Yugo realized he’d likely stumbled onto Sophia’s painful memories and dared not say another word.

But the little boy’s thoughts drifted elsewhere.

So… Sister Sophia is all alone too, just like me…

Unaware, Sophia didn’t notice the little boy behind her gazing at her with newfound tenderness—kindred spirits recognizing shared sorrow.

...

The sun dipped behind the mountains. Moonlight gently draped the land in silvery gauze.

“The mist is getting thick,” Sophia murmured, slowly lowering her hood as she peered into the deepening night of the forest.

After dark, the hood hindered her vision; she only wore it when necessary.

“Strange… this forest shouldn’t be this foggy at night,” Yugo’s puzzled voice came from behind her.

Sophia hesitated—and in that pause, the mist thickened further.

Now she sensed it: something was wrong.

She tested the air. The magical density within the fog was unnaturally high.

Clearly, this was no natural phenomenon.

“What’s happening?” Sophia frowned, whispering to herself while tightening her grip on her wand, eyes scanning the shadows.

Behind her, Yugo shrank close, defenseless—no dagger, no weapon at all.

The mist swelled, swallowing the moonlight. Within moments, Sophia couldn’t see her own hand before her face.

“Water Barrier!”

Her wand flashed. A swift, arcane chant—two shimmering walls of water encircled them, sealing Sophia and Yugo inside.

She wouldn’t advance blindly. The fog concealed threats ahead; rushing forward meant walking into a trap.

Yet staying still was just as reckless.

“Yugo, stay right behind me. We retreat—slowly, step by step, back the way we came,” Sophia said, voice low and sharp, eyes locked on the swirling white.

Yugo nodded obediently, stepping back with quiet care.

Just as Sophia turned to follow—An’s voice erupted in her mind.

“Wait! Something ahead… it’s… calling to me!!!”

Sophia squinted into the haze. “‘It’? What is it?”

“…I don’t know. But… it feels familiar,” An replied, hesitant yet earnest.

Sophia’s frown deepened. “This…”

“Relax. The mist isn’t hostile—it’s likely ‘its’ defense. Moving forward is safe.”

“No. I don’t gamble on unknowns, especially when I’ve lost control.”

She refused flatly, retreating faster.

An’s mental eye twitched. It knew Sophia’s caution well—and usually admired it. Not now.

That presence radiated warmth, kinship… no threat.

Besides…

“Trust me. With me here, you’re safe. You doubt my power?”

“No.”

“…”

Her bluntness left An speechless.

“Before those Regan Empire beasts chased you off with your tail between your legs, you said the exact same thing.”

“…”

An knew continuing would only shatter its own sanity first.

“You… fine! If you won’t go—I will!”

In a flash, An nimbly leaped from Sophia’s arms and vanished into the mist.

“Ah! Kitty! Sister Sophia, your cat ran off!” Yugo cried, eyes wide with panic as he turned to Sophia.

Sophia’s brow furrowed. A soft sigh escaped her lips.

Bound by a soul contract, An’s peril meant hers too. No choice remained.

She stepped into the fog.

Yugo followed without hesitation.

“An!”

Silence answered her mental call—stubborn, wounded silence.

The fog-choked forest felt eerie. Yugo, just a child, trembled slightly. He stole glances at Sophia’s silent, rigid back.

After a long moment, he gathered courage, gently tugging her black robe.

“Sister Sophia… why did the kitty run away?”

“It’s having a fit.”

Unbothered by the tug, Sophia replied flatly, gaze distant.

Yugo’s fleeting comfort shattered into shock.

“C-can cats even… have fits?”

“Well, sure. Wait—what’s that?”

A half-human-tall shape emerged from the mist.

“Huh? A village sign?”

Yugo stepped closer. A weathered signpost stood crooked by the path—familiar, yet wrong.

It was ancient.

Moss carpeted the splintered wood; the surface looked ready to crumble at a touch.

“A signpost? What does it say?” Sophia blinked, then asked quickly.

Yugo’s face flushed faintly. He looked down, embarrassed.

“Um… Sister Sophia… I… I can’t read…”

“…”

Sophia sighed inwardly. Of course.

A remote mountain village—no school, few literate souls.

*Someday, I’ll teach him.*

She stepped forward, knelt, and studied the faded characters carved into the signpost—