The flames of the bonfire swayed, casting flickering light upon the diverse, smiling faces of the gathered crowd.

  At the warm invitation of little Lucian and his father, Trevanko, Tars stepped out to join these neighbors he barely knew. He leaned against the low street wall, glass in hand; Trevanko, the brawny man with the missing arm, sat propped against the stones beside him. Tars noticed Trevanko’s gaze fixed on the children playing by the roadside. It was a peculiar look—Lucian, the persistent little fellow, was naturally among them, but the shift in Trevanko's expression wasn't merely due to the cuteness of his son.

  "Miraculous, isn't it?" Tars spoke up. He took a sip of his drink and glanced toward the scampering children.

  "It is. To think they actually find the darkness interesting," Trevanko replied, taking a swig of liquor with a smile. "Perhaps it proves I was right to work so hard to get here. At least my little Lucian won't have to wait to rot in some broken shack in the Deep Abyss like I did as a boy... he won't have to worry about having his toes bitten off while he sleeps."

  Daisy had finished her chores by then. Seeing Tars in the crowd, she brought over the prepared pastries to share with the neighbors. Amusingly, the Starlight Pastries were a technical failure—the mushroom bits failed to glow—but they remained delicious nonetheless.

  As far as the eye could see, the street had transformed into a series of gatherings centered around bonfires. Some neighbors had even brought out instruments, playing melodies that rang out with crisp, clear notes. The children were in a state of perpetual grazing, running from one pocket of firelight to the next, receiving bits and pieces of food stuffed into their hands by the adults at every stop. Little Lucian had already made two "supply runs," even hand-picking a sausage of unknown origin for Tars.

  Tars accepted it with a laugh; it was, in fact, quite tasty—an eight out of ten for texture.

  In this entire stretch of street, the only silent, somewhat discordant place was the home of Tars's shut-in neighbor. The surrounding light and laughter only served to make her corner look grimmer. Even the children veered away from that spot as they ran, as if it had become a neighborhood forbidden zone.

  Suddenly, Tars caught sight of Lucian bravely marching toward that dark, off-limits area. The boy held the hem of his shirt up like a pouch, cradling more treats scavenged from who-knows-where. As for the boy's father, Trevanko was currently busy downing spirits by the fire with the very Knight he had clashed with days ago; the two men, neither of whose shoulder wounds had fully healed, now looked like inseparable lifelong friends.

  Tars offered a silent prayer for the little guy and sat down on a stone slab placed against the wall, continuing to savor the wine in his glass.

  The moment he set his glass down, Daisy arrived with a steaming plate of grilled meat strips. She had been busy by the fire since the start; her thick black dress with white floral patterns made it look as though she had draped the starry vault of the ceiling over her shoulders. Compared to her meticulous demeanor at the manor, there was a newfound vibrance in her step. She looked less like a stern candidate for head housekeeper and more like a spirited, slightly impulsive young girl.

  Tars lowered his head to take a delicious bite of meat. When he looked up again, he found the little boy had already returned. Lucian was hanging from his father's horizontally extended stump of an arm, swinging back and forth with giggles of delight, while his father's other hand remained busy clinking glasses filled with strong liquor against the Knight's.

  A slender figure stepped over the stone slab and sat down beside Tars.

  Still holding a piece of meat in his mouth, Tars looked at the suddenly appearing female wizard apprentice. He couldn't help but marvel inwardly at the little boy's courage and tenacity; clearly, the boy had succeeded. Had he failed, it would have been called recklessness and stubbornness.

  The female apprentice glanced at him and let out a yawn. Daisy, who seemed to have been keeping a close eye on Tars's section, quickly arrived to serve her a plate of meat as well.

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  "Thank you." She yawned again, accepted the meat, and began to eat.

  Tars studied his eccentric neighbor while he chewed. She ate the grilled meat slowly, her eyes occasionally drifting toward the little boy by the fire. It seemed Lucian's giggling was quite effective at capturing her attention.

  "In my memory, there has never been a scene like this. Perhaps affection and family are the prices one must pay to walk the path of a wizard," she said in a low voice, looking at Tars.

