For a long time, Shunjiro walked with one hand pressed against the frozen stone wall and the other held close to his side, using the massive structure as his only guide through the whiteout. The wall stretched on without mercy, so enormous that he began to wonder if it circled the entire continent instead of a single empire. His boots sank into deep snow with every step, and his legs shook beneath him so badly that more than once, he had to stop and lean against the stone just to keep from falling.

The cold had gone past pain.

At first, it had bitten into his fingers and face, sharp and cruel. Then it had crawled deeper, numbing his hands, stiffening his jaw, and turning every breath into something thin and fragile. Malachi’s cloak helped, but only enough to keep him moving. Snow clung to the dark fabric until the weight of it pulled at his shoulders. His hair was damp and frozen in places. His eyelashes felt heavy. 

He kept walking because stopping felt too close to dying.

Somewhere along the wall, there had to be an entrance. A kingdom this large could not seal itself completely away from the world. There had to be a gate, a guard post, a road buried under the snow, anything. Shunjiro repeated that thought until it became the only thing keeping his feet moving.

Just find the gate.

His hand scraped along the wall. The carved blocks were so large that each seam felt like a small ledge beneath his palm. Sometimes, he passed another star design etched into the surface, half-hidden by frost. Each time he saw one, Jayiden’s words returned to him.

The Stellar Empire.

Capital kingdom of the Cosmic Continent.

Ruled by one of the eight Great Kings.

Shunjiro knew he should have been more afraid of that. Maybe he would be later, when warmth had returned to his body and his mind could do more than count his next step. For now, all he could think about was getting inside. If the Stellar Empire wanted to question him, then they could question him in a room where the wind could not tear the skin from his face.

The wall suddenly ended beneath his hand.

Shunjiro stumbled forward, his shoulder sliding off empty air where stone should have been. He caught himself clumsily, boots skidding in the snow, and lifted his head.

There it was.

A gate.

He was so close to it that he almost laughed from disbelief. The storm had hidden it until he was nearly standing in front of the thing. Two enormous doors rose ahead of him, made of dark reinforced wood banded with metal, their height disappearing into the white just like the towers. A star emblem had been carved across both doors, split down the middle where the gate met, its points long and sharp. The entrance was closed, but the sight of it filled Shunjiro with a desperate kind of relief.

He staggered toward it.

Before he could reach the doors, two shapes moved out of the snow.

“Stop.”

The voice was firm, muffled slightly by the storm, but close enough that Shunjiro froze on instinct.

Two guards approached him with long spears angled forward. They wore thick fur-lined uniforms in white and blue, the heavy material designed for the brutal cold. Their collars were high, their gloves reinforced, and their boots cut deep tracks into the snow. On the breast of each uniform, two stars were marked clearly, a sign of rank or station that Shunjiro barely had the strength to process.

The spear tips remained pointed at him.

One guard stepped closer while the other circled slightly to the side, careful, trained, and suspicious.

“State your business,” the first guard ordered.

Shunjiro tried to answer immediately, but his throat was so dry and cold that the first sound came out rough and broken. He swallowed, forcing himself to stand upright even though his body wanted to fold into the snow.

“I got lost,” he said. “In the storm.”

The second guard’s eyes moved over him, sharp beneath the fur-lined hood. Shunjiro knew what they saw. A boy appearing alone at the outer gate in the middle of a whiteout, covered in snow, wearing a dark cloak over travel-worn clothes, with blood staining his side and coat. A weapon at his hip. No pack. No clear origin. No explanation that sounded normal.

The guard’s gaze stopped on the blood.

“You are wounded.”

Shunjiro looked down as if he had forgotten. The front and side of his clothing were marked dark beneath the snow, the blood partially frozen into the fabric. He moved his hand away from his side slowly and found that his palm was stained as well.

“It is not as bad as it looks,” he said.

The guards did not seem convinced.

