Elsewhere, at a yellow-painted cottage not far from the Gandelion Forest—resting along the slope of Mount Astrella.
The yellow paint had long begun to fade. In places, it peeled away, revealing the old wood beneath. The window stood wide open—too wide, as if it had never truly been closed.
From inside, a faint scent drifted out—alcohol mixed with the lingering trace of flowers that had long since withered.
At that open window stood a woman with pink hair. She leaned casually against the frame, one leg slightly raised, her posture outlining the slender silhouette of her body.
The red cheongsam she wore clung tightly—too tightly. As if it deliberately revealed every curve that didn't need to be shown.
Yet everything about that stood in contrast with her face.
Gloomy.
Empty.
And slightly… tired.
In her hand, she held a bottle of alcohol. It was already nearly half empty. She lifted it slowly, took a small drink—then began to sing.
"My heart longs… longs for you, handsome~" Her voice was gentle, melodic—carried outward through the open window, yet reaching farther than it should have.
But there was something within it—
That didn't quite align with the tune. Like a feeling left unresolved. Like something that remained… and never truly left.
Knock… knock…
A knocking sound echoed from the door—muffled, as if it lost its resonance before it could travel far.
The woman didn't move. As if she hadn't heard it.
"Aunt, it's me," a girl's voice called from the back door.
But the woman in the cheongsam only shifted her gaze outward, through the window. She let out a slow breath.
And then—
Chose to keep singing. "Too bad you're only interested…~"
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
The knocking came again. Louder. Faster—yet still somehow muffled, trapped within the space.The knocking came again. Louder. Faster—yet still somehow muffled, trapped within the space.
"Aunt, aunt—it's me… Rurika." The girl's voice now sounded closer. More urgent.
But the woman merely clicked her tongue softly. "Tch…"
She closed her eyes for a moment—
As if trying to hold something back. Then slowly parted her lips again.
Her voice remained beautiful. Still gentle.
But this time… it felt forced. "For someone who already has a husband~"
—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The knocking thundered against the door—yet the echo cut short, as if severed before it could spread.
But that wasn't what stopped her singing.
"Stop singing, Aunt. No matter how beautifully you hum, the fact that you were rejected won't change. It's better to accept it than drown in it," Rurika said.
Silence.
For a moment—
True silence.
The woman didn't move. The smile was still there.But her eyes…no longer reflected any light.
Inside the house—
The air shifted. Heavy. Tense.
As if something unseen…had begun to stir.
Thrum…
A low rumble echoed.Not from the sky—Butfrom within the house itself, tremblingthrough the walls as if they were holding something back.
Then—
CRASH!!
The door burst openwith a violent crash.
The wood creaked—not from fragility, but as if it was being forced to withstand pressure from within. The hinges rattled violently, yet held their place.
And from inside—
The pink-haired woman stepped out.
The aura she carried… was no longer the same.
Her expression turned frightening. Like a horned red demon that had just been awakened from its slumber. Without a word, she reached out toward the girl in front of her
—
And pinched both her cheeks hard. "What did you just say, you brat?! Such a mouth on you!"
"Owwie… Auwntie, it huwts! Stwop it, Auwntie!" Rurika whimpered, her voice muffled as her cheeks were pulled.
"Stop calling me 'Aunt'!" the woman snapped. "You should be calling me 'Big Sister'!"
"S-I-S-T-E-R. Remember that," the pink-haired woman said.
"Owwie… it's bewcauwse Auwntie diwdn't opwen thwe dowor fwor mwe…" the platinum-haired girl whined, her cheeks still being pulled.
"Hohoho…" the pink-haired woman laughed. A beautiful laugh—Yet somehow… more threatening than a scream. "And whose fault is it for interrupting my singing? And stop calling me Aunt."
But—her movement halted. Her gaze shifted. Toward…something behind the girl.
A handsome black-haired young man.
His body dragged across the ground. Covered in wounds, bruises, dirt, and remnants that had not fully dried.
For a moment—
The woman's eyes widened.
"Oh…" Her tone changed. "…a handsome man."
Her smile slowly returned. Different this time—more alive.
"He must be eaten immediately—" She paused. Then gave a small cough, correcting herself. "Ahem, I mean…he must be treated immediately."
She released her grip at once. As if she had completely forgotten about the girl.
