"Should humanity exist?"

The question echoed across the rather empty cave, propagating with the howls of raging wind and hailing snow… It was a simple question, just as Soren had said it was. But that was the point. With its simplicity came a rather ominous assumption—a reality that shed into who Soren really was as a person.

Although Myrin had suspected many things about his companion, this was not one of them.

"Although I say humanity," Soren explained, "It would be more accurate to use 'self conscious beings' as a descriptor."

Myrin nervously chuckled. "Right. You did say the world you came from only had humans… Elves and other races were seen as stories of legend."

He leaned back against the wall and sighed. The silence grew from there as both wanted to keep quiet, knowing that the conversation had to continue…

"For the longest time, you see…" Soren said, "I dreamed of seeing a world past the one I lived through. A world where hidden motives didn't fuel our every action, and where our thoughts could be freely exchanged without masks and disguises."

"But that is a fantasy," Myrin retorted. To which, Soren nodded with a warm smile.

"Indeed it is, my friend. A fantasy born from the wishes of someone too naive to know better… Or perhaps, simply too deluded to accept reality."

As the silence stretched, he heard Myrin sigh. "I disagree. There is nothing wrong with such a wish. Even if it may be a bit childish."

"Oh?" Soren smiled. "Why is that?"

"Because it is these wishes that drive us forward, isn't that right?" He chuckled. "You asked whether humanity should exist—isn't that asserting that you are unsure? That you wish to know?

"As ironic as it is to say, that is what makes us human. Or in my case, 'human-like'?" He couldn't help but laugh at his own assertion.

Soren shook his head. "Apologies. My phrasing did come off as human supremacist. Humans aren't the benchmark of conscious thought."

"No worries, I know you didn't mean it that way." He rubbed his chin, "Still, though, I am indeed very fascinated."

Soren's brow lifted, "Fascinated? By what?"

"By your world. Earth, was it? It seems interesting… When you were experimenting with [Cards of Insight], I was able to look into a few scenes from that world… All of it looked so… alien?"

Soren chuckled, "That's what I felt coming to Yarian…"

"Then I guess that feeling is mutual," he chuckled.

"Ah but I do have to correct you one one thing," Soren retorted. "I am not human myself."

Hearing this, Myrin frowned slightly. "You're talking about being a Fairy, right?"

Soren was surprised. He didn't expect that response. "Yes… How did you know?"

"The Saintess of Dreams, Sylia. She mentioned that your anima felt 'familiar.' I suppose it is for this reason that she decided to allow you to participate in the Runic Acquisition Festival."

Soren couldn't help but chuckle to himself. Is it that detectable? For a while now, an internal struggle had been brewing within him. A part of him felt happy to be classified as 'something other' than human. After all, he despised humanity and its hypocritical ways of living. Its obsession with power even at the cost of their own kind's survival.

So many systems within human society were flawed, even if the solution to them was easy to find… All for the sake of individuality, rather than helping the collective. A society this flawed… He didn't understand why it even had the right to exist.

Perhaps that is why The Secrets of The Records ritual sent me to Yarian. An answer to a question like 'Should humanity exist?' was not something it could answer for me…

And yet, although he was now a being outside the strict definition of 'human,' a yearning within his soul was growing… Like a flame of madness desperate to spread its embers. To fester and grow… He—as hypocritical as it was to say—missed being human. Such a contradictory emotion was at the basis of his hatred for humanity.

"You're right. I am a fairy. Whatever that means. Even Tazzith, the ancient demon I am contracted with, said so."

"I see…" Myrin shook his head. "Although that is the case, you also seem to not fully understand what that means, right?"

Soren nodded.

"Then that's fine!"

"Huh?" Soren was surprised to hear that kind of response.

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"Think about it," Myrin reasserted, "Does it really matter whether you're human, elf or something else? You're still Soren Andersen. Labels don't define who we are fully, anyway. I may be an elf, but I am also Unblessed. Many nobles in Yadria still regard me as a disgrace. Some even reject my elf identity—saying that I am a fake.

"Should that really stop me for being who I am?"

His response was genuine. Soren couldn't help but shake his head. "Sometimes you act mature—other times you turn into a child. You truly confuse me, Myrin."

"I get that a lot" He shrugged with a smile. "An artist can't be creative without their inner child, after all."

