The meaning remained clear through the Soul Link. Not a word Etzel had translated—not exactly, but something deeper, a concept carried directly enough that language was unnecessary.
The Wispkin stood on DK’s shoulder, staring toward the distant convergence region. Her wings trembled.
Etzel watched her. A few minutes ago, she had been exhausted enough to fall asleep against DK’s armor; now she was rigid, alert, afraid.
Etzel stepped closer. “You know that feeling?”
The Wispkin answered in her own language—fast, soft. Etzel understood none of the sounds. The Soul Link carried fragments instead: Fear. Discomfort. Foreign. Familiar. Then—Not natural.
Etzel’s expression tightened. “You know what it is?”
The Wispkin hesitated. Then the bond carried a clean answer: No.
Etzel waited. “You’ve seen it before?”
Another hesitation: No.
“So you don’t know what’s there.”
No.
“You just know it shouldn’t feel like that.”
This time—Yes.
Etzel breathed out. Good. Sort of. The mystery had not suddenly been solved by a creature he had summoned five minutes ago; that would have been convenient enough to become suspicious.
DK looked toward the horizon. “Can she feel the dungeon?”
Etzel turned. “The Sector 14 one?”
“Yes.”
That was a much better question. Etzel looked at the Wispkin, pulled up the regional map, and pointed toward Sector 14: “Here.” Then toward the convergence zone: “And here.”
She obviously could not read the map, but the Soul Link carried enough intent to compare two places. The Wispkin focused.
For several seconds, nothing happened. Then Etzel felt something through the bond: Sector 14 (discomfort, weak, faint wrongness), and then her attention shifted toward the convergence region, where the response sharpened instantly (fear, pressure, wrongness, much stronger).
Etzel looked at DK. “She feels both.”
“The same?”
“No.” He watched the Wispkin. “The dungeon is… wrong.” He searched for the right word. “But the center is much worse.”
DK’s eyes narrowed. Etzel looked back toward the horizon. “So she isn’t reacting because it’s a dungeon.”
“Apparently not.”
“She’s reacting to whatever is happening to them.”
“Possibly.”
Etzel looked at him. “I was one sentence away from optimism.”
“You did not have enough evidence.”
“Maerin really has infected you.”
Etzel eventually answered her, very carefully:
Etzel: Yes. A summon can sense something.
Maerin replied almost immediately:
Maerin: DK?
Etzel glanced at the knight, then at the tiny Wispkin on his shoulder:
Etzel: Not DK.
Silence. Three dots appeared, disappeared, and then Sivenne entered the conversation:
Sivenne: YOU HAVE ANOTHER SUMMON?
Etzel closed his eyes:
Etzel: This conversation has deteriorated.
Tessa appeared next:
Tessa: Is it okay?
Etzel stopped. Of course that was Tessa’s first question. He looked at the Wispkin; she had lowered herself slightly against DK’s pauldron, still tense, but stable.
Etzel: Yes.
Maerin:
Maerin: Rank?
Sivenne:
Sivenne: What is it?
Tessa:
Tessa: Is it hurt?
Etzel stared at the three messages, then looked at DK. “Three people. Three completely different priorities.”
“Predictable.”
Etzel typed:
Etzel: F-Rank.
The response was immediate:
Sivenne: You chose an F-Rank summon at Level Ten?
Etzel stared:
Etzel: I dislike the judgment contained in this message.
Sivenne: I asked a question.
Etzel: Aggressively.
Maerin:
Maerin: Ability set?
Etzel paused. No. He was not giving that away. Not yet.
Etzel: Support.
Maerin:
Maerin: That is vague.
Etzel: Correct.
Sivenne:
Sivenne: You’re becoming annoying.
Etzel smiled:
Etzel: Becoming?
Tessa:
Tessa: You said it senses something. Is it scared?
Etzel looked at the Wispkin again. That question hit closer:
Etzel: Yes.
The conversation stopped being funny. Maerin replied first:
Maerin: Tell Renn exactly that.
Etzel did not. Not yet.
The language problem became impossible to ignore once they moved away from the anomaly. Etzel pointed at a tree: “Tree.”
The Wispkin said something. Etzel repeated the sound—badly. Her face tightened. “Tree.”
She repeated her word again. Etzel tried—worse.
DK watched. “You are damaging the language.”
“Learning involves mistakes.”
“You have made several.”
“Supportive.”
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They moved to a rock: “Rock.” Another Wispkin word. Etzel tried; she winced.
“That one was close.” The Soul Link delivered a very clear: No.
Etzel frowned. “I felt that.”
They tried water, ground, sky, Etzel, DK. That last one produced trouble. Etzel pointed at himself: “Etzel.” The Wispkin repeated something close enough, and he nodded: “Good.”
He pointed at DK: “DK.”
The Wispkin looked at the knight, then said something completely different. Etzel blinked. “No. DK.”
She repeated her own version. DK looked at Etzel: “I prefer hers.”
Etzel stared. “You don’t even know what it means.”
“Neither do you.”
“Unacceptable.”
Finally, Etzel pointed toward her: “Name?” He touched his chest: “Etzel.” Then her: “Name?”
Understanding crossed the Soul Link. The Wispkin straightened, touched her own chest, and spoke slowly: “Saeva.”
Etzel concentrated. “Sa… va.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Saeva.”
“I said that.”
The bond delivered: No.
DK said: “You did not.”
Etzel looked between them. “I am surrounded by hostility.” He tried again: “Saeva.”
A pause. The Wispkin—Saeva—gave the smallest nod. Etzel smiled. “There.”
DK said nothing. Etzel pointed at him: “That was correct.”
“Yes.”
“I require acknowledgment.”
“No.”
Saeva made a short sound, and the Soul Link carried amusement. Etzel looked at her. “You’re learning dangerous habits.”
He also learned something else: Saeva did not like being called a healer. Etzel discovered that by calling her one. “You’re a healer.”
Immediate irritation through the bond. Etzel paused. “You literally healed me.”
More irritation. Saeva shook her head.
Etzel frowned. “Not a healer?”
She nodded. DK looked toward him.
Etzel tried again. “Support?” Saeva hesitated—less rejection.
“Protector?” A little closer.
“Loot-enhancing forest accountant?” Confusion.
DK said: “Stop.”
“I’m narrowing the category.”
“You are not.”
Saeva said something sharp. Etzel caught only the emotional shape: she helped, she protected, she restored, but none of those alone defined what she believed herself to be.
Interesting. Etzel looked at the tiny figure. “Fine.” He raised both hands. “Not a healer.”
Saeva relaxed.
“Although you are objectively very healer-adjacent.”
Her eyes narrowed again. Etzel smiled. “Progress.”
They tested Sylvan Ward after returning to a secluded training area—carefully, a word that had come from DK repeatedly.
Etzel stood several meters away while Saeva hovered beside him. “Barrier.”
She understood the intent through the bond. A faint green light spread across Etzel’s body—not a dome, not armor, more like a transparent layer just above his skin. Leaves of pale light appeared briefly along the edges, then vanished.
The System confirmed it:
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION
Event
Sylvan Ward Activated