We closed the door to the house.
The wood creaked softly beneath my hand.
Then silence.
Inside, the child's breathing could still be heard.
Thin.
Faint.
Too weak to be called peaceful life.
Outside, the night wind blew cold.
"…Can't we save her?" I finally asked.
Sylva didn't answer right away.
She stared at the door for several seconds before slowly shaking her head.
"I don't know," she said honestly.
We fell silent.
"What actually happened to her?" I asked again, my voice lower.
Sylva drew in a long breath.
"She ran out of mana," she said.
"There is no mana left in her body."
I stiffened.
"And if we do nothing?"
"She will die."
The words fell without emotion.
That was what made them heavy.
"Then we give her ours," I said quickly.
Sylva immediately shook her head.
"It doesn't work like that," she replied.
"Mana isn't something you can simply transfer. It can only be produced by one's own body."
I clenched my fist.
"Then why am I still alive?" I asked.
"I drained almost everything yesterday."
"Because your mana recovery is still functioning," Sylva answered.
"Your body can produce mana again."
I swallowed.
"And her…?"
"She has no ability to regenerate mana."
That answer felt like a wall.
I lowered my head.
I wanted to save her.
I truly did.
But for the first time—
I genuinely had no idea how.
Then—
"We can."
I looked up.
Elna stood a few steps behind us.
"We can save her," she said firmly.
I turned toward her.
"How?"
Even Sylva's eyes shifted.
Elna gave a small smile.
"If we can't give her mana from our bodies," she said,
"There's still another way."
"The mana-restoring herb," Sylva murmured.
But her expression immediately hardened.
"It's extremely rare," she continued.
"Very few people have even seen it."
Elna nodded.
"That's true," she said.
"But when I was little… I saw it once."
She raised her hand and pointed toward the distance.
Toward a hill.
Tall.
Towering.
Even from the marketplace, its silhouette dominated the horizon.
That hill.
"…There," Elna said.
Sylva and I exchanged a glance.
Silence lingered.
"Well?" Elna grinned.
"Want to take the bet?"
I inhaled slowly.
Then allowed a faint smile.
"Alright," I said.
"Let's save her."
"YES!" Elna shouted.
The three of us raised our fists into the night air.
For the first time since that day—
Not out of anger.
Not out of fear.
But because
We finally shared the same purpose.
And the hill—
Waited.
---
Morning was cold.
Thin mist lingered over fields that had not fully recovered.
The soil was still damp.
The repaired boards looked rough and temporary.
No one was in a hurry.
But no one was truly calm either.
I crouched in front of a small wooden table.
On it rested a single bottle.
A strength potion.
I turned it slowly in my palm.
The liquid shimmered faintly.
Not bright.
But enough to remind me of the heat that once surged through my body.
The power that made me strong…
And reckless.
"Only one?" Elna's voice came from behind.
I glanced back.
"Yeah."
"Why not bring two?"
I shook my head.
"If I drink this, it means it's an emergency. If there's any left, it means the journey wasn't as terrible as I feared."
Elna clicked her tongue softly.
Half annoyed.
Half approving.
Her bag was full.
Mana recovery potions.
Antidotes.
Small stabilizers.
Bandages.
Herbal powders.
Even a few items I didn't recognize.
"If you struggle," she said while slipping another vial inside,
"I don't want to hear 'I forgot.'"
I gave her a faint smile.
"Yes, Miss Apothecary."
"Don't call me that," she snapped immediately.
On the other side of the yard, Sylva stood quietly.
No large bag.
No extra supplies.
No backup weapon.
Only her staff.
She inspected the wood briefly.
Not anxiously.
More like confirming something familiar still existed.
"You're not bringing anything?" I asked.
Sylva lifted her gaze.
"I'm bringing myself," she said calmly.
"That's enough… or at least, it's all I have."
I didn't reply.
For some reason, her words felt heavier than Elna's overstuffed bag.
We gathered in the middle of the yard.
No ceremony.
No grand vows.
Just three people who understood
That whatever waited on that hill—
Would not be easy.
I slid the potion into my deepest pocket.
Elna tightened her straps.
Sylva planted her staff briefly into the soil before lifting it again.
"If we're ready," Elna said, drawing a deep breath,
"Let's go. Before I change my mind."
I glanced toward the hill in the distance.
Tall.
Still.
And somehow… waiting.
"Alright," I said.
We stepped forward.
And that morning—
Three people departed with very different preparations,
Heading toward the same place none of them truly wished to visit,
Yet none of them could avoid.
---
We stopped in front of Johan's small home.
He was already waiting.
Rosa stood beside him, clutching a thin blanket despite the warming air.
Her eyes followed the three of us.
Especially me.
I lowered my head slightly.
"Mr. Johan… we're leaving."
He nodded once.
No questions.
No objections.
He stepped closer and unwrapped the cloth in his hands.
Inside was a sword.
Not beautiful.
The blade was scarred with scratches.
The hilt worn by time.
He held it out to me.
"Take it."
I instinctively shook my head.
"Sir, I—"
"This sword won't make you strong," he said calmly.
"And it won't save you."
I fell silent.
"But at least," he continued,
"If you have to stand in front of something… you won't stand there empty-handed."
I accepted it with both hands.
Its weight felt real.
Solid.
Johan looked at me directly.
"Come back alive, Vein."
I nodded, swallowing.
"And if you don't," he added quietly,
"Who will save that child?"
I had no answer.
Rosa stepped closer.
She looked at the sword in my hand.
Then at my face.
"Don't take too long," she said softly.
I smiled faintly.
"I won't."
Elna gently patted Rosa's head.
Sylva gave Johan a respectful nod.
We turned.
The first step felt heavy.
The second, lighter.
When I glanced back—
Johan stood exactly where he had been.
Rosa waved her small hand.
I tightened my grip on the sword.
And that morning,
We left with one simple promise—
To return.
Alive.
—
The road out of the village was silent.
Not peaceful.
Silent.
The kind of silence that feels like something has already happened—
And you're the last to notice.
Mist clung low to the ground.
Thick enough to blur the edges of the world.
Ahead of us, the hill stood motionless.
Too motionless.
It didn't look dangerous.
It didn't look cursed.
It didn't look like anything at all.
And somehow—
That made it worse.
I tightened my grip around the sword.
The leather of the hilt creaked softly under my fingers.
The sound felt louder than it should have.
The village behind us seemed to fade faster than it should have.
As if distance here worked differently.
As if once you chose a direction—
Everything else quietly let you go.
The closer we walked,
The more the air changed.
Not colder.
Not heavier.
Just… wrong.
Like stepping into a room where a conversation had just stopped.
Elna didn't joke.
Sylva didn't speak.
Even the wind had gone still.
For a brief second—
I thought I saw something shift within the mist on the slope ahead.
Not a shape.
Not a shadow.
Just the faint impression that something had moved—
And then decided not to.
My pulse quickened.
I told myself it was nothing.
Just nerves.
Just imagination.
But the hill didn't feel like a place anymore.
It felt like an answer.
And answers don't wait quietly unless they already know the question.
We kept walking.
Step by step.
And somewhere beyond the fog—
Something did not stir.
Because it had never been asleep.
It had been waiting.
Not for travelers.
Not for intruders.
But for us.