"You finally awake, you jerks?" Magna called out, irritation threaded plainly through his voice.
His teeth were clenched tight enough to grind sparks, every muscle in his frame wound as though one more breath might snap his restraint clean in half. He planted his boot squarely against Heath's shoulder, pressing down with deliberate force until the man's face twisted against the dirt, the imprint of tread stamped there like a verdict.
Magna didn't look satisfied—only contained.
He lifted his foot at last and swept a glare over the rest of the bound men, flames coiling obediently around their limbs.
"I'm taking a break," he went on, jerking a thumb toward the outskirts of the village. "Then I'm escorting you to the royal capital on my Crazy Cyclone."
He spoke the name with pride swelling unmistakably in his chest, as if the words themselves deserved applause. For a fleeting second, his mouth curved upward—then the smile collapsed, fury flooding back in. He shoved his heel down once more, letting out a low, dangerous sound meant to remind Heath exactly where he stood.
The Crazy Cyclone waited nearby.
Xierra turned her head. And promptly froze.
Sweat prickled at her temples as her gaze traced the thing from end to end.
"What?" Rhein asked, brow lifting. "What's wrong?"
He followed her stare. So did Inari.
Rhein's jaw slackened. Inari's ears flattened.
The Crazy Cyclone was... distinctive. Unique, even. If one wished to be charitable. A skull fashioned its prow, hollow sockets leering. Extra exhausts jutted out like jagged ribs. A battered leather seat crowned the structure, as though daring anyone to question its existence.
"Tacky," Rhein breathed, reverence and horror warring in his tone. "Impressively tacky."
His eyes drifted to the brooms resting nearby—the ones he and Xierra had ridden into Saussy. He tapped his chin, thoughtful. "Should we name ours, too?"
Xierra blinked. Once. Twice. "Why on earth would you even do that?"
"I dunno." He shrugged, a grin spreading. "Feels right. Maybe it keeps them from ending up like this." He flicked the charred fabric draped over his arm.
"You don't bring brooms into combat," she pointed out, flat and practical.
Then she paused.
"...Or maybe we could."
The idea unfurled in her mind—airborne movement, elevated strikes, sudden counters from above. Possibilities stacked upon possibilities.
Rhein's grin turned smug, the kind that begged to be smacked. "See? Natural-born genius."
"Believe what you want," Inari replied, weariness heavy in his tone.
Rhein wasn't deterred in the slightest. He snapped his fingers and gestured toward their brooms, eyes alight as if he were unveiling sacred relics. "If we're doing this properly, we really have to name them then. It's tradition. Or it should be."
He tilted his head, thinking far too hard about it. "Yours could be something elegant. Moonstrider. Or maybe Silver Gale—fits the whole crescent attack thingies you've got going." His grin widened. "And mine? Stormbringer. Or Iron Howl. Maybe Skyreaper if I'm feeling dramatic."
Inari stared at him.
"...You've thought about this before," the fox concluded flatly.
Rhein shrugged without shame. "Of course, I have."
"Horrible names," Xierra dismissed at once, not even sparing them the courtesy of consideration. "You'd suck at naming babies."
Rhein recoiled as if struck, releasing an exaggerated cough and clutching his chest. "Cruel," he croaked. "Absolutely heartless. If I die out there one day—and let's be honest, it's very possible—would you deny me even that? Naming our brooms after my final wish?"
He slumped forward dramatically, peeking at her through one eye. "I'd haunt you, you know."
She rolled her eyes, unmoved. "I'd rename them out of spite."
"Wow, a cold queen."
Inari, meanwhile, paid them no mind. His eyes remained fixed on Magna's creation, calculating mana output, control thresholds, and its structural absurdities. Bluntly speaking, he wanted nothing to do with it. "That thing is an offense to spirits everywhere, Master."
Xierra then laughed under her breath and reached up, fingers brushing through the fox's dark fur. He sighed, the sound carrying resignation more than protest.
A heavier breath cut through the moment.
Heath.
His gaze lay empty against the soil, jaw slack, eyes dulled. It wasn't surrender—Xierra sensed that much. Something churned behind that stare. Turmoil. Curiosity. Like a storm waiting for another chance to break loose.
Magna crossed his arms, heat flickering around him. "Spend the rest of your life paying for what you did to those villagers," he spat. "Every last second."
His grimoire hovered close, pages shifting as if stirred by the fire in his veins. He pressed it to his chest. The bindings flared brighter, flames stretching outward, branching like grasping limbs that cinched tighter around their captives.
"They look like spiders," Xierra muttered.
Inari nodded once. Rhein shuddered violently. "I hate spiders with a passion."
"Good to know."
The sun dipped lower, bleeding the sky with deep amber and streaks of scarlet along the west. Xierra lifted her gaze, closing her eyes as the wind threaded through her silver hair, brushing her skin like a quiet benediction. Inari adjusted on her shoulder, settling closer, his presence steady and grounding.
