When Gilly opened her eyes, the soft glow of early light filled the room. For a moment, she lay still beneath the heavy sheets, her mind slow to wake—until a quiet, haunting melody drifted through the air.
It was Ephini.
Her voice carried gently from the other side of the room, singing a tune that stirred something deep within Gilly's chest. The song felt strangely familiar, like a forgotten lullaby from long ago, distant and bittersweet. Though she was now fully awake, Gilly didn't move. She let the melody wrap around her, pulling loose old memories—faces, laughter, moments from her world now far behind.
But the pull was too strong. She sat up suddenly, turning to face Ephini.
"That... that song... what's its name?" Gilly asked, her voice breaking the quiet. Her eyes sparkled, far too eager for someone who had just woken from sleep.
Ephini glanced over her shoulder, smiling softly as if amused by the sudden energy.
"I don't know the name," Ephini replied, her voice carrying a gentle sadness. "My mother used to sing it to me when I was young. But that was... so long ago."
For a fleeting moment, the warmth in her eyes dimmed. Her gaze drifted to the window, distant and wistful, as if she were seeing something no one else could—a life long past, unreachable.
Gilly noticed the shift immediately and, feeling the weight in the air, quickly changed the subject.
It was then that a curious thought crossed her mind. How old was Ephini, really? She looked so young, hardly older than Gilly herself. But something about the way she spoke... the way she carried herself... hinted at much more.
As if reading her thoughts, Valmor stepped into the room, a mild smile on his face. Gilly seized the moment and blurted the question aloud.
"Ephini... how old are you, really?"
Before the woman could respond, Valmor answered in her stead, his voice steady.
"She is eighty-nine."
Gilly stared, stunned. Eighty-nine? But she barely looked twenty. The answer made no sense—and yet, something about the world she was in rarely did.
Still reeling, she suddenly remembered why she had been so anxious to rise. Her resolve returned. Sliding off the bed, she lowered her head, her hands clenching tightly.
"Valmor... please. Let me see Uyi."
Her voice rang firm, unwavering with emotion. Silence followed. The room felt heavy, as if her words weighed on the air itself. When no answer came, she bowed deeper, her voice trembling now.
"Please... Please... Please..."
Tears dripped quietly onto the polished floor, one after another, shining like tiny pearls in the light.
Valmor watched her, saying nothing for a long moment. In his mind, he'd prepared to refuse. But watching her—this strange girl who had suffered and longed so much—he felt the father's heart within him soften.
He placed a large, gentle hand on her shoulder. His voice, low but kind, broke the silence.
"Come. Follow me."
And with that, they set out—toward the outskirts of the town.
Zin joined them on the way, his cloak trailing behind him. He'd just returned from a long patrol and said nothing, but his quiet presence fell into step beside them, his sharp eyes taking everything in.
But Gilly's mind was not only on Uyi. Another question gnawed at her thoughts. She turned, glancing at the sky—then at Zin, then Ephini.
"Isn't it strange," she said softly, breaking the quiet, "that the sun hasn't set in days?"
They froze.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. Their eyes fell on her, sharp and searching. Zin's gaze narrowed. Ephini blinked in surprise. Even Valmor turned, his brow slightly furrowed.
To ask such a thing—here—meant only one thing: she was not of this land. No one born under these skies would find this odd.
Perhaps, they thought, she came from the far reaches of the Xin Dynasty or Ping Dynasty. Or the distant islands of Salamander. Places where old cycles of day and night still clung to the world. But here? Here, where humans dwelled until now, this was the norm.
Valmor forced a smile to hide his unease.
"In this land, the day and night cycle is different," he explained carefully, watching her reaction. "We have seven days of endless daylight, followed by six days of complete darkness. And then two days in between, where the light softens, like morning or evening. In total... fifteen days per cycle."
Zin yawned, clearly uninterested, and moved a little ahead, leading the way.
To them, it was common knowledge. But to Gilly... it was revelation. Another piece of the strange puzzle clicking into place. The days that never ended. The moons, the suns—each glowing with their own colors.
Nothing here was natural.
Her mind spun as they arrived at the shed—the place where Uyi was kept. Two guards stood watch, their posture straight and unmoving. At the sight of Valmor, they bowed slightly and stepped aside, opening the way.
Gilly felt her heart quicken. Behind that door... Uyi waited.
