Dragon Exorcist doesn’t seem used to smiling, or to talking, or to receiving sincere thanks—her smile sets like frost on a pond, stiff and brittle.

It twitches like a face struck by a sudden numb winter wind, spasming like a reed in a chill gust.

And yet… how to put it—embarrassment blushes one cheek, happiness warms the other; what kind of bleak life did you endure to be this delighted now?

This won’t do… whether as a working adult or as a Hero, with communication this clumsy, even the Demon King frets about your future.

When the first ribbon of sunlight threads through Ironwood Forest encircling the Hero Academy, gold dust settles across the crowns, and Dragon Exorcist finds me slumped on the rooftop rail, drinking like a crow at dawn.

She waves, a tired yet satisfied smile blooming like a pale flower after rain.

Need me to fish you down? I mouth the words, a silent net cast across the morning.

Go play with the lady Hero, don’t mind me. She mouths back, a feather-light dismissal drifting on light.

All of them too considerate, these adorable little ones, like spring sparrows tidying a nest for someone else.

At the far edge of my gaze, a head of hair blazes like the sun; I shade my eyes with a hand, squinting into the glare—no sign of Lady Light Jade, but I catch Vega trailing behind as attendant, both blended into the crowd, bathing in the feast’s tide. Whether joy or boredom holds them, I can’t say.

Today’s sunlight is truly kind, so warm you want to shut your eyes and doze like a cat curled on a windowsill.

“Andor!”

“I know, I know—coming,” I answer, voice like gravel under morning wheels.

The feast runs through a sleepless night; even at daybreak, people dance and raise cups like ripples, and cheap liquor stubbornly refuses to lay them under.

Whether anyone watches or not, I wave goodbye to all, a hand against an old door; a year here grows acquaintances like moss, and humans weave much of life from circles—when I plan with Vega, I never mention who sits front and back in my martial arts class, but they exist all the same, threads in my web.

Say real farewells.

I probably won’t return as “Shadow Artisan Andor.”

“Hurry up, Xu Moshou! I just learned teleporting—opening a gate eats mana like fire eats paper!”

“Ah, right—this one’s to the western Pioneer Park? Listen—Mephi’s Pioneer Park is the prettiest of them all…”

Mephi’s grounds are no longer the front line of ten years past; year by year, generation by generation, Pioneer Knights led bands to settle lands once ruled by beasts, swelling the Wilderness Kingdom Veneli like a river in flood. Mephi’s Park became the emblem of the early expansion.

Without fear of dying to a monster tide, there’s time to tend walls, plant gardens, raise buildings—stone stacked like poems, hedges trimmed like lines.

It might not be the largest nor the strongest, but it is surely the loveliest in the expansion belt, a jewel set in rough iron.

Now is peak bloom for the black bramble flowers: the blossoms all black, but each petal carries a flashing golden core and rim. Vines show hidden gold threads, climbing decorative walls more for grace than defense, never so crowded as to annoy; their staggered flowers invite you nearer, to trace the bones and veins of petals like leaf-script.

The church of Wisdom God Haydon has stood for some time; whether a Divine Being shows itself here—no one can say. Its stone hall is polished pure white yet worn by time’s hands, carrying the weight of history like an old bell.

For some reason, the delegate of Grand Domain God Infinith, Alina Helen—meant to be confined in penance—is here praying; when I bring Stini to visit, she plays the local cleric, pretends we’re strangers, greets us with a gentle smile, and speaks the teachings of Wisdom like a stream over pebbles.

We take our leave of Alina, climb the wall, and gaze across a plain tiled with wheat: not man-sown, the mages measured it—a feature of the frontier of civilization—the Blood War Plain. Blood-wheat fields drink human and monster blood that has flowed across this earth, then ripen quickly and keep their gold year-round.

In a sense they’re demon-touched plants, but they have traits like blessings: edible, entirely non-toxic; seasonless growth; strong vigor but bound to the Blood War Plain; beautiful to look at, excellent to eat. If not for the constant high-intensity monster tides, this would be a place fit for people to settle, a golden shore.

I tell Stini, “You can eat this wheat, but it needs blood to grow,” and, “If we make this a peaceful agricultural base, no monster attacks means no blood, and the wheat won’t grow”—arguments like crossed blades. She bursts out laughing, bright as a cracked sunflower; I can’t tell if she truly understood.

We gorge at noon on my domain’s feast, and somehow her small belly isn’t full. After we teleport to the Underwater City Atedir, she clamors to devour more at a local specialty place, a storm at a stall.

Of course I pay the bill, the coin-thrum of responsibility.

In the afternoon, we’re supposed to face Atedir’s Dividing Water Barrier, watch the hazy blue outside like twilight through glass, then nap on a bench in the tourist park, drift like leaves. But Stini’s an impatient hummingbird, all jitters and motion; leaning on my chest, she turns and twists, a wind-up top seeking wind.

She looks anxious, a ripple in a still pond.

I have a guess why the water in her eyes runs fast.

We haven’t rested twenty minutes when she struggles to sit up, then settles again at the sound of an unkind flute, a note like a bent nail.

Raven Segrito dyed her pretty gold hair with a riot of colors—like a paint-seller upended a bucket over herself. Hugging our Construct’s head for balance, she sits on the shoulder of the magitech Construct, Crystalflame—our joint handiwork, now splashed with every hue like a wild parrot.

She insists she’s a volunteer clown in the park, piping away not far from us; even as fishfolk—this race with keen music sense—pass and boo, she persists, breath a stubborn reed.

Stini’s breathing grows heavy, easy to hear, a bellows by a forge.

I, meanwhile, take a sweet afternoon nap like honey on bread; after Stini wakes me, I drop two gold coins into Raven’s empty hat, then think better and add a handkerchief, a quiet courtesy.

Next, we swim outside Atedir together; it feels like an aquarium’s underwater tunnel in reverse—this time, we are the ones being watched, silhouettes drifting past glass eyes.

Stini… how to put it, still can’t flow with this lazy romance; the water calms, but she ripples, playing in anxious bursts, clinging to me like a shadowed eel.

She isn’t happy, sorrow fogging like mist on a lens.

I rub her green hair, choppy as if a dog gnawed it—a trophy from the battle with the Aversion Overlord, one of many scars tasting of salt.

Stini looks up, puzzled, then beams a big sunny grin—but compared to usual, something’s missing, like a note dropped from a song.

The water helps; even with a water-breathing spell, we can’t speak below, and that’s fine. Some words, some matters, should stay submerged—if you pretend not to see, your heart rests like a stone at riverbed.

And if you cry in water, no one knows; the tears slip into the tide.

As for the hundred-headed giant serpent—choosing this timing to destroy Atedir—only to meet the lady Hero at her peak and a Shadow Sorcerer whose end was near but whose Shadow magic surged like night-fire…

The process was simple: slash, chase, kill. Simple, but long, a hunt stretched like dusk.

After farewells and thanks, we return, worn out, to our booked inn, bones creaking like oars.

Bathed and clean, Stini blushes, eyes spinning like glass marbles; she gulps—resolve swallowing fear.

“I want a child.”

She coughs twice and says it as casually as possible, words fluttering like sparrows pretending to be stones.

How timely—my lovely sister Anna said the same line once, a blossom with dusk in its scent.

Thinking on it, every time I hear that line, it seems to herald someone’s death, a bell behind a cradle.