Only then did it truly sink in.
The day was ending.
The battle was done.
No more names would be added to the list of the lost.
They had lived through it—through fear, through strain, through the weight that came with being called Magic Knights. Protectors, guardians—with grimoires raised in front of others.
The path before them remained cruel and unyielding. But it was a road that tempered resolve, carved courage into marrow, and demanded everything they had to give.
Victory was no longer distant. It was here. Earned through bloodied hands and aching lungs. Claimed through stubborn refusal to fall.
Xierra lifted the back of her hand to her mouth, laughter bubbling free despite herself. Rhein snickered beside her, the sound breaking into full, unrestrained cackles that scattered the tension clinging to the day.
They had endured.
They had survived.
Magna glanced back at them with a grin sharp enough to cut. He snapped his attention to Heath and the bound men once more, grinding his boot harder into Heath's shoulder until the man hissed through clenched teeth. The grimoire in Magna's grasp shut with a solid thud, flame licking briefly along its edges before settling.
"You're going to spill everything to the Magic Knights," Magna said, voice tight with restraint. "Who you are. Why you did this. Every rotten little reason."
Rhein's laughter died where it stood. His gaze followed Magna's line of sight, alert and wary—then his carmine eyes widened when Heath answered far too quickly.
"I refuse."
The words fell clean and sharp, without tremor or hesitation.
Xierra exhaled through her nose. She had expected resistance, defiance even—but not this immediate surrender to silence. Her fingers curled slightly at her side. Is he that desperate?
Heath released a thin breath and tilted his head back, staring into the sky as though the earth beneath him no longer mattered. The heavy shroud that had smothered the village earlier had long since dissolved; pale clouds drifted freely now, opening themselves to the fading sun. Light washed over his hollow features.
"It appears," he spoke, voice distant, "that the end has come."
A glow—unnatural and violent in its beauty—ignited beneath his skin.
Violet light bled from his core, spreading upward across his torso like veins of living crystal. It swallowed him whole in seconds, crawling along his ribs, his throat, his jaw. The air grew brittle. Cold pressed inward from all sides.
"Ice Magic: Ice Burial."
Rhein moved without thinking, arm thrusting forward as his teeth ground together. Inari sprang from Xierra's side, claws catching briefly on Rhein's sleeve as he bolted ahead, urgency burning through every step.
Time stretched thin.
Xierra's eyes widened as frost surged across the earth, jagged spires tearing upward with murderous speed. The ground locked beneath them, sealing paths and freezing momentum mid-stride. No one reached them in time.
Where the tied men had been, ice claimed them—encasing flesh, breath, and fear in merciless silence. Their forms stilled, faces frozen in expressions that would never change again.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the magic shattered.
Ice splintered apart, collapsing into glittering debris that scattered across the dirt. Where Heath had once sat, there was only a corpse—cold, bound, unmoving.
"They..." Xierra stumbled back half a step, her voice barely holding together. "They killed themselves...?"
"What?!" Asta shouted, panic breaking through his usual fire. "They can't die yet! We haven't even taken them to the capital!"
His grimoire lay open beside him, pages fluttering uselessly in the aftermath.
Inari climbed back up Rhein's arm, settling on his shoulder with a tired huff. He reached forward and smoothed Rhein's hair back into place, deliberate and grounding, before straightening.
"There was nothing we could do," he said evenly. "Let's accept it. What's done is done."
Rhein dragged a hand through his hair, fingers catching painfully as frustration bled through him. He stared at the bodies, jaw tight, breath uneven.
"Well," he started, forcing levity into his tone as he shrugged. "That's that, I guess. At least their bodies are still—"
He stopped.
Before their eyes, the frozen corpses crumbled. Flesh and bone broke down into fine residue, sinking into the soil as though the earth itself was reclaiming them. Their garments remained for a heartbeat longer—then flames flared as Rhein rushed to extinguish Magna's spell, too late to save more than scraps.
Heath's grimoire, still clutched in Magna's hand, cracked down the spine.
It disintegrated into ash.
"Oh, dear gods," Rhein groaned, staring at the ruined robes before flicking his gaze down to his own, then Xierra's. "Why is everything determined to turn into cinders today? Is it some kind of sick hobby?"
Inari snickered, tail swaying as he tapped the scorched fabric draped over Rhein's arm. "Looks like you jinxed it."
"At this point, I wouldn't even argue," Rhein replied with a dry laugh that faltered at the edges. "Worst case, we get chewed out by the captain. Or mocked by my brother. Probably both."
"Oh?" Inari tilted his head. "You just lost living evidence and their remains."
