Alexia took a step closer to the body, her eyes narrowing.

"So why is there a dead woman lying here, with blood still warm?" she asked.

Lysandros didn't answer right away. He looked at the woman's face, then slowly turned his eyes away.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "She wasn't here when I arrived. I swear. I was just walking around, looking at the place, and then I saw her. Just lying there. Her eyes were still open."

Alexia crouched beside the body.

"No wounds," Alexia murmured. "No broken bones. No signs of a fight. She didn't struggle."

"She just fell, maybe?" Lysandros offered, though his voice was unsure.

Alexia looked up at him. "You said she wasn't here before. Did you hear anything? Voices? A scream?"

He shook his head. "No. Nothing. Just the wind."

Alexia brushes dirt from her gloves.

"Whoever killed her might still be nearby," she said. "Or maybe not. Maybe they left her here on purpose. Like a warning."

Lysandros's face turned a little pale. "A warning?"

Alexia didn't answer right away. Her eyes stayed on the dead woman, quiet and thoughtful.

Then, she turned to him. "Why are you here? This castle's been abandoned for years. It's not on any main roads. People avoid it. Even the crows don't stay long. So why'd you come all the way here?"

Lysandros scratched the back of his head, then smiled a little, though it was more sad than happy.

"I just got intrigued by the sight of this abandoned castle," he said. "Because of how the moss and ivy is just around every stone. It's magnificent, in a broken kind of way. It's old, and quiet, and strange. I guess that qualifies to my likings."

Alexia tilted her head, listening.

"I like exploring abandoned places," he went on. "Always have. It's peaceful. I like being alone. But not that much now."

She raised a brow. "No?"

He laughed softly, a little awkward. "Yeah. I mean, I used to love it. Walking alone. Talking to myself. Sitting on rooftops. Wandering forests. It felt like freedom. But lately." He looked down at the woman again. "Lately it just feels... empty. Like I've been alone for eternity or something. Just kidding."

Alexia didn't laugh.

Lysandros looked up again, more serious now. "But I don't like being alone now. Not anymore. Not if it means more things like this happen while no one's around to stop it."

Alexia's eyes met his. She didn't smile. But something in her gaze softened.

He pointed to a stairway behind them.

"So, yeah, I went downstairs to get my shovel. You know, the usual—bury the dead, honor the fallen. I didn't expect anyone else to be up here tonight. Especially not a sword-carrying, armor-clanking knight-lady-who's-not-really-a-knight."

Alexia tilted her head.

"You went down just to get a shovel?"

"Yeah. I wasn't going to dig with my bare hands! That's disrespectful—and gross."

She raised an eyebrow.

"I swear," he said, getting dramatic, "whoever did this to her, may the gods punish them. May their kneecaps twist, and their socks always be wet—"

"Alright, alright," she cut in. "You made your point."

Alexia checks the woman's pulse—though she already knew the answer. Her skin was pale, lips slightly blue, blood still fresh beneath her head.

She reached out to brush the woman's hair away from her neck, and that's when she saw it—small, dark writing, just above the collarbone. The ink looked fresh. Still drying in places.

Her eyes narrowed.

"What is this?" she whispered.

Lysandros, who had been a few steps behind, looked up. "What's what?"

Alexia pointed, her voice low. "Something's written on her body. Here. Look."

Lysandros stepped closer, frowning. He leaned in, squinting at the strange letters. They curved and twisted like vines, symbols sharp at the edges.

"Oh. You're right. That's, yeah, that's not blood. It's ink." He paused. "Do you know what language that is? Can you read it?"

Alexia stared at the markings, brow furrowed. "No, no, I can't. It doesn't look like anything I've seen before."

"Same here," Lysandros said. "It almost looks old. Or maybe foreign? Or maybe both."

They were quiet for a moment, both staring at the strange message.

Alexia finally sat back on her heels. "Well, that's a hint, I guess."

Lysandros tilted his head. "A message left on the dead, in a language no one speaks anymore. Sounds like something out of a legend."

Alexia's voice was quiet. "Maybe it is."

She looked down again, eyes distant.

