Had that incident not occurred, Grace’s fate would have mirrored her companions’—ending her life at the peak of joy and triumph on the road home.

Yet the moment she opened that door, Grace’s destiny veered irreversibly off course. Years later, even as a revered Sword Saint, that fleeting glimpse still haunted her. She’d sigh at fate’s cruelty, unable to suppress longing for the girl who’d flashed through her life like a shooting star.

—“Human. You’ve crossed the line.”

Grace spun around. Before her stood the Elven King, Melissara—her exquisite face calm but edged with faint displeasure.

Grace offered a polite smile. “Your Highness Melissara, I’ve come for my mirror.”

“Is it important to you?”

Melissara recalled Mushiyu’s reaction earlier. *Humans do cherish such trinkets*, she mused. Though she’d forbidden Mushiyu from using mirrors, ancient texts stressed respecting other races’ customs. If the girl truly loved it… perhaps she’d simply buy it back. “If it’s not vital,” she added, “I could compensate you for it.”

“It belonged to my mother,” Grace said softly.

Melissara nodded. “Understood. Wait here.”

“Um…” Grace hesitated as Melissara paused. “May I ask… who was using it?”

*Elvenkind don’t use mirrors. So it must be…*

A flicker crossed Melissara’s eyes as she locked gazes with Grace.

Grace held her stare, unflinching, a gentle smile on her lips.

Melissara looked away without answering. She stepped into the carriage, the door sealing shut behind her. Moments later, it reopened just long enough for her to hand Grace a small object before snapping closed again.

“Take it,” Melissara said, dismissing her. “If that’s all, you may leave.”

Grace accepted the mirror, smiling faintly. She no longer needed to ask who’d used it—she already knew.

Back at her own carriage, humans and beastkin laughed together. Grace slipped inside alone, cradling the mirror.

As she reached to close the door, a large hand blocked it.

“Grace? You seem upset,” Edmund said, climbing in. He’d noticed her dazed expression while chatting with the others.

She shook her head. “Just tired. I’ll rest my eyes awhile.”

“You drove all day,” he said gently. “But hold on—we’ll reach Magestown soon.”

“Mm.”

“How about jokes to keep you awake?” Edmund grinned. “Once, there was a fool named Jack…”

Grace barely heard him. Her mind replayed that stolen glance—the girl in the bed. Their eyes had met the instant the door opened.

Surprise and curiosity lit the girl’s innocent face. Wrapped only in a blanket, her long black hair spilled over bare shoulders, cascading down a smooth back. Pure yet alluring.

*One look. Impossible to forget.*

But it wasn’t enough. The Elven King’s rebuke cut the moment short. Grace stared at her own blank reflection in the mirror. *Her face must have touched this glass too.* If only time magic existed—to rewind the mirror’s memory, to see that lovely face again…

Edmund’s voice faded. He realized Grace hadn’t heard a word.

“What’s so special about that mirror?” he asked.

No response. Her gaze remained distant, fixed on the glass.

“Grace?” He touched her shoulder.

She blinked, startled. “What?”

“I asked—what’s wrong with the mirror?”

“The mirror?” She frowned. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Then why stare at it like that?”

Grace’s eyes dimmed. She traced the mirror’s edge. “Because… it shows me nothing at all.”

As Edmund puzzled over her words, the caravan reached Magestown’s gates. A squad of Central Empire soldiers stood at attention. Their leader—a handsome youth with cropped golden hair—stepped forward, arms spread wide. His clear voice rang out:

“To our victorious heroes—deepest greetings!”