Kisatsu perched on the even ledge of a raised planter bed, the margins of the leaves brushing gently against his back. His gaze remained fixed on the ground—quiet, unreadable—eyes hooded in contemplation.
It shouldn't have mattered. If he was going to leave again, he could always come back... but it was different this time.
Astafa stood before him, wearing the same heavy expression etched across Kisatsu's features. It was natural—just as it should've been. Part of him wanted Kisatsu to accompany him until they both reached their purpose; another part wanted to stop Kisatsu from continuing any further. After all, Kisatsu had already suffered so much.
And if he took another step forward, the only path left to him would be one of even greater suffering.
Astafa knew that... though he wasn't sure if Kisatsu did.
"I've already told you—you don't have to follow me," he said, voice low and even. "You can just wait here... or use the time to train."
Kisatsu didn't move—at least, not in posture. Only a faint furrow marked his brow, the quiet weight of thought settling in. This wasn't resolve, but duty. At least, for him.
And then, in a voice calm and deliberate—
"But I want to know. I want to learn more about those priests. I can't just sit around and wait without any answers."
He clenched his fists in silent acknowledgement, gaze lifting to meet Astafa's—slow, steady, measured.
"Those guys are strong—I don't think I'd ever catch up to them even if I trained nonstop for ten years."
"Then what makes you think going out there unarmed is any better?" Astafa replied, voice now edged. "You'd rather die getting an answer, is that it?"
He leaned forward—just enough for his azure eyes to hold Kisatsu's amethyst ones, sharp and unwavering.
"They killed your father, didn't they? And you said they came from beyond the walls," he said, voice low, carrying a raw, hard edge. "Want to know why your father was killed? Because he knew something—maybe too much."
A breath.
"You planning to meet the same fate your father did? Die for the same reason?"
A brief hesitation passed through Kisatsu as he lowered his gaze once more, faltering ever so slightly.
"N... No," he murmured, a faint tremor edging his voice. For a fleeting moment, silence engulfed them—thick, palpable, heavy with the absence of resolve.
Then—
"Why did you become a knight? No... why did you want to become one?" Astafa whispered, voice quieter now. "To find your brother? To grow stronger and protect your nation from those invaders?"
A beat.
"Or to die—so long as you get your answer?"
Another moment of hesitation. Kisatsu weighed—really weighed—his thoughts before giving an answer. Calm. Quiet. Unreadable.
Then, in a voice that quivered almost imperceptibly:
"I... wanted to become a knight to be useful." A pause. "Ever since that day—when I ran away—I've wondered why I was the one who survived. Someone else took me out even after I escaped."
Another breath. His gaze rose slowly to meet Astafa's once more—steady, deliberate, unvarnished.
"If they wanted to kill me then, they could've done it... easily. I remember barely breathing, pleading for my life," he said, eyes drifting away, if only for a moment. "If I'd been strong enough to fight back, would I have made it harder for that man trying to save me? So... does that mean it was my utter weakness that saved me?"
He stood up, back straightened, chest leveled, gaze firm—just partially. His voice, when it came, now carried an unrestrained, truthful edge. Final. Unshaken.
"If being weak and powerless is what keeps me alive... then I'd rather die being strong—capable of stopping enemies."
Astafa heard his words—a resounding statement that gave, not forced, the air around them its verdict. He turned his back to Kisatsu—not to dismiss his words, but as a gesture of quiet acknowledgement.
"Fine, you said that," he said, voice firm and unflinching. "That's enough for me to know you'd die with meaning—and not with stupidity. Let's go, Kisatsu."
With that, they moved back to the guild reception—each step now marked by grit, by purpose, even as uncertainty continued to creep within them.
"We accept the quest," Astafa stated.
"Very well. The quest begins in Heirein District in one week." The guild clerk handed out two permits with practiced ease. "Please take your permits."
"Ow." A quiet murmur slipped from Astafa's lips. Perhaps it was the thought of traveling again that displeased him.
"By the way, what kind of D-rank threats are we walking into with in this quest?" Kisatsu queried.
"The main threat in this quest comes from the dangers of transporting the Partian specimen across the sea," the clerk replied, voice even.
"And what kind of dangers are we talking about?"
"A vessel—likely belonging to the Clergy—has been spotted patrolling the sea, apparently lying in wait for the ship carrying the Partian specimen. We don't yet know if it has already called in a fleet. If it has, we may have to raise the quest to A-rank. After all, we can't rule out the possibility that their hierarch is aboard. That's exactly why the escort for the specimen ship is necessary."
"C-Clergy?" Kisatsu stammered, as if the word had struck a chord within him.
"I'll explain it to you later," Astafa whispered. "We only need the specifics for now."
The two left after giving their thanks, walking away in a hurry.
"What are those kids up to, Elyrion?"
A voice came before its presence even registered—sudden, unexpected. The guild clerk's gaze flitted toward it, edged with quiet surprise.
"Oh, Urfelle," Elyrion murmured, eyes shifting toward the two shrinking figures in the distance—soft, frayed with concern. "They've headed out on a D-rank quest."
"Huh? Those kids?" Urfelle repeated, gaze following Elyrion's. "What's their rank?"
"Both of them are from the Eightieth Section." A soft sigh escaped Elyrion's lips. "I hope they'll be alright."
A brief furrow formed between Urfelle's brows as his eyes moved back to Elyrion—smug, wry, droll.
"You just sent them on a suicide mission, you," he said, voice flat, dry.
* * *
One Week Later — Heirein District, Aerthwaite Region, Southwest of Akasa
The timeworn brine clung to the cold morning air, cleaving to every dock and rope. A frigid wind susurrated through the battered wharves, while the murmuring rasp of canvas rumbled softly overhead. The stillness painted the port in mist, veiling distant structures like vague figures.
