The day of parting came quick, like sand slipping through spread fingers.

At dawn, the coachman shouted; on the far horizon, the village rose like a smudge.

By night, packed bags and iron saddles rasped, a dry chorus beating like flint.

In a blink, the vanguard sat on the string like an arrow.

The General had handpicked this squad: soldiers, medics, and dunes-wise guides.

They were brawny and strict, pillars under sun and sand.

Beaked masks rode their backs, dark omens of their destination.

No face wavered; steel will, forged in northern blizzards, held in the heat.

That iron calm drew stares across the caravan, like iron drawing needles.

Just as striking were two young ladies, strolling like twin shadows.

The black-haired one wore neat menswear, one hand on a camel’s lead.

A beaked mask hung by the hump, marking her as vanguard.

The other held a flowered parasol and a pale dress floating like dusk.

She looked like a brown-haired heiress slipping out for whim-born adventure.

Even after finding water and saving half the caravan, a fixed image of Adelaide stayed, like wax stamped.

No one saw how she found the spring; those breakable arms defied the hero’s shape.

Beside her, her companion fit the role more, like a blade beside silk.

Not just the menswear or the healthier lines—oak beside willow.

It was her blue eyes—each stare like a wolf’s, pressing fear and respect.

Everyone knew that frost-at-the-threshold aura wasn’t a joke.

A new loudmouth had been handled hard, like a chick grabbed and shaken.

And the General had invited her as a bodyguard, a shield at his side.

No fool mistook her for a pretty face; steel under silk, a true hardcase.

But even hardcases have gentle hours, like a breeze through armor.

“Mira, eat properly over there, especially breakfast,” Adelaide said, like a lantern at dawn.

“A girl who skips breakfast will ruin her skin, like paint left in wind.”

Adelaide leaned closer, voice earnest; Mira’s look stilled like water.

“You ate your first meal at eleven today,” with the sun high above.

Silence hung for half a beat.

“You were excited about the village, like a sparrow at grain.”

“Really?”

“Of course. As your elder sister, I’ll lead by example, lantern first on the path.”

“Then promise you’ll get up by nine, without anyone calling, before the sun climbs high?”

“I’ll ask the lead when I’m back.”

“Eh… o-of course.”

Adelaide’s gaze drifted, like a leaf on water.

She was a night owl with no clock.

Now, no reason to burn midnight oil, and no tonic to help it.

Months of convalescence became payback sleep, debts repaid in one breath.

If Mira didn’t yank her covers, soft cloud over her, she wouldn’t rise.

Seeing Adelaide lose ground at “lead,” Mira sighed, wind leaving the sail.

“Forget it, let the lead knock, like a woodpecker.”

“I can’t rely on self-discipline,” thin as paper.

“R-really! How can you talk to your sister like that!”

Adelaide flushed scarlet, yet her mood rose like a kite on wind.

They hadn’t chatted this easily in ages—thanks to that night, snow thawing.

Since then, Mira’s resistance had softened, ice under sun.

It wasn’t like back at the Douglas Family, but more river than stone.

Adelaide liked the progress; only time ran thin, like a wick.

Parting came before sweetness could ripen, fruit under shade.

“This run will take at least ten days…” ten suns and moons.

They reached the vanguard; once Mira reported to the lead, they would move, hooves to trail.

Mira turned, hesitated, then spoke, door half-open.

“Lock your door at night; the temperature will drop, like a river slipping to ice.”

“Mm, don’t worry.”

“Since camp’s fixed, I built a boiler with the two water mages.”

“You’ll have hot baths each day, rain in a pot.”

“Eh! Thank you, Mira?!”

Mira nodded, mouth parting, then closing, like a tide.

Parting feelings clogged her chest; words fell back like pebbles.

She slid her arm free, silk from a sleeve.

“See you later, under the same stars.”

She turned to join the vanguard’s march, a reed into wind.

But a hand caught her wrist, quick as a fish.

Mira looked back.

Adelaide stepped in, chest to chest, and tilted the parasol, a petal’s shade.

In that stolen shade, Adelaide’s whisper brushed her ear, soft as rain.

“Find a chance to call back… otherwise, your sister will get lonely.”

Adelaide’s scent curled at Mira’s nose, warm petals in wind.

The tone was soft—half unwilling, half playful, moonlight on water.

When Mira blinked back to herself, Adelaide had let go, wave subsiding.

She stood as before, polished and serene, as if nothing happened.

“Next time we meet, it’ll be my turn to show a surprise,” a sealed letter.

She tapped a shush, then smiled, spring-bright.

“Then, see you, Mira~”

That was Adelaide’s last line, ribbon cut.

Mira stayed where she was, a stake in sand.

After a while, she opened her hand, slow as a flower.

In her palm lay what Adelaide had slipped in—a round Magic Crystal Stone, smooth as fruit.

Its dark-red glow smoldered like coals, marking high quality.

Stones like this usually carry large-scale attack magic, cannons of light.

This one held a carved transmission array instead, fine as frost.

It couldn’t carry voice, but she could read intent through mana resonance, like echo.

Her elder sister’s words had no hidden twist—just a plain line, straight as a reed.

A stone of this grade could support two short, long-distance calls, like two flares.

“Lonely…”

Mira repeated the word; ripples moved through her blue eyes, lake-like.

She bit her lower lip and clenched the stone tight, like keeping fire.