The first tightened his grip on the spear. “You are armed, wounded, and unidentified at the Stellar Empire’s outer gate.”

“I am not here to cause trouble.”

“No one says they are.”

The second guard lowered his spear slightly, not enough to appear friendly, but enough that the point was no longer aimed directly at Shunjiro’s chest. His voice was colder than the wind, though not cruel. “You are being detained.”

Shunjiro stared at him.

A month ago, those words would have filled him with panic. Even now, a part of him knew he should object. He should give his name, explain Radiance, mention Malachi, maybe even say he was an adventurer. But exhaustion wrapped around his thoughts too tightly. His body was at its limit, and the word detained sounded less frightening than staying outside.

A cell meant walls.

Walls meant warmth.

“Fine,” Shunjiro said.

The guards exchanged a brief look, surprised by how easily he accepted it.

The first guard stepped closer. “Hands where we can see them.”

Shunjiro lifted his hands slowly.

His fingers barely obeyed.

The guard moved behind him and patted him down with quick, efficient motions. When his hand reached the Devil’s Luck Dagger, Shunjiro’s stomach tightened. He felt the weapon being pulled from its sheath, the weight vanishing from his side in a way that made him feel suddenly incomplete.

“Weapon,” the guard said.

The other took the dagger from him.

Shunjiro turned his head slightly, eyes following it despite the snow stinging his face.

For one sharp moment, frustration cut through the cold.

Malachi gave me that.

His hand twitched, but that was all. He was too weak to grab it back, too cold to argue, and too aware that resisting armed guards outside a Great King’s empire would be idiotic. Still, shame settled in his chest alongside the exhaustion. After everything Malachi had taught him, after all the hours spent learning to move with that dagger until it felt like part of him, he had let it be taken without lifting a finger.

The guard noticed the flicker in his eyes.

“You will get it back if you are cleared.”

Shunjiro did not know whether to believe him.

The first guard stepped beside him. “Move.”

Shunjiro tried and his legs failed.

The moment he took a step toward the gate, his knees buckled beneath him. The world lurched sideways, and the only reason he did not hit the snow face-first was because one of the guards caught him by the arm.

“Cold exposure,” the second guard muttered. “He is barely standing.”

“I can walk,” Shunjiro said, though the words sounded distant even to him.

“No, you cannot.”

The gates began to open.

A deep groan rolled through the storm as the massive doors shifted inward, revealing only a sliver of darkness beyond. Warmer air seemed to breathe out from inside, faint but real. Shunjiro felt it brush his face and nearly collapsed from relief.

The guards dragged him forward.

He tried to keep his feet beneath him, but his body had decided that the danger was over enough to stop listening. His thoughts blurred. The snow became light. The guards’ voices stretched and faded. He caught pieces of the world as they pulled him through the entrance: dark stone beneath his boots instead of snow, the heavy sound of the gate closing behind them, the distant echo of orders, a corridor or passageway he could not properly see.

Then warmth surrounded him more fully.

The last thing Shunjiro felt was his cloak being held tight around his shoulders as the guards pulled him farther from the storm.

Then everything went black.

When he woke, he was warm.

That was the first thing he noticed.

Warmth surrounded him so completely that for a moment, he did not move at all. He lay still, eyes closed, letting his body remember what it felt like not to be attacked by wind and snow. The air was still cool, but not deadly. Heat rose from somewhere in the room, steady and controlled, filling the space enough to loosen the stiffness in his fingers and draw sensation back into his face.

Then his mind caught up.

Shunjiro’s eyes opened.

Stone walls enclosed him on every side, with thick metal bars making up the front. There was no window. The air had the stillness of somewhere underground, and the muted silence beyond the bars made him think he had been taken deep inside the empire’s outer defenses. A simple bed sat against one wall, and a small bathroom area occupied the far corner. Nothing else.

He pushed himself up slowly, expecting pain to tear through his side.

Nothing came.

Shunjiro froze, then lifted the edge of his shirt.

