"Lucimia, what are you doing? Is she... a puppet?" Desty rose, half her head poking out the window like a curious sparrow, trying to see where the girl named Ellie looked like a puppet.

"I don't know if she is. I'm just setting a precaution, like a net before nightfall. Ment might use child puppets to lull us and lower our guard."

"Oh, that figures, like a curtain lifting."

"Mm." Lucimia caught Desty's hand and drew her back, like tugging a kite string. "Keep eating, keep eating."

"Hey, hey, I already cleaned the plate, like a wind sweeping leaves."

"..."

Lucimia clenched her fist, like frost tightening over a pond.

Deep night sank in. The two girls sat on the wooden roof, watchful for beasts that could surge in like a storm tide.

Desty rubbed the small bump on her head, wincing like a cat after a fall. "Will they really come? It feels so quiet."

"Don't know." Lucimia rested her chin on her palm, her Magic Eye open, watching the far forest like a lantern through mist.

Through the Magic Eye, she saw many beasts within the forest, like shadows among reeds. They showed no urge to invade—sleeping, drinking, hunting—nature moving in its own rhythm.

There seemed to be no mages in the village. Sturdy men ringed the place with weapons, sharp stakes rowed like thorns, and torches hung like amber fireflies.

Their fire-making looked rough, like rubbing damp sticks. Lucimia sparked the flames with magic, and gratitude rose around her like warm smoke.

The little girl named Ellie stared with worship, eyes bright like stars in a well.

So they trusted Lucimia and Desty, like handing over a gate key. They gave them the whole right flank to guard.

Only a few villagers stood watch, like stones set along a path.

They said staying here would get in the way, like reeds blocking a stream, and make it hard for Lucimia to cast.

"Hey, Lucimia, they formed up fast, like a drill they've done a hundred times. Is this every night?" Desty, bored, reached for talk like a pebble to toss.

"Not sure, but it's happened a lot. They've built a rhythm for defense, like beats on a drum."

A bald guard below the roof heard them and couldn't help joining, voice rising like a bell. "You're right. It's every night, and it's been months! At first, too many died. Later we adapted and held, deaths fell, but the grind is bone-deep."

Lucimia looked down at him, gaze like a cool stream. "So before that, nothing? Did you try to find why this started?"

"Of course." The bald man scratched his polished head, fingers skittering like crabs. "We sent a few to the town. Two mages came. They studied and found no cause. The beasts didn't look controlled or tainted—eyes clear, minds steady—like instinct driving them. In the end the mages said either move away or fend for ourselves."

Listening, Lucimia felt a prickle, like a thorn under silk. "That's it? They didn't clear some beasts, or stay a while, or leave you something to shield you?"

"Uh... maybe there was," he said, words drifting like smoke.

"Maybe?" Lucimia pressed, voice like a pebble tapped on glass. "What was it?"

He faltered and rubbed his smooth scalp, palm shining like moonlight. "I don't know the details. The chief spoke with them. They made some kind of protective thing, told him to guard it well and tell no one."

"Oh, I see. Did it work?" Her words fell like rain testing dust.

"No." The bald man shook his head, slow as an old tree. "Feels no different from before."

"Then... did you check if something deeper in the forest changed? Maybe the beasts are migrating and the village is in their path?" Lucimia let one of her guesses fall, like a leaf.

"We did, but the mages said there's nothing there. So there's no settled answer. Folks are talking about moving. We can't grind like this every night. The fields keep getting ruined. If crops fail, we starve." His sigh spread like cold wind.

The bald villager let out a heavy breath, like a bellows going empty.

"Mm, true." Lucimia turned her gaze back to the forest, seeing the beasts still quiet, like stones in a river.

"But it's quiet tonight. When do they usually attack?" Her question rose like a spark.

"Huh? It's... really quiet. By now they'd have started. Tsk, tonight's strangely quiet." He peered at the far forest, brows drawn like rain lines.

Lucimia didn't know why, but she smelled something off, like iron under water.

If he's not lying, months of nightly raids wouldn't stop just because she arrived. That felt too convenient, like a drum that goes silent mid-beat.

"Lucimia, Lucimia." Desty leaned to her ear, elbow nudging like a sparrow pecking grain.

"What?" Her voice was a low ripple.

"Do you think... it's that masked man we met this morning? He seemed to control beasts. Hard to say, though. He only whistled. Could've just drawn attention..." Her doubt fluttered like a moth.

"Mm... it's possible. I've been thinking the same." Lucimia kept her voice low, like water under reeds. "His whistle had a patterned tremor, like a cicada-song. I think he speaks to beasts with it. And there's one main reason they didn't attack tonight."

"We cut down too many beasts in daylight. He gauged our strength and decided raids would waste beasts for nothing, so he called it off." Her certainty sat like a stone.

"So you think he's controlling them? Why would he do that? What does raiding a village gain him? Should we tell the chief what we know?" Her questions spilled like beads.

Desty thought for a beat, then rushed ahead like a spring hare. "To feed the Cross with energy?"

Lucimia was glad to see Desty think, like a teacher hearing a good guess, but she poured a cool basin over it. "Sadly, probably not."

"Huh?" Desty clutched her hair, mind tangling like vines. "If not that, then what? That masked man has to be a follower of Ment."

Lucimia patted her shoulder, smile like dawn light. "Whether he's Ment's follower is hard to say. But I'm sure he's not doing this to feed the Cross. He likely has another aim."

"First, Wasan Village is too small. Even if everyone was sacrificed, it wouldn't be enough for the Cross. And beast energy never matches human. So that case doesn't hold." Her logic clicked like stones in a stream.