The battle stretched on with a stubborn cruelty, each passing moment demanding more than the last.
What began as a clash of wills slowly transformed into a war of attrition. Mana weighed heavily in the air, thick and suffocating, as though the land itself struggled to breathe beneath the strain. Heath's magic showed no sign of thinning; it surged again and again, relentless, unfaltering. The sheer consistency of it gnawed at the Magic Knights' nerves, whispering the same dreadful thought into all their minds—that his reserves might truly be endless.
Asta clicked his tongue, irritation sharp despite the fatigue creeping into his limbs. His movements remained fierce, but the repetition began to carve grooves into his focus. Heath's attacks no longer came in familiar lines. They fractured, adapted, spread—each variation forcing Asta to react anew, to think faster while his body begged for reprieve.
"Does his energy ever dry up...?" Rhein muttered, the words slipping free before he could stop them. He shook his head, heat radiating from his skin in uneven waves as he rubbed at his arms. The idea alone unsettled him. "That's horrifying."
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Magna grinning wildly at Noelle, lips moving too fast to decipher. Magna bounced in place like a spark refusing to settle, energy bursting from him in sharp, restless pulses. Noelle, framed by the immense curve of her water dome, stood firm—shoulders squared, jaw set, magic unwavering despite the visible drain etched into her posture.
Rhein scanned the battlefield again.
Xierra was gone.
She had slipped from view without a trace, swallowed by fog and chaos alike. Even as Rhein darted through falling shards and blistering blasts—burns painting angry streaks along his shoulders and arms—she did not reappear. He had stopped caring about his robe long ago, watching the scorched fabric crumble away in silent surrender.
"Hey—move outa the way!!" Magna shouted suddenly, waving frantically. His eyes snapped from Heath back to Rhein. "He's aiming at you!"
"Of course he is," Rhein groaned.
He threw himself forward just as a jagged shard tore through the space his legs had occupied. Pain flared as he collided with a dried tree trunk, bark splintering beneath the impact. He sucked in a breath, forced himself upright, and bolted back toward the dome as the remaining fragments vanished into the roaring mass above them.
From her concealed vantage point, Xierra watched him stumble in—and snickered quietly.
"I probably shouldn't laugh," she whispered.
"Good. At least you're self-aware," Inari replied, his amusement curling warmly through her thoughts.
"Check a mirror when we get back," she muttered.
"Oh? But I am effortlessly magnificent. Once a day is sufficient."
"You're unbearable."
"I simply appreciate myself, Master."
"...Good to know," she mocked, a crooked smile tugging at her lips before fading as her attention returned to Heath.
He paced restlessly now, irritation bleeding through his movements. The glow around him flickered—not failing, but faltering, just enough to be noticed.
Her gaze shifted.
Asta had slipped from the dome.
He moved carefully, body coiled tight, sword clenched like a promise he refused to break. His eyes burned with unwavering resolve. Xierra had never seen that light dim—not once. Even now, exhaustion clawing at him, it burned brighter than the mist around them.
He always fought.
The realization settled quietly in her chest, heavy and tender all at once. Asta hurled himself forward again, fury tightening his expression, emotions surfacing that he rarely allowed to show. It stirred something deep within her—an ache, a vow, a silent wish to shield him from burdens he refused to lay down.
Her breath left her slowly.
The weight on her shoulders shifted.
Inari appeared beside her, having left the villagers to Noelle and Magna's care. He perched comfortably, tail swaying as he surveyed the scene below with keen eyes.
"He's about to charge again," Inari observed. "Are you ready to conclude your performance, Master?"
Xierra huffed softly, lowering her voice as distant movement rustled through the fog. She nodded toward Asta. "You know him. He won't stop until they fall."
A thoughtful hum escaped Inari. "You've changed," he said after a pause. "In a single day."
She glanced at him. His posture was loose, untroubled—calm amidst the storm.
"You mean me?" she asked.
"You adapt swiftly," he continued, pride threading his words. "And I find myself increasingly unprepared for the day you no longer need me."
Xierra blinked.
Then she scoffed and reached up, pinching his cheek firmly. "Don't say strange things," she said. "You're stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not. It's your fault now that I'm attached to you, Inari."
Inari's gaze flickered—back to her, then to Asta. A soft sigh escaped him, followed by a quiet laugh that vibrated faintly against her shoulders. His tail came to rest atop her head, warm and steady.
