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[GRANDPA'S POV]

After bidding a farewell at the fallen youngster, Grandpa attempts to sneak out of the crowd and finds the Chief, but his daughter-in-law won't let him off alone.

"Do you have any idea where Rozell might be off to?" she asks for the third time. "He can't just wander around without paying his condolences."

"It's hard to get into his mind even after sixteen years," Grandpa admits. While his theories about the suspicious tooth still spin wildly in his head, thoughts of his grandson haven't left him either. It's only a matter of time before they clash together and drive him mad. "We'll just wait for him here."

Grandpa merely stares at the bleak sky as his daughter-in-law hesitantly moves away to join a group of mothers. The sun shines dimly behind the puffy clouds. As the wind toys around with Grandpa's coat, he tightens his knuckles around the mysterious tooth to keep it hidden.

It's supposed to be winter solstice already. I can feel it. This situation is similar to the day Serenade disappeared. Hopefully, no other soul will join her today.

And it shouldn't be Rozell either. That boy—is he ever going to return home?

"Having some trouble with yourself, old lad?"

Grandpa snaps out of his daze as a lanky hand pats his shoulder. His frown turns into a polite grin at the Chief's presence. "I hope it's not too obvious. It's good to see you healthy and well, Chief."

The older man, whose age is equal to Grandpa's father if the latter is still alive, gingerly adjusts his mourning robe. "And the same goes to you. It's been a while since we met. Oh, and speaking of whether your troubles are that obvious to the other eyes, you looked much older than I am for a few counts."

Grandpa's cheeks flush with shame. While the Chief doesn't intimidate him, he still imagines the older man as a figure similar to his father, whose watchful eyes would always have something to criticize. "You aren't wrong. There's something I was hoping to discuss with you."

"Not here," the Chief lowers his voice, glancing around as if hunters are waiting behind the bushes. He digs his rough nails into Grandpa's arm and tows him away from the funeral huts. He doesn't even allow Grandpa to greet the villagers he's familiar with along the way.

The Chief was the calmest man Grandpa has ever seen, yet here he is, avoiding the eyes and ears of his villagers.

They end up arriving at the Chief's tiny hut, next to the village's Meeting Hall. His shoulders tense once they step in front of the door. Keeping his hand steady on his walking cane, he presses his face on the chipped material and shouts, "No one told you to enter without my permission."

"But that's what you always say after I leave your house," a woman answers nonchalantly, relaxing the serious frown on the Chief's face. "And I see you've brought a guest." A pair of sharp grayish eyes briefly assess Grandpa from the window bars next to the door, which clicks open a few counts later. Grandpa struggles to hide his chuckle at Ren's polite grin when she welcomes him in.

"So you've paid yourself a guard?" Staggering into the warm and musty settlement, Grandpa crouches on the guest rug, next to the Chief and opposing the young woman.

"Things have been dire between the villagers," the Chief mutters sullenly. "But it's a discussion for another time. So what brings you here this early, Ren?"

The young huntress briefly moves her eyes to Grandpa and back to the Chief, as if testing the elder's trust for the guest. "It was about something I saw in the woods." She opens and closes her mouth for a few moments before the Chief assures her with a nod. "I saw the Day-Lynx near the slope this morning, digging around with its nose on the ground. I think it was looking for something."

Slope? What slope? And what on Borealm was Rozell doing? He was lucky Ren left him alone instead of dragging him back to this village.

"You mean that slope which always causes an avalanche at least once every winter?" the Chief narrows his eyes, folding his cane into his cloak. "Isn't it what all beasts do? They always hunt around for something."

"But not the Day-Lynx. You and I know that it never hunts in the woods. Er"—she glances at Grandpa and blinks hesitantly—"I wonder if you agree with it too, Mr. Amberth. You and your grandson live there. You must've run into the beast somehow."

Grandpa holds back his nervous coughs until his face reddens with shame. "Yes. Uh, I mean no. Except for that one time when it entered our cottage. But I agree that it doesn't usually hunt for the forest critters. We've never seen blood around the place—"

The Chief holds a hand up. "Your point is well across, Amberth. Go on, Ren."

She merely fidgets with her wedding pendant as she stares blankly at the door. "I was curious to see what it was up to, so I followed it close enough from the bushes. And as it began to dig through a certain spot under the slope, I found some bleak and bad-smelling bottles near its feet."

Grandpa shivers in his seat.

Rozell is in big trouble. Ren will soon conclude that he is the Day-Lynx since he's the only one not attending Tesfaye's funeral. But it was earlier in the morning. Will Ren notice his absence?

And for gods' sake, what was he trying to find?

"There were three of them, but each had different stains. And there were many scents in the air instead of just one. I tried to approach it and inspect the bottles closer, but it was almost time for the funeral."

