"I only wish to hear her reasoning," William added, voice warm with invitation rather than demand. "If that is acceptable... Examinee number one hundred sixty-six."
His attention returned to Xierra, expectant.
Inari scoffed, turning his head away with a dismissive flick of his ears. The fox's tail swayed once, irritation clear. Of all the captains present, this was the one he trusted the least—and the one he found the most tiresome to acknowledge.
As long as his master was unharmed, that was all that mattered.
Xierra exhaled, tension easing from her shoulders. The corners of her lips lifted into a small, earnest smile. She shook her head lightly.
"It's all right," she said at last. Her voice held its composure, though it softened at the edges, like silk drawn carefully through one's fingers. "I do have my reasons... even if they sound a little childish. I hope you'll forgive me for that."
She turned her head just enough to glance behind her.
Yuno and Asta had moved closer without realizing it—two familiar presences grounding her back to earth, close enough that she could feel their curiosity through the air. It was instinctive, the way they gravitated toward her, as if distance itself felt wrong. The sight made something tender loosen in her chest.
Xierra closed her eyes and smiled, a quiet, breathy laugh slipping free before she could stop it.
"And that is...?" Yuno pushed, albeit slightly frowning. His voice remained calm, even, but there was an unmistakable thread of curiosity woven through it now—gentle, earnest, unguarded.
Xierra turned slightly, angling herself toward him. "It's because you're already in the Golden Dawn."
The words were simple.
Their weight was not.
Yuno flinched, just barely—an involuntary reaction, as if the answer had struck closer than he expected. His fingers curled at his side, eyes widening a fraction before he caught himself.
"I'm not avoiding you," she said immediately, meeting his gaze. Her tone was warm, reassuring, leaving no room for doubt. "Really."
Then her attention shifted, blue eyes sliding toward Asta, who was still bristling beside them, emotions written plainly across his face.
"And Inari originally wanted to join the Black Bulls," she continued, the corner of her lips lifting faintly, "but Asta was already scouted."
There was no bitterness in her explanation—only quiet honesty, threaded with affection. A choice made not from ambition alone, but from where her heart had already settled.
"...Eh?" Asta blinked.
"Master chose not to heed my counsel," Inari announced sharply, lifting his chin with wounded dignity rather than hysteria. His tail lashed once, slow and deliberate. "I advised restraint. Strategy. Balance. All of it dismissed in favor of personal conviction." He exhaled dramatically through his nose, golden eyes narrowing. "Once her resolve sets, even reason itself is treated as a negotiable suggestion."
Without further warning, the fox sprang forward.
He vaulted the distance with effortless grace, landing squarely atop Yami's head as though the captain were nothing more than an inconvenient perch. Draping himself across the man's dark hair in exaggerated despair, Inari pressed a paw to his brow.
"Alas," he declared almost too theatrically, voice echoing just enough to draw attention, "betrayed by fate, overridden by loyalty, and now condemned to a squad not of my original choosing. Truly, this is a tragedy worthy of song."
His tail flicked again. Once. Twice.
Yami jerked, cigarette nearly tumbling from his mouth. "Oi—!" he snapped, swatting blindly above his head. "Get off! I'm not some damn throne—or a stress toy!"
Fuegoleon let out a low chuckle from his seat, arms crossed, the corner of his mouth lifting in clear amusement. William, meanwhile, tilted his head slightly, one brow arching beneath his mask as if reassessing the situation entirely.
Not all reactions were so entertained.
Nozel's expression hardened instantly, mercury eyes narrowing with visible displeasure. Gueldre recoiled a step, bristling at the intrusion, his lips pulling thin as he regarded the fox like an unacceptable breach of decorum.
"A familiar, invading the captains' platform?" Nozel muttered coldly. "How uncouth."
Inari, entirely unbothered by the mounting tension, continued with cutting composure, his tone steeped in dry irony. "For the record," he added lightly, "my inclination leaned toward the Green Praying Mantis squad—their discipline and structure are commendable." One ear flicked. "Though I confess a certain professional admiration for the Blue Rose Knights' refinement... and the Coral Peacocks' versatility."
