The voice that thundered through the stone corridors did not fade.
It rolled through the dungeon like a living force, swelling in volume with every heartbeat, until the walls themselves seemed to recoil from it. The sound carried urgency sharpened by panic, a rawness that set every Magic Knight on edge.
Xierra reacted before thought could fully settle. Her boots struck the uneven floor in quick succession as she moved in unison with Yuno, their strides falling into an unspoken alignment. The passage narrowed, its ceiling lowered by creeping roots and mineral growths, forcing them forward with no room for hesitation.
Behind them, Mimosa struggled to keep pace, her cloak brushing against jagged stone, while Klaus followed with his jaw clenched tight, eyes already scanning for hostile mana. Inari brought up the rear, fur bristling, tails swaying with restrained agitation as his gaze darted from shadow to shadow.
The corridor opened abruptly.
What greeted them was not a battlefield born of chaos, but a space molded by careful design.
Stone tiles were torn apart, etched with magic circles, and severed halfway through activation. Disabled traps lay scattered across the chamber like discarded bones. Yet at the heart of the room, something had awakened too late to be stopped.
A towering mass of plant-creation magic unfurled before them.
Vines thicker than chains twisted violently through the air, binding Noelle where she stood. They coiled around her arms, her waist, her shoulders, pulling her upward as though the ground itself had rejected her presence. Nearby, Asta hung inverted, his sword trapped uselessly at his side, legs ensnared and lifted high as the vegetation tightened with relentless force.
A cry tore free from him—sharp, desperate, unmistakable.
Xierra's breath caught.
The plant shifted, its body blooming outward in a grotesque display of vitality. At its center, a massive flower gaped open, petal layers folding back to reveal a cavernous hollow that throbbed with predatory intent. Its surface bore patterns too deliberate to be natural, veins pulsing as if responding to the struggling Magic Knights caught within its reach.
The vines constricted again.
Stone cracked beneath their pressure.
This was no mindless growth. The creature had rooted itself deliberately along the dungeon walls, feeding from residual mana veins embedded within the structure. It had been waiting—patient, calculating—for prey.
Yuno did not hesitate.
His grimoire snapped open mid-stride, pages fluttering violently as wind gathered around him, drawn to his intent like a loyal force. His eyes locked onto Asta's suspended form, jaw set, mana rising in swift, controlled waves.
Then—his gaze shifted.
For the briefest instant, it met Xierra's.
She was already moving, body angled toward Noelle without breaking pace, expression sharpened not with fear, but with certainty. There was no question in her eyes—only resolve.
Something unreadable crossed Yuno's face.
A faint curve touched his lips, fleeting and private, as his strategy changed in that silent exchange.
His raised hand turned.
The spell did not aim for Asta.
Instead, Yuno anchored his stance, boots grinding into stone as the air screamed in response to his mana. The pressure around him intensified, invisible currents slicing across the chamber.
"Wind Creation Magic: Wind Blade Shower."
The air obeyed.
Dozens—no, far more—of solidified wind manifested overhead, forming elongated blades pointed without hilts or handles, honed to lethal precision. They hovered for less than a breath, vibrating with contained force, before plunging downward as one.
The assault was merciless.
Roots were severed in rapid succession, sliced apart so cleanly they collapsed before the sound reached them. Vines recoiled, shredded into fragments that scattered across the chamber floor. The plant convulsed, its massive body trembling as blade after blade carved through its outer layers.
One strike pierced deep.
The blossom shuddered violently as a wind-forged edge drove straight through its core. Petals split apart, collapsing inward, their unnatural vitality unraveling under the onslaught.
Around them, the watching Magic Knights froze, eyes wide as the chamber filled with the aftermath—falling debris, torn foliage, the sharp scent of spent mana.
But the threat was not yet ended.
Half of the monstrous flower still stood.
Its remaining vines tightened around Noelle, refusing to release her, drawing her closer toward the gaping hollow that still pulsed faintly with life. Her struggles slowed, strength drained by the persistent constriction.
Xierra skidded to a halt.
