Yamwen sat on a bench, her uneasy gaze fixed on the room beside her.

She was at Helistar Academy’s laboratory. That adjacent room—normally reserved for alchemists’ clinical trials—had been hastily converted into an operating theater. Oren had been rushed inside half an hour ago.

Yamwen clenched her fists. Vanishing was an option, yet she stayed. *He’ll appear any moment*, she thought, *wearing that inexplicable smile*.

*He won’t die*.

No reason backed this belief. But leaving—even for a second—would sever that fragile thread of hope.

"Oren…"

She whispered his name.

Crossing that line meant marching forward, numb to any future loss. The thought unsettled her.

Perhaps she remained frozen only to preserve a crumbling balance.

"What are you doing here?"

A sharp voice cut through the silence. Yamwen turned to see Lia approaching, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I heard Oren was poisoned and came to check. But why are *you* here? Did the dean even permit you to wander freely?"

Lia’s tone held no warmth. Yamwen looked away, blunt.

"Special circumstances. And my reasons are none of your concern."

Though Yamwen’s retort was harsh, Lia—mindful of academy grounds—didn’t draw her sword. She leaned against the railing opposite Yamwen, arms crossed, staring at the sealed lab door.

Silence thickened. Time seemed to stall. One wrong move could shatter the stillness. In that quiet, Oren’s words before collapsing echoed in Yamwen’s mind:

*Human conscience…*

A strange curiosity stirred. She lifted her head, meeting Lia’s eyes.

"Why… do humans hate non-humans?"

Lia froze, as if weighing a trap. Finally, she sighed.

"Official reasons? ‘Survival space.’ ‘Human supremacy.’ Frankly? None of that matters to me. My hatred is personal."

Yamwen’s interest piqued. Lia continued, voice tight.

"When I was born, House Rodni was powerful in the Alliance of Free Cities. But when I was one month old, a dragon used treachery to kidnap my brother. Then it cut out my father’s tongue, silencing him forever."

"That’s impossible!" Yamwen gasped. "Dragons are extinct! Only two remain that I—"

"*Listen!*" Lia snapped, cutting her off. "After that, my family’s honor crumbled. Nobles called my father mad. We lost our lands, reduced to a powerless earldom. At ten, I watched my father hang himself from a tree. My mother followed him the next year—from the same branch."

Lia’s knuckles whitened. Her teeth ground.

"As he died, he whispered the dragon’s name in my ear. I remember it. I’ve scoured every inch of the Alliance. Now I’m in the Duchy of Sidius to find that beast."

She released her grip, hand drifting to the longsword at her waist.

"I’ll sever its head myself. Make it pay. Then I’ll carry its skull back to the Alliance—to restore my family’s glory."

Lia crossed her arms again, gaze averted. Her story had pricked Yamwen’s heart.

*She’ll keep searching*, Yamwen realized. *Even if it takes her to the Duchy of Tadallas, further south.*

Yamwen pressed a hand to her face, sighing heavily.

*Are we both perpetrators…?*

**BAM!**

The lab door slammed open. Lontan and William emerged. Yamwen shot up, facing Lontan.

"How is he?"

Lontan avoided her eyes. William spoke flatly.

"Miss Yamwen—what was that potion’s name?"

"Eh?" Yamwen faltered. "Crushed Day-Night Fruit… soaked in sake."

"Ah. As I suspected." William stroked his beard. "Day-Night Fruit is a rare, costly alchemical poison. Tasteless. Odorless. Dissolves in wine or water. It mimics a fatal bowel illness, leaving no trace. Our alchemists have sought its formula for years, but…" He sighed. "We lack even its antidote. Oren will likely be dead within the hour. There’s nothing we can do."

A hammer struck Yamwen’s skull.

Her emotions shattered. Thoughts scattered like broken glass—sparking, colliding, refusing to cohere. After a long pause, she drew a shaky breath, forcing a smile.

"So? What’s it to me?" She shrugged. "A human life means nothing to me."

"*You!*" Lia lunged, but William held her back. Yamwen covered her face.

"I need air. The balcony."

She limped away, unchallenged. Reaching the railing, she leaned into the breeze. Dawn birdsong and rustling leaves brought no comfort.

*Must I accept his death in ten seconds?*

*No.*

*Never.*

Her heart pounded—keeping *Yamwen* alive.

Yet sensation drained from her limbs.

No relief came from the numbness.

She feared losing something she’d always cherished.

Her fingers closed around the necklace at her chest. A gift from her mother, over a century ago. At eight years old, she’d been told:

*Pour magic into this stone. Any wish will be granted.*

When humans murdered her parents, she’d poured all her power into it. Nothing happened. Their bodies grew cold, then rotten.

Still, she gripped the stone now. Poured every drop of magic into it.

"*Please… anyone…*"

The gem blazed, bright as memory.

"*Save that boy.*"

As her whisper faded, light erupted—then dimmed as Yamwen collapsed, drained. The gem dulled to ordinary glass.

*Of course… nothing changes.*

Tears wet her palms. She stared, stunned.

A century.

An Elvenfolk who hadn’t wept since her parents’ blood soaked the earth.

Now crying for a human.

"*Heh… hah… HAHAHA!*"

Hysterical laughter choked her. She wiped her cheeks—then froze.

Stardust drifted from the sky, settling like snow.

Above her, clouds parted. Soft light bathed a girl perched on the railing. Long silvery locks cascaded to her ankles. A gossamer gown, edged with intricate silver patterns, shimmered. Behind her, vast silver dragon wings hummed gently.

"Y-you are…?" Yamwen stammered, struggling upright.

The silver-haired girl extended a hand. Her voice flowed like raindrops on still water—deep, resonant, weaving through Yamwen’s ears, mind, and soul like an unforgettable symphony.

"I heard your plea, Elf."

She smiled.

"Princess Silver Dragon—Dysaia—at your service."