A vision played in Soren's mind. One that he was very familiar with.

Beyond the fabric of space itself… Past the endless fog and the stretch of infinity, a colossal mountain could be seen. Sparkling and shining, like a devine relic placed upon the mortal world. Its summit stretching higher than the very stars themselves.

Mount Tolarion…

He was once again here. Facing the inevitable. Reminded of his goal.

He watched in silence for an eternity… as the fog churned around him. The gap between where he stood and the gargantuan landmark beginning to shrink, first slowly, then in an instant. Soren was flying closer and closer toward that distant place, as if his very imagination was showing its desire…

It didn't take long for him to pass through the infinite fog, landing before the foot of the mountain… Snow and ice greeted him—chilling him to the bone. And laced in between the sheets of white were incandescent orbs of light. Stars filled with beauty and grace spun endlessly everywhere he looked. Some were descending from the mountain itself, as if it was a grand river carrying the celestials down from the heavens.

The moment Soren noticed their existence, all sense of fear and confusion was gone from his ethereal form. Not even the cold mattered. He began to reach for the closest star… It was a desire he could not hold back. Like a moth to a flame. And just as he could feel the coldness of the air dancing on the tip of his fingers, the vision ended.

Reality shattered around him like glass—a bright light engulfed him whole. Then, a voice reached out to him through the void:

"The whispers of history cling to the shadows, yet seek the light of remembrance."

It echoed endlessly through the darkness as more and more chaos brewed in his mind. A sensation of being both lost and known—of being fulfilled and empty… The boundaries of his mind felt as if they were being stretched on either side.

Then, he awoke.

Soren's eyes snapped open. Fighting through the panic, he gasped for air. It felt as if he had been submerged underwater this entire time.

"You're awake?" Said a rather familiar voice. Soren's vision was still rather blurry, but he could finally see where he was. Staring up at the vibrant night sky, the brilliance of the Silver-Eyed Moon stared back at him quietly. Just like on his first day in Yarian, its grace remained the same—a shining white pearl in a sea of darkness. Carelessly observing the lives of many, oblivious to their struggles and pain.

Aside from the lunar light, a flickering flame could be felt nearby. Soren tilted his head slightly and noticed a campfire. Sitting nearby on a rotten log was Myrin who looked far more disheveled than he had ever been. Though, even while covered in dirt, a jewel was still a jewel. His handsomeness annoyed him slightly.

The Elven Songster noticed his gaze and smiled. "I expected you to wake up later, but I am glad it happened now. Come—join me for a meal."

Soren pushed through the numbness and stood up. His temples continued to pulse in pain—the migraine had not left him.

"How long… was I out?"

"Two weeks," Myrin replied casually.

Soren's lips twitched slightly, but he refrained from saying anything in the end. He frowned while massaging his temples:

"That long?... How is that possible…"

Myrin rotated the food above the fire then sighed. "It's not that outlandish. You pushed yourself too far during the fight again Rodrick."

It was then that Soren finally started to remember everything. The heist, the flight maneuvers, the damage incurred… He had pushed far past his limits. From a normal framework, none of these were things a 1st Circle magus with only a few weeks of experience should have been able to do.

And yet, he was. But the cost of it was also great.

Tazzith did warn that overusing His anima would cause major side effects… I guess this is what he meant. This wasn't even mentioning how much he relied on [Eyes of the Fairy] to navigate the twists in space…

He reached for one of the meat skewers above the flame then sighed. "So where the hell are we? Clearly not in the dungeon anymore?"

Myrin nodded. "After you passed out, I took it upon myself to get us out. Though, that was easier said than done. For a while, we ended up lost inside cobblestone halls. I had to sparingly use the Forgotten Paths dust to figure out where to go."

Soren nodded. He expected that to happen. After all, without his abilities, navigating the dungeon would normally be difficult. But that was only a part of the issue. The other part was that they had no proper path to go through. Rodrick had promised to guide them through the demilitarized zone through a shortcut only he knew of, but obviously, that plan had to be scrapped entirely…

"Wait a second," Soren's eyes widened after realizing something. "You went through the dungeon alone… Did you get injured?"

Myrin shook his head. "No. Nothing attacked us. Likely due to that thing around your neck." He pointed at him. Soren followed his gaze—he noticed a mysterious crimson jewel layered in gold… A strange darkness was pulsing inside.

"The Blood Amulet…" He mumbled. Indeed, with its abilities, no creature would ever dare to attack them. That made navigating the labyrinth a lot easier for Myrin.

"In fact, you waking up right now is kind of perfect timing," Myrin said while chewing on some meat. "I just made it out of the dungeon a few hours ago."

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Soren tilted his head slightly in confusion. Seeing this, Myrin chuckled and pointed behind him. There, he spotted something strange. A wooden door, standing alone with its frame. It looked both comical and eerie.