A troubled sigh leaves Chief's lips as he intertwines his fingers together. "Thank you for letting me know this, Ren. We don't know what it's up to, but we should keep an eye on the beast before the hunters get to it again."

The woman is yet to answer when a horn echoes throughout the village, shaking the hut's roof. Ren quickly hoists herself on her feet, tightening her neat overcoat as she zooms out of the door with a disturbed scowl.

Grandpa grabs the Chief's elbow and helps him off the rug. But before he leaves, Grandpa shakily holds him in place. "You haven't heard what I got to say, Chief." The Chief looks as if he's ready to counter with an objection, but once Grandpa fishes the tooth out of his pocket, he shuts his mouth.

"Is that what I think it is? A tooth?" He stares at Grandpa in disbelief. "Why does it trouble you?"

"You do remember the family feud at the funeral earlier today," Grandpa slowly says, letting each word sink in the Chief's head.

Another horn resounds in the distance, urging the Chief to grab his walking cane and unfold it ahead of him. The chaotic sounds from the outside world try to barge into the hut, but the Chief still doesn't budge. "And you thought Lucian threw away this tooth? I do remember her child mentioning a 'tooth goblin'."

Grandpa lifts the tooth closer to the Chief's face. Up close, its tip is chipped and bloody. Unpleasant marks trail along its rough, bleak skin. "Don't you wonder how there could be a tooth in the place where someone had died?"

The Chief lets out an exhausted sigh as he adjusts his cloth hat. "The Day-Lynx was there yesterday, Amberth. It could've been its tooth. Though I don't suppose the village has someone strong enough to knock out a tooth from that beast's jaw."

"I beg to differ, but I think this came from the hunters' teethed belt."

The Chief looks as if someone has slapped his cheek with a silver fist. But once the horn blares again, he tows Grandpa out of the hut and drags him to the empty land between Borealm and Mountkirk, where a pool of rowdy people has gathered.

The wind blows harshly at the bystanders as if trying to wipe them off its sight. The smell of snow and dust fills Grandpa's nose that he nearly sneezes, but he holds it back when a majestic figure descends one of the trees, flaunting the castle of corpses on its back at the humans.

Ignoring the questioning looks both the Chief and the villagers give him, Grandpa breaks through the crowd and struggles to the front, forcing his shaky legs to advance as far as they can.

Why should he be here? He might get killed!

His heart lurches down to his stomach as the Day-Lynx advances to the edge of the lining trees. He spots a golden-haired head at the front of the crowd, and knowing that he has at least one secret ally, he moves quickly.

I have to stop them before they kill him. I can't lose my grandson! Even though he's such a wacky gecko for hiding his true self from me all these years, I can't lose him.

Grandpa's knees almost buckle down the moment he reaches the front line. The sight of weapons and the smell of explosive powder whip him back to life as he scrambles to meet the beast head-on. But one yank on his elbow freezes him in place.

"You're not going anywhere without this, Mr. Amberth." Mr. Clam opens Grandpa's palm and shoves a long-barreled gun into it.

The rush of excitement makes Grandpa giddy, like the first time he touched his father's hunting weapons. His fingers long to slide between the curves and lines, and his pointer misses the feeling of pulling the trigger.

But cold sweat seeps through Grandpa's coat once Mr. Clam's echoing order stick into his ears. "One shot is all we need to take it down. It had underestimated us by returning to our village once more. And so we need to do what we should've done before!"

Everything's up to you now, Amberth. An otherworldly, womanly voice—alluring and sweet like a honeydew—rings in his ears. Even after all these years, Serenade still knows how to make his heart beat a hundred times faster. You can do what you need to do. Save our grandson's name. And save me too. I've waited too long for this day to come.

As if he's attached to a puppeteer's strings, Grandpa drops his weapon and staggers to the Day-Lynx, who hesitates behind a clump of debris with eyes scanning the crowd. They widen in shock when Grandpa approaches without any doubt.

Grandpa swears the beast's eyes shine with unshed tears under the sunlight.

It scrambles up to him like a dog to its master. Grandpa shivers at the muzzles of weapons aimed at his back. But he shivers even further at the object the Day-Lynx carries in its mouth: a smelly box with fading sewings on its lid and contents that shrilly clink together.

Grandpa doesn't need to open the lid to know what's inside. Hell, he doesn't even need to read through the fading sewings to understand the words.

A river of mixed emotions streams down his face as he hugs the box close to his aching chest. The beast even nuzzles his nape and silently cries as well, sounding like a human boy. Its massive paws pat Grandpa's back soothingly, and it soon envelopes Grandpa in a furry hug, which he doesn't hesitate to return. The burden in their hearts can finally flutter away with its wings.

Because they've answered the unanswered questions in their minds after all this time: Where did she go? What did she do? Is she dead, or is she waiting for someone to find her stranded and needing some help?

Oh, why does it have to take sixteen years to find you, Honeydew?

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Total Word Count: 38,425