The wound was gone.

No bandage covered it. No stitched line marked where a healer had worked. There was only smooth skin and a faint soreness beneath it. Golden grains clung lightly to the inside of the fabric near where the wound had been, nearly hidden among the dried blood.

“So it finished,” he muttered.

His voice sounded rough.

He lowered the shirt and leaned back against the wall, letting out a slow breath. His power had saved him again. Not completely, not comfortably, but enough. The injury Jayiden had given him was gone, and the cold had not killed him before the guards got him inside.

That meant he could think.

He checked his wrists next.

No cuffs.

That surprised him. He flexed his hands, watching sensation return to his fingers in slow, painful waves. They had detained him, confiscated his weapon, and locked him in a cell, but they had not left him bound. Either they did not see him as much of a threat, or they were confident the cell was enough.

His hand moved automatically toward his side.

The Devil’s Luck Dagger was gone.

Annoyance settled across his face.

“Great,” he whispered. “Good job, Shunjiro.”

He let his head rest against the stone wall and closed his eyes for a moment.

There was no point spiraling. The guards had not thrown him into the cold to die. They had not kept him cuffed while he slept. His wound had healed on its own, which meant no one here had cut him open or done anything strange while he was unconscious, at least nothing obvious. From their perspective, he had probably looked exactly as suspicious as a person could look: bloody, armed, unknown, and half-dead at the gate of a kingdom ruled by one of the Great Kings.

Being locked up was not shocking.

Honestly, it was almost reasonable.

That thought made him exhale through his nose.

“I really need to stop waking up in strange places.”

Shunjiro looked around again, slower this time. The stonework was solid, the bars thick, the floor clean enough that this place was clearly maintained. Heat flowed faintly from the lower part of one wall, likely some kind of built-in system to keep prisoners from freezing to death. It was still a prison, no mistake about that, but the Stellar Empire was practical enough not to let detainees become corpses before questioning them.

That was something.

He shifted on the bed, pulling Malachi’s cloak tighter around his shoulders.

Malachi.

The thought came with a sting he had been too exhausted to face earlier. Malachi had been left behind in the Shadow Realm, furious and alone, with no way to know where Tsubasa’s broken portal had thrown him. Shunjiro pictured the older man standing in the empty clearing, sword in hand, dark purple aura shaking the ground. He did not know if Malachi would search the entire Shadow Realm first or somehow guess that Tsubasa’s wound had warped the portal. He did not know if Malachi could find him at all.

But he knew one thing.

Malachi would try.

That certainty steadied him more than he expected.

For now, Shunjiro had to survive the Stellar Empire.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The guard’s boots struck the polished stone floor in a steady rhythm as he moved through the lower corridors of Starheart Fortress, his spear resting upright against his shoulder and the confiscated dagger secured in both hands. 

He passed two more knights stationed along the corridor, both in white-and-blue uniforms lined with thick fur, their eyes briefly following the weapon in his hands before returning forward. Neither stopped him. The two stars marked on his chest were enough to explain his presence in this part of the fortress, and the urgency in his stride made it clear that this was not a routine report.

The private offices of the higher command sat beyond a narrower hall carved deeper into the fortress. The guard reached a dark wooden door reinforced with metal along the edges, stopped, straightened his posture, and knocked twice.

A calm voice answered from within. “Enter.”

The guard opened the door and stepped inside.

The room beyond was quiet, orderly, and warm. Shelves lined one wall, filled with reports, sealed scrolls, and military records arranged with almost severe precision. A large map of the Stellar Empire rested across the central desk, marked with small metal stars placed over the four main districts, the Stella Wall, and the roads leading inward toward Starheart Fortress. A single lamp glowed beside the map, its pale light catching against polished weapons mounted along the walls.

Behind the desk stood a woman.

