An Old Friend

The first light of dawn spread across the sky, washing the land in soft hues of gold and orange. The gentle chirping of birds filled the air, their melodies blending with the soft murmur of a flowing stream. Water trickled over smooth stones, creating a calming rhythm that echoed through the quiet morning. A light breeze carried the crisp scent of morning dew, and as the sun's rays touched the grass, droplets shimmered like tiny fragments of glass.

Somewhere nearby, the town had already stirred awake. The distant barking of dogs punctuated the morning bustle as vendors assembled their stalls, the clatter of wooden crates and the rustling of cloth awnings filling the streets. Farmers guided their cattle and horses to graze, while others hauled sacks of freshly harvested crops toward the marketplace, their voices weaving into the symphony of early trade.

It was a scene so full of life, so untouched by fear or uncertainty, that for a moment, I almost believed it was a dream.

But it wasn't.

Everything before me—the sights, the sounds, the scents—was real.

"Good morning, Aeriah."

Marreanne's voice cut gently through my thoughts. She tilted her head slightly, studying my expression before offering a soft, reassuring smile. "Did you manage to get some sleep?"

I hesitated, lips parting slightly, but no words came. Truthfully, I wasn't sure how to answer. Rest felt like a foreign concept with everything that had happened. My thoughts had been relentless, looping over unanswered questions. They kept piling over and over to a point it's almost pinning me down.

Before I could even attempt to respond, Quilya spoke up.

"She's still confused," she said, matter-of-factly, her arms crossing over her chest as she leaned back against the carriage wall. Her tone wasn't unkind, but it carried that signature bluntness of hers—sharp, direct, very much Quilya-ishly Quilyaness.

She turned her gaze toward me, her expression softening, though there was still a quiet seriousness in her eyes. "Don't overthink it for now, Aeriah. Just take in the view. Let yourself breathe. When you're ready, ask whatever you want, and I'll explain everything in as much detail as you need. But for now, let your mind rest."

I studied her for a moment, then exhaled slowly. She had a point. Ever since I had arrived here, my thoughts had been ceaseless, spinning in circles with no answers in sight. Maybe—for now—I could let myself take a break from trying to piece everything together.

Just a short moment of peace. That wouldn't hurt, right?

One step at a time, Aeriah. Just breathe.

"…Yeah." My voice was barely above a whisper, but I nodded, allowing myself to settle back slightly against the seat.

For the past ten minutes, we had been trailing behind a group of bowmen clad in white coats. Their movements were precise, disciplined, every step in sync as they marched forward without hesitation. Even from within the carriage, I could sense the sharpness of their training.

Yet, despite their presence, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.

It was subtle at first, barely noticeable amidst the morning bustle. But as we passed through the streets, I felt the weight of countless eyes trailing our movements. Some gazes were fleeting, filled with curiosity; others lingered longer, unreadable yet cautious. A quiet tension seemed to follow in our wake, as if our mere presence disrupted the town's usual rhythm.

Then, without warning, our escorts veered left.

The carriage followed, and almost instantly, I felt a change.

The bumpy, uneven dirt road that had rattled the wheels moments ago was gone, replaced by the smooth, firm surface of a paved stone path.

Glancing out, I caught sight of a large structure in the distance, partially concealed by the towering trees surrounding it. It stood apart from the rest of the town, its silhouette exuding a quiet but undeniable presence. It was neither overly grand nor foreboding, but something about it commanded attention.

Was that where we were headed?

As we drew closer, more figures emerged. Groups of bowmen—dressed identically to our escorts—moved with practiced efficiency, their quivers stocked with arrows, their hands steady on their bows.

But they weren't the only ones present.

There were others—figures cloaked in deep black, their armor glinting faintly under the morning sun. Their weapons—swords, spears, and other deadly instruments of war—rested in their grasp, not drawn, but held with an ease that suggested familiarity. They stood with a presence that was heavier, sharper, as if the very air around them had thickened.

