The corridor glowed softly with the light of a single lantern beetle drifting ahead of her, its pale yellow hue swaying like a living flame.

Elara walked lightly, almost skipping. For the first time in a long while, her heart felt unburdened. Confessing everything to Luciel — the truth about Amestris City, the experiments, the ghosts — had been like unclasping a chain she'd worn for years. The tightness in her chest had loosened.

It feels so much easier now, she thought, exhaling into the quiet corridor.

Of course, the weight wasn't entirely gone. Some things couldn't be shed — the creeping infection still asleep inside her veins, the lingering need for revenge that pulsed whenever she thought of the city that made her a weapon. But for now, she could breathe.

Her mind turned to the small roll of parchment she carried — the draft decree Luciel had given her, outlining the structure and privileges of the newly founded Ghost Special Forces.

"Will Alina join?" she murmured, fingering the rough edge of the parchment.

Recruiting her pink-haired companion wouldn't be easy. Joining such a department meant secrecy, discipline, and danger. Once you entered, you couldn't simply walk away. But it also offered something Alina rarely refused — freedom, purpose, and perhaps a measure of redemption.

Besides, Luciel had said she could show Alina the document and let her decide. He had few chances to speak to the girl directly, after all. It was always Elara or Ariel who bridged that distance — and sometimes, the strange empathy between them felt like an unspoken promise to bring each other home.

"Well," Elara said to herself, rolling the parchment shut. "No point overthinking. I'll just ask her."

Her stomach gave a soft growl, and she smiled faintly. "And maybe bring food. That usually helps."

She turned toward the kitchen.

---

The smell of simmering broth and fried oil filled the corridor long before she entered. Inside, two rabbit-eared girls and a small human maid worked busily under the lanternlight. Steam rose from a large iron pot, and the faint scent of tomatoes and herbs mingled with the woodsmoke.

Minuo, the taller of the rabbit-eared girls, turned at the sound of footsteps, her ears twitching. "Elara? What brings you here?"

"I'm just grabbing something to eat," Elara said, leaning against the doorframe. Her gaze drifted toward the pot. "What's all this?"

"Luciel's been too busy to eat properly," Minuo said, stirring the stew. "So I'm cooking something for him. Oh, and testing a few new recipes."

"New recipes?" Elara stepped closer, curious. "You've invented another dish already?"

Minuo laughed softly and shook her head. "No, Luciel gave me this one." She pointed to a scrap of parchment laid beside the cutting board, its surface covered in neat handwriting. "He's planning ahead — for the Commercial Street."

Elara blinked. "Commercial Street?"

"You know," Minuo said cheerfully, "the trading district we'll build near the square. Shops, food stalls, inns. Luciel says we'll need proper dishes for travelers and merchants."

Elara smiled. "Of course he did." She admired the girl's enthusiasm — the way everyone here worked tirelessly to make the city thrive. Black Tortoise was no longer just a fortress. It was beginning to breathe.

"What would you like?" Minuo asked, wiping her hands. "I'll have Sophia prepare it."

"Something simple," Elara said. "Enough for three people."

"Three?" Minuo tilted her head but didn't pry. "Sophia, let's do the fried pork with cabbage and that tomato-braised meat again."

"Yes, Lady Minuo," the maid said softly. Her movements were efficient and graceful — slicing meat, washing cabbage, and stirring the pot with quiet precision. Elara found herself watching her for a while. There was something deeply serene about the way Sophia worked — the gentleness of someone who found meaning in care itself.

Half an hour later, the two dishes were done, the air rich with warmth and spice. Sophia packed the food neatly into a lunch box and handed it to Elara.

"Thank you," Elara said, bowing her head slightly.

Sophia smiled — a small, humble smile — before turning back to help Minuo with her next experiment.

Elara left the kitchen quietly, the lunch box warm in her hands. As she passed a side hall, she glanced through an open window. Inside, she caught sight of Mirean Moon sitting at a desk, pen scratching across parchment. Next to her, Agni Moon had fallen asleep, her red hair spilling over folded arms.

Mirean felt the weight of a gaze and looked up, catching Elara's eye. She smiled, then rose to drape a soft hide blanket over her daughter's shoulders before returning to her work.

Luciel had assigned her to draft the regulations for the upcoming Commercial Street — trade policies, order laws, basic governance. Even late at night, she was still at it, pen moving in quiet diligence.

Elara lingered a moment longer, then continued on her way, feeling a quiet warmth rise in her chest. Everyone in this city is building something, she thought. Even I am, now.

Her smile deepened. "Maybe that's why I'm here," she murmured. "To find out who I'm meant to be."

---

The voices reached her before she opened the door.