"A Dungeon Door?"

Myrin nodded. "Yes. I am unsure which one it is. We might have crossed the border, or perhaps not at all… I need your help to find out."

"I see…"

Indeed, their plans didn't go exactly as they had thought they would go. But it also wasn't a complete mess either. For one, Soren's recurring dreams of Moun Tolarion confirmed to him one thing—that they had made it closer to that desired goal.

Every time they get further North, the dreams become more and more vivid… As if their influence was growing. And this time, it wasn't just a dream—he heard a voice call out to him…

The Whispers of History… A phrase he had heard countless times.

No one knew of its origins, yet its fame was reflected everywhere. Whether you spoke in Duvalli, Yasini, Vinuan or something else entirely did not matter. It was a phrase that transcended both language and culture.

Even though its meaning was rather obvious—that the echoes of the past would one day regain their significance—it was often taken for granted. There were countless interpretations spanning multiple eras and nations, with no way of verifying which one was correct…

Regardless of which meaning was right, Soren had always felt like it was important. After all, it was the first thing Mr. Unknown had said to him in his letter. And now, once again, it was being echoed… In his dreams, no less.

Could it be tied to what lies at the summit? The Whispers of History… They seek to be remembered…

The answer I will obtain?!

It was a logical conclusion to come to. But he had no proof, nor did he understand it could even mean for his future. Why would the answer to that question reveal the whispers of history?

"What are you thinking about so deeply?" Myrin asked casually while finishing his skewer. Hearing his question, Soren thought for a moment, then sighed.

"I have a question for you."

"Hm?" He lifted his brow. Soren hesitated for a moment, but decided to say it:

"Are you not going to ask me why I needed to obtain the Blood Amulet?"

Myrin looked into his eyes for a bit. The silence between them stretched on until he finally chuckled—placing his hair behind his ear. "I thought you told me to trust you in making independent choices? I am doing just that."

"I see…" Soren looked at the ground. "But this time, it might be better to tell you." Soren peered up at Myrin—his expression turning serious:

"I am contracted to a Daemon."

Myrin almost spit out his food. "W-hat?!"

At that moment, Tazzith's voice came through, "Are you sure this is the right decision?"

Soren ignored HIs question and continued to address Myrin. He retold the story from the very beginning—how his arrival at the Subterranean Shunning Grounds was orchestrated by Silmar who was planning to use him to form a connection with Tazzith. And how he was able to retain a message from the ancient demon inside his Soul Weapon without anyone noticing.

"I see…" Myrin mumbled to himself. His frown growing more and more pained by the second. "So that's why… That's why you had so much anima during the fight. So you decided to form a connection with this… Tazzith entity yourself, rather than let Him strike a deal with Silmar?"

Soren nodded.

"So then why tell me this now?"

Soren lowered his gaze once more. After a while, he answered:

"Because there is no way of hiding it any more. Now that the Blossom Sword Flower is after us, the day She finds us—She will immediately discover Tazzith's existence. And I prefer that both of us are aware of these risks before ever engaging this enemy."

Myrin didn't know what to say. He knew that his companion likely had a lot of secrets, but this was not one that he expected… An Ancient Demon—one that was said hold the title of Sovereign.

"He is the reason why we needed this do steal the amulet. That item used to belong to Him and He requires it for His escape from the Subterranean Shunning Grounds."

"You hope to free Him?" Myrin's eyes widened.

Soren confirmed with a nod. "Indeed. That is also why I wished to tell you now. As an elf and as someone who follows the Flower Maiden, the daemons are your enemy. Aiding me with this… It might be sacrilegious.

"If you wish to separate from me, you can. You don't have to continue this journey with me if you don't want to."

Myrin thought long and hard. The cold breeze of the night blew across the grass field. Crickets resumed their quiet song. And fireflies danced across the distant prairies. Nature continued its slow melody as the pair of magi thought over their futures.

Eventually, Myrin shook his head and sighed. "I am not leaving."

"Can I ask why?"

"Because my identity as an elf was discarded long ago… I've retained my unending love and devotion to the Flower Maiden, but… This world—it has been mired for far too long. The mistress' goal—the coming of a new age… It must be heralded. Even if the path ahead will turn me into a demon, I cannot stray away.

"That may perhaps be my fate."

Hearing his words, Soren couldn't help but laugh. For him, this journey had been forced upon him by fate. His own misdeeds at the Crimson Ritual had come back to haunt him in this form. Was that not what both the mistress and Guntharion concluded?

And yet, it was also a path for which he needed to walk regardless. To obtain the answers he so desires. Answers to a question that has plagued him since his arrival on this world.

As these thoughts played endlessly in his mind, Soren noticed something cold falling on his nose. He looked up to see more and more tiny flakes falling from the sky.

"Snow?"

Myrin chuckled, "We really have crossed the border…"

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