I felt my pulse quicken.

Something about them was different.

The bowmen carried an air of discipline, of order—but these men… they carried something else entirely.

I found myself speaking before I even realized my lips had moved.

"…Who are they?"

Krein, who had been quietly observing them, finally broke his silence. His tone was calm, but there was a distinct edge to it, as if he was weighing every word carefully.

"Lashevierr's army, I assume," he murmured, his gaze unwavering. "If I'm not mistaken, they're called the Vulpine Legion."

So that's what one of the three men who greeted us earlier had meant.

There were so many of them. At least a hundred soldiers clad in white cloaks, while twice as many loomed behind them, draped in black. If my eyes and ears had not deceived me, their Chief Commander had personally requested an audience with us.

The weight of that knowledge settled in my chest, subtle yet persistent, like a shadow stretching across my thoughts. There was something about this moment—about this place—that felt too deliberate to be a mere formality.

I exhaled slowly, willing my shoulders to relax, trying to ignore the unease creeping beneath my skin.

Beside me, as if sensing the shift in my mood, Marreanne suddenly spoke, her tone casual yet pointed.

"Quilya, what are your plans for tomorrow?"

Quilya blinked at her, looking genuinely confused. "Plans?"

A moment of silence passed between them. Marreanne and I exchanged a glance—hers filled with growing disbelief, mine laced with amusement. She held Quilya's stare for a beat longer before sighing in resignation.

Unbelievable.

I already knew what she was thinking.

Marreanne folded her arms across her chest, her lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Actually… never mind."

Oh, she was definitely up to something. I could see it in her expression, in the mischievous glint in her eyes.

And honestly?

After so many years of Quilya forgetting her own birthday, she had no one to blame but herself if Marreanne had something chaotic planned.

Before Quilya could press for an explanation, the carriage came to a smooth halt.

Krein, ever the vigilant one, was the first to disembark. His gaze swept over our surroundings, his movements precise, calculated. Only when he was satisfied did he give us a small nod—a silent cue that it was safe to proceed.

The moment my boots met solid ground, my attention was immediately drawn to the massive doors before us.

Silver.

They towered over us, an imposing presence of polished metal that gleamed under the morning light. Intricate engravings covered their surface—each line and curve meticulously crafted, their meaning elusive at first glance. But as my eyes roamed the details, realization dawned upon me.

A wolf's head.

The engraving was masterfully done, capturing the creature's feral grace and noble poise. Its gaze, though lifeless, seemed to bore into me, as if silently appraising our presence.

The guards stationed at the entrance stepped forward, their movements synchronized as they pressed their hands against the heavy doors. With a low, resonant groan, the doors swung open.

They gestured for us to proceed without a word.

The moment we stepped inside, I was struck by the sheer grandeur of the hallway.

"Whoa," I breathed, unable to help myself.

The space stretched endlessly, its vastness accentuated by the thick red carpet that ran the length of the marble floor. But what truly captivated me were the sconces mounted along the walls. Each one burned steadily, casting a warm, golden glow across the corridor.

Strangely enough, there were no windows.

Not a single one.

The only illumination came from those flickering flames, their light steady but subdued, creating an atmosphere that felt both regal and strangely… enclosed.

Lining the hallway stood a formation of guards, each clad in silver-plated armor polished to perfection. They remained still, their iron spears held firmly, red silk banners hanging just beneath the tips. Their faces were obscured beneath their helmets, unreadable.

As we passed, they bowed their heads in silent acknowledgment.

One of them, a man whose presence felt subtly heavier than the rest, lifted a hand and gestured toward a doorway at the far end.

"The Commander is expecting you," he informed us.

Without another word, we continued forward.

The hallway was eerily quiet.

The only sounds that reached my ears were the soft echo of our footsteps and the faint clink of armor whenever the guards moved.

At last, we reached another set of doors.