Rhein's grin returned, crooked but confident. "We still have their robes." He nodded toward Magna and the Black Bulls. "That's more than enough. The higher-ups will pull traces, residual magic, whatever they need. There's a genius back at the castle who lives for this kind of thing."
"What a clever little human."
Rhein scoffed lightly. "Wouldn't be a Vermillion otherwise. Cleverness runs in our blood."
"I bed to differ with some of you," Inari sighed. He then scoffed, a broad grin stretching across his sharp muzzle, clearly delighted by Rhein's reactions. His tail swayed with unhidden amusement. "For a first mission," he remarked, voice bright with mockery, "this turned into quite the spectacle."
Rhein shot him a look that promised retaliation later.
"Oh, don't glare like that," Inari continued, teeth flashing. "You might as well savor it. Not many Magic Knights get death breathing down their necks on their very first outing. It was knocking very loudly on our doors."
Rhein hummed, thoughtful rather than shaken. "That's fair," he admitted, nodding once. "Could've been worse. Could've been dead right now."
Xierra clicked her tongue and folded her arms, gaze cutting through the levity. "Don't let him fill your head with nonsense," she interjected, eyes steady. "Magic Knights are trained to face every possibility. Even the ugly ones. Especially those."
Her tone carried weight—not bravado, but acceptance forged from understanding.
Magna burst into loud laughter, clutching his side as though the sound itself might bruise him. He swiped at the corner of his eye and pointed at Rhein. "I like you, Mr. Royal! You've got guts."
Rhein winced. "Are you ever going to use my actual name?"
"Nope," Magna replied cheerfully. "Mr. Royal fits just right."
Rhein's mouth curved with mock offense. "Then I'll come up with something just as annoying for you, you shitty senior."
Magna laughed again, then gradually stilled. His attention drifted toward the scorched ground where ash piled thick and uneven, marking where lives had ended moments ago. He released a breath and tapped his boot against the dirt, thinking. "Still, that kind of resolve doesn't come from nowhere. You think someone commanded that loyalty?"
"There had to be," Rhein answered, stepping closer with the recovered robes draped over his arm. His expression sobered. "People don't surrender their lives that easily unless something—or someone—matters more to them than living."
Inari narrowed his eyes, nodding slowly. "A gift discarded without hesitation," he muttered.
Rhein frowned. "What was that?"
The fox smirked. "You're losing your hearing already. Might want to schedule a healer soon."
"I am not that old."
"You behave like you are," Xierra added smoothly, a teasing lilt threading her words.
Their laughter rose together, light but not careless. Rhein rubbed his temples, holding his composure with effort. "Haha, very amusing. All of you."
Xierra dodged his half-hearted swing with ease, her grin widening. "You'll have to try harder than that."
"I stopped trying the moment I got partnered with you," Rhein replied. "Self-preservation. Pardon me if I'm going a little bit overboard."
She lifted a brow, amused. Beyond him, she noticed Noelle and the others huddled nearby, tension etched into every stiff movement. Anxiety clung to them as thick as the ash beneath their boots.
Xierra met Rhein's eyes. Without a word, they shared the moment—then both broke into quiet laughter before heading over.
"You're worrying too much," Rhein declared, planting his hands on his hips.
Xierra nodded, steadying her breath. "We'll bring the robes back. That's all we can do now. That has to be enough evidence to get on their track."
Noelle twisted her pigtail anxiously. "And you're certain?"
Xierra hesitated, then glanced sideways at Rhein.
He caught the cue and straightened, swallowing. "Right. I mean—yes. Even if things go badly, I can speak up for everyone. My brother, and the captain... they'll listen."
Magna let out a long whistle. "Hear that? Mr. Royal's got our backs!"
Rhein smirked. "Except there's no Mr. Royal here. Must be imagining things."
Their banter carried on, but Xierra's attention shifted. She noticed Asta drifting away, shoulders slumped, steps dragging as though the ground resisted him. She followed, slowing until she stood beside him.
His jaw clenched, anger and grief warring beneath the surface. "You idiots..." he muttered.
Xierra didn't interrupt. She faced the same direction, eyes lowering toward the scorched earth. Her head dipped in quiet acknowledgment—not just for the fallen, but for the weight left behind.
At the end of the day, some things couldn't be fixed.
They had been enemies. And yet—they had also been human. As human as they were, as human as any of them still standing and breathing.
That truth pressed heavily against Xierra's chest as she stood there, boots dusted with ash, the air still holding the faint sting of spent magic. She had never believed in evil as a fixed shape. Not truly. The world was not all black and white.
To her, cruelty was born from crooked paths and fractured needs, from hunger that twisted into obsession. People chased what they thought would save them, even if it meant burning the world to get there.
She wondered what those men had sought.
The magic stone Inari mentioned came to mind first, its allure sharp and dangerous. Greed felt too shallow an answer. Amusement even more so. None of it fit neatly, and the uncertainty weighed on her more than any clear explanation could have.
