Snow weighed heavy on the treetops, their branches dusted with glistening frost.

Through the gaps in the branches, they could see the burning Shield Fort, its tower's embers belching black smoke like the final gasp of an ancient behemoth.

The snowfield was dotted with dense rows of tombstones, and the air of the forest hung cold and solemn.

Orek stood among the graves, gazing at the shattered tower. An endless tide of sorrow and despair surged in his heart.

Those who turn their backs on the gods cannot be saved by them…

The seer knew with brutal clarity that at this moment, he had become a cursed sinner for all time.

He clutched the five-pointed black iron badge of office, symbol of the Frostwall Commander's authority, running his fingertips over its surface. At its center was the Queen's visage; each of its five points bore the symbolic crest of a Temple Brother, Knight, Mage, Ranger, and Scholar.

It's all my fault.

The moment arrogance took root in my heart, the end was already written.

If only I could go back and start over…

The seer let out a long, weary sigh.

He had heard that in Rune City of the South, there stood a museum housing a vast collection of runestones. Among them was a treasure called the Timeweave Stone. Legend said that those who could decipher its mysterious runes would gain the power to traverse time. Right now, Orek would have given anything to wield that power—to go back, save the Frostwall, and redeem his broken self.

"Hey! Big Guy! Where are you going?"

Lost in his grief, Orek watched a figure dash past him.

Basru…

The knight, head down, dragged his longsword as he ran, leaping over tombstones and heading straight for the depths of the Snowwood Forest.

"Big Guy! What are you doing? Come back!"

"Dammit! Why's he running!"

The people resting in the forest stood up and called after him, but Basru never looked back, disappearing into the forest's distant edge.

Orek stared at the empty space where he'd vanished, his expression growing even more desolate.

Even the Big Guy would run away…

Orek had expected desertions, given how fractured the Frostwall Legion had become. But he never thought the first to flee would be Basru.

After the deaths of Magician Peter and Dreamwalker Shu, Fito and Basru had become his right-hand men. Though the legion seemed to think he trusted Fito more, Orek had relied on both equally.

Yet at this critical moment, Basru had chosen to run. It was another wound to the seer's already broken heart.

Am I even incapable of judging people anymore…

A sense of helplessness washed over Orek. He wondered when the gods' punishment would finally end.

"Sir, should we send someone after him?" Scholar Ray approached the Commander.

"Once the heart of the legion is broken, let him go." Orek sighed. "The Frostwall has fallen, so the Frostwall Legion is gone. If someone wants to leave, let them."

"Many haven't left. They're all waiting for your orders."

Orek turned slowly, his gaze falling on the legion brothers standing by the cemetery. Some were dejected and listless; others darted their eyes about, clearly contemplating escape. Still others, though exhausted, held firm in their resolve—they still wanted to fight.

They're all watching me. I can't fall.

Orek suddenly realized that no matter how great his failure, he was still the leader of this group. He still bore the heavy responsibility of guiding his brothers forward.

I can't keep wallowing in despair. I can't keep making mistakes.

With that thought, Orek took a deep breath. The frigid air cut through his chest, as if freezing his sorrow and uncertainty in place.

"We can't rest here long. We need to retreat to Awakening City as soon as possible," the old scholar said.

"I'm waiting for Fito."

"If he'd succeeded, he would have come out of the tunnel by now. His delay means he might have…"

Orek held up a hand to stop him. "I believe Fito is alive. No matter what, I'm waiting here for him."

"But—"

"No 'buts.' My decision is final." Orek's tone turned firm.

Now that the worst has happened, I will act on my own will.

Fito, don't let me down again.

Scholar Ray stared at the seer, his eyes flickering with complex emotion.

Just then, a strange sound echoed through the Snowwood Forest:

*The red moon tears the night apart,

Werewolves creep from their dark den.

Bronze talismans crumble beneath wolf claws,

Magic frost clings to the fiends' sharp fangs.

The knight's sword sticks in the third wolf's ribs,

The hunter's musket pierces the seventh wolf's eye.

Red moon, red moon, red moon…*

Someone was singing a song, their voice drifting near and far like a ghost's whisper—ethereal, eerie.

"What's going on?" Orek looked around, alarmed, searching for the source.

He noticed a figure standing among the tombstones of the Divine Folk Cemetery.

Who is that!

The person leaned on a cane, walking slowly toward the seer.

*The mage's staff burns a trail in the snow,

The seer's fragments drift on the wind.

Wolf howls rise from the deep mountains,

Villagers are offered to disaster's jaws.

Werewolves, werewolves, werewolves…*

Orek saw him clearly: a hunchbacked, diminutive figure in a gray robe. The red moon's pale light stretched his shadow long, making him look like a messenger of the risen dead, stepping from the tombstones. The song was The Red Moon and the Werewolves, but some verses were mumbled instead of sung, giving the voice its strange, drifting quality.

"Old Mu." Scholar Ray said.

"Who?" Orek turned to Ray in surprise. "You know him?"

"He's Old Mu, the caretaker of the Divine Folk Cemetery. Have you forgotten, sir?"

Orek shook his head blankly. The name "Old Mu" meant nothing to him.

"Commander, greetings." The gray-robed man stopped before Orek. "The song's words have come true. Disaster has indeed fallen on the red moon night."

Do I know you?

Are you even human?

Orek felt a strange dissonance. The man stood right before him, but his voice seemed to come from far away.

He remembered that the wolf clan wielded a dark magic to summon ghost knights from graves to fight for them. This gray-robed man had an eerie aura, but he didn't look like a ghost knight.

"You're the cemetery caretaker… why have I never seen you before?" the seer frowned.

"Commander, I've tended this cemetery in the Snowwood Forest for forty years. I've watched every Divine Folk of the legion be buried here. But every time you looked my way, your gaze seemed to pass right through me, as if I were hidden behind a wall. That's why you don't know me." The gray-robed man's wrinkled face split into a smile—one that sent a chill down Orek's spine.