The morning sunlight slipped through the thin curtains, brushing the small wooden table with a warm, pale glow. Knox stood by the stove, spatula in hand, flipping a strip of bacon that sizzled with a crisp, satisfying sound. The pan next to it held two sunny-side-up eggs, whites set just right, yolks still soft.
On the back burner, a pot of creamy corn soup simmered quietly, filling the room with a gentle sweetness that made the air feel warmer than it should.
He tasted it once with a spoon. "…Not bad," he murmured to himself, giving the soup a small stir. "Could use a bit more salt."
He added a pinch, nodded, and moved the pot off the heat.
Just as he was plating the eggs, footsteps approached—soft, light, almost polite. That had to be Israfill.
A second pair followed, louder, confident… or maybe just too lazy to walk quietly. That was definitely Dana.
The two saintesses entered the small dining space almost at the same time.
"Good morning, Knox," Israfill greeted, her voice gentle as ever.
Dana sniffed the air, eyes narrowing—not in annoyance, just focus.
"What a good smell. This should be a good breakfast, right?"
Knox turned slightly, catching them in his peripheral vision. Israfill was smiling softly, hands clasped in front of her. Dana was already halfway seated, pretending she wasn't eager but absolutely eager.
"Oh—good morning, Sister Israfill, Sister Dana." He lifted the last plate from the pan, sliding the eggs neatly into place. "Wait for a minute, ok? I'm almost done."
He nodded toward the table. "I already prepared some black tea in the pot there. You can fresh yourselves with that first."
Israfill nodded politely and moved to pour herself a cup.
Dana had already poured one before Knox even finished the sentence.
Breakfast wasn't even served yet, and the morning already felt more alive than it should.
Knox brought the plates over—eggs perfectly glossy, bacon crisped at the edges, and a small bowl of warm corn cream soup for each of them. The aroma filled the room in a soft wave, and even before he set everything down, he saw the way Israfill's eyes widened slightly while Dana tried (and failed) to hide her anticipation.
Once he placed the last bowl and finally took his seat, both saintesses moved almost at the same time.
They dug in.
Israfill took the first bite, and the reaction was instant—her shoulders relaxed, eyes subtly sparkling. She pressed a hand to her right cheek, almost in disbelief.
"This is… so good," she breathed out, sounding like someone who just tasted sunshine for the first time.
Knox blinked once, not used to that level of honest praise first thing in the morning.
Dana, meanwhile, didn't say a word.
No praise. No comment. No reaction.
But—
she also didn't stop eating.
Not even for a second.
Her fork moved like a machine, bite after bite, cheeks puffing slightly as she chewed nonstop. She looked like someone deeply offended by how good the food was and refusing to acknowledge it verbally.
Knox watched her for a moment.
"…Dana, you're going to choke if you keep going like that."
She ignored him.
Completely.
But her pace didn't slow down either.
Israfill let out a small laugh, hand still gently resting on her cheek.
"Knox… I think she really likes it."
Dana paused for half a second—just long enough to glare at Israfil—then went right back to chewing at the exact same speed.
Knox sighed lightly, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward despite himself.
"Yeah… I can tell."
Once breakfast was finished and the plates were cleared, the warm morning air felt a little quieter than before. Israfill folded her hands neatly on her lap, her gaze drifting toward Knox.
"Today is our farewell, Knox," she said softly.
Her voice carried a faint melancholy, like someone trying to accept something they didn't really want to accept just yet.
Knox leaned back slightly, meeting her eyes with a calm expression.
"Where there are meetings, there are partings," Knox said, then he leaned in just a little with a grin. "Buuut where there are partings, there are meetings too… sooo, don't get too gloomy. We'll totally meet again."
Israfill blinked—surprised for a brief second—before a gentle smile touched her lips.
"You are right."
Silence followed.
Not an uncomfortable one—just a small pocket of stillness where none of them seemed sure how to move the moment forward.