Asta's voice cut through the stillness, raw and shaking despite how hard he tried to steel it. "What do you think life is?!" His fists clenched at his sides. "I'm never going to accept people like them. Never!"
The words rang with conviction, yet there was a crack beneath them. A fragility he hated letting show. For the briefest moment, Xierra sensed something fragile beneath his anger—something that resembled pity and rejection, buried deep and denied.
"Yeah, you're right," she breathed, almost to herself.
Her gaze drifted upward. The sky stretched wide above them, pale and untroubled, clouds brushed thin like strokes of white paint across endless blue.
It was peaceful. Too peaceful.
The kind of calm that arrived after something had already been lost.
The kind of calm that was there before the storm.
The warmth of victory felt dulled, wrapped in the chill of how it had ended. Their success tasted bittersweet, like fruit plucked before it could ripen.
Xierra released a slow breath. "Life, huh?"
Behind them, unseen, Inari had stopped moving.
His ears twitched once, then fell back. The faint curve of his mouth sank, tension pulling his features tight. Asta's words struck something deep within him, clawing through layers he had kept sealed for years. Guilt stirred, heavy and suffocating, dragging at his thoughts until even standing felt like effort.
Xierra turned.
"Inari?" Her voice carried concern as she noticed him frozen in place. "What's wrong?"
She crossed the distance between them and crouched, her movements careful, inviting rather than urgent. Her fingers brushed through the fur atop his head, tracing familiar paths, scratching gently behind his ear. "Still worn out?" she asked with a small smile. "You can rest on my shoulders. Same as always."
He nodded. "Yes. I know. Thank you, Master."
The word sounded quieter than usual. Smaller.
Xierra tilted her head, then scooped him up with practiced ease, as though he weighed no more than a housecat. She settled him against her shoulders and laughed under her breath. "Sometimes I forget you're a fox spirit and not a spoiled cat."
"Foxes and cats are entirely different creatures," Inari replied, deadpan.
"I know," she answered, smiling anyway. Her hand rose to pat his head, steady and reassuring. "And you don't have to keep everything to yourself. You're not the only one here who can fix things." Pride colored her tone, light but sincere.
Inari let out a short sound that might have been a laugh. "You have grown," he remarked.
She tapped his forehead gently. "I mean it," she added, expression softening. "You can tell me anything. We're family, aren't we?"
The words struck him like a forgotten name.
Inari's eyes widened, breath hitching as memory surged forward—warm, distant, painfully familiar. The same phrase, spoken long ago. The same promise, once offered with gentle certainty.
For a moment, something inside him trembled.
Not enough to break.
Inari's smile spread wider than before, bright and unguarded, and he nodded once—clear, resolute.
"Yes, Master. Yes, we are."
Xierra did not realize she had been holding her breath until it escaped her all at once. The release left her shoulders slack, her chest lighter, as if something tight and unseen had finally loosened its grip. She had braced herself for anything else—for silence, for deflection, for teasing dismissal. Even laughter would have hurt less than being ignored.
But he answered her.
With certainty. With warmth.
Still, the earlier moments refused to leave her thoughts.
They replayed behind her eyes in sharp fragments: Heath's words cutting through the air, Inari standing frozen, the way his body had gone rigid as if struck somewhere deeper than flesh. He had not dodged. Had not retreated. Had simply taken it.
Was it what Heath said?
The question gnawed at her, persistent and restless. She wanted to ask—wanted to be sure he was all right, wanted to reach into that silence he carried and ease whatever weight pressed so heavily on him. She did not know what shadows followed him, what memories lay sealed behind that composed smile, or what scars time itself had failed to erase.
But she wanted to help.
She wanted to give him even a fraction of the comfort he had offered her so freely.
Not yet, she decided.
When the time comes.
Xierra straightened suddenly and gave a small hop in place, the movement jolting the fox perched on her shoulders. He startled, ears twitching, eyes blinking in confusion.
"Inari," she called, laughter slipping out before she could stop it.
He glanced down at her, curious. "Yes, Master?"
She went quiet again.
The moment stretched—not heavy, but thoughtful. Inari hummed low in his throat, a prompt rather than a push, patiently waiting. Xierra bit the inside of her lip, debating whether to speak at all.
"Master?" he tried again, gentler this time.
She looked up at him and smiled, her expression soft around the edges. Her hand rose, fingers brushing through his fur in a familiar gesture, steady and reassuring.
"I just wanted to say..." Her voice wavered, then settled. "I'll always be here for you, Inari."
The words fell between them, simple and sincere.
I'll always be here for you.
Inari froze.
His breath caught, eyes widening as though the world had tilted beneath him. He shook his head once, sharply, as if grounding himself—confirming that he had truly heard her.
Twice.
