"Huh...?" Asta's voice cut through the narrow passage, edged with worry sharp enough to scrape stone.
Xierra stood a step apart from him, her posture unbroken. Confusion stirred behind her eyes, pale and shifting, yet panic never found purchase. The alley pressed in around them—brickwork darkened by age, dust clinging to old mortar, the air carrying the scent of rust and damp parchment.
Sekke lay sprawled across the ground like a fallen prop from a stage play, and though Xierra had never held much fondness for the man, abandoning an injured Magic Knight did not sit well with her conscience.
...Oh, am I dying...?
I think I just saw... an angel...
The thoughts drifted into her awareness, thin and wavering, tinged with unnecessary drama. Xierra exhaled through her nose. That was where this was headed.
She knelt beside Sekke with quick intent, skirts brushing dust and scattered pebbles. His thoughts fluttered wildly, far louder than his condition warranted, yet she listened all the same, weighing each impression with care.
Sekke's lips parted, breath shallow, his gaze unfocused as though he were staring through her instead of at her. "I once aspired for greatness..." he began, voice thin but deliberate. "Aiming... for the top..."
"Harrrrrr!!" Asta's shout burst forth, filling the alley with frantic energy. He seized Sekke by the shoulders, shaking him with raw strength and very little sense. "Har Dude! Sekke!! Stay with me! Don't die on me!!"
"Asta," Xierra snapped, reaching out. "Do not shake him like that."
"But he's dying!"
"Then shaking him is the worst possible idea!" Her irritation flashed bright. She lifted her hand and struck the top of Asta's head with a clean, unhesitating chop.
"Ow—!!" Asta recoiled, hands flying back to his own scalp.
Freed from Asta's grip, Sekke wheezed, coughing as if offended by the interruption. His hand crept upward, fingers snagging the hem of Asta's black robe. In the muddle of his fading awareness, a reluctant thought surfaced.
I'd really rather not entrust it... to this guy... but...
His gaze drifted back to Xierra. She met it squarely, unimpressed, her expression unreadable save for a faint crease between her brows. The moment stretched before Sekke shifted again, turning toward Asta with a trembling breath.
"You're the one who bested me..." His words slid out unevenly. "You'll reach the top... for me too. I entrust my dream... to you...!"
The declaration landed heavily, soaked in false finality and genuine hope all at once.
Xierra pinched the bridge of her nose, already weary. Inari, curled near her ankles, mimicked the gesture with an exaggerated droop of his head, his tail brushing dust back and forth by Sekke's boots. Despite the man's dramatic gasps, nothing about his condition rang truly dire.
Just as Xierra began to rise, Asta moved again.
His palm struck Sekke's cheek in a sharp, sideways chop. The impact snapped Sekke out of his reverie with a startled yelp and a rough cough.
"Don't shove your important stuff onto me!" Asta barked, eyes blazing with more fire than usual. "Live! Chase your own dream! Don't you dare give up, you idiot!"
The words carried force, filling the cramped space with stubborn conviction.
Sekke's eyes widened, the fog lifting just enough for surprise to break through. Clearly, Asta's refusal had not been part of his script.
Xierra watched closely, her concern tethered not to Sekke's theatrics but to the knife wound buried in his left foot. Her gaze dropped, assessing. The Paralysis Knife had done its work, but not enough to justify a death scene. Inari's lopsided grin confirmed her conclusion.
"The boy will survive," the fox muttered, unimpressed. "What's with all the shouting? It's not like he's going to die from a single knife stabbed in his foot."
It would have been touching—if not for the absurdity of it all. Xierra wondered how long it would take them to realize that a single application of ointment and a bit of bandaging would resolve the situation entirely.
Footsteps approached, steady and unhurried.
Xierra turned, relief warming her features. "Ah, Vanessa. You're here."
Vanessa offered a playful wave, Noelle trailing just behind her. The witch crouched beside Sekke without ceremony, tugging off his left boot and inspecting the injury with practiced ease.
"Did you check him already?" Vanessa asked, glancing up.
"Not directly," Xierra replied. "But Inari confirmed he was not dying."
Vanessa laughed under her breath, fingers brushing over the wound. "Fair enough."