His golden gaze swept the platform, unapologetic.
"Alas," he concluded, "Master's will proved decisive, as it so often does."
Xierra laughed, the sound light and unrestrained, and tilted her head.
Her smile—sweet at first glance—turned perilously sharp as her gaze settled on him.
"I believe we reached an agreement earlier, Inari," she said mildly. "And kindly refrain from striking and perching on Captain Yami's head. He is, despite appearances, not an object."
The shift was immediate.
Inari froze.
Slowly—painfully so—he turned his head away from her, ears flattening in surrender. A quiet click of his tongue followed, sharp with reluctant acknowledgment. He slipped off Yami's head and landed gracefully on the stone floor, padding back to her side without another word.
He seated himself neatly by her feet, arms folding across his chest. His tail flicked once in muted irritation.
The pout he adopted was nothing short of impressive.
It was astonishing how swiftly the fearsome presence that had silenced an entire stadium moments ago diminished beneath her reproach—reduced not to weakness, but to restraint.
Xierra looked down at him, fondness softening the edges of her expression.
And for just a moment, within the towering hall of marble and judgment, the air felt lighter—less oppressive—like the world itself had exhaled a breath of unknown relief.
"And besides," she said, turning on her heel to face them fully, amber eyes bright as they met Yuno's calm blue and Asta's blazing green, "we are rivals, aren't we?"
The word lingered between them, warm rather than sharp.
She planted her hands on her hips, chin lifting just a fraction. "Of course I'd choose a different squad. How am I supposed to compete with either of you if we're standing under the same banner?" A soft huff escaped her when she noticed the matching smiles forming on their faces, equal parts fond and infuriating.
Her reasoning struck true.
It was as if sparks leapt quietly into both their chests—Asta's grin stretching wide and unrestrained, Yuno's expression softening into something rarer, something almost boyish. His smile was faint, fleeting, but undeniably there, and it carried no argument—only acceptance.
Xierra felt it settle, that shared understanding, and her own smile widened.
"And when I beat you both," she continued, voice lifting with unabashed confidence, "I'll become the next Wizard Queen in history. So you'd better prepare yourselves."
Asta laughed, sharp and delighted, nodding furiously. Yuno inclined his head once, eyes steady, the challenge clearly received.
Then Xierra turned back toward the platform, toward the captain still standing amidst the stone and banners.
"Captain William," she said, dipping her head respectfully, "forgive me. I hope those reasons are sufficient. I know they may sound childish, but—"
William raised a hand, stopping her gently.
"No," he said, shaking his head. His voice held neither mockery nor dismissal—only sincerity. "They are not childish. Not in the slightest."
Xierra blinked, momentarily caught off guard.
"There is nothing foolish about ambition," he continued, violet gaze resting on her with an almost familial warmth. "Nor about choosing a path that challenges you to grow." His tone softened further, like an older brother watching a younger sibling take their first confident steps forward. Yet beneath it lay something else—an ache, subtle and restrained, that stirred Xierra's curiosity.
"I am satisfied with your answer," William finished. "Thank you, examinee number one hundred sixty-six."
She nodded, a slow breath easing from her chest, the tension she had carried loosening its hold at last. When she turned back to the boys, there was a buoyancy to her steps, as if the weight of the colosseum had finally lifted from her shoulders.
"Well," she declared, chin tilting upward as she folded her arms with theatrical pride, eyes slipping shut, "the Crimson Lion Kings will always be better anyway."
The words barely settled before Asta exploded.
"What?!" he yelped, pitching forward as if personally affronted. "The Black Bulls are obviously better!" His hands flew wide, voice echoing off the stone, indignation blazing brighter than his magic ever could. "We've got Captain Yami! That already makes us unbeatable!"
"No," Yuno replied evenly, not raising his voice in the slightest. He folded his arms as well, mirroring Xierra without meaning to, gaze steady and unshaken. "The Golden Dawn offers the most direct path to becoming Wizard King. Results matter."
Asta spun on him, sputtering.
Before either could escalate further, Inari interjected.
