[Leif’s POV—Nightfall, Forest Edge—Thorenvald Territory]

The forest had never felt this quiet before.

No rustling leaves. No wind. Just the soft crunch of boots against damp soil and the occasional flicker of crimson eyes in the dark—my pack scouting ahead in absolute silence.

"Alina!" I shouted, my voice echoing between the trees. "Alina, answer me!"

Nothing. Only the echo came back, hollow and wrong.

Beside me, Alvar moved with grim precision—torchlight painting his face in gold and shadow. Nick and Sir Roland followed behind, marking our trail with faint sigils in case we needed to retrace.

"She wouldn’t go far," Alvar said, but there was tension in his voice—a line drawn tight between reason and dread.

"She’s six," I said hoarsely. "She doesn’t even know what’s beyond the northern ridge—she couldn’t have just disappeared."

Zephyy was nowhere in sight. That scared me more than anything. If even that tiny, arrogant dragon hadn’t come back, something was wrong.

"Captain," Alvar called quietly. "Signal the riders to circle east. I’ll take the north path with Leif."

"Yes, my lord."

Nick followed Sir Roland and moved fast, vanishing into the trees.

As the two of us pressed forward, the air changed. Cold. Heavy. The kind of cold that didn’t belong in autumn.

I stopped mid-step, frowning. Beneath my shirt, the marble pulsed once. Twice. Then began to glow faintly through the fabric—soft, steady, ominous.

But I didn’t give a damn.

Because what mattered wasn’t that cursed rock. It was my sister.

"Alina! Alina, answer me!" My voice cracked in the stillness. Nothing answered but the whisper of wind through branches.

The crimson pack fanned out ahead, their noses low to the ground, tails stiff—tracking. Their low growls rumbled like distant thunder. They’d caught her scent.

We followed fast, stepping past the border markers into the unpatrolled wilds.

"Alina..." I called again, softer this time, pleading.

Beside me, Alvar’s eyes darted like a hawk’s. His hand never left his sword. Every sound made the steel twitch in its sheath. The man was a fortress on legs—and still, I could feel the strain in his voice when he said, "Stay close, Leif. The beasts are restless this season."

"Restless," I muttered, glancing at the deep shadows between the trees. "That’s one way to say trying to eat us alive. I need to quickly find her. "

And then—

"Leif?"

I spun, heart leaping, only to see a stout figure emerge from the trees. A torch glinted off his beard.

"Daren?" I exhaled. "What are you doing here?"

The dwarf raised a brow, hefting a bundle of firewood. "What am I doing?

What are you doing, yelling like you’re calling ghosts?"

"No time," I snapped, stepping forward. "Have you seen a little girl—about six years old—Maroon hair, an exact copy of me, a blue ribbon, and probably too fearless for her own good?"

He frowned, thinking. "Hmm... oh, right. I did see a tiny lass earlier. Riding one of your crimson pups like it was her pet pony."

My pulse stopped. "What?"

Daren pointed toward the thickest part of the woods—where the trees grew so close the night itself seemed to breathe.

"She went that way," he said. "With your blue flying cat—uh, dragon—and some fellow walking beside her. Looked like he was guiding her."

"...A man?" I repeated the words burning out of me. "What, man?"

The dwarf shrugged helplessly. "Didn’t see his face. Hooded. But the little one seemed calm, like she knew him."

My blood turned cold.

"Leif," Alvar said sharply, catching my wrist. "Focus."

But I was already running. "Come on!"

He cursed under his breath and followed, shouting, "Don’t worry, Leif—I won’t let anything happen to her!"

The crimson pack howled and bolted ahead, red streaks cutting through the darkness like living fire. Their cries echoed through the forest—long, deep, and wild.

HOWLLLLLL!

Branches snapped. Leaves tore underfoot. My lungs burned, but I didn’t stop. The marble under my shirt glowed brighter, pulsing in time with my heartbeat—fast, frantic, alive.

Something in the forest was calling. And somewhere ahead... my sister was answering.

And then—I heard it.

A voice. Familiar. Sharp. Annoyingly smug.

"Come on, dig deeper, you red wolves!"

Zephyy.

My breath hitched. I froze mid-stride. That wasn’t sound—it was telepathy. His voice brushed against my mind like static through fog. Because Only I can hear him.

"Leif?" Alvar’s voice came from behind me.

"I heard Zephyy," I said quickly, turning toward the echo in my head. "It’s coming from this way."

He didn’t even question it. Just nodded once, drew his sword, and followed.

We sprinted through the undergrowth, branches whipping past, the crimson pack leading the way until the trees parted—and I stopped dead.

The ground ahead was torn open in a wide pit. Dirt flying everywhere. And there they were.

