“Mmm... mm...” In the deep-night command tent, a girl’s soft sobs rippled like water under moonlight.

Medith cupped the hyacinth that symbolized Melia’s life, her jade-slim hands a warm cradle. Night wind brushed it, swaying like a gentle hand soothing a child.

Sais lowered her gaze, sorrow heavy as rain on leaves. She wrapped Medith’s willow waist, leaned against her back, and let silent tears fall like dew.

Morning, 5.18.

A new day settled like pale gold on the camp. Everyone packed fast, caught breath, and readied their steps for the road home.

They gathered on the open plain, sun bright as a brazier. Left hand tearing black honey bread, right hand sipping goat’s milk, their chatter bubbled like a brook.

Nameless scratched his head and slid down beside Medith, heart tripping like a startled bird. He recalled last night’s dalliance and flushed as if sunlit.

The Lina Sisters sat across with gazes warm as spring. Grapes rolled in jade-white fingers, round and glistening, their green eyes drifting like moss-lit rivers toward Nameless.

Medith chewed her black bread, a thoughtful rhythm like drums in dusk. Her bright eyes flicked over the three, and her smile curved with mischief. “Hey, Nameless, how’s the black honey bread? Sweet?”

Her mouth tugged up, her look sly as a fox. Sais hid a laugh behind her hand like a folding fan. Iling bit her crimson lip and glanced at the Lina Sisters.

Nameless blinked, thoughts fogging like morning mist. He scratched again, his shoulder-length ponytail bobbing like a sparrow’s tail. “Sweet, sweet! Who made it?”

“Kh—!” Lina coughed like she’d been caught in smoke. Rita’s gaze slid away like a skittish fish, her cheeks rosy as peach skin.

Medith lifted a piece of black honey bread and waved it like bait. “If it’s sweet, eat more. We don’t get this often, like rain in drought.”

“Eh? Why? Is it hard to make?” Nameless took the bread, dazed like a calf. Sais’ lips trembled, then her laughter spilled like bells.

Peggy seemed to catch the hint and flushed scarlet as sunset. She grabbed bread and milk and squeezed in beside Jade like a sparrow to a branch.

“Of course it’s hard,” Medith said, smile wicked as cat’s eyes. “Don’t you have a sense of how hard, in your bones?”

“I— I can’t... I don’t know how to bake bread—”

“Shut it! Eat your breakfast! So much chatter! You stupid pig!” Lina flicked a handful of grapes like pebbles at his chest.

Nameless bristled, fire sparking like flint. “Who’s stupid?! Can’t is can’t. A man owns his own lack. Where’s the shame?”

“Ha ha ha... I can’t— he— he’s too funny...” Sais clutched her belly, tears streaming like silver threads.

Nameless froze deeper, confusion thick as smoke. Medith finally leaned in with a little mercy. “You... don’t know the Elf Clan has a particular trait, do you?”

“What tr—” The thought hit him like a drum. His ears went crimson, heat rising like steam.

Lina sprang and pinned him flat, a storm wrapped in silk. “What are you blushing for?! Breakfast needs this many words? Why not choke on it?!”

“Mmm-mmm—” She stuffed bread into his mouth like a mother bird. Her face burned as spring dawn, sweet and fierce as new fire.

Medith finished a banana and flicked the peel at his head like a lazy arrow. “Hey, Lina, next time you bake bread, rub some mimosa, the touch-me-not, on yourself.

“Look at you two. Do you even notice how many butterflies trail you, counting your scent like coin?”

Lina jolted like thunder on a clear day, eyes lifting to the blue bowl of sky. A dozen butterflies turned above, greedy as bees at a bloom.

“Ahhh—!” Lina shrieked, flapping like a windmill. “Shoo! What’s there to sip?!”

Everyone laughed, voices ringing like chimes, as the Lina Sisters chased wings with wild hands.

Nameless chewed and chuckled along, dopey as a calf in spring. Lina’s pearly teeth clicked, and her knee drove into his back like a hammer. He almost spit the bread.

“Ow... fierce...” Medith looked worried in play, brows lifting like swallows. “Little brother Nameless, these two might break you.”

“Who’d have thought... in just half a year, the innocent sisters in my memory became women. Time flies like a startled flock.” Sais smiled, soft pride warming her eyes.

Medith nodded, gaze dark as a lake. “War... is a cruel tutor, carving growth like a blade.”

“And you?” Sais tipped her head, playful as moonlight. “How many wars forged you into this?”

“Eight grand campaigns,” Medith said, voice steady as iron. “Three nations erased, like chalk in rain. Twenty-four cities fell like toppled stars.

“I commanded a million mercenaries, a river of steel. They called me the Grand Marshal. They named me the Golden Whip General.

“Under me, the Imperial Dragon Army fought like thunder. The world hailed me as the Dragon Son of Heaven.

“At my peak, I rode a thousand into tens of thousands, a needle through cloth. I cut down their general amid a sea of blades.

“We took a great country that held sky, earth, and hearts, with almost no losses, like plucking fruit at hand.

“All that is mist now. After that war, they saw our power, a mountain none could climb. They signed peace.

“Soon after, I married, grew soft at the hearth, tasted the small sweetness of home, like honey on warm bread.

“Until... I made an unforgivable mistake. Someone came with a million Black Riders, an iron tide that crushed everything.

“And that was my first lesson to you—never show mercy to an enemy. Mercy invites wolves, like meat in snow.

“Fate loves its pranks, doesn’t it?” Her eyes drifted through long memories like cranes in distance, then settled into a calm smile.