The Earth Core Green Flame had not yet extinguished.

Yet instead of heat, a warm, gentle breeze spread outward from the scorched ground–soft, steady, carrying the faint scent of grass and ash together. It passed through the surviving candidates like an embrace, easing tension from stiff shoulders and shallow breaths.

The grasslands exhaled.

Azriel still held his daughter.

Tightly–too tightly at first–his arms locked as if the world might tear her away the moment he loosened his grip. Tears slid down his face without restraint, soaking into her hair, his shoulders trembling in quiet aftershocks.

The posture of a Chief–unyielding, feared, absolute–melted within that embrace.

No one interrupted.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the strain eased. Furrowed brows relaxed. Tightened hands loosened. Breaths deepened. The moment stretched, unguarded and fragile, allowed to exist without urgency.

A soft hand rested against Aizrel's shoulder from behind.

She didn't turn immediately.

She already knew.

"Mother…"

Hylisi pulled her into an embrace just as firm, just as desperate, fingers gripping as though imprinting proof of life into flesh.

"Are you hurt?" she asked breathlessly. "Why would you risk this much? Why didn't you ask for another plan?" Her voice tumbled forward, one question colliding with the next. "And–do you even have a spare dress?"

Aizrel blinked–then laughed softly.

"Mother, calm down." She stepped back and turned in a slow circle, spreading her arms. "Look. I'm unscathed."

Hylisi didn't answer.

She reached out, seized Aizrel's hand, and pulled her back into another embrace–this one trembling.

"Never," she said hoarsely, "do such madness again."

The others instinctively gave them space.

Time slowed.

No one spoke.

Even the grass seemed to settle, blades bending but no longer swaying. The echoes of battle faded completely, leaving only breath, warmth, and the quiet certainty of survival.

For the first time since entering the Borderland, the grasslands finally felt welcoming.

No one counted threats.

No one measured distance.

They simply stood there.

Alive.

Azriel's grip finally loosened–not because he forced it, but because his body no longer needed to cling. Aizrel remained within reach, solid and breathing. Hylisi's hand stayed warm against her back.

This moment was real.

Not borrowed.

Not temporary.

Then–

A light tap touched Aizrel's hand.

She turned.

Kiaria stood behind her.

Before instinct could react–before warning could form–his open palm struck forward.

Thud.

The impact landed squarely against her abdomen, aimed directly at her spiritual core.

Shock rippled outward.

Hylisi and Azriel both stepped forward instantly–but stopped.

Neither raised a weapon.

Neither spoke.

Trust held them still.

Aizrel staggered back half a step, breath leaving her lungs in a sharp exhale. Her eyes widened–not in pain, but in surprise.

Something lifted.

A weight she hadn't known she was carrying vanished all at once, leaving behind an unfamiliar lightness. Her shoulders slackened. Her pulse slowed.

She inhaled.

Deeply.

"Greetings, Patron," Azriel said, bowing his head slightly. There was no doubt in his voice–only respect. "Why did you strike her?"

Kiaria's lips curved faintly.

Then his gaze returned to Aizrel.

The smile vanished.

"Aizrel," he said calmly, Eyes of Insight fixed upon her, "do you acknowledge your mistake?"

She hesitated.

"…I do," she said slowly. "And yet… I also don't."

Kiaria nodded once.

"Obsession is a curse," he said. "When left unchecked, it sharpens purpose–until nothing remains but the blade."

His hand lowered.

"I cleansed the residue of Evil obsession from your core. Not the intent. The corruption."

Aizrel straightened and bowed deeply.

"I understand, Patron. Thank you."

"There was a painless method," Kiaria continued. "Do you know why I chose pain?"

She answered without looking up. "Because I gambled with my life."

Silence.

"If my gaze had not stunned Gen Jin," Kiaria said evenly, "would the outcome have been the same?"

"…No."

"Good."

His tone softened–not approving, not condemning.

"Your plan was effective. Bleeding to trigger Golden Yang. Soul release timed with equilibrium collapse. All valid." His eyes narrowed slightly. "But real battles end quickly. Do not assume an enemy will indulge your resolve."

He turned slightly, letting the words settle.

"You survived because Gen Jin was drowning in obsession."

Aizrel lifted her head.

"I will be more strategic next time," she said firmly.

Kiaria studied her for a long moment.

Then nodded.

"See that you are."

The wind continued to move through the grasslands–slow, even, unhurried.

One by one, they sat down.

Weapons were set aside. Backs met the earth. For the first time in what felt like weeks, no one was standing on edge, no one waiting for the next calamity. They lay there, staring at the sky, drawing deep breaths as if relearning how to breathe.

Aizrel remained standing for a moment longer.

Not because she had to–but because stillness felt unfamiliar after the storm. Her fingers flexed once, then relaxed. Only then did she sit beside her parents, legs folded beneath her, posture unguarded.

Azriel watched her closely.

Not like a Chief instead like a father confirming, again and again, that what he was seeing was real.

"You're breathing normally," he said quietly.

Aizrel smiled faintly.

Then–

someone laughed.

It spread.

Soft at first, then louder, until all of them were laughing together–unrestrained, unsynchronized, the kind of laughter that came only after surviving something no one wanted to remember in detail.

Mu Long stretched, arms flung wide, then sat up abruptly, propping himself on one hand. His gaze slid toward Aizrel, mischief already lighting his face.

