Out of Avras main street, far beyond where the polished stone pavement of the city faded into dirt and gravel, the terrain dipped into a quiet, secluded slope. Here, tucked away among the dense canopy of trees, stood a small, unassuming wooden structure. A clinic. It was old, the timber stained dark by decades of rain and sun, blending so perfectly into the forest that one might miss it entirely if they didn't know where to look.

  The world outside was waking up. The morning air was crisp, still carrying the biting chill of the night. Birdsong trickled faintly through the glass windowpanes—a delicate, chirping melody that felt jarringly cheerful against the heavy, stagnant atmosphere inside. But inside, the air was thick. It didn't just smell of sickness. In one of the dimly lit back rooms, a plain iron bed rested against the wall.

  On it lay the girl who had defied death. Claval. She had been wrapped again and again in violet healing light, layer upon layer of magic knitting her. Now, the light had faded to a dull hum, leaving her exposed. Her silver hair was matted with sweat, clinging damply to her pale forehead like wet silk. Her skin was translucent, the blue veins visible beneath the surface. Her lips were cracked and white, drained of all color.

  But her chest rose and fell. Hah… Hah… It was faint. Shallow. A fragile rhythm that threatened to stop at any moment. But it was there. It was the undeniable proof that the spark of life still clung to her body, refusing to be extinguished.

  Morning light began to filter through the lace curtains, casting long, swaying shadows across the white sheet. As if stirred by that gentle, encroaching warmth, a change occurred. A faint, trembling breath escaped the blankets, different from the rhythmic sleep. Her long eyelashes fluttered. Once. Twice. Slowly, painfully, like rusted gears grinding into motion, her eyes opened. The irises were hazy, unfocused, reflecting the dust motes dancing in the sunbeam.

  The moment those eyes opened, the figure in the chair reacted. Rize. She had been dozing in a hard wooden chair beside the bed, her arms crossed, her head bowed in exhaustion. But the instant Claval’s breathing pattern changed, Rize lurched forward as if pulled by an invisible string. The chair legs scraped loudly against the floorboards.

  “Claval…!” Rize leaned over the bed, her hands hovering, afraid to touch. She scanned Claval’s face, looking for recognition.

  “…Finally awake. How do you feel?” Her voice tried for calm. She tried to sound like the veteran adventurer she was. But the slight tremor in her throat, the wobble in the pitch, betrayed everything she’d feared. She had spent the long night prepared for the worst. She had watched Claval’s chest, counting the seconds between breaths, terrified that the next one wouldn't come.

  Claval didn't answer immediately. She let her gaze drift upward, tracing the grain of the wooden ceiling beams. Her eyes were glazed, as if she were still seeing the weave of the magic spell rather than the physical world. A faint, tired smile tugged at the corners of her dry lips.

  “…I was conscious. Mostly.” Her voice was a rasp, brittle as dry leaves. “I just… I couldn't wake up. I had to focus. I was controlling my grandfather’s trait from the inside.”

  “Then… you’re alright now? The healing held?” Rize exhaled, a long, shuddering breath that deflated her entire posture. Her shoulders loosened for the first time in hours.

  “No. Not really. I’m exhausted. My blood volume is critically low, and I don’t have the caloric energy to rebuild cells at the necessary rate.” Claval gently shook her head against the pillow. The movement was minute, conserving energy. “If I push the regeneration any faster, the biological structure of my body might… misalign. The tissue integration is… delicate.” She paused, swallowing with difficulty.

  “Mis…align? Cells…?” Rize blinked rapidly. She frowned, her brow furrowing. The unfamiliar terms left her with no frame of reference. Healing magic was usually simple: pour mana in, wound closes. This sounded like engineering.

  “You don’t need to understand the theory, Rize. It’s high-level somatic manipulation.” Claval gave a small shrug, barely lifting her shoulder from the mattress, and let out a soft snort of amusement.

  “Are you mocking me a little? Even on your deathbed?” Rize was a little annoyed.

  “Who knows?” Claval said. Their banter brought a faint warmth back to the cool, quiet clinic. It was a lifeline of normalcy.

  But behind Claval’s smile, her eyes were still fixed on something far beyond the room. She wasn't looking at Rize. She wasn't looking at the ceiling. She was looking at a future that only she could see, a future she had carved out of her own flesh.

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  After several silent breaths, the air in the room shifted. The playful atmosphere evaporated. Claval turned her gaze directly to Rize. There was no joke in her eyes anymore. Only a steady, serious light that burned with a terrifying intensity.

  ?

  “There’s something I need you to help me confirm.” Claval’s voice was low, intimate, dropping to a whisper that demanded attention.

  “What now? Is it a wound? Is the bleeding starting again?” Rize frowned, leaning closer.

  “Just give me your hand.” Claval continude.

  “Huh?” The sudden request made Rize hesitate. But seeing the unblinking intensity in Claval’s pale face, she had no reason to refuse.

