Lyciah was running. Behind her, the echoes of blows rang through the forest. Seliane and Momoru were fighting.

  Then, suddenly, the trees opened up. Lyciah skidded to a halt. A small pond stretched out before her. The water was perfectly still, smooth as glass, the moon reflected across its surface. Silver. Beautiful.

  For a moment, she allowed herself to forget that she was fleeing. That someone was hunting her. That she could die.

  She took another step, drawn by the light. Then a voice spoke from ahead.

  “Dawnbringer.”

  Lyciah flinched at the title and jerked her head up.

  A man stood before her. He was tall—much taller than she was. His blond hair fell to his shoulders. He wore a white buttoned shirt, a black vest fitted neatly over it, and a long coat of the same color draped over his shoulders. Around his neck hung a thin silver chain with a small cross resting against his chest, discreet but impossible to overlook.

  He didn’t look like a demon. Nor a lumen. Not quite like an ordinary human either. There was something in the way he watched her that sent a chill down her spine.

  “Wh—”

  “The Dawnbringer,” he cut in calmly. “Here, on human soil. Why? Did Heliora send you?”

  At the sound of the title, Lyciah instinctively stepped back, clutching her hands to her chest. Who was this man—and how did he know who she was?

  “I… I didn’t…” she stammered, unable to string together a coherent sentence.

  He didn’t move closer. He didn’t raise his voice. His expression remained cold, brown eyes fixed steadily on her.

  “Don’t bother denying it. I can feel it in you. That power… you are my enemy.”

  Panic flooded her face. Lyciah thrust both arms out in front of her, waving her hands frantically from side to side while backing away in small, uncertain steps.

  “E–Enemy?” she said in a trembling voice. “What kind of enemy trips over the air itself?! Two seconds ago my dress got caught on a branch and I almost strangled myself!”

  The words tumbled out before her brain could stop them. Even to her own ears they sounded ridiculous, and she immediately wished she could swallow them back. The man watched her for a long moment without the faintest change in expression. Lyciah couldn’t tell if he was confused, annoyed, or simply surprised—and the absence of any reaction made her terribly nervous.

  “You’re not what I expected,” he said at last.

  Lyciah swallowed hard. The silence was unbearable, so she filled it again with words.

  “No… no, the queen didn’t send me. I ran away because… because I was going to get married. Well, I didn’t want to, because they were going to kill me afterward, and really, who wants to get married just to die? No one. I mean, maybe some strange people do, but I’m not strange… well, okay, maybe a little, because I’ve never been in the human world before and now I’m here and everything’s dark and there are bugs and—did you know penguins mate for life? For life! Can you imagine if a penguin had to marry just to die afterward? That would be… horrible… poor penguin…”

  Lyciah stopped halfway through the sentence with a small inhale, as if she had suddenly heard her own words. She clapped both hands over her mouth in embarrassment. Wonderful. Talking too much again. It always happened when her nerves took over.

  “…Penguins,” the man repeated in his deep voice.

  The silence that followed was uncomfortable. Painfully uncomfortable. Lyciah slowly lowered her hands, ready to apologize—ready to say I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, please don’t kill me—when a familiar voice shattered the moment.

  “Lyciah!”

  She spun around. Seliane burst through the trees, breathing hard, with Momoru right behind her. Both were bruised, but alive.

  “What are you doing just standing there?” Seliane asked, scanning the area.

  Lyciah pointed toward the pond, toward the exact place where the man had been.

  “I was talking to—”

  She turned. No one was there. No footprints. No movement. Only the pond and the moon reflected in its surface.

  “There’s nobody here,” Seliane said.

  A shiver ran down Lyciah’s spine. But they didn’t argue or ask questions. They simply ran until the forest opened and the world changed.

  A glow appeared in the distance between the trees. It wasn't the light of the moon or any creature of the forest: it was electric lights. A city. Humans. Civilization. A knot formed in Lyciah’s throat the moment she recognized it. It wasn’t a beautiful sight... it was salvation.

