Chapter 1005

Naham opened his eyes.

A high ceiling. An opulent building interior. But the architecture was far from anything familiar in the Orr Empire. Amidst the still-chaotic noise of countless voices, a single face caught his blurry gaze.

A woman in her middle years—beautiful, like a sculpture carved to perfection. Her features were eerily similar to Naham’s own. Specifically, to the unscarred half of his face—the one he rarely saw in mirrors anymore.

As Naham quietly stared at her through the haze of his vision, the woman raised her hand and held up two fingers.

“Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up? Blink to answer.”

Naham slowly blinked twice. Relief washed over the woman’s face, complicated but clearly sincere.

“You really are conscious now. Finally...”

She let out a long sigh and took a seat. After ordering the noisy crowd around them to leave, she waited until the room quieted before speaking again.

“You were dropped in the borderlands of our caravan, closer to death than life. I happened to be there and recognized you immediately.”

“...”

“You must be my sister’s son. Asajan, correct?”

A name he hadn’t heard in so long echoed in Naham’s ears. Foreign—and yet so painfully familiar.

Yes. He knew that name.

Before he ever declared himself as Naham, before he took that name for himself—he had been born with another.

Asajan.

The name, unmistakably Southern in sound, had brought him nothing but misery. A torrent of memories flashed through his mind—every bitter, humiliating, infuriating moment tied to that name.

And yet... strangely, the usual rage and icy fury that accompanied those memories weren’t there this time.

The chest that was always boiling with emotion felt—empty.

In that odd numbness, Naham reached inward, searching for the power that had always felt like an extension of his limbs. But once again... there was nothing.

‘......’

Even with a brain dulled by pain and exhaustion, he clearly felt it—an indescribable loss, a hollowing void where something should have been.

The woman, observing his reaction, closed her eyes briefly as if to affirm what she’d suspected.

“I am Lauma Asan Roel, the wing of the owl in the highest tree. Your mother’s younger sister. Have you heard of us?”

Her calm gaze examined him like that of a seasoned medic—objective, but laced with a ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) warmth that was too unfamiliar. It unsettled Naham more than anything else in the room. After a long moment, he opened his mouth. His throat rasped, and it took several painful attempts before he could force out words like cracked wind through dry lips.

“...How am I...”

Alive?

The woman seemed to understand what he meant without needing to hear the rest.

“At first, it was a miracle you hadn’t already died. But one of the best healers in our tribe managed to save you. Of course, as with all things, there was a price.”

“...”

She exhaled quietly, continuing.

“The healer said... you had no will to live. None at all. But at the same time, he felt remnants of a powerful force—one similar to what they wield. We sent someone north to investigate what had happened to you. Apparently, people were searching for a fugitive matching your description. So we didn’t dig further.”

“...”

“In these chaotic times, when the wolves proclaim the old faith has finally answered and granted its will... we were already debating whether to open our gates. And then you, from the north, arrive—and live. It must mean something. The wings of the owl embrace all, without bias.”

“...”

“You can speak more once you’ve recovered. For now, rest.”

Murmuring something cryptic, she turned and walked away. Naham was left alone.

Pain throbbed through his entire body. His power was gone. The air reeked of strong medicine that made his head pound.

And in that haze, he began retracing his final memories before he’d lost consciousness.

The hailstorm beating down on him. Screams. Rage. Hatred. The drive to kill. Silence. Boredom.

A trembling voice calling his name through tears. A choked, apologetic whisper. A cold, deathly voice sentencing him without mercy. The smell of blood.

Naham focused all his fading mental clarity on one voice—faint, familiar, and fragile.

It had been hard to remember at first, but gradually, it came back.

“...You wouldn’t remember, but once, a person from a Southern caravan gave you a message. They said if you ever came south, you should look for them...”

“It was a name I recognized too... from the tribe I briefly lived with when I was a child. Everyone said it was a good place...”

“I thought that person might be connected to your mother... I should’ve sent you there from the start... even if you didn’t want it...”

“Why am I always like this... so stupid... I’ve always regretted that choice...”

“But I think... I still have something left I can do...”

“It’s not over yet...”

“I’ll send you there... I can do it... I can...”

Rambling like someone on the edge of madness, yet filled with desperate resolve.

And at the end of those delirious words, the voice said:

“There... please, I hope you can find the dream you once had...”

An explosion.

And endless, suffocating pain.

Naham opened his eyes again. The unfamiliar ceiling was still there.

He stared up at that pale, sand-colored ceiling for a very long time.

***

The day had finally arrived—just one more before the Cavalry would leave the southern branch.

With only the members who were staying behind left in the base, everyone else busied themselves with final preparations. Yuder spent the time wrapping up unfinished matters.

“Good day, Commander. Vice-Commander. I came to report the results of my trial.”

The first visitor to the now nearly-empty Commander’s office was Kureijina. Once known as Regina, a member of the illegal fighting ring Nukijo, she had shed her past and reclaimed her true name. Her face remained as calm and composed as ever.

“Under normal circumstances, I would’ve been sentenced to death, or a long period of labor in exile like the other Nukijo members... but due to the value of the intel I provided, and the lives I saved during the Day of Hail and the Blue Wall of Despair, my sentence was reduced.”

Kureijina had voluntarily handed over Nukijo’s secret ledgers and other confidential materials—information that proved instrumental in dismantling the web of illegal organizations in Sharloin. Smuggling operations were halted, underground fight clubs were shut down. The South would not spiral into decadence and corruption as it had in the previous life.

Her final sentence: seven years of labor, under the Cavalry’s protection and supervision, using her Awakener powers. She showed no trace of dissatisfaction.

“I see. So that’s how it turned out.”

“Several new recruits from the southern branch testified on my behalf during the trial. I also heard the Cavalry submitted a statement vouching for my character and arguing that I pose no future risk. Before you return to the capital, I wanted to thank you personally.”

Yuder had heard a brief version of the story. Some of the Awakeners from the Star of Nagran—those who had fought beside Kureijina during the hailstorm—volunteered as witnesses. It had been unexpected, and it left an impression.

“Still not a thank-you, huh? Just a formal farewell. She really hasn’t changed.”

Someone like her would never turn away from the crimes she committed. Even if she had been forced into it by circumstances—like a friend being taken hostage—she wouldn’t use that as an excuse. She would make the same choice again, knowing what it meant.

“My vow probably doesn’t mean much to people like you, but... I’ve been given a second chance. I will live in a way worthy of that. I will live for the future the Cavalry is building. That’s all I can do. Please take care of yourselves.”

Kureijina bowed deeply. Kishiar, smiling faintly with unreadable expression, asked:

“Did you tell Renev about your sentencing yet?”

Kureijina blinked in surprise, then shook her head.

“...No.”

“Then why not go and tell him now?”

“Pardon? But...”

“Didn’t you just say you’d live for the path the Cavalry is taking?”

“...Yes, but—”

“Then go. And repeat what you just told us. It’s not an order. Let’s call it... a suggestion.”

She was silent for a moment—but didn’t refuse.

That she accepted the suggestion was clear, moments later, when Renev appeared—his face soaked with tears.