The vanguard squad rolled out like an arrow loosed into the dunes, and the people left to guard settled, after two days of fluster, into a slower rhythm like a river finding its bed.
With no solid intel, they could only start with low-pressure prep, so life eased, and the convoy’s mood softened like cloth in warm water, with laughter and song rising like smoke by day and by night.
In that crowd letting their shoulders drop like tents at dusk, only Adelaide stood apart, a lone flame in a field of embers.
On paper, she stayed as a guard with the convoy, yet the sand sea around them stretched empty as a pale horizon, so her “patrol” became a daily circle like a ring drawn in the dirt.
She didn’t have to suffer carriage-sick days anymore, the nausea a tide finally receding, so on paper these should’ve been leisure hours like shade under a fig tree.
Because of that, plenty who’d flinched under Mira’s presence now nursed small hopes like moths to a lantern, wanting to sneak more looks at the lady’s bright face and graceful figure.
Their hopes ran aground on bare shore; almost no one saw Adelaide idle outside patrol or meals—she skipped the new hot baths too, those steam-clouds she’d dreamed of since the road began.
Instead, she locked herself in that tiny carriage almost all day, a slit of the door sometimes flashing red like ember-streak, and nothing else slipped out.
No one knew what she was doing, save Adelaide herself.
And that was exactly the effect she wanted—she guided blood-threads thinner than sight, sharper than a sword-tip, and her heart tilted like a needle toward a hidden plan.
She didn’t want anyone spoiling the surprise she was shaping for Mira, like a gift kept under a winter quilt.
A pluck, a snap—her long fingers moved, and white crystal dust fell along the blood-thread like snowflakes, settling on the table in a soft drift.
On the rack before her sat the blue gem once called Heart of the Ocean, now almost stripped of its old shape like a shoreline eaten by waves.
Since Mira had already seen the gem itself, she’d recut it into a new face, a moon given a second curve.
Yes, this was the promise Adelaide had made, a surprise like a lily blooming out of season.
No one would guess she’d use a gem this precious for raw material; she felt sure of the plan, like a bow drawn true, with one condition—don’t start while Mira’s still here.
The vanguard’s departure lifted that lock like a latch in morning light, so she worked day and night, a lantern that wouldn’t dim, polishing every detail to perfection before Mira returned.
She stayed in that fervor like a kiln-fire, until Mira “phoned” back through the stone and the breath of the night turned cool.
It was past midnight. Adelaide, dark rings under her eyes like moons after rain, felt the Magic Crystal Stone tremble in her pocket like a bird in the hand.
She froze. She’d told Mira to call when she could, but hadn’t expected this hour, the thrill of Mira’s presence flickering, then a weight of unease settling like frost.
Her heart pinched like a fist. She stood fast, one hand reaching for the door, the other clutching the stone like a warm egg.
“Mira! Did something happen?”
Her anxious mana resonated first, the vibration rushing out like ripples before words.
“Wait. I’ll come now. Keep the Magic Crystal Stone active, so I can lock onto your direction—”
“No. I’m fine. I just couldn’t find a chance to use the stone.”
Her hand hung midair, the carriage door ajar, and a night wind slid in like a thin blade, tossing her hair into a tangled cloud.
“Ah… I— I see.”
No reply circled back. Silence sat between them like a dark pond for a few breaths.
“Anyway… as long as you’re okay.”
She pressed down the churn in her stomach, a storm she swallowed, closed the door, and sat again before the carving table, clearing her throat like smoothing a wrinkle.
Even unseen, she wore the gentle look of an elder sister, a lantern turned low.
“So, Mira, want to share what you’ve been busy with these days? If you couldn’t call, you must’ve been helping patients nonstop, right?”
Her light tone fell into a short hush. The stone’s hum answered late, like a delayed echo.
“No.”
“No?” Her eyes opened wide despite herself, calm slipping like sand.
“There’s no one here.”
Adelaide went hollow for a beat, ready lines meant to soothe Mira after plague-sights drying like ink under the sun; the answer didn’t match any script she’d written.
“No one… meaning what?”
“Since we entered, we’ve met only one living person.”
But how? This desert town might be smaller than Balad, yet nearly ten thousand lived here. The stone’s signal said Mira had swept broad sections of the town, and found only one alive…
Unease resurfaced in Adelaide like a fin breaking water. She gripped the stone tighter, knuckles pale as salt.
“Mira, if anything feels wrong, I should meet you first.”
A faint disturbance threaded the mana on the other end, a ripple over a still lake. “It’s fine. There’s nothing unusual here.”
“But—”
“The living probably evacuated elsewhere. We must’ve missed their quarantine site by a few days, like two trains slipping past.”
Adelaide felt the conclusion was hasty, a bridge laid over fog, yet Mira didn’t leave her time to think and moved on.
“More importantly, the one we found… she’s a little girl.”
“A little girl? Did she get separated from her parents?”
“Maybe. We checked with mana. She isn’t infected.”
At that, Adelaide caught the thought Mira hadn’t said, like smoke catching a shape.
“Traveling with a child is hard. You want to send her to the encampment, right?”
“Mm.” The stone gave a brief pulse, a quick heartbeat.
“If that eases your burden, the encampment won’t refuse.” Her tone shifted a shade, warm to intent. “But, Mira, did you use the stone just to tell me this?”
You’re holding back something else, aren’t you, little sister?
She didn’t voice that last line. The silence steamed like a bath gone too hot. After a while, Mira answered.
“She seems… shaken. She barely speaks.”
Adelaide listened to Mira sketch the child’s state, sighed without sound, a feather laid on a table.
It wasn’t the answer she wanted; Mira kept the town’s odd gaps behind her teeth. Pushing wouldn’t help. Adelaide adjusted her mood like straightening a collar and kept her voice light.
“You want me to give her extra care. Got it. I’m great with kids. Just don’t get jealous later, Mira~”
“I won’t.”
That awkward little answer turned the air, and Adelaide chatted with Mira about small things, a few drifting leaves, but never went back to the empty town before the call ended.
It’s okay. Mira’s surely holding back parts of her days, and she didn’t say why she wants me to watch the girl so closely. Adelaide wasn’t in a rush.
Yes. She wouldn’t rush. A good sister never rushes.
A good sister doesn’t force. A good sister waits, like a steady tree, until the younger one speaks her heart.
The clamp in Adelaide’s skull tightened like iron, a pain that fluttered her lashes like moth wings; her focus slipped, and her finger slid.
The blood-thread cut away a sliver that should’ve stayed on the blue gem, a flake of sky falling.
“Ah!”
She cradled the gem and blew on it, breath like warm wind over ice. The piece had taken shape, a chibi big-headed girl, features soft as sugar candy.
Anyone who knew their past would likely recognize the little figure as Mira from childhood, a small lotus in a little pond.
“Honestly… at least it only clipped some hair.”
She lifted fine gauze and wiped the cut, touch as light as mist on leaves.
It’s okay. It’s just a tiny nick. I can fix it. With more work, I’ll carve it to match Mira’s childhood exactly, like a mirror unclouded.
She pictured Mira’s face when she returned and Adelaide set the small necklace in her hand, and her lips curved like a crescent.
Yes. After that, she’ll open up a bit more, turning locks to latches.
Step by step, like stones across a stream.
We’ll get back to what we had—no walls, no secrets, just two voices in one quiet room.
All it takes is patience, a wick that doesn’t fail.
And Adelaide never lacks patience, especially when it’s for her little sister, the heart she holds like a star cupped in both hands.
