In the warm heat beneath the hut, with neatly sorted books lining the shelves and a beautifully carved wooden ceiling glowing a soft brown beneath the filtered forest light—this is where Ying lay, asleep near the hearth.

  Her eyes opened slowly, blinking into the gentle warmth of the room. Everything was still. The chandelier above was simple—not grand, not ornate, just simple, as though it had always belonged there.

  Ying sat up, drawn by the soft crackle of the fireplace. She moved closer, letting its warmth pull her in. Her gaze wandered across the room to the rows of books. Something about them… called to her.

  She stood, stepping toward the shelf. Her fingers reached out and pulled a particular book from its place—its cover weathered and old, its title written in strange, scraping lines that formed something… deliberate.

  Like a language.

  "What's this?" Ying whispered.

  Suddenly—a tapping sound echoed on the wall.

  She turned.

  Thalulah stood in the doorway.

  Ying froze. There was something overwhelming about her presence. Not threatening. Just... still.

  Thalulah walked slowly forward and gently pointed at the book cover.

  Shigo no sekai.

  "Shigo no... sekai?" Ying tilted her head.

  Thalulah formed a gesture with her palm and fingers:

  "Afterlife."

  Ying’s curiosity deepened. “Interesting… Wait… how the hell do I know what you're telling me?”

  "You don’t. But you understand," Thalulah signed.

  Ying narrowed her eyes. “What’s your name?”

  Thalulah raised her fingers and moved them with slow grace—from her forehead, to her heart, to her neck, then to her eyes.

  "Ai… Aiko…" Ying tried to follow.

  Then Thalulah opened and closed her palm, extended her index and pinky, folding the others in a smooth rhythm.

  "I… Itt… Itto? Aiko Itto?" Ying guessed.

  Thalulah nodded gently.

  "So… Thalulah isn’t your real name."

  "No. Nickname," she signed, calm and serene.

  Just then—a loud scream.

  "WHAT HAPPENED TO MY HAIR!!??"

  Hennah stormed in, her newly short black hair in full chaotic display.

  "Hennah?" Ying blinked.

  “Oh, hey Ying! How was your sleep, Red Hair?” Hennah asked casually—then snapped again.

  "OI, YOU TALL GIRL!! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY HAIR?!"

  Aiko squinted, a subtle, voiceless laugh showing through her smile.

  “…Are you mute?” Ying asked gently.

  Aiko nodded, her eyes gleaming.

  "Born this way..." she signed with a warmth that reached her whole face.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Oh… I’m sorry,” Ying said, glancing around. “Where are my friends?”

  "They’re in the living room. IT’S SUPER COZY!!" Hennah shouted.

  “…Ming?”

  Hennah paused. Her rant stopped midstream. She opened her mouth, then hesitated.

  “Honestly… no idea.”

  As the light faded and the moon rose, Valirion remained at Aiko’s hut a while longer before heading back to Telkha for the friendly fight.

  Myke lay unconscious on the sofa, Jug and Hennah still bickering over tomorrow’s plans.

  In the kitchen, Ying and Aiko prepared dinner. They chopped onions, tore leaves, and mashed spice paste before pouring it into the pan.

  “Burn it,” Aiko gestured.

  Ying searched for matches—then a loud crash interrupted them from the living room.

  She ran out.

  Ming stood at the door, panting, one hand gripping her weapon.

  “Ying… get away from Thalulah,” she ordered.

  “Ming… I thought—”

  “GET OUT OF HERE!!”

  "Booooo~ Party pooper~" Hennah teased from the couch.

  Ming looked confused at their casual attitude.

  Then Aiko entered.

  Ming instinctively raised her blade—but Aiko only smiled.

  She traced her finger from forehead to nose, then opened her palm, covered her mouth, and brought it back to her forehead.

  “Elyssa.”

  Ming’s body trembled. Her hands shook.

  “…No. How…”

  “Did your husband tell me about you?” Aiko gestured gently.

  “He’s… dead…”

  Aiko nodded. She already knew.

  Then her fingers began to move—so fast, so rhythmic, Ying couldn’t keep up. It wasn’t just sign language.

  It was ancient.

