June 24th. Medith stood again before the city gate, wind combing her cloak like a river brushing stone, ready to step into foreign lands.

Worry swelled first in the Queen, like clouds gathering over a still lake. Her bright eyes rippled and would not settle. Each farewell shaved a sliver off Medith; a moth’s bite in a silk soul. If she walked out a few more times, would she still be the same woman?

She didn’t know. All she could do was pour her whole heart into prayer, like incense rising straight and thin, and keep this army of hope in perfect order for her...

“Never thought it... the bawling girl from that day fully took over my job, and even did it better. Am I getting old, or was Phiby always that strong?” Sais sighed like a gossipy aunt warming her hands over a kettle.

Medith gave a helpless, wry smile, the kind born of winter wind on the face. “Phiby was never weak. Her talent runs deep, and her will is sharp enough to scare. She only lacked fights. Marching with me, she’s had the Reaper’s scythe skim her throat more than once. It’s hard not to grow when the blade keeps kissing you.

“Think about it. If Phiby were truly a frail girl, could she hide in the brush for hours, watching her own kin dance on the knife’s edge, and not twitch a muscle?

“That arrow didn’t just kill Soledo. It killed the softness in her heart. That’s exactly why I handed her the weight.”

Milia let out a surprised little hum. “Huh? Commander, you’d already seen all that back then?!”

“What did you think?” Medith flicked her hair like a banner catching sun. “Sais is all bust and no brains. You’re a hotheaded fool. The Lina Sisters are two adorable idiots. Iling’s just a scout. And I couldn’t step away. Leave it to you lot and we’d be corpses by sundown.”

“Ah-ho?! Someone’s wings got hard. Haven’t stuffed a gag in that mouth lately, huh?!” Sais laughed and scolded, swatting at her in a playful tangle. Her slender hands and dancing eyes brimmed with affection.

Nora leaned close to Peggy and whispered, breath like a feather. “Hey, is the Commander always like this?”

Peggy’s face blossomed, a flower flaring open at dawn. “Mm! The Commander’s the cutest and the most dependable woman in the world!”

Nora blinked, as if a bird had startled from a branch. It was the first time she’d seen Peggy smile from the marrow. The recent naivety had shed like an old skin. She had to admit, her own letting go had borne ripe fruit.

“If only... I’d been there too. I wanted to cut down our enemies with my own hands. Something so terrible happened, and we knew nothing. It’s just...” Fear lingered in Nora like cold in the bones. By any reckoning, she’d failed utterly as the acting Guildmaster.

“Medith is exactly that kind of person,” Nira said with a smile, moonlight warm on water. “She wears a face that says ‘Keep out or die,’ but inside she treasures her comrades more than anyone.”

“So, are we going to war? The whole family, old and young, came out,” Nameless said, half-laughing, half-sighing, as the Lita Sisters boxed him in front and back on horseback. “See us from a mile away and they’ll turn tail—‘Green-haired Witch!’ ‘Demon Medith!’ ‘Ironblood War God!’ Do we need this much fanfare?”

Medith gave Nameless a half-smile, a blade kept sheathed. “This is called setting our banner. We’ve stirred the lion. No need to tiptoe. It’s good to have all the top brass here. In Sass City, Olivya and Cecilia hold the walls. In the Sanctuary of Freedom, Gill himself sits the throne.

“With their ability, making the Crimson Sunset Guild’s second legend-grade guild is only a matter of time.

“Who’d have thought old enemies would turn allies—ironclad ones, at that...

“Olivya really made out. Did nothing, and got the Kuso Guild’s sponsorship for free, plus me as a walking treasury. Her father’s clout will swell like a tide.”

At that, everyone exhaled with a thousand shades of feeling, like leaves shivering under one wind. The butterfly born from Medith’s single sword-stroke was still opening its wings. Had it flapped another way, the two sides would have become mortal enemies without escape. Medith would have been the target of every guild’s hunt. Olivya’s faction would read the wind and, unwilling or not, cast Medith overboard.

Then, not only would Medith fail to grow a guild, she’d find no peace anywhere she set foot. Now it turned to alliance instead—one side ebbs, the other flows—a move that bent the river of fate.

Only... the price was too high. The thought pressed down on Medith like a winter night, heavy and starless. That vision of the future had popped like a bubble when the God died. There wouldn’t be a second stroke of luck.

She warned herself, the words a scar she traced in her mind. One more wrong step, and the price would be beyond measure.