With the matter settled, Liya rose, lifted the tent flap like parting a veil of light, and let the daylight spill in.

“I’ll report to my superior. See you in a bit~” She darted away like a swift sparrow.

“What a formidable kid,” Lance said, gaze lingering on the corner where she vanished.

He stood, tipped back the cooled highland tea like the last chill of dusk, and finished it in one breath.

“Let’s go.” He spoke to Yuna and Shelika without turning, like wind speaking to reeds.

“Yes, my master.” Yuna bowed, light as a leaf.

“...Okay.” Shelika dropped her eyes, voice reluctant yet not refusing, like a cloud that wouldn’t rain.

They stepped out of the tent into a river of voices and canvas.

No sooner had they emerged than Weirlette waved from afar, her hand like a fluttering pennant.

“Hey~~ Lance~~”

Her call cut through the clamor like a bell through fog; soldiers milled like tides, yet the signal was clear.

That side held the crowd cleared after inspection, the line forming to reboard like a snake of patience.

Lance didn’t overthink it. He headed that way, feet sure as stones in a stream.

Fences corralled the camp like ribs, channeling traffic in strict lanes.

Unless he “hurdled” them, he’d have to loop half the camp like a hare circling a hedge.

No rush pressed his back, so he and his party followed the soldiers, detouring like water around rock.

Halfway, tents and an obelisk cast a block of shade like spilled ink, hiding them from Weirlette’s sightline.

Sub-Lieutenant Alfred waited there, arms crossed like a closed gate, impatience written in his jaw.

He stepped into Lance’s path with the look of a man itching for trouble.

“Got business?” Lance’s temper rose first, his words flat like a blade laid on a table.

This was Celestial Spirit ground and a military camp. A sub-lieutenant shouldn’t be picking a fight, he thought.

Alfred saw him stop and scowled deeper, then barked, voice like dry thunder, “Brat, don’t get too close to Liya!”

Fulin, who plays Lance, had seen this farce in another life; the tune was familiar as old rain.

Seeing it was only bluster, Lance let himself lean into it, like a cat stretching into a dare.

“So what if I do? She’s my comrade. And you—what are you to her?”

It wasn’t what Fulin expected.

Alfred snapped, annoyed as a wasp, “I’m warning you only because you saved my friend’s life. Ignore it if you want!”

Lance lifted a brow, confusion first, words after. “What do you mean?”

Seeing Lance was in the dark, Alfred smirked like a jackal. “Since you asked, I’ll be merciful and tell you. Listen up. Her master is—”

He got halfway when the Thunderlight Knight herself turned the corner like a bolt through cloud.

“Lance?” Liya arrived by chance, her steps quick as sunbeams.

She’d just finished reporting to her superior and stepped out of the barracks into them.

“Thunderlight Knight?” Speak of the devil; Lance was a little surprised too.

Liya spotted Alfred and shed her warmth like a cloak; her face went cool and strict as steel.

“Sub-Lieutenant Alfred, what are you doing here?”

“I—I…” He went pale like paper before a flood, fear choking his words.

Liya’s voice went cold, anger tight as a drawn bow. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten your Academy idiocy. Touch my friend and I won’t be polite.”

“Y—yes, understood! Goodbye—!” He bolted like a small-time thug seeing the city watch.

Lance glanced at Liya, then at the route of Alfred’s retreat. “You know him?”

Liya narrowed her eyes like a hunter in snow. “Yeah. He rode Daddy’s coattails into the Academy, then into a sub-lieutenant slot after. He was a jerk even back then.”

There was a story under that ice, but Lance wasn’t fishing; he let it sink.

“Just ignore him,” Liya said, a brief warning like a hand on a shoulder.

“Got it.”

“Give me a minute. I’ll go pack.” She jogged off, light as a deer between trees.

Lance watched her go, then moved on, and soon merged with Weirlette’s group like streams joining.

As expected, that lost time drew Weirlette’s complaint like thunder chasing lightning.

“So slow! What were you doing?” She chattered like a sparrow pecking rice.

“I—”

Before Lance could answer, she supplied it herself, tugging tight like a knot. “I know, chatting with the Thunderlight Knight.”