  Rize offered her hand. It was calloused from the sword, rough and warm. Claval took it. Her fingers were freezing, her grip weak but undeniably firm. She didn't hold it. She guided it.

  Claval pulled Rize’s hand toward the blanket. Then, under the hem of the sheet.

  “W-wait, Claval!?” Rize stiffened, her face heating up instantly. Panic flared in her mind. “What are you doing!? You need to rest, no no no—”

  Claval didn't answer. She didn't stop. She guided Rize’s hand down. Past the curve of her ribs. Past the softness of her stomach. Lower. Down to her pelvis. Rize’s heart hammered in her throat. Her mind raced—was this delirium? Was Claval confused?

  “Here,” Claval whispered. “Focus. Tell me what you feel.” She pressed Rize’s palm flat against her lower abdomen, right between her hip bones.

  Rize froze. She squeezed her eyes shut, her senses narrowing down to the sensation in her fingertips. She expected the familiar anatomy. She expected to feel… something. But she felt heat. Soft skin. The faint pulse of the femoral artery. And… nothing else. The realization hit her like a physical blow.

  “!!?” Rize’s eyes flew wide open. Her jaw dropped. “Gone!?” Her voice cracked, rising to a squeak. “It’s… not there!? But… how!? You were…” Rize’s brain stuttered. She looked at Claval, then at the blanket, then back at Claval. The impossibility of it short-circuited her thoughts.

  Claval released Rize’s hand, allowing the shocked adventure to pull back as if she had touched fire.

  “You noticed it, right? My body isn’t the same as before.” Claval gave a wry, triumphant smile. It was the smile of an alchemist who had successfully transmuted lead into gold.

  “Y-you…” Rize stammered. “You used the trait to… to change yourself? To rewrite your gender?”

  “Yes. A biological transformation construct.” Claval looked down at her own body under the sheets, her expression softening into something reverent, almost holy. “It was hell to stabilize,” she whispered. “While I was bleeding out, while the darkness was closing in… I had to redirect the healing mana. Instead of just closing the wounds, I used the energy to reshape the bone structure of the pelvis. To alter the hormonal glands. To reconstruct the organs from the cellular level up.”

  “If I made one mistake in the weave… if I lost focus for a microsecond… the mana would have rampaged and torn me apart. I would have died instantly.” She looked at Rize.

  “You were on the verge of dying… your internal organs were crushed… and you were doing that?” Rize’s lips trembled. The color drained from her face as she understood the magnitude of what Claval was saying. “You risked your life… for this?” Rize’s voice shook with disbelief.

  Claval shook her head firmly. The exhaustion seemed to vanish from her eyes, replaced by a burning resolve.

  “No, Rize. You don't understand.” She looked up, her amethyst eyes shining with tears that refused to fall. “This way… I can shape a future with Yu.” The name hung in the air.

  “I can be what he needs. I can bear his children. I can stay by his side not just as a comrade, but as a partner. I can give him everything.” Her voice was weak, barely a whisper, yet it carried the weight of a vow written in blood. It was absolute.

  ?

  Rize fell silent. She couldn't speak. The sheer scale of Claval’s obsession overwhelmed her.

  Morning sunlight washed across Claval’s profile, outlining her silver hair in a pale, angelic glow. The exhaustion carved into her face—the hollow cheeks, the dark circles—only made her look more ethereal. She had literally carved herself into a new shape for the sake of one boy.

  “…You’re insane.” After a long, heavy moment, Rize whispered into the stillness. It wasn't an insult. It was a statement of fact. It was spoken with a mixture of horror and awe.

  “If you’re not a little insane, you’ll never be worthy of being Yu’s woman.” Claval smiled. It was a serene, terrifying smile.

  “That boy… he crosses worlds. He breaks reality just by existing. Ordinary love? Rational affection? It won’t reach him. It won't hold him.” Claval turned her head, looking out the window at the rising sun.

  “You…” Rize’s fist curled instinctively at her side. Her nails dug into her palm until they drew blood.

  The sun had fully risen now. The clinic was bathed in blinding white light, erasing the shadows of the night. Claval’s resolve seemed to sharpen in the glow. She looked not like a patient, but like a weapon that had been reforged. She met Rize’s gaze. Friend. Adventure. And now undeniably, Rival.

  “Tell me, Rize…” Claval’s voice cut through the silence, sharp, gentle, challenging, and hopeful all at once. “Can you keep up?” She tilted her head, her silver hair cascading over her shoulder like liquid moonlight.

  Rize’s heart pounded violently against her ribs. Admiration for strength. Fear of madness. Jealousy of devotion. Respect for the sacrifice. A storm of emotions swirled and knotted together, tightening in her chest until she couldn't breathe. She was looking at a monster of love, and she knew, deep down, that the war for Yu’s heart had just truly begun.