The summons arrived at dawn, tucked beneath a merchant's cloak and sealed with royal wax. Naofumi barely glanced at it before muttering, "Another formality."
Kaley took it in hand, turned it once, and frowned. "This isn't just protocol. Something's stirring. They want eyes on us."
There was no mention of the Wave.
Just a request to assist with a regional patrol—a political form of busywork, thinly veiled as royal responsibility.
They set out by midday.
The countryside was green, deceptively calm. A soft wind drifted over the plains as Filo pulled the cart at an even pace, chirping when she saw butterflies or shiny rocks.
Raphtalia sat beside Kaley, sharpening her sword in quiet rhythm. Naofumi walked ahead, shield slung across his back, eyes scanning.
Kaley kept her senses on the horizon, but something was wrong.
Not with the land.
With the stillness.
The roads were too quiet.
The villages they passed through too quick to close their doors.
By the time they reached the outpost town of Lyness, dusk had already cooled the stone paths. A small fort housed the local militia, but half its banners were torn.
The commander greeted them stiffly. "Monsters retreating from the border. Something's disturbing their patterns. We've had vanishings. No bodies. Just empty homes."
Naofumi frowned. "A pre-Wave migration?"
Kaley didn't answer immediately.
She walked to the edge of the cliff path overlooking the fields.
The air shimmered faintly. Too faint to see. But she felt it in her bones.
"The Veil is thinning," she said.
Raphtalia looked at her. "The Veil?"
Kaley didn't explain. Not yet.
But inside, the word lingered like ash behind her ribs. She could feel something brushing against the edge of her presence, like fingers trailing behind a mirror. The way the Void had once whispered to her on ruined decks and forgotten orbits.
This world wasn't supposed to know the Void.
And yet, it listened.
Naofumi didn't speak, but his gaze lingered on her longer than usual—concerned. He didn't press. But Kaley felt the weight of his silence settle beside her like a promise.
Raphtalia watched the tension in Kaley's jaw and quietly reached out, just brushing her cloak. She didn't speak either. She didn't need to.
That night, the party set camp outside the watchpost.
Filo curled into a nest of cloth and feathers. Raphtalia leaned against the cart, quietly humming a lullaby Kaley didn't recognize.
Naofumi sat polishing his shield, silent.
Kaley sat with her back to a tree, a small mirror resting on her knee.
Its surface rippled.
The Man in the Wall smiled.
He didn't speak. But he mimicked her breathing.
Matched her pulse.
She didn't look away.
She remembered when she'd first seen him—just a flicker in the corner of a Zariman corridor, after the lockdown had failed. Back then, she thought it was trauma. An echo of her own breakdown. Now? She wasn't so sure.
Now he had a shape. A rhythm.
He was learning.
She stared until her reflection stopped blinking.
Not until Raphtalia climbed beside her and gently nudged her shoulder did she break the trance.
"You're not alone," the girl whispered.
Kaley didn't respond. Not right away.
But she closed the mirror.
And placed it face-down beside her.
From across the camp, Naofumi had been watching, quiet and unmoving. He didn't interrupt—he never did—but his hand tightened slightly around his shield. And when Kaley glanced up, his eyes met hers.
He didn't ask.
But he saw.
Later, as the fire dimmed and Raphtalia dozed near Filo's soft chirping, Naofumi moved to sit closer to Kaley.
"He's getting stronger, isn't he?"
Kaley nodded slowly. "He's not just watching now. He's reaching."
"Toward you?"
"No," she said softly. "Through me."
Naofumi clenched his jaw, then let out a breath. "We won't let him."
Kaley didn't respond, but something in her posture eased.
The next morning, the patrol route curved through abandoned farmland.
Naofumi moved at point. Kaley followed at his flank. Raphtalia and Filo kept close.
Tracks led to a small barn—but no animals. No blood. No sound.
Inside, Kaley found a wall of reflective tools hung neatly in rows.
Each one showed her reflection.
Each one twisted in slight, subtle ways.
Too many eyes. A smile that lasted too long.
For a moment, Kaley felt something she hadn't in years:
Not fear.
Familiarity.
As if the shadows in the tools knew her name. Knew how many steps she'd taken, how many choices she'd made that left blood behind.
Naofumi saw her stop. "Is he here?"
Kaley nodded. "Not fully. But close."
She didn't say what she really felt:
He was practicing.
Raphtalia came to her side, tense. "Does he want to hurt us?"
Kaley's voice was low. "He wants to understand us. Then decide."
Raphtalia reached for Kaley's hand—barely a touch. "Then we'll stand together, if he does."
As they made their way back, the group moved tighter. Filo chirped and leaned into Kaley's leg more than once. Raphtalia stayed close, glancing at both Kaley and Naofumi with quiet resolve.
That night, after a shared meal of rabbit stew, Raphtalia handed Kaley a carved token she'd whittled by the fire—a rough, smiling shape with wide wings.
"It's… sort of you," she said, embarrassed.
Kaley blinked, surprised. "Thank you."
Naofumi raised his bowl. "To not going mad from cursed mirrors and strange patrols."
They clinked wooden bowls in silent agreement. The laughter was small but real.
It was the first time in days the campfire felt warm.
Kaley tucked the token into her belt with reverence. Later that night, she paused while checking her gear and caught Raphtalia watching her with a quiet, almost hopeful gaze. There was no need for words—something maternal had passed between them, silent but sure. A glance, a nod, a shift of trust.
It settled deeper than they realized.
They finished their route by nightfall.
When they returned to town, a sealed letter was waiting. Royal insignia again.
This time, it was direct:
You are summoned to the Dragon Hourglass. The next Wave is coming.
And beneath it, in faded ink:
You are being watched.