Xierra leaned closer, concern threading her voice. "How bad is it?"
"Nothing serious." Vanessa's tone held reassurance. "Just a numbing poison. I picked up some shique ointment earlier. He'll walk it off soon enough."
Xierra's shoulders eased. The relief that followed surprised her—not fear of loss, but a quiet sympathy for a man who had stumbled into danger trying to help.
Asta stood silent now, eyes following Sekke as the man staggered away, waving one last time with his back turned.
"Train harder!" Sekke called. "Until we meet again, Asta! Har!"
"See you later, Har Dude!" Asta replied, enthusiasm fully restored.
Xierra remained beside Vanessa, tuning out the noise—until unfamiliar impressions crept into her awareness. Not Asta. Not Noelle. Not even Inari. She stilled, eyes scanning the corners of the alley.
"Are you all right?" Vanessa tapped her shoulder lightly. "You seem far away."
"I'm fine," Xierra answered quickly, forcing a small laugh. "Just a bit distracted."
Vanessa's attention shifted upward, amused, as the anti-bird perched comfortably atop Xierra's head. "They only approach those with little to no mana. Curious, isn't it?"
Inari padded closer, settling between them. "They react to mana," he explained. "Avoid those with too much of it."
"I did notice that," Xierra replied, recalling how the birds scattered whenever Yuno approached during the exam.
"In rare cases," Inari added, tail flicking, "they seek those with similar affinities."
She blinked. "'Similar affinities'?"
"You attract what listens." He grinned. "Consider it a blessing from your grimoire."
Xierra released a quiet hum, lifting one finger to brush along the anti-bird's downy crown. Its feathers were warm beneath her touch, faintly textured, like dried petals pressed between pages. The creature leaned into the contact for a brief moment before shifting its weight, wings twitching with contained energy.
Vanessa, however, did not take the bait Inari had so clearly laid. Instead of bristling or protesting, the witch leaned closer to the bird, eyes bright with fascination as she studied the little creature as though it were a curious trinket found in some forgotten market stall.
"Well, aren't you precious," Vanessa commented, lips curling upward.
From the edge of her vision, Xierra caught Noelle twisting her fingers together, posture tight with restraint. The girl's eyes followed the anti-bird with near reverence, excitement straining against the composure she tried so desperately to maintain. It was written plainly across her face—every careful breath, every stiffened movement betrayed how badly she wanted to reach out.
Xierra covered her smile with the back of her hand.
Before anyone could act on their impulses, the anti-bird fluttered away, wings slicing the air with a sudden burst of motion. It landed squarely atop Asta's head, claws tangling in his hair without hesitation.
"Hey!" Asta protested, arms flailing as he tried to look upward. "When did you get there?!"
Noelle gasped, one hand flying to her mouth. "It moved on its own!"
Vanessa laughed, delighted, while Asta grumbled and attempted to shoo the creature away, only to earn an indignant chirp in response. The two of them immediately fell into bickering, voices overlapping, neither willing to concede anything at all.
Xierra watched them from where she stood, the narrow alley bathed in muted afternoon light. Dust drifted lazily through the air, catching against old brick and worn stone, turning the space softer than it had any right to be. Their argument held no weight—no danger, no urgency—just noise born from familiarity.
It tugged at something distant.
Her thoughts slipped backward, unbidden, to days long gone. Sunlit paths worn flat by running feet. Arguments over nothing more than whose turn it was, who started it first, and who was being unfair. Asta's loud indignation. Yuno's quiet stubbornness. She caught somewhere between, trying—and often failing—to keep the peace.
Time had changed many things. Height, strength, burdens.
Some things, it seemed, remained the same.
Her gaze settled on Asta, his face alight with that same fierce sincerity she had known since childhood. The same stubborn refusal to bend. The same reckless heart.
His voice from earlier resurfaced in her mind, uninvited yet clear.
Don't give up!!
Xierra exhaled slowly, her fingers curling at her side.
"...Don't give up, huh," she breathed, barely audible even to herself.
For a fleeting instant, the noise around her dulled. The alley, the Magic Knights, the chatter—it all slipped into the background as something warm and aching settled quietly in her chest.
Perhaps there truly was more to see than what first met the eye.
