[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: Heart Kingdom Outskirts]

[Virelheim Mountain Village]

She was a bad person—she could admit that much. Not evil, not cruel perhaps, but far from good. The kind of person who looked upon tragedy and merely felt the wrong things.

When Gretel saw the corpses—limbs stiff, eyes frozen in horror—she did not cry. She did not scream. The wave that swallowed her was dread and guilt, not grief. No sadness came. Just that familiar emptiness.

She was used to this—the aftermath of violence. Used to death being the punctuation of human life. And though she had lived among the villagers, she had never truly known most of them. They were voices, faces and routines. Not names that lingered in her heart. Not until she had met Andrew, Meryl, and Arabella.

Those three were different. They were light in a gray world, reminders of what warmth felt like. She had looked after them so many times, seen their laughter cut through the bleak air of the village. She'd patched their scraped knees, scolded them, smiled when they bickered. They were too bright for this rotting world. Too fragile to survive it.

And maybe that was why she stood against a Mortifer in the first place. Not out of righteousness. Not out of courage. But out of a selfish instinct—to preserve the last flicker of something that made her feel human.

But the world had its way of punishing hope.

Of reminding her that consequences were never merciful.

Her eyes locked on the ice dagger hurtling toward Arabella. It moved too fast for the child to even understand death was coming. And Gretel understood—this was it. Her failure, given form. Her punishment.

The death of a child she wanted to protect.

Every fiber in her screamed to look away, to not watch the light she cherished be extinguished. But some cruel, masochistic part of her mind demanded she see it through. That she witness what her choices had wrought.

And so she did.

The dagger's motion felt stretched—each second so brutally long. The air seemed to halt. The cold bit her lungs. She could hear her own pulse hammering in her ears. The dagger's tip gleamed, almost beautiful as it neared Arabella's chest.

Then—

CLANG!

The world snapped back to motion. The sound was not of flesh being pierced, but of the dagger colliding with something solid. The dagger froze mid-flight, its deadly arc abruptly cut short.

Gretel blinked, her breath catching in disbelief. Her gaze drifted past Snow, to the figure standing before Arabella.

He stood between the child and death. His armor—black with faint purple accents that caught the light—it looked heavier than before. Yet even under that weight, he appeared ethereal. Snow-white hair tied into a starburst bun, eyes a deep carmine that glowed faintly, his expression caught in irritation.

And those lips—soft, rose-tinted, curved into a frown.

The ice dagger was clenched between his gauntleted fingers.

"Seems you really are the dumbest of the goblins," Mikoto said flatly. He tossed the dagger aside as though it were an afterthought, then glanced down at Arabella.

"M-Mikoto…" Arabella's voice broke, trembling with relief and fear. She stumbled forward, almost collapsing before his steady hand caught her.

"Don't go collapsing, brat. Can't you see the floor's frozen?" His brow furrowed, the faintest hint of exasperation in his tone.

But Arabella didn't care. With a choked sob, she threw her arms around him, burying her tear-streaked face into his chest.

"I—I was so scared! I never wanna do that again!" she wailed, her words muffled, snot and tears mixing.

"Oi," Mikoto muttered, awkwardly patting her head with his heavy gauntlet, "that's too much snot. You trying to be Meryl now?"

Gretel blinked slowly, her lips parting. Relief, disbelief and gratitude made her chest ache.

On the other side, Snow watched the scene, her eyes narrowing. ("He's the Angel...") she thought. ("So Lindworm failed. As low-ranked as he is, his Null Schema was still formidable. For this one to have killed him—I see.")

Snow's composure wavered, her hand clenching. She took a step forward, mist curling around her boots, momentarily forgetting about Gretel entirely.

"Mikoto…" Gretel whispered weakly, her voice trembling. Her body screamed in pain, but her heart eased just a little. The surreal weight of the moment almost made her laugh—he had arrived like some impossible miracle, cutting through the despair she'd been drowning in.

For the first time in hours, she let herself believe things might be all right.

Mikoto gently detached Arabella's grip, guiding her aside. His red eyes lifted to Snow.

"Arabella," he said quietly, his tone changing—firmer now. "Go around and see if that idiot Gretel's busy dying. Don't worry about the pale chick. She's not touching you."

Arabella blinked up at him, eyes glassy but trusting. It was rare for him to use her name. That alone told her everything—he meant it. She nodded.

She moved carefully, giving Snow a wide berth as she crossed the frozen street. Her small frame seemed so fragile on the uneven ice. Gretel, watching her approach, forced herself to breathe through the pain.

Snow's gaze didn't follow the girl. She only studied Mikoto coldly. "What happened to Lindworm?" she asked. Her voice was as emotionless as ever, but there was a brittle edge. "Did you kill him?"

"Him?" Mikoto shrugged lightly, almost bored. "He ran away while we were fighting."

Snow's brow twitched.

"I can't say I blame the guy," Mikoto continued. "He was fighting me, after all. Running was the smartest thing he could've done. You should take a page from his book."

Snow's lips curved into the faintest smirk, though her tone stayed flat. "How proud of you. Yet this is none of your concern, Angel."

That word struck Gretel like a pebble dropped into her thoughts. ("Angel?")

She'd heard the term before—vague tales of divine beings, beings under a single God, winged emissaries that blurred the line between man and myth. But Mikoto? No wings. No halo. Just that strange unearthly presence that now made her wonder.

Arabella reached Gretel's side, kneeling beside her. "H-he'll be fine," she murmured, voice trembling but certain. "Mikoto's really strong."

Gretel's eyes softened. "Arabella," she said, her voice breaking, "please never do something like that again."