Stone dust scattered beneath her boots as she turned sharply, eyes lifting to the plant's stubborn remains. She spared Yuno a flat, unimpressed look—one that carried a clear understanding of his choice.
Trust, borrowed and unspoken.
With a breath drawn steady and deep, she flipped her grimoire open, pages glowing faintly as starlight bled into the air around her. Her fingers tightened along the edge of the book, mana threading through her veins with practiced familiarity.
Energy gathered.
The space around her shifted.
And with a voice grounded by resolve rather than hesitation, Xierra called forth her spell.
"Astral Creation Magic—" The page of Xierra's grimoire snapped into place as though guided by an unseen pull, shimmering paper trembling beneath her touch.
"Night of a Thousand Stars."
The sigils along the margins flared in quiet defiance of the dungeon's gloom. Letters tore free from the page, not falling, not rising—drifting outward as if the air itself had learned to breathe differently. They dissolved midair, unraveling into a widening seam that split the space before her.
The world thinned.
A hollow aperture unfurled above the stone floor, its edges warped and uneven, revealing a vault of endless night beyond it. No moon ruled that sky. No horizon dared contain it. Only a vast stretch of darkness, pricked with innumerable stars—cold, distant, watching.
The dungeon recoiled.
One by one, the stars loosened from their places, slipping free from the void like sparks shaken from velvet. They did not fall. They burned. Each light descended with intent, gathering speed as it neared the rampant growth below.
The vines shuddered.
Heaven-lit flames wrapped themselves around the roots and tendrils, starfire blooming where they made contact. The blaze did not roar. It consumed with silent authority, devouring leaf and stem alike, reducing enchanted growth into drifting embers that vanished before touching the floor. The massive flower convulsed as the lights bored into its core, its petals curling inward as if attempting to shield a heart already condemned.
Heat brushed the skin, sharp yet controlled—never wild, never reckless. The stars knew their target.
The vines around Noelle weakened, their grip loosening as glowing fractures spread through them. One by one, they crumbled, collapsing into ash that scattered and faded. Gravity reclaimed her at last.
Noelle landed with a staggered step, shoes slipping against moldy bricks before she steadied herself. Her breathing came uneven for a brief moment—then she straightened, flesh and skin unmarred, wand still clenched tight in her grasp.
Xierra was already there.
She crossed the space in quick strides, catching Noelle by the wrist and guiding her back, away from the dying stars and the shrinking tear in the sky. The portal drew inward upon itself, edges folding until the night beyond sealed shut, leaving only the familiar glow of dungeon light behind.
" Noelle—are you all right?"
Concern sharpened Xierra's voice as her gaze searched for wounds that refused to show themselves. Noelle met her eyes, cheeks flushed for reasons that had little to do with exertion. She turned her head aside, silver hair sliding over her shoulder.
"I'm fine," she answered, stiffly. Her grip tightened on her wand before she forced herself to relax it. After a pause that stretched far too long, she added, quieter, "Thanks."
The word sounded dragged from her, begrudging yet sincere, as though admitting it bruised her pride more than the trap ever had.
Xierra blinked—then smiled, relief softening her shoulders.
"And I'm glad you are, Noelle."
The words carried warmth that refused to be mistaken for pity. Xierra's grin came easily, bright in a way that steadied rather than overwhelmed. She reached out without hesitation, fingers brushing Noelle's knuckles first—an unspoken question—before gently threading their hands together when Noelle did not pull away. The contact was light, grounding, her thumb pressing once as if to assure her that the danger had truly passed.
Noelle stiffened at first, pride flaring instinctively, but it faltered beneath the sincerity in Xierra's gaze. Her grip tightened in return, just slightly, as though acknowledging the comfort of safety she had no intention of voicing aloud.
A few steps away, dignity had long since abandoned Asta.
He lay sprawled across the stone floor where the vines had flung him, limbs splayed in an unceremonious tangle. His face pressed flat against cold brick, cheek smudged with dust and moss. When he pushed himself upright, the movement was awkward and rigid, as if his body had not yet agreed to reality. He blinked several times, brows knitting together as confusion slowly gave way to understanding.
