Dylan let out a frustrated groan, rubbing the back of his neck. The thought of heading into battle again so soon made his stomach churn — and not just because of the soldier's rations he'd just forced down. Always marching, always fighting, never a moment to breathe, to simply feel alive and… stronger. Much stronger.

The thought struck him suddenly, like a late revelation.

"Uh… Master," he began, the word scraping his throat as if he were swallowing gravel. He hated lowering himself like that — especially to a guy barely four years older than him. But Julius's knowledge was real, and Dylan needed it badly. "Did you… keep any?"

Julius, finishing the last buckle on his gear, raised a brow and smirked, clearly amused by his "disciple's" discomfort.

"Keep any what, dear disciple?" he asked, feigning ignorance with deliberate sweetness.

Dylan clenched his jaw. "Anima gems. I… I wanted to give one to Lise. Her power — psychokinesis — it drains her. Mentally, spiritually. A gem would give her a boost."

He avoided looking at Elisa, ashamed that the thought had come to him only now, after walking through lands crawling with beasts whose essence could be condensed into such artifacts.

Julius's smirk widened — proud, a bit condescending. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a small leather pouch, tossing it lightly in his palm.

"Of course I kept some," he said smoothly. "You don't just leave treasures like that lying around. But you know, these things have value. They're not just shiny rocks."

His tone shifted slightly, the teasing replaced by something sharper.

"You want it for her? Then say it properly. Show me you understand what you're asking for — and from whom."

A flush of heat rose to Dylan's cheeks. Another test. Another humiliation. He took a deep breath, briefly meeting Elisa's eyes. He'd do it for her.

"Master Julius," he said, forcing each syllable to sound respectful, "I would be grateful if you could grant me one anima gem, so that I might offer it to Lady Elisa, to aid her in the mission ahead."

A silence followed. Julius studied him for a long moment, then a genuine smile — less mocking — curved his lips.

"Much better," he murmured.

He opened the pouch and let a single gem roll into his palm — an oblong crystal of deep blue, absorbing the tent's light even as it pulsed faintly, like a living heartbeat. He extended it toward Dylan.

"Take care with it. And tell her to absorb it slowly. A gem that dense can be as volatile as it is powerful."

Dylan took it. The stone was warm in his palm, vibrating with an energy that tingled pleasantly against his skin. He gave a small nod of thanks — the only one he could muster — then turned to Elisa, the gem glowing faintly in his fist.

Elisa raised her eyes, intrigued by Dylan's sudden solemn tone. She observed the gem in his hand — its shimmer oscillating between sapphire and midnight blue. A steady pulse throbbed within it, almost like a heartbeat — heavy, ancient, alive.

Feigning nonchalance, she set her hands on her hips, the light playing off the silver sheen of her armor.

"Oh, it's not the first one I've seen, you know," she said with a small smirk. "I absorbed one a few months ago. The essence of a third-rank awakened beast, on the verge of evolving to the fourth."

She lifted her chin slightly, chest swelling with an almost childish pride. "I still feel its resonance in my flow."

Her voice vibrated with confidence, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease — the awareness of someone who knew exactly what it meant to flirt with powers half-understood.

Behind her, Julius gave a low whistle.

"Third-rank evolved, huh? That explains why you're still standing after everything you two went through."

He crossed his arms, his tone both teasing and admiring. "Careful though, sweetheart. Power builds up like strong wine — drink too much, and you forget whether it's burning or bliss."

Elisa shot him a sidelong glance. "I'd rather burn than be helpless."

Then she looked back to Dylan, who was still holding out the gem. His expression softened.

"This one," he said, voice lower, almost intimate, "didn't come from an awakened beast. It's from a fourth-rank."

He rolled the gem between his fingers, a brief blue spark lighting his tired face.

"It hadn't gained self-awareness yet. Its anima was raw. Pure. It'll give you the stability you'll need out there."

Elisa reached out wordlessly.

When he placed the gem in her palm, a shiver ran up her arm — soft at first, then sharp, like a caressing surge of electricity.

She curled her fingers around it — light, yet dense — feeling its faint pulse resonate against her skin.

For a second, her spiritual flow brushed against that foreign energy, tasted it, measured it — and accepted it.