.
.
.
The sun stalled at the edge of the sky, reluctant to disappear, its amber light spilling between the narrow buildings that boxed in the hidden market. Stone walls and wooden awnings caught the glow and reflected it in softened shades, as if the alley itself had chosen to breathe out after holding its breath for far too long. What remained of the chase—scattered footprints, overturned crates, startled glances—slowly dissolved beneath the calm settling in.
Life resumed with practiced ease.
Merchants straightened their wares, hands returning to familiar motions. Glass vials shimmered beneath lanterns. Charms and talismans swayed from hooks, chiming faintly when brushed by passing shoulders. Conversations rose again, overlapping and lively, carrying curiosity rather than alarm. The market reclaimed itself, folding the excitement away like a secret shared and forgotten.
Warmth clung to the air, tinged with fruit, incense, and polished stone. Long shadows stretched across the ground, bending around barrels and stalls as the breeze threaded through the alley, playful and unburdened.
Xierra slipped back toward the group, her steps lighter now that the danger had passed. Relief settled across her shoulders, loosening a tension she hadn't realized she still carried. She found Asta nearby, arms stacked high with the elderly woman's winnings, gripping the bags with exaggerated care as if they might crumble at the slightest shake.
Rhein reached her first.
Sweat glinted along his brow, breath still uneven, eyes scanning her from head to toe before stopping on her face. "Are you—"
She laughed before he could finish, raising a hand in reassurance. "I'm fine. Really." Her smile was easy, deliberate, meant to quiet the concern she saw forming too clearly. Only then did she turn her attention past him, noticing Noelle a step behind, posture stiff, gaze unfocused as if replaying the chase in her mind.
"Did you manage to catch him?" Xierra asked.
Noelle nodded. "Yes. He was handed over." There was pride there, tempered by the residue of adrenaline. The words carried a sense of closure, like the final knot tied in a fraying thread.
Rhein hummed and shifted closer to Xierra's side, eyes drifting toward the far end of the alley where it had all ended. The moment stretched comfortably, neither of them rushing to fill it.
"Oh—before I forget," Xierra added, nudging his arm with her elbow. "Did you get what you wanted?"
"What I wanted?" Rhein repeated, blinking as if pulled from a daydream. "Ah... not exactly." He scratched the back of his neck, grin crooked. "I just looked around. Window shopping. Didn't feel urgent."
"The stones?"
"Those, yeah." His grin widened. "Thought about buying some for my brother. Decided I could come back another day."
Xierra stared at him for a heartbeat—then laughed, bright and unrestrained. "That's fair. Now that you know this place exists, I doubt this'll be your last visit."
"I'd be surprised if it was," Rhein agreed, sweeping a hand toward the stalls. "There are too many interesting things here to ignore."
Together, the two Magic Knights from the Crimson Lion Kings drifted back toward the others. Rhein's gaze landed on the armful of bulging pouches Asta carried, brows lifting in disbelief.
Vanessa wasted no time. "We should return these to the old woman," she said, already turning, a finger flicking in a clear signal to follow.
"She was near the fruit stall," Noelle added, stepping ahead to guide them.
They moved as one through the market's winding paths, weaving between customers and vendors as daylight dimmed and lanterns took over. When they found the elderly woman, her reaction was immediate—hands clasped tight, shoulders trembling with relief as Asta carefully passed everything back to her.
"Thank you, Magic Knights!" she exclaimed, old eyes shining as if she might cry.
The warmth in the woman's smile reached far deeper than her wrinkled cheeks or trembling hands. It shone from somewhere untouched by time, a simple, unguarded joy that struck Xierra unexpectedly.
She found herself smiling back without effort, a quiet fondness blooming in her chest. She did not often linger around elders, yet in that moment, she recognized something achingly familiar—the way delight remained bright and unspoiled, no matter how many years tried to dull it.
Asta leaned forward with his usual fearless cheer, lifting a thumb in a confident gesture. "Don't let anyone take it again!" he declared, grin sharp and earnest, as if his words alone could ward off misfortune.
The old woman laughed, clutching her bags closer, nodding along with enthusiasm.
