A thin pre-dawn mist draped over the entire hamlet. Faint light strained through the haze, scattering fragmented beams across the damp cobblestone streets.

Pairs of shoes—leather, cloth, worn soles—trodded freely through Arvin Hamlet, a remote settlement in the southern continent.

To the west stood a sprawling guild headquarters, its architecture a chaotic patchwork of clashing styles. Massive yet bizarrely shaped, utterly lacking cohesion—beauty was the last word anyone would use.

Monica sat at the hall counter, flipping through the latest bills. Her usually indifferent brows slowly furrowed. As temporary guild manager, balancing the books fell to her. Each time those glaring numbers met her eyes, she couldn’t help fantasizing about cutting and running.

This month’s debt remained shockingly high.

The repayment deadline loomed just two months away.

Failure meant certain bankruptcy.

And when that happened, not only other members—but even Monica, a mere desk worker—would likely be exiled to the frozen western wastelands to grow potatoes.

A faint, expressionless shudder passed through her. She set the bills down and rose slowly.

She recalled last night: that MAX-unreliable Ritual Mage, Anna, had declared a “great feat” that would save the guild from ruin—and maybe even propel it skyward.

Soaring aside, just escaping bankruptcy would have Monica thanking her lucky stars.

No.

Thinking of that vibrant red hair, Monica could only hope Miss Anna hadn’t stirred up *more* trouble.

If Anna behaved, guild fines would drop by over seventy percent.

*Sigh…*

Her black dress swayed gently.

The doll-faced woman, worry etched into her delicate features, walked slowly toward Anna’s room to see what “feat” had been accomplished overnight.

BOOM—!

The sudden blast halted her mid-step.

She turned. The bizarre explosion had come from Shirley’s room—another guild member’s quarters.

…

…

“You *said*… *cough cough*… the tunnel was clean and empty!” Noah choked, glancing at the dust-covered red-haired girl beside him.

Gray soil from the underground passage choked the air.

Anna stomped her foot. “How was I supposed to know a giant worm was hiding down there?! They nest deeper and never come up—”

Noah fixed her with a deadpan stare. “I get it. But why blow up the tunnel?”

“I didn’t *want* to!” Anna hugged herself, shuddering three times. “Bugs freak me out! In a panic, I just… drew a circle with the torch… Anyway, that tunnel was useless. Blowing it up? No big deal.”

Noah fell silent.

Fear of bugs? Understandable. He himself dreaded cockroaches—flying ones shattered human courage entirely.

But the burrowing worm they’d met was palm-sized. Gross-looking, yes, but slow as a snail, non-aggressive, prone to flee at human sight.

Yet Anna had freaked like she’d seen a ghost: snatched a wall torch, waved it wildly at the tiny worm, then launched straight into chanting Ritual Magic.

Thankfully, all three escaped the fiery aftermath.

“Still,” Noah added, surprise flickering in his voice, “I thought your Ritual Magic rarely succeeded.”

He’d overheard Shirley complaining about Anna’s constant failures. The tunnel explosion, though dangerous, had undeniably worked.

Anna’s expression darkened as if struck to the core. She turned back with a haunted look, paused seconds, then murmured with complicated solemnity: “Actually… that explosion *was* the failed ritual. I cast it *knowing* it might fail.”

Noah: “….”

Noah: “Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

…

…

Dust settled.

Noah looked around. Fresh grass underfoot. A small fountain nearby, flanked by cozy wooden benches. He lifted his gaze—the mist-softened sky emerged. A faint, clean scent filled the air.

This courtyard alone spanned several times his childhood home. Roughly soccer-field sized.

Noah savored the long-lost feeling of openness. Hospital confines before reincarnation; awakening in a graveyard after. A place this free, this fresh—he hadn’t known it in years.

“Where is this?” he murmured.

A voice answered from ten meters away: “Shirley’s home.”

Noah followed the sound. Shirley had already wandered off.

And her appearance now was… different.

Perched steadily on an iron swing like a canary, silvery-white hair swaying with the motion, eyes peacefully closed—she radiated quiet homecoming joy.

Snow-white wings extended from her slender arms: broad, massive. Her petite frame made wing joints and bones faintly visible. Feathers immaculate, like fresh-fallen snow.

Wing-like structures hid along her thighs and ankles—retracted, denying Noah a full view of her wings unfurled.

*So she really is a bird-person.*

Or, more elegantly: Avianwing Clan.

Noah held memories of the Avianwing Clan—but Shirley’s human traits vastly outweighed her avian ones. Uncommon in his recollection. Avianwings he knew had sharp beaks, piercing eyes, voices raspy as talking birds.

Diluted bloodline? Some special cause?

Either way, Shirley in this form would be a prized sight for any furry enthusiast.

“ANNA! SHIRLEY!”

A sharp, scolding voice made both girls flinch.

Anna snapped upright like a student caught daydreaming, cold sweat beading her fearful face.

Shirley leaped from her swing, hands crossed nervously before her, head bowed low.

Monica stood at the courtyard gate, radiating stern authority. Clad in a black lace-trimmed maid dress, she seemed the true master of the domain.

Her gaze—sharper than any Avianwing’s—swept over Noah twice. A flicker of strange recognition crossed her face, as if his features stirred a distant memory. She held the look a moment longer.

Then she turned coldly to the girls: “I require an explanation.”

…

…

Anna brewed black tea for Miss Monica.

Shirley brought a plate of cookies.

The two girls stood beside the maid, heads bowed like chastened children.

As instigator, Anna confessed everything: the wrong grave, the mistaken revival, Noah’s origins.

Monica sipped tea calmly behind the counter, unmoved—even unsurprised by the grave error.

Only when Anna finished naming Noah’s identity did Monica’s eyebrows lift slightly.

She fired precise, probing questions. After verification, her entire demeanor shifted.

Monica knelt before Noah.

“O Father of the great Mediator… forgive our transgression.”

Knees bent, hands crossed, head bowed, her voice trembled with reverence and plea: “To disturb your eternal slumber is a grave sin. If resentment lingers in your heart… punish these two foolish, naive girls behind me as you will.”