Arl’s voice was calm, almost without inflection.

  “I never treated it as a choice.

  These are simply the facts placed in front of you.

  If you’re willing to look, you’ll eventually understand what you truly need.”

  When she finished speaking, she did not move closer.

  Her wrist shifted lightly.

  The small knife slid smoothly back into the cloth strip tied around her wrist.

  The fabric pressed close against her skin.

  The handle disappeared naturally beneath the edge of her clothing.

  Her posture was no longer openly defensive.

  Her shoulders loosened slightly.

  But that did not mean she had lowered her guard.

  It was simply a quieter form of readiness.

  If something happened—

  she would be faster than before.

  Olde’s gaze never returned to Arl.

  He stared at the ring of stone markings that had glowed moments earlier, as if searching the stone itself for an answer.

  “Why…”

  His voice was low.

  “Why won’t it acknowledge me?”

  He murmured to himself.

  “I’ve done so much… practiced for so many years…”

  His voice tightened.

  “Why does it still refuse to acknowledge me?”

  It did not sound like an accusation.

  It sounded more like a crack that had finally split open after years of pressure.

  To Arl, he looked like someone trapped inside thick fog.

  The path was clearly in front of him.

  Yet he could not see it.

  Arl began to shift her footing slowly.

  The movement was natural, unforced.

  She did not want to disturb the moment of disorientation he was in.

  Vey’s gaze remained fixed on Olde.

  But his steps followed her silently.

  Suddenly—

  Olde lifted his head.

  His eyes finally fell on her.

  There was confusion there.

  Doubt.

  And a sharp edge of something close to panic.

  “What did you do?”

  His voice rose slightly.

  “What trick did you use?”

  His breathing had grown uneven.

  “Why should listening matter? The divine beast doesn’t speak—”

  He stopped mid-sentence.

  His eyes grew sharper.

  “…Or do you know something?”

  He stared at her.

  “Do you know the true secret of the Dunk Temple?”

  The stone chamber sank into heavy silence.

  Firelight flickered gently.

  He was not truly interrogating her.

  He was grasping for any explanation that could justify the possibility that he had been wrong.

  Because if there was no trick—

  then only one answer remained.

  That this little girl before him

  must have known something.

  Olde clung to that thought.

  His gaze sharpened again, as if he had finally found a rope to hold onto.

  Arl did not retreat.

  “I’m standing right in front of you.”

  Her tone remained steady.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Every movement I made was within your sight. What do you think I could have done?”

  Olde let out a dry laugh.

  “Then tell me—”

  His voice lowered.

  “Why do you know the melody of the divine beast’s prayer?”

  The air tightened slightly.

  Arl looked at him.

  A thought suddenly crossed her mind.

  —He doesn’t know.

  The scattered tribes living beyond the forest had been singing that melody for a long time.

  Children hummed it.

  The elderly sang it.

  It was a sound that flowed through marketplaces and beside night fires.

  Had he truly… not left this temple for that long?

  Arl spoke suddenly.

  “Can’t you leave?”

  Her voice held no mockery.

  Only a simple question.

  “Why are you confused by that melody?”

  Olde’s gaze darkened.

  “Answer my question, child.”

  His voice turned cold.

  “Don’t change the subject.”

  The air tightened.

  Something stirred in Arl’s thoughts.

  —He’s avoiding it.

  It wasn’t anger.

  It was evasion.

  “…Do you not have any tribespeople left?”

  Her voice was soft.

  Almost as if she were afraid of disturbing something fragile.

  Olde’s body stiffened.

  Only for a moment.

  But it was unmistakable.

  Something sharp passed through his eyes.

  The next instant—

  “Answer my question!”

  His voice exploded.

  Even the fire in the chamber trembled.

  “Don’t talk about anything else!”

  That wasn’t interrogation.

  It was the backlash of someone forced into a corner.

  Vey lowered himself with a quiet growl.

  But Arl did not step back.

  She simply looked at him.

  This time, she did not see a high priest.

  She saw someone trapped by a past he could not escape.

  Arl did not avoid his gaze.

  “The reason I know…”

  Her voice was quiet.

  “…is because the people outside the forest sing that melody.”

  She paused slightly.

  “Under the night sky. Beside wine cups. Around firelight.”

  Those voices were not solemn.

  Not sacred.

  They were simply part of living.

  “As for why I tried…”

  She lowered her gaze briefly.

  “It was only coincidence. I simply tried using my own experiences.”

  She looked up again.

  “I never assumed the truth would really be like this.”

  The chamber fell silent.

  Olde froze.

  He had not expected such an answer.

  There was no defense.

  No provocation.

  No pride.

  Just like his earlier shout—

  when it fell on her,

  it had stirred no ripple at all.

  The firelight flickered.

  His voice suddenly sounded hollow.

  “…Someone outside is singing it?”

  He paused.

  “Who? Names. Do you know their names?”

  His tone did not sound like interrogation.

  It sounded like someone grasping at something fragile.

  Arl looked at him.

  “I don’t know their names.”

  She did not avoid his gaze.

  “Just like I don’t know how important this melody is to you.”