His voice slipped between them like a blade wrapped in silk—smooth, unhurried, and edged with faint amusement. A lazy yawn followed, tails swaying behind him as though the debate barely warranted his attention. "You are all remarkably loud for individuals who have yet to prove anything," he observed coolly. "There are many roads to the summit. A dream is not so fragile as to be bound to a single banner."
A few of the nearby captains failed to hide their reactions—subtle smiles tugging at lips, quiet breaths of laughter escaping despite themselves.
Yami snorted outright, smoke curling as he leaned back, clearly entertained. His gaze lingered on the chaotic scene: Asta gesturing wildly, Xierra firing back with sharp retorts and laughter, Inari dismantling Asta's arguments with composed, cutting logic.
Yuno stood just to the side, watching it unfold with a rare gentleness. His lips curved into a small, genuine smile—one that held no rivalry, no tension—only warmth for the people beside him.
With a sigh, Yami hopped down from the platform, cigarette still balanced between his teeth. He reached out and grabbed Asta by the head, startling both the boy and the fox beside him.
"That's enough," he grumbled. "Go wait with your squads already."
"Yes, sir—!!"
"Shut it! You're too loud!"
Yami watched them retreat toward the crowd, his presence expanding just enough to ward off prying stares and whispered judgments. No ridicule followed them. No malice dared linger.
His voice carried after them, rough but sincere.
"Work hard. All three of you. Become someone you can be proud of... and maybe one day, a Wizard King and Queen."
Asta froze, eyes wide. Yuno stiffened only briefly, surprise flickering beneath his composure. Inari's ears twitched.
Xierra turned back, offering Yami her brightest smile—a silent promise.
"Yes, sir!"
As they continued onward, Yuno and Xierra exchanged a glance, soft and knowing, before both looked to Asta—still glowing faintly with the warmth of being acknowledged. They said nothing.
Some moments were better left untouched.
And for the first time, the future did not feel distant or impossible—only briefly unseen, waiting just ahead.
.
.
.
Whistles and the gleeful trills of evening birds threaded through the air, mingling with the afterglow of magic that still clung faintly to the stone. The sky, once flushed with gold and ember, deepened by the minute—rose fading into indigo, indigo slipping toward night. The Magic Knights' entrance exam was drawing its final breath as the referee's voice rang out one last time.
"Examinee number five hundred and twelve—no offers."
The words fell flat against the vastness of the colosseum.
The referee paused, eyes lifting toward the elevated platform, searching for any sign of dissent. None came. The captains remained still, silhouettes carved against torchlight and dusk. After a moment, he inhaled and spoke again, louder this time, resolute.
"This concludes the Magic Knights' entrance exam."
Something invisible loosened all at once.
The nine captains turned away, their cloaks stirring the air as they departed along the corridors they had entered from. Below, the examinees exhaled in staggered waves—breaths they hadn't realized they had been holding, shoulders sagging as the weight of judgment finally lifted.
It was over.
The exam—months of anticipation, fear, and desperate hope—had ended.
Xierra let out a slow breath of her own, the tension in her chest unraveling thread by thread. She stood quietly, eyes roaming the dispersing crowd. Some cried openly, grief spilling from them without restraint. Others clung to family members watching them, faces buried into shoulders, their dreams shattered in plain sight. She watched trembling hands curl into fabric, watched gazes drop to the ground as though staring too long might make the loss permanent.
A dream shown so brightly... only to be taken away.
Her throat tightened.
She wondered—dimly, painfully—if that would have been her. If she had crumpled the same way, had the captains' hands never risen for her.
Elsewhere, joy bloomed just as fiercely. Laughter rang out, bodies leapt and collided in clumsy embraces, triumph written in shining eyes. The victorious and the heartbroken shared the same space, their emotions weaving together until the stadium felt almost too full to breathe in.
Gradually, people filtered out. Groups dissolved. The stone corridors swallowed voices one by one.
Night settled in.
The lamps were lit, their soft glow guiding footsteps as the sky unveiled its scattered constellations. Stars bloomed across the darkness—countless, distant, unwavering. Xierra tipped her head back, breath hitching at the familiar sight. They blinked down at her like watchful eyes, no different from the stars she had grown up with in Hage.
