The air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and ancient pines. You’d been trekking for what felt like hours, following the rather vague directions given to you by the Royal Base. "Just past the Whispering Woods, there's a clearing with a natural mystium deposit. Collect as much as you can, Yuu. It's vital for our next defenses." That's what Commander Varis had said, his face grim.

You hadn't questioned being sent alone. You never did. Since waking up in this strange world, your entire purpose had become to just help. Help them fight whatever war they were fighting, help with their daily tasks, help with anything that might, eventually, lead you to an answer, a memory, or a path back to your own reality. The thought of "waking up" was a constant, dull ache in your chest.

Finally, the trees thinned, revealing a small, secluded grotto tucked into the side of a moss-covered hill. A soft, otherworldly luminescence pulsed from within – the mystium. It was beautiful, a vibrant, ethereal blue that seemed to hum with silent energy. You cautiously stepped inside, pulling out the designated collection tools and a sturdy canvas sack. The mystium crystals were cool to the touch, easily breaking off from the rock face with a satisfying clink. Each one you placed in the sack seemed to radiate a faint warmth.

You hummed a tuneless melody, lost in the simple task, the rhythmic sound of crystals dropping into the bag. This was easy enough. You were almost done, the sack feeling significantly heavier, when a shift in the ambient light, a sudden drop in temperature, made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You froze, hand hovering over another lustrous crystal. The soft blue glow of the mystium seemed to dim, overshadowed by an unseen presence. Slowly, you turned, your heart beginning to pound a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

Standing at the mouth of the grotto, silhouetted against the fading daylight, was a figure. He was slightly taller than you remembered, clad in dark, intricate armor that seemed to be woven from shadows and ancient iron. His hair, once short, was now long and tied up in a ponytail, its length was right up to his knees, but still had that peekaboo pink streaks. Or was it red now? His eyes, though, were what truly arrested you. They still held that familiar, piercing red, but gone was the playful glint, replaced with a cold, hard glint of battle-hardened steel.

In one hand, he held a sword. And it was exactly as you vaguely remembered hearing from hushed rumors back at the Royal Base: a monstrous, greatsword that looked less like a noble blade and more like an elongated, wickedly sharp butcher's knife, its dark metal glinting ominously. The point of it was aimed, precisely and unswervingly, directly at your chest and the green mystium ore glowed within the dark.

A guttural, almost ancient voice, deeper and more commanding than you'd ever associated with that face, echoed through the grotto, sending shivers down your spine.

"State your purpose, trespasser. And explain why you lay your thieving hands upon the very essence of Briarland."

Your mind reeled. Familiar face. Lilia. But this was a Lilia you had never—could never—have imagined. He was no student, no doting guardian. He was a general, dangerous and utterly ruthless. And he looked ready to use that terrifying blade.