My crimson wolves—digging furiously. Zephyy hovering around them, shouting mental instructions like a deranged architect.

And in the middle of it all—Alina.

She was on her knees, sleeves rolled up, hands caked with mud. "More! More! We’re almost there!"

"Alina!" I yelled, heart hammering.

Her head snapped up. The moment her bright yellow eyes met mine, her whole face lit up like sunrise.

"Brother!!!" she squealed, grinning so wide it could melt glaciers. "We’re about to find it—!"

Before she could finish, Alvar scooped her up with one arm like a sack of sugar. "You little rascal," he scolded, voice tight with worry like a father. "What are you doing alone out here? Do you have any idea how dangerous this place is?"

Alina blinked, hanging upside down in his grip like a confused cat. "What do you mean alone, brother-in-law? I was with my brother!"

Both Alvar and I froze.

I blinked. "...What?"

She pointed her tiny finger right at me. "Brother was right here with me! He even told me to keep digging!"

My stomach dropped. "Alina... what are you talking about? I just got here."

Her eyes went round with innocent confusion. "Huh? But—but you were just standing right there!"

"Leif." Alvar’s voice sharpened, but I barely heard him. My gaze swept the clearing.

And then I saw it.

A figure. Standing just beyond the pit, half-hidden behind the trees. Hooded. Still. The same one Daren mentioned.

Without thinking, I sprinted toward him. "Hey! Wait—who the hell are you? How dare you bring my sister here?"

The hooded man tried to walk away. I caught his wrist—solid, real. "You bastard! I will kill you for messing with my sister—!"

He turned.

And every muscle in my body locked. The world tilted sideways.

Because staring back at me—was me.

Same face. Same eyes. Same hair. Same everything. Except... colder. Older. More real. It was like looking into a mirror that breathed. My hand trembled against his sleeve. "W-What—"

This...person...Is he?

He smiled. Gentle. Tragic. "Thank you," he whispered.

And then—he was gone.

No sound. No flash. Just gone. Like smoke swallowed by night. I stood there frozen, staring at the empty space where I’d been holding my own hand.

The marble beneath my shirt burned against my skin—hot, wild, alive.

And I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Because what I’d just seen wasn’t a trick. Wasn’t an illusion.

That was him. The real Leif Thorenvald.

And he had just thanked me—for something I didn’t even understand.

My mind spun, heart slamming like a war drum in my chest. The air itself seemed to warp where he’d stood, rippling with leftover energy—like reality was trying to remember that he’d been there at all.

Then—

"I FOUND IT!!!"

Alina’s voice shattered through the silence like a bell ringing across a battlefield.

I snapped my head toward her. She was standing in the half-dug pit, mud streaked on her dress, tiny arms raised high. In her hands—

A blade gleamed.

The sunlight hit it, scattering across the clearing in blinding silver shards. It wasn’t rusted or buried with age—no. It looked new. Pure. Like it had been waiting.

"Brother!" Alina yelled, her face glowing with pride. "Look! Just like you said—we really found a sword here!"

Her words echoed strangely in my ears.

Just like you said.

My pulse stuttered.

As I said?

That meant... the one who had guided her here—the one she’d been following—wasn’t me.

It was him.

The real Leif.

My throat went dry. "Alina..." I managed, voice hoarse. "You said I told you to find that sword?"

She nodded earnestly, smiling wide, eyes glimmering like she’d just won a treasure hunt. "Uh-huh! You said it was sleeping here. That I should wake it up."

I stared at the blade—its metal now humming faintly, a light gathering along its edge like liquid gold.

Something deep inside my chest stirred. A pulse. Then another.

The marble beneath my shirt flared—bright and fierce—its rhythm syncing with the sword’s glow, the same heartbeat, the same tempo.

I clutched it through the fabric, breath catching. "What... are you trying to tell me?" I whispered.

The ground trembled faintly beneath our feet. A low vibration, like something ancient had just drawn breath for the first time in centuries.

Wind rushed through the clearing, carrying faint whispers that weren’t quite human—like the forest itself was murmuring a name.

And then Zephyy, sitting proudly atop a crimson wolf’s head, threw his tiny claws in the air and chirped telepathically, his voice full of triumph:

"Yayayayaya! We really found it! The Holy Sword!"

The words struck through me like lightning.

Holy Sword.

My marble’s glow pulsed once more—hotter, faster—until I almost felt my heartbeat syncing with it, threatening to consume me from the inside.

I looked down at the radiant sword gleaming in my little sister’s hands, then back toward the place where the real Leif had vanished.

And for the first time since I woke in this borrowed body...I realized the truth: what if the real leif....never died.