She frowned. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing," he replied gently. "You're correct, Master."
His paw brushed her forehead, and he leaned closer, voice dropping low. "I made a vow."
She stiffened.
"To protect you," he whispered, "until my final breath."
She shoved his face away at once, scowling. "Stop talking so close. Your breath stinks."
Inari gasped, scandalized. "It does not!"
"I'm stating facts."
Their bickering faded beneath the roar of battle—but something quieter lingered beneath it.
There were parts of that vow he never spoke aloud.
Xierra wondered, not for the first time, if he would have looked at her the same way had she been anyone else. If she had not carried the crescent grimoire. If fate had not bound them together by power and circumstance.
Would he still tease her? Laugh with her? Stay?
Forever, until his dying breath, like he promised her?
The thought settled gently, unresolved—like a seed tucked beneath the soil, waiting.
Growing.
"Now," Inari began, his gaze never leaving Asta's advancing figure, "we return to what truly matters."
Xierra felt the words settle into her bones.
There were answers she longed for—questions she carried quietly, carefully, as though speaking them aloud might shatter something fragile between them. She wanted to hear them from him. Wanted him to say them without riddles, without half-smiles or veiled promises.
But not yet.
Some truths demanded patience.
Her attention shifted forward, eyes tracing the battlefield with sharpened focus. "Looks like he's ready," she said, thoughtful rather than surprised, a faint tilt to her head as she observed Asta's stance. There was no hesitation in him—only intent, honed and burning.
The beast has been waiting.
The voice returned, threading itself through her awareness.
Waiting to answer violence with violence. Waiting to bite back.
Its presence pulsed with restless anticipation, an almost feral eagerness that grew louder with every clash of steel and spell. Xierra did not recoil from it. Instead, she listened, steadying it—guiding it—like one might calm a blade trembling before the strike.
As Asta tore through the mist-choked undergrowth, boots pounding over roots and shattered stone, Heath faltered.
It happened in a breath.
A single moment where calculation failed him.
His eyes widened—not in fear, but in disbelief—as Asta closed the distance. The scarred man reached for his mana out of habit, instinct screaming for a counter spell, but nothing answered. What remained of his reserves slipped through his grasp like water through clenched fingers.
Too late.
A glimmer cut through the haze.
Silver, fine as threading light, slicing cleanly past debris and drifting smoke. It shimmered with quiet purpose, catching the eyes of those who knew how rare such chances were.
The sky itself seemed to respond.
Azure brilliance fractured into molten gold as opportunity revealed itself—brief, merciless. One mistake here would undo everything they had endured.
Xierra inhaled.
And made her choice.
"Rhein—now!"
The world answered her command.
Crimson and gold erupted in tandem, flames twisting into articulated chains that surged forward with violent grace. They raced alongside Asta, matching his momentum stride for stride, heat roaring without consuming.
At the last instant—just before the fire kissed the bridge of Heath's nose—it split.
Vanished.
Then reappeared behind him.
The earth screamed as the spell drove itself downward, carving deep into the soil. Light flared in response, sprawling outward in concentric circles etched with intricate sigils. They glowed faintly at first, a subdued amber—then intensified, bleaching the ground in brilliant white.
The symbols awakened.
Lines rotated. Patterns aligned. Mana flowed.
Asta felt it before he could understand what was happening.
The circles answered him, granting swiftness that tore breath from his lungs as he accelerated beyond his limits. The mist parted violently as he surged forward, motion blurring into something almost unreal.
Fire pillars rose at the perimeter—towering, unyielding—hemming the robed figures in with ruthless precision. The circles slowed, reversed, then locked into place, sealing Heath and his men within their design.
Exactly as planned.
Xierra exhaled a low whistle, heart racing—not from fear, but exhilaration. The magic circle thrummed beneath her feet, alive and obedient. She hadn't expected the speed enhancement to take so seamlessly, let alone prove this effective.
"Huh," she murmured. "Good thing I trusted my instincts."
Asta didn't slow.
The pillars parted for him like silk curtains, flames bending away as he passed through. There was no pain. No resistance.
As he burst from the fire, he spared one glance upward—toward the clouds, toward the place where his strength had been forged long before today. Then he swung. The force of it split the air itself.
"You've got enough magic to join the Magic Knights." Heath's voice rang through the air—fierce, relentless, like a tax collector who refused to stop pounding on doors. "Don't you?"