Rhein tilted his head, eyes narrowing in mild disbelief as he studied the overflowing prizes. "She really won all of that from gambling?" He let out a low whistle. "That's kind of impressive. Maybe I should ask her to teach me her ways."
Xierra glanced at him, unable to hold back a short laugh. The fascination in his voice amused her. Even Rhein—steady, measured Rhein—could be caught off guard by something as unexpected as an elderly gambler's triumph. It reminded her that wonder did not belong solely to the young or reckless.
"Take care, Grandma!" Noelle called as she began to turn away.
The farewell came easily after that. Waves were exchanged. Smiles followed them as the Magic Knights stepped back into the broader streets, colors and lanternlight spilling open before them. The hidden market faded behind their shoulders, yet the energy of the day clung stubbornly, refusing to loosen its grip just yet.
"Be careful!" they called in unison.
Only when their figures vanished did laughter spill freely from the old woman's lips.
Her hunched back straightened.
Bones shifted. Skin stretched smooth. The illusion peeled away like a discarded costume, revealing a man in his prime—broad-shouldered, clad in a robe trimmed with crimson lined with fur. Short blond hair fell in careless strands across his forehead, framing sharp violet eyes that gleamed with unfiltered intrigue. A blue, six-pointed star rested proudly upon his brow.
"Magic negation..." he mused, gaze lingering on the path the Magic Knights had taken. His smile tilted, thoughtful. "...And another whose power feels strange. Not quite like anything I've known."
He adjusted the heavy bags in his arms, the sound of clinking prizes grounding him as he pondered further. "I've never seen spells like those before. If they can even be called spells." His curiosity only deepened, delight flickering across his expression.
A soft chuckle followed. "Interesting kids. Truly." He exhaled, content. "This is why disguises never get old."
Light flared in front of him.
White sparks gathered, shaping themselves into a familiar figure to the man—arms crossed, expression thunderous.
[I finally found you!]
The projection snapped sharply, irritation crackling through every word. [What do you think you're doing, Wizard King?!]
The blond man paused, then smiled wider.
"Oh. Right."
Julius Novachrono.
The sharp strain in the man's voice carried unmistakable panic—an understandable reaction, considering the revelation at hand. The Wizard King had been wandering Kikka without as much of an escort, wrapped in borrowed skin and borrowed age, chasing curiosity as if duty were a coat he could shrug off at will. Even through the shimmering projection, the man's distress was plain, shoulders tense, jaw set tight as worry bled through every syllable.
Julius, in contrast, looked delighted.
He laughed, full and bright, as though the concern thrown at him were nothing more than playful scolding. "I was wandering the castle town," he replied easily, eyes glinting with enthusiasm, "and searching for new magic."
[Sir?!]
The projection flickered, the man leaning forward as if sheer proximity might rein the Wizard King back in. It had taken him far too long to track Julius down, and the explanation only worsened the knot in his chest.
[Do you even understand your position—?!]
"Every encounter with magic is different," Julius cut in, smile unwavering, voice alight with wonder. He lifted one hand, as if cradling the thought itself. "That's what makes it so fascinating."
[That doesn't—!!]
"I never know what I'll find," Julius continued, speaking over the protest without malice. "Or where it will appear."
[Would you listen to me, you magic geek?!]
"And now," Julius added cheerfully, already shifting his weight as though preparing to leave, "I think I'll go looking again."
[Stop right there, yooouuu!!]
The shout finally arrested him mid-step. The man's frustration poured through the projection, raw and unfiltered. [This is no time for nonsense! We have an ab—]
"An abnormal situation," Julius finished calmly, turning back with a knowing smile, "yes?"
[Huh?!]
"Don't worry," Julius assured him, violet eyes shining with quiet confidence. "I've already found two very interesting kids."
[Huuuhh?!?! What does that have to do with anything?!]
The projection wavered, the man at a loss for words as Julius' statement hung unanswered between them. Whatever explanation might have followed seemed more exhausting than ignorance itself. In the end, confusion won out over inquiry.
And Julius Novachrono—Wizard King, wanderer, eternal seeker—only smiled wider, already thinking far ahead of the questions left behind.
.
.
.
