Stopover in Aldemar, divergent paths

The rain had stopped, but the air still held the scent of damp earth and smouldering coal. After the fight with Azrael, the group arrived, battered, at a small walled village halfway along the route to Clémarine.

Aldemar was nothing more than a handful of cobblestone streets, sloping houses, and a decaying market, but for Ayato and the others, it felt like a temporary oasis: a place where wounds could be bandaged, where the silence of the bells replaced the echoes of battle.

In the main inn, the flames in the fireplace cast long shadows across the table they shared. 

Sylphidia fussed with Vera's bandages, but clumsily, while Isolde exchanged a few coins for bread and sour wine. No one said much: Azrael's presence still hung in the air, as if the echo of his sentence still vibrated in their bones.

Dakim, however, couldn't stay still.

His fingers caressed the hilt of the Ashen Lash, the whip still in its sheath. Every time he touched it, a shudder ran through him, even with Ardyn Valmont's words in his mind after his weakening.

"When the bloodline ensures the use of this relic, even when they fall into heresy..."

The memory of that latent corruption consumed him more than the physical wounds. He couldn't risk the weapon claiming not only his strength, but his soul, all because he wasn't a direct relative or part of the Valmont Clan.

"I can't go on like this," he finally confessed, breaking the silence in the room.All eyes turned to him. Ayato raised an eyebrow, Isolde put down her half-broken bread.Dakim took a deep breath. 

"Every time I try to get the most out of the Ashen Lash, I feel the spirit of Luke Valmont parasitizing my spirit. If I continue to carry this... I'll end up dying prematurely, making my crusade in vain. I need something more. Something blessed, free of that restriction and curse!"

Madelis, who until then had sipped in silence, raised her glass with a sour smile.

"Then find another weapon. I'll do the same with what's coming to me." She placed the glass on the table with a sharp tap. "I don't intend to lose what I invested in this journey. Not you, not the time, not the resources. I need better quality items and more information about the Tyrants... and the other Lone-Demons. If I don't, I risk seeing my investment vanish."

Vera frowned. "Investment? Is that how you see us?"

Madelis held her calmly. "I see them for what they are: allies. But if the allies fall, all is lost. And I won't allow that."

A thick silence filled the table. Everyone understood what those words meant: their paths were about to part.

Ayato looked at his own hands, noticing how the negative energy of the assimilated souls still flowed through his body. He pondered how to properly use that power without it draining him, without lowering himself to the level of individuals like Tatsuya or Yuzuru.

Isolde, on the other hand, saw it as hasty, but practical nonetheless. Given that they were now in the sights of Azrael and the other Associates, going in a group would be risky and would increase the risk of being ambushed.

***

The inn was silent. Only the occasional creaking of wood and the murmur of the wind slipping through the cracks accompanied the vigil. Outside, the moon hid behind heavy clouds, letting shadows dominate the room.

Dakim slept curled up on his cloak, with the Ashen Lash wrapped in rags at his side. 

Madelis rested on the farthest bed, barely a dark bundle beneath heavy blankets.

Isolde remained lying still, though Ayato knew she was pretending to sleep; her breathing was too measured, too conscious. But he respected the silence: if she didn't want to talk, he wasn't going to force her.

Vera, on the other hand, was awake. Sitting by the window, she watched the dim glow of the village's streetlights, hugging her knees, wondering if it was a mistake on her part to escape from the nunnery where she was raised and end up at this point.

Ayato joined her with stealthy steps, sitting beside her with a tired smile.

"Can't you sleep?" he asked.

"You can't either, can you?" she replied, glancing at him.

Ayato shrugged, letting out a nervous chuckle.

"I guess it's normal. Back in Japan, the same thing happened to me. Too many sleepless nights thinking nothing would change, that the future was already written and gray."

Vera tilted her head. "You never talk much about your life before coming here."

"Because there isn't much to talk about," Ayato sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "I was a... mediocre guy. I didn't excel at anything, I didn't have clear goals. I could try hard and still never excel. Society offered me a path of alienating jobs, impossible expectations, and a life that wasn't worth it if I became a functioning adult. So I ended up feeling listless, kind of dull."

Vera watched him silently, until he added, with a half-smile, "I guess that apathy stayed with me. Every time I fail here, it's not because I want to be a clown... It's because I never really believed it was worth the effort. It's just that... this world gives me the first opportunity to make a mark, even if it's in ridicule. And I ended up as a walking, talking contradiction..."

Vera listened to him with moist eyes.

"I understand more than you think. I, too, grew up with a lie. My family was exterminated, and the very Church that adopted me was partly to blame. They used me as a pretty face of redemption, hiding their sin. And yet... I still believe that even in darkness, something can be saved, because that's what my mother taught me when I learned to walk. I'm not naive because I'm stupid; I am because I was forced to grow up in a bubble where pain was forbidden. And I decided that if the world is cruel... I'm going to save what little good remains."

