Standing before the massive gates of the tribe, the sky had already begun to fade into soft shades of pink and violet.

  “Luckily, I made it back before sunset.”

  The small thing hanging in the pouch at her side had been unusually quiet the entire way. From time to time, she lifted the fabric to check on it, afraid it might slip away unnoticed—its life extinguished by wounds she could not yet see.

  She stepped onto the long bridge built outside the settlement. It spanned a deep rift in the earth, crossing the abyss and leading straight toward the marketplace at the heart of the tribe, perched against the mountainside. To reach the apothecaries’ workshop, she would have to pass through the lively market, then slip behind the weaving stalls to a concealed underground entrance.

  Torches along the bridge flared to life one by one. By the time she officially entered the market, it was already at its liveliest.

  “Come take a look! Fresh copper just came in from the free traders—good quality, fair prices! Anything can be negotiated!”

  “New treasure maps! Broken machine bodies found in nearby caves! Looking for hunters—high rewards!”

  She tightened her grip on the pouch and kept walking.

  There were no coins here. No scales.

  People laid out their belongings on cloth—ores, herbs, broken machine parts—everything open to the eye. Value was not measured in numbers, but in sight and touch: the hue of the ore, the scent of herbs, whether the metal still retained warmth.

  “One piece of copper ore for two bags of dried meat. Fair?”

  “No deal. Too many impurities. One and a half at most.”

  Arguments rose and fell, yet none carried real hostility. This was simply life.

  Some stalls had no goods at all—only a sentence:

  —“Help me retrieve a lost machine fragment. Take as many herbs as you want.”

  Here, goods could be traded. Labor could be traded. Even wishes could be traded.

  The familiar bustle steadied her nerves, her steps unconsciously growing lighter. Still, she hastened forward—she did not want anyone to notice that what she had brought back today was more than herbs.

  She stopped before a weaving stall, where a kind-faced woman greeted her with a familiar smile.

  “Looking for something? Cotton or hemp?”

  “Cotton. Star-thread pattern.”

  At the code phrase, the woman quietly lifted the woven curtain hanging above the entrance. Arl offered a small smile and a nod before slipping through the bamboo door and ducking inside.

  The weaving stall sat at the far edge of the market, specializing in ceremonial garments and travel wear for warriors. Ordinary citizens rarely came here—making it the perfect cover. Hidden within was a passage leading to the temple.

  The interior corridor was narrow, naturally carved stone, leading directly to the back entrance of the apothecaries’ quarters. It suited her well—she had always taken this route. Entering from the front meant guards, questioning, even searches. And there was nothing she hated more than unnecessary touch.

  Past experience had taught her that such contact, without need, felt like a violation.

  She was not born into the Anda tribe. She had been brought back from beyond by the High Shaman—nameless, without origin. To enter a place they deemed sacred, she would naturally be subjected to harsher scrutiny than anyone else. Even the matron’s personal endorsement and ritual assurances had not been enough.

  Because of this, the High Shaman—whom she called Mother—along with three assistants titled Elders and the temple’s apothecaries, had once convened a private council for her sake.

  She never understood why the matron trusted her so deeply. Nor did she intend to ask.

  The outcome was simple: she was granted use of one of the secret passages. In exchange, she would carry out discreet tasks for the temple. A fair trade.

  She had agreed without hesitation. Being protected without conditions frightened her far more than living under an agreement. Earning her place through duty allowed her to remain.

  After a short walk, she opened a wooden door and entered a storage room heavy with the scent of herbs. Past rows of large wooden crates stood another door—beyond it, the apothecaries’ workspace.

  “Ah—! That hurts!”

  A young man lay bound on a bed, restrained as medicine was applied. The wound was severe; the moment the herbs touched it, searing pain shot through him. He thrashed violently, drawing tense reactions from those holding him down.

  “Has the stardew flower supply not arrived yet? Two more guardians are waiting for it,” said an elderly woman with a long braid, frowning as she spoke to a girl with twin braids and dark curls.

  “Arl went to collect it. She should be back soon.”

  “Arl.”

  The girl turned toward the entrance, eyes lighting up as her anxious expression dissolved into a smile.

  “You came back just in time!”

  “Here.” Arl handed over the wooden box from her pack. “And I’ll need a dose as well. Prepare an extra when you brew it.”

  Her expression was slightly strained—not from pain, but from unfamiliarity with how to return a smile.

  “Are you hurt again? What happened this time? You said you were only gathering stardew flowers—how could there be machines there?”

  The girl named Ke’er immediately circled her, eyes scanning from head to toe. Had others not been present, she likely would have begun checking her wounds.

  “It wasn’t my fault. Go do your work. I’ll wait here.”

  Ke’er frowned. “Really? Please don’t keep getting hurt. Your arm only just healed… take a break, alright? I’m practically begging you.”

  “I know…” Arl replied quietly, her voice nearly swallowed by the scent of herbs.

  Ke’er left reluctantly. She soon returned with three small bowls.

  “Here. This one’s for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Arl nodded and left the infirmary.

  “She’s still so unpleasant,” muttered the elderly woman with the braid.

  “Grandma Heike, Arl is kind—she just doesn’t know how to express it.” Ke’er gently tugged her arm. “She even nodded at you just now! That’s progress. She never used to.”

  “Only you would like her that much,” Heike sighed.

  Ke’er smiled brightly, as if recalling something pleasant. “Of course I do. She just needs time to accept me.”

  —

  After leaving the weaving stall, Arl headed straight home. Her house sat at the southern edge of the settlement, far from the central grounds. The closer she drew, the stronger the faint floral scent became.

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  She loved plants. Whenever she encountered unfamiliar flora on her missions, she brought some back to cultivate. Aside from stardew flowers, she had never failed.