"I wonder," she thought aloud, more to herself than anyone else, "if they're seeing the same sky we are."
"Xierra. Asta."
Yuno's voice reached her through the quiet, gentle as ever. He approached with an easy smile, his presence grounding. Xierra answered with a soft hum, acknowledging him without turning.
Before Yuno could say more, hurried footsteps thundered closer.
"Yuno! Xierra!" Asta shouted, skidding to a stop beside them. He jabbed a thumb toward the boy with wild enthusiasm before spinning toward Xierra. "You're golden, I'm a bull, and you're a lioness! This is it! This is where our real battle starts!"
Xierra laughed, light and familiar, the sound easing something tight behind her ribs. "Right, right," she replied, indulgent.
"Yes," Yuno said calmly, a spark glinting beneath his composure. "Let's see who—"
A loud, traitorous growl cut him off.
They all froze.
Xierra blinked, then slowly turned her gaze toward Asta, one brow lifting. "Are you... hungry?"
"Nope!" Asta yelped, suddenly pale. "Nature's calling!!" He spun on his heel and bolted toward the stadium bathrooms, shrieking as he ran. "Nature is calling really loud!!"
Xierra stared after him, stunned for a heartbeat before sighing. "It's those suspicious purple-skewered things he ate earlier from the market, isn't it...?"
"...Yes, most probably," Yuno answered, rubbing his temple as his shoulders slumped.
The last sliver of sunlight kissed the colosseum walls, bathing stone and archway in molten gold before slipping away entirely. Above them stretched a clear, endless sky.
"Yuno," Xierra said suddenly.
Her fingers caught the edge of his sleeve, a light tug that was more instinct than intention, as though the thought might slip away if she didn't hold it tight. The fabric wrinkled faintly beneath her grip.
He turned at once. "What is it?"
She didn't answer verbally. Instead, she lifted her hand and pointed down the corridor, where the lanternlight thinned, and the shadows grew restless.
Yuno followed the line of her gesture—and his posture stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Sekke was attempting discretion and failing spectacularly.
He crept along the wall with exaggerated care, shoulders hunched, eyes darting left and right as if the stone itself might betray him. His grimoire hovered at his side, pages already whispering as though eager to be used. Each step was accompanied by a low, unpleasant snicker that echoed far too clearly in the quiet hall.
The direction he was heading left little room for interpretation.
Yuno closed his eyes briefly and released a slow breath through his nose, patience thinning like stretched wire.
"...I'll check on him," he said at last, voice even despite the small irritation beneath it. He shifted his stance, already preparing to move. "Xierra, stay here. Don't wander off."
Before she could respond, Inari sprang lightly from her shoulder, landing on the floor with soundless precision. His lips curled into a sharp grin as he straightened, golden eyes gleaming with unmistakable mischief.
"I shall accompany you," he said smoothly. "I find unattended brats... distasteful."
Yuno considered him for only a heartbeat before nodding once. "All right."
Then he looked back at Xierra. This time, his gaze held hers fully—steady, serious.
"Stay put," he repeated, firmer now, the words less a suggestion than a quiet command.
She nodded in agreement, fingers curling together at her chest.
Inari hopped up onto Yuno's shoulders with practiced ease, his tail flicking lazily as soft, amused laughter slipped from him like a secret meant only for himself. Together, they turned and disappeared down the corridor, their figures gradually swallowed by distance and shadow.
Xierra remained where she was, lanternlight pooling warmly around her feet. For a moment, she simply watched the space they had left behind, as though expecting them to reappear.
Then, with a small, almost fond exhale, she lifted her hand and gave a gentle wave toward the empty hall.
"...Have fun," she murmured.
And then she was alone.
Yuno's footsteps carried through the corridor in a steady cadence, each step rebounding from stone to pillar, from pillar to vaulted ceiling, until the sound seemed to chase itself in quiet loops. The hallway was otherwise vacant—washed in low lanternlight that bled softly into the seams of the walls, leaving long shadows pooled at the base of every column.