"Ow…that pinch from Auntie really hurts…" Rurika complained, rubbing her reddened cheeks.
"That's your own fault," the woman replied lightly. "Alright, enough of that—help me carry this poor man."
The pink-haired woman with deep green eyes crouched slightly, taking a closer look.
"Look…how bad his condition is…" she said. Her tone shifted again. Softer. More serious. "Scratches…bruises…and some have been treated…but not properly…"
She moved her hand through the air above his body—without actually touching his skin. As if sensing something unseen. "…interesting."
Etral's light pulsed—just for a moment.
As if something inside the young man's body…was calling to it. But it didn't move closer. It remained at Rurika's side.
In the seemingly empty air—that same faint shimmer lingered. A small white orb of light… floating quietly. No sound. No disturbance.
Yet its position…was never far from the girl. Its glow was gentle. Too pure for a place like this. And strangely—none of them seemed to notice it.
"Alright, Bibi. Let me hold him first," Rurika said quickly. She immediately reached for the young man's hand. A reflex—without thinking.
Etral shifted along with her—its small orb of light moving in sync with her steps. As if its presence…did not originate from her body, yet still followed her.
The woman was slightly surprised. Her eyes narrowed just a little—But she said nothing. Only smiled faintly. Then helped lift the young man's body.
—
They entered the house. Light from outside crept in through the door that had been forced open.
The wooden floor creaked softly beneath their steps—a sound that was clear, yet quickly muted, as if absorbed by the space itself.
The air inside felt warm—yet stifling.
That same small white orb drifted in after them—slowly, silently. As if drawn by something that couldn't be explained.
The scent of alcohol, old paper, and something sweet…
Yet overwhelmingly so.
The walls were far from empty. Covered in sheets of paper—posters. Magazine cutouts. Some neatly placed. Others crooked. Layered. Nearly peeling off.
But they all shared one thing in common.
Faces.
The faces of handsome men. Too handsome. With varying expressions—faint smiles, sharp gazes, poses that seemed deliberately made to be admired.
Among them—
One face appeared more often than the rest. Dark brown hair. Faded violet eyes.
His gaze wasn't aggressive. Not cold.
Instead…too calm. Like someone who knew exactly what he was doing—
And never felt guilty about it.
In one sheet, he leaned casually. In another, he stared straight ahead—As if aware he was being watched.
—
There was no other sound.
Aside from their footsteps—and the faint rustle of paper brushing against itself.
—
One half-peeled poster displayed bold letters:
"WANTED — ANATHEMA"
"DEAD OR ALIVE"
Beneath it—smaller text. The publisher's name—Schateen. A magazine, created by… that very Anathema himself.
Each issue was different. Different poses. Different expressions.
Yet the face—remained the same.
As if the fugitive…posed more often than he hid.
Around the poster—handwritten scribbles. Messy. Repeated over and over.
"Captivating."
"Very captivating."
"Impossible to be faithful."
"And yet…still alluring."
In some places—
The paper was scratched. Not torn. More like…clawed.
—
Rurika glanced at it briefly. Her eyes paused on one poster—showing the man with a faint smile.
But she said nothing.
As if none of this…was strange.
—
The pink-haired woman walked past it. Without even looking.
As if it was all completely normal.
—
But—when pink-haired woman passed one of the newer posters—her steps slowed. Just slightly. Almost imperceptible. The corner of her lips lifted faintly.
"Ah…the latest edition," she murmured softly. Like a habit. As if…she had never truly stopped waiting.
—
She continued walking.
—
Behind them—
The sheets of paper shifted gently in the breeze. One corner lifted, revealing a small line of text:
Wanted for seducing other men's wives.
—
And the man's smile—with those faded violet irises—remained unchanged.
—
"Quick, bring him inside. Don't let him die before I get the chance to touch him—ah, I mean treat him," the woman said.
Their steps continued.
The door remained open. The night air drifted in slowly—bringing with it the remnants of the forest. And something…that had not fully faded.
—
Inside—
Between the faint, unsteady breaths…
And the unconscious body—
Something…had never truly fallen asleep.
And nearby—Etral's light remained. Pulsing softly. As if…waiting for something to awaken.
And if that something truly did awaken—
It was already prepared to face it.
If it truly awakened—
Etral would not retreat.