Without warning, Mula vanished.

His last words were that low growl:

"Who's there?"

Lyselle and Shall would likely never know who—or what—Mula had seen.

When they reached the scene, all they found were Mula's pocket watch and bronze lantern.

Standing before the two items, Lyselle felt a chill run through her body.

She lifted her head, instinctively mimicking Mula's final gesture as she scanned the surroundings.

But she saw nothing.

Only thick fog—an endless, all-consuming mist.

Could this fog be alive? Had it devoured the elves who vanished within it? But Mula had said this fog was the Matriarch's dream—how could a dream consume people?

Besides, he had the bronze lantern with him. Though its workings were unknown, it was undoubtedly the fog's bane.

Or was something hiding within the fog?

Just like the imaginings she'd had when visiting the Nursery Chamber with Fawena, was there something unseeable lurking in the mist? Had Mula sensed its presence, chased after it, and thus disappeared without a trace?

The more Lyselle thought, the more uneasy she felt.

Instinctively, she clutched Shall's sleeve, her whole body leaning toward him almost unconsciously, nearly pressing against him.

Just then, Shall stood up again, having finished examining the scene.

His movement was so sudden that Lyselle didn't react in time, almost burying her face in his back.

Fortunately, some distance remained between them, sparing her embarrassment.

Even so, Shall noticed her distress.

"Are you alright?" he asked instinctively.

At his question, Lyselle sprang up like a cat startled by a sudden pat.

Then, instinctively baring her teeth at Shall, she changed the subject:

"What could happen to me? I'm perfectly fine! What about you... how did the investigation go?"

Shall didn't answer right away.

He could see the sorceress was bluffing.

But there was nothing he could do.

"If only she were Lyselle," he sometimes had this strange thought.

If the sorceress were Lyselle, he could step closer, hold her, and tell her not to fear—he was here.

But the sorceress wasn't Lyselle.

So he stood still, and after a brief silence, replied softly:

"No signs of struggle, not even resistance. Mula's disappearance was... peaceful."

Lyselle didn't understand "peaceful."

Had Mula met an acquaintance in the fog and left willingly?

That made no sense. He'd promised to take them to Fawena. And why leave his pocket watch and bronze lantern behind?

The sorceress couldn't figure it out—but magic would help.

She waved her magic wand:

"You can't do it. Let me try."

She cast a tracking spell.

The thick fog still hindered magic, but under the bronze lantern's glow, the spell worked.

Lyselle closed her eyes and opened them; a faint white light covered her azure pupils.

Through this light, she looked toward their path, tracing Mula's trail.

Like footprints in snow, as long as time hadn't erased them, she could "see" what happened through his lingering magic traces.

She saw Mula burst from the fog, one hand gripping his longsword, the other raising the lantern high, his expression grim as if facing a dire threat. But at the spot where he'd dropped the lantern and pocket watch, he suddenly stopped.

His tension vanished. Instead, deep bewilderment filled his face. He lowered his arm, letting the bronze lantern fall.

And the pocket watch he cherished like a talisman—he'd clutch it in danger, as if it granted invincible protection.

Now both items hit the ground, while Mula slowly rose upward.

Like a fish on a hook, an invisible line tightened around his neck, forcing him to look skyward.

Lyselle watched Mula rise; Mula gazed at the fog-shrouded sky.

Abruptly, the elf smiled with relief.

Then the line tightened, pulling him upward until he vanished into the endless fog.

"..."

Lyselle shuddered.

Instinctively mimicking Mula, she looked up at the fog-obscured sky.

Naturally, she saw nothing.

No hook, no line, no unseen entity with slender tentacles dangling down.

But perhaps elves hung beneath the dome. If the fog cleared, would she see countless elf corpses dangling like cocoons?

The more she thought, the more her scalp prickled.

Just then, a voice called:

"Master..."

"Eek!!!"

Lyselle trembled all over.

But she quickly realized it wasn't Mula's ghost, nor the sky-line claiming her.

It was Shall.

He'd silently moved beside her, staring seriously.

"Did you find anything?"

Lyselle exhaled in relief.

"Nothing," she said, feigning calmness, "but I know how Mula disappeared."

"How?"

Lyselle didn't speak; she pointed skyward with her index finger.

Shall didn't understand.

Who'd expect tiny Lundeheim to hide such horrors?

So she explained quietly:

"He went to the sky—as if an invisible line fell and pulled him away."

"..."

Shall's expression froze.

This eerie truth even chilled the Champion.

Lyselle almost laughed. Serves him right for scaring her!

But Shall composed himself quickly, face stern again.

"So," he asked, "did the vanished elves also get pulled skyward like Mula?"

"I don't know," Lyselle shook her head, "but it's likely."

"But why... why would the fog's entity take elves? What's its purpose? What is it?"

"How should I know?" Lyselle shrugged helplessly. "I'm not Lundeheim's Matr—"

She stopped abruptly.

"Gulp—"

The sorceress swallowed hard, then asked tremulously:

"Sh...Shall? Could... could it be the Elven Matron taking the elves?"

She didn't know why this thought struck her. Only the mysterious Matriarch could do this unnoticed.

But if the Elven Matron took Mula, why had he looked so relieved?

Lyselle couldn't figure it out.

Neither could Shall.

He gripped the Holy Sword, gazing at the thick fog.

"It's possible," he said softly, "but why take them? Where to?"

This question struck a nerve.

Lyselle remembered Mula's words:

"—What difference is there between us and these parts?"

A thought surged from her heart, consuming her mind.

She looked sharply at the Champion.

In his eyes, she saw the same horror.

"Is the Matriarch... disposing of them?" Lyselle asked, voice trembling.

Shall took a deep breath.

"I don't know. But it's possible."

Clearly, they shared the same dread—

Mula had said the elves were less children, more gears.

Gears made to keep Lundeheim's great machine running.

Each elf was assigned a role at birth, devoting their long life like a gear, replaced only when worn out.

But what if...

What if gears developed anomalies before their time?

A gear gaining self-awareness, doubting Lundeheim, craving to be more than a gear—a person, an elf.

Craving "freedom."

This thought spreading like a virus. Others joining, first imagining, then planning rebellion...

What would happen to the machine from one awakened gear?

Lyselle didn't know. Shall wasn't sure.

But the Matriarch might have foreseen it. To prevent collapse, she acted preemptively—

Taking anomalous gears, disposing of them early, replacing them with new ones—

New gears already in the Nursery Chamber: deformed, twisted monstrosities.