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Fourth rank, huh…" she murmured, almost to herself. "I suppose I should thank you."

She looked up, giving him one of those rare smiles — half genuine, half teasing. "But if I turn into a spirit torch because of this, I'll come back to burn you first."

Dylan smirked — that familiar smirk that always hovered on the edge of mockery.

"As long as you wait till I'm awake, I've got no complaints."

Julius rolled his eyes. "By the gods, you two — this isn't a military camp, it's a stage play."

But his tone was soft, not scolding. In his tired smile lingered the warmth of a man who, even in war and grime, saw a little light flicker again between two broken souls.

Elisa turned the gem once more in her fingers, then tucked it into a small pouch against her chest.

"I'll absorb it before departure," she said quietly. Then, looking at Dylan with rare sincerity, "Thank you. Truly."

A brief silence settled.

Then Julius rose, fastening his long sword to his belt, his voice turning firm again.

"All right, lovebirds, save the tenderness for later. Let's focus on the mission. What's the plan?"

The tent seemed to tighten around them, as if the war itself were listening.

Zirel stepped closer to the center, placing both hands on the table where several maps lay spread, marked with dust, sweat, and hasty ink lines. He nodded slowly at Julius's words, his gaze heavy on Dylan and Elisa.

"You're right, Julius. We don't have the luxury of sentiment." He sighed softly before adding, voice lower, "I would've liked Tonar to play a role in this mission, but…"

He paused, searching for words.

Dylan frowned, his face hardening.

"Tonar? You mean that big guy with the gray skin and long ears?" He almost smiled, nostalgia creeping in. "He's here?"

"Yes," Zirel answered reluctantly. "But he's badly wounded. He won't recover for months."

Silence fell like a damp shroud.

Dylan lowered his gaze, thoughtful. He remembered the giant — that mountain of a half-orc who swung his axe like a musical instrument, brutal and gentle all at once, his laughter shaking the walls.

"What happened to him?" Dylan finally asked, voice rough.

Zirel's jaw tightened. "During the retreat from the Garlun outpost. He covered the withdrawal of two whole squads. A volley of silver arrows. He stood through the last of them — on his feet — before collapsing. Without him, we'd all be dead."

Elisa turned away, throat tight. "And he's still breathing?"

"Barely," said Zirel. "But that brute refuses to die. The healer says his constitution is unnatural. The Count had him moved to the main medical tent. He doesn't speak anymore. Sleeps most of the time. Sometimes he opens an eye and mutters nonsense…"

"Nonsense?" Dylan echoed.

"Yes. Strange things. Words that belong to no known language." Zirel shrugged uneasily. "The medic says he's 'between two flows.' That his anima's clinging to a boundary he should've already crossed."

Julius, leaning lazily against a chair, chuckled.

"Half-orcs always had one foot in two worlds. Maybe he's just taking a stroll a bit longer than most."

But Dylan didn't laugh. His gaze darkened, and a faint ripple of power stirred in his aura — subtle but real — making the flame of a nearby lantern tremble.

"Tonar, between two flows…" he murmured. "That means he still senses echoes from the field. Maybe he's perceiving things we can't."

Elisa looked at him. "You think you could… help him? In his state?"

"Not directly, no. But if his anima's still active, maybe I can try something. My stigmate's evolved lately."

He turned toward Zirel. "Could you take me to him before we leave?"

Zirel hesitated, the weight of command heavy on his shoulders. Then he nodded.

"All right. But be quick. The Count doesn't like us disturbing critical patients without reason."

Julius, ever pragmatic, tightened his belt and tapped the hilt of his short blade.

"While you two play spirit whisperers, I'll make sure our rations and weapons are ready. I'd rather not die because someone left a sack of arrows under a table."

Elisa gave a tired smile. "Still the poet, I see."

"Realism is my poetry," he replied with a smirk.

Then he stepped aside, leaving Dylan and Zirel alone in the charged silence — that fragile calm before departure, where every breath feels borrowed.

Zirel straightened, soldier once more.

"Let's go. We've only got a few hours before dusk. If you want to see Tonar, it's now or never."

Dylan nodded silently.

And as they stepped out of the tent, the daylight hit them full-on — a pale, cold gold.

The camp sprawled before them, alive with motion, shouts, steel, and whispered prayers.

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