She looked up from the document in her hand, blue eyes settling on the guard with immediate focus. Her long gray hair was woven into a thick braid that fell over one shoulder, and the white regal clothing she wore was lined with soft fur at the collar and sleeves. The fabric looked elegant, but nothing about her presence felt delicate. Five stars rested clearly on her chest. At her waist hung a saber with a clean, curved guard.

The guard lowered his head. “Lady Amaya.”

Amaya set the document aside. “Report.”

“We found a boy at the South Gate,” he said. “He approached through the storm and claimed he was lost. He refused to give a name.”

Amaya’s expression did not change, though her attention sharpened. “A civilian?”

“Unknown. He was dressed like a traveler, but we could not confirm anything at the gate. He was wounded, and the injury looked serious. There was blood on his coat and side.”

“Was he conscious when you found him?”

“At first, yes. Barely.” The guard adjusted his grip on the wrapped weapon in his hands. “He passed out shortly after we brought him inside. The cold had taken him.”

Amaya’s gaze lowered to the object he carried. “And that?”

“Confiscated from him.”

The guard stepped forward and placed the dagger carefully on her desk.

Amaya did not touch it immediately.

The weapon rested against the dark wood, small compared to the swords and spears used by the empire’s knights, but it drew the eye in a way ordinary weapons did not. Its dark metal seemed to drink in the lamplight rather than reflect it. The shape was clean and practical, made for close combat, but there was something beneath the craftsmanship that made the room feel subtly tighter.

Amaya reached for it.

The moment her fingers wrapped around the hilt, she understood why the guard had brought it directly to her instead of sending it to a standard evidence room.

The dagger felt dangerous.

Not cursed. Not corrupted. Not alive. She could not place the sensation with any certainty, and that bothered her more than if she had recognized it immediately. The weapon sat quietly in her hand, offering no obvious threat, yet her instincts refused to dismiss it. There was a weight hidden inside the blade, a pressure folded so deeply into the metal that an untrained person might never notice it.

Amaya lifted the dagger slightly and turned it beneath the lamplight.

The material was unfamiliar.

Her fingers tightened subtly around the hilt. “Did you get anything else from him?”

“No, Lady Amaya. Only that he was lost in the storm. He gave no name, no kingdom, and no reason for approaching the military gate.”

“Did he resist detainment?”

“No. He could barely stand. We searched him, took the weapon, and moved him to a low-security cell. He was unconscious before we reached the inner passage.”

Amaya continued studying the dagger for several seconds. “And the wound?”

“He was to be checked once placed in holding.”

She lowered the weapon slowly, though she did not set it down. “Has he woken?”

“Yes. A message from the lower guard post came in shortly before I arrived. He is awake.”

Amaya’s eyes moved from the dagger to the guard. “Then I will question him in a few minutes.”

The guard straightened. “Understood.”

“You were right to bring this to me.”

He bowed his head again. “Thank you, Lady Amaya.”

“You are dismissed.”

The guard turned and left the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

Amaya remained still for a moment after he was gone. The room settled around her, silent except for the faint sound of warmth moving through the fortress walls. She looked at the dagger again, studying the edge, the balance, the dark metal, and the strange pressure resting within it.

A nameless boy had arrived half-frozen at the South Gate carrying this.

That did not happen by accident.

Amaya turned the dagger once more in her hand, then made her decision. Instead of placing it in a drawer or sending it to storage, she crossed the office and left the room.

The corridors beyond her office shifted from administrative quiet to fortress grandeur the higher she climbed. The lower levels were practical and severe, built for soldiers, holding cells, and command movement, but the upper paths of Starheart Fortress carried the weight of the empire’s history. Wide staircases rose through the stone in clean, commanding lines. Blue-and-white banners hung from high walls, each marked with the star of Alya. Knights stood posted at regular intervals, backs straight, eyes forward, their spears gleaming beneath the pale lights set into the walls.

Every knight Amaya passed saluted immediately.

She acknowledged them with small nods, never slowing.

