[Realm: Álfheimr]
[Location: Heart Kingdom Outskirts]
[Virelheim Mountain Village]
"So… over eighty Heart Kingdom soldiers, and two Nil," Gretel muttered, her voice strained. Her steps crunched lightly against the wooden platform as she led the way through the elevated village. "What luck."
Mikoto, walking a half-step behind her, let out a soft, irritated breath through his nose.
"Maybe don't say it out loud, idiot," he said sharply. "Unless you want everyone to panic like a bunch of dumbasses."
"Sorry, sorry," Gretel chuckled, raising a hand to sheepishly rub the back of her neck. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "It's just… a lot, you know? You'd think the world would give us a break at some point."
Mikoto stared at her for a long moment. Despite everything—the encroaching threat, the numbers, the Nil—Gretel wore that stupid smile of hers. Like none of it mattered.
"You gonna keep up that façade?" he asked almost rhetorically.
Gretel blinked and turned toward him, her expression flickering with confusion. "What do you mean?"
"Nevermind." He waved her off and gestured ahead with a slight tilt of his chin toward a shadowed nook near the edge of the platform. There, tucked beside a wooden shed, lay a sliver of relative privacy. "Come on. Over there."
She followed his lead wordlessly, the two of them slipping into the quiet as the bustle of the village dulled behind them. When they stopped, Mikoto leaned one shoulder against the old wall and looked up at her through strands of hair that had loosened from his bun.
"So," he began, "do you have an actual plan, or were you hoping I'd solve everything?"
"Well, I'm no tactician, if that's what you're asking," Gretel muttered, her brow furrowed as she rubbed her chin with a pensive hand. "And I've never fought another Nil. I've only just started properly developing my Schema. I'd be no match for the Eighth seat, even if I knew what I was doing."
"Any idea what her ability is?" Mikoto asked. "I'm plenty strong, but when you know nothing about your enemy, best to assume the worst."
"An interesting saying," Gretel said, faintly amused.
"Some hag said it to me once," Mikoto replied with a shrug, brushing hair out of his face. "No clue where she ended up."
Gretel let it pass without comment. She knew him well enough not to prod when he gave half-answers.
"But no," she continued, "I don't know the Eighth seat's Schema. There are rumors, but that's all—whispers about their martial skill, some vague hearsay, nothing concrete."
"So your knowledge is useless," Mikoto deadpanned.
She gave a weak laugh. "Pretty much."
Mikoto sighed and folded his arms, boot tapping against the ground. "With the number of soldiers they've brought, this village won't last ten minutes if they march in."
Gretel nodded solemnly. "I agree. Though… I am surprised there aren't any Retorta Guild troops. Usually, a Mortifer travels with their own specialized forces."
"Their guild's that big?" Mikoto asked, glancing sidelong at her.
"Massive," she affirmed, "but more decentralized than you'd think."
"Well, lucky for us, I guess," Mikoto said, softly tapping his knuckles against the wall. "The soldiers aren't a problem. They're just animals."
"Animals?" Gretel tilted her head at the strange term.
Mikoto blinked, then waved it off. "Don't mind that."
He pushed off the wall and crossed his arms again. "I could kill them all easily enough. But not while the Nil are there. Not knowing their Schema's like trying to walk blind into fire."
"You said it," Gretel murmured, nodding. "We should speak to Gerard, the village chief. He's lived through more than us at least. He might have some insight."
Mikoto hesitated. There was something in her voice—some flicker of hope mingled with guilt. She was looking for an out. Still, she wasn't wrong. Charging in blind wasn't an option.
("The Dragon Descendants… the Ancestors… Their abilities were beyond conventional magic. Structured differently. More advanced. Schema might operate the same way. If I can observe it, maybe I can understand it. I should have Gretel show me hers.")
Mikoto cupped his chin, the thought gnawing at his focus before he nodded once. "Fine."
"Then it's settled!" Gretel said, smiling brighter than the moment called for. "Y'know, Mikoto, you're being a lot more helpful than I expected."
"Don't flatter me until we've turned these bastards into mulch," Mikoto replied dryly, already turning away to walk.
Gretel followed, still grinning. "You didn't deny it."
"How about you shut up?" Mikoto huffed, not turning around.
She was undeterred. She'd gotten used to the roughness in his words—it was never personal. It was just Mikoto.
"…But you," she began after a beat, "can I ask something? Honestly?"
Mikoto glanced back over his shoulder, one pale brow arched. "Huh? What now?"
"Just curious," she said with a shrug. "Humor me?"
He sighed, rubbed at his temples, then gave in. "Fine. Whatever."
Gretel's smile softened. "Are you really helping just because you're curious about Schema?"
Mikoto's eyes narrowed. "Pretty sure you already have the answer."
"Still," she said, "you could've just asked me to show you mine, y'know."
He stopped.
So did she.
"Tch."
"Sooo…" Gretel tilted her head, grinning.
"You're real annoying, you know that?"
"Maybe."
Mikoto huffed and pocketed his hands. His slender shoulders rose and fell. "It's none of your business."
"Aww~ Don't be like that," Gretel teased, letting out a light whine.