Soren chuckled. "Indeed…"

Taking out his water canister, Myrin took a sip, then handed it to Soren who did the same. The fire crackled loudly as the last of the drywood burned to ash. Night dragged on beneath the relentless storm, so the pair decided it was best to ready their beds.

Using the remaining warm charcoal, they buried it beneath their sleeping spots to preserve what little heat they could find in this frigid hell. Darkness flooded the cave once again as they both slept uncomfortably on their backs, staring at the dripping ceiling.

"Say," Soren heard Myrin's voice from next to him. "Speaking of the Runic Acquisition Festival… Do you have a plan for when the Blossom Sword Flower arrives?"

Soren chuckled, "No."

"... I guessed you would say that…"

"She is said to be at the level of an Eidolon. Comparable to a Tier 6 Phantasm in strength. She had once fought a battle against Tazzith which ended in severe reductions to Her strength. Her status as an Ascended Grade spirit was revoked."

"Still…" Myrin insisted, "Do we even know when she will arrive? It has been roughly fourteen days since that incident… What could be taking Her so long to find us?"

Soren remained silent for a moment, then exhaled deeply. "I don't know…"

"But I do." A rather chilling voice entered his mind, startling him to wakefulness.

"Tazzith?" Soren asked while frowning.

Hearing this, Myrin turned his neck slightly, "Is that demon speaking to you again?"

Soren nodded. "Yes…" He decided to address Him directly, "What do you mean by that, Tazzith?"

"It is simple, really. Did you think that a being like Her would remain undetected in the mortal world? Her actions are clear to any Daemon observing these Nights of Twilight. Likely, She is busy fighting Her way to us at the moment."

"Are you saying that your fellow Daemon spirits are trying to stop Her from reaching us?"

"Indeed…" Tazzith chuckled. "But don't be mistaken—those bastards aren't doing this to help us. It's just that their hatred of the fae compels them to stand in Her way… Even the daemon spirits that dislike me would rather Help me than allow Her to gain the amulet."

Soren explained to Myrin what Tazzith had told him. Hearing his words, the Elven Songster couldn't help but frown.

"There were indeed legends that spoke of this… That the Nights of Twilight almost always became a battleground within the Beyond between the two groups of spirits. A war that has been raging in secret since the War of Swords more than a millenia ago… I didn't think it was real."

Soren chuckled, "Most of what people call legends and myth hold markings of the truth." And in a way, that saying also extends to Earth…

He wondered just how many of those ancient stories he used to dream about were actually true? After all, the Mysterious World exists. He refused to believe that a supernatural entity like Scribe of Worlds was an outlier…

I will return there someday… That bastard Unknown will pay for everything…

As these words churned in his mind, the last seams of consciousness finally slipped away amongst the flowing breeze from outside the cave. Sleep finally overwhelmed him and a familiar dream returned once again…

Soren's eyes fluttered to life from the blinding light of the sun. The stillness of the world outside their cave was obvious, regardless of how much snow had piled up before them. The snow storm had fortunately ended…

Stretching, Soren stood up then shook Myrin—who was sleeping next to him—awake. The lazy elf muttered a groggy "five more minutes" on repeat until Soren finally gave up. With a sigh, he turned his attention to the thick blanket of snow that had piled on over the course of the night.

"What a drag…" He uttered to himself.

Being a magi was supposed to mean zero manual work, yet here he was, shoveling away white powder until his limbs began to ache. The strain brought back memories of the winter days in New York… The amount of chores he needed to do for his grandparents back then couldn't be underestimated.

Rodrick was right… I should really do some exercising…

As the thought looped through his mind, the outside world slowly came into view—he had cleared most of the snow from the entrance.

And that's when he saw it.

Something truly incredible.

Something that neither he nor Myrin had ever come close to suspecting.

Outside the cave stood an endless array of statues—towering in forms, each larger than the grandest of buildings in Celestine. Some depicted men, others women, and some even showcased strange and mythical creatures… Despite the snow that caked their surfaces, the craftsmanship remained immaculate, as if time itself respected them enough to avoid their erosion.

It was as if he was staring at living beings rather than sculptures. Every detail, from the folds of their robes to the emotion in their eyes had been carved with haunting precision.

No, this wasn't just dedication. It was fervor. As if the craftsmen were willing to burn their lives away at creating each one.

"What… is this…"

Then, another realization hit him—sharper than the cold wind.

They were never in a cave.

The 'cave' was merely the hollowed interior of one of those colossal statues.

The storm… It had concealed everything.

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