Asta remembered Heath's words with cruel clarity.
They lodged themselves into the depths of his mind, sank beneath the skin of his thoughts, and stayed there. They were pressed tight against bone and marrow, scraping again and again until that ugly, restless ache bloomed behind his eyes. Every syllable carried weight. Every doubt was sharpened and driven deeper, until it felt carved into him rather than merely recalled.
You've got enough magic to join the Magic Knights.
The memory burned.
Burned so hard it turned black.
Burned so hard it stung his eyes.
Burned so hard that it felt like the sun was beside him.
And Asta did what he always did when the world pressed too close, when it demanded answers he did not have the luxury to soften.
He shouted.
His emotions tore free from his chest, raw and unfiltered, cracking the air with their force. He had never learned how to hold himself gently. He had never wanted to.
But this time—this time, the fury bit harder.
"I don't have any magical powers!!"
The declaration split the moment wide open.
His sword followed the truth of it, its edge gliding forward with ruthless certainty. The flat of the blade struck Heath square in the chest, driving him back with a brutal shove, boots skidding across frost-bitten earth.
"But I'm still gonna take you out!!"
Heath's breath left him in a harsh rasp. Blood welled up and spilled from his mouth, staining his robes in deep, violent crimson—so close in color to the proud red worn by the Crimson Lion Kings that the resemblance felt almost mocking.
From the side, Rhein let out a low, breathless laugh.
"What a sight," he murmured, admiration curling into his tone like smoke.
High above them, Xierra exhaled sharply through her nose and nodded once, acknowledging Rhein's satisfaction with a huff that carried equal parts relief and tension. Her boots scraped faintly against the rooftop stone as she shifted her stance, eyes never leaving the battlefield below.
"Lord Heath!" the remaining men cried out.
Their magic collapsed mid-cast, spells dissolving into nothing as panic overtook discipline. They rushed forward, boots pounding against the frozen ground, crowding around where Heath staggered before finally sinking. The earth beneath him was unyielding—cold, unforgiving, indifferent to status or command.
"Stupidsta!" The shout rang out, frantic and sharp. Magna's voice cracked as he leaned forward, hands clenched tight enough to tremble.
"He—he did it? Did it work? Did they actually—?" Noelle's words tumbled out in a rush, her gaze flicking between Asta and the glowing sigils etched beneath Xierra's feet. Her attention lingered on the magic circle, on the faintly pulsing lines that had carried Asta forward like a promise made real.
Hope hovered.
Then shattered.
Heath's lips curled upward, slow and deliberate, even as blood streaked his chin.
A sudden chill surged beneath Asta's feet.
A slab of silver-white ice erupted from the ground, catching him mid-motion and stealing away the momentum Xierra had lent him. The force halted him so abruptly that his boots scraped uselessly against the frozen surface.
"Wh—?!"
Xierra shot to her feet, the movement sharp enough to disturb the air around her. Her brows knit together as frustration flared hot and bright across her features.
"All spells should be eliminated when placed on that circle," she said, more to herself than anyone else. Her fingers curled at her sides as she searched for the flaw, the missing thread in the tapestry she had woven so carefully and neatly.
Her voice wavered at the end.
Then fell quiet.
Inari's gaze remained steady, unreadable as ever.
"He found a way around it," he said calmly. "A magic circle like that exists in recorded texts. It wouldn't surprise me if he studied it. But countering such an old technique so quickly..."
He trailed off, thoughtful.
The chunk of silver ice hovered several inches above the glowing sigils, suspended in defiance. It refused to touch the circle, as though instinct alone warned it away.
Heath straightened, rolling his shoulders as if the wound in his chest were nothing more than an inconvenience.
"Though your sword can negate magic," he said, voice smooth despite the blood, "you remain nothing more than an ordinary human." His eyes flicked upward, glinting with sharp recognition. "I'm very impressed. To think one of you knows how to use magic circles—knowledge long buried."
He stepped closer to Asta, boots crunching against frost.
"Unfortunately," he continued, "they can only be neutralized at their source. And I have no way of reaching your little friend on the roof."
His gaze lifted.
It landed squarely on Xierra.
She flinched before she could stop herself.
A crooked smile tugged at her lips, tension making it twitch unnaturally as she met his stare. Her eyes darted—calculating, wary.
So he knew.
"He's strong, Master," Inari said quietly. "At this point, it's no longer surprising."
