He sat on the ground, back against the tree trunk. His head dipped low as he examined the wound on his waist.

It wasn’t his only injury. Nor the deepest he’d ever suffered. Yet never before had a wound carved such piercing pain into his heart.

Because this one came from Grace—his most beloved.

"Grace…" Edmund murmured, his voice rough and low.

Blood loss made the night air bite deeper. His vision blurred. Grace’s final expression flickered before his eyes: a gaze so icy, so utterly devoid of feeling. Like a spear of ancient glacier, it pierced straight through his chest. He couldn’t believe it—even now, he refused to believe such coldness could ever gleam in Grace’s eyes.

"Why…"

Black steel armor filled Edmund’s sight. He didn’t flinch. His lips trembled, broken syllables rasping from his throat like a lion brought low by exhaustion.

Barnett halted before him. The massive black sword resting on the ground slowly lifted. Its frigid edge pressed against the prey’s throat. The prey didn’t stir.

"Do you hate her?"

The question rumbled from behind the helmet’s shadowed visor—part inquiry, part demon’s taunt.

Edmund’s face first showed confusion. Then understanding dawned. This enemy’s question confirmed it: Grace had betrayed him. Betrayed them both.

His expression twisted—rage, grief, and utter despair warring across his features.

His left hand shot out, seizing the black blade’s edge. Blood welled from his palm, mingling with old stains. It streamed down his wrist, his elbow, dripping onto the earth.

He roared—a raw, broken sound. He screamed accusations at the armored figure, pouring every last ounce of strength into the fury. When the strength bled out, his grip slackened. His body slumped sideways, collapsing into the grass beside the tree. His eyes fixed on Jack’s rigid face as his breaths grew shallow.

Barnett stood silent for a moment. Then nodded. "Understood."

The sword rose.

*Shhk!*

"*Mu—!*"

A shout cracked like thunder. A flash of lightning split the dark. Mushiyu’s eyes flew open.

Above her hovered Grace’s worried face, framed by a canopy of black leaves.

Mushiyu shook her head slowly, disoriented. She scanned the quiet forest. The metallic tang of blood had faded. The clash of battle was gone. They’d traveled far.

"What’s wrong, Mu?" Grace’s gaze clung to her, tight with concern. She’d been carrying Mushiyu when the girl suddenly went limp—unresponsive, eyes shut tight, face drawn in pain. Her small hands had clutched Grace’s sleeve instinctively, clinging to her warmth.

Seeing Mushiyu like this made Grace’s heart ache. Yet beneath the ache bloomed a quiet, unexpected joy—the joy of being needed.

She tightened her arms around Mushiyu, offering more warmth, more shelter.

Mushiyu felt that care deeply. In this strange world, having someone who truly worried for her felt like luck. Like grace. She offered a small, sweet smile. "Thank you. I’m fine. Just… a bad dream."

Grace’s breath caught at that smile. She forced her focus back to the path, quickening her pace—but her steps stayed impossibly steady, cradling Mushiyu without a single jolt.

"It’s alright. We’ll clear this forest soon. Reach Suxi City by dawn. Once we board the airship to Zangwill, the Elven King won’t be able to follow." Grace thought Mushiyu feared Melissara’s pursuit.

"So… I’ll never see her again?" Mushiyu whispered.

Grace glanced down, smiling softly. "If that’s your wish, I’ll make sure she never finds us."

"Mm…" Mushiyu looked back at the pitch-black woods. A flicker of wistfulness crossed her eyes.

*It wasn’t really you… but saying goodbye still hurts, Xiaoqing.*

*At least… you looked almost identical.*

Memories washed over her, sudden and cold. Alone in a foreign world. The face she knew best—gone. A wave of loneliness crashed down.

*Where do I go now? How do I live here? I have to decide for myself.*

She stole a glance at Grace, focused on the path ahead. A crescent-shaped smile touched Mushiyu’s lips. *At least I’m not alone…*

Just then, Grace stopped.

Before Mushiyu could ask why, a familiar voice cut through the dark ahead:

"Where do you think you’re taking *my* little slave, Grace?"

Cold. Clear. Humming with suppressed fury—a calm before the storm.

Mushiyu whipped her head around. Golden hair like liquid light. Pointed ears. Eyes the color of deep ocean—Melissara, the Elven King, stood revealed.

"Melissara…" Mushiyu breathed, shrinking back like a child caught skipping class.

Grace set Mushiyu down gently. Her left arm circled the girl’s waist. Her right hand drew her sword. "Your Majesty," she greeted, voice icy. "Long time no see."

Melissara’s face stayed shadowed. She casually smoothed her hair. A small shape suddenly leapt onto her shoulder. Mushiyu’s eyes locked onto it. Something about that silhouette felt hauntingly familiar. It matched the little creature from *Heavenly Wonder Continent*—the game from her old world.

*Could it really be…?*

Shock gave way to burning curiosity. She strained to see the shadow clearly. It seemed to notice her too. It shifted, turning its tiny head. Two pinpricks of light glowed in the dark—eyes holding her gaze.

Beautiful. Hypnotic. Like a vortex pulling her deeper.

Slowly, the vortex expanded. It swallowed Melissara first. Then the black forest. The earth beneath their feet. Even Grace vanished. It stretched endlessly—up, down, left, right—devouring the world until nothing remained but its swirling darkness, filling Mushiyu’s vision… and her mind.