Vein sat alone on the wooden terrace, his gaze fixed on the endless stretch of white that covered the fields beyond the farmhouse. Snow continued to fall in slow, silent waves, soft enough to seem harmless, yet constant enough to bury everything beneath it. The world felt distant, as if sound itself had been swallowed by the cold. Even the wind moved carefully, like it didn't want to disturb the fragile stillness.
But inside him, there was no silence.
Only a single word that refused to leave.
War.
It lingered in his mind, heavy and unfamiliar, yet sharp enough to cut through every other thought. He didn't move as it echoed again, deeper this time, dragging something from within him that he hadn't expected to remember.
And before he realized it—
his thoughts had already drifted.
Far away.
To a place that no longer existed.
"Alright, listen up!"
A firm voice rang across the classroom, cutting cleanly through the chatter of students. The girl standing at the front had her hand planted firmly against the desk, her posture straight, her expression burning with energy that seemed almost out of place in such an ordinary room.
"This time," she continued, her voice rising with excitement, "we're going to war!"
The reaction was immediate. Laughter broke out across the classroom, some amused, others confused.
"War? Seriously?" one of the boys called out, shaking his head. "Isn't this just a school festival?"
Anna Isabelle didn't flinch. If anything, her smile grew wider, brighter, as if she had been waiting for that exact reaction.
"That's exactly why," she replied confidently. "Because it's a festival, we should take it seriously."
She lifted her hand and pointed across the room, her eyes shining with determination.
"I want all of you to treat this like a battlefield."
The laughter didn't stop, but it changed. It wasn't mockery anymore. There was something lighter in it now—something that leaned closer to excitement.
"We're going to win," Anna declared, her voice unwavering. "And we're going to become the best class in this school."
She raised her hand higher, like a commander rallying her troops.
"So let's crush the other classes!"
This time, the room responded. Cheers broke out, louder than before, carrying a kind of energy that hadn't been there a moment ago. Even the ones who had looked uninterested began to smile, drawn in by her sheer enthusiasm.
From the back of the classroom, I watched quietly.
She really fit that role.
A leader.
Someone who could stand at the front without hesitation, someone who could pull others forward just by speaking.
Unlike me.
"AND THE WINNER IS—CLASS 10-A!"
The announcement echoed across the school field, followed by an explosion of cheers. Students shouted, laughed, and celebrated as if they had just won something far greater than a simple festival.
I stood there, slightly bent forward, trying to steady my breathing as the heat in my chest refused to settle.
"Huff… huff…"
My legs felt heavy, my body slow to respond after the race.
"…I lost."
In my hand, a small card rested against my palm.
10C.
"…third place," I said under my breath.
The letters felt heavier than they should have.
In this so-called "battle,"
it still wasn't enough.
Then suddenly, warmth wrapped around me.
Arms tightened from behind, pulling me into a brief, unexpected embrace.
"You did it!"
Her voice was bright, right next to my ear.
I flinched slightly and turned.
"…Anna?"
She stood there, smiling as if nothing else mattered.
"What do you mean I did it?" I asked, frowning as I stepped away. "I only got third place."
I pushed her lightly, trying to create distance between us.
"This isn't winning."
Anna tilted her head, completely unbothered, her expression softening just slightly.
"Third place is still a victory," she said simply.
Her gaze met mine, steady and certain.
"You did everything you could."
There was no hesitation in her voice. No doubt.
"I'm proud of you."
For a moment, I couldn't respond.
The words didn't feel real.
Before I could say anything, footsteps approached from the side.
"Hey, Otaku!"
I looked up as a few classmates walked over.
"Not bad, third place!"
"Yeah, congrats!"
"Didn't think you had it in you."
Some of them clapped. Others just smiled, a little awkward, unsure of what else to say.
Not everyone spoke.
Not everyone cared.
But that didn't matter.
Because somehow—
my chest felt warm.
And I knew exactly why.
My eyes shifted slightly, almost without thinking.
Toward her.
Anna stood there, still smiling, her presence steady and unshaken.
To me, she had always been like that—
a small piece of light.
Something that didn't belong to me, yet still reached me anyway.
And for someone like me—
that was enough.
—
The warmth in his chest hadn't fully faded when the sound of soft footsteps approached from behind.
Vein didn't turn immediately.
He already knew who it was.
Sylva stepped onto the terrace, the faint creak of wood barely audible beneath her light steps. In her hands were two cups, thin wisps of steam rising gently into the cold air.
She stopped beside him and extended one of them.
"Here."
Vein glanced at it for a moment before taking it.
"…thanks, Sylva."
The warmth seeped into his fingers instantly, a small comfort against the biting cold.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Then Sylva broke the silence.
"So… you're thinking of going to war?"
Her voice was calm, but not casual.
Vein looked down at the tea in his hand, watching the surface tremble slightly from the rising heat.
"I don't know," he admitted.
Sylva took a small sip from her cup.
"Kael's right," she said. "You don't have to go."
Her gaze shifted briefly toward his arm.
"Besides… your hand hasn't even healed yet."
Vein followed her eyes.
His left hand was still wrapped in thick bandages, the dull ache beneath them a constant reminder of how close he had come to losing it entirely.