“Mm.” Lance didn’t quite follow her zigzags; some days her nerves ran like a kite in crosswind.

She leaned close, cheeks tight, displeasure like a wrinkle in silk, yet not truly about the delay.

“Her master, Shadina, pushes Empire First. She’s my political rival…”

“You worry she’ll rope me in?” Lance’s voice stayed careless, like rain on a hat brim.

Weirlette shook her head and warned, eyes like needles. “Rumor says she’s a woman of many tools. You’d better be careful.”

A flicker of surprise, then Lance laughed, the sound easy as a breeze. “And you’re not bad yourself, bad-mouthing her to my face.”

Weirlette stomped, fingers clutching her little dress, vexed like a cat with wet paws. “I’m serious!”

Lance set a gentle hand on her head, the touch a quiet blanket. “Alright, alright. I’ll remember.”

“Mhm~~” She brightened like morning, then felt something off, yanked his hand away, and flushed hot.

“Stop treating me like a kid! I’m a Celestial Spirit. I’m older than you!”

“How old?”

“Twenty-nine!” She drew up her very flat chest with pride, like a fledgling puffing feathers.

“That’s still a kid.” Lance laughed again. By Celestial Spirit years, twenty-nine was eleven—barely past childhood’s gate.

Pity pricked him, then thought followed, cool and bitter as shade.

A child, shoved into the storm of politics even grown-ups can’t chart, forced to grasp things beyond her reach.

“Mad politics…” He sighed skyward, the breath a trail of smoke in wind.

From the air-dock came a shout, sharp as a trumpet: “Those disembarking! Time to board! Airship lifting!”

The dock sprawled like a flat lake for airships, five or six hulls resting like gray whales.

One had lowered a gangway, and the queue coiled before it in tidy scales.

Weirlette pointed, tugging Lance’s sleeve like a bellpull. “That one. Let’s go~~”

They checked nothing was missing and slipped into the line like pebbles into a stream.

Weirlette took the lead up the gangway, her small frame trembling each step like a leaf in breeze.

Lance glanced over the rails. They were about five meters up, a two-story drop painted in air.

Not high, but the gangway swayed like a rope bridge, and the wide steps gaped like missing teeth.

Watching her wobble, Lance teased, voice light as dust. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights?”

“No way!” She snapped back, turning her head—one heartbeat of distraction like a pebble underfoot.

“Ah!?” She missed a step and pitched backward like a falling petal.

She didn’t hit ground. Lance caught her clean, arms a sure harbor.

Curled in his hold, she opened her eyes to the knight’s face: annoyed on the surface, worry burning underneath like banked coals.

“Hey. Watch it.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks like fire to dry grass. To hide, she slid behind him, pressed her hot face to his back, and clutched his straps.

She tried to sound bold, yet the edges frayed. “G-Go faster, s-servant!”

Lance glanced around, then chuckled low, a soft ripple. “Ha~~ You’ve got pride too, huh.”

“Shut uuup~~!” She was on the verge of tears, like glass under a thumb.

They made the deck in short order, feet finding level like boats a berth.

The Thunderlight Knight Liya boarded as well, and waved when Lance stepped off the gangway. “Lance~~!”

Her smile poured warmth like sunrise, then stiffened a shade when she saw the “pendant” clinging to his back.

“Miss Weirlette, an honor,” she said, the formal greeting neat as a bowstring.

Weirlette lifted her face, saw who it was, and her racing heart froze like a pond in a snap frost.

She matched the formality, voice cool as porcelain. “You’re the Knight of Thunderlight…”

Before Liya could respond, Weirlette slipped behind Lance again like a shadow ducking sun.

Lance smiled at Liya. “She’s a Celestial Spirit I looked after on the road. She’s not feeling great.”

“I see.” Liya didn’t doubt a thing; her trust sat open as a book.

Lance turned his head. “Yuna, take her to rest.”

“Understood, my master.” Yuna bowed with velvet grace, took Weirlette’s hand, and led her into the cabins.

Two Celestial Knights watched Shelika closely, their stares tight as shackles.

“Let’s head over there~~” Liya didn’t mind the awkward beat, tugged Lance’s hand, and pointed toward the mast.

