy Sword?”
Freya looked up.
“When the Holy Sword was in your hand, did that shard react?”
Freya thought for a moment.
“No. At the time it was quiet, like it was being suppressed.”
“That’s it.”
Serar’s eyes flickered with a faint light.
“The Holy Sword’s power can suppress it. That’s why you were able to activate the Mana Heart Crystal and drive off those wolves.”
He paused.
“You don’t need to remove the shard. You just need to find power strong enough to seal it inside you.”
“The Holy Sword.”
“The Holy Sword.”
Serar nodded.
“You’re already the Holder of the Holy Sword. You just—haven’t accepted that fact yet.”
Freya lowered her head and looked at her hands.
Those hands that had once held the Holy Sword were now empty, except for the silver ring her mother left her, gleaming faintly on her thumb in the firelight.
She remembered the warmth of the Holy Sword in her palm, the frequency of its vibration in her grasp, the golden light pouring from between her fingers.
It hadn’t rejected her. It had chosen her.
Or rather—she had chosen it.
“Maybe you’re right.”
Her voice was very soft.
“But I still need time.”
The firelight flickered. Serar didn’t speak again.
He pulled a blanket from his Space Ring and gently draped it over Freya’s lap.
“Get some rest first. I’ll wake you when Lyra gets back.”
Freya nodded, leaned back against the tree trunk, and closed her eyes.
Sleep washed over her like a tide. She struggled for a moment, but couldn’t hold on, and sank into deep slumber.
Serar sat by the fire, watching her sleeping face.
The flames painted her features in warm colors, but couldn’t hide the shadows under her eyes or her pale lips.
He remembered the first time he saw her—
At the Central Magic Academy’s Exchange Competition, she sat in the audience, her light purple hair standing out among the crowd.
Back then, she was cold, but her eyes were bright.
Now, the light in those eyes had dimmed.
Not faded—something was blocking it.
He added more wood to the fire.
The flames flared up, lighting up the surrounding snow. Footsteps sounded in the distance. He looked up and saw Lyra emerge from the woods, carrying two already-dressed wild rabbits.
Seeing that Freya was asleep, she stepped lightly, walked over, and crouched by the fire.
“When did she fall asleep?”
“A little while ago.”
Lyra threaded the rabbits onto sticks and set them over the fire. Fat dripped onto the flames, sending up sizzling sounds, and the aroma soon filled the air.
She glanced at Serar and, for once, didn’t glare at him.
“What did you say to her?”
“Talked about the Holy Sword.”
Lyra frowned.
“You want her to use it?”
“She’s already used it once. In Irina’s space.”
Serar’s voice was calm.
“You forgot? That time you used it with her.”
Lyra fell silent.
She certainly hadn’t forgotten.
That day she pressed both hands onto the Holy Sword, channeling her Light Magic, merging with the power of Freya’s Mana Heart Crystal. The Holy Sword’s radiance lit up the entire space like daylight.
That was the first time she felt useful, the first time she felt she wasn’t just a burden standing by watching her boss fight.
“The Holy Sword can suppress the shard inside Boss?”
Serar nodded.
“But she has to be willing. The Holy Sword doesn’t force anyone.”
Lyra lowered her head, turning the rabbits over the fire.
The firelight fell on her face, making her usually silly expression look serious.
After a moment, she spoke. “Boss will be willing. She just talks tough.”
Serar looked at her, a complex glint flickering in his deep blue eyes.
“Why do you trust her so much?”
Lyra raised her head, her red eyes meeting his straight on.
“Because she’s never let me down.”
A branch in the fire let out a pop, scattering sparks.
The two of them fell silent, lost in their own thoughts.
In the distance, a night bird called, long and lonely.
“The meat’s done.”
Lyra tore off the most tender piece, wrapped it in a clean leaf, and placed it beside Freya.
“Give it to Boss when she wakes up.”
She took a piece for herself and ate it in small bites.
Serar took a piece too, eating very slowly, as if lost in thought.
After a while, Lyra suddenly spoke.
“Serar.”
“Hm?”
“Why did you follow us? It’s not just to repay a debt, is it?”
Serar was silent for a long time. So long that Lyra thought he wouldn’t answer.
Then he spoke, his voice very soft.
“Because I want to know just how far a person will go for someone else.”
Lyra stared at him, a flicker of confusion in her red eyes.
Serar didn’t explain. He just added more wood to the fire and stared into the dancing flames, not speaking for a long time.
The night grew deep.
The firelight shone on the small camp, casting three overlapping shadows on the snow.
Lyra leaned against the tree trunk, keeping watch over the fire, keeping watch over Freya.
Serar had his eyes closed, but he wasn’t asleep.
Freya was leaning against the tree, wrapped in her coat, her breathing even and shallow, her brows slightly furrowed.
The night wore on. Only a few embers remained in the fire.
Lyra leaned against the tree trunk, her eyelids growing heavier.
She struggled to stay awake, but the day’s travel and the brief fight had drained her.
Freya was still leaning next to her, breathing even and shallow, her brows slightly furrowed—as if even in her dreams, she found no peace.
Serar sat across from them, eyes closed, like a statue.
Lyra’s eyelids finally gave out, drooping heavily.
The fire let out one last crackle, and the embers dimmed further.
Moonlight seeped through gaps in the clouds, turning the snow-covered ground a silver-white. The surroundings were very quiet—unnaturally quiet.
The night birds had stopped calling. The wind had died down. Even the distant wolf howls had vanished. It was as if the whole world had been muted.
A hand emerged from the darkness, reaching silently toward Freya’s neck.
The skin was rough, nails caked with black dirt, fingertips an unnatural blue-purple, as if frostbitten long ago.
It hovered inches from Freya’s neck for a moment, then—
Serar’s eyes snapped open. A short sword slid from his sleeve, stabbing precisely toward the hand’s direction.
A muffled grunt came from the darkness. The hand retracted, vanishing into the night.
Serar rose to his feet, short sword held before him, his deep blue eyes scanning the surroundings sharply.
“Come out.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear in the silent night.
No one answered. Only the wind rustling through the pine branches, a whispering sound.
Lyra was jolted awake. Her hand was already on her short dagger, her red eyes burning in the darkness.
She glanced at Freya, still leaning against her shoulder—
She was still asleep, breathing steady, not disturbed.
Relieved, Lyra lowered her voice. “How many?”
“At least three.”
Serar’s voice was equally low.
“The one just now was a scout. More are behind.”
Lyra gritted her teeth.
“After Boss?”
“Probably.”