  Seliane was bleeding from one arm. Momoru could barely stay on his feet, yet he still managed a faint smile.

  “We made it…” he whispered.

  That night they slept in the cheapest hotel they could find.

  The building was gray and narrow and smelled of damp, as if the walls had spent decades soaking up rain. The neon sign at the entrance flickered with a soft electrical buzz, lighting the fa?ade only halfway. Seliane looked the place up and down and frowned with undisguised disgust.

  “Tell me we don’t have to pay extra if rats show up,” she muttered. “Because that’s the only thing this place is missing to complete the experience.”

  “It has… character,” Lyciah said with a forced smile.

  “It’s what I could afford,” Momoru defended himself. “Enjoy the luxury.”

  Lyciah laughed. For the first time since they’d fled, she laughed for real. Beside her, Seliane crossed her arms and cast Momoru a sideways look with a crooked smile, raising one eyebrow slightly as if she were seriously evaluating whether this particular “luxury” included a roof that wouldn’t collapse on them.

  The moment Lyciah slid beneath the sheets—still chilled from the winter night—the exhaustion that had been building for days finally overtook her. Sleep wrapped around her almost instantly.

  She dreamed of Elyndra. Of herself when she was still a little girl who had just lost her mother. She was sitting in the garden of her old home when she heard footsteps crunching softly over the gravel.

  “I hear there’s a very brave little girl here.”

  The voice was warm and gentle. Lyciah blinked and looked up: Momoru stood there. He approached unhurriedly and crouched down in front of her.

  “Do you remember me?” he asked with a tender smile.

  Lyciah gave a small nod, too shy to speak. Her cheeks were round and flushed, and her eyes shone as if tears were waiting their turn even though she stubbornly refused to let them fall. Sitting in silence, she clutched an old teddy bear to her chest, holding it like a shield.

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  Momoru searched inside his coat and pulled out a ribbon the color of a pale blue sky. She stared at it from behind her teddy bear, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she was allowed to touch something so beautiful.

  “Blue…” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he replied softly. “The color of the sky.”

  Momoru leaned forward and gently tied the ribbon in her hair, forming a bow at one side. The loose ends fell like two small wings.

  “One day,” he continued, “when all of this changes… you’ll fly beneath it. Free.”

  Lyciah pressed her lips together, tears threatening to spill.

  “No matter what they say, no matter if they try to cage you, there will always be a sky waiting for you.”

  She couldn’t hold it back any longer. Lyciah burst into tears. The sobs came out unevenly, in broken breaths, as she curled in on herself and hugged her teddy bear tightly, burying her face in its soft fur as if she could hide inside it.

  Momoru didn’t try to stop her. He didn’t tell her to calm down. He simply stayed there with her.

  “Cry as much as you want,” he said quietly. “As much as you need. Being brave doesn’t mean never crying.”

  The garden began to fade. Lyciah woke with a small jolt. For a few seconds she lay perfectly still, caught between dream and reality, trying to remember where she was. Then she saw it: the hotel ceiling. Damp stains formed strange shapes across the cracked paint—and one of them looked suspiciously like a duck. Pale morning light filtered through the window. Somewhere in the distance came the steady murmur of passing cars. The human world. And the unforgettable charm of that hotel.

  She lifted a hand to her hair. The blue ribbon rested on the bedside table. With a small smile she couldn’t quite stop, she tied it back into her hair.

  Momoru slept peacefully on his side. Seliane, meanwhile, lay sprawled face-down across the bed.

  “…this doesn’t meet health regulations…” Seliane muttered in her sleep, frowning even while unconscious. “I’m reporting this hotel…”

  Lyciah watched them for a moment. Then she carefully got out of bed.

  For years she had lived behind walls. Books, stories, and descriptions were all she knew of the human world. Cities, streets, ordinary lives she had only ever imagined. Now it was right there, just beyond the door. One step away. She told herself it would only be a moment. Just a quick look. Nothing would happen. She wanted to see the human world she had always dreamed of with her own eyes.