The fortress was enormous enough that walking through it felt less like moving through a castle and more like passing through the inside of a mountain shaped by human will. Stone arches stretched overhead. Reinforced doors guarded side passages. Narrow windows in some corridors revealed only flashes of snow outside, the storm still raging beyond the walls of the empire. Even here, deep within the center of the Stellar Empire, the weather made itself known as a distant roar pressing against the world.

Amaya ascended one final staircase, broader than the rest, its steps carved from pale stone veined with silver. At the top stood two four-star knights in full white armor, their cloaks trimmed in deep blue. Both saw the weapon in her hand, then looked immediately to her face.

“Lady Amaya,” one said.

“I need to see His Majesty.”

Neither questioned her.

The doors opened.

The throne room of Starheart Fortress stretched wide before her, grand and solemn in a way that matched the empire itself. It was not radiant like the halls of Radiance, nor warm with gold and sunlight. This room held a colder majesty. Tall pillars rose along both sides, carved with constellations that seemed to climb toward the ceiling. Above, the entire vaulted roof shimmered like a night sky captured in stone, countless points of pale light arranged into patterns of stars. Some were familiar to anyone born in the Cosmic Continent. 

Officials and knights stood throughout the hall, speaking in low voices until Amaya entered. Conversations softened. Eyes turned toward her, then toward the dagger in her hand.

At the far end of the hall sat the king.

Amaya crossed the throne room with controlled steps, stopping at the proper distance before lowering her head.

“Your Majesty.”

The room quieted fully.

The King did not answer immediately. His attention rested on the weapon before he ever asked about the reason she had come. Amaya stepped forward and offered the dagger with both hands.

“This was taken from a boy found at the South Gate,” she said. “He arrived from the storm wounded and refused to give his name. The guards detained him after he passed out near the Bastion entrance. He is being held in a cell below.”

He accepted the dagger.

For several seconds, he simply inspected it. He turned it slowly, testing the balance with the ease of someone who understood weapons beyond their appearance. The strange danger Amaya had sensed did not seem to surprise him. If anything, it interested him.

Then he smirked.

“Where did you say this was found?”

Amaya kept her posture straight. “On the boy, Your Majesty. He was carrying it at his waist when the guards searched him.”

His gaze remained on the blade. The throne room stayed silent around them, every official waiting for his judgment. He studied the dagger a moment longer before looking back toward Amaya.

“Bring me to him.”

Amaya’s eyes sharpened slightly. “Immediately?”

“Yes.” The King lowered the dagger, still holding it as that faint, unreadable smirk remained. “I want to see whoever this boy is.”

Shunjiro had started counting the faint scratches in the stone floor when footsteps approached the cell.

At first, he thought it was another guard coming to check on him. The sound was too distant to judge, softened by the heavy walls and the warmth humming quietly through the fortress, but there was something different about the rhythm. It was not hurried, and it did not carry the stiff caution of the men who had dragged him in from the storm. These steps were calm. Controlled. Certain.

Shunjiro lifted his head from where he sat on the edge of the bed.

The corridor beyond the bars remained quiet for a moment longer. Then two figures stepped into view.

A woman came first.

Shunjiro recognized her importance before he understood who she was. The five stars on her chest caught his eye immediately, arranged cleanly against the white regal clothing she wore. Fur lined the collar and sleeves, the soft trim doing little to make her appear gentle. Her long gray hair was tied into a thick braid that fell over one shoulder, and her blue eyes settled on him with an intensity that made his back straighten without thinking. A saber rested at her waist.

Then the man beside her came into view.

Shunjiro’s body stiffened.

The king was enormous.

He was nearly as tall as Malachi, broad enough that the corridor seemed smaller around him, and his presence struck Shunjiro before a single word left his mouth. It was not the same as Malachi’s heavy, dark pressure in the Shadow Realm. This was cleaner. Colder. A vast and controlled weight that made Shunjiro feel as though the entire fortress had turned its attention toward him. The man wore royal clothing in white and pale blue, layered with fur and fine metal accents, and a white crown rested on his head. Aged gray hair framed his face, and a sharp beard gave him a severe, commanding look that his faint smile did nothing to soften.

