*Is this also a mana stone?*
Even if it were nothing more than an ordinary rock, it was so beautiful that Juliet couldn't help but turn it over in her fingers, admiring the way the faint green glow of the surrounding stones seemed to bend around its surface — as though the darkness within it were something alive, something that swallowed light rather than reflected it.
After a moment, she emptied the mana stones from her pocket onto the cave floor and carefully placed the black sphere in their center, like a dark moon ringed by pale stars.
"So," she said, still studying it, "if the legend is true, then the story most likely went something like this. When the dragon — the king of monsters — settled in this place, it would have naturally created a habitat for lesser creatures around itself."
This was the first hypothesis that surfaced in her mind, and once it took shape, the rest followed easily.
"And since the dragons are now extinct, no new monster nests are being created."
"Quite plausible," Ethelid agreed, tilting his head.
"Then that would explain why these nests are so concentrated in the eastern part of the continent, compared to the numbers found in other regions."
They sat side by side on the moss-covered floor, trading guesses back and forth like scholars debating over tea rather than prisoners slowly starving in the dark. It was, after all, the only thing they *could* do — locked underground, hungry, and unable to escape.
Of course, if a certain someone had been more responsible, they wouldn't be in this situation at all.
"Theo Lebatan..." Juliet's voice dropped to something low and lethal. "I will *kill* you."
Ethelid stared at her, bewildered — and then burst out laughing.
"Don't laugh," Juliet grumbled, her eyes narrowing. "If Theo hadn't tampered with your bracelet in the first place, we'd be out of here already."
The laughter died. Ethelid's expression sobered as the truth of her words landed squarely on his shoulders.
"...Miss Juliet."
"Yes?"
"In the human body, just below the heart, there is a vulnerable point. It's called the solar plexus."
"...What?"
Juliet stared at him, utterly lost.
"When we get out," Ethelid said, his face carved with grim determination as he pointed to the exact spot on his own torso, "we aim *here*."
---
"I don't think we'll be able to carve a passage or climb out."
After a thorough examination of every reachable surface, they arrived at the conclusion neither of them wanted to voice: escaping on their own would be nearly impossible. The walls were too hard, the distance too great, the angle too sheer.
"So I'm going to die here," Juliet murmured, sinking onto the soft moss.
Ethelid glanced at her curiously but said nothing.
Juliet propped her chin on her hand and stared at the darkness, her thoughts spiraling inward.
*Why should I have to go through this... again?*
She seemed incapable of escaping her predetermined fate. In her previous life, she had also died at twenty-five. The same age. The same helplessness.
*So this is how my second life ends?*
*But Dahlia hasn't even appeared yet. And I... I never saw Lennox again...*
***This isn't fair.***
*If I had known this was going to happen, I would have just—*
Juliet bit down on her lip, hard enough to taste copper. The thought that had almost completed itself frightened her more than the darkness.
Yet no matter how she tried, she couldn't shake the bitter, suffocating weight that pressed against her chest at the idea of dying again. Here. Alone. In the dark.
*Will he ever know that I died in this place?*
*No. It doesn't matter. Even if he found out, he wouldn't grieve.*
"Well, if Theo were here, we'd be perfectly balanced."
Ethelid's voice cut through her thoughts — seemingly idle, seemingly meaningless.
"Swordsman, wizard, and..."
He turned his gaze directly to Juliet as he spoke the last word, barely above a whisper.
"...summoner."
*What?*
Juliet blinked, the word landing like a stone dropped into still water.
Before she could ask what he meant, one of the children shattered the silence with a sharp, gasping sob.
"Uwaaaa...!"
---
On the third night after the fall, the children broke.
It had been inevitable. They'd been sitting in absolute darkness for days without food, without sunlight, without any promise that the world above still existed. What was truly remarkable was not that they cried — it was that these small, brave souls had held out for as long as they had.