"...You're right." Xierra bit down on her lower lip, mind racing. Strategies rose and fell in rapid succession, each weighed for cost and consequence. She had one real advantage left—and she knew it. Anything beyond that would demand risks she wasn't willing to take. Not like this.
"Inari," she called.
"Yes, Master."
He leapt from her shoulder with a smooth, practiced motion. When his eyes opened, they gleamed chrome-bright, reflecting the sigils beneath them. Mana rippled outward as another enhancement settled over Asta, steadying his stance and bolstering his strength.
Inari examined him briefly, gaze sharp as a blade, before turning back.
"I may not be able to cast more spells," Xierra said, one brow lifting with quiet confidence. A grin crept onto her face, clearly amused by the way Inari's ears twitched. "But that doesn't mean the same applies to you."
She straightened, shoulders squared. "Your existence comes from my mana. But the techniques you use don't."
Understanding dawned across Inari's expression.
"So you've realized it," he said, letting out a small, nervous chuckle as he looked away. "Sometimes I wish you weren't so quick."
"What was that?" Xierra asked sweetly.
"...Nothing important, Master."
She hummed, suspicion flickering briefly before she let it fade. Her attention drifted back down to Heath, blue eyes sharpening.
He was watching her closely now.
Listening.
If she was willing to expose the inner workings of her magic so openly, then there had to be something else—something concealed beneath those sleeves, something waiting.
"I see," Heath said at last. He adjusted his stance and flipped through his grimoire, pages whispering eagerly beneath his fingers. "If that's the case, then it's my turn."
"Let's test that," Xierra replied.
She mirrored him, placing her grimoire beside her and rifling through its pages with quick, precise movements. She stopped abruptly, finger landing on a neatly inscribed spell.
"Inari!" she called.
The black-furred fox leapt from the rooftop.
He appeared before Asta in a blink.
Time seemed to stutter as Inari placed a single paw against the hovering ice. The world held its breath—then resumed.
The silver spike shattered instantly, splintering into harmless fragments. Inari seized Asta by the back of his shirt with his fangs and yanked him clear, depositing him safely behind the circle.
"You're a troublesome kid," Inari muttered.
"S-Sorry," Asta managed, breathless.
Inari scoffed. "As you should."
"Watch out, behind you—!!" Xierra's warning cut through the air, sharp and urgent, but it arrived a heartbeat too late.
Something burst forth from the shadows behind Asta, striking him squarely and stealing the breath from his lungs. The impact folded him in on himself, a harsh, broken cough tearing from his throat as his body lurched forward.
Inari's eyes widened.
He sprang back on instinct, claws scraping uselessly against the ground as Asta slipped just beyond his reach. The space between them felt impossibly wide in that moment—too wide.
A low growl crawled out of Inari's chest, thick with warning and barely restrained fury.
His tail lashed outward, wrapping around Asta's torso mid-fall. The movement was swift yet careful, coiling like living silk to soften the impact before Asta could meet the ground. Even then, the force rattled through him, leaving his limbs slack and unresponsive.
Inari snapped his head toward Heath, chrome eyes flashing as he searched for the next strike.
One wrong move. That was all it would take.
Another blow came without mercy—from the side this time. It struck Inari hard enough to send both him and Asta skidding several meters back. Pain bloomed hot and sharp along Inari's flank, blood darkening the fur near an already-open wound. Asta was flung further still, rolling across the fractured earth before coming to a stop with a pained groan.
Inari spared him a glance.
Just one.
Then he lowered himself onto all fours, shoulders rising and falling as his breath fogged the chilled air. His fur clung damply to his skin, weighed down by frost and blood alike.
"...Unexpected," he admitted, voice tight.
His eyes sharpened, pupils narrowing into thin slits as a guttural snarl vibrated through his chest. His ears flicked back at the sound of Xierra's voice—his name whispered at first, then spoken louder as fear crept in despite her efforts to mask it.
That tone.
The way her brows drew together, the strain she tried so desperately to hide.
It reminded him of her.
Perhaps that was why he had never been able to treat Xierra with the same cold distance he reserved for humans. From the very beginning, something about her had unsettled that instinct. He remembered the moment clearly—standing atop the old church roof, bathed in the warmth of an afternoon sun not yet ready to dip below the horizon. That day lingered in his mind, untouched by time.
Heath's gaze slid from Asta's unmoving form to Inari's tense silhouette.