"Whoever wrote this didn't want it to be found by just anyone."

"Then we were the wrong ones to find it," Lysandros said.

Alexia stood up slowly. "Or maybe, we're the right ones. We just don't know it yet."

Lysandros muttered, "I'll erase whoever did this with my fracture, that's what I'll do!"

That word stopped her. Alexia blinked. She kept her face calm but tried to act casual, maybe too casual.

"Fracture?" she asked. "You're a fractureborn?"

He grinned wide.

"Yes, I am. Thanks for noticing."

She folded her arms.

"You don't look like one."

He gasped, hand on his chest.

"My fracture is very powerful. So powerful, I once made every bird in a tree poop at the same time. It was horrible—and amazing."

"...Right."

"Nice to meet you, fellow fractureborn."

Alexia blinked again.

"What?"

He winked.

"Come on, you think I wouldn't notice? Fractureborns are most of the time... well, all the time."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you don't," he said, smiling like he knew something she didn't. He spun the shovel like a baton.

"But hey, good to know I'm not the only one cursed—sorry, blessed—with a strange power and identity problems."

Alexia turned away before he could see her mouth twitch in a small smile.

"I'm not here to talk about fractures," she said stiffly. "I'm here for something else."

"Right. Just like I wear this tunic and carry a shovel for style."

He leaned on the shovel, squinting at her.

"You're a bad liar, you know."

"And you're an annoying man-child with a shovel."

"Which makes me dangerously unique," he grinned.

"So, are we going to work together to find out who killed this woman? Or keep trading insults until the plague gets us both?"

Alexia looked at the body again.

Fresh blood. A clean kill. No sign of plague.

This wasn't random. Someone had been waiting.

She sighed.

"Fine. Just don't slow me down."

"I'll try not to trip over my own masculinity."

"Unbelievable."

"Thank you!"

They stood there together — the knight-who-wasn't-a-knight and the boy-who-wasn't-a-boy — on the mossy castle wall, where ivy had eaten the stone and dusk was turning to night.

They walked along the upper wall, their boots thudding softly on the wet stone. The sky was a soft orange, with purple streaks spreading from the horizon. Below, the courtyard and broken ruins lay quiet, overgrown and forgotten by time.

Alexia led the way, her steps steady, eyes scanning the layout from above. Behind her, Lysandros walked with a slightly quicker pace just to keep up, his shovel bouncing slightly over his shoulder.

Then came his voice, light and casual, but obviously a setup for something.

"By the way," he said, "there's one thing I've been meaning to ask. How exactly is the plague transmitted? I mean just wondering for a friend."

Alexia didn't even glance back. "Thanks for giving me a clue that you're not from our kingdom," she replied flatly. "You're a villager, aren't you?"

"What?!" Lysandros nearly tripped on a loose stone. "Whoa whoa whoa—hold on now. What gave that away?! Was it the shovel? I swear it's not a fashion choice. Or maybe the hair? Is it the hair? I've been told I look rustic before, but rustic is charming, isn't it? Right? Like, 'Oh look at that guy, he probably knows how to gut a fish or build a barn with his eyes closed.' That kind of thing. Not 'Look at that guy, he probably doesn't even know what soap is!' That's a whole different category, and frankly, I bathe regularly, so—"

Alexia raised an eyebrow, still not looking at him. "Only the kingdoms have wide knowledge about how the plague works. Villages? Most of them still think it's a curse passed on from sneezing or bad dreams. What village are you from?"

Lysandros paused. "Do I have to answer that?"

She finally turned to glance back at him. "Don't try avoiding me now."

"Ahhhh dammit," he groaned, throwing his head back. "Fine, but just so you know—I'm only answering because you're asking, not because I'm, like, secretly admiring your strong warrior energy or anything, alright? Let's get that straight. I mean, yeah, you look like you could cut a boulder in half with a glare, and sure, your armor's all shiny and intimidating in a cool way despite being hidden in a cloak, and maybe the way you hold your sword makes me feel like I should be standing ten feet to the left at all times, but that's not admiration, that's just basic survival instincts. Totally different."