"Aizrel," he said, grinning, "you hid a huge secret from us."

She raised an eyebrow.

"As compensation," he continued smoothly, "and since this is clearly a family reunion now, you and the Chief owe us a proper treat when we're done here."

"Oh?" Hylisi said lightly, turning her head toward him. "I don't think just the two of them will be enough to fill your stomach."

She smiled.

"Why not include me? I'm family too."

Mu Long clicked his tongue exaggeratedly. "Tch. You–I haven't approved you yet."

Ru scoffed. Yi nodded solemnly beside him, clearly on the Chief's side.

Hylisi crossed her arms, unfazed. "Who said I needed your approval?" she replied calmly. "My daughter has already crowned me her mother. And as for being the Chief's wife–"

She glanced sideways at Azriel.

"That's settled too."

Her smile sharpened just enough to sting.

"If you don't want my treat," she added pleasantly, "that just means less effort for me."

Mu Long's grin froze.

"Hey–hey," he said quickly, waving a hand. "I was joking. Completely joking."

He leaned back again, laughing. "We're all looking forward to your marriage. And, you know–future little heirs."

Silence.

Then–

Hylisi's face flushed crimson.

So did Azriel's.

Aizrel looked between them, visibly entertained.

Mu Long laughed harder. "Ah. Worth it."

He wiped his eyes, then glanced at Aizrel again, his tone shifting slightly–lighter, but sincere.

"You know," he said, "some of the things you do… the way you speak, the way you decide things–it really resembles Ailse."

He paused.

"My mistake for not noticing sooner."

Then he tilted his head toward Azriel. "Honestly, how did you miss it for this long? You deserve punishment for that."

Aizrel nodded immediately. "Agreed."

Mu Long burst out laughing. "I'm really looking forward to watching that when we get back to the tavern."

Azriel sighed.

Somewhere deep.

Kiaria, standing a short distance away, watched the scene quietly.

Poor Chief, he thought dryly. Caught between two women like that… survival is uncertain.

Eventually, the laughter softened.

They stood again, brushing grass from their clothes, breaths steady, minds clearer.

Only then did it hit them.

In the comfort of relief, in the warmth of laughter, they had all forgotten something.

Something important.

The rest did not last long.

One by one, they rose from the grasslands, stretching stiff limbs, shaking off the lingering weight of exhaustion. Muscles complained softly, but breath came easier now. The world felt… stable again.

They took a step forward.

Then–

every spatial ring vibrated.

Not violently.

Not urgently.

As if answering a call.

All except two.

Yi's ring remained still.

So did Aizrel's.

The others froze instinctively, glancing at one another as faint pulses of light flickered along their rings. The vibrations grew stronger, synchronized, tugging subtly–guiding rather than forcing.

No one resisted.

They followed.

The pull led them only a short distance before stopping abruptly. Without instruction, they found themselves standing in a rough circle, facing inward, boots pressing into flattened grass.

Then the rings reacted.

From each vibrating ring, a trial token slipped free–one by one–rising into the air and hovering within the circle. They rotated slowly, humming with restrained authority.

From the ground beneath them, something answered.

The earth parted soundlessly.

From the center of the circle, a new token rose–distinct, heavier in presence, its surface marked with unfamiliar runes.

Yi exhaled sharply.

"Shit… we almost forgot the main thing."

He shook his head once, half-amused, half-irritated.

"Lucky it decided to remind us on its own."

Aizrel frowned slightly.

She looked around at their faces–recognition, acceptance, resignation passing between them–before her confusion deepened.

Before she could ask–

The seventh token drifted forward.

Straight toward her.

It stopped inches from her chest.

Aizrel's eyes widened.

Her name was engraved upon it.

Not carved crudely–but etched with deliberate clarity, as if the token itself acknowledged her presence.

She turned instinctively.

Yi had no token.

Neither did Hylisi.

Yi noticed her gaze and spoke calmly, "Ru and I share one. Twin registration." He lifted his token slightly. "Team trial."

Hylisi merely smiled faintly.

"I'm not a candidate," she said simply. "No trial awaits me."

The remaining tokens hovered before their respective owners.

Then–

Light unfolded.

Words appeared in the air before Aizrel, familiar in form, merciless in tone.

You have passed the Unfiltered Assessment.

The letters shifted, reforming with mechanical precision.

Trial Tokens are temporary authorization for candidates who endured the Grassland Judgment.

With this token, you may proceed toward the Final Assessment.

A pause.

Then–

Each token bears a number.

Seek the Sword and Shield marked with the same designation.

Find them by your own means.

The air tightened.

When Sword and Shield are united, the route will be revealed.

A final warning followed–cold, stripped of emotion.

Along the path, Trial Beasts may appear.

Those who defeat them may enter the Hall of the Association.

Those who retreat out of fear–will not return.

The words faded.

Silence settled.

Not heavy.

Not comforting.

Decisive.

Aizrel exhaled slowly, fingers curling around her token as its weight fully registered.

"So…" she muttered, a crooked smile tugging faintly at her lips, exhaustion finally catching up to resolve.

"The trial isn't over yet."

She looked ahead–toward paths not yet visible, toward battles not yet shaped.

"…Damn."

The grasslands remained quiet.

But somewhere beyond them, the Final Assessment had already begun waiting.

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