Twice in one day, she had unsettled him. Twice, she had dragged memories from the depths he kept sealed, memories he had not dared to touch for centuries.
Those words.
They belonged to another time. Another voice. Another master. Another Whisperer.
They were the promise he had clung to after her disappearance, the fragile thread that had kept him upright through endless decades. They were his strength, his curse, and the tether that stopped him from surrendering entirely to guilt.
Inari inhaled deeply and let the breath spill out slowly and heavily. Then he smiled—wide, genuine—and a quiet laugh slipped past his lips. His tail brushed over Xierra's head, ruffling her hair with deliberate affection.
"You have a way with words, Master," he teased, warmth lacing his tone. "Impressive."
She shot him a glance, then turned her attention to fixing her bangs with an exaggerated huff. "I learned from the best," she replied, a crooked grin tugging at her mouth. Arms crossed, she leaned back just slightly. "I am your master, after all."
Inari nodded, without hesitation.
"Yes," he answered. "Yes, you are."
.
.
.
Late evening crept in without warning, as though the day had grown weary of itself and quietly stepped aside. Time slipped through their fingers—too quick, too cruel. Only hours ago, their lives had balanced on a blade's edge, futures threatened by a single misstep. Now, they stood before a lone grave, freshly formed, its soil dark and unsettled. It belonged to a man who had given everything he had left to shield them.
Above, the sky burned in layered hues—scarlet dissolving into blue, then surrendering to gold steeped in violet. Night waited patiently, arms open.
Xierra and Rhein had never imagined their first mission—what had been labeled a simple patrol—would hollow them out this thoroughly. Mana reserves lay near empty, bodies taxed beyond comfort, minds scraped raw by the closeness of death. They had hovered too near that dividing line, feet skidding as they fought to remain among the living.
Still, Xierra felt no sense of triumph.
Not yet.
Her limbs protested with every movement, muscles trembling as if they might unravel if she dared push further. Pain flared sharply, unforgiving, and she knew it was time—time alone—that had cornered her into this state. Rhein, walking beside her, could only offer a strained laugh, his own condition far kinder in comparison, despite the burns. He stayed close anyway, steadying her whenever her steps faltered.
She hissed through clenched teeth, one hand pressed against her side. "This," she grumbled, "is why I despise physical exertion."
Rhein glanced over. "You despise it? Why?"
"Because if this happens daily, I won't live long enough to regret it." She shot him a look, disbelief written plainly across her face—though she didn't miss the way he subtly supported her weight. "I would like a day off, a stack of books, and an uninterrupted tea session. Immediately."
He laughed, bright and unbothered. "We've only just begun."
"Master," Inari spoke up, padding closer, "would it not be wiser to ride on me? Your legs shake every time you insist on walking."
Rhein hummed in agreement, nodding as he gestured toward the fox. "He's right. Forcing yourself won't get you far." He adjusted his hold, making sure she stayed upright as they moved together, eyes drifting toward the distant shapes of the Black Bull members ahead.
"No. I'm fine. I can manage." Xierra drew in a breath, stubbornness flaring. "I just need time to adjust—whoa!"
Her footing slipped. She reached out instinctively, gripping Rhein and Inari both as a sharp groan escaped her.
"Master," Inari insisted, "please accept the offer."
"And owe you more than three portions of honey-dipped meat?" she snapped weakly. "Absolutely not."
"I'll cover those," Rhein cut in. "Just ride the damn fox already."
"Inari will increase my training if I can't handle this—ah!"
Rhein lifted her with little effort and set her atop Inari's back before she could protest further. He gave a light pat and let out a whistle. "You're lighter than you look. Seriously—do you even eat?"
Her eyes widened. "Excuse you! I eat like any normal human being."
"The evidence disagrees."
"She eats less than one," Inari added bluntly. "Which explains why she rests more during training, collapses faster from exhaustion, and skirts dangerously close to death when pushed."
Xierra turned her face away, cheeks warming. "I just need time. I'll be fine... probably."
"Probably?" Rhein repeated. "That won't cut it."
She finally relented, slumping forward to hug Inari's neck. One hand threaded through his fur, the other hanging loose as her shoulders sagged.
"See?" Rhein planted his hands on his hips, grinning. "That's not so difficult now, is it?"
She responded by blowing a raspberry in his direction.
Ahead, the sky deepened—chrome bleeding into violet—as night prepared to claim the horizon. The sight tugged at something familiar in Xierra's chest. No matter where she stood, the heavens remained unchanged. It reminded her of evenings spent atop the church roof, gazing upward, heart full and quiet.
They reached the Black Bull members and slowed, heads bowing in shared grief. A boy sniffled nearby, shoulders tight with unspoken sorrow.
Xierra closed her eyes as a cool breeze slipped through her hair. She gathered her silver strands and tucked them back, steadying herself before looking forward.