"Don't cry, children!" Juliet called out in a hushed voice — though the urgent intensity of her tone achieved something closer to a military command than a lullaby.
Ethelid let out a soft laugh. When it subsided, he asked mildly, "Are you sure you were trying to comfort them, or intimidate them?"
His question went unanswered. Another wail rose from the cluster of small bodies.
"Uwaaaa!"
Young children had a contagious quality to their misery. Once one began to cry, the rest followed like a chain of falling dominoes — each sob triggering the next until the sound swelled into a chorus.
"Oh — little ones, please, don't cry. Everything will be alright... Shh, now, it's okay..."
Magda gathered them close, rocking and murmuring, but she was only one woman with two arms and five terrified children. It wasn't enough.
Within moments, the narrow crevice reverberated with the raw, high-pitched wailing of all five children at once. The sound bounced off the stone walls, amplified and inescapable.
One of the Black Mane Guild members jolted upright on the opposite side of the cave.
"Hey! Damn kids, *shut up!*"
"And who," Juliet said, her gaze cutting toward him like a blade drawn from a sheath, "do you think is responsible for them being here?"
The man flinched and looked away.
Juliet rose to her feet and walked toward the children. She crouched before them, her expression softening into something none of them had seen before.
"You're good children, aren't you? Aunt Juliet is going to show you something amazing now."
*Something amazing?*
Not only the children but every person in the cave turned to look at her.
Juliet waited until ten wide, tear-bright eyes were fixed on her hands. Then she extended her palm, slowly curled her fingers into a fist — and opened them.
A small light flickered to life in the darkness.
Ethelid's eyes went wide.
"Oh..."
A tiny butterfly — no larger than a fingernail, its wings shimmering with a pale, ethereal blue — lifted from her palm and drifted upward in a lazy spiral. It pulsed gently, casting soft, wavering shadows across the children's awestruck faces.
The crying stopped as though a door had been shut.
One by one, the children scrambled to their feet, hands outstretched, chasing the flickering creature as it danced just beyond their reaching fingers — close enough to tantalize, far enough to evade.
Delighted laughter replaced the sobs.
When Juliet returned to her seat, Ethelid regarded her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher.
"I didn't realize you had such a sweet side."
"If the children keep crying, the monsters will find us faster." Juliet's voice carried a faint edge of irritation, though she kept it low enough that neither the children nor Magda could hear. "And then we all die faster. Simple logic."
"...That's also true."
Ethelid shook his head, his lips pressed together as though physically restraining a smile.
---
Yet despite the dire weight of their situation — the hunger, the dark, the unyielding stone — a stubborn, irrational ember still glowed deep within Juliet's chest.
Hope.
She recognized it, and the recognition confused her. It made no sense. There was no logical reason for it. And yet she couldn't extinguish it — this blind, foolish faith that refused to die.
*Even if I was lost. Even if no one knew where I was.*
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she had always believed — naively, childishly — that there was someone who would come looking for her. Someone who would search until they found her. And so she had to stay alive. She *had* to.
But his pride had been wounded more deeply than she'd imagined when she dared to leave on her own terms.
*So now there is no one.*
Lennox would not come for her.
*This is what I chose,* Juliet told herself, and her inner voice was perfectly cool, perfectly rational.
*I chose this myself.*
---
After some time, she surfaced from the depths of her thoughts and remembered something important. She turned to Ethelid.
"Ethelid."
"Yes, Miss Juliet?"
"Are you going to tell my aunt about this?" Her tone was cold. Deliberate.
"...About what?"
A flicker of confusion crossed his face — but it was quickly replaced by understanding. He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Why do you ask?"
"Because you're a wizard."
She said nothing more than that. She didn't need to.
Ethelid understood precisely what she meant.
"Hm."
He turned his head with exaggerated slowness and glanced over his shoulder. A pair of luminous butterflies had materialized silently beside him, circling his head in a slow, deliberate orbit that carried a distinctly *threatening* quality.
