"Hey!"

The winged girl rained ten thousand blades of light, staking the wide earth like spears, the shock carving the terrain like tides.

"Last one. That should clear out the moles, like sweeping dust from a floor."

She alighted by a farther road like a drifting feather; the boy who hired her to cull the moles had vanished like mist.

"Where’d you go? Oh, snacks—thanks, I guess. I’ll take them, like catching a coin from fate."

A carriage ringed with knights rolled by and stopped before the girl happily nibbling, like a hawk pausing mid-flight.

"Beautiful miss, why are you waiting here?"

A pleasant young woman’s voice floated from the carriage, clear as a bell, fresh as spring water.

She sounded barely grown, like a bud just opened.

"Because a little kid said they’ve been plagued by moles for years and wanted my help. A kid with misty eyes, in a sleeveless hospital gown—have you seen him?"

"A child? A hospital gown? Impossible. I’ve seen no such future... Fine. Then, miss, what do you want to do now?"

"Find my boyfriend. His name’s Andreas!"

She raised her pastry like a trophy; cream streaked her cheeks like moonlight, and her smile bloomed with simple joy.

"Andreas? Can’t say I’ve heard that name."

The voice in the carriage sounded like a stage line read without heart, words counted like beads, yet threaded with tremor and haste.

But the girl didn’t hear it, like a skylark deaf to thunder.

She trusted every person, every tongue, every kindness, like sunlight that never doubts the dawn.

She was a weave of all good things in this world; pure enough to know evil, yet never imagine it in others.

"He also goes by Andor. Have you seen him?"

"Andor?"

She spoke it in the Demon Realm tongue; in human speech, it was the name of a flower.

"Andor, in the Demon Realm sound, I don’t know; if it’s Andor in the human tongue, I’m heading to Skyward City Atlante to find him."

The two names had no logic, no thread between them, like two stars in different skies.

The girl found nothing odd. The guarding knights were used to their lady’s strange phrasing, and kept their questions sheathed like knives.

What should’ve been absurd settled into reality, like a crooked painting everyone accepts as straight.

"Care to come with me, Miss Ferrel? I can buy you dinner."

"Can I? Thanks a bunch!"

She brushed crumbs from her hands, forgot she had wings, and scrambled aboard like a child climbing a tree.

She didn’t even notice why the woman knew her name, like a fish ignoring the net’s shadow.

"But Saintess, your safety..."

"No matter. This is the future I saw, clear as starlight on still water."

Her voice steadied from the carriage, as if a knot had come loose; relief unfurled like silk.

—

When the party finally survived the examiner’s torment—or rather, when Stini finally stopped tormenting the examiner—

the Hero strode out of the checkpoint, spirits blazing, and pointed toward the horizon like an arrow.

"Raven, Raven, what’s fun in SkywardCity? What’s good to eat?"

No answer came, like wind over empty reeds.

Miss Raven, stripped of almost all her alchemy bombs, sagged like a sun-dried zombie.

"Uh... you’re here to rescue Andor, right?"

Abigail had come representing Beatrice of the Azure Wind Kingdom for the peace conference, and to attend Andor’s trial—well, truthfully, Andor had asked him to keep the Hero Squad from trouble while he was gone.

All the way he’d held back, watching Stini clown around, biting his tongue like a bitten reed; now he couldn’t help a jab.

He knew he shouldn’t interfere, but a small gripe couldn’t hurt, like a pebble tossed in a river.

"Got a plan, then?"

Abigail wanted to answer with the future he’d seen, to shut the country bumpkin up, but the shards shown by the Fool King’s Scorching Insight, and the unsayable data, couldn’t be voiced like a secret bound in thorns.

The reason lay in this world’s rules and marrow, beyond human grasp; he only knew that without paying a price, those words could not pass his lips.

So Abigail held his tongue and even stilled his face, like a mask set on stone.

Seeing no answer, Stini pouted and flicked her eyes aside.

"See? You’ve got nothing. We can’t exactly blow up the Heretic Inquisition’s headquarters..."

Maybe she was remembering how they’d been halted at the city checkpoint like fish at a weir.

They’d found a haul of alchemy bombs in Raven’s space bracelet, like fireworks stuffed in a nest.

They’d found full blueprints of the Heretic Inquisition headquarters in Elina’s luggage, like a thief’s love letter.

They’d found a forest of knives hidden in Vega’s skirt, like thorns under silk.