  Perhaps the land of Anda was special to plants. Stardew flowers grew nowhere else. She had tried transplanting them—soil and all—but they always withered within three days. She didn’t dwell on it. As long as she could still see them bloom there, that was enough.

  She passed through her small garden and opened her door, tension finally easing. She lit the fire, set the pouch on a cushion she had sewn herself. The small thing opened blue eyes, gazing around curiously.

  She shed her gear and picked up the bowl of medicine. As she reached out, she paused—remembering the guardian she had met earlier. She unwound the cloth from her wrist, intending to bind the small creature’s mouth. Its teeth looked sharp. She didn’t want new wounds.

  “Just for a moment. Don’t be afraid.”

  She gently tied the cloth. The creature pawed at it immediately. Arl seized the moment, swiftly applying the medicine to its injured hind paw. Pain drew a sharp cry.

  “It’ll be over soon.”

  She wrapped the wound cleanly, then untied the cloth. The creature looked up at her with clear blue eyes, whimpering softly.

  Arl smiled faintly.

  “Thank you for cooperating. Rest now. Once it heals, you’ll be able to run free again.”

  She stroked its head.

  “Sleep.”

  It watched her for a moment, then curled up and closed its eyes.

  Silence returned. Arl gazed out the window.

  “Fishing tomorrow… but first, dinner.

  —

  Morning.

  Sunlight scattered across the clear river, rippling in silver threads. Barefoot, Arl stood knee-deep in the water, spear in one hand, basket in the other, her eyes fixed on the shadows moving beneath the surface.

  Her basket was already half full. Normally, she would stop here. But today, she stayed longer.

  The one recovering at home would need food.

  The tribe’s hounds survived on fish, insects, and dried rodents. She assumed the small creature would be no different.

  Voices drifted from the opposite bank.

  “Ok’s almost thirteen now, isn’t he?”

  “Yes.” Pride was unmistakable in the woman’s voice. “I’ve been training him myself. He’s preparing for the guardians.”

  Another woman laughed. “I heard the guardian captain visited your home personally. Said it would be a waste for him to stay a mere defender.”

  A pause. Then quieter words.

  “…If you hadn’t been injured back then, you might have been leading a branch by now.”

  The air shifted.

  “And that injury,” someone asked hesitantly, “…didn’t it have something to do with Arl?”

  Arl froze.

  Across the river, the broad-shouldered woman—Daimei—met her gaze.

  For a moment, neither spoke.

  “I don’t know,” Daimei said at last, her voice low and rigid. “The Matron said it was fate.”

  Her fingers curled unconsciously.

  “She said the signs warned me long ago. That if I stayed among the guardians, I would die there.”

  Silence pressed in.

  “I want to believe that,” Daimei continued, quieter now. “But when you’ve given so much of yourself… how can you not feel bitter?”

  No one answered.

  Someone tugged gently at her arm, urging her forward. “Come on. Enough. She didn’t do this to you.”

  Their voices faded.

  Arl lowered her gaze.

  She had marked the routes. She had given warnings. She had done everything she could.

  That would have to be enough.

  She speared the last fish, slung the basket over her shoulder, and turned toward home.

  —

  When Arl reached her door, the first thing she saw was the small creature dragging something across the floor.

  No—

  Could that still be called a cushion?

  The cotton stuffing had been torn nearly completely out, trailing behind it in a tangled white mess, like a ridiculous tail.

  The moment the door opened, the creature dropped its prize and charged toward her.

  It stopped at her feet, lifted its head, and looked up at her with unmistakable pride—its body swaying slightly, as if declaring:

  Look. I brought the prey back.

  Arl froze.

  She looked down at the ruined remains on the floor.

  Then at the creature’s eyes—far too bright for something that had been injured just yesterday.

  After a few silent breaths, she sighed softly.

  “…So you’re awake.”

  She crouched down and placed a hand on the shredded cushion, her tone neither scolding nor surprised—only confirming what she was seeing.

  “Injured, and still this energetic.”

  The creature clearly didn’t understand her words. Instead, it puffed out its chest and nudged the cotton mess closer to her, insistently presenting it.

  Arl stared at the scattered stuffing, then back at those blue eyes.

  She sighed again—this time, gentler than she expected.

  “Mischievous.”

  She reached out and pulled the creature closer, lifting it to her side with a motion smoother than she would have guessed.

  When she unwound the cloth around its hind leg, her hands paused.

  The wound was still there—but it had stopped bleeding. The edges had already begun to draw together, clean and dry, as if far more time had passed than a single night.

  Arl remained silent, studying it carefully. She pressed lightly around the skin.

  The creature only twitched an ear. It didn’t resist.

  “…That’s too fast,” she murmured—not wary, only confused.

  She rewrapped the cloth and set it down beside the cushion’s remains before turning to prepare the fish she had brought back.

  There wasn’t much meat. She deliberately cut the softest pieces and placed them in front of it.

  The creature sniffed the fish and ate slowly.

  After only a few bites, it stopped and looked up at her.

  Arl frowned.

  With that size, that energy, this amount shouldn’t have been nearly enough.

  Yet it didn’t look weak. And it didn’t ask for more.

  She sat beside it, watching for a long moment, before speaking quietly.

  “…Do you not like fish?”

  No response.

  The creature simply curled up and settled against her foot.

  “…Dried meat, then?”

  She went inside and returned with a few strips from her travel pouch. It sniffed them, chose only the fresher pieces, ate a little—and stopped again.

  Arl scratched her head, puzzled.

  It seemed she would need to ask someone in the tribe who knew how to care for hounds—though she suspected few would bother answering her. If no one else would, she could always seek out Harken. He trained hunting dogs for the guardians; he would know.

  Thinking won’t solve this, she decided.

  She patted the creature’s head lightly and let the matter rest—for now.