Being carried like a princess by Mira must’ve been only a shard of that mirage. Lying on her back, Adelaide thought so, her breath a soft cloud on warm gold.

Mira had walked the tunnels with Adelaide on her shoulders for nearly two hours, steps ticking like a metronome in dripping dark, saying nothing unless prompted.

Even pressed close as skin to silk, Mira felt farther than frost on morning grass, a distance stretched thin between two bodies sharing one shadow.

Adelaide had blushed when she heard Mira would carry her, shame blooming like a red camellia; when Mira hooked her thighs and lifted, her ears rang like struck bells.

Treated so coolly all the way, the flush ebbed like tide at dusk; now she hung from her sister like a sloth clinging to a sleepy tree.

She’d accepted it: without materials to strengthen her body, she’d likely die before daylight, a worn lantern guttering in the wind before they found an exit.

Besides, Mira’s body was warm and soft like a quilt in winter; her fine gold hair held camellia scent Adelaide loved, a garden tucked under a traveler’s cloak.

She used everything that could be used, a fox with velvet paws; taking advantage of her sister left no weight on her heart, a pebble tossed into reeds.

Yes, she’d accepted it—no burden, no guilt—she chanted it like a charm, a red thread around the wrist, pressing back that odd surge in her chest.

Outwardly, she kept her perfect-sister face, a porcelain mask under firelight; inside, emotion rippled first, then actions placed like stones across water.

“Sorry, Mira… carrying me must be heavy, right? Want to rest a bit?” Adelaide’s voice was a leaf drifting onto still water, not a stone thrown.

“...” Mira’s step paused like a clock missing a tick, then steadied again, dust lifting in a low swirl.

“You’re so light. Why would I get tired…” Her voice was a moth’s wing, too soft to hear; when asked, she turned away, lengthening her stride like a runner on sand.

“I’m not tired. And I don’t want to stay longer underground with a weirdo who keeps playing big sister.” Her words were flint, sparks biting the dark.

“Mira…” Adelaide swallowed the sting like bitter tea, keeping her face still as ice on a pond, while her thoughts hissed like steam.

What a stamina fiend, she marveled, counting Mira’s breaths like drumbeats, willing her own pulse to quiet.

“Right, Mira’s gotten strong—strong enough to cut down a legendary Dreamfeast Spider. It’s not my turn, the useless sister, to worry.” Her smile was paper-thin.

“...” Silence pressed like damp clay, heavy and close.

“I heard Dreamfeast Spiders are smart, even understand human speech. Did it try to talk to you?” Adelaide’s tone floated like a lantern across a river.

“No.” Mira glanced at her, meaning glinting like a needle. “It was missing most of its head and didn’t even notice me.”

“Mm…” The culprit who’d made that head half-gone shifted her gaze like a bird dodging a hawk. “Maybe it and the sand wolf that fell with me maimed each other?”

The excuse leaked like a cracked gourd, but Mira just walked on, steps steady, not a question thrown back.

Adelaide exhaled, a reed bending in wind; the monster hadn’t exposed her Blood Magic, so the stone dropped from her heart into deep water.

Relief cooled her skin; her mind turned, a compass needle finding north, already plotting how to draw Mira closer without pricking a finger.

She had wounded the Dreamfeast Spider badly, true; yet Mira cleaving it clean in two was strength like a guillotine moon, unreasonable and bright.

Thinking that, a clear breeze ran through her, washing grime from glass; her mood lifted like a kite catching a current.

She’d brooded over being ambushed, a thorn under a nail; but that spider was unlucky—meeting two variant mages with inherent domains, like stumbling into twin storms.

With that thought, her anger thinned like mist; the cave felt wider, the darkness less hungry.

Hours of fruitless trudging later, despite her earlier jab about not wanting to be alone with her, Mira had to stop and rest with Adelaide by a small fire.

They’d walked so long the walls felt like ribs, and Adelaide was tired of even lying down; yet no ridge rose to the surface, only tunnels like snake spines.

They crouched by a makeshift campfire, ember-eyes blinking; Adelaide couldn’t stand the low pressure, the air like wet wool, and broke the hush.

“So… why is Mira here?” Her question was a pebble dropped into a black well, rings spreading slow.

Mira’s gaze drifted like a leaf in eddies; her elegant fingers froze at an odd angle, then she shut her eyes as if cutting a thread.

“I fell.” The word was a clean cut, a blade flashed in fog.

“...?” Adelaide’s breath snagged like cloth on a nail.

“I didn’t see the hole in the grass and fell straight down.” Her tone was flat slate, no moss, no laughter.

Adelaide had nothing ready, a mouthful of snow; after a moment, she wedged in a question like a twig against a door.

“Then… your teammates didn’t notice?”

“I drove them away.” Mira poked the fire with a stick; sparks leapt like fireflies, lighting a face perfect as carved jade, cold as night rain.

“People who fear me don’t deserve to team with me.” Her words were iron nails, hammered true.

“I won’t be afraid of Mira.” Adelaide leaned like a cat toward warmth, a ribbon of sound around a flame.

“Don’t lean on me!” The shove was firm, a gust pushing a paper kite back.

Ah, pushed away. Adelaide’s attempt to close distance snapped like a thread; with nothing else to do, she turned to the looming problem, a map in ash.

If they couldn’t get out, they might be roasting those pure-white grasshoppers, skewers over coals, hunger making saints into wolves.

A noble like Adelaide shouldn’t know bugs were food, but in that “dream” Jiaqi had been from Yunnan—spices bright as flags—and hunger had gnawed her all day.

She saw skewers of protein lined on bamboo, sizzling fat spitting like summer rain, flipped and dusted with red spice like sunset sand.