"There's the ship! Look—there's the containment tank, and that's the Partian inside!" Astafa exclaimed, running toward the vessel in haste. Two knights loomed in the distance, one of them glancing their way.
"What are those kids doing around here?" she mumbled.
"Party fillers?" the other replied perfunctorily.
"We're the knights taking the D-rank quest around here," Astafa said, holding out the permits. "Is this the right place?"
"Yes, you're a bit early," she remarked, eyes flicking between them. "What ranks are you two?"
"We're from the Eightieth Section, ma'am."
"Eightieth Section?" the other knight repeated, a hint of uncertainty in his tone. "Do you even know what you're getting into with this quest?"
"Yes, sir," Astafa replied. "We'll do everything we can to provide assistance."
"That's insane." The knight let out a quiet sigh, disbelief gently rumpling his forehead. "Guilds are sending kids now just 'cause they're short on higher-ranked knights? I'll be damned."
"Relax, Pseurroiche," she murmured, voice assured, gaze shifting to them—calm, steady. "If it comes down to it, they don't have to fight—they can just pass off as passengers. Now, what are your names?"
"Kisatsu Ashi—I mean, Vurgemond."
"Astafa Kindleton."
For a brief moment, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly—though it went unnoticed.
"Okay, then," she said, breathing quietly through her nose. "Name's Ceroba, and this here's Pseurroiche. Let's make this work."
Ten minutes had passed since they climbed aboard the ship, the atmosphere within the vessel enswathing them like an unseen blanket—thick, heavy, and foreboding, as if marking a one-way ticket. The Partian specimen slumbered within the locked containment tank, as if its very awakening could shatter the infrangible barrier.
The leaden bulkheads of the cabin leaned inward as the knights moved through the crew quarters, each step measured and deliberate. In the distance sat the containment tank, its liquid gleaming through the glass—failing to veil the teal-scaled dragon curled snugly within.
The limpid barrier trembled—quiet, but telling—with each breath curling from the Partian's nares, as pulsing growls reverberated through the fluid that shrouded the unawakened monster. A furrow tugged at Astafa's brow the moment he glanced at it—just briefly—as if the glimpse had stirred a memory, if only for a moment.
"Hey, isn't that the Partian from before?" he asked, steps halting in quiet doubt. "Tch. I can still imagine Mwvyck leaning on it."
Kisatsu shifted, gaze drifting to the containment tank—a frown settling on his features, laced with calm uncertainty.
An Impure Partian... Astafa said they were once human—failed experiments.
His eyes slitted slightly, gaze calm, unreadable.
Could they be connected to Austrad somehow? Elzhask wanted that Partian kept alive, and now it's on us to move it across lands—make sure it doesn't end up in a minister's hands.
A breath.
Then... that means this Partian specimen—no, Partians in general—are somehow tied to the Clergy?
A quiet realization struck him, his eyes widening with creeping dubiety.
Specimens...
That word stirred something loose in his memory—when the priest had once called him and Ryurei wonderful specimens. His fingers trembled slightly at his side, something bodeful coursing beneath his skin.
If that's true... then does that mean Ryurei was turned into a Partian too?
His breath came heavy, posture still, gaze riveted to the containment tank—unfocused, unblinking.
No... it's just a possibility. In the end, it all comes down to blood—Astafa said so himself. So is there something about our blood? Something that made those priests come after us? After Dad?
His mind began to sink deeper into a reverie, weighed down by ominous, unfendable thoughts. Before anyone could bat an eye, Ceroba's voice broke through the tense silence.
"Ah, so you've dealt with this one before?" she asked, voice light, eyes flickering to the Partian. "Good—makes things easier. Means you'll know what to do when it all goes south."
"Uh, well... 'dealt with' might be putting it a little too simply," Astafa said, voice faltering slightly with timidity. "It was way more complicated than that."
He recounted to her what had unfolded during their previous quest.
"I see. I'm surprised you didn't quit after that—having to deal with people like that on your first quest," she remarked. "Can't lie, it's the first time I've heard of a case like that."
Her arms folded beneath her chest with quiet ease as she leaned back against the leaden bulkhead, expression unreadable.
"But hey, if we were that kind of people, we'd at least make your death quick."
She gave them a playful wink. A faint, nervous laugh slipped from Astafa's lips—perhaps a jest he hadn't expected. She turned toward the sea, gaze distant, sweeping over its tranquility.
"Second quest, huh? First time leaving the homeland?" she asked softly, eyes returning to him. "You two don't look like clueless yokels—more like suburban rookies. I'm guessing life's been pretty easy for you, huh? Well, if life had been that easy, you probably wouldn't have ended up a knight in the first place. Sorry for jumping to conclusions."
A pause.
"So, what made you want to become a knight?" she asked, eyes half-lidded now. "Your last name's Kindleton? Well, that rings a bell—I'm guessing I might know who your father is."
"Uh, well... truth is, I don't even know who my father is. Not a name, not even a photo. My mother said he left right after I was born," Astafa answered, voice low, gaze drifting away before returning to her. "As for why I became a knight... it was to find my older sister. Maybe once I do, she'll tell me about him—hopefully."
A soft, resigned sigh escaped Ceroba as her arms unfolded smoothly.
"Yeah... that sounds exactly like something he'd do. I'm pretty sure I know who he is now," she said, pausing. "And yes, it makes sense you never knew him. Might even be for your own good."
Then, in a quieter voice:
"Your sister's name is Akirelle, am I right?"