She remained silent, rage contained in her eyes, wondering how it is possible that a religion that professes love and compassion for one's neighbor has spokespeople who commit crimes or resort to fear to impose it.

Ayato looked at her seriously, and for a moment he felt his mask of humor stripped away.

"You're not naive, Vera. You're stronger than me. I gave up before I even started. You... you're still aiming for something better."

She smiled softly, though her eyes were moist.

"Maybe that's why I understand you so much. Because even though you hide it behind your jokes, I know you carry a similar weight."

A warm silence enveloped them. It wasn't awkward; it was like sharing a wound that could finally be shown without fear.

Ayato leaned against the wall and murmured:

"I guess we're like siblings in this strange world. You, me... and Isolde too, even though she prefers to keep her distance."

"Isolde..." Vera repeated wistfully. "She's already been betrayed once." She believed in a noble purpose, helped past heroes defeat Dracula… and I suppose that Luke Valmont had a lot to do with it. I'm not surprised she locks herself away in that shell.

"Yes," Ayato nodded, lowering his gaze. "She sees us as family too, even if she won't admit it. Maybe she keeps her distance because she's afraid that one day we'll end up like those heroes… manipulative, petty, people who just end up repeating that cycle..."

"That's why we have to prove her wrong," Vera said firmly, her voice barely a whisper.

Silence returned, but no longer one of emptiness, but of companionship. Outside, the crowing of a distant rooster announced the approach of dawn.

***

At dawn, Aldemar awoke shrouded in mist. 

Dakim was preparing his luggage and weapons.

Madelis was organizing maps and saddlebags with the precision of a veteran merchant.

Ayato watched them with a mixture of resignation and concern.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

"More than I'd like," Dakim replied, without taking his gaze from the horizon. "I need to improve my skills or get another weapon. I can't keep putting them at risk."

Madelis adjusted the clasp of her cloak, hiding the glitter of her pendants. "And I need contacts, objects, and answers. If I don't do it now, it will be too late later."

Vera took a step forward.

"Promise us something," she said firmly. "Promise us that you will return."

Dakim looked her in the eyes and nodded, though his expression was heavy with shadows. "I will return, even if I have to crawl to you."

Then the paladin gave the Ashen Lash to Isolde, to which she said, "Are you serious?"

"Of course you are, because while none of us can use the weapon to its full potential, Ardyn's spirit will appear before you more... And there will be a greater chance of the whip being purified or breaking that restriction..." Dakim's words indicated that despite his lack of common sense, he feels the Ashen Lash is in good hands with Isolde, Ayato, and Vera.

Madelis smiled, barely, a strange glimmer between sincerity and calculation. "The reunion will be inevitable. Because if we don't see each other again, all my accounts will remain unfinished. And I don't leave any accounts unfinished."

The words floated like a tacit pact. It wasn't a final farewell, but the promise of a return.

When their figures disappeared into the mist along the path, Ayato, Isolde, Vera, and Sylphidia were left alone again.

 The silence of the group wasn't one of abandonment, but of expectation.

Aldemar continued to pulse around them: the market was awakening, a blacksmith hammered steadily, and an elderly merchant watched them from a dark doorway, as if he knew those travelers needed more than bread and bandages.

Ayato clenched his fists. "We're alone again... but not for long."

Isolde nodded. "This is our chance to prove we can hold our own, too. And when they return... we'll be stronger."

Vera raised her gaze to the cloudy sky. "Then let's make this wait worthwhile."

Sylphidia, newly awakened, allowed herself a faint smile. "Promises, eh? We'll have to make sure they don't blow away."

The day progressed. Aldemar awoke to its market filled with shouts and hammers.

Ayato, Isolde, and Vera sought out the village blacksmith, a powerfully armed old man named Marien, who welcomed them into a dark forge filled with hanging weapons.

"You've clearly come a long way," he grunted as he inspected the dull edge of Ayato's sword. "I can't let you face Clémarine with rusty toys."

He hammered new steel and handed them:

A fresh, balanced sword for Ayato, along with renewed ammunition for his revolver.

A reinforced blade for Isolde, lighter and more lethal, accompanied by old scrolls detailing fencing techniques.

A staff engraved with runes for Vera, which radiated a faint blue glow.

"This is what will give you a chance to return alive," the blacksmith said.

Later, at the village magic shop, Vera purchased an offensive light-invoking spell. 

The old mage who sold it to her warned her: “Light hurts… but it also burns those who hold it too tightly.”

The road to Clémarine continued. But on the fringes of that path, the seeds of new encounters and alliances began to germinate.