No, no, I’m not eating bugs! She shook her head hard, a bell swinging, memory trying to fall out, earning a puzzled look from the gold-haired girl.

Focus, she told herself, a needle back in cloth; think the way out, make a rope out of threads.

“About the pits on the surface…?” Her voice touched the thought like a fingertip to a mirror, careful not to smudge.

Entrances shouldn’t be this many, she realized, like too many holes in a flute; then the idea flashed—maybe the same pit had claimed them both.

She snapped her head up, white hair lifting like a sail; the strands nearly kissed the fire, stars flirting with flame.

“Mira, around that pit—was there a lot of sand and a fallen big tree?” Her question darted like a swallow.

“...Mm.” Mira’s answer sat like a smooth pebble.

“And the place you fell—did it connect to an underground river?” Adelaide’s tone traced current lines on stone.

“Mm.” Again, steady as a drum.

So, they’d fallen into the same pit, two seeds dropped into one furrow.

“In that fall, you didn’t black out, right?” Her voice was a reed in wind.

“No.” Mira’s reply was short, flint-struck.

“Then you should remember which waterway leads back to the hole we came down.” The plan sketched itself like chalk on slate.

“If we get to the mouth of the underground river, I should recognize it.” Mira’s gaze slid away, a fish under lily pads.

Adelaide watched that drifting look, then laughed, light as chimes, old warmth peeking like sun through bamboo.

“Ha, after all this time, Mira still can’t navigate.” Teasing rolled off her tongue like a ribbon, playful as a cat’s paw.

“I am not—” Heat climbed from Mira’s neck to ear tips, red blooming like a small hibiscus.

“It’s fine. Let me guide. I’m sensitive to sound; if we check each water source nearby, we’ll find the right exit.” Her confidence was steady, a lantern held high.

“Even if we find the hole, we can’t climb up—” Mira began, doubt like rain clouding the edge.

Adelaide took her hand, warm palm a roof over worry, and cut the question cleanly in two.

“I’ll explain the plan. But first, Mira needs to rest.” Her voice wrapped like a quilt, no edges.

“I’m not tired—Eek—?” Adelaide gave a soft pull; unprepared, Mira toppled onto her lap like a falling feather.

“No pillow? Use my lap pillow for now.” Adelaide’s smile curved like a crescent moon, gentle and sly.

“I told you—stop acting like a big sister!” Mira flared, a small firework in a narrow cave.

“It’s not that.” Emotion first, then motion; Adelaide smoothed her hair, fingers combing milk-smooth strands, touch like warm rain.

“Mira saved me, carried me so long, even washed my clothes. I want to repay you… is that not allowed?” Her words were honey poured thin, sweet and soft.

The soft voice and slow strokes flicked an unseen switch, a door opening in a wall; Mira melted, tense lines untying like knots in wet rope.

“...Sophistry…” she murmured, resistance fading like ember to ash.

Even without her memories, her weak spots were the same as childhood, a map written in the bones.

Satisfied, Adelaide draped her coat over Mira, a blanket over a dozing fox, and the fire breathed quieter.

“I’ll watch the surroundings. Trust your sister.” Her promise sat like a stone by the water, firm.

“I don’t trust you…” Mira turned away, still prickly as thistle, but her body stayed, warm as a loaf. “Only this once.”

Adelaide smiled and agreed, tucking hair behind Mira’s ear; the strand slid like cream through fingers, a silken ribbon on skin.

The tickle of touch tugged at old hours, so she hummed the lullaby she’d once sung at Mira’s bedside, a river-song winding through dark.

The melody floated through the black like mist over rice fields; by the fire, little glimmers looked like starlight reflected on a night sea.

Time seemed to roll backward, a millstone turned by water, to the night before the sky burned, back to games only sisters play.

Mira’s breathing eased like tide at midnight; at some point, her eyes closed and her body loosened, tension draining like rain from a roof.

She’d been holding herself up, a bamboo pole against a storm; the moment she yielded, sleep took her, soft as moth wings.

Adelaide watched her serene face, a lake unruffled, and brushed the coat covering her, fingers measuring warmth and weight.

Her hand paused over a dark green stain, moss on cloth, a mark left by the fight clinging like burrs.

She sighed, like wind through reeds; Mira had washed Adelaide’s clothes, yet hadn’t noticed her own coat was dirty, a careless petal on a path.

Two short, low notes shimmered in the air, a hum behind the breath; red light bloomed in Adelaide’s palm like dawn behind paper.

When she lifted her hand, the green mark was gone, erased like a footprint in rain, quiet and clean.

In exchange, the underground roared in her ears—the white insects’ ultrasonic cry like needles of sound, distant pebbles shedding from the ceiling, and water raging under stone.

Sounds no human should hear rushed in like floodwater breaking a levee, filling her skull with currents, maps drawn in noise.

Sensing spell. The word slid through her mind like ink, a line straight and thin.

Adelaide had offered the Dreamfeast Spider’s fluid left on the coat, a small sacrifice, enough to sense where the underground rivers ran, compass made of murmurs.

That would be enough to guide Mira, a bell ringing the right way; she needed only to hide the Blood Magic from Mira’s eyes, veil over a candle.

That’s why she’d lulled her to sleep; now she could wake her and hit the trail, feet tapping out a rhythm toward daylight.

But with Mira soft and defenseless on her lap, like a kitten in a basket, Adelaide let the thought drift away like smoke.

She lifted her face to the endless dark, a sky without stars, and sighed, remembering a “script” cutscene where hero and heroine slept entwined underground.

Well, a lap pillow shouldn’t count as stealing the heroine’s romance flag, right? She smiled, a small crescent tucked under shadow.