Shunjiro stood immediately.

His body still ached, but instinct overruled discomfort. Whoever this man was, Shunjiro knew he was not someone to greet while sitting down.

The king stopped outside the bars and lifted the Devil’s Luck Dagger in one hand.

“This is an unusual weapon,” he said.

His voice was calm. 

Shunjiro’s eyes went straight to the dagger.

The king turned it slightly, inspecting the dark metal as if he were admiring a piece of art. “Where does a boy get a hold of a dagger laced with Devil’s Luck?”

Shunjiro’s stomach tightened.

Devil’s Luck.

Malachi’s voice came back to him in an instant, sitting beside the forge, explaining the ability and the strange chance built into the weapon. Shunjiro had not heard anyone else say those words before. The fact that this king knew them made the cell feel smaller.

“I…” Shunjiro caught himself, then straightened a little more. “It was a gift.”

The king’s smile deepened slightly. “From?”

“A friend.”

“That is an interesting friend you have.”

Shunjiro could not help glancing at the weapon again. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “He is.”

Amaya’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but she remained silent.

The king studied Shunjiro for a few seconds longer, then reached for the cell door himself. His hand closed around the lock, and with a quiet click, it opened beneath his fingers. Amaya entered with him, positioning herself slightly to the side, close enough to intervene if needed.

Shunjiro suddenly became very aware of how small the room was.

The king looked down at him. “How did you arrive on my doorstep?”

Shunjiro swallowed. “It is a long story.”

“Most interesting things are.”

“I was traveling,” Shunjiro said carefully. “The storm got bad. I lost track of where I was and wandered until I found the wall. Then I followed it until I reached the gate.”

“A dangerous route.”

“I did not exactly choose it.”

“No,” the king said, watching him closely. “I imagine you did not.”

Shunjiro tried not to shift beneath that gaze. The king was friendly enough on the surface, but every word felt like it had another edge hidden beneath it. He was not yelling. He was not threatening him. He was not even treating him cruelly. That should have made Shunjiro feel better.

It did not.

The king’s gaze lowered toward his side. “The guards said you were wounded.”

Shunjiro nodded once. “I was.”

“How?”

Shunjiro hesitated for less than a second. “I tripped in the storm.”

For a moment, nobody spoke.

Then the king laughed.

It was not loud, but it filled the cell anyway. Amaya did not laugh with him. She only looked at Shunjiro as if she had already decided that was the worst answer he could have given.

“You tripped,” the king repeated.

“Yes.”

“With enough force to cover your coat in blood?”

Shunjiro kept his expression as steady as he could. “It was a bad fall.”

The king’s amusement lingered, though his eyes sharpened. “Show me.”

Shunjiro blinked. “The wound?”

“Yes.”

He hesitated, then slowly lifted the edge of his shirt.

There was nothing there.

The skin along his side had closed completely, leaving no bandage, no stitches, and no visible mark where Jayiden’s blade had torn into him. Only the dried blood staining his clothing betrayed that anything had happened at all. Shunjiro knew the wound was gone, but showing it to someone else made the situation feel stranger. It was one thing to understand his body had healed. It was another to stand before a Great King and pretend this was normal.

The king leaned slightly closer, intrigued.

“Where did the wound run off to?”

Shunjiro lowered his shirt. “I have a passive healing ability.”

Amaya’s gaze sharpened further.

The king tilted his head. “Passive?”

“It works on its own.” Shunjiro rested a hand lightly over the healed area. “It does not make the pain disappear. The wound is closed, but it still hurts.”

“That explains the lack of bandages.” The king looked at him for another long moment. “And your name?”

Shunjiro’s answer came after a brief pause. “Shunjiro.”

The king waited.

Shunjiro did not add anything else.