  Olde froze.

  A flicker of something almost fearful passed through his eyes.

  “…People outside are really singing that melody?”

  This time his voice was much quieter.

  Not like a priest.

  Just like someone confirming news.

  “Yes.”

  Arl answered steadily.

  For a brief moment—

  she had wanted to say no.

  His shout still echoed in her ears.

  The anger she had suppressed had not disappeared.

  She had been angry.

  But she also knew something clearly—

  she did not want to become that kind of person.

  She did not want a moment of emotion to twist the truth.

  So she chose honesty.

  Not for him.

  For herself.

  The silence broke again.

  “Why are you answering me so seriously?”

  Olde’s voice was quieter now, tinged with confusion.

  “I shouted at you just now. Aren’t you angry? Not even annoyed?”

  He truly did not understand.

  The girl before him—

  so young—

  why was she so steady?

  It did not look like provocation.

  It did not look like restraint.

  It did not look like forced generosity either.

  Her emotions seemed untouched by his outburst.

  Could someone really live like that?

  Arl looked at him.

  She did not answer immediately.

  Firelight fell across the side of her face.

  “I was angry.”

  She said.

  Her voice was quiet, but firm.

  “For that moment, I did feel it was unfair.”

  She paused.

  “But I don’t want that moment to change the facts I already know.”

  Arl blinked her dry eyes. Her breathing remained steady, her shoulders tightening slightly.

  “Because the truth is already here.”

  Her voice remained calm.

  Her gaze stayed forward—neither retreating nor provoking.

  “I don’t want a moment of emotion to deceive my own understanding of memory and judgment.”

  She looked straight at him.

  “I choose honesty, but only toward myself. What about you?”

  Her voice was clear.

  “In my eyes, you don’t seem very honest. For example, when I asked if you had any tribespeople left—you never truly answered.”

  Olde blinked in surprise.

  “You’re… strange,” he murmured, confused.

  “Even if I answered, how could you judge whether I was telling the truth? If that’s the case, even if I said I had no tribespeople, it would mean nothing to you.”

  Arl did not avoid his gaze.

  “Whether it has meaning is my choice.”

  She paused.

  “But you can choose to deceive me, or choose to answer honestly. After all, you were the one who said you wanted to talk. That’s why I stayed.”

  She paused again.

  Her eyes remained steady.

  “But from my perspective—”

  “You weren’t really here.”

  Olde fell silent for a long time.

  He stared at her, no longer questioning.

  His breathing quickened slightly, as if the anger from earlier had quietly drained away, leaving behind an emptiness he did not want to acknowledge.

  Arl watched him quietly.

  She did not press him.

  She did not retreat.

  Firelight reflected across her face, revealing only steadiness.

  “For that moment earlier, I did want to argue with you.”

  She paused.

  “But that doesn’t change the truth I’ve experienced.”

  The fire crackled softly.

  “If even you refuse to see clearly…”

  “then it becomes very difficult to hear any answer.”

  The chamber fell silent.

  Olde’s breathing grew uneven.

  She did not continue explaining.

  She did not dissect it further.

  She simply watched him.

  “You weren’t really asking what I did.”

  Her voice remained calm.

  “You were searching for a reason that would allow you to avoid admitting that maybe the problem wasn’t me.”

  She said nothing more.

  Olde asked nothing further.

  His hands slowly dropped to his sides.

  As if he had suddenly lost the strength needed to support his anger.

  The stone chamber grew quiet again.

  Firelight slid along the walls.

  He lowered his head, staring at the dimmed stone pattern on the floor.

  What he had really wanted to ask was…

  “…How do they sing it?”

  His voice was soft.

  Not an interrogation.

  Arl froze for a moment.

  “Not like a prayer.”

  She thought for a moment.

  “More like… living.”

  The chamber fell silent.

  The fire crackled softly.

  Olde did not raise his head.

  “Living…”

  he repeated quietly.

  The word sounded unfamiliar on his tongue.

  As if he had never truly spoken it before.

  He closed his eyes.

  And tried to imagine.

  Not recitation.

  Not kneeling.

  Not a chorus of unified voices.

  Just night wind.

  Just firelight.

  People sitting loosely together.

  Children running.

  The sound of cups knocking together.

  Some laughing.

  Some singing off-key.

  The melody uneven.

  But not wrong.

  His throat moved.

  “…Not to ask for anything?”

  This time he asked slowly.

  As if confirming a possibility he had never allowed himself to imagine.

  Arl did not answer immediately.

  She thought for a moment.

  “Maybe it was at first.”

  she said.

  “Later… it was simply because someone remembered, so they kept singing.”

  Olde’s shoulders loosened slightly.

  Just slightly.

  He stared at the dim stone pattern.

  And suddenly realized—

  all these years,

  he had been waiting for an answer.

  Yet he had never asked

  whether that answer had already existed

  in another form.

  The chamber remained silent.

  He did not speak again.

  But the anger that had once strained the air to breaking

  was gone.

  What remained

  was hesitation.

  And that hesitation

  was heavier than anger.

  waiting for an answer

  and being willing to hear one.

  but because someone remembers to sing it.