"Ok, how are your wounds? Feeling better?"
Ragna's body was still wrapped in bandages, though the ones around his mouth had been removed. Now the raw stitches across his lips were visible—dark thread pulling tight against swollen, scarred skin.
"Yes. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Elara said gently. "But don't stress yourself. If you need to rest, just let us know."
"I'm fine."
The two other companions lingered nearby: one stared openly at Ragna and Elara, curious or wary, while the other scanned their surroundings restlessly, eyes darting over the shadows.
Suddenly a man emerged from the entrance ahead.
"You can come in now," he called. "The priestess wants to see you."
They stepped inside.
The interior was a patchwork shrine pieced together from the apocalypse: walls of stacked rubble and salvaged metal sheets, draped with tattered cloth that might once have been curtains or flags. Dim light filtered through cracks and came from flickering candles or oil lamps placed on makeshift ledges of broken concrete. Scavenged religious icons—crosses, strange symbols, faded prints—hung unevenly, a chaotic blend of old faiths clinging to survival. The air smelled faintly of wax, dust, and incense. Mira stood quietly beside the central figure.
Why do I have a bad feeling about this place?, Ragna thought, unease coiling in his gut.
The priestess was an old woman with snow-white hair falling in thin strands around her face, piercing blue eyes that seemed to cut through the gloom, and deep wrinkles etched by time and hardship. Yet she carried a surprising vitality—an alert, almost luminous presence that belied her age.
"Good afternoon, Priestess," Elara began, voice steady and respectful. "My companions and I came here because we heard you'd found someone we're looking for. Do you perhaps know where that person is right now? Who has her?"
"Do you know where Mimi is?" Ragna cut in, sharper than intended.
The priestess tilted her head slightly.
"Sorry," she said simply.
"Eh?" Ragna blinked.
"What?" Elara echoed, turning to him.
"I don't actually know or have seen this person you're talking about," the priestess continued calmly.
"What?" Ragna's voice cracked with shock, the word hanging heavy in the dim space.
Elara just stared at the old woman, expression hardening.
"It is exactly as you heard," the priestess said, unflinching. "I don't know who you're talking about."