The trees loomed like ancient sentinels, their gnarled branches clawing toward a night sky veiled in perpetual fog.

The air was heavy with moisture and a silence that felt almost sentient, broken only by the soft crunch of leaves beneath careful footsteps.

Even the wind dared not blow too loudly here.

They were deep in the forest now—the kind of place that didn’t appear on any map, where the air tasted of iron and the shadows watched with unseen eyes.

It was here that Freya had led them, her steps confident despite the unrelenting gloom. Her connection with nature had picked up faint disturbances—ripples in the aether only another Servamp could leave behind.

And not just any Servamp. You.

Sleepy Ash—Kuro—walked near the back, hands buried in his hoodie, eyes half-lidded as always, but there was a new edge to him. A tension.

For all his listlessness, he had been the first to agree to this search. After all, this wasn’t just any sibling.

You were the one that no one ever talked about unless it was in whispers, as though your name alone could summon you.

The Servamp who had vanished without a trace after the death of their creator. No farewell. No closure. Just… silence.

Mahiru walked beside Kuro, ever steady, eyes forward, although even he could feel the change in the atmosphere.

They had faced powerful foes before. Tsubaki was already a looming threat over them all. But the stories the other siblings had shared about you made the hairs on his neck rise.

You weren’t like the others. You were a ghost in their shared history—present only in fractured memories, in stories half-told and swiftly ended.

Ahead, Lawless flicked his hair back dramatically, though even his usual flamboyance was subdued. His Eve, Licht, walked close by, glancing warily into the dense undergrowth.

Hugh’s sharp golden eyes scanned every movement, every flutter of leaves, his expression unreadable. Lily, with his elegant poise, seemed calm but not relaxed, his fan fluttering slowly like a metronome counting down to something none of them could predict.

Jeje drifted near Freya like a silent shadow, umbrella resting on his shoulder despite the lack of rain.

Ildio brought up the rear, his energy subdued for once, jaw clenched tightly, a strange mix of dread and determination flashing in his eyes. He had said nothing since they entered the forest—not even to argue.

That, in itself, was more unnerving than words.

Freya finally came to a halt beside an ancient stone archway, half-consumed by ivy and twisted roots.

The forest had reclaimed this place long ago, yet there was something deliberate about the way the trees bowed away from the arch, as if wary of what lay beyond. The air here was colder.

“This is it,” Freya said softly. Her voice, usually serene and almost maternal, had an edge to it now.