The blast came from a kerosene drum stored in the Nacha Tribe’s lodgings, a sudden flare racing like dry fire through straw.

It bloomed into a house-wide blaze, red tongues climbing like hungry vines.

One tribesman was left grievously wounded, his breath thin as winter mist.

What exactly happened is still clouded, but one thing’s clear…

“This mess sticks to you, doesn’t it, Constable?”

The Nacha police chief pinned the Elf constable with a stare, sharp as a spear-tip.

She drew out the woman’s name like a drawn bow, suspicion heavy as rain.

The Elf only pulled a smile thin as paper, her eyes cold as slate.

“We’ve confirmed he’s an extremist,” she said, voice flat as iron.

“He was brewing a load of illegal explosives at home; you checked the samples yourself.

So—what’s your problem?”

“My problem?” The chief’s words snapped like dry twigs.

“Now the house is ash and your ‘explosives’ have no witness.

How do I know it’s not your play, a false charge hung on our people?”

“Then blame your compatriot,” the Elf said, a curl of mockery like a thorn.

“That drum ignited because he resisted arrest and smashed it by mistake.

The fault sits on him, not on us.”

She flicked her chin like a knife.

“And if you want proof he’s an extremist, ask your radicals.

See if his name sits in their roster.”

The chief’s face darkened like a stormfront.

The Elf constable turned away, motioning with a gloved hand sparking like frost.

“Wrap it up. Take the suspect—”

“—Wait!”

The chief slid in front of her, a wall raised like stone.

“You can’t just take him.

Even if he held contraband, he must first pass through our Trial of Honor and receive treatment, then go to the Unified Court.

That was your promised path.”

“Heh. Trial of Honor.” The constable’s laugh was thin as a reed.

“For normal cases, sure.

But he just injured my people, a violent offense like a hammer blow.

We have the right to skip you and handle it.”

“Injured?” The chief’s brow knotted like rope.

“Don’t twist the words. Your lot looks fine.

He’s the one you beat half to death!”

The Elf ignored her and moved, but the chief and her subordinates blocked the way like a bristling hedge.

Her face cooled to ice.

“What now?

You plan to keep him by force?”

“If you keep pushing, we’ll have no choice,” the chief said, palm tight on the iron baton at her hip like a hawk’s grip.

Her eyes locked on the Elf like anchors.

The Elf’s lids narrowed; mana crawled across her gloves like cold lightning, ready for a clash.

Tension stretched like a taut bowstring—until a Nacha child slipped through the pack like a darting sparrow.

He rose on tiptoe and whispered into the chief’s ear, soft as falling leaves.

The chief’s expression flowed through several shades like dusk shifting to night.

She shot the Elf a grudging glance, then spun and shouted.

“Clear out! Let them pass!”

Her subordinates looked puzzled, faces tilted like sunflowers.

“Uh? But—”

“No buts. That’s an order!”

At her word they peeled back, opening a path like a river’s split.

Confusion clung to them like fog, but they moved.

Surprise flickered across the Elf constable’s face like a brief spark.

She quickly put the mask back on, her pride high as a raised flag.

“Heh. That’s better.”

She snorted, then marched off with her squad, carrying the blood-smeared, unconscious Nacha tribesman like a broken reed.

Behind a nearby wall, a pair of small rounded ears twitched, listening like cups catching rain.

A click of the tongue cut the air, sharp as a pebble flicked on water.

“Heya, the long-ears just strutted off,” a woman murmured, her voice cool as shade.

Golden cat eyes blinked, their glare like sun on brass.

“And I hate watching long-ears parade their power. So…”

She rolled her neck; her spine cracked-cracked like ice on a winter pond.

Then she glanced toward the shadow beside her and continued.

“So you better have a reason for letting that slide, Mira.”

It was Varie behind the wall, her presence coiled like a cat in dusk.

Mira had just appeared at her side, eyes lowered like rain-laden clouds.

She waited a long beat, then spoke.

“…They’re that forceful because they want to bury the matter of the Stimulant Elixir.”

At that word, Varie’s brow pinched like a tightened knot.

“Huh? You know it’s that serious?

Then why tell me to let them go?”

“Adelaide already has decisive proof in hand,” Mira said, voice steady as a blade’s spine.

“Instead of spooking them here, we should strike at the Trial of Truth and hit the Carne Family unprepared.”

“???”

Varie’s face went blank, confusion fluttering like startled sparrows.

“Hold on. How’d you already find decisive proof?

What happened while I was out?

When did things get this wild?”

“…”

Mira fell quiet again, her silence heavy as stone.

Varie opened her mouth to press, but the chief’s voice broke in like a bell.

“I’m so sorry, Hero! If I’d arrived sooner, maybe—maybe I could have taken him before they did!”

The Nacha police chief reported with her head bowed, dog ears drooping like wet leaves.

Her voice carried a tremor like wind on a loose shutter.

Varie saw it and first laid a hand on her shoulder, soft as a palm leaf.