The evening sky had begun its quiet transformation, the once-vivid blue diluted by streaks of amber and rose. As daylight loosened its hold, Rhein and Xierra parted ways with the Black Bulls, their goodbyes brief but warm. They slipped through the concealed exit of the black market, blending into the steady stream of townsfolk as though they had always belonged there, just another pair carried along by the nearing dusk.
Moments later, brooms lifted them from the stone paths below.
The city unfurled beneath their feet—rooftops glowing faintly, lanterns flickering awake one by one, lighting the darkened midnight city like a sky full of stars.
Xierra leaned forward instinctively as her broom gained height, delight written openly across her face. The feeling of air rushing past her never dulled, no matter how many times she took to the sky. It filled her chest with light, loosened something in her that the ground could never quite touch.
Rhein noticed it immediately.
He cast her a sideways glance, brow knitting as if her joy were a puzzle he couldn't solve. "Honestly," he muttered, gripping his broom with practiced ease, "it's just a broom. Why do you look like you've won the lottery?"
Xierra laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, stolen away by the wind before it could settle. Her pale hair fluttered freely, strands catching the dying sunlight until they shone like silvered threads. She didn't bother answering him—some feelings didn't need defending.
Her eyes reflected the sky ahead, blue layered with streaks of fire and gold. The city lights shimmered below, distant and small, while above them the heavens stretched wide and endless. Rhein found himself staring longer than he meant to, something thoughtful weighing behind his gaze.
The air between them grew quieter.
"Hey," he started, the word hesitant, as if testing the space. "Can I ask you something?"
Xierra tilted her head toward him, a curious hum slipping past her lips.
"...Do you ever wonder about your parents?"
The question lingered, heavier than its simple phrasing suggested. The sun dipped lower, painting the clouds with a final glow. Xierra slowed her broom just enough to drift beside him, her expression unreadable as she considered his words.
"My parents?" she repeated, tapping a finger against her chin. After a pause, she shook her head lightly. "No. I don't think I do."
Rhein didn't reply at once.
He knew her history—knew she shared it with Asta and Yuno. Orphans raised by kindness instead of blood, shaped by borrowed love in a quiet church far from the capital's glare. Still, the answer unsettled him.
Why was someone like her so strong?
Not just in magic, but in spirit. Steady where others broke, gentle where the world encouraged cruelty. Someone their age shouldn't have carried herself with such confidence that she would prevail—and yet she did.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It wrapped around them like an oversized coat, warm and well-draped.
Xierra, however, found herself revisiting her answer.
She had wondered before. As a child, curiosity had gnawed at her in quiet moments—faces imagined, stories half-formed. But those thoughts had faded with time, replaced by memories of shared meals, scolding that was softened by care, and hands that had never let go when things grew difficult.
Her chuckle slipped out, bright enough to surprise even herself.
Rhein startled. "What? Did I say something weird?"
"No, no," she assured him, shaking her head. Her gaze stayed forward, fixed on the glowing horizon. "You just reminded me of something."
She adjusted her grip on the broom, fingers idly combing through Inari's fur as he perched against her shoulder. "I used to be curious," she admitted. "A lot, actually. About them. And about me, who wears their last name."
"Used to?" Rhein hummed.
"I don't need those answers anymore." Her voice carried no regret—only certainty. "Father Orsi and Sister Lily gave me everything I needed. More than enough."
Rhein nodded slowly. He understood that kind of fullness—the kind that didn't depend on names or lineage.
They flew on, side by side, the city breathing gently below them. When Rhein shifted, clearly unsure of what to say next, Xierra noticed at once.
"You okay?" she asked, concern flickering across her features.
"Yeah," he replied after a beat, offering a small, crooked smile. "Just... thinking."
Xierra answered his smile with one of her own, smaller but sincere, the kind given in quiet understanding. She could see the effort behind it—the way he squared his shoulders, the way his eyes avoided hers for half a breath too long. It mattered to her more than he probably realized.
The broom drifted onward, guided by the steady pull of magic beneath her boots. The light pouring from the streets below brushed against her face in passing streaks, warm and fleeting. Xierra let her gaze wander back to Rhein, curiosity sharpening as she noticed his restlessness.
He kept shifting his grip.