But he'd already started walking again.
He could already feel her about to speak again—Gretel, always too ready to run her mouth—but before her voice could rise again, something unexpected interrupted the moment. A distraction.
It seized everyone's attention. Heads turned. Conversation dulled to murmurs. The kind of moment that unsettled even the inattentive.
Mikoto tilted his head slightly.
And then: "So one, two, one, two and three."
A strange, singsong chant drifted through the air. At first it seemed nonsensical—until he saw her.
A woman—though just that word felt woefully insufficient.
She had long, inky-black hair, falling down her back with streaks of scarlet red. Twin horns, prominent and curved, erupted from her head and her skin was a warm, deep bronze—rich and sun-kissed—and her eyes crimson. The same vivid red as Mikoto's.
Her outfit was a modern reinvention of a dark, kimono-inspired ensemble with a high slit, the top cinched at the waist by a wide obi belt embroidered with a golden beast's head—a snarl caught mid-roar. Her sleeves, long and loose was ritual wear, their cuffs webbed with fishnet patterning. The skirt that hung beneath was a shade of blood. It seemed the perfect outfit for comfortable movement.
And move she did—with a skip. Her traditional sandals clicked against the stone as she hopped playfully across the ground, tracing shapes and symbols drawn with white chalk in a strange hopscotch-like pattern. One, then two, then three. Repeating.
The sight would've been laughable, surreal, if not for her absurdity and beauty that drew even more glances.
Around her, children laughed—three familiar voices alight with the kind of joy only the young could conjure.
"Whoa, you're really impressive, Miss!" came the excitable voice of Arabella, trailing close behind with wide eyes.
Meryl sniffled beside her, as always, wiping her nose with her sleeve. Andrew, bouncing beside them, looked just as enraptured.
They didn't see the stares. Or perhaps they didn't care.
Three children, utterly unbothered by the way grown men stopped in their tracks. Unaware that some of those watching hadn't blinked for far too long.
The horned woman finished her little game with a triumphant twist of her heel and struck a playful pose, fingers on her hip, a grin breaking her lips. "Ah, it would seem victory is mine once more," she announced.
Arabella blinked. "Hey, are you sure you haven't played this before?"
"Quite sure," the horned woman said, her grin not fading.
"T-Then where do you come from?" Andrew asked, peeking from behind Arabella's shoulder. "Are you a traveler like Miss Gretel?"
"I suppose," she replied, lifting her chin slightly. "I hail from Minagi Mountain, far in the east. The wind bid me onward. So, here I am—chasing it. Though I am in search of lodgings."
"The wind told you?" Meryl blinked rapidly, then sniffled again. "That's awesome."
The woman laughed—amused. She nodded.
"Miss Gretel could help you," Arabella suggested. "Hey, look, she's right over there!" The little girl pointed enthusiastically.
The woman followed the direction of her finger, her playful demeanor still intact—until her gaze landed on Mikoto.
It paused there.
For just a moment too long.
Her expression shifted—barely, but it was there. An intrigued widening of the eyes, a slight parting of her lips in the shape of an "o." Her attention did not waver as she studied him with the kind of curiosity that usually preceded danger.
Mikoto frowned, arching a brow. His red eyes remained unreadable, though the glance was returned in full.
Gretel blinked, breaking the tension. She stepped forward and gave a polite smile.
"Ah, a traveler? Well, nice to meet you. As you've probably guessed from these little goblins," she gestured lightly to the children, "I'm Gretel."
"A pleasure," the woman said, giving a nod of acknowledgement. Then, her gaze flicked back to Mikoto—again.
"Are you perhaps the leader of this little village?" she asked, still watching him.
Gretel chuckled. "Oh, no, no. I'm a traveler too. The chief here is Gerard, but he's not picky about visitors. You won't need to go through any big introductions. Actually, I know someone who rents out a room—they'd be happy to take you in. And they won't even charge any Eor."
The horned woman tilted her head. "Eor?"
"The currency in these parts," Gretel explained.
"Ah," she said with a smile, placing a hand over her heart. "Then fortune smiles upon me indeed. I've none to offer."
Mikoto rolled his eyes slightly at that.
"I see…" Gretel trailed for a moment. "Well, miss—may we have your name?"
The horned woman turned back fully, her expression relaxing into a wry smile.
"Shuten-dōji," she said, letting the name linger. "A pleasure."
Her gaze flicked once more—of course—toward Mikoto.
He tensed almost imperceptibly.
"What?" he spat. His eyes were locked on her horns now. ("That name… and those horns. I remember it. A myth. An Oni by that name. I even told the brats a story about Oni yesterday. What the hell are the odds? Either someone's playing games, or this is just a coincidence.")
"May I have your name?" she asked softly, as if unaware of the storm she stirred in his head.
He hesitated—but only for a breath. There was no point in being evasive.
"Hm. It's Mikoto," he replied plainly. "My family name is Yukio. But just call me Mikoto."
Something flickered in her eyes. Delight, maybe? Recognition? It was impossible to tell.
"A fine name," she murmured. "Noble."
She dipped her head in a graceful bow—old-fashioned but smooth.
"I look forward to a fruitful relationship."