The grave stood modest and hurried, yet it carried the weight of a life that had once burned brightly. A life that had protected. A life that had smiled.
A life gently claimed by time.
The wind moved restlessly through the clearing, tugging at branches and leaves until the trees brushed against one another, their crowns bending and swaying like weary sentinels. It carried something tender beneath its chill—unspoken farewells, promises of endurance, a quiet insistence that even broken things could still grow.
Xierra's brow tightened as her gaze settled on the small figures kneeling at the grave.
Nick—she remembered his name—rested on his knees before the mound of earth with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. It was the kind of smile born from restraint, stretched thin to keep sorrow from spilling over. The soil before him caught the last warmth of the sun, glowing faintly as daylight retreated. A modest tombstone stood at its head, the name carved into its surface still sharp and clean.
Another child knelt beside him.
She clutched a doll to her chest, fingers curled tight around its worn fabric. Her maroon hair, cut into a neat bob, fluttered as the breeze passed. She didn't cry. She only stared, wide-eyed and silent, as if afraid that sound itself might break something irreparable.
Around them, the Magic Knights formed a quiet circle.
Heads bowed. Hands folded. Shoulders drawn stiff with regret. Apologies passed from lip to air in hushed fragments, none of them sufficient, all of them sincere. Faces hardened by battle now carried grief in plain view.
The Black Bulls stood apart, tension coiling in their frames. Unease sat heavy on them—guilt gnawed deep, sharper than any wound. Their task had been simple: escort the wild boars to the old man and work with the lions to patrol. Their first mission had not been meant to end like this.
The Crimson Lion Kings had been assigned to patrol Saussy Village as part of routine rotation—another mark on a long list of duties, another peaceful settlement to check on. Instead, they had arrived at desperation: villagers pressed into the dirt, pleading for survival, their home torn open by violence.
Looking back, the conflict felt endless.
Yet the truth remained—barely half a day had passed. Time had slipped through their grasp, compressing terror and sacrifice into fleeting hours before leaving them here, standing still at its conclusion.
At the end of the day, there was nothing left to offer the fallen man but grief.
No words could reach deep enough to undo what had been lost. No apology could bridge the space he had crossed alone. Still, gratitude remained—quiet, steadfast, unyielding. He had stood his ground until the very end. He had guarded his village, his people, their home, with everything he possessed.
Xierra lowered herself to her knees.
She placed a single flower upon the grave—petals kissed with hues of flaming blue and gold. The spell work shimmered faintly, steady and reverent. It was a craft she had learned at the start of her path, one of the many reasons she had been chosen to walk among the Magic Knights, to wear the mantle of the Crimson Lion Kings.
Without this journey, she realized, she might never have understood grief in its truest form.
Never known regret that cut this deeply.
Never felt sorrow this heavy.
She bowed her head.
"May you rest in peace," Xierra whispered, voice firm despite the ache in her chest. "Seyhe."
.
.
.
"...and that was his only regret," Nick finished, his voice breaking apart between breaths.
His shoulders shook as he hunched forward, hands curling into his clothes as if anchoring himself to the earth beneath him. Tears slid down his cheeks unchecked, darkening the soil where they fell.
Asta tilted his head, brows knitting together. "'Regret'?" he repeated, confusion tugging at his features.
Nick nodded, drawing in a shaky breath as he wiped his face with his sleeve. He forced a small smile, fragile but sincere. "Grandpa always regretted not working harder when he was younger," he explained, another tear escaping despite his effort. "He used to say... if he had tried more back then, things might've been different."
Magna let out a long breath and shut his eyes, jaw tightening as memories pressed in. "Yeah," he answered quietly, the word weighed down by years he didn't speak of. "He did."
Nick sniffed, then lifted his head again. His gaze flicked toward the Magic Knights gathered behind him, lingering on Magna in particular. "But," he added, voice gaining strength, "he was really happy that Magna worked hard for both of them!"
He scrubbed his face one last time, then pushed himself to his feet and turned fully toward Magna. Surprise crossed the older knight's face before easing into something gentler—something warm.
Magna glanced away, staring past the village rooftops and into the darkening horizon. "Yeah," he replied again, this time with a faint curve to his mouth.
Nick turned back to the grave, a wide smile replacing the sorrow that had weighed him down moments before.
"Hey," he called, voice bright as if carried by hope itself, "do you think... I could become a Magic Knight, too?"
He looked over his shoulder, eyes shining as they met Magna's. Dreams swirled there—raw, earnest, unguarded. He no longer clung to grief alone. He had found something new to hold onto.
A future. A dream. An ambition, somewhere, in those star-filled eyes.
Magna's grin spread wide, unrestrained and proud. That spark—that stubborn light—felt familiar. It reminded him of someone reckless and loud, someone who refused to bow, no matter how many times the world tried to crush him.
