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  The nights were stretching, growing leaner and colder. On some trees, the leaves had already begun to jaundice. Violetta moved slowly through the timber, balancing a metallic orb in her palm. At last, she had perfected the geometry for her spells. Through rigorous practice, the wanderer had determined the ideal form—one resembling a firearm projectile: a sharp ogive with a tapered boat-tail to minimize atmospheric drag.

  This profile served all offensive incantations, drastically reducing the mana required to maintain the spell’s structural envelope. This, in turn, extended her effective engagement range.

  She manifested a kinetic bolt from compressed clay and fired into the brush several dozen meters away, where she had detected a faint disturbance.

  “EXCELLENT SHOT,” the Sphere praised. “DISTANCE: 92 METERS. ACCURACY: 99.76%. NEW PERSONAL BEST RECORDED.”

  “Thanks. What about the magical stability of the construct?”

  “ZERO DEVIATIONS DETECTED.”

  “Perfect. Finally.” She glanced toward the impact site. “Let’s go retrieve our dinner.”

  Violetta sat by the stove in her "Shelter: Version V." It had grown more spacious and utilitarian. Inside, beyond the bed and the heater, was a compact washroom with a functioning shower, a wardrobe by the entrance, and a workbench cluttered with tools and magical apparatus.

  She tasted a ragout of mushrooms, wild greens, and scavenged rabbit meat.

  “Mmm... delicious. If only I could find some salt... and...” Violetta remembered how, in her childhood, Lukiya made the world’s best pumpkin stew. I wish I could taste that again.

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  After breakfast, Violetta hitched her rucksack onto the Sphere. During the summer, she had modified her companion with hard-points and mag-locks so it could carry part of her gear. It was more efficient than hauling everything on her own spine.

  Exiting the shelter, she triggered the deconstruction sequence—reducing the structure to dust—and set out. Autumnal hues were steadily usurping the summer green.

  By now, Violetta was proficient in the elemental schools and healing magic (or "Light Magic," as the tome called it). Through energy conversion, she could synthesize basic items to expand her internal database.

  Recently, she had discovered an even darker capability: Energy Siphoning. She had drained the essence from a wildflower; when the wind blew, the flower shattered like frozen glass into a thousand shards.

  The effect reminded her of something from her previous life—a rose dipped in liquid nitrogen. But this was different. It was a sensation she had witnessed countless times before, yet the memory remained tantalizingly out of reach.

  The ability filled her with a profound, visceral dread. Yet, it was too effective to discard.

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  Walking along a riverbank through the autumn woods, Violetta sensed eyes on her. She intentionally slowed her pace, feigning negligence. She wanted to draw the stalker out.

  She knelt by the water, pretending to fill a flask. A coarse voice barked from behind.

  “Hey, brat! What’s a little thing like you doing out here alone?”

  She turned to see a bald man with a scar spanning most of his face. He was grinning, but when his eyes caught the tufts of her ears beneath her hood, his smirk twitched. He tried to mask the recognition.

  “Hah... lost, are ya?” The man stepped closer. He wore chainmail over boiled leather.

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  He’s suspicious, Violetta thought, scanning him. She decided to play the part.

  “Yes... I think I’m lost...” she said, her voice trembling with manufactured confusion.

  “Don’t piss yourself, kid. We’ll take care of you. Come on, I’ll take you to the market,” he said, reaching out a hand.

  “ANALYZING... FIVE TARGETS IDENTIFIED. PROBABILITY: ADVENTURERS OR...”

  “I know. Thank you. Maintain distance and secure my gear,” Violetta projected to the Sphere.

  “Uncle, who are your friends?” She pointed toward the nearby thicket.

  Four men in similar mismatched armor stepped out.

  “S-so, she n-noticed us, huh?” stuttered the first.

  “Sharp ears on this one,” another added.

  “Hey, Boss, what do we do with this chimera? Sell her or use her for free first?”

  The bald man—the Boss—spat to the side. “Same as always, idiots! Put her in irons before she bolts like that cat did last time. This one’s worth a damn fortune.”

  The Boss seized her arm and shoved her toward the others. “Bind her hands and toss her. She won’t have anything worth taking, but don’t let her play the hero.”