Arabella looked away, embarrassed. "I—I just didn't want that woman to hurt you anymore, Miss Gretel."

Gretel sighed shakily. "And for that, I am grateful," she whispered, forcing a small smile. Her bloodied hand found Arabella's shoulder, gripping it gently. "But next time… don't run into death head-on. Leave that to fools like me."

They turned together, watching Mikoto and Snow face each other.

"Who are you to decide what my concerns are?" Mikoto's spat.

Snow's gaze did not waver. "These are mortal affairs, are they not?" she replied, her tone unshaken, yet there was an almost imperceptible change in her voice—a trace of confusion at being confronted at all. "You should keep to yourself. I am rendering rightful justice upon these people. You have no right to interfere."

Mikoto tilted his head. "Rightful justice?" His lips curved slightly—not into a smile, but something close to mockery. "That's what you call this?"

Snow met his stare without hesitation. "Do other beings not do the same?" she countered calmly. "Do Gods not cull those who deny them? Do Angels not smite those who blaspheme? Mortals and immortals alike enforce what they deem right. I am no different. The act of culling… the rendering of judgment… it's universal."

Mikoto's gaze softened in disbelief. "So that's how far you've gone," he murmured, his voice low enough to make Gretel strain to hear him from her wounded place on the ground. "A convenient excuse so you can keep killing and call it whatever you want."

Snow frowned, but he didn't give her the chance to speak.

"Everyone does it," he went on, tone level. "Every creature that breathes clings to its own little worldview. That's how they keep living. But then they start forcing those beliefs onto others. They bend reality until it fits into their narrow sense of meaning." His gauntleted arms folded over his chest, the faint scrape of alloy echoing softly. "And the moment someone challenges that view… they call it evil, wrong or injustice." He let out a faint laugh. "You're just like the rest. Ordinary."

The word landed like a slap. Snow's composure didn't break, but her eyes flickered—just slightly. Ordinary. Not weak. Not pathetic. But ordinary. Somehow, that stung more.

"I don't care for philosophical lectures," Snow replied curtly. "Your words mean nothing to me."

"Good," Mikoto said, rolling one shoulder, the faint sound of his armor shifting. "Because I'm not here to lecture. I just want you to understand what happens next." His tone didn't rise, he unfolded his arms as he extended his index finger as if to explain an important point. "If you have even a shred of instinct left, you already know how this ends. You can feel it, can't you? You can't win here."

Snow's eyes narrowed slightly. "Such arrogance."

"Not arrogance if it's true." Mikoto said simply as he lowered his hand. "Because even if you run, I'll hunt you down and kill you. It's that simple."

"Kill me?" Snow's lips curled faintly, though her body tensed ever so slightly. "Do you truly believe it would be so easy?"

"Of course not," Mikoto said softly. "I know your type by now. You probably have some annoying power—something like your friend Lindworm." His red eyes flicked up. "But all I need is time to understand your Null Schema. Once I do, you're done."

Snow's calm cracked—just slightly. ("Is he bluffing?") she thought, her mind racing. ("Could he really counter a Nil's Schema?") She could sense the vast mana emanating from him, but it wasn't like normal magic—it didn't flow, it stayed, like a still lake too deep to see the bottom of. Her instincts screamed at her: don't engage this boy.

She straightened, trying to regain control of the moment. "If you were to kill me," she said coolly, "the Retorta Guild would not let such a thing go unanswered. Even if you somehow survived their retaliation, these villagers would not. Their blood would be on your hands."

Mikoto sighed, his expression softening in irritation. "So that's your play," he muttered. "Threats of bureaucracy. Cute." His tone turned dry. "At least you know your place. Still, if the Retorta Guild sends out more Mortifers like you, then they're a bigger joke than I thought."

His gaze dropped slightly, expression unreadable as his thoughts started behind those calm eyes. ("Mortifers have ranks... Lindworm's power was strong too, they're most likely pretty important. Their guilds hierarchy must run deep.)

Mikoto exhaled softly. "Fine," he said at last. "I'll make you a deal. You leave this village and I'll let you live. Simple enough, right?" His eyes sharpened as they met hers. "I don't plan to stay here forever, so it's not like this place means anything to me. But even someone like you should have the common sense to know this fight isn't worth your life."

Snow's jaw tightened. "You presume much."

"And you talk too much," Mikoto replied, tone light—those deceptively gentle eyes—were utterly void of warmth.

A long pause hung between them. Gretel's breath came shallow, Arabella clutching her side, watching them both in terrified silence.

At last, Snow inhaled quietly. "…I agree to those terms," she said at last, voice clipped and sharp, though a flicker of reluctant acceptance passed through her features.

"Yeah. Whatever." Mikoto's response came dismissively, as if she'd just admitted defeat in a petty argument rather than a life-or-death duel. "Now buzz off."

The offhand remark was a final insult.

Snow's eye twitched. She said nothing, though the silence between them throbbed. Her gaze shifted away from Mikoto, to where Gretel and Arabella sat huddled in the distance. The child shrank beneath her stare, but Gretel didn't. Despite the blood and pain, the girl's eyes burned.

For a brief second, something unreadable passed through Snow's gaze—contempt, perhaps, or reluctant acknowledgment. Then she tore her eyes away.

"Hmph."

The sound was final.

A sudden surge of force rippled through the street as Snow vanished, the air collapsing inward with a faint implosion. A crater marked the place where she'd stood, the frost around it spider-webbed with cracks.

Silence followed.

The silence stretched long before Mikoto finally sighed, murmuring under his breath, "Tch… idiots like her never learn."

Gretel could not help but note he sounded more tired than angry.

Odd, he barely looked exhausted.

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