Inari watched the entire spectacle with narrowed eyes and a twitching tail. A sharp snort escaped him as he turned his head aside, ears flicking back in thinly veiled judgment. The fox's gaze slid briefly toward Yuno, who met it with a quiet nod—shared observation, and no commentary was needed.
"A very graceful landing," Inari remarked dryly, tail swaying as he circled Asta once. "Truly impressive."
Asta groaned in response, rubbing the back of his head while attempting to sit up properly.
Nearby, Yuno had already closed his grimoire, the cover resting firm beneath his palm. His attention settled on Asta, eyes cool but unmistakably fond. A smile—small, genuine—found its way onto his face as he spoke.
"And now, I've repaid that favor, Asta."
The words rang clear across the chamber.
They carried more than victory. They carried memory of a dusk-stained sky, of grimoires received beneath the setting sun, of vows whispered under fireflies and swaying branches. Of a moment when one reckless boy had thrown himself forward and saved them both, no magic required.
Xierra watched the exchange with softened eyes, a short laugh slipping past her lips in an airy manner. There was something achingly familiar in Yuno's certainty, in the way bonds like these were repaid not with words, but with action.
"Well," she added lightly, amusement curling at the edges of her voice, "maybe next time I'll repay mine, too."
Asta's head snapped up at once.
His grin burst across his face without restraint, eyes bright and unburdened as he looked between them. "Yuno!! Xierra!!"
.
.
.
The hallways of the Golden Dawn headquarters rang with hurried footsteps, sharp and uneven against polished marble. Sunlight spilled in through tall arched windows, catching on gold inlays and immaculate banners, but none of it slowed the young man cutting through the corridor like a blade drawn too fast.
Alecdora Sandler moved with purpose sharpened by agitation. His mossy green hair shifted with every stride, strands falling loose despite his effort to keep composure. Dark eyes burned beneath furrowed brows, fixed ahead on the familiar silhouette of a captain who did not once look back.
"Captain Vangeance!"
The call tore free from Alecdora's chest, strained and breathless. He chased the masked figure past marble pillars and sunlit alcoves, ignoring the heat pressing down from the open windows. The grandeur around him blurred into irrelevance; only the retreating red cloak mattered.
William Vangeance slowed at last.
Alecdora closed the distance in long steps, chest rising and falling as frustration caught up to him. The words burst out the moment he stopped, sharp and unfiltered.
"Why would you send that peasant—that newbie—on a mission like this?" His hands clenched at his sides. "Do you have any idea what could go wrong?"
William turned with unhurried grace, as though the question had been expected. Violet eyes regarded Alecdora through the mask, calm and thoughtful, carrying neither offense nor dismissal. There was a gentleness there that unsettled more than any rebuke could have.
"Do you trust me?"
The question fell cleanly between them.
Not loud. Not forceful. Yet it struck with genuine curiosity.
Alecdora froze.
The corridor seemed to narrow, the sunlight suddenly too bright, too revealing. His mouth opened—then closed. The question followed him inward, threading through pride and indignation, settling in a place where loyalty had long been rooted.
Without another word, Alecdora dropped to one knee.
Stone pressed cold against his leg as his head bowed, gaze fixed on the floor. His breathing steadied, though something tight remained lodged in his chest.
"Of course," he answered, voice firm despite the heat creeping up his neck. "I, Alecdora Sandler, would give my life for you."
And it was true.
Alecdora Sandler was many things. He was sharp-tongued and exacting, intolerant of weakness, ruthless in his judgment of those he deemed unworthy. Pride sat heavy on his shoulders, stitched into every action, every expectation he carried for the Golden Dawn. Humility had never been among his virtues.
But loyalty—that was absolute.
A faint smile curved beneath William's mask, subtle enough to be missed if one did not know where to look. His gaze softened, settling on the kneeling knight with quiet appreciation.
"Then trust him as well," William replied simply, no other ornament to his request. "That is all I ask."
Alecdora's head lifted sharply, eyes widening.
Before he could speak, William had already turned away, his cloak shifting as he resumed his walk down the corridor. Then his voice followed, steady and assured.