  The moment she stepped outside, the cold morning air wrapped around her.

  The human city wasn’t grand or intimidating the way she had imagined. People walked past in a hurry. Others yawned. A group of friends laughed as if nothing in the world mattered. A woman opened her bakery. A man walked his dog. Everything moved around her without paying the slightest attention, as if she weren’t an anomaly at all.

  She wandered without direction. Stopped in front of a shop window filled with clothes and touched the glass lightly with her fingertips. Farther down the street, a car horn blared and she jumped, heart racing. She stepped aside quickly, then felt a little foolish. Still, she smiled.

  That was when she heard a quiet sob. A small boy sat on the ground, one knee smeared with blood.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” Lyciah asked gently as she approached.

  The boy looked up and nodded, eyes watery. Without thinking, she knelt in front of him. The wound wasn’t serious, but it was bleeding enough to frighten anyone.

  “It’s alright,” she murmured. “You’ll see.”

  A gentle warmth blossomed in Lyciah’s palm. White light spread over the boy’s knee, and beneath its glow the wound slowly began to close until it disappeared completely. The boy’s eyes widened.

  “How did—?”

  Lyciah pulled her hand back and pressed a finger to her lips, giving him a conspiratorial look as if sharing a secret.

  “Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

  The boy nodded enthusiastically as Lyciah began to stand, brushing her hands together absentmindedly.

  Then she felt it. A cold sensation slid down her spine, like a gaze locking onto her from across the street. She turned her head. On the opposite side, among the ordinary crowd of pedestrians, she saw them: lumens. And they were staring straight at her. Lyciah’s pulse spiked and, without a word, she ran. Behind her, the boy watched her go with a confused frown.

  Lyciah turned corners, dodged people, heard footsteps behind her. Fear clouded her thoughts, but her body reacted on instinct. Her eyes scanned the surrounding buildings. The nearest one had a low roof. Reachable.

  Lyciah clenched her teeth and leapt upward. For a second nothing happened. Her body felt heavy, as though something invisible were dragging her down. The effort twisted her face with strain. Then, finally, the air held her. It wasn’t graceful flight—just an awkward surge that lifted her high enough to reach the roof.

  She landed clumsily, sliding across the damp tiles until she ended up on her knees. For a moment she stayed there, breathing hard, heart racing.

  Slowly she stood and moved to the edge of the roof, peering down. No one. It had worked. She closed her eyes briefly, adrenaline buzzing through her veins.

  And just as she began to calm down, a voice behind her made her jump again.

  “So it’s true… you’re running from Heliora.”

  Lyciah spun around. He stood there: Tall, imposing. The same shoulder-length blond hair. The same presence. The same man from the pond.

  She stepped back instinctively—and slipped. For one terrifying instant she thought she was about to fall off the roof. Then an arm caught her, firm and steady. She didn’t even have time to scream. The stranger lifted her back onto the roof with insulting ease, as if she weighed nothing at all. Lyciah stared at him, speechless.

  “Y-you again?” she stammered. “D-don’t sneak up on me like that… you nearly scared me to death… well, and nearly killed me with the fall too.”

  He still hadn’t released her arm. He watched her with cold, calculating focus, as though assessing her.

  “You don’t look like an enemy,” he said. “But you don’t look ordinary either. That magic you used to heal the boy…”

  He let go of her and studied her with those same cool eyes.

  “Where did you learn it?”

  He had seen her. Lyciah drew a sharp breath and stepped away from him so quickly her heel brushed the roof’s edge again. She froze. Then made a small, awkward hop forward, moving closer to him again and regaining her balance before gravity decided to join the conversation.

  Falling once was bad luck. Having to be saved by him twice in a row would have been humiliating.

  “I… well…” she murmured.

  A nervous laugh escaped her before she could finish.

  “Lumens can’t heal,” he said without emotion. “And demons even less so. Yet you did it effortlessly.”

