Lost in tangled thoughts, Faen had already reached the edge of the village. In the distance stood the small wooden cabin he shared with Alfia.
Then his steps halted abruptly.
His entire body tensed in an instant.
Because standing at his door was someone who absolutely should not have been there.
A young man.
He had sharp black hair, neatly cut, with a single striking white streak falling across his forehead. His features were so refined they seemed almost unreal—like a masterpiece carved by the greatest sculptor to ever live, flawless in every detail.
He wore a perfectly tailored black coat. Standing there in silence, posture straight and unshakable, he gave the impression that the world itself revolved around him.
He was no mortal.
He was a god.
Faen's heart sank.
Even though gods who descend to the Lower World seal their Arcanum and live as mortals, their innate divinity—the sense of existence that places them above all life—can never truly be hidden.
It isn't oppression through strength. It's a difference in the very nature of being. Any mortal can recognize it at a glance.
An ominous premonition seized his chest.
Standing off to the side was Uncle Zald.
Unlike his usual relaxed attire, Zald now wore heavy black armor. The massive greatsword he was always polishing rested firmly across his back.
The cabin door opened.
Alfia stepped outside.
She wore her familiar black gothic dress, her expression as indifferent and cold as ever.
The three of them standing together painted an unmistakable picture—
They were leaving.
"You're going, Alfia."
Faen walked forward, his voice soft but steady.
He did not ask where they were going.
He did not ask why.
He merely stated what he already saw.
At the sound of his voice, the black-haired god—Erebus, turned his head.
His gaze lingered on Faen for a moment, appraising him, before flicking briefly toward Alfia. A faint, intrigued smile curved his lips.
"Oh? So this is the child you mentioned? Interesting indeed. And remarkably gifted. What a pity."
A trace of regret flashed through Erebus's eyes.
As a god, he could perceive what mortals could not.
This boy possessed a maturity far beyond his years. His instincts were sharp, like a predator's. More impressive still was the resilience that had allowed him to survive eight years under The Silent's relentless training.
This child was born for the Dungeon, for blood and fire—not for obscurity in a forgotten northern village.
Unfortunately…
They no longer had time.
No time to uncover the secret behind his inability to receive a Falna. No time to plan his future.
They had something far more important, and far darker—to accomplish.
"Leave this place. Go live in a large city."
Alfia finally spoke.
She did not look at Faen.
She simply produced a heavy cloth pouch and tossed it toward him.
"This isn't a place for you."
Her voice was as nice as ever.
And just as cold.
Faen caught the pouch instinctively. It was heavy—very heavy. The clear metallic clinking inside told him all he needed to know.
Valis.
And a considerable amount.
He tightened his grip around the bag, standing silently.
"Let's go."
Alfia left him with those two words. She did not glance back as she turned and began walking toward the road leading north.
Her back was resolute. Without hesitation.
"Live well, kid."
Zald stepped forward. His calloused hand—huge and rough, rested gently on Faen's shoulder in a gesture far softer than his rugged appearance suggested.
Then he turned and followed Alfia.
Erebus was last.
He approached Faen and crouched slightly, his deep eyes seeming to peer straight into his soul.
With a faint smile, he said, "If you're unwilling to accept this… then fight with everything you have to become an adventurer."
And then he rose, his black coat sweeping through the air as he turned away.
The three figures walked farther and farther down the road.
Soon, they would disappear beyond the horizon.
Faen stood motionless.
Like a stone statue.
But just before they vanished from sight—
"ALFIA!"
He shouted her name with all the strength in his body.
The slender figure at the front stopped.
She did not turn around.
She simply stood there, waiting.
Faen looked at her back.
The sadness and confusion on his face vanished completely.
Instead, he broke into a bright, radiant grin.
"See you tomorrow!"
He shouted.
Alfia's form stiffened almost imperceptibly.
But she did not turn back.
She did not reply.
After a brief pause, she resumed walking.
The three of them disappeared at the end of the northern road.
---
Once they had left the village and stepped onto the desolate northern highway, the journey fell into a heavy silence.
Zald carried his greatsword over his shoulder and glanced back toward the village, now long out of sight.
With a sudden chuckle, he broke the silence.
"By the way, Alfia… didn't that kid used to shout every day that when he grows up, he's going to marry you? You sure you don't want to consider it? I could handle this mission alone."
The moment the words left his mouth—
A chill descended.
Not the cold of the northern wind.
But something far worse.
Erebus shuddered and instinctively stepped aside, putting a bit more distance between himself and the source of that killing frost.
Alfia slowly opened her eyes.
Her left eye was a deep gray.
Her right eye, a crystalline green.
Those mismatched eyes stared at Zald without a trace of emotion.
"If you wish to experience death ahead of schedule," she said calmly, "I can arrange that."
"Whoa, whoa! I was joking!" Zald immediately raised both hands in surrender, laughing awkwardly. "Just trying to lighten the mood!"
He scratched his head and added, "Besides, I like the kid. Anyone who dares say something like that to your face and still walks away alive? That's a real man."
"Oh?"
Erebus's expression shifted instantly from surprise to blatant curiosity.
"Someone confessed to The Silent and survived? Now that's a miracle. Do tell—what happened?"
"Enough."
Alfia's voice was cold and impatient.
Two words were all it took.
Zald and Erebus shut their mouths immediately.
They both knew—
If she truly grew angry, the consequences would be worse than facing a dragon head-on.
Silence returned.
Only the sound of their footsteps—and the ceaseless northern wind—echoed across the empty plains.
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