The shift was subtle, but unmistakable.
He was assessing him. That the fox was no longer just a nuisance—that he was a threat worth remembering. Worth killing. Inari carried enough power to erase every man present in a single, merciless sweep.
And yet—
He didn't.
For reasons known only to his master, Inari had never been told to unleash destruction. Even in his true form, even with strength that could drown the battlefield in silence, he remained where he was.
Obedient.
Restrained.
It was almost as though he did not want his freedom.
Almost like a dog leashed by an imaginary chain.
"You..." Heath murmured, eyes finally narrowing as he watched Inari bristle, a hiss curling around his words. The oppressive aura bleeding from the fox made Heath's breath hitch before realization struck him fully. His voice dropped lower. "You're one of them, aren't you...?"
Inari answered with a deeper, resonant bellow.
He hadn't expected humans to remember. He hadn't expected their enemy to know.
He had never spoken of his kind—never shared their origins, their names, their fate. Beyond his first master, the one who had taken him and his kin in. It was so long ago, humanity had all but erased them from memory.
And yet, Heath's words cut too close.
They carried knowledge.
Knowledge Inari did not welcome.
"I never thought I'd see one of those... beings," Heath continued quietly, ensuring the exchange remained between them. Fear still lingered in his eyes, but it twisted—warping into something darker. A restrained smile tugged at his lips, bright as false dawn after endless night.
Hope.
Inari recoiled inwardly.
He hated that look.
"...They're not extinct yet, are they?"
The words landed cleanly. Too cleanly.
—bullseye.
Inari flinched. The air around him seemed to tighten, as though the world itself had drawn a careful breath. His gaze sharpened—lethal, luminous—but beneath the sheen of chrome, doubt lingered like a hairline fracture in glass.
"They are still here," Heath said calmly, his earlier grin discarded as easily as a shed skin. "Hiding in the shadows. Far from human eyes."
Confidence wrapped every word.
It was no longer a guess for Heath, the longer he observed Inari's reactions.
His stare locked onto Inari's, the cold blue of his irises overwhelming the fox's once-warm gold without hesitation, without mercy. There was no wavering in Heath's gaze—only certainty, as though he had reached into a truth long buried and pulled it back into the light.
Inari took a step back.
It was small. Almost imperceptible.
But Xierra saw it.
She had just returned to the center of the dome when it happened, boots touching down against the etched ground with careful precision. Her breath caught as she noticed the shift, confusion flaring sharp and immediate.
Why was he retreating? Was something wrong? Amiss?
Her eyes flicked between them—Inari and Heath—watching mouths move, expressions tighten, but no sound reached her. Whatever words were exchanged dissolved before they could cross the distance. Her mind-reading magic reached outward on instinct and met nothing but static, slipping uselessly through the air.
Distance.
That was the flaw.
Barriers rarely hindered her, but distance paired with isolation rendered her powerless. In that moment, she was no mage of ancient craft, no Magic Knight with honed instincts—just a girl locked out of a conversation she needed to hear.
Her brows drew together, a deep crease forming as unease pooled in her chest.
She studied Inari instead.
The tremor in his hind legs.
The way his eyes widened—not solely with rage, but fear.
The bared fangs, stripped of restraint.
Her teeth ground together.
She couldn't help him. The realization tasted bitter.
Inari had always deflected her questions, redirecting them with humor or silence, yet he had never once failed her. He stayed. He protected. He followed without demanding more than her presence beside him. Her closest companion.
And now, when he stood on the edge of something old and terrible, she could do nothing.
Helplessness clawed at her ribs.
She wanted to act—to return what she had never asked for but had desperately needed. The warmth he offered so freely. The gentle patience beneath his sharp tongue. The crooked grin whenever he teased her, the steady guidance hidden behind his chaos.
Without him, she would not be here. Standing. Tired, battered, but alive.
That truth settled heavily as the moment stretched, time slowing to a crawl. Xierra's clear blue eyes reflected the sudden flash of silver as shards of ice tore through the air toward Inari.
Heath's voice rang out, sharp and commanding, his spell carried loudly for all to hear. One hand thrust forward, the other trailing his grimoire as power surged.
"Ice Magic: Heavenly Ice Fang."
The spell roared to life.
It was as though another beast had risen to bare its teeth.
Xierra froze.
