Dawn broke over Bear Path.

  Ella's eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling. She lay on hardwood floor, a blanket tucked awkwardly around her shoulders. To her left, Fenric snored loudly, tail twitching in sleep. To her right, Lovia curled on the couch, face peaceful despite the uncomfortable angle of her neck.

  Ella sat up slowly, head pounding.

  Where—?

  Recognition came in pieces. Fenric's house. The worn furniture. The faint smell of oil and leather from his gear.

  How did I get here?

  She reached up to push hair from her face—and froze. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, the tie gone. She never wore her hair down. Never.

  Then the smell hit her.

  Ella lifted her collar to her nose and immediately recoiled. Vomit. Stale ale. Sweat.

  Gods above.

  She scrambled to her feet, moving as quietly as possible to avoid waking the others, and spotted the back door. Outside, a water barrel sat beside the small porch. Ella plunged her hands into the icy water, splashing her face again and again, scrubbing at her hair with desperate fingers.

  The cold shocked her system awake, sharpening her thoughts.

  What happened? How much did I drink?

  Fragments surfaced—drinking with Lovia, Fenric arrived, and the crowd started cheering, I think. Then... nothing. Just blank darkness.

  I got careless. Anyone could have killed me.

  Her face shifted from wince to anger.

  It's that bastard's fault. The mosrel horn wielder.

  She paused, dripping, staring at her reflection in the rippling water.

  Kuro.

  Yes. That was his name. The D-rank who killed the orc king.

  That prick.

  Back inside, Lovia and Fenric still slept soundly. Ella found a spare blanket draped over a chair and covered them both, her movements gentle despite the rage building in her chest.

  Then she headed for the door, boots striking the floor with sharp, decisive stomps.

  The Smithblood Guild

  Kuro sat alone at a corner table, picking at what could only generously be called breakfast.

  Overcooked eggs. Burnt bread. Something that might have been meat but had the texture of leather.

  His expression suggested he was eating purely out of necessity, not enjoyment.

  He hadn't slept. Not even tried. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt it—that presence by the river. The weight of invisible eyes watching from the void.

  Around him, the guild hall showed the aftermath of celebration. Bodies lay sprawled across tables and floor—unconscious revelers who hadn't made it home. A worker moved methodically through the wreckage, piling the worst of the debris in corners, sweeping broken glass into bins. Another employee moved from body to body, shaking shoulders and checking pulses.

  "Hey... wake up... guild's opening soon..."

  The batwing doors slammed open with a crack like thunder.

  Every head in the hall turned.

  A woman stood silhouetted in the doorway—disheveled, hair half-wild despite clear attempts to tame it, eyes blazing with barely contained fury.

  Ella.

  She looked like an angry cat ready to pounce.

  Glass crunched beneath her boots as she stalked forward, crushing the fragments the worker had just swept into a careful pile.

  A drunkard sprawled near her feet lifted his head, squinting through bleary eyes.

  "Hey... it's our... hero..." He grinned stupidly. "Wooooo..."

  Ella ignored him. Her eyes scanned the floor until she found what she was looking for—her hair tie, lying among the trash. She crouched, snatched it up, and pulled her blonde hair back into its usual severe style with sharp, angry movements.

  Then she locked eyes on her target.

  Kuro.

  He sat at the far back of the hall, continuing to eat his terrible breakfast with mechanical efficiency, seemingly unaware of her approach.

  "Hey, Ella!" someone called from across the room. "Yesterday's song and dance was fire! Can't wait for next time!"

  Ella stopped mid-stride, turning slowly.

  "What?"

  "Your performance! That song about the liar and the—"

  "What in the world did I do yesterday?" Ella's voice was flat, dangerous. "I'm never drinking again."

  She turned back to Kuro and resumed her march.

  Kuro glanced up as she reached his table.

  Without asking, Ella pulled out the chair across from him and sat down hard.

  Silence stretched between them.