Xierra lingered near the far end, one shoulder pressed to the cool surface of the stone. The chill seeped through her uniform, grounding her—well, at least, it tried to. She exhaled slowly and let her eyes fall shut, intending only to rest them for a heartbeat.
Instead, something else reached for her.
The world darkened without warning.
Ash drifted through the air like blackened snow, stinging her lungs with the memory of smoke. A village lay before her—its structures unfamiliar, angles too sharp, rooftops slanted in ways she had never seen before. Walls had collapsed inward, beams split and charred, leaving skeletons of homes exposed to an unkind sky.
Lanterns lay crushed beneath rubble and earth, their glass webbed, sharp but stubborn. Dim blue flames flickered within them, weak and wavering, as though they were unsure whether to persist or finally surrender to the dark.
At the center of it all stood a child.
She couldn't have been older than five—too small for the devastation surrounding her, too fragile for the weight she carried. Her hands clutched a grimoire tightly to her chest, fingers digging into its cover as though letting go would mean vanishing entirely. She wasn't old enough to have one. That knowledge rang sharp and wrong in Xierra's mind, even as the girl's arms shielded its pages from sight.
Behind her, the air stirred.
A figure descended soundlessly, wings unfolding with solemn grace. White feathers caught the glow of the dying lanterns, reflecting cold light across the ruins. His hair fell long and silver down his back, framing a face Xierra could not quite see—but she felt the presence of him all the same, heavy with something like grief.
He reached out.
Large hands settled on the girl's shoulders, steady and protective, and gently guided her gaze away from the devastation. His palms rose to cover her eyes, shielding them from the flames, the bodies, the loss. Tears slipped freely down her cheeks, disappearing into soot-stained skin.
For a fleeting, aching moment, he looked like an angel standing amidst hell.
—"Xierra."
The vision shattered.
Her eyes flew open as hands brushed her shoulder, reality snapping back into place with a soft intake of breath. Yuno stood in front of her, his expression composed but edged with quiet concern. His hand withdrew as soon as he realized she was awake.
"Hm...?" Her voice came out thin, disoriented. She blinked once, then again, trying to steady herself. "Yuno? What's—"
"The guy left," he said gently, head tilting. "Sekke, I think. Didn't you see him?"
She searched his face, then the empty corridor behind him. Slowly, she shook her head. "No," she dragged, the word barely audible.
Inari stirred atop her shoulder—since when had he been there? His golden eyes narrowed as he took in her pallor. "Master," he said, voice uncharacteristically soft, "you do not appear well." His tail flicked once, uneasy. "Your color is off."
"I'm fine," she started, but the words didn't quite convince even herself.
Yuno stepped closer before she could protest. His hand lifted, hovering only a moment before pressing gently to her forehead. With his other hand, he touched his own skin, brows knitting slightly as he compared the warmth.
"Doesn't seem like another fever," he concluded.
The proximity hit her a second too late.
Heat rushed up her neck, blooming across her cheeks and catching in the tips of her ears. Xierra turned her face away almost instantly, mortified. "I—I said I'm fine!" she squeaked, far less composed than she would have liked. Yet even as she protested, the lingering warmth of his touch pulsed against her skin, refusing to fade.
Yuno noticed anyway.
His gaze flicked to her ears, glowing red against her hair, and something like quiet amusement softened his features. A small sound escaped him—not quite a laugh, but close.
She peeked at him through half-lidded eyes, mortification warring with relief. Clearing her throat, she shut her eyes again, then cracked one open cautiously. "Asta's... also fine, I'm guessing?" she asked in a hushed voice, wary of how the empty hall seemed eager to amplify every sound.
"Unsurprisingly," Yuno replied. He relaxed, one hand settling at his hip. "This is where we part ways. You should group with your squad."
Xierra nodded, the tension easing from her shoulders. She smiled—soft, genuine.
"Then... see you later, Yuno."
She turned and began to walk, Inari adjusting his footing atop her shoulder. Even so, she glanced back more than once, committing the sight of him standing alone beneath the lanternlight to memory. At the corridor's bend, she lifted her hand in a final wave.
