The fog thinned the way breath did when a body finally accepted death.
It did not vanish all at once. It peeled away in layers—first the low-hanging mist that clung to shattered stone and uprooted earth, then the higher veil that hovered above the torn landscape like a second sky. What remained was devastation laid bare.
Cratered ground. Charred soil fused into glassy veins. Trees snapped and blackened as though lightning had passed through them and decided they were unworthy of survival. The forest's edge had been pushed back violently, not burned away, but repelled—as if nature itself had recoiled.
At the center of it all, Fur knelt.
One knee dug into the ground. One hand braced uselessly against the earth. His breathing was ragged, uneven, each inhale forced through clenched teeth. His axe lay several feet away, half-buried in scorched dirt, its edge dulled by magic it had never been meant to meet.
And above him—
A presence.
Seth stood where the air still smelled wrong.
He wore no armor. No cloak. No sigil of authority or protection. Just an armless shirt clinging faintly to his frame, brown trousers held in place by a belt dense with mechanical tools and unfamiliar fittings, black sandals dusted with ash and stone. The metallic blindfold across his eyes caught the dim light, dull and functional rather than ornamental.
He smelled like sulfur alloy.
Not fire.
Not smoke.
Something engineered. Something forged.
He looked down at Fur, then lifted his head slowly, as though finally noticing the land around them.
"Seriously," Seth said flatly.
"What the hell?"
His voice was not raised. That somehow made it worse.
Above Fur, above the ruined ground, above the quiet aftermath of power spent.
A moment passed.
Then Agatha descended.
She did not land heavily. No shockwave, no flourish. She simply touched the ground as though gravity had always been waiting for her permission. Her boots met the earth without sound. The last traces of her magic dimmed, folding inward, vanishing behind her eyes like shutters closing.
"What?" she asked, genuinely casual.
Seth turned, lifting one hand and extending it toward the landscape—toward the scorched earth, the fractured stone, the mutilated forest.
"Don't you think this is a bit much?"
Agatha glanced around. Slowly. Thoroughly.
Then she stepped forward until she was standing on the ground properly, one foot nudging a cracked root aside.
"I'm sorry," she said mildly. "I can't hear you."
She looked him up and down.
"How about you go take a shower before you talk to me?"
One eyebrow rose.
Seth blinked.
"What?"
She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she tilted her head just slightly, her expression flattening into a look that needed no magic to carry weight.
The seriously? look.
Seth exhaled through his nose. "Feels like you're giving me a gesture glare."
Agatha smiled faintly.
"Ooh. Am I?"
"You do know," Seth continued, voice even but edged now, "you aren't supposed to stay outside for long."
She folded her arms. "Am I?"
Her gaze sharpened.
"Says the one who told me to carry out this action."
Seth, "It's not like I forced you to."
Agatha, "You were going to make Evelyn do this."
The name landed heavier than any spell.
Agatha stepped closer, close enough that the lingering heat in the air bent around her presence.
"Do you know how dangerous this was?"
Seth didn't answer right away. His head turned again, toward the land. Toward the scars.
"Still," he said finally, "you shouldn't have let it escalate to this level. You should have made it swift."
Agatha's eyes narrowed—not in anger, but in something colder.
"There are other ways to get things done besides violence."
"Oh?" Seth murmured.
He turned fully now, facing the destruction as if reading a report only he could see.
"You do."
"The damage is done," Agatha said. "Nature will take its course."
"Aren't you aware," Seth said quietly, "that a battle like this draws attention?"
She waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry. I put up a concealed barrier. No one will notice what happened here."
"You did that before the fight ended."
She paused.
"…So you were watching?"
A beat.
"That's basically you slacking off," she added, "and lying about being busy."
"No," Seth said.
Then, after a fraction of a second,
"Yes."
He adjusted his stance. "Aid gave me a report. Outside storming disturbance."
"Oh."
"So," Seth continued, "there's a chance this area gets investigated, The guild, A passerby, A patrol, Someone notices the uproar, reports it. The lord of this land could issue a scouting."
Agatha tilted her head. "I see. That's bad, huh?"
"Worst," Seth said. "So you'll need to do something about it."
She stared at him.
"…Wait. What?"
"Why me and not you?"
Seth, "You dragged the battle out."
"No. No," she said sharply. "This is your responsibility because—"
A low groan cut through the air.
Fur shifted.
Both of them turned.
Seth's head angled toward the sound. "What did you do to him that's making him groan?"
"I immobilized him."
"I don't smell blood," Seth said. "Or the faint of magic."
Agatha's lips curved. "I have my ways."
"…You used witchcraft on him?"
She didn't answer.
Seth turned, walking past Fur without a glance at his face, and knelt beside the rectangular box lying near his hand. He picked it up, its surface cold and faintly resistant, then straightened.
"What do we have here?"
He opened it.
Agatha said nothing.
Inside, nestled in dark lining, was a crystal vial.
Blood floated within it—suspended, unmoving, preserved by means Seth couldn't immediately identify. The crystal blocked scent entirely. No iron. No life. No decay.
Seth frowned.
"…I can't smell it."
Agatha stepped closer, peering in. Her eyes glowed faintly as she appraised it.
"It's human blood," she said. "But not quite."
She hesitated.
"The content is different. Special."
Seth's fingers tightened around the vial.
"…Royal," he murmured.
Not certainty.
Probability.
He closed the box.
Then he turned—not toward Fur or Bash, but toward the distant pull of the dungeon.
"Do you want to do anything with them?" Agatha asked quietly.
Seth paused.
Seconds passed.
Then he shook his head once.
"No."
He handed the box back. "Do what you like."
Agatha stared at Fur and Bash, still broken on the ground, then looked after Seth as he began walking away.
"…It's no use," she murmured.
She followed.
As they walked, the silence stretched.
"Don't forget," Seth said without turning, "to fix the mess you caused."
"I'm not doing anything," Agatha replied, "until you do."
"…Alright," Seth sighed. "Alright. We'll do it together."
Hours passed.
The light shifted. Shadows lengthened.
Fur still hadn't moved.
Bash stirred—groaning, coughing, magic flickering weakly through his ruined channels.
Then—
A growl.
Low. Wet. Hungry.
From the dark forest beyond the barrier's edge, shapes emerged.
Hounds.
Not summoned.
Not controlled.
Wild beasts drawn by weakness, blood, and the scent of death delayed.
They circled.
Closed in.
Screams echoed—brief, sharp, desperate.
Then nothing.
The forest swallowed the sound.
And the land, slowly, began to forget.