Thank goodness—the thought rose like sun through fog.

Her sister hadn’t abandoned her. Thank goodness.

That single certainty rang like a bell in Mira’s chest, and joy spilled like warm rain from a summer cloudburst.

The few words clinging to the dried flowers, together with what she’d heard from Varie, threaded the scattered beads into one bright necklace.

I’m so slow, she scolded herself, the way a sparrow pecks at its own shadow. Why didn’t I see it sooner?

To bind a voice-transmission array to an object, you need skin-to-object contact, like water touching stone.

That night, the only time Adelaide touched the bouquet was when her hand pressed against Mira’s chest and pushed her back, a gentle palm like a leaf against a stream.

Not yet, Mira.

In that breath-soft moment, her words weren’t a door slamming. They were a lantern shaded by a sleeve.

Every question Mira asked that night—Adelaide had answered them through the array, voice slipping like wind through reeds.

She wasn’t refusing to respond. She just couldn’t speak the truth aloud under a sky that had eyes.

Whoever puppeteered the “Script” watched them like a hawk over a field, talons poised.

Under such a gaze, Adelaide couldn’t nod and pour out everything, couldn’t plot openly under the watcher’s nose.

She had to pass the ember in the hollow of her hand, hidden and hot.

A staged quarrel, a showy break—perfect smoke for a whisper carried by spellwork.

It also explained why she emphasized certain points with deliberate weight.

The buried truth of the Nuhaman Tribe massacre—hinted again and again like a drum in the distance.

And her insistence on finding the real culprit and taking vengeance, even after Mira said she didn’t care—an oar tapping the river, pointing the current.

Mira had drowned in her own feelings, like a swimmer gulping the glittering surface, and missed those misfit shards that didn’t quite lock.

Now, thinking back, it all lit up—she had been signaling the direction to dig.

Her sister hadn’t given up on her.

On the contrary, Adelaide had already set a milestone, and marked the road they would tread together.

The next morning, breeze clean as new linen, Mira appeared in the little courtyard she shared with Anta, neat and ready like a blade sheathed.

Anta had just stumbled back in, eyes misty with sleep, and almost dropped her jaw at the sight.

Last night she’d done a watch shift with Copato.

Copato had nodded off on Anta’s shoulder like a kitten finding sun.

When the night yielded no Mira or Pengpeng, Anta carried Copato in a princess hold, soft weight like a bundle of quilts.

She set her down, and the drowsy Copato hugged her like a warm goose-down pillow, octopus-arms clinging, refusing release.

Anta couldn’t bear to wake her. So she lay down too. The sandman tapped both of them with his sieve.

Dawn found them tangled not one-way but two, a knot of limbs like ivy on a post, and Anta almost didn’t escape.

Half-asleep, she drifted back to her own yard—and walked into a scene like clear water in a basin.

Well, maybe “unexpected” wasn’t fair. Mira’s usual self was tidy thunder and precise lines.

It’s just that lately she’d been… rough around the edges, like a blade left out in dew, and Anta’s eyes had to readjust.

“Mm…? Morning, Mira,” Anta said, swallowing a yawn like a pebble and rubbing her eyes.

It wasn’t a dream. Mira was tightening her necktie, steady as a metronome.

Her signature bell hairclip nestled by her ear. A slightly faded silk ribbon swayed in the breeze like a shy fish-tail.

“Morning, Anta,” Mira said with a small nod, then lifted a hand, soft as a beckoning candle-flame. “Come here? Something sudden. We need to talk.”

Anta nodded, legs pattering like a sparrow’s, and came to her side.

Mira went to one knee so their eyes met like two stars level with the horizon.

“I’ve got an important task. I have to leave for a while,” she said, voice even as a taut string. “Maybe a week. Maybe longer than a month. I don’t know. I can’t promise.”

“Ah.” Anta blinked those amethyst eyes, clear as river glass. “Not sure how long… Is it like when you went to Lama City to slay the dragon?”

“Similar,” Mira said. “Maybe not that dangerous…”

She swallowed the darker tide—Or maybe even worse.