  Sacred.

  A ritual.

  And finally, Aiko slowed down. With careful grace, she signed:

  “Elyssa. Akira. Aiko Itto… my twin.”

  She ended with her finger resting on her throat.

  Ming fell to her knees. Her blade clattered to the floor.

  Ying watched her cry—no longer composed, no longer a soldier. Just a woman breaking apart.

  “Akira… Itto…”

  She stepped forward and collapsed into Aiko’s arms.

  “Akira…”

  Aiko gently stroked her hair, tapping her shoulder in comfort.

  “I know. And I am what is left… from my brother’s death.”

  Dinner was ready.

  The table was warm. Plates and forks neatly placed. The smell of food filled the hut.

  Ming leaned quietly on Aiko’s shoulder.

  “Oi, Jug,” Hennah whispered. “She’s kinda soft these days, huh?”

  “Shhh. Let her be, piglet.”

  “DON’T CALL ME PIGLET!!”

  “At least Thalulah gave you a haircut. You look stunning.”

  “SHUT UP! I HATE THIS HAIR! I WANT MY PINK HAIR BACK!!”

  Aiko laughed silently, watching them with quiet joy.

  She turned to Ming beside her.

  “Akira always talked about you, Aiko,” Ming whispered.

  Aiko nodded, tapping her shoulder.

  “He was the one who always bandaged me. The one who always healed me… when I was burned.”

  Ying watched them. Her chest full. Her throat tight.

  Myke, meanwhile, was half-asleep at the table, spoon in hand.

  Ying pinched his leg.

  “Wake up! You haven’t even eaten half your food.”

  “No… need… I can eat it… myself…” he muttered.

  “You’re literally snoring.”

  “Zzz…”

  “Myke!”

  Later that night, everyone slept.

  The lights dimmed. Warm blankets wrapped the weary group. Hennah on the sofa. Jug on the floor below. Myke slumped in his chair. Ying curled on another sofa.

  Ming lay quietly on the floor, cocooned in a blanket.

  Then—footsteps outside.

  Ming’s eyes opened. She rose quietly, grabbing her rifle.

  She cracked the door open.

  No one was there.

  Except... a light in the distance.

  She stepped into the darkness, cautious.

  She followed the glow.

  There, in the forest, under the moon-filtered canopy—Aiko stood, holding a book. Wandering.

  Ming tilted her head and followed in silence.

  Soon, Aiko stopped beneath a tree. She sat down. Opened the book.

  Then—she unwrapped her bandages.

  Her mouth revealed: the flesh and bone of her cheeks exposed. Her lips intact. Her tongue—cut. Dried. Rotten.

  Then she spoke.

  "Ngi...vhi ha khagh gha vang ngha nyah..." Aiko recited softly.

  Ming froze.

  The words… they shouldn’t have been possible. But they were there. Clear. Ancient. Real.

  "Nnyi...vhi nya sha gha van nya talha...vunya dunya sulta fulha," Aiko whispered again, building a language out of broken flesh.

  Ming moved closer.

  Now—she could hear it.

  A lullaby.

  "Menya ava talha salne, velvha tulna talo tela..."

  And suddenly, a memory.

  Her husband. Reciting the Angelic words.

  Aiko continued:

  "Mi...sinyi mi nala Elaiviras...nol Elaiyarah...ava sha kula, setty lei ha vur no, na Da gha valha...Harmon..."

  Ming whispered, almost in trance:

  "Harmon hasanata rha fhu...shukhur hal gha sana fha lha..."

  Both of them now:

  "Harmonia...Etinati Conshingaru."

  Aiko turned to her, her fractured smile lit by moonlight. She reached her hand toward Ming, inviting her to sit.

  Ming came forward.

  And under the starlight, they sat together, side by side, reciting the ancient language—the Angelic Lingo.

  The Eternal Convergence.

  "Mi...sinyi mi nala Elaiviras...nol Elaiyarah...ava sha kula, setty lei ha vur no, na Da gha valha...Harmon...

  Harmon hasanata rha fhu...shukhur hal gha sana fha lha...

  Lukh shir hal ghu sana falha...

  Harmonia...Etinati Conshingaru."