  Ella's fingers drummed against the wooden tabletop—tap, tap, tap—a steady rhythm of barely restrained impatience. Her eyes drilled into him, searching, analyzing.

  Kuro continued eating, methodically working through the awful meal as if she wasn't there.

  One minute passed.

  Two.

  Finally, Ella spoke.

  "Where is the horn?"

  Kuro didn't answer. He reached for his cup of black tea and took a slow sip.

  "I asked you a question." Ella's voice sharpened. "Where is your damn horn?"

  Kuro set the cup down with deliberate care. "If you're trying to buy my sword, it's not for sale."

  "I don't want to buy it." Ella's eyes narrowed. "I already have a sword better than yours. I just want to confirm something."

  "Mm. No thanks." Kuro picked up his fork again. "And can you move somewhere else? The stares are getting annoying."

  Around them, whispers had started.

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  "Why's Ella talking to the stranger?"

  "I don't know... looks like she's asking about the mosrel horn..."

  "Tch. Damn bastard. A city-class A-rank talking to some D-rank who keeps a beast as a pet. I can't believe this."

  Ella's hand dropped to her sword hilt.

  In one fluid motion, she drew the blade an inch—just enough—and slammed it back into the sheath.

  WHOOOOSH.

  A sudden gale erupted through the hall, sharp and targeted. The wind sliced through the air in perfect arcs, hitting the three men who'd been whispering.

  They froze, eyes wide, hands patting frantically at their bodies.

  No blood. No cuts. They were fine.

  Smiles of relief began to form—

  FWOOSH.

  Their clothes burst apart like paper, shredded into ribbons that fell away in a cascade of fabric.

  They stood completely naked.

  "AHHHHHHH!"

  The three men screamed in perfect unison, hands flying to cover themselves as they sprinted for the door.

  The hall erupted in laughter.

  Ella turned back to Kuro, expression unchanged.

  "The stares are gone. Now answer."

  Kuro stared at her for a long moment, processing what he'd just witnessed.

  Magic crystals. She used them in the fight too. How many does she have?

  He let out a deep sigh.

  "Give me one good reason why I should answer you." His voice was flat, bored. "Have we even met before? I don't even know your name."

  "Oh?" Ella leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. A dangerous smile played at her lips. "Trying to act like nothing happened? I appreciate your bravery. Even though I hold all the cards."

  A server approached their table—young woman, nervous smile.

  "Miss Ella, can I get you something?"

  "Peach tea, please, sweetheart."

  "Right away."

  The server hurried off.

  Kuro tilted his head slightly. "Cards? What cards?"

  Ella leaned forward, close enough that only he could hear.

  "The card," she whispered, "that says you're the one who killed the Crown Horn King."

  She leaned back, smirking.

  Kuro's expression didn't change. "Ah, of course." He took another sip of tea. "But are you sure? After everything's dusted and done, will the town believe you? That I'm the one who did it? A stranger?" He met her eyes. "But mostly, do you have the guts to ruin your own reputation?"

  Ella's smirk faltered.

  Her face reddened, jaw clenching. She straightened in her chair, arms crossing tighter across her chest.

  "I'm already holding back from killing you for calling me an idiot," she said through gritted teeth. "Don't make me lose it."

  She took a breath, forcing calm.

  "I know who you are. What rank you claim to be. I've fought enough D-ranks to know what they can do." Her eyes bored into him. "You talk brave. Not a spec of hesitation. No fear in your eyes when you look at me—an A-rank."

  She leaned forward again.

  "Who are you really? I've never seen a D-rank kill a fully grown orc king and that's a rare born crown horn nonetheless. That's not a normal feat. And that King..." Her voice dropped lower. "Something wasn't right with him. You know something."

  Her voice hardened to steel.

  "So tell me. Who are you?"

  Kuro finished his breakfast, setting his fork down with a soft clink.