Amaya noticed. The king noticed too. Shunjiro could feel it in the silence that followed, but neither immediately pressed him for the missing piece.

Finally, the king smiled again. “Shunjiro, then.”

He straightened to his full height, and somehow the cell seemed to shrink around him. “I am King Aurelius Starborn, twelfth king of the Stellar Empire and one of the eight Great Kings of this era.”

Shunjiro’s spine stiffened.

He had known the man was important. He had guessed as much the moment he saw him, but hearing it said so directly made his stomach drop. A Great King was standing in his cell, holding his dagger, questioning him like this was a casual conversation.

Shunjiro bowed awkwardly, not entirely sure how deep he was supposed to go. “It is nice to meet you. I am sorry for causing trouble.”

Aurelius laughed again, easier this time. “No trouble. A blood-covered boy wandering to my military gate during a storm is unusual, not troublesome.”

“That does not sound much better.”

“It is not.”

Shunjiro was not sure whether he was joking.

Aurelius glanced toward Amaya. “Soothe his pain.”

Amaya stepped closer without hesitation. Shunjiro almost moved back on instinct, but stopped himself. Her presence was different from Aurelius’s, not as overwhelming but far sharper, like a blade held just close enough to remind him it could cut. She raised one hand toward his side.

“Stay still,” she said.

Shunjiro obeyed.

A soft glow gathered around Amaya’s palm before sinking through his clothing and into the old wound beneath. Warmth spread across his side, gentle but precise, flowing through the lingering soreness his sand had left behind. The pain loosened slowly, then faded into something distant and manageable. It did not feel exactly like Itsuki’s healing. Itsuki’s power had always carried a softness that felt personal, like comfort woven into light. Amaya’s was cleaner, more controlled, but the warmth still made his throat tighten for a moment.

Amaya lowered her hand. “Better?”

Shunjiro blinked, then nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

“What is your name?”

“Lady Amaya,” she said. “Leader of the knights of the Stellar Empire.”

Shunjiro glanced again at the five stars on her chest. “That sounds important.”

Aurelius seemed amused by that. “It is.”

Amaya’s face remained perfectly composed. “Where are you from, Shunjiro?”

Shunjiro looked from her to Aurelius. There was no point lying about that. “The Kingdom of Radiance.”

Aurelius’s expression shifted with recognition. “Oh? An adventurer for Shadis Solmere?”

“Yes.”

“What rank?”

“C-rank.”

Amaya’s eyes moved over him again, and Shunjiro immediately felt like she did not believe that answer.

Aurelius smiled faintly. “C-rank.”

“That is my official rank,” Shunjiro said.

“An interesting way to answer.”

“It is the true answer.”

“Not always the same as the complete answer.”

Shunjiro had no response for that.

Aurelius did not push immediately. “I know Radiance well enough. Shadis Solmere is not a man who lets just anyone wander around without purpose. What were you doing so far from home?”

“I am trying to get back,” Shunjiro said. His voice softened despite himself. “To Radiance. To my friends and my family.”

“And yet you ended up on the Cosmic Continent.”

Shunjiro nodded slowly.

“How?”

This was the part he had known would come. He could dodge small details, but not the entire truth. A lie too clean would only make him sound worse, and Aurelius already seemed capable of seeing around anything that did not fit. Shunjiro drew a slow breath and chose the safest version of honesty he could manage.

“I ended up here by accident through a portal.”

Aurelius’s amusement faded into something more focused. “A portal.”

“Yes.”

“Yours?”

“No. Someone else’s.”

Amaya’s posture changed slightly.

Aurelius watched him closely. “Who?”

“A man with portal powers,” Shunjiro said. “He attacked me. The portal went wrong, and I ended up in the middle of the storm.”

“Why did he attack you?”

Shunjiro forced himself to answer quickly enough that the pause would not betray him. “Bandit.”

Aurelius stared at him.

Shunjiro stared back, heart beating harder.