"Right," she said quietly, resolve returning to her voice. "Let's go, Inari."
"See you," Yuno replied.
It was a simple goodbye, he thought. There was nothing more to say than that. He tried to convince himself.
He lifted his hand in return for nothing. He blinked, amber trying to find the moon's glow in the wake of night, only to find nothing. And he breathed, puffs of the cold evening air thinly forming, only to dissolve into nothing.
The gesture felt heavier than it should have been, as though the air itself resisted it, reluctant to let the moment pass. A smile touched his lips—soft, unguarded—flickering across his face like a solitary star piercing through a veil of clouds. It shone only for an instant.
Then it dimmed.
His arm lowered, the motion slow, almost reluctant, and the smile slipped away with it, dissolving into the familiar stillness he wore like armor.
The hallway felt colder without her.
Not in any way the stone could explain—no draft, no shifting breeze—but in the quiet left behind when warmth departed. The lanternlight seemed duller now, its glow less kind, stretching shadows longer across the floor. Even the echoes had changed, footsteps swallowed too quickly, as though the space itself had noticed her absence.
Yuno did not move.
He stood where she had left him, gaze fixed on the corridor she had disappeared down, as if lingering long enough might call her back. It felt as though her presence still clung to the air—an afterimage, fragile and fading. When it finally vanished, something in his chest tightened, sharp and precise, like a string pulled too far.
His fingers curled slowly into his palms, nails pressing into skin he barely registered. He exhaled through his nose, controlled and steady, the way he had learned to breathe when emotions threatened to rise too high.
Above the castle walls, the night stretched wide and immeasurable.
He lifted his gaze toward the open sky, where stars lay scattered in careless abundance—pinpricks of pale light against the endless dark, distant and unreachable. They reminded him of promises whispered in childhood, of dreams too large to grasp all at once, yet impossible to let go of.
Their glow reflected faintly in his eyes.
One day, he swore silently.
The words settled deep, not loud, not dramatic—just solid. Certain.
When I'm stronger... I'll confess again.
Not as a boy chasing a future he could barely touch, but as someone who had earned the right to stand beside her.
Until then—
Wait for me.
.
.
.
Xierra nearly stumbled as she crossed the threshold, the sudden openness of the night greeting her after the enclosed corridors within. Cool air rushed past her face, carrying the scent of stone dust and lingering dirt, while lanternlight spilled outward in molten gold. Inari steadied himself atop her shoulders with a surprised flick of his tail as she skidded to a stop.
Ahead of them, the members of the Crimson Lion Kings had already begun to gather—some figures clad in warm reds and burnished golds, others more mundane and fresh. Their presence was loud even before a single word was spoken.
"Oh—there they are!" a voice rang out.
A young man stepped forward, waving broadly, his energy crackling like embers stirred too eagerly. He tilted his head, turquoise eyes sharp and curious. "Took you long enough," he added, brows lifting. "What happened? Did you get lost?"
Xierra straightened, brushing a hand over her sleeve as her gaze lifted to meet his.
His hair was a wild spill of copper and rose, messy in a way that looked intentional only because it suited him so well. A portion of it had been bound into a rough braid, the rest flaring outward in stubborn spikes, as though refusing to be tamed. Crimson markings curved around his eyes—distinctive, unmistakable—and for a fleeting moment, she thought she was looking at a younger reflection of Fuegoleon himself.
The resemblance was uncanny.
He was only slightly taller than she was, close enough that she didn't need to crane her neck. His presence felt familiar in an odd way—commanding, yet brimming with something boyish and unrefined.
"Ah—sorry," Xierra replied, dipping her head politely. "Forgive us, Sir...?"
"Leopold," he said at once, thumping a fist against his chest. "Leopold Vermillion." His grin was bright and unapologetic, sharp canines flashing. "Pleasure to finally meet you!"
Inari's ears perked. "Vermillion?" He smirked at the revelation, tail swaying with a playful swing. "So the resemblance to the captain was not a coincidence."
