Alain sighed, trying to put weight behind the illusion he'd crafted.
"Honestly… imagine standing there, watching that happen. You never even tried to get up. I nearly thought you were dead."
Seria bristled, cheeks darkening with embarrassment. "If you put it like that, it's your fault too! Who drags someone to a place this dark? Of course I'd fall!"
"...Fair enough," Alain muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose like the banter was natural. The unease still clawed inside his chest.
Seria tilted her head, then brightened. "By the way—"
He blinked. "...Yes?"
"The gift. When are you giving it to me?"
The words cracked against him like a knife's edge. He hadn't forgotten, though he wished she had. His hesitation stretched long enough to feel heavy in his throat.
"...Ah, right. The gift."
"Seriously," she puffed, her eyes narrowing. "If it's something stupid, I'll be angry."
He forced a bitter smile. "Be kind. A lumberjack only earns three coppers a day. Luxury isn't exactly an option."
It was true. Bread, maybe an apple if the local merchant wasn't gouging prices, that was what his wages amounted to. Survival and little else. But scraps could be reforged into something more.
Alain dug out a worn pouch from his clothes, the leather soft from too many days pressed against him.
Seria's eyes followed his movement with curiosity. "...What's that?"
"You'll see."
Metal clicked as he dropped the object into her palm. Moonlight caught her breath with him.
"...Ah!"
It wasn't gold. It wasn't polished stone. But the way Seria gasped, he thought for one second it might have been.
A necklace. Copper cut into a geometric design, edges careful but not flawless, the faintly rough lines carved by his hand alone. A silver-colored chain looped through, holding it together.
At its center, a bird. Small, fragile in shape, wings outstretched against the cheap yellow glow.
Seria's eyes widened further. She lifted it in trembling fingers, letting the cheap metal glint under the pale night.
"...Don't stare so closely. It's not as impressive as it looks," Alain murmured, scratching the back of his neck.
"...! Did you… make this yourself?"
His cheeks burned at the question. "Yeah."
The word was flat, but the truth clung to it. He'd shaped the copper coin until it no longer resembled money, only symbol. An old man at the smelter had helped refine it into an ingot, even provided the chain with a knowing smile. The man probably assumed too much, but Alain had not corrected him.
Now Seria clutched it with unhidden joy.
"...Hehe. Thank you, Alain."
He forced his face to soften, relief slipping through the guilt pressing on his chest. That joy should have warmed him. Instead, it curdled, because he knew it didn't come from the necklace alone.
Magic twisted her heart while she laughed.
"Don't mention it," he answered quietly.
"...Alain? Give me your arm."
"Huh? Oh. Right."
Time had dragged past midnight. He could feel it in the heaviness of the air, in the fatigue crawling under his skin. It was late enough to return her before others noticed. He pulled her to her feet—
"...!"
Her body swayed, collapsing into him. Alain's reflex caught her. Her weight pressed against his chest, unbalanced, her breath uneven.
"Seria… What's wrong? Why can't you stand?"
Her puzzled eyes blinked up at him. "I-I don't know."
He clenched his jaw. The lie he'd woven held too many cracks. He had purified her body, erased blood and stains with the last dregs of restored magic. But magic couldn't mend everything.
She had been broken in ways she couldn't see.
"Dizziness," he muttered quickly. "You just stood too soon, that's all. Rest against me."
Seria nodded weakly, leaning further into him. Their figures overlapped under the pale light, the image sliding too easily into something resembling intimacy.
Neither spoke. He thought silence would protect her. But silence only gave space for feelings warped by the slave brand to reach the surface.
"...Alain," she whispered.
He forced composure. "Yeah?"
"...If I go back… it'll be hard for us to meet again, won't it?"
His pulse quickened. The air shifted. The mark was bleeding into her thoughts now. He knew it. A subtle trigger crawling from the subconscious into her voice.
"Probably," Alain admitted evenly, though guilt pressed against every syllable.
"...I don't want that."
The words ruptured into something sharper, heavier.
"I don't want that!" Her voice broke apart, rising like a scream, then cracking into sobs. Seria's hands clung to him before he could recoil, wrapping against him in frantic desperation.
Her tears streaked down like shards of glass pressed into skin.
"I don't want to part. I like you, Alain. I don't want to say goodbye…"
The look in her eyes carved into him. Tear-bright, trembling, more vulnerable than he ever wanted her to be—eyes that believed every poisoned thing the spell forced into her veins.
Alain's breath caught, flooding hot across his face. His expression twisted as though her words had struck him harder than any blade. He had never felt weaker.
Because part of him wanted to believe her.
And the other part knew the truth.