“Don’t say that. You did great,” Varie said, warmth rising like morning light.

“And it was my order to let them go.”

She slanted a look at Mira, standing like a shadowed pine, then went on.

“You did nothing wrong. And don’t worry—today won’t end without answers.

Trust me—”

She spoke with patient steadiness, words like a slow stream smoothing stone.

Minutes passed like drifting clouds.

Tears welled in the chief’s eyes, glittering like dew, gratitude breaking open like spring.

She didn’t get anything concrete, but she snapped to attention, heels striking like drumbeats.

She saluted the Hero, then marched back to her unit with her vigor gathered like a tied sash.

“Ugh. Being an exile is a pain in the neck,” Varie muttered once the crowd thinned, her tone sagging like a tired rope.

“If I hadn’t slapped myself with that laundry list of crimes, I could show up to the long-ears openly.”

She scratched the back of her head, stretching like a cat after rain.

“If I stood there for real, let’s see if those long-ears would still strut so high. Hmph.”

She finished grumbling and turned to Mira.

The little interlude cooled her urgency; her eyes rolled like marbles.

“Fine. If you won’t talk, don’t.

When I visited your sister, she didn’t spill a single word either.

Must be something you two think needs guarding.

Such master schemers—”

“—You went to the elves’ capital?”

Mira, silent till now, lifted her face sharply, the motion like a kite tugged by wind.

The suddenness startled Varie a step back, heart pricking like a thorn.

“Yeah. Took a detour,” Varie said, awkward heat climbing her cheeks like dye.

“I swung by the long-ears’ capital on the way back… Don’t stare at me like that.

I—cough—I just passed through.

Wasn’t going to see that annoying woman on purpose!”

Varie’s blush deepened, a rose blooming on pale snow.

Mira didn’t chase that thread; she cut past it like a blade through silk.

“You saw my sister? Did… did she say anything to you?”

There was a tremor in Mira’s voice, a ripple like wind on water, and Varie blinked, not yet grasping the weight.

She thought for a beat, then shrugged, loose as willow branches.

“Yeah, I saw her. I asked why she’s trying to overturn Nuhaman’s case.

With the ones I took down, all the culprits should be dead.

It should’ve been settled, sealed like a closed book.”

“But she wouldn’t say.

She just muttered, ‘Everything’s already arranged,’ like smoke you can’t hold.

I don’t get what she’s thinking…

Oh, and she told me to watch for changes in Sanda after I got back, and to find you to help—”

“—She said, to find me?”

Varie got interrupted again and frowned, her patience thinning like late ice.

“Yeah. I don’t get it.

Your face looks like liver—have you slept at all?

I think you should—”

“—She really said that to you?”

“Hey, hey, hey, three times is too much. Let me finish—”

“—She really said I could… help?”

Four interruptions in a row.

Under normal skies, Varie would’ve snapped like a whip.

But she stepped back instead, fear pricking like frost, because Mira was suddenly right in her face, close as breath.

Her hands clamped Varie’s shoulders, firm as iron, like she wouldn’t let her flee.

Her voice came urgent, a wind through a narrow pass.

This closeness was far beyond Mira’s usual distance—honestly, deep into the zone that made Varie itch.

She didn’t shake her off, though.

She could’ve shrugged free like a horse flicking a fly, but she didn’t.

Because she saw the tears.

Mira’s tears.

Huh?

Varie froze, shock falling over her like a net.

It wasn’t her first time seeing a woman cry—just minutes ago, the chief had wept with gratitude like rain overflowing a gutter—but…

Mira was different.

Varie had always thought Mira wouldn’t cry even if the world blew apart, steel-willed as a cliff.

Yet now those blue eyes shattered that image, overflowing with heavy beads like a rising tide breaking a seawall.

They slid down her cheeks like quiet streams and splashed to the ground like clear drops.

The sight turned Varie’s mind to fog—Did I say something wrong?

Why the tears???

She steadied Mira with her hands, lost for words like a boat without oars.

So she pushed ahead with the last thing she’d said.

“Yeah—yeah. Her exact words were, ‘She’ll play a crucial part.’

Your sister’s a riddle wrapped in mist, and I don’t really get it…

Hey, hey—please don’t cry.

If something’s wrong, say it straight.

Did your sister push you too hard?

Talk to me, okay?”

She tried to comfort Mira the way she’d soothed the chief, voice warm as a blanket.

It didn’t work.

Mira’s state worsened, breath snagging like thread in a needle.

She crouched on the spot, a folded leaf, one hand over her chest as if it ached like a bruise.

She kept wiping at her face, smearing tears like rain on ink, even sniffled, leaving her features a mess—something Varie had never imagined on Mira, not even in dreams.

No matter how much Varie couldn’t accept it, the scene stayed solid as stone.

Mira was crying like a little girl, the nasal tone thick as fog.

Varie could barely make sense of her words, only one short phrase coming clear, repeated like a bell.

“It’s… really… so good.”