"That's right!" Leopold declared, pride flaring bright and unrestrained. He thumped his fist against his chest, the impact landing squarely over his heart, making the crimson fabric of his robe ripple and bounce with the force. The gesture was loud, unapologetic—every bit the embodiment of the name he carried. "Captain Fuegoleon's my big brother!"
"You do look alike," Inari mused, voice dry but sincere, golden eyes lingering on the familiar fire that seemed to live beneath Leopold's skin.
Before anything else could be said, a shout came from behind them. "Leopold! Newbie! We're moving out!"
Several members had already mounted their brooms, laughter and easy chatter spilling freely into the cooling air as they lifted from the ground. Cloaks fluttered like embers shaken loose from a fire, their figures rising without hesitation, without a single glance cast backward. The night welcomed them readily, swallowing their silhouettes one by one.
The newer recruits were being handed brooms as well—familiar ones. The very same models used during the first trial of the entrance exam, their polished wood still bearing the faint scuffs and marks of earlier effort. When Xierra reached for hers, Leopold was already there, placing it into her hands with an easy confidence, as if the action itself were a quiet assurance that she belonged.
"Got it!" Leopold called, spinning sharply on his heel. He seized his own broom in a single, fluid motion, momentum carrying him a step forward before he stopped short. His gaze flicked back—briefly, instinctively—to Xierra and the fox perched upon her shoulders.
Only then did Xierra truly take in the group surrounding her.
They were all men.
Not only the seasoned members who had come to collect them, but the fresh recruits from that very day as well—every face unfamiliar yet unmistakably male. Broad shoulders, lean frames, varying heights and builds, but not a single woman among them. The realization settled slowly, like a weight pressing against her ribs.
She blinked once.
Inari noticed immediately.
Oh. Oh dear.
He let out a quiet breath through his nose, a bead of sweat forming along his temple. A squad full of loud, battle-hungry boys—he would have preferred twenty Astas arguing at once over this. Still, this was the path his master had chosen. He forced a smile, resigned but watchful.
Let there be at least one or two among them you can rely on, he thought grimly.
Xierra, blissfully unaware of the quiet catastrophe unfolding in Inari's thoughts, tilted her head toward Leopold, confusion written plainly across her features. It was an unguarded look—wide-eyed, earnest, unpracticed in pretense—and it struck Leopold square in the chest.
He laughed, loud and bright, the sound bursting from him like a flare.
Before Xierra could so much as brace herself, his hand came down in a resounding pat against her back. The impact sent a startled breath tearing from her lungs, her shoulders jolting forward as she stumbled half a step.
"Haha! What are you standing around for, little cub?!" he boomed, utterly unrepentant.
"'Cub'?" Xierra repeated, blinking in shock, one hand hovering near her ribs.
Inari's ears flattened, then twitched. "'Cub'?" Like a broken record, over and over again, Inari's voice was thin with disbelief.
She was many things—capable, stubborn, relentless—but little was not one of them. Nor was cub. She was also slightly offended at the mention of her very average height for a girl her age in Clover, when Leopold was not that much taller than her.
"Get on your broom and come on!" Leopold said, already turning away, energy never dipping. "Don't just stand there! You don't want to get left behind, do you?"
"N–No, Sir!" Xierra answered quickly, scrambling to regain her composure.
"Good!" He laughed again, swinging onto his broom with practiced ease. "Keep up with us. Though, after those results of yours, I doubt you'll have any trouble, huh? You passed with flying colors!"
His laughter carried ahead of him as he lifted off, torn into ribbons by the rushing wind, until it blended seamlessly with the voices and movement of the squad disappearing into the night.
Xierra followed soon after, pushing off the ground and steadying herself midair. The wind tugged at her hair and cloak, cool and bracing. Inari settled more comfortably against her shoulders, eyes half-lidded as he let the rush pass through his fur.
Ahead of them, Fuegoleon flew at the forefront, posture unyielding, his presence guiding the formation like a living standard. He spoke with another knight at his side, their words lost to distance.
"They didn't question you," Inari murmured after a while, voice quieter now. "Not your village. Not your social standing. And certainly, not where you came from, Master."