I tilted my head slightly, my gaze catching the inscription etched above the frame.

"Zǒng sīlìng," I murmured under my breath, my brow furrowing.

Zǒng sīlìng? That was Chinese, wasn't it?

What did it mean?

Before I could dwell on the thought, the doors suddenly swung open from the inside.

A woman stepped out.

She was tall, but delicately built, her figure slender yet poised.

At first glance, she seemed younger than me, but something about her aura made it difficult to gauge her exact age. There was an ethereal grace to her, an almost timeless elegance. Her porcelain-pale skin was smooth and unblemished, a stark contrast against the richly embroidered Hanfu she wore.

The fabric draped over her like flowing water, adorned with intricate floral designs, the crimson sash around her waist pulling the ensemble together perfectly.

Her hair was styled into a flat bun, decorated with delicate flower petals and secured with a single ornate hairpin. Even that small accessory was carved with floral engravings, glinting softly under the dim light.

She looked like something straight out of a painting. Gosh. It's not just the place. The people here are just as unreal.

"Hi," she greeted, offering a small smile. Her voice was light, airy, almost melodious. "I'm Scarlette Sraez."

Her gaze drifted across our group, pausing on Quilya first. Then Marreanne. Then, finally—me.

A flicker of recognition crossed her expression, subtle but unmistakable.

"Don't you three look familiar?" she murmured, bringing a delicate hand to her chin, her eyes scanning our faces with open curiosity.

Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the thought seemed to slip away.

"Oh, pardon me," she said, letting out a soft, almost amused chuckle. "You must be the commander's visitors."

She gave a polite nod, stepping aside. "I'll be on my way, then."

With that, she brushed past us.

Or at least, she would have—

If she hadn't paused beside me.

Leaning in slightly, she lowered her voice to a near whisper.

"You reek of a distorted persona."

A chill ran down my spine.

"You don't bloom, you don't wither. Just who are you?"

My breath caught in my throat.

What—?

I turned sharply, my lips parting, ready to demand an explanation—

But before I could utter a single word, a firm grip enclosed around my wrist.

Quilya.

Her hold was tight—deliberate.

Had she heard that?

"Don't let it get to you," she murmured, her voice low but firm.

I hesitated. My thoughts spun in circles, but I forced myself to refocus, swallowing the urge to question further.

"What? Oh… yeah, okay…" I muttered, though I wasn't entirely convinced.

A moment later, Quilya loosened her grip, though she didn't fully let go.

Scarlette, meanwhile, had paused a few steps ahead.

Her fingers grazed her chin, her expression thoughtful.

"…Weird," she murmured, almost to herself. "Was it just my imagination?"

She shook her head, dismissing the thought just as quickly as it had come.

"Never mind that."

With that, she turned and walked away, disappearing down the hall.

I exhaled slowly, still shaken by what had just transpired.

Before I could dwell on it any further, Quilya gave my wrist a small tug.

"Come on," she said, nodding toward the now-open doors. "Let's go in."

As I stepped inside, I was once again struck by the sight before me.

Two tall file cabinets stood on either side of the room, separated by a sword rack mounted above a wooden stool. On the walls, several paintings hung, with soft colors that lent the space an air of quiet elegance. The room was sparse, but it carried an undeniable sophistication.

In the center of the room, a seating area was positioned in front of the Commander's desk. I found my place beside Quilya, still absorbed in my admiration of the space. There was something about its simplicity—no grandiose displays of wealth, but a grace in every detail that was undeniably appealing.

My gaze wandered upward to a drum chandelier suspended just a few meters above me. Candles flickered softly within silver candle cups, encased in what looked like a shimmering, glass-like material. The craftsmanship was impeccable, with every detail thoughtfully considered. It was clear that this was no ordinary fixture—it was expensive, and it exuded a quiet, understated luxury.

A voice broke through my thoughts, smooth and unwavering, drawing my attention back to the center of the room.

