12. Overture

In every encounter, there is always a parting.

Sometimes temporary, sometimes forever.

It is a cycle that repeats in human life—

as if one destiny brings people together,

while another tears them apart.

clop! clop! clop!

The sound of hooves echoed relentlessly across the frozen trail. After five grueling days of travel, the long journey was coming to an end. The caravan of mercenaries and Erica's party was approaching a fork in the road.

"Looks like this is where we part ways," said Daniel with a heavy voice.

"Indeed," Pyra replied casually. "At the next crossroads, we'll head to Valfyrion—the city of the Red Magic Tower."

She turned to Erica.

"Are you ready to meet the Mages there?"

"Ugh… yeah. I think I'm ready," Erica replied with a squint.

'A tower full of eccentric old wizards...'

A memory of her grandmother's warnings suddenly came to mind.

"By the way," Pyra asked, "Is it true the Stellhart Mercenary HQ is in Velmoria?"

"Of course," Daniel answered proudly, straightening his back.

"Our main branch is in Velmoria, capital of the Southern Duchy."

He explained how the Stellhart Mercenary Group had grown into an official organization with registered status, multiple branches, and legal obligations—unlike the average freelance mercenary gang. They were bound by royal law, including bans on narcotics, slavery, and strict ethical codes.

"I'm also heading there to visit my nephew," he added.

"He's probably around the same age as that little mage girl of yours," he said, nodding at Erica.

"Huh? You have a nephew?" Erica turned her head.

"What's his name?"

Daniel sighed.

"Ragnar Stellhart. That kid… he's stubborn as hell. If you visit Velmoria, maybe you'll run into him."

Ah.

Erica flinched.

Ragnar Stellhart—one of the love interests of the protagonist in the game.

"Y-Yeah, maybe… I'll think about it," she answered quickly, trying to hide her discomfort.

Better not get involved with that hot-headed character.

And so, they parted ways.

The mercenaries headed south to Velmoria,

while Erica and Pyra turned east—toward the legendary city of Valfyrion and the Red Magic Tower.

____

In a quiet chamber adorned with classical paintings and endless bookshelves, a round table stood at the center. Several elderly scholars sat around it, the air thick with contemplation.

"So, Pyra is finally approaching?" asked an old man seated at the head—clearly the leader.

"Yes. According to the last report, they faced numerous obstacles," answered one of the council, his voice raspy.

"Fortunately, they survived," another added, exhaling slowly.

"She brought someone with her," said a third, sipping tea.

The leader nodded, eyes glinting with intrigue.

"It seems… something important is about to begin."

A heavy silence fell.

The elders exchanged glances.

Unspoken thoughts swirled between them.

____

Sssshk!

A wooden door to the baths opened slowly, releasing a warm cloud of steam into the cold night air.

From the mist emerged Erica, wrapped in a damp white linen towel. Her pale skin glistened like milk kissed by starlight. The towel clung to her modest curves, barely holding across her chest, revealing glimpses of smooth, flushed thighs with every step.

Inside the bath, Pyra was already soaking.

Erica narrowed her eyes.

It was her first time seeing the proud mage without her ever-present dark robe.

Pyra's red hair flowed freely across the surface like fire on water. Her porcelain skin blushed faintly, radiant under the bath's glow.

More surprising—her figure.

Her body was far more mature than Erica expected. The towel barely held against her full chest, clinging to curves only a grown woman could have. Her waist was narrow, her hips wide—a figure of divine proportion.

"You keep staring like you've seen a ghost," Pyra said sharply.

"Is this the first time you've seen me like this?"

"Ugh…"

Erica instinctively compared herself.

Pyra was like a sculpture of a goddess—

while she herself still had the slender frame of a teenage girl.

'It's fine. I'm still growing…' she whispered internally, trying to silence the envy rising inside her.

"How do you find Valfyrion?" Pyra asked, brushing her wet hair back.

"This bathhouse is powered by a magical artifact. Even the richest nobles would envy its luxury."

"It's… nice," Erica replied softly.

Her thoughts wandered to the slums—where hot baths were an unattainable dream.

Back then, a warm towel was the most she ever hoped for.

But here, even public baths sparkled with enchantments.

"These heating artifacts are costly to maintain," Pyra continued.

"Only magic towers or nobles can afford them. But as a student of the Red Tower, we get to use them for free."

Erica nodded slowly, letting the warmth sink into her sore muscles.

For the first time since arriving… she felt at peace.

____

Knock knock.

A steady knock echoed on a large oak door, engraved with glowing red runes.

"Come in," came a deep voice from within.

The room inside was filled floor-to-ceiling with books.

Behind stacks of papers sat an old man with a braided white beard—Master Eldrin of the Red Tower.

"Well, well… my mischievous student finally returns," he said with a sparkle in his sharp eyes.

"And you must be Erica—the prodigy Pyra mentioned."

Erica bowed deeply.

"My name is Erica."

"Stand tall, child," Eldrin smiled.

"I am Eldrin, Master of the Red Magic Tower. I've been expecting you."

Master Eldrin…

That name stirred memories.

Her grandmother once spoke of him—a living legend who gave up half his life force to save young mages from Black Mages during the war.

The scar across his face bore silent witness to that sacrifice.

After a brief ceremony, Eldrin handed Erica an official Red Tower Plaque—engraved with ancient runes.

It declared her a recognized Summoner, officially accepted by the Tower Masters as a student of the Red Tower.

Pyra then gave Erica a full tour of the magnificent building—introducing her to the scholars, archivists, and residents.

Some greeted her with admiration. Others with curiosity—or doubt.

But all knew—this girl had earned her place.

___

Winter passed, and spring bloomed.

Erica studied relentlessly.

She memorized every spell.

Mastered every lesson.

Driven by a fire only she could feel.

One year passed like the wind brushing the top of the tower.

_____

Year 499 of the Tharsaros Kingdom

BANG!

Erica slammed her head onto the cafeteria table.

"Ugh… this is bad…"

Her voice was hoarse. Her expression bleak.

"I'm broke."