The wind carried the scent of rain and earth as Luciel guided the white-haired girl out from behind the stone wall that had sheltered them through the night. The land before them opened wide, a stretch of barren plain that ended at the foot of a great, earth-brown mountain. It rose like a sleeping beast beneath the afternoon sun.
Luciel narrowed his eyes at the distance. "That's it," he murmured. "Moon Lake Tribe lies just beyond that ridge."
Elara lifted her hand, her pale fingers trembling slightly as she pointed toward a narrow valley that curved around the mountain's edge. "The tribe is settled near the lake at the base," she said softly. "If we go around from the east, we can reach it before nightfall."
Luciel nodded, his expression calm but thoughtful. "Then we'll head back to prepare. If everything goes well, we may spend the night among them."
Even as he spoke, his mind stretched outward in quiet command to the great creature resting nearby. The rock tortoise shifted heavily, the ground vibrating under its weight as it followed his mental direction. He didn't want the creature too close to the tribe. Its presence would only draw suspicion—or worse, hostility—from those who had never seen such a being.
"I'll lead the way when the time comes," Elara said, her voice faint but certain. "I… stayed in Moon Tribe once, a long time ago. I remember the way."
Luciel turned toward her with a faint smile. "Then I'll rely on you."
They returned to the small shelter where Mino waited. The girl with soft rabbit ears looked up as the two entered, her blue eyes wide and inquisitive. Her gaze immediately caught on Elara—the dirt smudges on her pale cheeks, the faint black marks that stained her white hair, and the way her small hand still clutched the corner of Luciel's sleeve.
Mino's brow furrowed. "Elara… what happened?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. She tilted her head slightly, her long ears twitching as she studied them both. "Why are you holding his sleeve like that?"
Luciel's composure faltered for a fraction of a second. He forced a short, awkward laugh. "Ah, that. She… tripped earlier, fell into the dust. Nothing serious."
He couldn't exactly admit that the smudges on Elara's face were partly his fault, remnants of a clumsy moment and his own unwashed hands. There was no explaining that without raising more questions.
Mino's expression tightened with worry. "Elara, are you hurt?"
Elara's cheeks flushed faintly, and she lowered her gaze. "I'm fine," she said, her voice a quick whisper. "I'll just… go wash up." Without waiting for a reply, she hurried into the adjoining room, her movements unsteady. Her mind was still in turmoil; the closeness, the near warmth of Luciel's hand earlier—it all lingered in her thoughts like a storm she couldn't calm.
Mino watched her go, her lips pressing together. "Something feels strange," she murmured. "Like I missed something important."
Luciel dragged a chair forward and sat down with deliberate ease, crossing one leg over the other. "How's your tea-making practice?" he asked, changing the subject with practiced calm.
Mino blinked, startled. Then she straightened and nodded. "I've been practicing. Let me show you."
Her movements were careful and elegant as she began to brew the tea. There was a quiet rhythm in the way she poured the water and arranged the cups, though occasionally her hands hesitated—tiny pauses that only made her grace more human.
Luciel observed her silently for a moment, then nodded. "Very good," he said at last. "You've started to add your own touch."
She looked up, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "You really think so?"
"Yes." His voice softened. "But tell me—if you had to make tea in front of strangers, would you still be this calm?"
Her hands froze above the teapot. "In front of… other people?" The color drained from her face. "You mean—publicly?"
Luciel nodded. "We'll have to, sooner or later. If people are to know how fine Starlight Tea truly is, they'll have to see it for themselves."
Mino's ears drooped in nervous protest. "I—" She swallowed. "I'll try. But I might not be able to look at anyone."
"Then don't," Luciel said with quiet assurance. "When the time comes, focus only on your work. Keep your eyes on the tea bowl and nothing else."
Mino nodded slowly, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. "I… I'll do that," she whispered, gathering her courage.
Luciel's expression softened. "Good. Now, go change into your new clothes and bring the portrait I asked you to carry. We're almost at Moon Tribe."
Mino rose, still distracted, and retreated into her room. Her heart raced with nerves—half from the upcoming journey, half from the strange tension that seemed to hum in the air between Luciel and Elara.
When Mino's door closed, Elara reappeared. She had changed into the old hooded cloak she'd worn when Luciel first met her—simple, practical, and a little too heavy for the warm afternoon. Her silver-white hair was tucked beneath the hood, only a few strands catching the light.