"Of course you can!" Magna declared, pumping a fist. "Nothing's impossible! Your future's yours to choose—no one else gets a say in it!"
Asta burst into laughter, chest puffing out proudly. "I'm a commoner, and I don't even have magic—and I still made it in!" he announced, beaming. His eyes slid toward Xierra, expectant.
She smiled and stepped forward, crouching until she was level with Nick. She tapped the top of his head lightly with the spine of her grimoire, her expression warm and encouraging.
"I grew up with Asta," she said, voice steady. "I'm a commoner too. And there's another one like us—someone who trained just as hard—now standing in the Golden Dawn."
Nick's eyes went impossibly wide. "The Golden Dawn?!" he exclaimed, wonder spilling through every syllable.
"Yes," Xierra confirmed with a laugh. "The Golden Dawn." Her gaze softened. "Dream boldly. Work harder than anyone else. If you keep moving forward, you'll reach places you never imagined."
Inari hopped down from her shoulders and padded toward Nick, circling him once before sitting. His golden eyes gleamed with something ancient and knowing. "Fate sets paths for us all," he explained, tail swaying. "But it is action that decides where those paths lead."
He hopped up and ruffled Nick's hair with a paw, earning a startled laugh from the boy.
"Give it everything you've got!" Magna added, clapping his hands together with a grin.
Nick laughed—truly laughed—for the first time that evening. His gaze soon drifted toward Xierra before he could stop himself.
She was already watching him—really watching him—with a warmth that reached her eyes before anything else. Her hand lifted, careful and unhurried, and came to rest atop his head. Not a rough ruffle, not a perfunctory tap. Just a steady presence, fingers threading gently through his hair as if she had all the time in the world.
It settled something in his chest.
The feeling reminded him of his grandfather on quiet afternoons, when the sun had dipped low, and the house had felt safe and whole. It reminded him, too, of what he had lost—of Seyhe, gone in a way that would never be undone. The ache was still there, dull and persistent, but it no longer crushed him.
He could carry this. If he focused. If he tried.
Noelle turned her face away just in time to hide the curve threatening her lips. She scoffed, tossing one of her twin tails back with a practiced flick, posture straight as ever.
"Do your best," she offered, voice crisp, as though that was all encouragement ever needed.
Rhein glanced at her from the corner of his eye and gave a faint shake of his head. Still, he didn't correct her. Not when everyone else had already poured their hearts into the moment. He folded his arms and looked at Nick instead, expression easier than usual.
"Once you're in," he added, "you won't be standing alone. Plenty of people will have your back. You'll manage just fine."
His lips quirked. "So—what do you think, kiddo?"
Nick's answer burst out of him before doubt could catch up. "Yeah! I'll do it! I'll definitely do it!!"
The word rang bright and fearless. Behind him, the sun slid closer to the horizon, gilding his small figure in gold until even Xierra had to look away for a second, struck by the sight.
Asta didn't miss his chance.
"By the time you join the Magic Knights," he announced, stepping forward with fire in his eyes, "I'll be working even harder! I'll take on more missions, get stronger, and be even closer to becoming the Wizard King!"
His fist rose skyward, unwavering, his grin so wide it tugged at the corners of his eyes.
Xierra let out a breath that turned into a scoff. She tilted her head, pointing at herself with open challenge written across her face.
"Bold words," she countered. "But don't assume you're alone in that race, Mister."
She crossed her arms, a lazy smile pulling at her mouth. "If you're allowed to work yourself half to death for it, then I don't see why I can't aim for the same throne."
Asta stared at her, stunned.
Inari's laughter sliced through the pause. "Three against one," the fox chimed, tail swishing. "Better work three times—no, four times—harder."
Asta nodded, as if that comment only fueled him. He stepped toward Nick and bumped his fist lightly against the boy's chest, eyes bright with promise.
"We'll be waiting for you."
"All of us are," Xierra amended, drawing her grimoire against her chest with one arm. With the other, she mirrored Asta's gesture, pressing her fist gently to Nick's chest.
"Yes!"
The answer came out solid. Certain.
Xierra liked that.
For all the battles and bruises, for every ache that clung to her bones, she realized she had laughed more today than she had in weeks. What should have been heavy with grief had turned strangely full—overflowing with voices, smiles, and something like hope spilling everywhere it could reach.
Her senses flared a second too late.
Something tore through the air.
Asta's scream split the moment as he bolted forward, hands flailing wildly over his head. "Ow—ow—ow—hey! What's your problem?!" He spun in frantic circles. "You wanna fight, you stupid bird?!"
Xierra retreated without thinking, Nick tucked safely behind her. Her eyes caught the glint in the creature's beak—a small, flickering light that caught the dying sun before dimming as the bird finally settled. An anti-bird, she noticed.
