Who taught you to transition like that?

"I'm sorry..."

Dusk carried sorrow with it. The lingering rays of the setting sun fell across Peruere's back and illuminated Clervie's face.

The two stood silently in the twilight.

Clervie closed her eyes and hugged Pepe tightly, her chin resting on her shoulder. As though sharing a secret, she strained to bring her mouth close to Pepe's ear, using every ounce of strength to keep her voice from trembling.

It hurts. It hurts so much. So this is what it feels like to have a blade run through you... I probably won't survive. But that's not so bad. I won't have to be Mother's "inadequate" child anymore.

"Thank you, Pepe..."

Cold. My body feels so cold. Pepe's body is so warm. I want to hold her a little tighter. But I'm so tired. I don't think I have the strength to hold on any tighter... I must be dying. Pepe and Xingsu will probably be so sad after I die. They'll definitely fight Mother. But at least they won't have to worry about me anymore.

"...And Xingsu..."

I'm so tired. It feels like there's no strength left in my body. I'll just lean against Pepe like this. I still wanted to sew Xingsu a doll myself as a return gift. Of the three of us, my doll and Pepe's rabbit were already finished. I should have spent more time getting his done. I hope he doesn't mind. We've thought of him as our best friend for so long...

"You... will definitely... become... very good... kings."

Let me take one last look at this place called "home"... I can still barely open my eyelids. My vision... it's so blurry. I can't see clearly anymore. Then this is fine too. Maybe seeing less clearly will let me leave with a few more hazy, beautiful memories.

Pepe is trembling. You're going to be a king. Don't be afraid just because I can't stay with you two anymore... Maybe I should let go now... Pepe, you two... keep going...

Blood dripped from the tip of the blade, drop by drop. Clervie's arms fell limply away from Pepe.

Thud! It was the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.

Clervie used the very last of her strength to fall backward.

Peruere stood there alone, backlit, her face obscured.

At dawn, watch the sun rise; at dusk, follow its fading descent.

Flowers bloomed and fell again; the passing years wore themselves away.

The river of time flowed without end, and the gears of fate never stopped turning.

And so, carrying her tenderness and pain, Clervie brought her own poem to a conflicted, hasty end.

But for Peruere, fate would not allow her even a brief pause beneath that setting sun. As ever, it slowly pushed her onward.

Sometimes, fate loved to play cruel jokes. No one ever knew which would arrive first: tomorrow or disaster.

Before the assassination of "Mother" came Crucabena's final madness at the House of the Hearth-the birth of a king.

Everything happened too quickly. Even though the children had long prepared themselves, even though they all knew this was their fate, their expressions were still complicated when Crucabena personally announced that the final judgment had arrived.

The sudden turn of events made Scott's face darken with fury.

Anger? Fear? Relief? Gratitude? Eagerness?

Unfortunately, emotions served no purpose here.

No matter how warm the Icemelt Festival banquet had been, it could not conceal the cold cruelty and darkness at the very foundation of the House of the Hearth.

Ever since Crucabena established it, the House of the Hearth had been a place for gathering intelligence, assassination, infiltration, and training recruits for the Fatui's elite.

Whether fortunate or unfortunate, the most outstanding children had been brought here by Crucabena. Here, they personally received the finest training and education.

All so Crucabena could choose the most outstanding child-the king.

Crucabena's obsession with choosing her most outstanding child had become pathological.

As the saying went, there was no first place in literature and no second place in combat. Everyone had their own strengths, things they were good at and things they were not. Whether a child was outstanding should likewise have been judged from multiple perspectives and on multiple merits.

Unfortunately, Crucabena insisted on choosing a single person to call the best.

Then she would judge them by the simplest method.

The victor would be king.

Combat, bloodshed, slaughter, betrayal, friends turning into enemies. One would become king over ten thousand withered bones.

This was the House of the Hearth's final and grandest Hunting Game, and its targets were-everyone still alive.

Run, run. Don't run too far. Crucabena always knew where you were.

Kill, kill. Don't hide like a coward. Crucabena always knew where you were.

Rage, hate. Don't think of holding back the slaughter. Crucabena always knew where you were.

Love and hate, suffering and pain, bone and blood-all became the fiercest fuel in the House of the Hearth.

The firewood gradually burned away in the raging flames, exposing the white ash within; scorching tongues of fire splashed across the children's faces, staining them with streaks of blood.

Weizban, that mischievous child who loved playing pranks-people only remembered how he liked to produce all manner of strange things to trick others. But every little prop behind every prank had been made from scrap he collected in his daily life, paired with his knack for reading people and his deft technique. Perhaps, given time, he could have become a magician like Cesar, dazzling audiences with magic onstage.

A trap meant for catching bears snapped off one of his legs. He could receive no treatment here and died from blood loss.

Vilina, the girl with excellent grades, loved poetry and writing. But she was timid and often bullied. Had she not been in the House of the Hearth, perhaps she could have published novels and poems in Fontaine, or become an editor at a reasonably good newspaper.

It was worth mentioning that Xingsu had originally gotten along fairly well with her, until he accidentally discovered that Vilina was writing a peculiar Xingsu x Weizban novel...

It had given Xingsu, whose mind was not yet fully mature at the time, a billion little shocks, and he had gradually distanced himself from her ever since.

Unwilling to take part in the slaughter, she hid in an ordinary corner, trembling and praying constantly. She did not want to be any sort of king, nor did she want to kill anyone. She only wanted to do some clerical work in the Fatui, or raise Electro Cicins or Cryo Cicins.

Unfortunately, Crucabena always knew where she was.

"No matter how bright my future might be, I won't hurt anyone." Vilina raised her eyes. Though her trembling body betrayed her fear, her eyes were full of stubborn resolve. Even knowing the price of defying "Mother," she did not yield in the slightest.

Always timid, she had refused Mother's command.

This completely tore apart Crucabena's facade of warmth. She turned sideways and drew the sharp dagger at her waist. A cold gleam abruptly sliced through the deathly silence, and before Vilina could move to dodge, the blade thrust out cleanly.

Scenes like this could be seen everywhere on this land, yet someone delighted in watching the children die, one after another.

Only those who endured death and suffering and survived were qualified to be king. The children who fell along the way were merely ashes paving the road. In Crucabena's heart, their deaths had never been worth mourning.