Still... if someone slays the Demon King and stumbles home, only to find others made merry while she bled, that’s heartbreaking.

We’re not saints, but to keep goodwill’s lantern lit, we should go find her.

Waste hours together, do useless things together—that’s how you braid bonds; that’s how love and friendship stack like stones.

“She’s an idiot, sure, but she’s our captain—the cracked glass lighthouse we rally to.”

“I don’t talk well. But... I think we should find Stini.” My heart tugged like a kite in wind.

“Yeah, I don’t like her, but courtesy and life’s gears matter. We should find her and lend a hand. That’s how grown-ups live.”

“You’re lying, Andor.” Her voice pinned me like a needle.

“No... fine. Half of that was a paper mask for saving face.”

“Then take it as that. I’m the opposite.”

It sounded unlike Gloria’s usual style, a swallow cutting smooth through sky.

“I love you all. I love Stini, love Raven, love Elina, love Catherine,”

“And I love Andor, too.” Names lit like lanterns along a night road.

Gloria seemed to smile, a ripple of moonlight that might’ve been a mirage.

“Uh... did Her Highness just speak a smooth sentence? No stumbles, like silk?”

“No, no. It’s a heat-haze illusion.”

“You can speak fine! Drop the silent act—old masks have cracked and lost their market.”

“I said it’s a mirage.”

We argued over that “mirage” for ten minutes, chasing smoke in circles.

“I gave you a few alchemic items before. Make sure you’re carrying them—lucky stones in a pocket.”

I pulled out something that looked like a flare—and yeah, a flare, a red tooth of light.

“Just now I stirred the Shadow to scout the area. Stini’s not nearby; she’s farther out. So we can burn this pricey incense... and make Stini reimburse us later.”

This gadget’s black tech I bought from Miss Raven, cramming for the Magitech Department exam. She swore three Colonna coins was just cost, but the sly curve of her smile after I paid said otherwise.

“How do we use this?” I hefted it like a torch.

“Raven tuned it to a common frequency. Just like this—” I unscrewed the top—she calls it a ‘Specialized Diffusive Resonator’—and pressed the switch. “Then it works,” like opening a jar of thunder.

A violent spatial ripple, visible to the eye, spread from above us where the flare burst, rings on glass.

Raven cheats on price, but she wouldn’t play with our lives. Still, I gulped, heart skittering like a trapped sparrow.

“If we’d stood at the blast center, we’d be ashes and echo...”

I said it with a twitching mouth. Raven turned a mass-killing device into a flare—does that mean she bridles her warhorse talent, or does her odd restraint save the world?

I bet she wanted a simple flare first, which led her into spatial waves. Like building an annihilation engine just to toast bread—cannon at a moth.

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: the girl’s talent is a storm coiled in a teacup—terrifying.

“Could be... used as a weapon.” A blade hidden in a lantern.

Her Highness spread her hands, feeling the tide’s ebb in the waves, then clipped the flare at her waist, a talisman for the Demon King later.

The ripple reached us gentle enough not to harm. The bottom half, the bit we’d unscrewed, sensed it and began to buzz, a bee trapped in brass.

Princess Golia’s flare in her pocket vibrated too, two strings singing in resonance.

“See? Like this, I can sense your position. Now we wait for Stini’s flare to answer, a thread sparking on the web.”

Not long after the ripple ran farther out, the flare in my hand felt another resonant point, a distant bell.

“Probably over there. Let’s go,” I said, compass needle steady.

“Our destination,” Gloria opened a map; looks like she’d downloaded the module back home. “Blue Moon Lake,” a blue coin set in earth.

So we’re going, no matter what—resolve like a blade crossing water.

Stini picks all the bounty jobs. I’ve said it: we “happen” to meet Miss Nivifar daily; she picks tasks where our threads cross Nivifar by instinct.

So rushing toward the lake, we “coincidentally” ran into Nivifar again, like seeing the same red fox on the road.

“Morning, Nivifar.”

“Morning.”

“Andor and Gloria, huh. Hm? Why isn’t Stini here today?” Her gaze cut clean, a blade of wind.

Under Stini’s lead, we’ve been forced into familiarity; chance meetings no longer surprise—knots tied from marching side by side.

Nivifar wore a hard face, iron-blood chill around her, and waved. She dropped from a branch, scanned the woods, found no Stini, and frowned, a hawk missing its shadow.

“The trio split up...? Did you and Gloria start dating, leaving no room for Stini, so she bowed out?”

“Your imagination’s wild. This is—Stini-led—squad; without its captain, what does that look like?” My tongue skidded near a cliff; I almost said “Hero,” Nivifar’s taboo.