"I received a letter from Maurgriann regarding your temporary stay in my town, my friends. However, that is not the only reason I summoned you here. There is something I must confirm." The voice was neither harsh nor elderly, but firm and assured, as though the speaker was accustomed to giving orders.

If I had to guess, he was in his mid-twenties.

"Ask whatever you wish," Krein replied, his tone calm and unruffled.

"The binding magic that seals the gates to the human realm has weakened," the man declared, his voice cutting through the room with quiet certainty. "Such high-tier magic does not deteriorate easily. I know it was your doing, Riesseville."

I froze.

He knew.

"But how did you manage it?" His question hung in the air, laden with a sense of quiet curiosity—and perhaps something else beneath it, something harder to read.

Seated behind the Commander's desk was a striking figure, every inch of him exuding an almost otherworldly grace.

His hair was as white as snow, his long, dark lashes framing eyes that glowed a haunting shade of red. His complexion was pale, almost translucent, his features delicate and sharp, lending him an ethereal beauty. His long hair was tied into a loose, slanted bun, yet it cascaded all the way past his waist. A gold hair stick pierced through the bundle, holding it neatly in place, gleaming under the room's soft lighting.

He wore a simple, gray cross-collared hanfu—a design so understated that, at first glance, it seemed inconspicuous. Yet somehow, it only seemed to accentuate his ethereal beauty, making it all the more apparent how carefully considered his appearance was.

Wait… was he… a man?

If he was, it was unfair. How could someone be so effortlessly elegant while I—dressed in a wrinkled, sweat-streaked T-shirt, unwashed since yesterday—felt so completely unprepared for this encounter? I could feel my face flush as I realized how disheveled I looked. I hadn't even managed to take a proper bath. The water had been too cold for that. God, how embarrassing.

Had I known that I'd be meeting someone like this, I would have at least forced myself to freshen up.

Krein sighed, his voice cutting through the momentary silence. "Long story, Alec," he said with a slight exhale before continuing, his tone still casual. "But since you're asking, I'll tell you anyway."

I blinked, taken aback.

Did he just call him Alec?

Did they know each other? How? The air in the room seemed to shift slightly as I processed the familiar way Krein had addressed him.

Krein leaned forward, his eyes locking with the young man's, his voice steady but laden with history.

"I know you are already aware of the history behind it, old friend," Krein continued, his words measured, carrying a weight that felt almost too heavy for this room.

Old friend?

"We were all witnesses to the calamity that struck over a hundred years ago," he went on, his voice growing softer as though the mere recollection of those times was enough to bring some darkness into the present. "The horrors of that time left many of our comrades so deeply scarred that they chose to erase their memories of it altogether. It was a nightmare—a war that threw the very balance of the realms into chaos."

Krein paused for a moment, perhaps to collect his thoughts. I could sense the change in his demeanor, a heaviness settling into his voice.

"To stop the destruction from spreading further, the goddess herself descended and sealed the gates, preventing enemies—and any other potential threats—from bringing even greater ruin upon these lands."

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Alec. "But that seal was never meant to last forever."

"The binding magic holding those gates shut is beginning to erode," Krein continued, his tone now far more serious. "It will take another century for it to fully shatter, but even so, we could not afford to wait that long."

A brief silence followed, heavy with implication.

"We spent nearly two decades trapped within the human realm, unable to return," Krein went on, his eyes narrowing as if remembering something painful. "And for the past few years, we've been observing the sealed gates, searching for any weakness we could exploit."

His words were quiet, but the weight behind them was unmistakable.

"It was difficult," Krein said, the weariness in his voice now becoming apparent. "But in time, we uncovered something—an opportunity."

His gaze never wavered from Alec as he spoke, as though this revelation was just as much for him as it was for us.

And despite myself, I understood, if only in part.

Not everything, of course.

But enough.

Something had happened. Something catastrophic. That much was certain.

Still, one detail gnawed at me. The one that made my throat tighten and my heart race.

