The morning light was pale and silvery, spilling across the worn stones of the courtyard. A faint chill lingered in the air — the kind that carried the scent of dew and ash. Inside the hall, Mino worked quietly, stirring the pot with steady, deliberate motions. The broth simmered gently, releasing wisps of steam that curled and vanished into the rafters.
She wasn't much of a cook, but Luciel had taught her to make the most of what little they had. Today's breakfast was simple: a thin broth, made from the last scraps of dried meat and a few herbs they'd foraged. When she finished, she wiped her hands on her apron and stepped outside, squinting at the brightness.
In the courtyard, Luciel was already awake. He stood beneath the half-crumbled archway, a saber glinting faintly in his hand as he cut clean slices of wood. Each movement was calm and precise — practiced. Beside him, two smooth wooden boards leaned against a stone.
"Luciel, breakfast's ready," Mino called softly, leaning forward a little.
Luciel set down his blade and brushed the wood dust from his hands. "I'll be right there," he said, his tone as calm as the morning itself.
Curiosity flickered in Mino's blue eyes. "What are you making?" she asked, tilting her head like a sparrow.
"A drawing board," he replied.
That answer only deepened her confusion. "A drawing board?"
Luciel stretched, rolling his shoulders. "After breakfast, we'll go back to the camp for a bit."
"The camp?" Mino blinked in surprise. "But didn't we already move everything here? And shouldn't we be following the thieves' trail?"
Luciel turned to her, his expression unreadable but gentle. "Don't you want to leave something behind for your Big Sis?"
Mino froze.
He walked past her toward the hall, the quiet echo of his boots on the stones the only sound. Sitting down by the fire pit, he added, "If she ever returns to the camp and finds it empty, what then? Wouldn't it be better if there was something to guide her?"
For a moment, Mino stood there, processing his words. Her heart squeezed unexpectedly. She had thought only of chasing after her Big Sis, not of what might happen if her sister came back looking for her.
"You're right," she murmured. "I didn't think about that."
Luciel nodded slightly. "Then think about what you want to say. Leave her a message only she would understand."
Mino poured the steaming broth into wooden bowls and sighed. "We don't have much water left," she said. "At this rate, we can't last more than a few days."
Luciel accepted the bowl and gave her a faint smile. "There's always a way."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling back. "Hope so."
They ate in silence for a while. The crackle of the fire filled the space between them. Mino stared into her bowl, her mind wandering. What could she possibly write to her sister — a message that only Big Sis would understand?
Finally, she looked up, her blue eyes searching. "Luciel," she said, "what do you think I should say?"
Luciel had been expecting that. "Did the two of you have any kind of promise when you were younger?"
Mino hesitated, the spoon halfway to her lips. "We did," she whispered. "Big Sis promised me she'd come back, no matter what. I was supposed to wait for her."
She looked down. "But now the Blood Beard thieves have attacked... That promise— it's broken, isn't it?"
Luciel didn't answer immediately. He simply stared into the flames. "Then what about a secret," he suggested finally, "something only the two of you would know?"
Mino's eyes widened a little. "A secret sign? Like a code to open a door?"
Luciel's brow lifted, amused. "You had a door code?"
She nodded, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "When I was little, Big Sis and I made one. She said I couldn't open the door unless I heard the secret sign. I was the long-eared rabbit, and she was the short-eared cat."
Luciel chuckled quietly. "Then draw it. Draw both of you, and whatever you want her to know."
He stood and reached for one of the wooden boards he'd been shaping earlier. With his saber, he sliced two pieces of clean white cloth from an old sack. "You can draw it here," he said, pinning the cloth to the board with rough nails.
Mino looked at the fabric and frowned. "Won't that be wasteful?"
Luciel smiled faintly. "A message to your sister is more important than a bit of cloth."
He carried the board outside and set it in the sunlight. The light caught in his hair, turning the dark strands to silver. "Use charcoal," he said, handing her a stick of it. "Draw what you want her to see. Anything."
Mino took it awkwardly, staring at the blank surface. "How?" she asked.
"Try it on the ground first," Luciel suggested. "Then copy it onto the cloth."
He began preparing his own board beside her, sharpening the charcoal against a stone until it left dark smudges on his fingers.
Mino squatted down, imitating him, her expression serious. But she hesitated, staring at the empty space in front of her.
Luciel noticed her pause and said softly, "Start with what matters most. Draw yourself — the long-eared rabbit. And your Big Sis — the short-eared cat. That's the heart of your message."
Mino's face lit with sudden understanding. She clambered onto the back of the rock tortoise, who had lumbered to a stop under Luciel's command. There, with a determined look, she began to draw.
Luciel worked beside her, his strokes smooth and precise. The charcoal whispered across the cloth, leaving faint, confident lines. Slowly, an image took shape — the camp, the small hut, the open clearing surrounded by rocky hills. Every detail was clear and deliberate, like a memory frozen in time.
Two hours passed before he finally leaned back. The word "Hometown" stood neatly in the corner of his finished work.
He exhaled and smiled to himself.
When he turned to Mino, she was still hunched over her own drawing, charcoal smeared across her cheeks like war paint.
Luciel peeked at her board — and almost laughed aloud.
The long-eared rabbit looked vaguely human, with a crooked smile and teeth far too large. The short-eared cat had tiny eyes and impossibly long legs. A giant tortoise grinned in the background like it knew something nobody else did. The house was the only recognizable feature, copied faithfully from Luciel's original sketch.
It was chaos, yet somehow charming.
"Finished!" Mino declared proudly, sitting back and wiping her cheek — leaving four dark streaks in the process.
Luciel fought to keep his expression straight. "Can you explain what… all of this means?"
Mino nodded eagerly. "Of course! This," she pointed to the rabbit, "is me. I didn't wait for Big Sis at home — I left with you to find her. So if Big Sis comes back, she'll see this and know to follow. The rabbit and the man — that's our trail. The tortoise is our goal, because she knows what it means."
Luciel blinked. "It… seems to make sense," he said diplomatically, though the truth was that he didn't understand a thing.
Still, he didn't tell her that. It wasn't really about the drawing — it was about giving her something to hold onto, a hope she could wrap her heart around. The odds that her Big Sis was still alive were slim, and he knew it. But Mino didn't need the truth right now. She needed faith.
"I think your Big Sis will understand perfectly," he said at last.
Mino's eyes brightened, her whole face lighting up like dawn. "Really?"
Luciel smiled. "Really. Now, take it down and put it in a wooden box. We'll bury it in the camp later — that way, she'll find it if she comes back."
"Okay!" she chirped, rushing off to fetch the box.
Luciel watched her go, shaking his head with quiet amusement. If her sister can make sense of that painting, he thought wryly, then she truly is a god.
Still, there was something oddly touching about it — the messy charcoal lines, the crooked smiles, the impossible proportions. It was innocent, unguarded. A piece of the girl's heart, drawn in clumsy strokes.
He found himself tempted to keep it, to tuck it away like a relic from another world. But he didn't. Some things were meant to stay behind, buried with the past — and with the hope that maybe, just maybe, the gods really could understand.