"He is a member of the Golden Dawn," William continued. "And I believe he will grow stronger for our sake."
Alecdora remained where he was, stunned.
A bead of sweat traced down his temple, the product not of exertion, but of conflict. His thoughts tangled, pride warring with obligation as William came to a stop a few steps ahead, back still turned.
"It is unfortunate," the captain added after a pause, a hint of wistfulness threading his tone, "that the other one went to the Crimson Lion Kings."
Alecdora listened closely, unease giving way to reluctant curiosity.
"She would have grown well here," William went on. "Especially alongside someone familiar. Yuno."
The explanation settled slowly. Strategy. Consideration. Care.
Alecdora pushed himself to his feet, posture stiff, expression conflicted. He hesitated before speaking again.
"Sir," he began, voice measured despite the resistance beneath it, "may I ask something?"
William turned this time, giving him his full attention.
Alecdora drew in a breath. "...Why did you want both of those peasants here?"
The question hung between them, heavy with implication, revealing far more than he might have intended.
He knew the rumors—even without witnessing the ceremony himself. Whispers that had threaded through the capital and into every Magic Knight barrack spoke of two standouts among the new generation. A boy and a girl whose presence had compelled captains to rise from their seats without hesitation, hands lifted in unanimous intent. It was said that ambition alone had not driven them—no, it was instinct, sharpened by experience, by the rare certainty that greatness had stepped into the room.
Alecdora had heard their names repeated with awe and disbelief in equal measure.
He had heard of the boy.
And he had heard of the girl.
There had been a bitter sting in realizing the Golden Dawn had claimed only one of them—half of a pair spoken of as though they were meant to stand side by side. At the time, he had dismissed it as mere misfortune, an inevitable loss in a system built on competition.
Yet something gnawed at him now.
It was not merely that the other had gone to the Crimson Lion Kings. It was the way Captain Vangeance spoke of her—measured, contemplative, carrying a gravity Alecdora had never heard reserved for a Magic Knight outside their own squad. Each mention of her name came wrapped in restraint, as though William were guarding a thought he refused to release.
As though she were not truly let go.
There was a seriousness there, a careful attention that unsettled Alecdora far more than open regret ever could. Captain Vangeance did not speak of her like a rival's asset, nor like a missed opportunity easily forgotten.
He spoke as if he were still responsible for her.
William Vangeance had been different this year.
More deliberate. More watchful. Stranger than Alecdora had ever known him to be.
And standing there in the sunlit corridor, he realized with a tightening chest that this was no simple matter of peasants, potential, or pride.
William did not answer immediately. His violet eyes studied Alecdora with quiet patience—neither condemning nor indulgent—waiting, perhaps, for the moment when trust would begin to outweigh pride.
"Is it because of their powers?"
The question rested between them, careful yet daring, and William Vangeance did not answer it at once.
A faint smile traced his lips instead, subtle and unguarded in a way Alecdora rarely witnessed. Sunlight filtered through the garden's canopy, scattering pale gold across marble paths and trimmed hedges, and William's attention drifted there—toward leaves stirred by a passing breeze, toward a place where his thoughts could wander without scrutiny.
"It's a fair question," William replied at last, his voice carrying an ease that did not quite reach his eyes. "It's the one everyone asks, even if they never dare speak it aloud."
His gaze settled on the greenery ahead, rather than on Alecdora. "That girl's strength," he continued, thoughtful and unhurried, "it's peculiar. Not simply in how it manifests, but in how it listens to her. I find myself wondering where it will take her."
Alecdora's brow furrowed. He latched onto the word girl, onto the way William's tone shifted ever so slightly. "You mean the fox, sir?"
William offered no immediate reply.
He moved instead, steps measured, robes brushing against the stone as he approached a shrub trembling faintly at its center. A thin thread of mana glimmered there—quiet, restrained, almost polite and reserved only for the seeing eyes. William parted the leaves with two fingers, revealing what had been concealed within. Whatever it was earned another curve of that gentle smile, softer now, edged with something unreadable.
Alecdora followed, confusion deepening. "Captain Vangeance?" he pressed. "Is something the matter?"