Sound abandoned her entirely. Her lungs locked mid-breath, a tight knot forming in her throat as dread overturned her stomach. She could already see it—Inari standing still, not because he couldn't evade, but because he didn't need to.
Physically, he could destroy the spikes with ease.
Mentally—
He was somewhere else.
Lost in a place where old nightmares replayed without mercy. Where wounds etched into his heart had never healed. Where memories he longed to return to remained unreachable, slipping through his grasp like smoke.
"Stop it," Xierra whispered, denial trembling through her voice. She stepped forward despite herself, head shaking as though refusing to accept the image unfolding before her. "Why aren't you moving, Inari?!"
Heath's grin burned itself into her vision.
And when his eyes met hers—
Xierra surged forward.
"May you sleep... for eternity."
.
.
.
Heath walked past them as if they were already forgotten.
Asta lay sprawled across the ruined ground, breath shallow and uneven. Inari's body rested not far from him, unmoving, fur dulled by frost and blood alike. Heath did not spare them a glance as he strode onward, robes whispering against the air.
Xierra's glare chased him, white-hot and shaking, teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached. She screamed their names until her throat burned, until the sound tore itself raw from her chest.
"Wake up!" she cried.
Arms wrapped around her from behind, pinning her in place before she could break free and run to them. She thrashed instinctively, desperation lending her strength she didn't know she had.
"Wake up—!" Her voice cracked. "Wake up...! Inari!!"
"Calm yourself, Xierra!" Rhein strained, grunting as she fought against his hold. He adjusted his grip carefully, refusing to tighten it further, fear flickering through him that he might hurt her—or be pulled down with her. "Don't fall for it. Please. They'll be fine. They've always been fine before."
Her breathing came in ragged bursts, each exhale blooming white in the frozen air. A cough shook her shoulders, and Rhein placed a tentative hand against her trembling frame, sweat slicking his palm despite the cold.
"Don't worry," he said more quietly. "If you fall apart too, then we'll be left with nothing but three people to defend everyone here."
"Right..." Xierra murmured, the word fragile as spun glass.
She lowered her head, fingers pinching her cheek lightly—as if grounding herself through pain alone might help. "Right. You're right. What am I thinking..."
She drew in a long, shuddering breath, lips pressed tight as she closed her eyes. For a moment, she forced everything else away—the noise, the fear, the weight threatening to cave her in.
When her eyes opened again, the tears were gone.
Only her glare remained, sharp and unyielding.
Helplessness still coiled in her chest, hateful and thick, but she swallowed it down when she saw Inari's body twitch—struggling, trying to rise. Her lower lip trembled, teeth sinking into it hard enough to sting, and she forced herself to step back instead of forward.
She wanted to run to him.
Just as he always ran to her.
She wanted to shield him, the way he had shielded her countless times—without question, without hesitation.
Inari had been there from the very beginning.
The memory returned unbidden: his conflicted stillness, the moment he failed to evade an attack he could have shattered without effort. The question clawed at her mind again, relentless.
Why didn't he dodge?
Her gaze never left him—or Asta—as she searched for answers in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. Heath halted suddenly, and Xierra stiffened, nerves screaming as she tried to read his intent.
Would he attack again?
Finish them?
Take them as leverage?
Her foot tapped once against the stone, restless and sharp.
Beside her, Rhein noticed. He held back a sigh, following her line of sight to Inari's fallen form. He remembered the guilt that had crossed her face earlier—how it lingered even now. Xierra had never been good at explaining herself, but he understood enough not to fault her.
There was nothing to blame her for.
They watched in tense silence as the ice spikes that had felled Inari and Asta crumbled away at Heath's simple nod, dissolving into harmless shards. He closed his eyes, voice calm and measured.
"That spell holds immense magical power," he said. "But it is only a matter of time."
Noelle clenched her teeth, frustration tightening her features. She drew a nearby child into her arms, holding them close as if her warmth alone could protect them. No matter what they tried—no matter how fiercely they resisted—the enemies rose again and again.
Children scattered toward parents, guardians, siblings—any familiar presence to cling to. Whispers of fear and half-formed prayers filled the air.
Xierra crouched down as small hands grasped the scorched hems of her robe, sobbing. She offered them a quiet melody, soft and steady, her voice weaving comfort into the cold. Gentle words followed, paired with a faint smile, and slowly—hesitantly—the children wiped their tears.
Rhein watched her, brows drawn together.