“Isn’t the airship about to lift?” Lance saw other Celestial Spirits go below and thought the cabin safer.

“It’s fine,” Liya said with a laugh bright as steel. “It’s your first time in the Heavenly Spirit Empire. Let me show you her beauty and her grand bones!”

“Alright,” Lance said, the word settling like a stone.

No sooner said than the airship rose, the deck humming like a waking beast.

The severe geometry below shrank with altitude, toy-flat and far like a map rolled out.

As they climbed, the mountains unveiled themselves, edges sharpening like teeth behind a veil.

Range after range, cloud after cloud, and then they burst above the cover.

Peaks stretched to both sides like unscalable walls, the ridgelines etching a hard horizon.

Lance stood struck silent, awe first, breath after. “So this is the Dead-End Range…”

“Exactly!” Liya’s pride rang like a bell. “A skyline of divine craft. It shut out greedy humans, barred evil Dark Spirits, guarded the Empire’s body, and bred our prosperity. A supreme treasure from the Light Deity…”

Lance couldn’t find words. He let her stream of praise run like a river while he drank the view.

Once they reached a set height, the flight smoothed, the ship gliding like a swan on black glass.

Celestial Spirits drifted out from the cabins, faces fresh as wind.

“Yo, Blazing Fire Knight.” Some of those Lance had guarded waved, kin-easy as neighbors.

Lance turned. “Oh! You’re—”

He tried to catch the name, but it slid away like a fish; he’d never asked, anyway.

“You punched me in the face and didn’t even blink. My father never hit me like that. Worthy of the Blazing Fire Knight!” the councilor’s son joked, grin wicked as a spark.

“Ha, that did happen.” Remembering, Lance scratched his head, sheepish as a boy.

“Lance, you actually struck a Celestial Spirit? That’s a major crime!” Liya missed the mood and didn’t know the story, worry flaring like a match.

“Thunderlight Knight, the truth is—” Lance started.

The young Celestial cut him off and stepped up, brisk as a drumbeat. “I’ll say it. My name’s Raymond. Back then—”

By his telling, warlords were about to shell them to dust, and Lance fought a hundred like a storm and pulled them out alive.

“You really are a damn hero,” Raymond said, teasing wrapped around respect like silk over steel.

“I only did what I should,” Lance answered, modesty plain as linen.

Raymond’s levity fell away; seriousness settled like armor. “No. You did what many of us couldn’t. We owe you our lives. And—”

“I heard the Empire plans to turn your homeland into a hell, to sacrifice human nations to save itself. To prop up prosperity by that trade. That’s just wrong…”

Distrust rose in Lance like a cold tide, but his face stayed level and agreeable.

“Remarkable,” he said, praise smooth as oil, belief held back like a blade in sheath.

Raymond didn’t notice the gloss. He kept going, words rolling like a campaign speech.

“Not just me. Others agree. They’re grateful to you. I’ll gather that gratitude, turn it into action, and win more minds. We’ll steer the Empire back onto the right road.”

Liya’s face cooled at that, displeasure knitting like frost on glass.

She shot back, “Humans are greedy and vile by nature, like wolves circling a winter fire. If we don’t force them, the empire’s prosperity will be usurped. They’ll shrug off blame like snow from their cloaks. And against the Dark Spirit, humans crack like thin ice. Nordland will fall in a blink!”

“You don’t understand Nordland at all—its frost-bitten, iron heart.”

“No one knows Nordland better than my master, who reads its winds like a map.”

Politics, be it the talk or the strife it stirs, is oil and water—never mixing, grinding like millstones.

Lance grew sick of it; the arguments buzzed like flies over old meat.

In truth, Fulin didn’t care at all; her heart stayed lidded like a quiet teapot.

If she could have a peaceful life, she’d shrug even if the sky shattered like blue porcelain.

But if the sky truly fell, could the days after still be called peace?

Annoyed yet weary, Lance left the deck turned debating ring and slipped back into the cabin, like a man fleeing a storm into a hushed cove.

Inside, Yuna was napping; her hand kept patting Veilrit’s forehead on her knees, gentle as a willow leaf tapping a pond.