They’d found a stash of restricted alchemy tools in Abigail’s pocket, like smoldering coals under ash.

—Which had earned them a long scolding from the examiner, a storm just passed.

"...We probably won’t blow it up, right?"

"Wait, I only brought the alchemy gear to fill in for Andor!"

"Mm, I see... you know what I’m thinking!"

"Uh—ah—just a feeling, that you’d think that."

"Doesn’t matter!"

Stini’s unfathomable brain hummed a while, then she skipped ahead as if nothing had happened, and asked the first question again:

"Raven, Raven, what’s fun in SkywardCity? What’s good to eat?"

"Hey! I told you to get serious! Andor—what about Andor?"

"We came on momentum, but we can’t do anything. Let’s eat something good, so when it’s time to move, we’ll have full strength!"

Either way, Abigail found the girl’s cheer worth praise, like a lantern in fog.

"And, let’s see as many sights as we can. If we have to blow them up later, we won’t hesitate."

"That’s a no!"

He didn’t remember Stini having such dangerous thoughts, like sparks near oil.

Did Andor spoil her?

Abigail instinctively reached for his legendary magic, the Fool King’s Scorching Insight, to peer at truth—then stopped, like a hand pulled back from flame.

This vantage wasn’t meant to be touched lightly, like a cliff edge in mist.

One shouldn’t know what one shouldn’t know, like a sealed script.

Don’t treat powers as handy tools of habit, like knives left on the table.

When you gaze at darkness, the darkness gazes back, like eyes opening in a well.

Abigail reminded himself, kept silent, hefted Raven’s luggage, and followed the lively Hero like a shadow trailing sun.

This time he was only Andor’s stand-in; anything else, don’t overthink, like clouds passing a mountain.

Just then, as he took a step, as his body started moving, as his eyes lifted—time stopped like glass.

He could see every speck of dust, each grain shaped like a tiny planet; he could see every color on a butterfly’s scales, like painted dew.

The world froze in that instant; people and scenery turned into a gray backdrop, like charcoal sketches on white.

Even at a hustling checkpoint, it felt like he was the only one left, like a bell in a silent temple.

Loneliness.

Solitude.

Surged up like cold tide in winter.

The legendary magic, the Fool King’s Scorching Insight, triggered on its own, like an ember flaring.

But why? Nothing had happened, like a pond without ripples.

Abigail thought within the Godspeed Realm, where thought ran like lightning.

He needed a reason he could phrase in human terms, like a bridge across fog.

So he willed himself down, lowered his tier, and eased out of the Godspeed Realm like a swimmer rising for air.

The world began to move again, slowly as thaw; two figures held brighter color than the rest—

—Stini, running, and another, a plain man walking toward them, about to brush past her like ships at night.

Unremarkable face, yet the Fool King’s Scorching Insight marked him, like ink circling a name.

His eyes started throbbing with pain, his blood boiled like a kettle, his hand slid toward the sword at his waist—

Every instinct screamed at reason—prepare to fight!—like drums before a charge.

But this was knowledge beyond the world, not to do, not to know; a warrior shouldn’t witness this scene, like a pilgrim prying at a shrine.

Abigail clenched iron will and held still, waiting on the man and Stini, like a bow drawn and quiet.

Hotter, sharper, the battle instinct roared; if he drew, he could strike earth-shattering thunder, like a mountain cleaving sky—

—and then it vanished, like a blade cutting water.

Vega had slipped to Stini’s side, tapped her shoulder—maybe to call her back—and happened to bump the man’s flank; both steadied and moved on like leaves parting in a stream.

In that instant, all sensations snuffed out, like candles in a gust.

The hollow drop nearly made Abigail spit blood, like falling through a missing step. What was that? He couldn’t understand at all, like chasing smoke.

In the slowly waking world, he stared blankly as the man brushed past Raven, Elina, and finally himself; the alarm stayed dead quiet, like a bell with no tongue.

"Did something happen?"

Back in normal time, Stini trotted back and peered at Abigail’s pale face like a worried sparrow.

"Nothing... should—should be."

He forced a smile like a cracked mask, hefted the luggage, and followed on.

Busy chatting with the girls who clustered in concern like petals, he missed Vega’s unreadable gaze ahead.

The maid tapped her foot with impatience; no one noticed the Shadow at her feet ripple like dark water, carrying a message afar:

[Confirmed. The designated “villain” has arrived.]

No one heard it, save a certain Demon King in custody, like thunder locked in a jar.