'We were all witnesses to the calamity that struck over a hundred years ago.'

He couldn't be serious, could he?

That would mean…

That would mean the Riesseville family were over a century old.

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly went dry. The question that I was reluctant to ask swirled in my mind, but the answer was too much to bear. I wasn't sure I wanted to know the truth about them anymore.

"And that is?" Alec asked, his tone gentle yet firm, signaling to Krein to continue his explanation.

"The human realm has four seasons, unlike here, where we experience many different cycles. They have summer, winter, autumn, and spring," Krein began, his voice steady. "And every spring season, the seal that holds the gates shows signs of vulnerability. We don't know the cause of this yet, but we intend to investigate it further in the future. What matters most, however, is that we need to take advantage of this vulnerability and use it to return here," Krein concluded, his words carrying a sense of urgency.

Alec sat in thoughtful silence, nodding slowly as he processed the information. His posture relaxed, leaning back in his chair, his hands resting on his chest in a contemplative manner. His gaze drifted off, seemingly lost in thought as the weight of the situation settled in.

"So, it's going to happen again, huh?" Alec muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. After a moment, he added, "This is bad news."

"Exactly why my companions and I must return to Maurgriann as soon as possible to inform them of the situation," Miss Kreziana spoke up, her voice laced with determination. "Our forces have been severely depleted, and we've yet to recover from the losses of the past century. If that seal breaks, we'll be facing an even greater crisis," she announced, her eyes firm and resolute.

"I understand, Riesseville," Alec replied, his tone unwavering and filled with resolve. "We're allies in this, and I'll stand by you." He paused, his expression becoming more serious. "But there is one more thing I must ask: Did you bring them back?"

Krein's eyes shifted briefly to Quilya and me, then back to Alec. She gave a slight nod, her face softening just slightly. "They're both safe," she said, her voice calm but tinged with a note of concern. "Though… Ali—" She cleared her throat, her words faltering momentarily before she regained her composure. "Aeriah can't seem to remember anything."

Alec's brow furrowed ever so slightly, confusion flickering across his face, though it vanished just as quickly. "This is… difficult. My bad for not recognizing you two," he said. "So she's one of those who chose to forget," he murmured, his hand resting thoughtfully on his chin. The room was quiet enough for us to catch every word, and I couldn't shake the feeling that he had intentionally kept his voice low.

After a brief pause, Alec stood, his movements fluid and deliberate. He walked over to the file cabinets along the side of the room, the rustling of papers filling the air as he sifted through them with practiced ease, searching for something specific.

I watched him closely, noting that these weren't ordinary office papers. Were those… scrolls? I couldn't help but wonder what kind of documents he was going through.

"Where is it—oh," Alec muttered, his voice lightening with the realization that he had found what he was looking for. He held up a scroll, inspecting it with a discerning eye before nodding in satisfaction. Without further delay, he returned to his seat, unfolding the scroll as he did so. "Go to Treianes and find the Wind Warden. Take Aeriah with you and give her this scroll when you find her," he instructed, handing the scroll to Miss Kreziana. "The Warden will be able to help her recover some of her memories."

Miss Kreziana accepted the scroll with a deep, respectful bow, her smile warm and filled with genuine gratitude. "I truly appreciate your kind assistance, dear old friend," she said, her voice soft but filled with sincere appreciation.

Alec's expression softened just a touch as he gave a slight wave of his hand. "Your transport will arrive at noon," he replied with a hint of a smile. "In the meantime, feel free to explore the town. My people are very welcoming, and you are free to pick up as many souvenirs as you like. The meeting is concluded. You are all dismissed."

Miss Kreziana rose from her seat, giving Alec a final nod of thanks. She motioned for the rest of us to follow as we made our way out of the chamber. The atmosphere in the room lightened, and the tension that had hung so heavily earlier seemed to dissipate as we left the room and stepped into the fresh air of the town.