A few days later.
Somewhere in the Wild Devil Lands.
Nomel, the sect elder inside the nameless forest, rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the spectral screen with frustration and resignation.
The forest around him was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. The towering trees cast long shadows in the fading light of the evening, adding to the tension of his report.
The mirror artifact he had used earlier floated beside him, still and inactive.
"I know, Sister Elika," Nomel replied, his voice carrying the weight of several sleepless nights.
"But whoever did this left no traces. There are no aura signatures, no battle remnants. I even combed through the region with the mirror for days and... nothing."
To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.