The wide earth lay like an open plain, packed tight as reeds in a flood. They weren’t enemies; profit was the magnet that pulled iron filings together.
Witches and members of the True Palace Family clustered like crows on a winter branch, arguing over supplies. True Palace had hauled the caravan like camels through dust, so the Witches owed a mouthful of favors and softened their stance. The Family nodded like stones settling in a stream, and distribution clicked into place like gears catching.
“Then by the terms of the pact, we’re on the same line now, under the same banner.”
After the talks, Hisama of the True Palace Family wore a thin smile, like moonlight on a blade.
“I never wanted to stir more trouble,” Vivian said, voice a tired ember, “but the wind often pushes you whether you like it or not.”
“Still, that gives us a chance to work together, Lady Flame,” he said, raising a brow like a drawn bow.
“While the Church hunts us like hounds, we need an ally,” she answered, smoke and resolve mixing in her breath.
“Happy cooperation.”
“Happy cooperation.”
Hisama reached out; Vivian took his hand, two gloves meeting like clasped hilts. Even without pure hearts, profit and loss built a sturdy bridge.
The True Palace Family stood as ally to the Magic Institution, a pine beside a temple. Vivian’s unit was one of the Institution’s last sharp blades, a coal that still burned. Two strong packs moving together turned into thorns in the Church’s foot, a pebble in its boot.
“Tch. Why stand so close, that stinking man.” Ringo Tenjoin glared, jealousy souring like a pickled plum under summer heat.
Moa only smiled and zipped her lips like a sealed scroll. What could she say to that thorny vine?
“If the True Palace Family could track us here, then Night Phantom should be safe,” Andrea said, noticing Mizuki’s darting gaze like a startled bird.
“I—I’m not thinking about her, really!” Mizuki blurted, cheeks burning like persimmons in frost, denial fluttering like a frightened moth.
Their laughter rippled like wind over grass. Only Sham stayed still, a quiet lake under cloud. After a long breath, she lifted her eyes toward the horizon, as if waiting for a figure to rise like dawn.
A sharp ache tugged her chest like a hooked fish. Sourness bloomed on her face, and her hand pressed her heart as if calming a skittish foal.
“Why is this…” The words fell like cold rain. “So unfair… I was the first one who knew her.”
“Sham, what’s wrong, are you okay?” Mizuki’s worried face came close like a lantern in mist, and Sham’s waves slowly smoothed.
“I’m fine…” The lie drifted like smoke, thin and helpless.
With the pact sealed, the two forces chose their first step like pieces on a board. They would withdraw from this ground and seek a new ridge to hold.
Not only here. Far off, on Asagi Renka’s side, steel and will were already tied like a bowstring. She was ready to meet the Church head‑on, like a blade greeting thunder.
“What’s your plan next, Yun?” Lian Hua smiled, a crescent moon over a quiet room. Only the two of them were here, the door like a shut fan.
“Nothing set yet. Fighting the Church is certain,” Yun Shi said, rolling over like a restless tide. “If I can, I want to go back to school.”
“Didn’t you hate school the most?” Lian Hua’s laugh tinkled like bells on wind.
“You’ve got some nerve, you absentee president,” Yun Shi grumbled, a cat arching its back. “You vanish every other day, and Miyuki Kiseki camps overseas. Most Student Council work gets dumped on me like snow on a lone roof.”
“I told you to join the Student Council, didn’t I? Looks like it worked,” Lian Hua said, teasing like sunlight through leaves.
“Oh, shut up. That’s your fault too,” Yun Shi huffed, a kettle steaming. “Don’t forget, the sports festival hasn’t even started. You plan to desert your post?”
“Ma, the president’s too busy,” she sang, a swallow looping under eaves.
“Then let me go back. Without you, the council turns to a beehive,” Yun Shi said, wearing reluctance like a mask while her gaze flicked toward the gates in her mind.
Lian Hua only smiled, lotus‑calm, and didn’t peel her disguise.
“Hey, Yun, can I ask you something?” Her voice floated like a leaf on water.
“What is it?” Yun’s guard rose like a lifted fan.
“Do you have someone you like?”
“Huh?” Yun sat up, blankets falling like waves, eyes wide as if struck by lightning.
“No?”
“How could I have one!” The protest leapt like a spark. Yet a familiar girl’s silhouette brushed her mind like a shadow behind paper.
But who was that figure, that ghost in the lantern?
“Is there someone you just… feel good about?” Lian Hua asked, casting a pebble into still water.
“…Good feelings, maybe,” Yun murmured, counting stars. Names flickered like fireflies—Sham, Mizuki, Maya Hanazaka, Mizuki again, Yan Er—friends she truly called friends.
“You’re not being honest, Yun,” Lian Hua chimed, a fox’s smile behind a fan.
“…What do you mean?” Yun frowned, puzzled haze like morning fog.
“You don’t know who you like, right? Or you don’t dare to,” Lian Hua said, words steady as rain on tiles. “You keep running—from the world and from your heart.”
“!” The truth struck like a bell, and silence quivered.
“Sham Einafel, Mizuki, Maya Hanazaka. Which one?” Her gaze was a needle threading silk.
“Why ask something so weird…” Yun’s voice curled like smoke.
“Tell me seriously. Who could capture your heart,” Lian Hua said, earnest as a temple drum. Yun’s cheeks warmed, pink clouds at dusk.
How was she supposed to say that out loud, with the net rising like vines?
“How would I even know…” Yun deflated like a pricked balloon, words limp as wet paper. “Am I really worth anyone’s love? I keep running. Ask me, and there’s no answer.”
She had once tried to love, a seed sown in winter. In the end, she held empty hands. Mia was proof, a withered branch she couldn’t save.
If she could help it, Yun Shi wouldn’t love again. She didn’t dare lift that weight, a mountain on thin shoulders.
“Yun, you do have someone,” Lian Hua said, laughing softly like a brook. “You’re changing every day. Without her wind, would your flame bend like this?”
Her words nudged a door. Yun felt it then—she was changing, ice thawing without her notice. She wasn’t that solitary child huddled like a sparrow in winter.
By the time she noticed, irreplaceable companions ringed her like a warm hearth. She was no longer empty‑handed.
“Yun, you haven’t noticed. You’re already falling into the net of love,” Lian Hua said, the web glinting like dew at dawn.
A love net? Her? In a past life, she never even dated, a blank scroll for romance. Was she meant to be caught like a fish in silk?
Who made her change? Who understood the pulse called liking?
She didn’t know. She had no map for this forest, no footprints to follow.
“So I think you’re talking nonsense. Just let me go back sooner,” Yun said, collapsing onto the bed like a felled reed, choosing sleep over knots.
Her heart, though, tangled like threads in a loom, impossible to comb.
Lian Hua smiled, a knowing crescent. In her heart, an answer settled like a petal on still water.