William straightened, the motion smooth, practiced. Whatever had caught his attention vanished beneath the fold of his mantle, hidden with such ease that Alecdora could not be certain he had seen anything at all. When William turned back, his eyes were closed, expression calm and reassuring.
"No," he answered, light and even. "Nothing at all, Sandler."
Then, as if returning to an earlier thread, he continued, "Xierra will grow regardless of where she stands. The Crimson Lion Kings will temper her in their own way." There was no bitterness in his tone—only acceptance. "The only loss, I suppose, is ours. We won't be there to see how far she goes."
The meaning carried familiarity.
Yet the phrasing had changed.
Alecdora watched as William took his leave, retreating toward the quiet refuge of his office. The path he followed seemed brighter for his passing, though the questions left behind only deepened.
Welcoming one peasant had already tested Alecdora's patience. Accepting the absence of the other—especially one his captain spoke of with such care—left an unpleasant weight in his chest. And still, loyalty won over pride, as it always did.
With a slow breath, Alecdora resolved himself.
He would follow William Vangeance's judgment.
Even if it unsettled him to do so.
.
.
.
The two Black Bull mages stood before the gathered Magic Knights with a confidence that felt hard-earned rather than boastful. Dusty greens still clung to their boots, and faint traces of battle marked their clothes, yet there was an undeniable steadiness to the way they carried themselves. For a fleeting moment, the dungeon's dangers felt far away.
It had been some time since the three of them had stood together like this.
Asta's grin split his face the instant his eyes found Yuno and Xierra. Yuno returned it with something quieter, a small lift at the corner of his mouth that spoke of familiarity rather than spectacle. Xierra felt her chest warm at the sight—at the simple, grounding truth that despite different squads and diverging paths, they still recognized one another instantly.
Not long ago, she had wandered markets with the Black Bulls, laughter spilling freely as coin pouches lightened and curiosity led them into places better avoided. The black market had been chaos wrapped in color and darkness, danger weaving with thrill, and somehow, she had felt at ease among them. Remembering it now, she realized how naturally they had made space for her, no questions asked.
Klaus cleared his throat sharply, stepping forward. His glasses caught the light as he adjusted them with practiced precision. "Yuno. Xierra." His tone held no bite this time—only intent. "Why did you choose to save them?"
He faced them squarely, posture rigid, one hand set firmly at his waist. "Our objective was the dungeon," he continued, measured and exact. "Securing the core chamber takes priority over everything else."
Xierra met his gaze without flinching.
She had shared words with Klaus during their trek—arguments, complaints, even the occasional laugh when Inari pushed him too far. Somewhere along the way, the sharpness of his disdain had dulled into something closer to reluctant concern. He watched her now as though weighing a decision that had already been made.
"We don't have the luxury of distractions," Klaus added, his eyes narrowing slightly. "That includes you, Xierra."
She released a slow breath, lips curving unevenly. There it was again—that strange, almost parental edge to his tone. Or was it brotherly? It was annoying, certainly. Yet beneath it lay something that felt suspiciously like care. She found she didn't resent it as much as she thought she would.
Before she could reply, a scoff cut through the tension.
Inari leapt from her shoulder without warning, tail snapping sharply against Klaus' cheek as he landed. The impact wasn't strong, but it was deliberate enough that it left Klaus sputtering.
He staggered back half a step, hand flying up in reflex. The air tightened instantly, eyes darting between fox and noble.
"What was that for?!" Klaus barked, disbelief flashing across his features.
Inari trotted back to Xierra and vaulted onto her shoulder again, settling there with a flick of his tail. His ears flattened, irritation plain. "Because you're talking like her choices belong to you," he snapped. "She decides who gets saved. Not you. Not your squad. And obviously not your pride."
The words struck deeper than the tail had.
Klaus stiffened, realization dawning as the truth settled in. Xierra was not Golden Dawn. She had never been. Whatever bond they had formed in the dungeon did not change that fact.
Xierra laughed quietly, rubbing the back of her neck as the weight of the moment pressed in. Yuno let out a slow breath beside her, already sensing where this was heading.
