The candle had burned lower.
Kazuki watched it for a long time before rising. He was still in Loop Four. The tatami beneath him felt colder than it had the night before. Maybe it was just the wind slipping through the boards again. Or maybe it was something deeper—the slow spread of unease under the skin of the world. He sat with it. Let it breathe through him.
The siege had come and gone. Without him. And the loop hadn't reset.
He dressed slowly. Not out of caution, but calculation. The compound stirred to life in familiar rhythms. Orders were passed, armor buckled, boots struck stone in practiced patterns. But something was off.
Not broken. Just… moved.
He stepped into the courtyard, expecting the usual nods, salutes, briefings. Instead, he got silence. Not disrespectful. Not cold. Just quiet—like they weren't sure where he fit anymore.
Mayu passed him near the north barracks, her arms full of folded banners for the wall runners. She gave him a soft look, almost apologetic, before redirecting her path without slowing.
Tadakatsu emerged moments later, giving a crisp order to two spearmen about reinforcement rotations. When he noticed Kazuki, he offered a small smile. Not a commander's nod. Not a subordinate's bow. Just a smile. Like checking in on someone recovering from illness.
Kazuki didn't respond. He turned and kept walking.
The morning dragged behind a curtain of slow wind and cloud. The sun hovered pale and high, but it cast no warmth. Near midday, the air shifted.
He noticed it first near the ridge, above the southern watch line. Mist. Thin, creeping over the edge of the rocks like it had been poured.
Kazuki paused his walk near the edge of the rampart, watching it slide down.
Too early.
Fog didn't roll in until dusk, usually. Only after the third bell—if it came at all.
He scanned the outer perimeter. Scouts were alert, but not nervous. They didn't know the timing was wrong.
He did.
By the second bell, visibility had dropped. The fog settled low and heavy, curling around the training yard stones and swallowing the treetops beyond the outer wall. Sounds dulled. Boots on gravel became whispers. Conversations dropped to murmurs without meaning to.
Kazuki's skin prickled. This wasn't just weather. It was intentional.
He looked toward the eastern post. Mayu stood there, exchanging clipped words with a junior officer. Her eyes cut across the mist—sharp, precise. But something in her posture tightened. She knew something was off, even if she couldn't name it.
Kazuki didn't speak to anyone. He climbed the north tower, slow and careful, fingers grazing the stone with every step. At the top, he leaned into the fog, eyes narrowing at the tree line beyond the wall.
It moved.
Just once. A flicker of shape. Human height. Standing still.
He blinked. It was still there.
A figure. Motionless. Cloaked. Masked. Kazuki's hand went to the hilt at his side before he even registered the movement.
Not a scout. Not a soldier.
The warlock.
Kazuki climbed down from the tower like he was stepping into another world. No one stopped him. No one saw him.
The fog was too thick now. It pressed in from all angles, curling around pillars and lanterns like it belonged there. Like it had always been there. The further he moved from the main courtyard, the more the noise of the compound vanished—swallowed in velvet quiet.
The figure hadn't moved. Still there, just beyond the eastern wall. Still watching.
Kazuki slipped through the side gate near the stables and followed the inner trench line that led out toward the ridge. He didn't run. He didn't rush. He wanted to see if it would leave. If it would vanish again like last time.
It didn't. It waited.
Twenty meters out, the ground sloped into pine.
Kazuki drew his blade. The fog swallowed the steel almost immediately, but the sound of it coming free still rang sharp in the air. That mattered. He stepped between the trees.
And the warlock turned.
No spells. No movement of hands. No chants.
It just turned—and watched him come.
Kazuki attacked first. He moved low, fast—blade arcing for the torso, feinting high to draw a reaction.
The warlock stepped back once. Clean. Calculated.
Then countered. Not with magic—with a short, jagged dagger pulled from within its robe. It met Kazuki's blade mid-strike. Sparks flashed. Metal scraped.
Kazuki twisted, pivoted on instinct. He'd fought mages before. This one moved like a swordsman. No wasted motion. No panic. Just smooth, tight economy.
He pressed the attack—three more swings in rapid rhythm. The warlock dodged the second, parried the third, vanished into fog on the fourth.
Kazuki spun, adjusting grip.
A heartbeat passed.
Then the dagger came again—from the side this time.
Kazuki barely ducked. The blade kissed his shoulder, slicing fabric.
He turned hard, brought his sword up, and drove forward with a half-shout.
Contact.
Steel met flesh—he was sure of it.
But when he pulled back—
There was no blood.
Just a crack in the warlock's mask, jagged across the lower cheek.
The warlock stepped back into the fog.
Kazuki followed.
Too fast.
His vision fractured.
For a split second—just a second—the fog bent wrong. Space folded in on itself. He felt the trees shift places. Heard his own breath echo like it belonged to someone else.
Disorientation slammed through him like a fist to the chest.
He staggered.
The warlock was already gone.
Kazuki dropped to one knee, breathing hard.
The forest was silent again. Mist hung still. No movement.
No sound.
Only the faint thump of his own heart.
He stood slowly, weapon loose at his side, gaze locked on nothing.
It didn't try to kill him.
It could have.
But it didn't.
He walked back alone.
Didn't report.
Didn't speak.
The compound was silent when he returned. No one asked where he'd been.
Inside his quarters, the candle flickered—low, but steady.
He sat.
Waited.
And just as the silence became unbearable—
The world reset.