Prologue

  It was a sunny morning—the kind that didn’t bring warmth with it.

  Light spilled freely from a pale sky, sharp and clean, catching on frost that still clung stubbornly to the ground. The air bit just enough to remind her that winter hadn’t finished.

  She walked along the outskirts of Auresta with an unhurried stride, boots crunching lightly against gravel and half-thawed earth. The city lay behind her—scarred, quieter than it used to be, still carrying the faint scent of smoke and rain.

  Alliyana Aurellia looked… satisfied.

  Settled—like someone who had finished a long calculation and accepted the result.

  Three others followed in her wake.

  The first was humanity’s Summoned Hero. The boy who once burned with borrowed purpose now carried himself differently. His light hadn’t vanished—but it had dimmed, tempered by bodies he couldn’t save and truths he couldn’t unlearn. The one who wanted to escape his world now found himself wishing, quietly, to return home.

  Next walked the Saintess. Her steps were steady, her posture composed, but something fundamental had cracked. Faith still lingered, but no longer cleanly divided the world into good and evil. The line had blurred, and she could see it now—everywhere.

  Behind them came the Mage Prodigy. Her talent remained extraordinary. Her control precise. And yet, for all her power, she still carried the same truth she always had: sometimes, no amount of brilliance was enough. Just as before, she was still a powerless child standing in the aftermath of consequences from her inadequacy.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  They marched together.

  Ahead, near a parked carriage, a familiar figure stood speaking with a pair of merchants. A man in plain clothes, smile easy, posture relaxed. His voice drifted through the morning air, smooth and practiced.

  Alliyana noticed him immediately.

  “If it isn’t the thread merchant,” she called.

  The man turned, surprise flickering briefly across his face before giving way to delight. “Well now,” he said, spreading his hands. “What a fine coincidence.”

  She stopped a few steps away. “Good morning, Lok.”

  He bowed slightly. “Lady Aurellia. Looking well.”

  She was. Content. Cheerful, even.

  It had been four months since the incident. Four months since Auresta had drowned in fire and falling bodies. The city remained solemn—quiet in a way that wasn’t peaceful.

  She had been the cause of the massacre.

  And yet, she stood there untouched.

  Lok studied her with open curiosity. “Tell me,” he said lightly, “how do you remain so light these days?”

  Alliyana chuckled. A small, genuine sound. “You learn how to carry it.”

  Behind her, the three said nothing. Their gazes drifted elsewhere—to the road, the city walls, the sky. Distant. Disengaged.

  Lok tilted his head. “And how do you carry all of it?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t.”

  He blinked.

  “Not everything is worth carrying,” she added.

  Something sharp flickered in his eyes. Annoyance. Before she could turn away, he spoke again.

  “How was your walk?” he asked, almost pointedly.

  Alliyana smiled.

  The hero noticed it. Like the question hadn’t demanded anything from her at all.

  “The finest walk I could ask for.”

  Insolent…

  The word surfaced unbidden—hot, immediate.

  Then—

  “Sir?”

  I flinched.

  One of the merchants was holding out the parchment, looking at me expectantly. I blinked once, twice, and felt the mask slide neatly back into place.

  “My apologies,” I said, smoothly.

  I stepped forward and signed. The quill scratched against paper, slow and deliberate, while the sun beat down on my shoulders.

  The heat lingered longer than it should have.