It hurts. It's so cold.

A gloomy, shrill shriek echoes in my ears. The heavy scent of blood and the foul stench of magical beasts assault my senses.

My vision is dim and blurred. Twisted trees laugh around me, swaying as they hold my father's severed limbs.

My consciousness is hazy.

...It's that night of the beast attack again. Over the years, every time I experience terror, I return to this moment in my dreams.

I try to crawl on the snowy ground, but all my limbs are immobile, as if fused with the frozen earth.

Everything after this is the dream. My father and I died together that night.

—Sometimes I wish that were true. Then, I wouldn't have to be killed by the beast over and over again in this nightmare.

Look, the snow on the ground trembles lightly. Inhuman footsteps draw near.

Look, the beast is here.

It walks up to me, extends its twisted, withered forelimbs, opens its decayed, stinking maw, and pulls me into endless darkness.

It stops. Its massive body crumbles, collapsing at the feet of the spirit girl.

Amidst blood and moonlight, Sylvia crouches down, smiling as she reaches out to me.

"...Tch!"

The sound of a tongue click. My eyes snap open, meeting Sylvia's gaze as she sits up in bed.

I pinch the flesh between my thumb and index finger, feeling the real pain.

Not a dream. She's awake!

Even though her expression is still a bit dazed and confused... she's truly awake!

I can't help but smile. Sylvia, however, slightly furrows her brow.

My heart clenches involuntarily.

When I found her yesterday, she was grievously wounded. Worse still, her mana was completely exhausted, injuring her soul.

She lay lifeless in the withered grass outside the tower, letting ants crawl over her eyelids, into her mouth and nose.

If not for the faint rise and fall of her chest, I would have thought I was looking at her corpse. Even Mr. Wilson was startled, saying her recovery wasn't certain.

She is awake now. But could there be aftereffects? Does she remember me? Remember Mr. Wilson? Can she think normally?

My mind is in turmoil, but I lack the courage to ask directly. I only voice the most superficial concern.

Sylvia's eyes refocus. Her beautiful face regains vitality. She opens her mouth, seems about to reply, but only manages a few broken syllables.

I rush out of the room, go to the preparation room to fetch a cup of water, and run back to her side.

She takes the cup, sips it like a small animal, her cobalt-blue eyes occasionally scanning the room.

After a moment, she puts the cup down and says to me, "Thank you, Adam."

My heart immediately leaps with joy. If she remembers an insignificant person like me, her memory is probably fine.

However, her next question instantly dispels that joy.

"Is everyone from the tower alright? And Gray?"

No fear. No lingering terror.

She doesn't care at all that she was teetering on the brink of death. The moment she opens her eyes, she's concerned about others.

Come to think of it, it's always been like this.

The first time we met, she used her contract to save a complete stranger—me. Even though it was something that only benefited me, her only hesitation was whether my non-existent lover would be upset.

After that, she didn't break the contract. Instead, she stayed at my home. She casually cured my mother's illness, asking for only a joking favor in return.

Why does this person never consider herself?

I pinch the flesh between my thumb and finger, forcing calm as I tell her the visitors and Mr. Wilson are fine.

Her face immediately brightens into a smile. With her still-hoarse voice, she says, "That's wonderful."

Dark emotions burst through the dam because of these simple words, flooding my throat.

Unable to restrain myself, I voice a bit of my true feelings with a hint of anger. I tell her it's not wonderful at all. I tell her I was worried about her.

Sylvia widens her eyes slightly in surprise but doesn't reply.

What could she possibly say to my selfish, illogical outburst?

I calm down, change the subject, and ask her what exactly happened.

Actually, Mr. Wilson had already examined her wounds and roughly deduced the sequence of events.

Sylvia left the tower for some reason, then happened to encounter the red-black demon. The opponent's strength was too abnormal. She couldn't escape in time and was severely wounded until she lost consciousness.

But Sylvia's answer is a bit different.

"I finished looking at the exhibits on the first floor and felt a bit stuffy, so I went out for some air... Then I saw the red-black humanoid demon. I engaged her, fought, and lost immediately.

"Did Gray catch her?"

She wasn't intercepted while fleeing; she engaged in a frontal fight and lost.

Sylvia is much stronger than me, and even I could sense that demon's bottomless malevolence. She must have realized the power gap.

Even though I already had an answer in mind, I ask anyway. I ask why she didn't go find Wilson. I ask if she judged the opponent's strength.

"I knew she was strong—strong enough to approach the watchtower bypassing Gray's perception. I knew it would be hard to win. But there were still many ordinary people inside the tower at the time.

"Gray's magic is too prone to harming civilians. I was worried that if I immediately ran into the tower to notify him, those bystanders might be taken hostage or hurt by the aftermath of the fight."

Sylvia answers in a matter-of-fact tone, as if discussing something obvious.

Simultaneously, she never once mentions the risks she herself would face.

I blurt out and point this out, criticizing her.

A part of me hopes she'll get angry because of it. Instead, she just smiles helplessly and apologizes.

"...I was too reckless. I'm sorry."

I look at her downcast eyes, unsure how to proceed further.

Recklessness means estimating the difficulty incorrectly, failing to formulate a reasonable plan, and rashly challenging the target.

Sylvia understood the risks of facing that demon but did it without hesitation nonetheless.

It's undeniably the act of a hero.

What embarrasses me is realizing I don't really like her being this way.

I wish she would maintain the slightly sly, slightly silly demeanor she has when joking with Emily. I don't want her to be so decisive, so altruistic, or to display qualities that transcend ordinary people—specifically, that transcend me.

Of course, I can't say any of this out loud.

All I can offer are clumsy words of comfort. I tell her her choice wasn't wrong; it's just that the demon was too strong. In fact, even Mr. Wilson was pushed into danger.

Then, for the first time in front of me, she shows a panicked, worried expression.

"She overpowered Gray? Was he injured? His revival magic—"

My throat tightens.

It's true—she isn't without self-interest. Every time Mr. Wilson is mentioned, she shows a hint of secret affection and dissatisfaction.

It's just that with others, or rather with someone as weak and hesitant as me, she doesn't hold expectations, so she doesn't show her vulnerable side.

Damn it. Starting to think those sticky, disgusting thoughts again.

Unable to bear her expression or my own overly gloomy thoughts, I cut the spirit off, reiterating that Mr. Wilson secured victory.

Although he didn't manage to slay or capture the demon on the spot, he deduced her true identity—the powerful spirit who once contracted with Mordresar.

Sylvia is dazed for a moment, then curiously asks for the basis of this deduction.

Without any psychological burden, I break my vow to Mr. Wilson and explain everything to the spirit.

After all, Wilson asked for secrecy because he worried the enemy might be disguised as a human or spirit—it stemmed from distrust.

And Sylvia is absolutely an ally unrelated to that enemy. She is someone who can be trusted completely.

After this discussion, Sylvia suddenly blushes slightly and covers her abdomen. I remember then that she hasn't eaten for three days.

When near a mana source, spirits seem not to need food or water. But once away, they're no different from ordinary people.

"There's some leftover meat stew from dinner. It might be a bit greasy... Would you like some?"
"Yes! That sounds perfect! Thank you!"

Sylvia lets out her most vigorous shout of the day, flashing her brightest smile.

I force a smile in return and leave the room. As I walk down the stairs, I replay the recent conversation in my mind.