  She didn't resist. She feigned the terror of a weeping girl, her body shaking. Inside, it took every ounce of her will to suppress the white-hot rage. Her heart rate remained flat—she was waiting for the pivot.

  One of the bandits tried to touch her ear; she flinched away just enough to make the reaction feel authentic.

  The Sphere hovered silently among the branches, recording everything. “OBSERVATION MODE: ACTIVE. DATA LOGGING.”

  They led her to their camp—a cluster of lopsided tents, gnawed bones by the fire, and a blood-stained stump with a rusted knife nearby: a torture block. The smell of stewed meat and rotting vegetables mingled with sweat and fear.

  They threw her into a cage. Three others were already inside—a young woman, an old crone, and a boy. Their eyes were vacant, their skin a map of bruises and sores.

  “Slavers, right? That’s what you meant, Sphere.”

  “AFFIRMATIVE. RECOMMENDATION: OBSERVE CAMP TOPOGRAPHY. STRIKE AFTER SUNSET.”

  “That’s the plan.” She glared at one of the scum who had taken her.

  Her cold gaze sent a shiver down his spine. He responded by kicking the cage. Violetta let out a soft yelp, feigning helplessness, and huddled against the other captives.

  “Damn bitch!” the rogue muttered. He looked at the cage and sighed. “They even brought the brat... What for? All the trouble, zero profit.” He grabbed a bottle, spat, and walked toward the fire.

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  Sunset bled into night. The camp erupted into laughter, drinking, and crude songs. The air was thick with cheap booze and acrid smoke.

  “Boss, we’ve got a hell of a haul this time!” one shouted, hoisting a bottle.

  Two stood guard—one sitting due to a leg wound, the other sniffing the blade of his knife as if tasting the dried blood.

  One bandit—a massive brute in a red tunic—stood up and staggered toward the cage, leaving a trail of foul breath in his wake. Be a shame not to check the merchandise, he thought.

  “A-alright, Ears. Come here.”

  He unlatched the door and grabbed her collar. The old woman tried to hold onto Violetta, but the brute backhanded her, sending her to the dirt. He raised a fist but didn't strike, merely spitting at her. He hauled Violetta out by one arm and dragged her toward a tent.

  “No! Please! Let go!” Violetta thrashed, but only enough to maintain the ruse.

  He threw her onto a grimy mat that reeked of blood and sweat. His face split into a jagged, toothless grin.

  Just as Violetta was ready to end him, she heard a rustle. The tent flap shivered as a dark shadow slipped inside with the grace of a predator. Two green eyes ignited behind the brute.

  “Scum...” a female voice whispered, dripping with visceral loathing.

  The bandit turned, confused. “Wha—?”

  He never finished. A blade flashed in the dark, driving into his skull up to the hilt. He collapsed onto Violetta, dead before he could grunt.

  Standing over him was a tall Elf in black—hooded, face veiled. Her eyes glowed in the dark like a hunter’s. Outside, the camp erupted: the clash of steel, short screams, and the heavy thud of falling bodies.

  The Elf helped Violetta up, leaning close. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

  “N-no...” Violetta nodded.

  “Good. We made it in time. Don’t be afraid. You’re safe now.” She gently took Violetta’s hand and led her out.

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  When the slaughter ended, several figures stood among the corpses: a Dwarf warrior in heavy plate, a young mage, a human scout, and the Elven assassin cleaning her blade.

  The Dwarf scanned the camp and turned to the freed captives. “Were you the only ones? Are there others?”

  A young woman pointed toward a body nearby. “I’m sorry,” the mage murmured. “We were too late for them.”

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  They loaded the survivors onto a wagon. The Dwarf turned and barked an order.

  “Contract complete. Escort the survivors to safety.”

  They began the trek toward the nearest city—Sibetmonia.

  Violetta went with them. She knew it was dangerous, but she could no longer endure the solitude. This was her chance to gather intel on the world, its magic, and—crucially—to find a map.

  “Sphere,” she whispered in her mind, “follow them.”

  The drone flickered like a faint ember in the branches and trailed behind. Violetta walked among her new companions, keeping her distance, playing the role of the rescued girl. But for her, this was an unexpected opening. And in her life, openings were rare.

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