  The server returned. "Sir, the Master is asking for you." She set a delicate cup before Ella. "And here's your peach tea, Miss Ella."

  Kuro stood without a word and began walking toward Rhanes's office.

  "Ravmor's killer."

  Ella's voice rang out across the hall.

  She stood, chair scraping loudly against wood.

  Kuro's stride hitched—barely, just for a moment—but he kept walking, face set in annoyed lines.

  "It's not over," Ella called after him.

  He didn't look back.

  Master Rhanes's Office

  "Senior, is it done?"

  Rhanes sat at his desk, holding Mosvmora across his lap like a sleeping child. He studied the blade with the intensity of a jeweler examining a flawless diamond, turning it slowly to catch the light.

  "Yes," he said softly. "It's done."

  "Good."

  Rhanes's eyes flicked up, squinting with exaggerated disbelief.

  "'Good.' That's it? You're not going to ask if the sword's in good condition? If it sustained damage? Anything?"

  Kuro paused. "...Did it?"

  Rhanes let out a long-suffering sigh and pressed his palm to his face.

  "Yes—I mean, no. It's completely fine. Not even a dent." He lifted the blade, examining the edge with obvious fascination. "You said the blood of the creatures you kill with this disappears immediately, right?"

  "Yeah."

  Rhanes's eyes lit up with childlike enthusiasm.

  "It's because the horn drinks the blood! It's making itself stronger!" He laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "Who would've thought? I didn't expect this—I assumed the horn had absorbed enough blood during forging, that it was saturated. But it slapped me in the face and said 'No, I'm still hungry. Feed me.'"

  He shook his head in wonder.

  "I don't know how. I don't know why. I'm tingling with anticipation to research it, to study the mechanism, but—" His expression turned mournful. "—I can't. You need it."

  He sighed dramatically.

  "But it's fine. I'm more eager to know how sharp and bold it becomes in the future. I can't wait to see what it grows into." He looked up at Kuro with bright eyes. "Do you understand how incredible this is?"

  Kuro stood with a perfectly deadpan expression.

  "Oh," he said flatly. "Wow. Cool."

  He nodded slightly.

  Rhanes's enthusiasm died instantly.

  "Why?" He stood, gripping the sword tighter. "Why do you of all people have to be the wielder? Seriously, why are you like this?" He shook his head. "It's no use. Here. Take it and get out."

  He shoved Mosvmora into Kuro's hands and physically pushed him toward the door.

  The door slammed shut.

  The lock clicked.

  Kuro stood in the hallway, staring at the closed door.

  "What did I do?" he muttered.

  He turned to leave—

  The server from earlier appeared, blocking his path with an apologetic smile.

  "Sir, the bill."

  "Oh. Right." Kuro reached into his pocket and pulled out ten silver coins, handing them over.

  The server's smile became strained.

  "Sir... it's not enough."

  Kuro's hand froze. "What? How much is the food?"

  "Two gold, sir."

  Kuro stared at her in genuine disbelief.

  "Two gold? For burnt eggs and leather bread?" His eyes narrowed.

  "Women explain why my meal costs two gold," Kuro said, his voice flat, "before I start thinking murder is cheaper."

  The server began to sweat, tension radiating from every line of her body.

  "It's... because... your companion... ordered for... everybody in the guild..." She smiled nervously. "And said... you, kind sir... would pay for it."

  Silence.

  "My companion?"

  Understanding dawned.

  "That bitch."

  His eye twitched violently as he scanned the hall, searching for Ella.

  She was already gone.

  "Tch."

  Outside, the town bustled with unusual energy.

  Merchants gathered their wares into wagons—some pulled by horses, others mounted on mechanical frames that growled and hissed with steam. People moved in groups, families and friends, all heading toward the town's edge with excited chatter.

  Kuro walked back toward Fenric's house, jaw still tight with irritation.

  A dark figure moved through the crowd.

