Lunar tides hot springs ??

  Steam curled off the surface of the Lunar Springs, rising into the night air like phantom silk. Kuro leaned back against the smooth stone edge, the heat sinking into his bones, while Fenric sat nearby.

  "How come you never told me about this place?" Kuro asked, glancing over at his companion.

  Fenric chuckled, though there was a bitter edge to it. He wasn't in the main pool with Kuro; instead, he was squeezed into a smaller, shallower basin usually reserved for children. "Well, this is my first time, too. I’ve never been allowed to enter the springs. My kind... we aren't exactly welcome." He gestured to his cramped tub. "The owner only let me in because I came with you, and even then, with a warning. That’s why I’m bathing in the 'kid’s tub.' Easier to clean the filth when I'm done, get it?"

  "Yeah, Yeah, I get it." Kuro murmured.

  "Thanks to you, I at least get to feel the water. You’re building quite a reputation, partner."

  "Yeah. Which I hate."

  Fenric raised an eyebrow. "Why? It’s a good thing."

  "Hmph."

  Fenric studied him for a moment, his gaze dropping to the water. "So," he began cautiously, "can you tell me why you’re still wearing a glove over your right hand? You wore it back at the house, too, and now even in the bath."

  Kuro shifted, lifting his right hand out of the water. The wet leather glistened. "It’s nothing major. I got hurt in the Tall Forest. The physician said water shouldn't touch the wound, that's all."

  "Really? Why didn't you say so earlier? We can go see a healer in town—"

  "No. It will heal."

  "But, Kuro, if it's infected—"

  "NO!"

  The word cut through the steam like a blade. Fenric recoiled, the water in his small tub sloshing over the rim.

  Kuro sat rigid, his chest heaving. Beneath the leather glove, unseen by Fenric, the black spiral on his skin pulsed. It had darkened in the days since he had crushed the feather, its tendrils glowing with a faint, sickly inner light. He forced himself to breathe, pulling his hand further away from the water.

  Silence stretched between them, heavy and wet.

  "Tell me," Kuro said, his voice dropping to a low, even tone as he broke the tension. "About magic. I remember hearing that only nobles are born with magical abilities, right?" He stretched his gloved hand into the cool night air, flexing the fingers.

  Fenric blinked, still shaken. "Yes... that’s right. Why?"

  "That means we normal bastards can't use it."

  "Yes. And... no."

  Kuro turned his head sharply. "What do you mean?"

  Fenric lowered his voice, leaning in as much as his tub allowed. "Well, it’s a difficult process, but theoretically, you can learn it."

  "Wait, really? Then why—"

  "But," Fenric interrupted, his eyes serious, "if you learn to use magic, you die."

  Kuro’s eyes sharpened. "Explain."

  "It is the greatest taboo a commoner—or any race other than the nobility—can commit. It is high treason. If the Capital finds out, they won’t just kill you. They will wipe out your entire generation. Your family, your bloodline... gone."

  "I see," Kuro whispered. He looked at his gloved hand again. "But in the end... you can learn it."

  "Yeah, but didn't you hear a word I just said? Hello? Kuro?"

  Kuro didn't answer. He stared into the steam, lost in deep, dangerous thought.

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  Miles away, in a tower chamber where water covered the floor like a dark mirror, footsteps splashed heavily toward the center of the chamber.

  The space was dominated by a massive, ancient tree, its gnarled branches twisting to cover the entire ceiling. Above the branches, suspended in mid-air, a figure floated in a cross-legged meditative position. She wore a simple one-piece dress, her long hair drifting as if underwater. Her violet eyes were fixed intensely on a spinning object in front of her.

  The heavy footsteps stopped.

  "So," a rough voice boomed. "Any news, Watcher?"

  The Watcher slowly turned her head to look down. Behind the branches Her violet eyes radiated a terrifying luminescence.

  "Tch. How many times, Belmat?" Her voice was cold. "Just because you come in here every ten minutes to be annoying doesn't mean anything changes. Can your pea-sized brain not grasp such a simple concept? Do you not have any other work than to come here asking useless questions? Do I look like I’m playing with your balls here, Belmat? Hmm?"

  Belmat choked. "Uhm... did you have to phrase it like that?"

  He gestured defensively at the object she was studying. "That ball is a Quartz Sphere made with Everglass. The rarest glass in the known universe, crafted specifically by your request so it wouldn't break and hurt you. And this is how you respond, you brat?"

  The air in the room seemed to drop in temperature. "What did you just call me?"

  Her stare felt like a physical weight, pressing into his very soul.

