The mountain top was quiet again, the echoes of battle replaced by a sorrowful stillness.

In the aftermath, when Asael had fallen unconscious, Steven had carefully lifted him onto his broad shoulders.

Anne and Kenta had trailed close behind, their faces etched with worry and loss as they retraced the arduous path back to the summit.

The wind whispered softly through the sparse trees, carrying with it the lingering tang of blood.

After what felt like endless hours in the dim twilight of recovery, Asael’s eyelids fluttered open.

Slowly, he became aware of the gentle murmurs of his companions and the soft glow of early morning light beginning to break over the peaks.

His vision cleared to reveal Anne’s concerned eyes and Kenta’s anxious expression hovering over him.

"Are you alright?" Anne asked in a hushed, tremulous tone, her voice thick with worry as she reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from his brow.

"Yes," Asael replied quietly, his voice raspy from pain and disuse, yet carrying a note of relief that he was still here. "I'm awake."

Steven stepped forward then, a piece of fruit held casually in his hand as if the morning offered small comforts amid the turmoil.

"Here," he said, extending the fruit toward Asael.

The offering was simple, yet it carried an unspoken apology—a gesture to mend what had been broken in the heat of battle.

"I'm sorry for losing control," Asael murmured, his gaze falling away for a moment as he tried to reconcile the overwhelming surge of emotion that had nearly overwhelmed him. "I—lost myself for a moment there."

Steven’s eyes softened just a fraction, though the cool blue intensity of his aura remained.

"It's okay. But you need to learn to control that power," he said firmly, as though reminding him that even in failure there was hope to be reclaimed.

"Yeah, I've figured some things out," Asael replied, wincing as he slowly flexed a bandaged hand. "I’ll try to do better."

The conversation lingered in the gentle silence that followed, a brief respite from the relentless memories of the day's brutal combat.

Then, with a measured breath, Steven broke the pause.

"Hmm... either way, I will join your group," he declared.

His tone was quiet but unwavering—a promise of unity forged through hardship.

"Thanks a lot," Asael said, offering a tentative smile as he extended his hand in a gesture of reconciliation.

"By the way, my name is Asael." His hand trembled slightly, still not fully recovered from the blows of the previous day.

Steven glanced at the offered hand and then continued to eat his fruit, his lips curving into a slight, reserved smile.

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"I'm Steven," he finally replied, his voice carrying both familiarity and a remnant of challenge.

Anne stepped forward, her presence gentle yet determined.

"I am Anne," she introduced herself softly, her eyes reflecting both sorrow and hope.

"And this is Kenta," she added, nodding toward the young boy who stood with an earnest gaze.

A moment of silence passed as the four of them absorbed the quiet around them—a silence that held both the grief of loss and the fragile promise of a new beginning.

Then, breaking the quiet, Steven asked, "So, where are you all planning to go next?"

No one had really considered their next destination, the weight of their recent trials still fresh in their minds.

Asael hesitated, then spoke slowly, "Umm... what about you? Where were you planning to go next?"

Steven’s eyes flickered with the memory of his solitary ambition.

"The snowy mountains of the west," he replied, his tone edged with determination and a hint of loneliness.

Anne interjected, concern heavy in her voice.

"What? But those mountains are fraught with peril—dangerous, unidentified monsters could be lurking around every corner."

Steven’s gaze hardened.

"That's exactly why I'm going. It would be the perfect place to train, to hone my strength further." His words were resolute, even as they hinted at a personal crusade that went far deeper than simple ambition.

Then Asael offered a thought that carried the weight of bitter memories.

"What about going to where everything started?" he suggested softly.

"To the place from which the Demon King emerged—the forest of monsters."

Steven’s eyes narrowed as he regarded Asael thoughtfully.

"Hmm... fine then."

His agreement was quiet, yet it resonated with an undercurrent of inevitability—a destiny he could no longer deny.

Soon, the four of them began to prepare for the journey anew.