One hand slipped into the satchel he slung back, withdrew, then tried again. His movements were careful, almost guarded, as if he were wrestling with a decision he hadn't fully committed to. Xierra leaned slightly on her broom, pretending to admire the city while openly watching him from the corner of her eye.
Her lips twitched.
There—something angular pressed briefly against the fabric of his coat before disappearing again. A corner. A shape too deliberate to ignore.
She covered her mouth, laughter threatening to betray her. Her eyes brightened with interest, a playful spark dancing across the blue as realization set in. Oh. So that's what this is about.
"Xierra!"
The sudden shout snapped her attention forward.
Rhein surged ahead without warning, his broom cutting through the open sky and leaving a sharp trail of disturbed air behind him. Xierra barely had time to react before something dark sailed back toward her.
"What are—whoa! Careful!"
She lunged, hands scrambling as the small object nearly slipped past her fingers. Her heart jumped as she caught it against her chest, grip tightening on instinct. The broom wobbled beneath her for a second before steadying.
She stared down.
A box.
Small. Matte black. Clean edges, barely larger than her palm.
"A box...?" she breathed, disbelief curling into her voice.
When she looked up, Rhein had turned midair. He hovered several feet ahead now, posture relaxed, grin unapologetic and entirely too pleased with himself.
He was already pulling away again, but Xierra barely noticed the distance. Her attention returned to the object resting in her hands. She turned it over once, then twice, thumb brushing along the seam where the lid met its base.
Her head tilted.
She lifted the box slightly and pointed at it, brows raised, silently shaping the question with her lips. What is this?
"Open it!" Rhein called back.
His voice carried easily through the open air, light and teasing. He didn't slow down.
"Open it?" Xierra repeated aloud, blinking. She glanced at the box again, then back at him. "That's... kind of obvious, isn't it?"
She barely had time to adjust her grip before Rhein shouted again, louder this time.
"I'll race you back to the headquarters! Loser does whatever the winner says!"
Xierra froze.
"Huh—what?!"
By the time the words left her mouth, Rhein was already a distant figure ahead, his broom pointed sharply forward as he accelerated. The space between them widened at an unfair pace, the wind snapping against her cheeks.
Her jaw dropped.
"Rhein Vermillion!" she yelled, incredulous laughter mixing with protest. "Come back here! That's not fair!!"
Of course, he didn't. And he wouldn't.
Heat rushed through her chest—part challenge, part delight. Xierra tightened her grip on the broom, eyes narrowing with sudden focus. Any lingering hesitation vanished the instant she leaned forward.
"Oh, you're asking for it," she muttered, a grin breaking free.
Magic surged.
Her broom shot forward, slicing through the air as the city below blurred into streaks of gold and shadow. Wind roared past her ears, tugging at her hair, at her cloak, at the box still clutched securely in one hand.
For now, the mystery could wait.
There was a race to win.
.
.
.
With her grimoire unfurled, its luminous pages suspended in the air like fragments of starlight caught mid-fall, Xierra descended from the sky in a clean, controlled arc. Her boots met stone with practiced ease, magic dispersing beneath her as though it recognized its work was done. She straightened, breath steady, heart racing—not from exhaustion, but from exhilaration.
"I win!" she called out, voice bright and ringing with triumph.
The courtyard before the headquarters had already begun to settle into the night. Lamps along the walls burned with a mellow glow, casting long bands of light across the worn stone and the towering silhouette of the Crimson Lion Kings' base. The scent of dust and cooling stone hung in the air, familiar and grounding.
Rhein arrived several moments later.
He barely managed to dismount before his legs gave in. He staggered forward, hands braced against his knees, chest rising and falling in uneven pulls. By the time he reached the entrance, he collapsed onto the cold ground without dignity, staring up at the darkening sky as if it had personally wronged him.
"H-Ho—how... are you... that fast...?" he forced out, every word dragged from him with effort.
Xierra had already been waiting.
She stood a short distance away, hands resting behind her back, posture relaxed despite the faint sheen of sweat along her temple. A victorious smile curved her lips—not sharp, not smug, but glowing with the kind of satisfaction earned through effort.