  Belmat gulped, taking a step back. "No... I... was... um..."

  "Phoo." She let out a long breath, turning back to the sphere. "I understand you’re restless, Belmat. The sudden actions of the Ancient have everyone on edge. But it takes time. The Ancient is not a mere beast; it calculates, it strategizes before making a move. Every step it takes means something major. But I assure you, it won't escape my gaze. Patience, Belmat. I can feel it. It won't be long until the Ancient takes its next step."

  Belmat straightened his uniform, regaining a shred of dignity. "Sure. Fine. I won't be bothering you for now."

  "Maybe never," she murmured, not looking at him. "Not until I call you. Don't come back. Now get lost and let me concentrate."

  "Yes... brat," Belmat whispered under his breath.

  He turned and marched to the heavy iron door. As he stepped through, he signaled the silver-armored guard stationed outside. The guard snapped to attention.

  "Keep close," Belmat ordered in a hushed growl. "Watch her every movement. Very closely. If anything stirs up, report it to me immediately. And don't let her catch you."

  The guard nodded solemnity and sent Belmat off with a deep bow.

  Back here in lunar tides .

  As they stepped out of the steam-filled warmth of the bathhouse into the cool evening air, the owner—a woman with skin like crumpled parchment—leaned over her counter, pointing a gnarled finger directly at Fenric's nose.

  "Don't you ever come back here," she spat.

  Fenric didn't miss a beat. He tossed a haughty look over his shoulder, smoothing his wet hair. "Not even in your dreams, you old bag."

  The heavy door slammed shut behind them, sealing off the woman’s indignant sputtering. Fenric’s mood instantly brightened, his earlier annoyance dissolving into excitement.

  "So!" He bounced on the balls of his feet, catching up to Kuro’s stride. "Are you ready to get your awesome weapon? Forged by Sir Rhanes Nordell himself? Your Senior? Hehe."

  Kuro sighed, keeping his gaze forward. "Seriously?"

  "Well, it's unlike you to call a stranger 'Senior,'" Fenric pressed, nudging his elbow sharply into Kuro’s ribs. "Tell me, why did you call him that? Huh? Huh?"

  Kuro stopped walking. He turned slowly, his expression darkening into something solemn. "It's a long story, Fenric. A brutal one."

  Fenric gasped, his eyes going wide. "Really? Did you get your memory back? Tell me, I'm listening!"

  Behind him, his tail began to sway, cutting through the air with rhythmic anticipation.

  "Are you sure?" Kuro lowered his voice to a grave whisper. "It’s bloody."

  "Yes! Please! Yes!" Fenric’s tail was a blur now, thumping against the back of his leg. "Come on!"

  "You see..." Kuro leaned in, casting a shadow over the smaller man.

  "Huh?" Fenric leaned in until their foreheads almost touched.

  "It begins like..."

  Fenric’s ears twitched wildly, desperate for every syllable.

  "...I don't remember, and it's none of your business."

  The words were flat, cold, and dismissive. Kuro straightened up, stepped around Fenric, and continued walking as if nothing had happened.

  Fenric froze. His mouth, slightly agape, snapped shut. The hopeful light in his eyes died instantly, replaced by a mixture of shock and utter disbelief. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, slow sigh, running a hand over his face.

  "You... you can't be serious," Fenric mumbled to the empty air as Kuro's footsteps faded down the cobblestones. He stared at the space where Kuro had been, then looked down at his own hands, humiliated. "All that build-up. All that... performance! Just for that?"

  He kicked a loose stone, sending it skittering into the gutter. "Gods above, I hate you sometimes, Kuro."

  He hurried to catch up, his face set in a deep, exaggerated pout. But as they approached the Adventurer's Guild, the playful atmosphere vanished. Even from the street, a heavy, chaotic noise bled through the walls.

  Kuro opened the door and stepped inside.

  Inside, the air was thick with tension. Lovia was pacing frantically back and forth, her usual composure shattered, clutching a stack of papers to her chest. In the center of the room stood Guild Master Rhanes. The large man looked ready to explode; his face was a bright, terrifying crimson, and the veins in his neck bulged with suppressed rage.

  "What happened?" Fenric asked, his pout instantly forgotten as he stepped up beside Kuro.

  At the sound of the voice, Lovia froze. She and Rhanes turned in unison, their eyes locking onto Kuro with a heavy, suffocating intensity.

  Kuro didn't ask. He didn't have to. A cold knot formed in his stomach. He knew, with sinking certainty, that something had happened to his weapon, the Mosrel Horn.