"Village from the east?" she interrupted, unimpressed.

He blinked. "How in the name of the old goats did you guess that right?"

"People there usually have a loud mouth that talks nonstop," she said dryly. "Just like how a goat chews nonstop."

Lysandros burst out laughing. "Oh wow. That's terrible. You've got the intimidation thing nailed, but your jokes? Yeesh. That one was moldy."

He swung his shovel forward like a walking stick and grinned. "But yes, I'm from the east. Village of Riverbend. You've heard of it?"

"I have," Alexia replied. "Been there once before the plague. Quiet place, had good fishing spots. Decent food, too."

"It is a pretty good place," he nodded. "You know, for a forgotten corner of the world."

He scratched the back of his head. "What about you? What's your name?"

"Name's Alexia."

"Ooohhh, fancy," he said, pretending to be impressed. "I have no idea where that is, but it sounds official. Living in a secured kingdom, huh? Must be nice. Do you get, like, free bread and proper shoes and everything?"

Alexia rolled her eyes.

"So," he said again, this time eyeing her gear, "what got you lost out here, then? You an adventurer?"

"A warrior," she answered. "I live through quests."

He raised his brows. "A warrior, huh? I like it. A warrior who wears knight armor. Kind of like a wolf in wolf's clothing."

They walked a bit further in silence as the shadow of the Red Keep rose ahead, its towers jagged and half-eaten by moss and time. From here, the castle looked even older than it was — like it was sagging beneath the weight of memory.

Lysandros looked at it, then glanced at her.

"So, are you going to get back to your Kingdom after you're done doing your thing in this castle?"

"Yes. But since you've forced me—"

"Hey hey hey! I didn't force you into anything!" he protested. "I barely had time to blink before you unsheathed your sword like you were gonna chop my head off!"

She continued without reacting. "I figured it'd be fine to waste a bit of time before heading back to the kingdom."

Lysandros was quiet for a second. Then his tone changed, less playful now. "But really, you're looking for a Fractureborn like me, aren't you?"

Alexia turned to glance back at him, her voice half-serious, half-teasing. "You're kind of freaking me out, do you know that? Is your fracture about reading people's minds like mine?"

He looked horrified. "Noooo! Gods, no! That'd be horrible. Can you imagine? Every time someone passes by, you accidentally hear what they think about your haircut? Or worse, your breath? Nah, I don't want that kind of pressure. My mind's already a crowded place, thank you very much. I'd rather carry a bucket of worms on my head than hear what everyone's thinking."

Alexia let out a small, reluctant laugh.

"Fractureborns," Lysandros said softly, eyes on the ground.

"We're kind of... alone, you know? People don't really get us. They see the power but not what it costs."

Alexia looked at him, curious.

He gave a small, tired smile.

"We're all a bit cracked in our own way. Weird, different. But even so, everyone needs someone. Even fractureborns need company sometimes."

Lysandros grinned.

"I'm not just a shovel-wielding troublemaker after all."

Alexia looked over her shoulder again, this time for longer. Her eyes softened just a touch.

"Company, huh. Well, about that, I'm actually not alo—"

And then, just ahead, movement caught her eye.

A figure, cloaked in blue, was slipping through the tall wooden doors of the Red Keep. The person moved quickly, almost too quietly for someone just walking. The fabric of their cloak fluttered like torn leaves in the breeze, and their face was hidden in shadow.

Alexia stopped.

Lysandros stopped too, following her gaze. "You see that?"

"Yeah," she muttered. "Someone else is here."

She reached down toward her sword again.

Lysandros squinted at the figure slipping through the Red Keep's gate. His voice dropped a note.

"That person might have something to do with the woman who was killed."

Alexia didn't even look at him right away. Her eyes stayed forward.

"As a warrior, you already failed the first step of becoming one," she said flatly. "Don't assume without evidence."

Lysandros didn't smile this time. His grip on the shovel tightened.

"Let's go," he said, tone sharper now.

"Just in case I'm not wrong."

Lysandros's fingers curled around his shovel. The humor in his voice was gone.

The wind picked up.