Luciel frowned slightly. "You're wearing that to Moon Tribe?"
She nodded without hesitation. "Yes. This is how I used to dress when I lived there."
He arched a brow. "You lived there?"
"For a time," she admitted, lowering her gaze. "There's a small path that leads into the village without passing the main gate. If we take it, we won't have to go through inspection."
Luciel stared at her for a moment, then sighed. "Who said anything about sneaking in?"
Her head lifted, eyes wide in confusion. "You don't intend to go secretly?"
"Of course not." His tone held a hint of amusement as he placed his hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around toward her room. "Go change into something new. Properly new. You made those dresses for a reason."
Elara stumbled a step forward, startled. "Wait—Luciel—"
"No arguments," he said firmly. "We're not crawling in through back doors. If we go to Moon Tribe, we go through the front gates."
The door closed behind her, and for a moment the small dwelling fell quiet. Luciel turned toward his own room, his gaze falling on the wardrobe along the wall. Inside hung the garments they'd made together over the last five days—simple furniture, new clothes, fresh tools. Each piece was a small declaration of normalcy in a world that rarely allowed it.
He ran his fingers along the sleeve of a white hanfu that hung neatly inside. The design was clean, straight-lined, inspired by an old world he only half remembered—refined like a scholar's robe, but altered with his own hand. A dark belt cinched the waist, lending it structure and quiet dignity.
He smiled faintly. "I never thought I'd wear something like this again," he murmured.
When he donned the garment, its weight surprised him. The fabric flowed easily, whispering against his movements. In this wasteland world, white meant something rare—purity, defiance, or wealth. It made anyone who wore it seem untouchable.
He adjusted the belt and glanced at his reflection in the polished metal beside the cabinet. The man staring back at him looked like he belonged to another age—elegant, self-possessed, and entirely out of place among the dust and decay.
"Let's see if anyone dares to underestimate me now," he said quietly.
When he stepped into the hall, both girls were waiting. Mino wore her improved maid attire—a modest but well-tailored dress that complemented her delicate features. Elara stood beside her, also dressed in a similar style, her silver hair glinting faintly beneath the light.
Both looked up as he entered, and for a long moment, neither spoke.
"Luciel…" Mino breathed, her blue eyes wide. "You look… incredible."
Even Elara, who rarely praised anyone, nodded in quiet awe. "If people see you like this," she said softly, "they'll think you come from one of the great cities."
Luciel's lips curved. "That's precisely what I want them to think."
He stepped closer, but as he did, Elara flinched slightly and turned away. Her hand rose instinctively to touch the faint red marks along her right cheek—scars that no amount of washing could hide. "I should change," she murmured. "I don't match the two of you."
Luciel reached out before she could move. His hand caught her wrist gently. "Don't," he said. "You don't need to hide."
He drew a small mask from his sleeve, painted with a delicate plum blossom pattern. The lacquer gleamed faintly as he held it out to her. "Wear this instead."
Elara hesitated. "For me?"
He nodded once. "You'll play the part of my guard. The mask will do the rest."
She took it with reverence, her fingers tracing the fine brushstrokes of the painted flowers. When she placed it over her face, the transformation was immediate. The soft uncertainty in her posture vanished, replaced by quiet composure. Behind the mask, her silver eyes seemed sharper, her presence colder.
Luciel studied her a moment, then smiled faintly. "Perfect."
From outside, a low rumble echoed—a deep, resonant sound that made the air tremble. The rock tortoise stirred, its great shell shifting as if impatient.
Luciel glanced toward the door. "It's reminding us of our destination."
Elara lowered her hood, her mask now secure. "Then let's go."
Together, the three of them stepped into the fading light, the horizon painted in amber and rose. The path to Moon Lake Tribe waited ahead—uncertain, perhaps dangerous, but necessary. For Luciel, it wasn't just another journey. It was a chance to be seen, to draw attention, to set the stage for the grand performance he was preparing.
And for Elara, it was a return—to a place filled with ghosts of memory, of things lost and things left unsaid.
The wind rose behind them as they began to walk, carrying with it the scent of water and wild grass. The mountain loomed closer, silent and watchful, as the first stars began to shimmer faintly above the wasteland sky.