"Please remove them," Ethelid said, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender, as though invisible blades hovered at his throat. "In fact, it would be far more dangerous for *me* if I spoke of this. You understand that, I'm sure."
"..."
In theory, this was true.
"Then give me the Oath of Ikaron," Juliet said. "You will say nothing to my aunt or uncle until I give you permission."
Something sparked in Ethelid's eyes — genuine curiosity, sharp and bright.
"The Oath of Ikaron." He studied her face. "Where did you hear about that?"
"Do you take the oath or not?"
"...Very well. I swear."
He nodded, and this time his expression held no trace of humor. Only solemnity.
"Remarkable," he murmured.
---
At that moment, Juliet noticed movement behind Ethelid's shoulder. Several members of the Black Mane Guild were approaching — slowly, cautiously, their expressions wary and calculating.
"I'd like to speak with you." The man at the front inclined his head stiffly. "I'm Absilon, leader of the Black Mane Guild."
"This is Ethelid," Juliet answered on the wizard's behalf, her voice carrying the flat authority of someone accustomed to introductions. "He is a wizard of the Marigold Guild."
The men standing behind Absilon shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting to Ethelid with undisguised apprehension.
"Yes... we're aware." Absilon swallowed, then peered past Ethelid at Juliet. "Well — although our meeting has taken place under... deplorable circumstances, now that we're all here together, I thought it might be wise for everyone to introduce themselves. Share our abilities." He paused, then added with studied casualness, "Perhaps it could help us find a way out."
"Couldn't hurt," another guild member chimed in, a touch too eagerly.
Ethelid raised one eyebrow. He regarded them for a long, silent moment — then shrugged.
"Fine."
The guild members introduced themselves one by one. Magda and the children drifted back to the group and offered their names as well. Skills were listed, abilities catalogued, limitations confessed.
After everyone had spoken, only one person remained — sitting slightly apart from the others, arms crossed, eyelids heavy with something that might have been exhaustion or might have been disinterest.
Absilon cleared his throat.
"And what abilities does the lady possess?"
Juliet looked up. Every pair of eyes in the cave gleamed with barely concealed expectation.
*Ah.*
Now she understood why they'd approached. The introductions, the camaraderie, the talk of cooperation — it had all been a preamble. What the Black Mane Guild truly wanted was information about *her*. About what she could do.
*Releasing butterflies in front of these people probably wasn't the wisest decision.*
But what was done was done. She had already revealed herself.
Juliet leaned forward and extended her hand, palm upward. For a few heartbeats, nothing happened. Then a pale blue glow kindled at the center of her palm, soft and tentative, gradually condensing and taking shape until a translucent butterfly rested on her skin, its wings folding and unfolding with delicate precision.
It lifted from her hand and began to rise.
Every head in the cave tilted back, watching the small point of light ascend through the darkness — climbing, climbing, growing smaller — until, roughly halfway to the distant surface, it flickered once and vanished.
A chorus of heavy sighs filled the cavern.
"Haaa..."
Ethelid was the only one who didn't react. Throughout the butterfly's ascent — and its disappearance — he had watched Juliet rather than the light, his expression somber, his gaze heavy with thoughts he kept to himself.
"They're spirits," Juliet said, her face perfectly unreadable. "I can summon them."
*"Juliet..."*
She remembered the advice Lionel had given her, long ago.
*"You don't have to tell them everything."*
"Do they just... glow?" Absilon asked, frowning.
"...Pardon?"
"That's — that's *all* they do?"
"Yes," Juliet replied, and a wide, serene smile spread across her lips. "It's a very useful ability in the dark, wouldn't you say?"
As if on cue, several butterflies materialized around her shoulders, their wings pulsing brighter than before — the blue light intensifying, flickering through the cavern like cold, beautiful fire — as though the spirits themselves understood the meaning of her words and were determined to prove their worth.