  Sleek, quick, weaving between merchants and wagons with practiced ease. It tracked Kuro's movement, staying parallel but never quite approaching.

  Kuro noticed—how could he not?—but felt no malicious intent. Just... observation.

  He kept walking.

  The figure crouched low as it passed a particular wagon that caught the morning light.

  The vehicle was a predator in steel form—a sleek, low-slung beast that hugged the ground like a prowling cat. Its scarred metal body was shaped like an ancient muscle car, all aggressive angles and reinforced plating. A single reinforced door served all who rode within, leading to a tight four-seater cabin built for speed, not comfort. Wide, treaded wheels bit into the earth with aggressive confidence.

  A war-wagon of iron and fire.

  "What are you doing?"

  The dark figure froze.

  A voice came from above—someone leaning casually against the wagon, looking down with amused curiosity.

  The figure straightened slowly, revealing her face.

  Lovia.

  "Oh! Hi, Ella. How are you doing?"

  "I'm good. I think." Ella's eyes dropped to lovia's posture. "But... is your back okay?"

  Lovia glanced over her shoulder—Kuro had already turned a corner, disappearing from sight. She stood fully, brushing dust from her coat.

  "Yeah, I'm just... getting some exercise. Rejuvenating blood flow." She cleared her throat. "So what are you doing here?"

  "Hm? Nothing. Just watching the people." Ella gestured to the bustling street. "They seem busy. What's going on?"

  Lovia blinked. "You don't know?"

  "Know what?"

  "It's the Spring Festival. Emberthaw." Lovia shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you forgot."

  "Oh. Yeah." Ella's expression was carefully neutral. "I totally forgot about it."

  Lovia just stared at her.

  "So are you going? It's held in Normain Town."

  "Nah, I'm good."

  "Seriously?" Lovia's voice rose with exasperation. "I know you're busy being an A-rank adventurer, but you have to cut loose sometimes. Especially after defeating an orc king—you of all people need this."

  Ella's face hardened. "I don't know. I'm just... busy with something."

  Her voice dropped.

  "Someone."

  Lovia's eyes lit up. "Ohhhhh, what is this? Is it lov—"

  "Nope."

  "Oh, okay." Lovia raised her hands in surrender, grinning. "Anyway, it's good to see you. And your wagon—" She patted the scarred metal affectionately. "—still looking cool as ever."

  "Yup. My Windwaker demands special care." Ella ran her hand along the hood with obvious pride.

  "So when are the rest of the crew joining us? Are the Dragonbloods already at the festival?"

  Ella's gaze shifted away.

  "...Who knows."

  Lovia's smile faded. "...Did something happen? Did you come alone?"

  "...Yeah. Something happened."

  "What? What happened?"

  Ella's nose wrinkled. "I smelled like shit this morning when I woke up. Do you know what happened? I don't remember much when I get drunk."

  "Oh! Of course! Hehe..." Lovia laughed nervously, taking a step back. "I don't know anything! Oh shit, look at the time—I have to go! Bye! See you at the festival!"

  She turned and fled before Ella could respond.

  Ella watched her go, shaking her head.

  "Bye. Hm. Whatever."

  She climbed into Windwaker's driver seat, the door closing with a solid thunk. The engine growled to life—a deep, mechanical purr.

  The wagon pulled away from the curb and disappeared down the road, heading south.

  Normain Town - Spring Preparations

  The festival grounds bloomed with last-minute preparations.

  Banners hung between buildings in vibrant reds, golds, and greens. Merchants erected stalls along the main thoroughfare, displaying wares that caught the morning sun—jewelry, weapons, enchanted trinkets, foods from a dozen different regions.

  Musicians tuned instruments in the town square. A stage was being constructed from fresh timber, the smell of sawdust mixing with baking bread and roasting meat.

  Children ran through the streets, laughing, already caught up in the excitement.

  Spring had come to the kingdom of Loz-Melvern.

  And with it, the promise of celebration.