Knox noticed the way Israfill's fingers fidgeted slightly, her lips parting and closing again. She looked like she wanted to say something… but the words wouldn't leave her mouth.
He exhaled through his nose, already understanding where this was going.
"I know what you're about to ask," Knox said, cutting in before she gathered the courage. "And you already know my answer too, right?"
Israfill's eyes widened a little—caught.
"My answer is no," Knox continued. "I don't want to go to the Holy Federation."
He crossed his arms lightly, expression flat but honest.
"Especially not to become a priest. I mean, seriously—I can't even imagine what kind of troublesome mess I'd get dragged into if I joined."
He shook his head, lips tugging slightly in a half-grimace.
"For example: joining Efnel, going through some kind of penance, or whatever ritual headache they have waiting. Yeah… no thank you."
Israfill lowered her gaze for a moment—but not out of disappointment.
It was more like she had expected exactly that answer, and hearing it out loud made it real.
Dana, from across the table, snorted quietly as if she'd never once believed Knox would say yes.
And honestly… she was right.
Dana finally broke the brief silence. "Then… will you become a necromancer and join Kizen?"
The room went quiet again.
Knox tapped his chin, pretending to ponder deeply. "Hmm, I don't know," he said with a light, teasing lilt—almost playful. "For now, I kinda want to try everything. You know… maybe become a bounty hunter and a novelist."
Israfill and Dana both blinked, equally taken aback.
"Putting aside the bounty hunter part," Israfill asked, "why a novelist?"
Knox grinned. "Hehe, even though I look like this, I'm pretty confident my novel's totally gonna make me famous. My name will reach your ears eventually—as long as it doesn't get banned in your country, of course."
Israfill let out a soft laugh, while Dana couldn't hold back a small chuckle.
"If we meet again as enemies," Dana warned with a smirk, "I won't hold back, you know?"
Knox raised an eyebrow, giving her a playful smile. "If we meet again and you don't attack me, I'd be absolutely sure the Sister Dana in front of me is an imposter."
Hearing that, Israfill burst into laughter—bright, clear, and completely unrestrained.
Dana, on the other hand, twitched. A tiny vein appeared on her forehead as she glanced sideways at the overly amused saintess beside her.
Dana narrowed her eyes at Israfill. "Are you asking for a fight? It's been a while since we had a serious one, right?"
Instead of answering seriously, Israfill clasped her hands dramatically. "Wow. Look at this, Knox—this one is the real Dana!"
Knox nodded along with a bright grin, matching her energy perfectly. "You're right, Sister Israfill! With this, we now know how to differentiate an impostor from the real one! You should write this in Efnel's teaching book!"
Dana's eyebrow twitched again. For a moment, her expression said she was one breath away from exploding.
"…Alright. Enough," she exhaled sharply. "I'll beat you later when we return to the Holy Federation."
Israfill only laughed, completely unfazed, as if Dana's threat was nothing more than morning breeze.
One hour after breakfast, Knox finished packing—humming a little tune for no particular reason—and stepped outside…
Two large, ornate carriages were already waiting in front of the inn, their polished frames glinting under the morning light. Standing before each one were Israfil and Dana, both dressed in their formal travel attire—elegant, pristine, and very much "Holy Federation."
Israfill was the first to approach.
Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug.
Knox blinked, caught off guard for half a second, then returned the hug with a gentle smile.
"See you later, Sister Israfil. Please take care."
When they let go, Knox glanced toward Dana.
Then—very deliberately—he opened his arms a little, giving her a look that could only mean 'my turn?'
Dana's eyebrow twitched. Her lips pulled into the flattest, driest line imaginable.
She raised her right fist, already clenched.
"How about I give you a farewell punch?"
Knox took three steps back on instinct. "Haha—how about no?" he said, tone bright and playful.
Dana let out a tiny huff before allowing the faintest smile to appear. "Keep training. Don't let yourself rust. I don't want to face you again only to be disappointed."
