The Unicorn led Oskar and Matthias to Starlit River, where sunbeams bounced off the glassy surface, scattering light in every direction. A herd of deer stood at the water's edge, lifting their heads as the Unicorn passed, the two young men following close behind. Yet, they did not startle. Instead, they returned to their drink, undisturbed.

Oskar gasped softly when the alpha buck met his gaze, holding him with an intensity that felt almost deliberate—as if the woodland creature was waiting for him to make the first move. Its towering antlers, draped in moss and trailing vines, curved like the branches of an ancient tree, each limb sharp and regal, as though carved from the very essence of the forest itself.

"We may take rest here," the Unicorn said, tapping one of its front hooves on the ground.

Oskar tore his gaze away from the buck, watching the Unicorn tuck its legs beneath its body and thumped onto the soft ground in a relaxed stance. He lowered to the ground and sat crossed-legged. Matthias sat to his left, leaving a foot space between them.

"I asked you to return because I believe you will put an end to the killing of my people."

"How—why?" he asked, clasping his hands together in his lap.

"This river, and its forest, trusts you. Your heart seeks justice, but also desires to understand. I assume the reason you knew to return the horns of my sisters was because of immersive study."

"Yes," Oskar replied, nodding. "But also... the forest drew me in with an inaudible calling."

"Yes, we did call you. And because you returned the horns, my sisters were granted peace. Furthermore, their spirits released their memories, allowing those of us who remain to know how they died..."

The Unicorn's voice grew softer, its head dipping toward the earth. Oskar thought he saw tears brimming in its eyes, a sorrow so deep it seemed to echo through the very trees.

"I am so very sorry," Oskar said in a soft, reverent tone. "If something like this were to happen to any of my family or someone close to me, I know I would feel it as strongly as you are right now."

"And you needn't such things enter your thoughts," the Unicorn replied, shaking its mane and raising its head once more. "I must tell you—our magic has prevented the killer from taking a horn with them. It is only a matter of time before the spell takes full effect. The murderer will be made known."

"I understand how the magic from the horns will affect the killer, but how will it manifest? Will there be visible physical signs?"

"Yes, you will see it in their appearance and mannerisms. Conversing with themselves, uncontrollable shaking—paling skin. If they were considered being young, they will appear to have aged decades in a matter of days or weeks."

Oskar nodded, glancing at Matthias. The servant was awestruck, gawking at the beautiful creature before them.

"I do not think I read anything describing this," Oskar went on, turning his gaze back to the Unicorn.

"In times past, when others have killed my people, the illness was not often connected to the act. Perhaps you might find it described in a medical diary, with no relation."

The prince sighed—he would have to return to the library and search the medical records.

"I have an odd question," he said, sighing as he looked back at the Unicorn. "Each time I've found a horn, I can never find a trace of a single soul having been in proximity. Based upon my findings, I know that those with ill intent will not be able to take hold of the horn. Is that why it is always left behind?"

"Yes, those with ill intentions cannot lay a finger on the horn. As for our magic erasing traces those who would hunt us... I have never known such a thing to happen. To leave no trace of their presence... This must be a skilled, practiced hunter. Someone who covers their tracks."

Oskar glanced at the ground as he mulled over the thought. A skilled hunter would know how to cover their tracks.

"I should be returning now," he said after a long silence.

"Godspeed, Your highness."

* * *

Upon arriving at the palace, Oskar hurried back to the library. He wished that he could ask Clara about looking through medical diaries, but he did not want to put her in harm's way more than she already was. However, Oskar was more than certain he might find what he was looking for without her help. But Matthias was obliged to offer his assistance.

"I have found two medical journals with dates relating to Godric Rhore's years as co-regent," the servant said as he placed two brown leather bound books on the table. "And this other one follows a physician who tended to an alchemist during Queen Delia's reign."

In his other hand was another leather-bound book, its once-smooth cover now marred with deep creases and scuffs, the edges softened from years of handling. The spine bore faint cracks, and the gilded lettering—if there had ever been any—had long since faded away. The pages within were slightly warped, their corners dog-eared and frayed, hinting at a lifetime of eager study and countless turnings.

"Perfect," Oskar said as he took the latter, briefly glancing at the front title—The Unaran Medical Journal, Vol. 95—and began flipping through the pages. And then his found a passage with the exact information he needed.

I have seen many ailments in my years of study, but none so baffling—or so horrifying—as what we are calling Fast Aging Disease. The name, while simple, does not begin to capture the sheer strangeness of this affliction. One day, a person is healthy and strong, full of life. Then, within weeks—sometimes mere days—they wither before our eyes. Skin creases as if carved by time itself, hair fades to white, bones weaken, organs fail. It is as though the body suddenly believes it has lived a hundred years and races to catch up.

What troubles me most is that we do not know why. There is no common thread between the victims—no shared ailment, no clear exposure to a toxin, no sign of contagion. Some claim to feel an odd warmth before the first signs appear, but there is no wound, no mark, nothing to suggest an external force at work. It is as if aging itself has been set loose upon them, unchecked and relentless.

We have no cure. No treatment slows the progression. We are left only to watch, to record, and to hope that whatever causes this does not spread. If we are to stop this, we must first understand it. And as of now, understanding remains out of reach.

Furthermore, those afflicted by this illness are unwilling to speak of when their symptoms began. The only connection our patients share is the fact they were in Starlit Forest. But without their cooperation, we have no way of knowing the true dangers of what we are dealing with.

"This is it," the prince said, marking the page with the attached leather cord. "With everything else I have read, and based on what the Unicorn spoke—this will link us to the murderer."

"Will you share your findings with the king and his advisors?" Matthias asked.

Oskar exhaled slowly, his grip tightening around the journal. This was the missing link; the connection he needed to finding the one killing the blessed creatures. The Unicorn's magic had already begun its work, and the murderer—whoever they were—was running out of time. He shut the book with a quiet thud and met Matthias' gaze, his voice steady but urgent. "We do not have much time."