"This is awful," he muttered under his breath, gaze sweeping across the frightened crowd. "What did they ever do to deserve something like this...?"
Xierra glanced at Rhein from where she crouched, her hands still occupied—threading gently through smaller fingers, grounding frightened children in the warmth of human touch. She forced the crease from her brow, shaking away the storm of thoughts pounding against her chest.
"That," she sighed, eyes fixed on a child's tentative smile, "we don't know."
The smile bloomed wider at her attention, and something in her chest eased. She mirrored it, letting a playful grin tug at her lips as she teased them lightly, voice warm despite the cold pressing in around them.
"But we'll figure it out," she added, steady and sure, "once we stop this fight."
One by one, she released the children, palms brushing their backs in quiet reassurance. They scampered away toward the others, voices overlapping as they proudly declared that the knights were protecting them.
Xierra inhaled deeply.
The unease crept back almost immediately.
She took another breath—then another—exhaling slowly as she pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heart to settle. Her gaze lifted, sweeping across the battlefield with careful precision.
Asta. Inari.
Her eyes found where they had fallen.
Heath stood behind them, positioned just far enough away to strike again if he wished, his presence like a blade poised above their throats. The magic circles she had anchored earlier remained fixed in place, glowing stubbornly against the trampled ground—even as his men slipped free, retreating one by one.
...All right.
She brought both hands up and slapped her cheeks lightly, the sting sharpening her focus. Squaring her shoulders, she faced the dome again.
Time to rethink our plan.
The sigils responded.
The glowing circles shifted, crawling outward as though alive, reorienting themselves around the water dome. The pillars of flame that once caged Heath and his followers guttered out—not extinguished, but evaporated as they brushed against Noelle's spell.
Above them, the water dragon roared.
Whirlpools spiraled downward, but instead of crashing into the dome, they fused with it—thickening the barrier, doubling its strength. Fire coiled around the vault of blue, forming a blazing ring that crowned their shelter.
Confusion rippled through the air.
"W-What is happening...?"
"Why is it moving?!"
Heath watched in silence.
The villagers' whispers, his men's startled murmurs, the mounting questions clawing at his own mind—none of it escaped him. Yet there was nothing he could do. The magic circles refused to yield so long as their source remained standing, breathing, and clearly intent on hunting him down.
Xierra saw everything.
The way his fingers twitched. The glances he cast toward his robed men. The subtle flip of grimoire pages as his lips moved in soundless chants.
If he failed to dismantle the circles soon, they would turn on him. Her instincts whispered a warning—his priority would shift. Not the villagers. Not even the battlefield.
Her.
Rhein's eyes narrowed. He recognized that look far too well.
"You're not planning on committing suicide again, are you?" he asked dryly, hands braced against his hips. The bite in his tone barely masked the worry beneath. "Why are you so eager to throw yourself away? You've got three others here with you. Use us, will you?"
Xierra wiped her damp palms against her robes and glanced at him, mouth parting to respond—
A chill slammed into the air.
Heath's glare swept over them, sharp enough to steal breath, cold enough to bore into bone. The weight of it pressed down, merciless and suffocating. If looks could kill, they would have fallen a thousand times over.
"I see," Heath said evenly, "that you've seen through my actions, Magic Knight."
Xierra snapped her head toward him, surprise flashing across her face.
His icy eyes met her bright blue ones, frost creeping into their depths as winter's bite took hold. He saw it then—the simmering anger, the unwavering resolve. Red and blue entwined where they should not have, clashing yet unyielding.
He exhaled slowly, white mist curling before his lips.
"That doesn't matter," he continued. "I should be able to open an entrance. One large enough for a single person."
"'Open an entrance'...?" Xierra echoed, disbelief flickering across her features.
Rhein's eyes widened as his breath fogged visibly in front of him. He followed Heath's gaze upward, dread coiling tight in his stomach.
"He's... freezing it...?" Rhein muttered, voice wavering as Heath advanced, frost already creeping where water had once flowed freely. His throat tightened at the thought of being sealed inside the dome with him, air growing thinner by the second. "That man's fucking insane."
Heath did not look back.
"It should take," he said calmly, "about twenty-five seconds."
Tick. Tock.
Smaller shards of ice began to take shape at Heath's side, each fragment sharpening itself with quiet intent. They rotated slowly, deliberately, their pointed ends aligning toward the dome like teeth finding their mark. Heath's hand hovered just above the water's surface, the air around it trembling as pale fog seeped outward, swallowing warmth and sound alike.