Xierra kept pace, matching Leopold as he lingered near the rear, ensuring no one fell behind. Her grip tightened slightly around the broom as she considered his words.
"I noticed," she said at last. A small smile curved her lips—not triumphant, but grateful. "I don't know why. But... I'm glad. It feels like they accepted me as I am."
Inari glanced at her from the corner of his eye, something unreadable softening his expression.
Leopold had been half a length ahead when their voices carried up to him—soft, threaded with curiosity rather than doubt. He glanced over his shoulder, then slowed his broom until the wind no longer tugged so sharply at his cloak. With an easy shift of weight, he drifted closer to Xierra's side, close enough that she could see the bright, uncomplicated grin he wore as naturally as breath.
"Isn't it obvious?" he said, tilting his head toward her, eyes alight as if the answer were written plainly across the sky.
Above them, the stars burned steadily, watching as the Crimson Lion Kings carried their newest member forward—into noise, into fire, and into a future that was already beginning to take shape.
Xierra blinked. "What is?"
Leopold laughed, short and hearty, then gestured vaguely ahead—toward the scattering of crimson cloaks, toward the direction Fuegoleon had taken them, toward the invisible boundary she had apparently already crossed. "You're part of our squad. If Brother lets you in, then you're one of us!"
There was no pause for reconsideration. No weighing of merit or blood or history. Just certainty.
Inari stared at him. Xierra did the same.
"That easily?" Inari asked at last, ears twitching in disbelief.
"Why not?" Leopold shot back, as though the question itself were strange. "What more reason do I need?" His grin widened, teeth flashing. "You're my rival, after all! Hahaha!"
The word struck Xierra oddly—rival—not sharp, not hostile, but bright. Something alive. Something that asked her to run forward rather than look back.
"...Rival, huh?" She gave a crooked grin, settling on a proper smile when she met Leopold's starry eyes.
"I like you, kid," Inari chimed in, suddenly all sly charm as he leaned forward on her shoulder, lashes fluttering in exaggerated appeal. "You'll make a perfect training partner."
Xierra narrowed her eyes. "Inari."
"Yes, Master?"
"You're planning something."
A beat. Then a laugh—smooth and unapologetic. "Planning? Me? Everything I do is for your well-being, Master." He flashed her a grin, wholly unrepentant. "And I am innocent."
"Since when?"
Leopold burst into laughter, the sound ringing freely through the open air. He planted his hands on his hips mid-flight, clearly delighted. "Hahaha! I like you two! You'll be my rival too." He pointed cheerfully at Inari. "A pleasure to be working with you, Little Cub's pet!"
The silence that followed was razor-thin.
Inari's eyes twitched.
Then he seized a fistful of Xierra's clothes, bristling like a struck flame. "'Pet'?! Since when am I some lowly pet?!" he shrieked, tails flaring. "I am my master's partner—her weapon, her greatest protector and guardian! I will have you know—!!"
Xierra broke into a sweat, hurriedly reaching up to stroke his head. "Now, now, Inari. Compose yourself and—"
"I am far older than you, kid!" he snapped, pointing accusingly at Leopold. "Show some respect!"
"Gahahaha! Sure thing, Inayari!" Leopold laughed, already surging ahead with the rest of the squad, his voice trailing behind him through the darkening sky.
"It's Inari!" the fox screamed. "Get it right!"
"Hm?" Leopold called back innocently. "What was that, Inami?"
"Master!" Inari wailed, burying his snout against her shoulder. "Make him stop this... nonsense!"
Xierra pressed her lips together, shoulders trembling as she held back a laugh. She knew that tone—knew how easily Inari forgot dignity when provoked. Asta had learned that lesson early. It seemed Leopold had stumbled into the same category with reckless ease.
The fox continued his tirade, flinging every indignant protest he could muster toward Leopold's unbothered back. A few nearby knights glanced over, unsure whether to laugh or sweat in discomfort.
Xierra simply smiled, eyes soft as she watched the scene unfold around her—noise and warmth and movement, all braided together.
It was strange. Loud. Chaotic.
And for the first time that night, her chest felt light.
She was content.
To Be Continued...