“Steel remembers what flesh forgets.”

  — Old Knight’s Proverb

  Rain began to fall—not heavy, but with the steady rhythm of something that had no intention of stopping. The map’s light had faded, but its imprint remained in Arata’s mind. Eight sigils. A shattered crown. A warning that made no sense.

  And now, silence.

  Yume had gone still. Her wings no longer glowed. She perched quietly on a vine-laced beam as Arata paced the broken cabin floor.

  “What now?” he asked. “That message—what does it mean?”

  Yume didn’t look at him.

  “It means the Veil is thinning.”

  Arata frowned. “You’ve said that before. What is the Veil, really?”

  She turned to him then, her eyes faintly luminous. “The thing that keeps the world sane. The wall between what is, and what shouldn’t be.”

  Arata felt a cold tension rise in his chest.

  “And it’s cracking because of me?”

  Before she could answer, a rustle came from beyond the clearing. Heavy steps. Not a beast—armored feet. Instinct flared. Arata ducked behind a stone pillar, pulling Yume with him.

  A moment later, a figure emerged from the fog.

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  Tall. Clad in black and bronze. A knight—crestless. His helmet reflected nothing but the gray light, his cloak soaked and dragging.

  He walked straight toward the ruined cabin.

  Then stopped.

  “I know you're there,” he said quietly. “I followed the memory pulse. Only one being alive can stir the Cabin’s voice like that.”

  Arata tensed. Yume whispered, “That’s not just any knight… that’s Sir Billion.”

  “Sir… Billion?” Arata echoed. “One of the Veil knights?”

  “The Third Blade. The one who never sleeps.”

  The knight’s helmet turned toward the shadows. “You shouldn’t be here, boy. This place is cursed.”

  Arata stepped out slowly, hands raised. “And yet here you are.”

  There was a pause.

  Then—soft laughter. Bitter. Not cruel.

  “You’ve got a spine. Or you’re just ignorant.” Billion removed his helmet. His eyes were dark and tired, his hair streaked with silver. “I once knew someone with your face.”

  Arata blinked. “You… know me?”

  Billion studied him. Deeply. As if memory and reality were trying to fit together and failing.

  “No,” he said finally. “But I remember you. And that’s worse.”

  Without another word, he drew his sword.

  It was unlike anything Arata had ever seen. Black metal etched with violet veins. Its edge shimmered with something that felt like pain.

  Yume gasped. “That’s Gravemark. The blade that records death.”

  Arata stepped back instinctively. “What are you doing?”

  “Testing a theory,” Billion said coldly.

  And then—he moved.

  What followed wasn’t a duel. It was survival. Billion's strikes were precise, merciless, as though trying to force the truth out of Arata’s bones. Arata dodged, barely keeping up, the air screaming with each missed blow.

  And then—it happened.

  For a heartbeat, Arata’s eyes turned gold and black.

  A pulse of light and shadow erupted around him, flinging Billion back into the mist.

  Silence.

  Billion lay on one knee, his sword planted into the ground, eyes wide.

  “…No,” he whispered. “That power—those eyes. Akira?”

  Yume froze.

  Arata’s voice shook. “Who’s Akira?”

  Billion stood slowly, breathing hard. “My son. He died twenty years ago.”

  Arata took a step back. “I saw him. Four days ago. He saved me in the forest.”

  Billion's hand trembled. “That’s impossible. That forest… is where Akira died.”

  Yume whispered behind him, “This is the fray again. Time is cracking around you.”

  The knight stared at Arata like a man who had just seen a ghost.

  Then he did something unexpected.

  He sheathed his blade.

  And bowed.

  “I don’t know who—or what—you are. But I will not strike you again. Not until I understand.”

  Arata blinked. “So… you’re not going to kill me?”

  “Not yet.” Billion turned away. “But the Queen will. And if the others find out what I just saw… even I won’t be able to stop them.”