She stepped closer and gave his shoulder a light pat, careful not to knock the air from him entirely. "It's a secret," she replied, eyes glittering. "And I am going to hold you to that prize you promised."
The moment the words settled, Rhein's soul visibly attempted to vacate his body.
Color drained from his face as realization struck, regret following close behind. He squeezed his eyes shut, groaning through clenched teeth.
"...I really shouldn't have said that."
"Too bad."
Xierra laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained. She extended a hand toward him, palm open, fully expecting him to take it.
He didn't.
Instead, Rhein waved her off weakly and shifted into a sitting position on his own, still fighting for air, shoulders slumped in defeat.
Before Xierra could comment, a familiar presence stirred the space between them.
Dark motes gathered, coalescing into a sleek, fox-shaped figure with fur darker than midnight. Inari emerged with theatrical flair, tails swaying as he landed neatly in front of Rhein. His sharp grin stretched wide, eyes gleaming with unmistakable pride.
Xierra's expression softened instantly. "Oh, Inari," she greeted, fondness threading through her voice. "Did you sleep well?"
The fox wasted no time leaping onto her shoulders, settling there as if it were his rightful throne. "The best sleep I've had in years—no, millennia!" he declared, nodding with exaggerated seriousness.
"That's reassuring," she answered, amused.
Inari's attention shifted to Rhein, and his grin turned wicked. He let out a short huff before snickering openly.
"Now then," he drawled, circling him, "what happened to you, young lad? Did you, by chance, challenge my master to a speed race?"
Rhein stiffened.
A slow, dreadful realization crept over his features. "...Don't tell me."
"Oh, but I must!" Inari announced proudly. "My master trained under me for six whole months. If she had lost, I would have been forced to put her through that training again."
He threw his head back and laughed, sharp and delighted, the sound filling the courtyard without mercy.
Rhein stared blankly at the sky.
"...No wonder," he muttered. "That's one hell of a motivation."
He let himself fall backward onto the stone, arms spread by the entrance of the base, entirely done with the day. Inari's laughter continued overhead, completely unbothered by his suffering.
Xierra exhaled, shoulders finally relaxing as the adrenaline faded. Sweat traced down her spine, a quiet reminder of just how hard she'd pushed herself.
"I'm really glad I won," she admitted under her breath, glancing aside with a rueful smile. I don't want that training again. Ever.
Her gaze flicked back to Rhein, sympathy flickering beneath her triumph. "...Sorry, Rhein."
But not sorry enough to give up her prize.
.
.
.
Xierra sat cross-legged atop her bed, skin still warmed from the bath, the faint scent of soap clinging to her hair and sleeves. The room had settled into a quiet hush—only the low hum of lamps and the distant presence of the city beyond the walls kept her company. She reached out absently, fingers brushing through Inari's dark fur as he sprawled beside her, content and heavy with comfort.
Her gaze drifted to the small box resting near the edge of the mattress.
It looked almost out of place there. Too neat. Too intimidating. Perhaps also a bit too out of her league.
She shifted closer, nudging it toward herself with a careful touch.
"Oh?" Inari lifted his head, ears flicking upright as interest sparked in his golden eyes. "And what might that be, Master? Something shiny, perhaps? From Rhein?"
"Rhein?" Xierra repeated, then nodded. "Yeah. He gave it to me earlier." Her brows knit faintly. "I didn't even ask for anything. Honestly... I didn't think he'd bring me something at all."
The thought settled deeper than she expected.
She hadn't prepared anything in return. Not even the idea of it had crossed her mind. And yet—he had. In his own strange, reckless way, but still, he had thought of her.
Inari's tail swayed once, amused. "Then open it," he urged. "You won't learn much by staring."
She inhaled and lifted the lid with measured care, half-expecting something delicate. The image of Rhein tossing the box through the air flashed unhelpfully through her thoughts, drawing a crease of worry between her brows.
If he threw it like that, maybe it's sturdier than it looks...?
The moment the lid came free, her breath caught.
Her eyes widened, a sharp gasp threatening to escape before she managed to contain it.
"...That's—why would he throw it like that?!" she blurted, disbelief coloring every word. "This looks expensive! It might be expensive!"
Inari leaned forward from her shoulders, peering into the box. "Oh?" His eyes gleamed. "Well, now. That is a very fine necklace."