“Did she run off to solo the Demon King?”

“Yeah. That troublemaker ran off again. We’re heading to find her now,” dust chasing a kite.

“It’s really that, huh... and I’m not even surprised.” Nivifar’s face darkened like thickening cloud; she clapped our shoulders, hand heavy as mail. “Sorry to make you grind again.”

She’s a mercenary captain, shepherding rookies, steeped in hassle—herding cats under rain—so she resonates with our mess.

“By the way, Miss Nivifar, alone today? Out for a casual walk?”

It’s odd not seeing her usual mercs. Nivifar strolls with us, loose and aimless, an arrow left on the string.

“Ah, day off. I came out to walk and let my heart loosen,” wind combing the grass in her chest.

“No wonder. I thought you didn’t look geared for work today,” no frost on your blade.

“Fighting monsters dawn to dusk gets old,” the grindstone wears thin.

“That’s why you need breaks... but we don’t get them. Classes, then exams; then brawl with the Demon King; then heal; then sprint to catch up,” the hamster wheel under a storm.

“You lot do have it rough.” I knew her “you” meant the Hero Squad, backs under mountains.

“Yeah, year-round, no rest. I wish we had alternates to rotate. Sigh—people who can fight at Demon King level are rare; not easy to find,” needing extra oars for a black river.

Even our current Hero Squad isn’t full. We still lack a ranged specialist; Catherine’s vacancy is a missing bowstring.

Abigail counts as an alternate, but the other “geniuses” at the Hero Academy... Stini’s eyes are winter; she doesn’t think much of them.

“By the way, if you’re going to fight the Demon King, how about I help?” An offer like a drawn blade laid on the table.

She explained it: she owed us a favor, a knot on the ledger string.

She asked it like nothing, but that’s a deadly question, smoke hiding a spark.

I turned and whispered to Gloria, my voice under leaves:

“Did I hallucinate? Someone just asked to tag along to slay the Demon King.”

“Not... a hallucination. I... heard it too.”

“Hey, hey—hold up, Your Highness. Demon King hunts aren’t a casual hangout. ‘You guys fighting the Demon King?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Cool, I’m free, add me.’ ‘Sure, don’t overextend or steal kills.’ That picnic vibe? It should be serious!”

For example: “What? The Demon King’s coming. The town’s in danger.”

“You go first. I’ll stay and defeat the Demon King.”

“No, we can’t let you face it alone...”

“Enough. You’re the town’s brightest torch. You can’t die here. Avenge me later.”

“No. I’ll fight with you.”

“Can’t stop you. Then let’s greet death together,” arms open to the storm.

In the end, one dies, one lives. “Even if someone falls, we’ll carry their share and live on with joy.” Curtain down—perfect, a lantern carried for two.

That blend of grief, grit, and friendship—that’s the usual Demon King palette, colors on a storm canvas.

“Is Nivifar... brain-dead?” Gloria’s blunt stone of a voice couldn’t shape doubt, but she felt the wrongness.

“Saying ‘brain-dead’ goes too far. Your Highness, try ‘is her brain having a mild malfunction’—wrap the blade in silk.”

“Your whisper’s too loud; I heard everything! If you’ve got something to say, say it to my face!” Sparks from flint.

Nivifar looked angry, eyes like stormclouds piling.

“Honestly...” She clicked her tongue, turned away in that proud-and-thorny pose. “I want in on the Demon King fight. I already have ‘power.’ Honestly, I just want to slay the Demon King, and then...”

She clicked her tongue again, tried to voice her intent, then gave up, words snagged on thorns.

“Looking to carve your name in history? With half-baked resolve like that, you’ll die,” chisel on stone or a paper sword.

I know what Nivifar really seeks, yet I choose to play dumb, mask painted on.

Anyway, it’s not time yet, fruit still green.

Anyway, we still have time, sand high in the hourglass.

Anyway, she and Stini’s knot needs cutting.

That’s what I thought, thoughts circling like birds.

And so I said it, stones dropped in a pond.

Nivifar’s look grew heavier, fiercer than usual, iron hammered hotter.

“No. What I want is...” A heart under a locked lid.

Her father’s approval? His apology? Or a challenge to Stini? Answers fluttered like birds behind a curtain.

She never said what she truly wanted. I treated it like nothing happened and didn’t pry, a leaf laid over a well.

“Whatever you want, Nivifar, an extra blade is welcome. But if you die, that’s on you,” another oar in the boat, but your reefs.

“A merc’s life is her own charge; at least you needn’t worry there,” contract ink dark as blood.

With talk kept to the surface and thoughts kept to ourselves, we walked together toward Blue Moon Lake, three shadows stretching along a pale road.