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After the bandits fled, Old Shard retrieved his cauldron. Which somehow survived being weaponized. I suppose artifacts are sturdier than ordinary cookware. The camp gradually settled again. People returned to eating. Conversations resumed. And eventually Old Shard continued his story. Or at least he tried to. According to him, Grace spent most of her time doing the same thing. Protecting people. Watching people. Worrying about people. Making certain everyone reached the next morning alive. Then Caravan Master arrived. I had not even noticed him approaching. He sat beside the fire.  Looked at Old Shard. And immediately started laughing. I was completely lost. Without explaining anything, he poured a small amount of liquor onto the sand. Then shook his head. "Grace is crying in heaven." Everyone laughed. Even Old Shard. A little. I looked around. Then finally asked the obvious question. Why? Old Shard sighed. Then explained. Grace was f...

Old Shard said he did not know where to begin. So I suggested starting with a name. For a moment, nobody spoke. Then Old Shard nodded. And said it. "Grace." A pause. "Graciella Vespera Oathkeeper." The moment her name left his mouth, Old Shard poured a small amount of liquor onto the sand. I had seen him do this many times before. After meals. Before stories. Sometimes without explanation. This time, however, something different happened. Master Grim did the same. Master Stonefist did the same. Master Ironbeard. Master Blackthorn. One after another. No discussion. No hesitation. Just a simple motion repeated by everyone who had known her. For the first time, I understood the ritual was not habit. It was remembrance. The desert accepted the drink quietly. Then Old Shard began speaking. According to him, they met Grace three years after Master Roderick joined the caravan. At the time, they were traveling through the southern regions. Somewhere far from est...

Tonight we have returned to the Red Expanse. Far from villages. Far from inns. Far from anything that could reasonably be called civilization. And strangely enough— I quite enjoy it. The caravan is heading west toward Vaultreach once more. Unlike our journey to Dunskar, where it was only myself, Ryn, Spathian, and Old Shard walking across half the desert, this time we travel together with the caravan. Three wagons. Several crew members. A proper camp. At the moment I am writing this beside a lantern while the desert wind moves across the dunes beyond our camp. It is peaceful. Earlier this afternoon, Caravan Master returned from somewhere together with Master Stonefist. Neither explained where they had been. Which is normal. People around Caravan Master rarely explain anything voluntarily. The important part is that they returned carrying something. Or rather— dragging something. A large animal. At first I thought it was a boar. Then I realized it was much larger than any bo...

Today we stayed at a small inn outside Dunskar. Not a luxurious inn. Not a noble inn. Just an ordinary inn. Which was wonderful. There was a roof. A bed. Food. And most importantly— no auction. I am beginning to appreciate simplicity. After what happened yesterday, I did not speak to anyone for quite some time. Mostly because I was still recovering from emotional damage. Then this morning, Ryn visited my room. She knocked politely. Entered. Sat beside me. And asked whether I was feeling alright. I answered honestly. "No." A pause. "I don't think I can get married anymore." Ryn stared at me. Completely motionless. The kind of expression people make when their brain suddenly forgets how language works. Eventually she asked what I meant. So I explained. My panties had been seen. Not by one man. Several men. Old Shard had held them. According to Mother, if something like that happened, marriage would become impossible. For several seconds, Ryn remained c...

Yesterday I brought Ryn and Spathian to Deepscar. I do not think either of them enjoyed it very much. Which is unfortunate. Personally, I thought it was a pleasant outing. Though to be fair, the first time I visited Deepscar, I was terrified. Now it feels considerably less dangerous. Perhaps because OrangO knows everyone. Or perhaps because everyone knows OrangO. I am still uncertain which explanation is more reassuring. Today we finally prepared to leave Dunskar. Before departure, I officially asked permission to rejoin the caravan. I also informed the Caravan Master that I remained disappointed with him. Quite disappointed. He apologized. Seemingly sincerely. Though he also claimed the incident was only thirty percent his fault. According to him, the remaining seventy percent belonged to fate. Whatever that means. At this point I have decided arguing with the Caravan Master is often less productive than arguing with weather. Our immediate destination is Vaultreach. Specif...

I have decided to continue writing. Primarily because I am currently incapable of focusing on anything else. Several thoughts have refused to leave my head. Perhaps writing them down will help. Though recent experience suggests that remembering events in proper sequence often produces the opposite effect. One detail I neglected to record earlier concerns OrangO himself. Apparently that is not his real name. According to him, almost nobody in Deepscar uses their real name. This information felt reasonable. Until I looked toward Miss DeLuna and quietly asked: "Then why does OrangO know your real name?" Miss DeLuna smiled. Actually smiled. Then answered: "I didn't know there was a rule." A pause. "So I already told him." OrangO nearly choked laughing. Meanwhile I sat there wondering how someone survives this long while accidentally bypassing social conventions powerful enough to support underground civilizations. Eventually I asked whether I s...

Three days have passed since the auction. I find myself writing again. Primarily for stress management. Much like previous entries. Though admittedly, I am still uncertain whether today's events should be classified as stress, psychological warfare, or revenge. To this moment, I genuinely do not know whether Miss DeLuna planned this intentionally. Part of me hopes she did. The alternative is somehow more concerning. The day after the auction, everything returned to normal. No elaborate clothing. No ceremonial escorts. No mysterious princess. Most people no longer recognized us. A few occasionally glanced our way with vague familiarity, but little more. Meanwhile, discussion surrounding the Mirror remained everywhere. The highest winning bid in the history of Dunskar's annual auction. Rumor claims the final buyer was a prince from the Eastern Continent who traveled specifically to attend the event. A tragic outcome. For reasons I am unable to record here without laug...

Several months have passed since my previous entry. This was not intentional. Though admittedly, after everything that happened during the past year, maintaining a consistent writing habit felt considerably less important than remaining sane. Still. Operation Blind Mouse has concluded. Successfully. Very successfully. The auction exceeded expectations. Which means I should probably record the event while the details remain fresh. The operation itself began several months ago. Shortly after Yggdra. Specifically after Miss DeLuna decided she would return to Isla de la Luna and stop traveling entirely. At the time, I believed her. In hindsight, that may have been my first mistake. Shortly after separating from Master Eldar, we began discussing the possibility of a future operation involving Miss DeLuna. My original proposal was straightforward. Inform her. Prepare her. Train her. Allow her to understand exactly what role she would play. Master Eldar disagreed immediately. Acco...

Okay. I believe I am prepared to continue. The food helped. Not with understanding. Merely with survival. After taking my seat beside the Caravan Master, the auction continued normally. Or at least what passes for normal among people willing to spend fortunes on objects they have never touched. Old Shard stood upon the stage. Looking exactly like Old Shard. The same patched clothing. The same travel-worn appearance. The same energy of a highly experienced vagrant. Only now everyone was calling him Artifact Master Eldrin Shardvein. I am still adjusting. The first several artifacts sold successfully. Extremely successfully. More successfully than seemed reasonable. Old Shard's sales technique remained completely incomprehensible. For example, when presenting the Silent Step Boots, he openly informed the audience that only thieves and stalkers would require such an item. Several people laughed. Old Shard sighed. Then the boots sold for nearly four times the target price. I...