"…yeah," he muttered.
"You're right."
For a moment, it sounded like he had already decided.
But then—
"…but I can't just stay here."
His voice lowered slightly.
"I don't want to sit back and do nothing."
His grip around the cup tightened.
"I want to protect this place too."
Sylva let out a quiet breath, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
"You're stubborn, you know that?"
She lifted her cup again and took another sip.
The wind passed softly between them, carrying the cold with it.
Neither spoke for a while.
Vein stared down at the tea in his hand, watching the steam rise and disappear into the air.
Then, without looking at her, he spoke.
"…hey, Sylva."
"Hm?"
"Are you… not afraid of war?"
Sylva's movement stopped.
The cup hovered just slightly before her lips.
For a brief moment—
she didn't answer.
Then she lowered it slowly.
"…I am."
Her voice was quieter now.
Different.
She turned her gaze toward the falling snow.
"…I'm scared."
The words came out honestly.
No hesitation.
No attempt to hide it.
"I'm not like Kael," she continued softly. "Or Mr. Johan."
Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup.
"I haven't lived through countless battles."
A faint pause followed.
"I'm just… a traveler."
Vein fell silent.
He didn't know how to respond.
Because in his eyes—
Sylva was strong.
More than that.
After what he had seen on the hill…
he knew she wasn't just any mage.
And yet—
even she was afraid.
The quiet between them deepened.
Then suddenly—
Sylva spoke again.
"…how about we go see Mr. Johan?"
Vein blinked.
"…huh?"
The shift was too sudden.
"Why now?"
Sylva looked ahead, her expression already returning to normal.
"I want to hear advice from someone who's been through war."
Her tone was light.
Almost casual.
But Vein understood.
She was changing the subject.
Not because she didn't want to talk—
but because she didn't want the silence to become heavier than it already was.
A small, knowing smile appeared on his face.
"…yeah."
"Let's go."
Sylva gave a small nod.
And without another word, the two of them stood.
The snow continued to fall as they stepped off the terrace, their footsteps quiet against the white-covered ground.
Together—
they made their way toward Johan's house.
—
The snow continued to fall as they walked, their footsteps leaving faint marks across the white-covered ground. The wind had grown softer, carrying only a quiet chill as the farmhouse faded behind them and Johan's house came into view.
For a moment, everything felt calm.
Too calm.
Then—
The door burst open.
"I hate you, Father!"
A small figure rushed out of the house, her voice breaking through the stillness like shattered glass.
"Rosa—"
But she didn't stop.
She ran straight past them without even noticing they were there, her small body trembling as she sprinted toward the forest. Her footsteps scattered across the snow, uneven and hurried, leaving behind a clear trail in the white.
Vein blinked, caught off guard.
"…that sounded serious."
Sylva exhaled softly, already watching the direction Rosa had gone.
"…family problem."
"You go to Johan," she said. "I'll get Rosa."
Before Vein could respond, she was already walking toward the forest. She didn't run.
She didn't need to.
The small footprints in the snow guided her clearly.
Within moments, her figure disappeared between the trees.
Vein stood there for a second longer.
Then he turned and stepped into the house.
—
The warmth inside felt different.
Heavier.
Johan sat near the table, his posture slightly slouched, his usual presence dulled. For the first time, he didn't look like a veteran.
He looked… tired.
"Mr. Johan?"
Johan lifted his gaze slightly.
"…what is it?"
Vein stepped closer.
"…are you okay?"
Johan gave a faint shake of his head.
"It's nothing," he said. "Just a small family matter."
Vein paused.
Then he sighed quietly.
"…let me guess."
Johan glanced at him.
"She doesn't want you to go to war."
For a brief moment, Johan said nothing.
Then he let out a short, quiet laugh.
"…you're sharper than you look."
Vein didn't reply.
Instead, he turned and walked toward the kitchen.
The sound of movement broke the silence as he prepared the kettle, his voice rising slightly so it could carry through the room.
"So what are you going to do?"
Water poured into the kettle with a soft sound.
"You're just going to leave Rosa like that?"
"She's not alone," Johan replied calmly.
Vein paused for a moment, then remembered.
"…Sylva."
"She went after her."
The kettle began to steam as Vein poured hot water into two cups. He added tea leaves, stirring slowly as the faint aroma spread through the room.
"So as long as Sylva is there," Vein said, "you can relax?"
Johan didn't answer.
Instead, he spoke.
"Hey, Vein."
Vein glanced back slightly.
"If your dream came true…"
Johan's voice was calm.
"…but the person you wanted to protect was no longer beside you…"
A brief pause followed.
"…would you still be happy?"
Vein frowned slightly.
"…what kind of question is that?"
He turned, leaning lightly against the counter.
"If the person I want to protect isn't there anymore… then my dream hasn't come true."
Johan stared at him for a second.
Then suddenly—
he laughed.
A real one this time.
"…you really don't listen properly, do you?"
Vein frowned deeper.
"…you're the one who asked it weird."
He picked up the two cups and walked back into the room.
Placing one in front of Johan, he sat down across from him.
"…just drink first."
Steam rose slowly between them.
"It might help clear your head."
The room fell quiet again.
But this time—
it wasn't as heavy as before.