Lilya held her breath.
"...That's..."
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"...Cecilia, isn't it?"
"...No mistake..."
Lilya's voice trembled.
"...It's really her!"
Her heart pounded so loudly she felt it could be heard throughout the entire forest.
Cecilia.
The person who had always been by her side since childhood.
The person who took care of her.
The person who always smiled at her.
The person who, even when their world began to change, still tried to protect her.
Now—
Cecilia was floating inside a strange room.
Unconscious.
Helpless.
And most terrifying of all—
beside her stood the creature they had been searching for all along.
The Goblin Shaman.
Lilya observed the small figure.
Pale purple skin.
Tattered black robe.
A staff with a purple crystal that kept pulsing.
A black aura filling the entire room.
Lilya clenched her fists.
"...But why is he there?"
No answer came.
Only the vision continued.
The Goblin Shaman raised his staff.
The purple crystal at its tip glowed ever brighter.
And the black crystal beside Cecilia pulsed in response.
Its beat grew faster.
Stronger.
And the crimson pentagram on Cecilia's body—
began to glow as well.
A chill crept through Lilya's entire body.
"...What are you doing to her?"
Her fists tightened.
Her nails dug into her palms.
"...Goblin Shaman."
She finally understood.
This was no mere ritual.
The Goblin Shaman was using Cecilia for something.
And if she was too late—
something terrible would happen.
Very terrible.
Lilya gritted her teeth.
"I have to save her!"
The moment those words left her mouth—
the giant pentagram in the sky suddenly pulsed.
WUUUUMMM—!!!
The golden light that had only been illuminating the sky suddenly moved.
A beam of light descended from the heavens.
Straight toward Lilya.
"...Eh?"
Lilya looked up.
Her eyes widened.
The light didn't feel hot.
It didn't burn.
It felt warm.
Very warm.
Like the morning sun touching skin after a long night.
The golden light enveloped Lilya's body.
Her platinum hair lifted gently, as if touched by a wind that wasn't there.
Her azure-gold mantle fluttered.
The white gauntlets and armor she wore reflected the brilliant glow.
Lilya tried to move.
But her body did not respond.
"...What...?"
She looked at her hands.
Golden light began to spread from her fingertips.
Rising toward her arms.
Then to her shoulders.
Chest.
Legs.
Her entire body slowly transformed into a white-gold silhouette.
The golden light grew larger.
Enveloping Lilya's entire body.
Piercing every pore of her skin.
Flowing into every corner of her soul.
And in an instant—
she vanished.
Along with the light that illuminated the night of Eldwyn Forest.
No sound.
No explosion.
No trace.
Only the night wind that blew softly through the trees, and the stele of Claudia Silverstone which now fell silent once more—still, peaceful, as if nothing had happened.
The forest returned to darkness.
Silence returned.
And Lilya—
was gone.
Meanwhile, in the village of Eldwyn.
Amid the rubble of buildings and thick plumes of smoke everywhere—a woman ran. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her legs nearly lost balance several times, but she kept forcing herself forward.
Rasa Veldrin.
Her long ivory-white gown, which fell almost to her ankles, was now stained with dust, ash, and dark blotches—not her own blood. The open-shouldered upper part of her dress revealed skin smeared with grime, while the fine wrinkles at her chest were now crumpled and damp with sweat. The bell-like sleeves of her gown fluttered wildly with every swing of her arms as she moved quickly along the debris-strewn path.
The deep maroon corset that defined her figure was still fastened securely, though dust and ash clung to nearly every inch of its surface. Her gown's lightly flared skirt—maroon at the center and ivory-white at the sides—was now coated in thick dust. Its hem was wet with mud and stained with ash, weighing it down more than before. Her simple, sturdy closed-toe brown shoes were now caked in dirt, and one of their laces had begun to come loose—but Rasa didn't care.
In her hand, she gripped a small kitchen knife tightly, the only weapon she had managed to grab before fleeing.
Hours earlier—when the devastating [Burst Cannon] blast struck the village wall, Rasa had been near the village well, gathering frightened villagers. The shockwave from the explosion swept across the well area, throwing Rasa and several villagers to the ground. She lost consciousness briefly, buried under light debris and dust.
When she awoke, her head felt heavy and her body ached. But she was still alive. And several of the villagers around her—those who had taken shelter behind the stone well—were also alive. A young mother cradling a small child. A teenage boy with an injured arm. An old man with a nearly broken wooden staff. And several others.
Rasa did not cry. Did not scream. She only bit her lip, endured the pain throughout her body, then rose and guided them out of the rubble.
Now, after making her way through the dark, smoke-filled back alleys of the village, Rasa led that small group away from the heart of destruction. They had passed collapsed houses, leaped over debris, and hidden in shadows every time they heard monster sounds in the distance.
Rasa took a short breath.
From behind a half-collapsed house wall, she watched large shadows move among the ruins. Heavy footsteps pounded the ground—accompanied by low hisses and hoarse laughter that made her hair stand on end.
Hell Bears.
Three of them.
Their bodies towered high, their long black claws scraping the ground as they walked slowly through the rubble, their red eyes faintly glowing through the smoke haze.
Behind them—three Goblin Riders, astride black wolves with equally hungry yellow eyes, their lances raised forward.
They were sweeping the area.
Slowly.
Hunting.
Rasa pressed her back tighter against the stone wall. Beside her, a young mother clutched her toddler, her body trembling violently. The teenage boy with the wounded arm held his breath, covering his mouth to keep silent. The old man with the nearly broken staff bowed his head, afraid to breathe too loudly.
They all looked at Rasa.
Frightened.
Hopeful.
She bit her lip.
"...What should I do?"
Her voice was barely audible, a whisper swallowed by the rumble of monster footsteps outside.
She glanced at them one by one.
Four adults.
Three children.
Behind them, inside the collapsed house, there were even more—villagers she had managed to gather from various corners of the village after the first explosion. Some were wounded. Some were crying silently. All of them depended on her.
Rasa looked down.
Her eyes fell to the ground beneath her.
Earth covered in dust.
Cracked earth.
Earth damp with night dew.
Earth she knew so intimately.
Her trembling fingers touched its surface. Fine dust clung to her fingertips, leaving traces like chalk. The ground felt cold—but beneath that cold, there was a pulse. Faint. Like something waiting.
Rasa closed her eyes.
"...Can I still..."
She whispered.
"...do it?"
The memory returned.
Not of her marriage to Harlan.
Not of the warmth of the Veldrin family.
But a memory far older.
A memory of blood.
A memory of the earth she walked upon.
A memory of a time when she still called herself by another name.
Rasa Valeriana.
Before marrying Harlan and joining the Veldrin family—she had been an adventurer, an Earth Mage, part of a small party of four.
Their party name was—
Raven.
A small party that had never become famous.
No nobles among its members.
Never conquered a legendary dungeon.
Never recorded in Valdyrion Empire history.
But for Rasa—
Raven was her first home.
Where she learned to be an adventurer.
Where she first learned the meaning of trust.
And where she lost someone most precious to her.