  Tars was utterly bewildered. He looked at the boy in the distance, then back at her. "A wizard has to discard affection?" He found the concept impossible to grasp.

  The female apprentice looked at him with genuine surprise. "Are you not the same? Once your talent is detected, you are sent to the wizard Domain at a very young age, far from your parents. You grow up there, eventually losing even the memory of what your family looked like..."

  She stared blankly at Tars, and Tars stared blankly back.

  He suddenly thought of the old drunkard. Why had that man chosen to return to his hometown to wait for death, when most wizard apprentices rarely did so even after failing their advancement? Perhaps this was why: many apprentices felt no connection to their birthplace, let alone any emotional bond. The old drunkard was different—he had left his home at a late age. Perhaps when he departed, he had left behind a lover or a sworn friend he had faced death with.

  The female apprentice sized Tars up with a strange look in her eyes.

  "My situation is unique," he said vaguely.

  She didn't press him further, turning away to pick up a cup of insect-wine. "Then... why did you leave the Wizard Domain to come here?" he asked curiously.

  "To become a wizard. To walk this path. Everything is for that goal," she said firmly. "The aid the Wizard Domain provides for meditation no longer has any meaning for me. Staying there is useless. On the contrary, by coming out, I can seek things that are impossible to obtain there."

  Tars watched her. Those who could advance smoothly in the Wizard Domain naturally wouldn't return to the Lower Domain to chase a phantom chance. She was likely another failure from the Upper Domain, though he didn't know how many attempts she had left; everyone's situation was different.

  A burst of cheering erupted by the bonfire.

  The two of them looked over to see the neighbors cheering for an elderly man who had arrived late, bringing with him a prestigious wine usually only enjoyed by the high nobility of the Inner District. To thank the old man for his generosity, they decided to play "Spin the Spoon" to choose two people to perform for him. The old man watched the younger generation with a jolly smile. Spin the Spoon was a common game among mercenaries for drawing lots—you place a spoon on an overturned plate, flick it, and see who it points to.

  The first person the spoon pointed to was Daisy. Her face flushed slightly, but her eyes sparkled with excitement. She stood by the fire and sang a song with a peculiar, haunting melody. She began nervously but gradually relaxed; the strange tune was actually quite enchanting. Tars listened with rapt attention.

  The female apprentice also seemed to drift into some memory during Daisy's a cappella performance.

  Suddenly, to Tars's shock, the elderly man—who had been so jovial—used his foot to kick little Lucian away as the boy approached, sending him face-first into the dirt. Yet the crowd only roared with laughter, and even Trevanko laughed along.

  "The old man has a fungal infection on his hands. Look at his fingers—they're deformed and can't straighten," the female apprentice whispered beside him. "He's likely afraid of infecting the child. My mother used to do that kind of work, raising giant insects for the nobles. You have to infect the insects with a specific mycelium first; if it succeeds, you can extract a tiny bit of insect-pulp from the sensory sac on their antennae. It's used to make a certain green wine. In my memories, I only recall my mother's deformed hands. I no longer remember her face."

  By the fire, the old man—having downed a few glasses—began boasting about how popular he was among the nobles as a senior insect-tender, claiming he could extract more pulp than anyone else.

  Little Lucian slowly approached Tars. "Mister Sharp-Teeth, here is some wine for you," he said, carrying two small cups. "One for you, and one for the Lady-Who-Hates-Opening-Doors."

  Tars accepted it with a smile; the liquid was indeed green.

  Just then, the spoon spun once more under a heavy flick. As it slowed to a stop, it pointed directly at the dazed female wizard apprentice holding her green wine.

  The area around the bonfire fell silent for a moment. It seemed her unsociable reputation and status as a caster had already spread through the neighborhood in whispers. Just when everyone thought the mood was ruined, she downed her green wine in one gulp. With a flick of her right hand, she produced a harp that stood taller than the little boy.

  She rested one corner of the massive harp on the ground, leaned her shoulder against its frame, tilted her head with closed eyes, and gently plucked the strings. A ting-tong melody slowly drifted through the courtyard, and the bonfire grew even quieter.