The White Desert had not grown kinder. If anything, it had learned their scent.
Wind hissed over the dunes, dragging grains of pale sand into whispering streams that bit against skin and stung the eyes. Beneath that constant sigh came another sound—low, rhythmic, like the heartbeat of something buried deep.
A Mersomufs was on the hunt.
But this time, it wasn't hunting them.
A group of five clung to a half-buried outcropping of stone. Two were mages, their cloaks flapping wildly, hands weaving wide, clumsy circles of power. The other three were swordsmen, armored but wind-burned, shouting over the roar of the beast that circled them.
"Hit the legs!" one swordsman bellowed, charging forward.
"You hit the legs!" one of the mages snapped, loosing a blast of flame that went wide, scorching sand instead of hide.
The Mersomufs lunged. The group scattered in disarray. One mage stumbled, his ankle catching in a crack of stone. The shadow of the beast fell over him—jaws opening.
And then it stopped.
No—someone had stopped it.
A figure stood between the mage and death. Tall for his age, lean muscle shifting easily beneath a black shirt and long coat. His hood was down, his face unreadable. In his hand was a blade of black steel.
One clean strike.
The leg came off.
The Mersomufs screamed, twisting, but the boy had already moved. A second strike—its head fell, steaming blood soaking into the sand.
The group stared, breathless.
"Who the hell—?" one swordsman began.
"You humans?" the boy asked, his voice calm, almost bored.
"Yes," the mage stammered. "Who… who are you?"
"Cidolfus Lynvern. That's Emily."
The girl beside him—taller now, but still younger than her brother—brushed sand from her black skirt. Her eyes scanned the group with quiet judgment.
One mage frowned. "Your swings… they're too wide."
"That's why yours barely scratched it," Emily cut in, blunt. "You need focus. Precision. If you don't cut deep, you're just making it angrier."
"We're from the Academy," the mage growled. "Who do you think you are?"
Cid only shrugged. "Just a cursed boy."
"How old are you?"
"Thirteen."
The mages exchanged uneasy glances.
Cid's eyes narrowed. "We need a village. Somewhere safe. Somewhere close."
Before anyone could answer, a shadow crossed the sand. A sound followed—deep, guttural, too familiar.
Emily's voice sharpened. "It's him again."
A black wyvern. Its wings were scarred, its tail a jagged stump. The same beast from before—the one that had lived.
Cid's grip tightened on Clain. "You again. This time, no mercy."
The group's leader cursed. "We can't fight that! Run!"
But Emily stayed beside her brother. "Not without him."
The wyvern dove.
Cid met it head-on. The clash was violent—talons against steel, sand exploding beneath them. The force hurled him back, boots furrowing deep lines into the dune.
It came again, faster. This time its claws closed around his torso, lifting him into the air.
"Cid!" Emily screamed.
The wyvern hurled him down.
Mid-fall, instinct took over. He twisted, boots striking the air as if it were solid, launching himself upward. Clain met horn—one shattered in a spray of black shards.
The beast roared, fire spilling from its throat.
Cid rolled beneath the plume. Another strike—second horn gone.
It spun toward the others. Emily shouted, "No!"
Cid moved—too fast for the eye to follow. He placed himself between his sister and the gaping maw. Took the blow against his side, letting the pain ground him.
Then he rose, slow and deliberate, eyes cold.
One step forward.
One slash.
The head fell.
The wyvern's body crashed into the sand. The ground shook.
Cid staggered, blood running freely from his ribs. He dropped to one knee, vision darkening.
"We need a village, now!" Emily shouted.
"We're twenty minutes away!" a mage cried. "But no hospital!"
"We don't need one," Cid muttered through clenched teeth. "Just Bill. Tell him… Charlie and Ellie's kids…"
Then the world went black.
He woke to the smell of woodsmoke and the sharp tang of alcohol.
The ceiling above him was low, planked in dark timber. The light filtering through a warped window was muted gold.
Pain flared in his ribs when he tried to sit up.
The door creaked. A man stepped in—broad shoulders, beard threaded with silver, eyes sharp as a whetted blade.
"You're awake," the man said, voice rough from years of tavern shouting. "You're in Bill's Tavern. And you're lucky you're not dead."
Cid blinked. "…Who are you?"
"Bill. I own the place. And you're going to tell me how the hell you know Charlie and Ellie."
Cid's hand tensed on the blanket. "I'm their son. Cidolfus Lynvern. The girl you saw with me—Emily—is my sister. We're from Moonlight."
Bill's eyes narrowed. "What's Ellie's birthday?"
"Twenty-third of the third month," Cid answered without hesitation.
Silence. Then Bill exhaled slowly and nodded. "Then you are her son. She was my sister."
The words landed heavy. Sister. Mother. Family—gone in one night.
"You've been out two days," Bill went on. "And you're healing too fast for someone with no magic."
"That's because I don't have any," Cid said flatly. "I'm the cursed one."
Bill studied him, then shrugged. "Doesn't matter. What do you want from me, kid?"
"I need help," Cid said. "Someone to take care of Emily. She's still a child, and this isn't a life for her. I'll take any room you give me, but she deserves better."
Bill scratched his beard. "I know someone—Briks. Travels often. He can take her in. You, though… you'll work. You'll earn your keep. You're a hunter now, whether you like it or not."
The door opened. A girl stepped inside—dark hair, sharp eyes. She carried herself like she owned every inch of the room.
"So you're my cousin," she said. "I'm Jesika. Bill's daughter."
Cid inclined his head. "Cidolfus."
Later that day, Briks arrived. Tall, sharp-featured, with the confidence of a man who'd survived too many knife fights.
"You're the kid?" he asked. "Fine. I'll take the girl. Not you."
"Good," Cid said. "That's all I ask."
"Then rest today. I leave tomorrow."
Emily burst through the door soon after, relief flooding her face. She threw her arms around him. "You're okay…"
He hugged her back, steadying his voice. "We're safe now. Let's celebrate."
They spent the evening in the tavern. Emily eventually fell asleep at the bar, head pillowed on folded arms.
Jesika came to stand beside him. "You're not going to be here when she leaves, are you?"
"I can't," Cid whispered. "She'll cry. And I'll break. I have to go now, before morning."
That night, he sat on the tavern roof, Clain across his knees, watching the stars.
Morning came. Briks strapped his gear. "Where's the kid?" he asked.
Bill's face was grim. "He's gone. Left you a message."
Emily unfolded the scrap of paper. Her eyes blurred. "No! He promised! He said we'd be together!" She ran for the door, but Bill caught her.
"He left to protect you," Bill said firmly.
"I don't care! I didn't want protection—I wanted him!"
Jesika laid a hand on her shoulder. "He watched over you all night. He never left your side until he was sure you'd be safe."
"I just wanted one more hug… one more day…" Emily's voice cracked.
Briks knelt, his voice gentler. "He gave everything for you. Even himself. That's real love, Emily. It hurts like hell because it's real."
"Then why does it hurt like this?"
"Because love," Briks said, "always costs something."
Above, from the roof's edge, Cid watched the caravan disappear into the pale dawn. Emily's small figure stood in the wagon, turned back until the last possible moment.
"I'm sorry, Emy," he whispered, the wind carrying his words away. A tear slid down his cheek, catching the first glint of sunrise.
"One day… I'll be strong enough. I'll come back. And I'll never let you go again."
His hand tightened on Clain's hilt.
"But today… I break my own heart so yours can heal."