“A bandit with portal powers,” Aurelius said.

“Yes.”

“That is quite the bandit.”

“I have had a strange few weeks.”

That earned him another laugh, though this one was quieter and harder to read. Aurelius looked at him as if weighing which parts of the answer were true and which parts were carefully placed stones over something deeper.

“And your friend who gave you the dagger?” he asked. “Does this friend have a name?”

Shunjiro considered lying again.

Then he thought of the way Aurelius had spoken the words Devil’s Luck. The way he had inspected the dagger. The way he looked too knowing to be fooled by something simple.

“Malachi,” Shunjiro said at last.

Amaya’s eyes shifted briefly to Aurelius.

Aurelius did not react in any obvious way. His smile remained, faint and unreadable, as though the name had confirmed something he already suspected but had not yet decided to reveal.

“Malachi,” he repeated. “That is a rare sort of friend.”

Shunjiro nodded. “I know.”

“Where is he now?”

“I do not know.”

That answer was honest enough to make Shunjiro’s chest tighten. He did not know where Malachi was. He did not know if Malachi was still searching the Shadow Realm, hunting Tsubasa, or trying to find some impossible trace of a broken portal.

Aurelius seemed to hear the truth in that one more clearly than the others.

For a while, the king questioned him.

At one point, Aurelius asked, “Is Shunjiro all you are called?”

Shunjiro looked down briefly. “For now, I would rather leave it at that.”

Amaya’s expression hardened slightly.

Aurelius only smiled. “A boy carrying secrets. How inconvenient.”

“I am not trying to cause problems.”

“No,” Aurelius said, “I do not believe you are.”

The words eased something in the room, though not completely.

Amaya looked toward him. “Your Majesty.”

Aurelius lifted one hand slightly, stopping whatever objection she might have offered. “He is hiding things, Amaya. That is not the same as being our enemy.”

Shunjiro stayed quiet.

Aurelius turned the dagger once more before offering it back to him.

Shunjiro accepted it carefully, surprised by the gesture. The familiar weight returned to his hand, and the relief that moved through him was stronger than he expected. He sheathed it at his side, fingers lingering near the hilt for a moment before letting go.

“Thank you.”

“Do not make me regret it,” Aurelius said pleasantly.

The warmth in his tone did not make the warning any less real.

“I will not.”

Aurelius turned toward the open cell door. “You will not be kept here. You can rest in a guest room inside the fortress until the storm passes.”

Shunjiro blinked. “A guest room?”

“You were found half-frozen, wounded, and alone. You have been questioned. You are suspicious, but not enough to justify leaving you in a cell when you have given us no reason to believe you intend harm.”

Amaya remained silent, though Shunjiro could feel that she still did not fully agree with letting him move freely.

Aurelius continued. “Once the storm clears, I will arrange for a guild outside the empire to escort you back to the Light Continent.”

Shunjiro’s eyes widened. “All the way to Radiance?”

“Yes.”

Relief finally reached him.

Radiance.

His friends.

The thought almost made his knees weaken again, though this time it had nothing to do with the cold.

“Thank you,” Shunjiro said, the words coming out quieter than he intended. “Really. Thank you.”

Aurelius looked down at him with that unreadable smile. “Do not thank me yet. The Cosmic Continent is not kind to travelers, and storms have a habit of delaying even the best plans. Rest while you can.”

Amaya stepped aside as Aurelius left the cell first. Shunjiro followed after a brief hesitation, crossing the threshold into the corridor with the strange awareness that only minutes ago, he had been waiting behind bars. Now he was walking beside a Great King through the heart of Starheart Fortress with the Devil’s Luck Dagger returned to his side and a promise of passage back home hanging in the air like something too fragile to trust completely.

As they moved down the warm corridor, Shunjiro kept one hand near his dagger and his eyes forward, feeling relief inside his chest.

He had escaped the storm.

Now he was inside the Stellar Empire.