“So you’re going adventuring with Sister Varie and the others again?” Anta’s gaze sparked like a lantern catching wick.

But she kept the childlike question caged, and added, “It’s fine. I can take care of myself, and I’ll finish the homework from you and Teacher. Don’t worry.”

If it were Copato, she’d be stomping to come along already, like thunder looking for a hill.

Mira saw Anta’s steadiness and let relief soften her eyes.

Then Mira shook her head, a leaf refusing to fall.

“Similar to last time, yes. But Teacher Adelaide and I have an extra task for you, Anta.”

While I’m away, would you try… substituting for me?

She dropped the words like a pebble that proved to be a meteor, and the last threads of sleep tore from Anta’s face.

“Eh? Me? Me, teach…??”

Mira nodded. Anta shook her head so hard her bangs fluttered like feathers. “N-no way, I can’t—”

“You’re the strongest senior among them now. The others are still far behind you. Aren’t they?”

“Eh? B-but…”

Her mouth found no ground to argue, but her whole expression resisted like a door with a swollen frame.

“In short, I’m totally unqualified. I’m definitely not—”

“Anta Ponai, you are qualified.”

Her doubt froze like a pond under a sudden frost.

Those eyes flew wide to Mira, who had spoken her family name like a bell-note.

“You’ve never told me your surname alone,” Mira said, gentle yet precise. “But that day you swore by it when you protected Copato. Remember?”

“Ah…!”

Awareness struck like a shaft of light. Her head dipped.

In her amethyst pupils, pain flickered like heat-lightning—until Mira cupped her cheeks and lifted her gaze, palms warm as hearthstone.

“You don’t share that surname because you think you’re still a child. You haven’t avenged your family yet. You feel unworthy of a name tempered by a thousand years of honor. Right?”

Anta didn’t answer. Her bitten lip spoke for her like a crimson seal.

Mira continued, her tone a steady river.

“I understand. I used to think the same, Anta.” She reached into her pocket, breath careful as handling flame. “But that’s just hiding. Self-pity is an empty bowl.

Prove it with action. Prove you’re worthy of it—worthy of this ring.”

She opened her hand. A gold ring lay there, its surface lined with years like bark, its inner band engraved with fine strokes.

Forger: Somerich Ponai.

Anta’s eyes widened, moon-round. She had never thought she’d see it again.

Yet fate had laced the path: the ring Mira had found by chance in the village ruins turned out to be Anta’s heirloom, the family token passed from palm to palm through the ages.

Back then, it was a careless find. Today, it returned to the rightful shore.

Anta trembled like a leaf in spring wind. Her hand lifted, fell, lifted—stalled at the lip of the moment.

Mira steadied her wrist, a bridge over a narrow stream, and helped her cross the last inner step.

Anta took the ring.

It touched her skin, and she clenched it, fist closed like a seed.

She bowed her head, long and quiet as a winter breath.

When she looked up again, resolve burned like a small, fierce star.

“Thank you. I’ll prove it with action.”

“Starting by being the substitute teacher?”

“Yes!”

Mira ruffled her hair, a blessing light as a gull’s wing. They had made their pact.

She stood and turned for the gate, steps straight as a drawn line—when Anta called her name once more.

“Mira!”

“What is it?”

“I feel… you’re better too!” Anta’s voice rang, bright with shared triumph and a spark of curiosity. “Have you decided what to do?”

Mira paused half a heartbeat, then looked back.

On that face so often drained of color, a rare, shallow smile curled like dawn on a still lake.

“Mm.”

She gave her answer, pushed open the gate, and the far-off Varie waved like a flag in wind.

Beside her stood familiar shapes—Hos, Tela, Kabos, Beanpole, and that timid Pengpeng…

Seeing the old team gather, Mira set her feet in motion, heartbeat steady as drums.

She didn’t know what this road would throw at her. The unknown rose like mist from a river—cool, not fearful.

Because she knew: this was the road she and Adelaide would walk together.

Knowing that was enough to fill her lungs.

She would prove it—

that she was worthy to remain by her sister’s side.