The kitchen was small, but it wasn’t bad. A clay pot sat on the fire, gently bubbling, and a few old cooking tools hung on the wall. When Nael saw me come in, he put on an exaggerated grin and stood up.

  “I’m leaving it all to you. You’re on cooking duty today.”

  “Wh—why me?”

  “There’s a reason… I have one. Later!” he said, and walked out whistling.

  Still holding the wooden ladle, I stepped up to the counter.

  “…Alright. Soup.”

  I looked at the pot, then the vegetables, then the knife. Then I looked at the pot again.

  I tried peeling something that looked like a root vegetable, but I didn’t even know if I was doing it right. Do you peel it before boiling? Or after?

  I leaned over the pot. It didn’t look bad, but… the way it foamed was strange.

  “Hm…”

  “Need reinforcements?”

  Ren’s voice came from behind me. He was leaning against the doorway.

  “I don’t.”

  “Really?”

  “…Maybe. Just a little.”

  Ren walked over and took the knife from my hand.

  “Here. Cut it at an angle like this. And keep your fingers like this. If you cut straight down, it’s dangerous.”

  “Ren.”

  “Hm?”

  “You’re loud.”

  Ren laughed, and still didn’t shut up.

  Even so, he let me cut the carrots myself. He just watched me like a hawk from right beside me.

  When the soup finally started to take on color, Ren tasted a spoonful.

  “…It has personality.”

  “Is that a compliment?”

  “Mm. Debatable.”

  We laughed together. Not because it was hilarious—because that was simply the kind of air we were in.

  “Where did you learn to cook?” I asked.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “From my old man. Since I was little. He made me keep at it until I could make a decent stew.”

  “I was… always on the side that got cooked for.”

  “And now you’re cooking for three people,” he said. “Funny how that works.”

  For a while we kept cooking without speaking. While Ren stirred quietly, I found myself watching the side of his face.

  “What?” he asked.

  “No. It’s just… this is kind of not bad.”

  As I was portioning the soup, Nael came back in right on time, wearing that suspicious look of his.

  Without thinking, I spoke.

  “Hey, Ren.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Should I… tell the people in this village who I am?”

  Ren stopped what he was doing and set the pot down quietly in the center.

  “If you want to, then do it. Not for them—for yourself.”

  “But… I’m starting to lose track of what I even am.”

  Ren didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he smiled a little—gentle, but with something lonely in it.

  “Then you’re like me.”

  That was when Nael cut in.

  “Wow. So we’re simmering philosophy along with the soup now?”

  “Eat quietly,” I said, and set a bowl down in front of him.

  Nael took one serious bite. He chewed slowly, then said in a low voice, “...Surprisingly, not bad.”

  “Right?”

  “No, I mean it—I’m genuinely surprised. I thought it would be worse. But, well… if we die tonight, it’ll be your fault.”

  The three of us laughed.

  We were tired, but it was warm.

  A roof over our heads for the first time in days, a night with no firestorms, no explosions, no crystals—just soup, and hearts that felt a little lighter.

  I slept. Not deeply, but enough.

  The moment I woke up, I could tell the air had changed.

  I got ready and left the house while the other two were still asleep.

  The street was quiet. It felt like the remnants of last night’s battle were still caught in the gaps of the air. But people were slowly starting to reclaim their ordinary lives.

  The village head’s house was close.

  Just like yesterday, a lamp hung from the edge of the roof.

  I knocked lightly.

  “Thanks for coming. I’m inside,” the village head answered softly.

  I nodded without speaking and stepped in.

  Ra?k was lying down. He wasn’t asleep, but his awareness felt far away. The Spelarita blooming at his neck looked darker than yesterday, deeper, like it had melted into the skin.

  The anger was gone. The strength, the will—gone too.

  I didn’t go any closer than that.

  After a while, Nael arrived. A medical bag slung over his shoulder, sleep still clinging to his eyes.

  “Is it worse?”

  “I don’t know. But the Spelarita isn’t gone. If anything… it looks like it’s taken root.”

  Nael knelt, fitted his magical tool, and held a hand over Ra?k’s chest.

  That was when the village head and Ren came in. Ren stayed silent, standing in the doorway.

  “Any change?” the village head asked.

  “Not good,” Nael said. “The Spelarita has fully integrated with his body. There’s no rejection response. But there’s no sign of recovery, either.”

  “Is it like Arcancer?” Ren asked.

  Nael nodded quietly.

  “For now, yeah. I don’t know if the condition will progress.”

  Then Ra?k murmured, faintly.

  “The staff… it doesn’t ring anymore. Before… it was always… echoing.”

  For just a moment, his eyes were clear.

  “So there’s nothing left inside me… is that it…?”

  No one answered.

  He closed his eyes.

  Nael stood, putting his tools away.

  “There’s nothing more I can do. If he has a seizure, I can respond. But curing it… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve done enough,” the village head said, bowing his head.

  We left the house. Out on the street, the morning air felt just a little lighter.

  We walked for a while. When we reached the edge of the village, Ren finally spoke.

  “Are you going to tell them? Those people.”

  He didn’t need to say it. I’d already thought about it over and over.

  “Not today.”

  “But… the way they were, it feels like they already know.”

  “They’ve noticed. But they don’t have certainty. And right now… it’s not the time.”

  Ren didn’t say anything more.

  I turned back and looked at the village—its houses, its quiet streets, and beyond them, the lingering scent of dust.

  The reason I didn’t say it wasn’t hesitation. It wasn’t indecision.

  It was because I believed the responsibility to choose that moment belonged to me.