The mountain top, scarred by the echoes of past battles and the heavy memories of loss, now bore witness to their shared resolve.

They packed their few belongings into the enchanted bag from the Mage Tower—light as a whisper on the outside but containing everything they needed.

Kenta, with a seriousness that belied his youth, took charge of carrying the bag, his small hands steady as he shouldered the burden of both supplies and hope.

In that moment, as the sun light bathed them in soft, golden hues, they made a silent vow to press onward.

Their hearts were heavy with grief and guilt, but even more so with a burning determination to confront the darkness that had stolen so much from them.

----

Before setting off on their long journey, the four of them made one last stop in the village—a small, humble settlement nestled amid the forest and mountain foothills.

The villagers, their eyes heavy with both sorrow and hope, gathered to bid farewell.

They pressed warm parcels of supplies into the travelers’ hands: bundles of medicine, carefully rationed food, and a worn but meticulously drawn map.

The map, its parchment softened by years of use, was the village’s final gift—a guide through a world that had grown perilously unfamiliar.

"We all are here right now—a small village in a forest and near the mountains, deep within the ruins of what once was the Qeino territory,"

Steven began, his voice resonant with the weight of his past.

Once royalty, he now bore the knowledge of kingdoms and secret routes like a hidden scar.

He spread out the map before them, his blue eyes tracing the faded ink lines.

"To reach the Forest of Monsters, the shortest route is to cross into Qeino, then through Cria and Feria, until we finally arrive at our destination."

He paused, his tone darkening as he continued,

"The only problem is, these three territories are completely destroyed by monsters. It won't be easy to pass through them unnoticed." The gravity of his words sank into the hearts of Asael, Anne, and Kenta, who listened in rapt silence.

"So be prepared," he finished, his voice low and resolute.

Asael nodded silently, his mind already burdened with the memories of lost battles.

With little more than a quiet farewell, they began to depart from the village.

Yet before their steps carried them away, Anne pressed a folded letter into Steven’s hand.

The paper was delicate and worn, its edges softened by time.

"What's this?" Steven asked, a note of curiosity mixed with something unspoken in his voice.

Anne’s eyes glistened with a trace of sadness as she replied, "I don't know, but Duke Driesell told me to give this letter to his son." Her voice trembled as she spoke those words, as if recalling a memory too painful to bear.

Steven’s gaze narrowed as he regarded the letter.

"You met my father?" he asked, his tone a mixture of disbelief and melancholy.

Anne exchanged a look with Asael before Asael added quietly, "I also met him. When the Demon King attacked the Holy Temple, he was there to protect it. I tried to stop the Demon King... but I failed."

He continued.

"That's when Duke Driesell arrived and saved me. He lost his life that day, sacrificing himself to protect us. I'm truly sorry for my weakness." His words fell heavy in the quiet air, laden with regret and sorrow.

Without another word, Steven carefully unfolded the letter.

The scrawl on the paper was elegant yet hurried—a final message from a father who had long since passed. The letter read:

My son,

I'm sorry that by the time you read this letter, I won't be in this world. I just want to tell you that I love you. I was always strict, but now I wish I had spent more time with you. Please take care of your sister and mother. I have also written a unique technique of our family—a technique that even my father could not complete. It is incomplete, but I believe you have the strength to finish it.

Once again, take care of yourself, my son.

For a long, agonizing moment, Steven’s eyes darkened with memories and regret.

He knew the names mentioned in the letter all too well—his younger sister and his mother, both lost to the ravages of war and monstrous cruelty.

Only he remained now, carrying their memory like a silent burden.

Kenta glanced at Steven. "What's written there?" he asked, his small voice echoing softly in the quiet morning air.

Steven hesitated, his gaze fixed on the letter for a heartbeat too long before he dismissed the question.

"It’s nothing important," he said curtly, though his tone betrayed the hidden pain behind his words.

With the map carefully stowed and the letter a silent testament to a past that would never be reclaimed, they prepared to leave.