  Lyciah lowered her gaze briefly, as if gathering courage before facing him again. When she finally looked up, his presence felt overwhelming; she had to tilt her head back just to meet his eyes.

  “My mother taught me…”

  For the first time, something shifted in his expression.

  “Misaha…”

  Lyciah stiffened at the sound of her mother’s name and tried to redirect the conversation.

  “But it was nothing, really! I just wanted to help the boy. Anyone would’ve helped him… well, maybe not anyone, because hardly anyone can heal wounds like that… but… I can…” She bit her lip. “Oh. I’m talking too much again.”

  He didn’t react to her rambling.

  “Is a girl like you truly the Dawnbringer?” He paused for a moment, as if considering her. “At least this story was shorter. And noticeably lacking in penguins.”

  Lyciah froze. Then she buried her face in her hands in mortification.

  “What?! No—you can’t remember that! It was… it was a nervous moment, that’s all!”

  He simply looked at her. Silence settled again. Lyciah twisted a strand of hair around her finger, silently counting to five so she wouldn’t start talking about how incredibly slippery Antarctic ice is and how penguins slide on their bellies to move faster.

  “How old are you?” he asked after a moment.

  Lyciah blinked, thrown by the sudden question.

  “What?”

  “Your age.”

  “E-eighteen.”

  He nodded solemnly. “That explains the clumsiness.”

  Lyciah stared at him, mouth open, slowly processing whether that had just been an insult or merely a clinical observation. Before she could respond, he continued.

  “At eighteen, I had already executed traitors and memorized the Instructions of Shuruppak.”

  Lyciah blinked again. She lifted both hands to her mouth—but a small giggle slipped out anyway. He watched her without the slightest change in expression.

  “Do you find that amusing?”

  “No!” she blurted immediately. “I mean… maybe a little, but I'm not laughing at you, I swear! It’s just… people don’t usually say things like that so seriously. And I respect seriousness, I really do. It’s just that sometimes… when I’m nervous… I laugh. It’s a body thing. Like a tic. A tic of the soul! Is that a thing? Well, if it isn’t, I just invented it.”

  He didn’t react. Didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Lyciah felt a cold sweat break out. And she had to fill the silence again. As always.

  “And it’s not like I laugh at executions. That would be awful! I would never laugh at—well, maybe at the execution of a very corrupt politician, but—no! I don’t mean you killed people for fun! I’m sure there were reasons. Just reasons. Do you believe in justice, right? Because I do. I love justice. Do you like justice? Or do you prefer revenge? NO! You don’t have to answer that. I’m being annoying. I’m… I’m having a breakdown, aren’t I?”

  Absolute silence. Lyciah lowered her head miserably, wishing she could vanish. But she still couldn’t stop talking. She wanted to fix the situation—even if she only managed to embarrass herself further.

  “That thing… the Instructions of Shuruppak… what is it? It sounds… really, really ancient.”

  She looked up timidly. He was still watching her in silence, which startled her.

  “I’m not saying you’re old!”

  She covered her face again, horrified with herself. A couple seconds passed. Then he finally spoke.

  “One of the earliest collections of proverbs written by mankind. Shuruppak was a king. Instructions for living, for ruling… and for dying with dignity.”

  Lyciah listened, wide-eyed. Her eyes lit up with almost childlike fascination, and without realizing it she leaned a little closer.

  “That… that sounds incredible.”

  He simply nodded, expression unchanged. Flushed red all the way to her ears, Lyciah lifted her head again to look at the strange man—so impossibly stoic. At last, she too fell silent.

  “Between forests and rooftops… I met a strange man. I don’t know his name, or what he wants from me… yet here I am, talking with him about penguins and the Instructions of Shuruppak as if it were the most normal thing in the world. It sounds absurd, almost ridiculous… but somehow I feel calm in a way I can’t explain. As if, in the middle of all this chaos, this ridiculous moment belonged to me—and only me. Maybe it means nothing. Or maybe it means everything. Only time will tell.”