POV: Yoshiya
The tent's air was cooler than the night outside, carrying the scent of oil and old parchment. Yoshiya's fingers brushed against the rough edge of a wooden chest half-buried under scattered scrolls and broken quills. He knelt and flipped it open carefully. Inside, a folded robe shimmered faintly in the dim moonlight—silver threads weaving through black fabric, pulsing like veins under skin.
He lifted it. The robe felt oddly warm, as if it had been waiting for someone. Beside it lay a small pendant shaped like a teardrop, the center containing a cloudy blue crystal that swirled faintly when he moved. Beneath that, a tightly bound scroll—aged but marked with sigils that seemed to whisper in his mind.
He couldn't read the symbols, but the air felt heavier when he touched it.
Yoshiya drew a long breath, trying to steady the unease twisting in his chest. Something about this camp felt staged—as though the kobolds had been only part of a much larger design.
When he finally stepped out, the night had deepened into that hour between darkness and dawn. Smoke from the extinguished fires curled lazily upward. Across the clearing, Omina sat cross-legged beside Zentake, who was hunched over a pile of tools and materials, muttering to himself like an excited child. Nogare stood a few paces away, arms folded, the firelight painting sharp lines on his face.
Yoshiya approached, clutching the robe and pendant. Nogare turned to him immediately, eyes flicking from the items to Yoshiya's expression.
"The robe enhances mana flow," he said evenly, as if he'd seen everything already. "The pendant grants you protection. And the scroll…" His gaze sharpened. "That's the answer to your question."
Yoshiya froze. "My… question?"
Nogare didn't elaborate. He simply turned toward Zentake, who was now grinding herbs with a mortar. "No need for healing potions tonight. We have a healer." His voice softened, yet carried that same cryptic authority. "Make what we'll need instead—explosives, smoke bombs, and five restraints. We'll be meeting something that requires those before sunrise."
Zentake didn't even look up. "Yes, Sir! ," he said, almost cheerfully, and began separating ingredients with rapid precision.
Omina blinked, glancing between them. "Wait—before sunrise? We just got here! We haven't even—"
Nogare lifted a hand, and the words died in her throat. "Rest now. Both of you. The kobolds you fought earlier were scouts. Their kin will come by midnight, but they're not here for war." His tone didn't waver. "They'll bring us gifts."
Yoshiya felt his heartbeat stumble. "Gifts?"
Nogare's gaze found him again, calm and almost unreadable. "Everything has a rhythm, Yoshiya. Even battle. Even coincidence. You'll understand later."
He turned away and began pacing toward the tent's entrance, scanning the tree line as if listening for something far away. Zentake continued working, humming tunelessly, arranging bottles and powders in neat rows.
Omina leaned closer to Yoshiya and whispered, "He's predicting kobold generosity now? Next thing we know, he'll start talking to the wind."
But Yoshiya didn't answer. Something about Nogare's composure unsettled him. The man didn't speak like a seer or a madman—he spoke like someone remembering what already happened.
Zentake soon finished his preparations, tying bundles of crafted items with thin rope. "Explosives, smoke bombs, and restraints—all ready. Man, I love this part of the job."
Nogare gave a single nod. "Good. You'll take first watch. Wake me after the kobolds arrives. I'll handle the rest until dawn."
"Got it," Zentake replied, already adjusting his goggles.
Nogare then turned once more to the pair by the campfire. "Yoshiya. Omina. Get some sleep. You'll need your mana and your focus for what comes next."
Yoshiya hesitated. "Nogare… how do you know what's going to happen?"
For a fleeting second, the older man smiled—thin, knowing, almost kind. "Because this place remembers."
He left it at that, retreating into the shadows at the edge of the clearing. The faint sound of his footsteps faded into the forest, replaced by the gentle crackle of fire and Zentake's occasional muttering.
Omina shook her head, exhaling sharply. "You know, I thought Kouki was cryptic. But this guy? He talks like he's narrating a ghost story."
Yoshiya gave a small, weary laugh. "Maybe he is."
They lay side by side near the dying fire, their gear close at hand. The robe he'd found lay folded beside him, still pulsing with faint silver light, and the pendant rested against his palm. He could feel the soft vibration of magic within it, like a heartbeat waiting to sync with his own.
Omina turned her head toward him. "You think Nogare's serious? About the kobolds coming back?"
Yoshiya thought about it—the confidence in Nogare's voice, the precision of his commands, the eerie way he always seemed to answer unspoken thoughts. He looked toward Zentake, who was already perched at the camp's edge, knife in one hand, vial in the other, whistling to himself like it was just another night.
"I think," Yoshiya said quietly, "he's the kind of person who's right more often than he should be."
Omina groaned. "That's not reassuring."
Yoshiya smiled faintly, watching the trees. The forest was utterly still. No wind. No insects. Only the faint hum of something unseen moving beneath the surface of the night.
He pulled the robe closer, feeling its warmth seep into his skin, and closed his eyes. For a moment, he let himself drift—between exhaustion, curiosity, and the quiet dread that maybe Nogare wasn't just predicting the future.
Maybe he was following a path already walked.
And as Yoshiya slipped toward uneasy sleep, a faint tremor passed through the ground. Somewhere beyond the trees, something shifted—soft, deliberate, and near.
The kobolds were coming.
And with them, perhaps, the "gift."