Nestled within dark velvet lay a slender chain woven from silver so finely crafted it seemed to drink in the light. At its center rested a pendant—elegant, restrained, and unmistakably intentional. A blue gem sat cradled within it, polished to perfection, catching the lamp glow and refracting it into layered hues: deep sea tones, open sky, something softer in between.
For a moment, Xierra forgot how to breathe.
Her fingers hovered just above it, hesitant, as if the piece might vanish the second she touched it.
The necklace she had once bought for herself surfaced in her thoughts—practical, simple, chosen out of necessity rather than sentiment. This one was different. This one carried weight. Not in mana or support, but meaning.
Perhaps a token of their new friendship. Or partnerships. Maybe a gift for staying alive after their first mission. Or maybe Rhein just bought it on a whim, and whatever fit his pockets.
Inari stared at the gem, uncharacteristically quiet.
"Master," he spoke at last, voice lighter than usual, "it reminds me of your eyes."
She looked at him.
"My eyes?" The words left her almost uncertain, as though she hadn't quite heard him right.
He shrugged with a lazy grace, hopping down to the bed and curling near the pillows. "Who knows? But I'd wager he also saw something familiar when he chose it. The blue is very similar to yours."
Xierra lowered her gaze back to the necklace.
Rhein's grin surfaced in her memory—careless, confident, hiding more thought than he ever admitted. He hadn't wrapped it properly. He hadn't explained. He'd turned it into a race, of all things. But this... this wasn't careless at all.
Her chest tightened.
She hadn't even considered giving him something. And yet here he was, leaving a piece of himself behind in the form of silver and blue light.
Marbles swirling with gold, sheened with starlight, and bathed in a milky shine that reminded her of the Milky Way. The blue of Mercury and Neptune, the silver of the moon, the shine of faraway stars. It reminded her of Earth's satellite, ever so quiet as it hung over the ocean, watching waves drift by its push and pull.
It reminded her of sapphires, or lapis lazuli, and azurrites that he had told her he collected. Euclase and diamond, opals and benitoites—everything blue she could think of he had bookmarked in a book, perhaps making a mental shopping list of what to buy next.
Xierra lifted the necklace, holding the pendant as she angled it where the moon shone through her windows. The light reflected from the embedded gem bounced in all sorts of blue. There was mixtures of violets, or gold and red, hidden in between shades. Then there was pink, a bit of teal, slight browns, and blacks speckled the shadows on her wall.
She smiled. Even if Rhein hadn't thought that it matched her eyes—perhaps he did, and she just didn't want to admit that it made her jumpy—it was a sweet notion.
To think that her eyes would look like the gems of the earth. Treasures with all sorts of rainbows hidden behind the smoothed surface of its polished walls.
To think that her eyes would look like kaleidoscopes, filled with so much wonder that he had to compare them with a thing of beauty, so small and round between her fingers.
And to think that her eyes would look like the world, like planets in the galaxy, and like shining stars in outer space. To think it would be so vast to hold such sparkles and shine in its wake.
Perhaps she was overthinking it. Or perhaps she was just avoiding the truth. Avoiding accepting that Rhein had liked anything that sparkled. Anything nice—she didn't think she'd reach the stage where she'd be holding something so pricy in her hands.
Inari had already drifted into sleep, breath even, tail flicking once before going still. Xierra smiled at the sight, then reached over to dim the lights, letting the room settle into a calmer glow.
She crossed to the window and rested her fingertips against the glass. Outside, the city stretched endlessly beneath the night sky, lights scattered like fallen stars. Moonlight brushed her face, pale and gentle, drawing her attention upward.
The crescent moon watched over her—quiet, steadfast.
It reminded her of the night her grimoire had chosen her.
She lifted the necklace, letting the gem catch the moonlight once more. The blue gleamed back at her, serene and unwavering, like something that had always been there—even when she hadn't noticed.
A small smile curved her lips.
"...Thank you," she whispered, the words meant for no one but herself—and perhaps, somewhere beyond the walls, for him. For the partner who had been there with her when death brushed them both.
Very nearly, very willingly.
And mercilessly.
To Be Continued...