Would Yuna treat her own child like this someday? The thought rose like warm fog, then drifted off.

Lance looked away and stopped thinking. He took an empty seat by the window, a quiet harbor.

Bored, he stared out.

They were flying too high. The world outside hung suspended like an ink painting.

Clouds drifted slow; mountains slid inch by inch like sleeping beasts.

Watching that gentle scene, Lance felt himself slow. His thoughts swayed like reeds: “A quiet life… a quiet life…”

Time stretched, long as a day’s thread.

Suddenly, a voice dropped like a pebble in a pond. “But aren’t you doing this for money?”

Veilrit was awake. Yuna had lost to the long journey; she slept sweetly on the little table, hands tucked under her cheek like a sparrow.

“That’s why I need money.”

“So who do you want that life with? You need money for that, right?”

“No. Alone,” he said, like a lone lamp in fog.

“Alone? What do you mean?” Veilrit tilted her head like a puzzled bird.

“Even if I explain, you won’t get it.” Lance shooed the child like a stray kitten.

“Hmph! You’re pushing me away again! I’m not leaving!”

She glued herself to Lance like a stubborn slug; he couldn’t shake her loose however he tried.

With no choice, Lance let his gaze drift back to the window, his mind sliding like a boat on still water.

Veilrit nestled against the young knight.

She looked out too. “Beautiful, right?”

“Yeah. With views this pretty, why join a tour group, like sheep in a herd?”

“Because they’ve never seen the sea!”

“Is that it? What one grows blind to is a wonder in another’s eyes, like a lantern lit in a stranger’s night.”

“Mm-hmm, that’s the mood! Didn’t expect that from just a knight!”

Her praise fell, then her mood dipped like a sun behind clouds.

“We’re going to part soon, right…”

“Yeah.”

She lifted her head, light returning like dawn. “You told me to keep my head up, to step forward bravely, every step, to never give up, right?”

Lance blinked, surprised; throwaway words, yet she’d cradled them like a warm stone.

“Yeah,” he answered, a bit rushed.

“I was still afraid. I shrank before the Thunderlight Knight, like a rabbit before thunder. I knew she wasn’t aiming at me, but I still feared. I must’ve looked awful…”

“Uh…” Lance fumbled for words. “You still stood up, bravely, even if only for a breath.”

“I see…” Relief washed over her like rain. She let go and walked to the cabin door.

She turned back, smiling, voice soft yet firm, like a bell in fog. “I’m not brave enough yet, but I’ll try. Meeting you is the greatest treasure in my life. I’ll remember the courage I found in you. That courage will stay by my side, a lamp on a dark road, lighting the way ahead—”

“I’ll make my ideal real. Thank you… Blazing Fire Knight.”

Lance listened, stunned. Then something old and important stirred; his cooled heart filled again with warmth, like embers fanned alive.

He hopped onto a seat and played the hero. “Your ideal will come true! In the name of the Blazing Fire Knight, I promise it!”

The sky had its jokes. The airship hit turbulence; the hull shuddered, and Lance almost toppled.

Veilrit burst into laughter. “Till we meet again,” she said, and left the cabin.

The mountain segment was ending; she was probably off to pack. Lance tensed to chase, like a hound tugged by a tide.

He didn’t move. He stood, staring at the door, a lone figure in quiet light.

He smiled, regretful but not sad, like a sunset that doesn’t sting.

Then he turned, back to the way she’d gone. “Let me, the Blazing Fire Knight, witness the day your ideal comes true,” he said with a touch of swagger.

After crossing the Desolation Range, the airship reached the plateau city of Losrick and set down briefly.

Lance’s group disembarked and parted from the other Celestial Spirits. The airship took off again, vanishing into the vague curtain of cloud.

Under a sky that felt within arm’s reach atop the plateau, Liya asked, “She didn’t say goodbye to you?”

“She did.”

“Then why didn’t she come out? Even Raymon waved at you.”

Lance didn’t follow that thread. He walked ahead, then glanced back. “Aren’t you taking me to your master? Making an outlander lead—what’s that about?”

“Right!” Liya brightened at once, joy rising like a kite. She moved to the front. “Welcome to the plateau city of Losrick!”