The Fated Journey

Half a day later, night fell.

After searching every inch around the Wooden House and repeatedly reading the information that had entered his mind,

when the moon reached its zenith, Heracles carried the discarded puppet in one hand and held the key in the other as he arrived at an open clearing in the forest.

At the center of the clearing stood a small grave mound, but the soil atop it was still fresh.

At a glance, it was clear that the earth had been dug up only within the past few years.

Leaning against the low mound, the great hero gazed at the clouds and moonlight overhead.

A breeze swept past, carrying with it the dampness of the streamside.

"Phew..."

After a long while, Heracles slowly spoke.

Beside him, only the battered puppet listened in silence.

"...Ande, you've actually been here all this time, haven't you?"

"...Yes."

Each word came slowly, the friction of wood clearly audible.

Unlike before, the discarded puppet finally spoke in its own voice.

"Heracles, just as you thought, I've been here all along."

"It's just that no one could help you with this matter—not even me."

No longer pretending to be an inanimate object, Ande controlled this temporary body.

In fact, the reason this puppet had appeared here had nothing to do with his preparations.

It had appeared here because this great hero had personally made the "toy" after being cast down into the mortal world.

A half-god who walked alongside the gods had personally created an object belonging to the divine realm. Calling his name in his heart was enough to attract his attention, and Heracles had thought the same.

Yet for various reasons, Ande had ultimately not responded to him.

He had merely remained here in silence, observing the outside world through