And she was about to find out what else this strange world was hiding.
Valmor led the way, silent and grim, down the narrow corridor to the room where Gilly had received her first true scar in this strange world—the room that had burned itself into her memory like a brand.
The door creaked open slowly.
As Gilly stepped inside, a sudden chill wrapped around her. But it was no ordinary cold. When she touched her own arm, her skin was warm... alive. No, this cold crept deeper—into the marrow of her bones, into the fragile fabric of her soul. It clung to her spirit, whispering fear and shadow.
Her heart quickened as she moved forward, one slow step at a time. She did not notice that the others—Valmor, Zin, and Ephini—had all stopped at the threshold, unwilling or perhaps unable to enter with her.
Each step deeper into the room made the cold more intense, the air thick and heavy, as if the darkness itself sought to wrap around her limbs and drag her down.
Valmor frowned, uneasy. His hand twitched as if to stop her.
"This is madness..." he muttered under his breath.
But Zin placed a steady hand on his shoulder, his voice low and firm.
"If you want her to grow... then you must let this play out, Father."
For once, Zin spoke without mockery. No casual insult, no careless 'old man' slipping from his lips. His respect in that moment spoke volumes. This was no trivial thing. Valmor sighed heavily but said no more.
Inside the room, something strange began to happen.
Gilly's skin faintly shimmered, pale blue light curling across her flesh like living threads. Thin markings appeared—lines and arcs, strange and ancient, spreading like veins or rivers along her arms, her neck, even her face. A web of glowing symbols, each pulse matching the slow beat of her heart.
It was as if an unseen map was being drawn upon her.
She paused, but the cold no longer touched her. The fear was gone. In its place was a strange calm—deep, steady, unshaken. She moved the rest of the way toward Uyi's side with no hesitation, oblivious to the transformation on her skin.
Behind her, Valmor stared, speechless.
"What... what is this?" he whispered, unable to place the phenomenon.
But Zin and Ephini exchanged knowing glances. Suspicion darkened their faces.
"Her mana threads... there are hundreds," Ephini murmured. "And the density... this is beyond normal. Beyond anything human."
"Not threads," Zin corrected softly. His gaze sharpened. "Paths."
She was close now—reaching out, her hand trembling as it hovered over Uyi's motionless form. The guards outside might have forbidden this, but here, no one dared stop her.
Her fingers brushed Uyi's arm.
At once, tendrils of black fog—thick and oily—uncoiled from Uyi's body, slithering toward her hand. They licked at her skin like smoke and flowed into her flesh.
A flash of pain struck her shoulder—sharp and burning—the place where the centipede had once stabbed her. She gasped, clutching at it, as a voice echoed in the darkness of her mind.
& "We will meet again... hahahaha..."
It faded, but its weight lingered in her bones.
And then—power. A strange, burning energy surged through her veins, washing away the cold, scattering the darkness like mist in the sun. The black fog vanished. Uyi's body, once pulsing with corrupted veins, lay still—unblemished. The marks were gone.
But he did not wake.
Gilly sat heavily on the edge of the bed, breathing slow and steady. The blue glow on her skin faded and vanished, leaving no trace but the faint warmth of the sun now pouring into the room through the cabin window.
The chilling darkness that once filled this place—the presence of corruption—was gone. Consumed.
Into her.
They watched her, silent and wary.
Every day this girl grew stranger. Every act, every moment with her peeled away layers of mystery they could not yet solve. And now the greatest question hung in the air: the corruption's energy had vanished—but where had it gone?
They knew the answer. It was inside her.
But Seras, the only one who might understand, had vanished two days before without a word. Until she returned, they could do nothing but watch and wait.
Except Zin.
Zin stood frozen, disturbed.
His eyes fixed on where the marks had been—the glowing lines that no ordinary human should bear. His breath caught in his throat, and under it he whispered, barely audible:
"Dragon's Blessing..."
The words felt foreign and old, forgotten by time itself.
Few living had ever seen such markings. Fewer still knew their meaning. Dragons were spoken of in legend only, their existence scrubbed clean from history, their traces erased. And yet the signs were unmistakable.
His suspicion grew sharp and cold in his chest.
Without another word, Zin turned and left the room, the echo of his boots fading down the corridor. There was work to do. Questions to answer.
And Gilly... Gilly was no ordinary child.
Not anymore.