She paused, studying him with that sharp, no-nonsense gaze of hers.
"By the way… after sparring with you, I kept thinking—your sword fits you and doesn't fit you at the same time. You've realized this, haven't you?"
Her words hit deeper than he expected.
What a sharp eye, Knox thought.
Of course my sword both fits and doesn't. My style is basically a half-breed mess—part of the forms I learned from Shizuna, and part whatever hybrid I stitched together myself. Besides… Shizuna's style isn't "Eight Leaves One Blade" to begin with. To be precise, it's the Black God One Blade style—an older branch connected to Eight Leaves, but not exactly the same. She uses an odachi, while the Eight Leaves practitioners from the Trails series—like Rean—fight with a tachi. Naturally, the flow ends up different.
"Yes, Sister Dana," Knox nodded. "I've got a gist of it."
Dana gave a satisfied smile—rare, but genuine—then turned and stepped into her carriage. Israfill followed into hers, giving Knox one last little wave from the doorway.
With a soft crack of reins, both carriages began rolling toward the direction of the Holy Federation.
Knox watched them go for a moment, then turned the opposite way—the road leading toward the Neutral Zone, and the basecamp waiting for him there.
A new day. A new journey.
* * *
Inside the softly swaying carriage, Israfill let out a slow breath she had been holding far too long.
The gentle smile she had worn so naturally in front of Knox faded the moment the curtain fell.
"…That was exhausting," she murmured, resting her temple against the padded wall.
Playing along with Dana's antics—matching her pace, laughing at the right moments, pretending they were anything close to friendly—it took more effort than she liked to admit.
Still… it was necessary.
Leaving the Holy Federation without keeping Dana in sight was unthinkable. If either of them moved alone, the opposing faction would surely stir. This way, at least, every pair of eyes would be forced to hesitate.
Israfill's fingers curled slightly in her lap as Knox's face surfaced in her thoughts.
A blank slate, she thought. And a dangerous one.
Talent, adaptability… and a will that refused to bend easily.
"If he could be guided," she whispered softly, "he could become someone truly remarkable."
Whether Dana noticed it or not—
Israfill had already made up her mind.
* * *
Meanwhile, in the carriage behind, Dana sat with her arms crossed, eyes closed, brow faintly furrowed.
"Tch… what a pain," she muttered.
Keeping up appearances with Israfill was irritating enough—but having to tolerate her gentle saint act for days on end? Absolutely exhausting.
Still, letting the moderate faction's leader roam freely was out of the question. If Israfill moved without restraint, the balance within the Holy Federation would tilt—and Dana refused to allow that.
Not when Israfill's sudden movements felt too deliberate, her intentions obscured behind that ever-serene smile. Especially not when Israfill had begun to act in ways that defied prediction. Dana trusted neither coincidences nor smiles that came too easily.
Her thoughts drifted, inevitably, to Knox.
So that's your angle, she mused. Trying to pull him to your side.
Dana opened her eyes, a sharp glint flashing within them.
"Not happening."
A weapon like that—unpolished, unpredictable—couldn't be allowed to fall solely into Israfill's hands.
If Knox was going to walk his own path…
Then Dana would make sure no one claimed him too easily.
* * *
Not long after both carriages disappeared from sight, Knox let out a long breath.
"Phew… finally," he muttered. "Freedom at last, after surviving the joint surveillance of two saintesses."
He rubbed his neck, then frowned slightly. "Still… there's one thing that bugs me."
Why did those two look like they actually got along?
Weren't they supposed to be leaders of opposing factions? Factions that really didn't like each other?
No curses. No sudden holy smites. Not even a verbal sparring match.
He sighed.
"Honestly, I was half-expecting a catfight."
Knox paused, then quickly corrected himself.
"…Although, with their level, calling it a 'catfight' would probably qualify as a country-destroying event."