She rested a calming hand on Nick's head, then strode toward Asta.
"Inari," she ordered. "Hold him."
The fox complied instantly.
Asta froze mid-protest.
Xierra waited, breath held, until the anti-bird fluffed its feathers and nestled itself comfortably into Asta's ash-blond hair. It blinked once, then looked at her expectantly.
She stared back, unimpressed. "Would you look at that."
Instinct guided her hand beneath the anti-bird's beak, palm open and steady. Something brushed against her skin—solid, cool, surprisingly light. Not a feather. Not heat.
"A stone?" She wondered aloud.
Inari released Asta without ceremony and vaulted onto Xierra's shoulder, his movements sharp with interest. His eyes widened the instant he saw what rested in her hand. The object caught the dying light, its surface flushed with a faint rose hue, veins of gold sigils carved deep into its body as if pressed there by careful intent. Its edges were uneven, jagged in a way that suggested age rather than damage.
Xierra turned it slightly, letting the light strike it from another angle.
Inari leaned closer, nose nearly brushing her palm. After a long inspection, he straightened and gave a single, decisive nod.
"It's a magic stone, Master," he confirmed. "The one I mentioned before."
Her brows lifted. "Oh?"
Before she could say more, quick footsteps pattered closer.
"That's Grandpa's charm!" Nick announced, bounding over and stretching up on his toes to see better. His eyes shone as he studied it, certainty clear on his face. "Yeah—that's it."
Xierra paused, then lowered her hand and placed the stone into Nick's grasp. He laughed, delighted, and tossed it lightly into the air, only for the anti-bird to snatch it mid-flight.
It zipped back to Asta's head like a homing arrow and resumed its merciless assault.
"Hey! Hey—no! That's important! Give it back!" Asta lunged upward, arms flailing as he tried to reclaim the stone from the bird's beak. "Let go! That's not yours! And stop pecking me while you're at it!"
Xierra winced, brow twitching.
"Here," she cut in, stepping forward. "Let me handle it. You'll end up launching it into the next kingdom at this rate."
"That's cruel!" Asta protested.
She ignored him. Her hand brushed along Inari's back in a brief signal before she reached out toward the anti-bird, voice even, calm, carrying no threat. She promised that there would be no harm, no tricks, and no sudden grabs.
The creature studied her for a long moment.
Until it finally released the stone. It landed neatly in her palm, obedient as before. The anti-bird remained perched where it was, perfectly content—until Asta edged closer again, earning another sharp peck for its trouble.
Xierra sighed. "Asta," she advised, "perhaps give it some space. For your own safety."
"You cursed bird—ow!"
Nick doubled over, laughter bursting from him as he clutched his side. "You can keep it!" he declared between giggles. "I think that bird's chosen it already!"
Xierra turned to him, blinking in surprise. "Are you certain? That belonged to your grandfather."
Nick nodded without hesitation. "Yeah! It's fine. You saved us—this is nothing compared to that!"
Asta froze mid-grumble. "O-Okay then, if you say so..." he managed out, evident confusion etched across his face.
Inari clicked his tongue. "Why are you stammering? It's a gift for the bird, not for your empty head."
"Shut it, fox!"
"I am a fox. Try harder for an insult."
"Argh!"
Xierra struck both of them on the back of the head in one smooth motion, then flicked the stone upward. The anti-bird caught it immediately and settled back into Asta's hair, pleased.
"Enough," she scolded. "You're both being disasters."
Rhein flinched at the sharp sound of impact, then broke into a crooked grin. He turned away quickly, hand covering his mouth as he tried—and failed—to hide his amusement.
"Those... terrifying little eyes..." Noelle muttered, standing frozen with her hands clenching at her sides. She stared at the anti-bird with something dangerously close to delight. Light seemed to sparkle in her rose-colored gaze.
Rhein rubbed his eyes, then stared again. They were still there.
"They're—" Noelle inhaled sharply. "They're adorable...!"
Xierra's laugh slipped out, muffled as she turned her face away.
Rhein, meanwhile, struggled to understand how anyone could find anti-birds fascinating. They were everywhere. Ordinary. Menaces. Little devils in disguises as they peck at unsuspecting civilians with less magic. Absolute monsters with dead stares.
Noelle approached slowly, careful with each step. Her attention never left the bird perched atop Inari's head, stars practically spilling from her eyes.
"You can come over here too," she offered, voice bright with hope.
The anti-bird responded by flying straight back to Asta.
"Ow—ow—ow—what is wrong with my head?!" Asta yelped. "I'm gonna grill you! Why aren't you pecking the fox?!"
"At least the bird has good judgment," Inari remarked, thoroughly entertained. "You have none."
"Why you—!"
"Maybe it just doesn't like you," Xierra added, dry.
"What?! Why?! And stop pecking me already!"
To Be Continued...