"Come on, Little Lily, just try it — it's not poisonous, I swear!"

"No way! The last one was poisonous!"

Elara stopped outside Ariel's workshop, stifling a laugh.

"I promise this time it's fine," Ariel insisted. "I made it with Star Tea!"

Alina's suspicious voice rose sharply. "You're lying again!"

"Never! Here — one sip, you'll see."

Elara peered through the open doorway just in time to see Alina — pink hair ruffled, cheeks puffed — sigh in defeat and take the bowl. She swallowed, paused, then grimaced violently.

"Ugh! It's bitter!"

Ariel blinked in confusion. "Bitter? That's strange… it shouldn't be."

"Shouldn't—? Ariel, what did you make this time?" Alina glared, hands on hips, as the blonde woman tilted her head, utterly baffled.

Watching from the doorway, Elara shook her head. Every time, she thought with amused resignation. One fool, one soft-hearted victim — a balance that somehow never changed.

When she finally stepped inside, Alina turned, relief flashing in her eyes. "Elara! You saw that, right?"

"I did," Elara said evenly. "And I'd say it's your fault for trusting her again."

Alina huffed, crossing her arms. "I swear, next time I won't fall for it!"

"You said that last time," Elara replied dryly.

Ariel only grinned, clearly unrepentant, and began preparing another concoction.

Before the next experiment could begin, Elara raised a hand. "Actually, I came for something else." She held out the lunch box. "Dinner."

"Oh!" Alina brightened instantly. "You're a lifesaver." She opened the lid and gasped in delight. "Fried pork with cabbage! And tomato stew!"

"I thought you'd like it," Elara said, taking a seat. "Ariel, come eat before it gets cold."

Ariel set down her bowl, wiped her hands on her apron, and hurried over. "Mmm, it smells amazing!"

They sat together around the small table, the glow of the lantern beetle on the wall casting soft gold over their faces.

The food disappeared quickly. Between laughter, teasing, and mock squabbles over the last pieces of meat, the tension of the day melted away.

When the plates were nearly empty, Elara set her chopsticks down. "I told Luciel about Amestris City," she said quietly.

Both girls froze.

Alina looked up, alarmed. "And? What did he say?"

Elara smiled faintly. "He wasn't surprised. And he wasn't angry. He just said not to underestimate Black Tortoise."

Alina blinked, the words sinking in. She thought of the massive creature sleeping beneath the city — the living fortress that carried their home upon its shell — and felt a strange, grounding calm.

"Maybe he's right," she murmured. "Maybe we don't have to fear Amestris anymore."

Elara nodded. "He's building something different. Something stronger."

Ariel leaned forward curiously. "So what's all this about a 'special department' he mentioned earlier?"

"That's why I came," Elara said, straightening. "Luciel's forming a new division — the Ghost Special Forces. It'll handle intelligence, surveillance, covert missions. He asked me to lead, and to invite those I trust."

Ariel blinked. "So… basically another assassination squad?"

Elara hesitated. "It sounds similar," she admitted, "but it isn't the same. This time, it's for us. For protecting what we choose, not what someone else commands."

She opened the parchment and read the benefits aloud. "Four rest days each month. One drop of Angel's Tears as a standard healing ration. A hundred grams of Star Tea leaves. Thirty kilograms of fresh vegetables from the greenhouses."

Alina's pink eyes widened. "Wait… are you trying to bribe me?"

Elara smiled knowingly. "Maybe. Will it work?"

"I—" Alina paused, clearly torn.

"I know your dream," Elara said softly. "You don't have to decide now."

Ariel tilted her head, curious. "Her dream? Isn't she already living it?"

Alina's cheeks flared pink. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Your travel journals," Ariel said simply, grinning. "Wasn't your dream to write about grand adventures? Well, we're living in a moving city. Isn't that the greatest adventure of all?"

Alina froze, fork halfway to her mouth. She thought of the city carried by a giant tortoise, of the endless landscapes gliding by beneath its massive feet, of the people they'd met and the dangers they'd survived. Slowly, her lips curved into a reluctant smile.

"You might be right," she admitted.

Elara leaned back, eyes glinting. "You should write it — The Chronicles of a Moving City."

The pink-haired girl looked thoughtful. "That's… actually not a bad title."

Ariel giggled, raising her cup. "To Black Tortoise City — the grandest adventure any of us could have asked for."

Elara smiled, clinking her cup softly against theirs. The warmth of the stew, the laughter of her friends, the faint vibration of the city shifting on the tortoise's back — all of it blended into a sin

gle, quiet moment of peace.

For the first time in years, Elara no longer felt like a weapon.

She felt like part of a living story — one that was still being written.

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