Tick. Tock.
On the opposite end, Xierra watched the wall of water betray its nature.
What had once moved like a living tide—deep blues folding into one another—grew rigid. Silver crept across its surface, stealing the ocean's depth and replacing it with a cold, metallic sheen. The transparency that once allowed her to meet Heath's gaze clouded over, ice sealing sight and certainty behind its frozen skin.
Tick. Tock.
The ticking of Heath's watch echoed inside the dome, unnaturally loud. Each measured sound struck like a hammer against their nerves, dragging his words back to the forefront of their minds.
Twenty-five seconds.
Tick. Tock.
"You lot seem to greatly enjoy wasting my time," Heath said lightly, almost bored. "You'll pay a heavy price for that."
Xierra steadied herself.
Inside her mind, chaos roared—thoughts overlapping, emotions colliding, voices blurring into one relentless current. It wasn't just noise. It was them.
Fear, coiled tight.
Expectations, trembling on the edge.
Despair, heavy and suffocating.
Hope—faint, but still breathing.
She heard it all.
I don't have much power left. But I have to fight.
Magna ground his teeth, fists clenching as he forced his stance into readiness. Cold air scraped his lungs as he exhaled, fire magic sputtering under the weight of frost. His shoulders shook despite himself.
Fire and ice.
Red and blue. Red and blue. Red and blue.
"In terms of magical attributes," Xierra said, voice calm despite the storm inside her, "we still have the upper hand." She glanced briefly at the older Magic Knight beside her before turning her gaze back to Heath, rubbing her arms against the cold. "But he has enough power to twist that advantage against us."
"So," Magna muttered, lowering his head while keeping his eyes forward, "we won't make it."
The words settled between them.
Xierra nodded—slowly, reluctantly.
Rhein let out a strained grin, nerves and pain threading through the expression. The cold gnawed at his wound for reasons he couldn't explain, sweat slipping down his chin despite the freezing air. His thoughts spiraled toward every locked-door ending he could imagine.
"This'll take a while—h-hey! What are you doing?!"
"I'm—not done yet!!"
Xierra's head snapped toward where Asta had fallen.
He wasn't there.
Instead, she saw him midair—leaping behind Heath, sword raised high, grip tight with reckless resolve.
"Asta!!"
For a breathless moment, it looked possible.
Then fate turned its face away.
Heath glanced over his shoulder. "Too slow."
The spell left his lips effortlessly.
Ice tore upward from the ground in a violent bloom, impaling the space Asta occupied and flinging him aside like a broken doll. His body struck the earth hard. A violent cough followed, crimson splattering against frostbitten stone as blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.
The sheer size of the ice spikes crushed what courage remained.
Eyes widened. Words died unspoken.
Hope plunged.
Was this what despair felt like?
It wasn't sharp. It wasn't loud. It was empty. Tasteless. Even the blood lingering on their tongues carried no flavor, as though sensation itself had abandoned them.
Magna collapsed to his knees.
His hands fell uselessly at his sides, shaking. His lips parted, but nothing came out—no sound, no breath. Fear finally stripped him bare, leaving him small and helpless beneath the frozen sky.
He didn't want to admit it.
But victory was nowhere to be seen. It was nowhere near their grasp.
"Why are you on your knees...?" Xierra murmured.
Her bangs shadowed her eyes as she looked down at him. Behind her, she could hear the children—soft, broken sounds of muffled sobs and quiet terror.
"You can't just give up! Senior Magna!"
Wasn't that what Asta always screamed about?
Her gaze snapped back to him—to the boy being struck down again and again.
Why aren't you standing back up?
Why didn't you hold your ground?
Her teeth clenched.
This wasn't how she saw him. This ending didn't belong to the boy who burned too bright to bow to despair.
"Asta's risking his life for us," she said sharply, turning her glare on Magna. "And you're here—on your knees—giving up?!"
The crease between her brows deepened.
"I'm not having that," she continued, voice firm. "I won't accept it."
She flung her grimoire open.
Mana surged weakly at first, then violently as she dragged every last fragment she had left to the surface—forcing it, ignoring the way her body screamed in protest.
Pain lanced through her veins.
She welcomed it.
"I won't accept the fate," Xierra declared, voice ringing clear through the dome, "where we all die like this!"
To Be Continued...