Asta, never one to let tension simmer unchallenged, pointed straight at Klaus. "Hey, Yuno! What's with this rude Four-Eyes?!"
"Senior member," Yuno replied flatly, offering no further explanation.
Klaus bristled at once. "Four-Eyes?!" His voice rose, indignation flaring. "First that fox, now you? Watch your mouth! I am a noble—!!"
Inari hopped from Xierra's shoulder to Klaus' again, unbothered. He peered down at him lazily. "You're still human," he remarked, punctuating it with a yawn.
Klaus clenched his fists, teeth grinding. "Our status speaks otherwise!"
The dungeon chamber felt too small for the number of opinions crammed inside it.
Words flew between the Golden Dawn and the Black Bulls like drawn blades, each remark sharpened by pride and irritation, carving deeper lines into an already strained standoff. Pale motes of mana drifted through the air, casting fractured light across broken stone and damp walls. Far at the chamber's edge, a narrow river—more gutter than waterway—cut through the floor, its sluggish current reflecting dim glimmers that crawled along the ceiling like restless stars.
Xierra stood in the middle of it all, shoulders tight, senses pulled in too many directions at once. The argument grated against her nerves, childish in its delivery yet heavy with unspoken rivalry. Of the squad perched at the top of the ranking, with the one standing the lowest, hers was in between. She took a step back, then another, hoping to slide out of the line of fire before tempers snapped entirely.
She did not get far. Poor, poor her, she lamented briefly.
A tug caught her by the arm, firm and cheerful, yanking her off-balance. Her boot scraped against loose stone as she stumbled closer to the crowd she had been trying to escape.
Before Xierra could gather herself, a familiar face filled her view.
Mimosa's eyes of marigold sparkled with unchecked delight as they met Xierra's cerulean stare. Laughter bubbled out of her, light and bright, completely unbothered by the tension snapping around them.
"You're not going anywhere, Xierra! Come, come," she chimed, fingers tightening with determination. "You have to meet my cousin, Noelle!"
Xierra blinked.
Confusion crossed her features so plainly it might as well have been written across her forehead. Cousin? Her gaze flicked from Mimosa to the surrounding Knights, then back again, questions stacking faster than she could voice them.
She never got the chance.
Mimosa surged forward with purpose, dragging Xierra along as if she weighed nothing at all.
"Cous—ack!"
The sound died in Xierra's throat when Mimosa failed to slow, boots clattering over uneven stone until they stopped in front of a silver-haired mage standing stiffly among the mixed bag of mages with differing opinions.
"My, my! If it isn't Noelle!" Mimosa greeted her, her smile blooming as she kept a solid hold on Xierra's arm. Then, without warning, she pulled Xierra into her embrace, enthusiasm overriding all sense of restraint. "Good day to you! I haven't seen you since the Royal Family dinner party last year!"
The contact stole the breath from Xierra's lungs.
She froze, hands hovering uselessly at her sides as Mimosa's greeting stretched well past polite boundaries. There was something oddly formal hidden beneath the cheer, a tone shaped by halls of marble and long banquet tables. It left an unpleasant tang in Xierra's mouth—sweet on the surface, bitter underneath.
Her discomfort spiked.
Xierra twisted slightly, attempting to pry herself free, but Mimosa's grip proved relentless. Heat crept up her neck as she turned pleading eyes toward the silver-haired Knight, silently shaping a desperate plea for help.
Noelle noticed.
One sharp twitch passed through her eye before she stepped forward and seized Xierra's other arm, pulling her closer still. The result was immediate and overwhelming—Xierra trapped between two royals, pressed into an awkward, inescapable hold.
"Mimosa Vermillion," Noelle cut in, lips stretched into something resembling courtesy, "wouldn't it be better to release her before this reunion gets any more... excessive?"
Mimosa jolted, realization finally catching up to her enthusiasm. She let go at once, hands flying up as she laughed nervously. "Oh! Forgive me, Xierra!"
Xierra staggered half a step back, rubbing her arm with a sheepish smile. "Ah... It's quite all right," she answered, though the skin still throbbed faintly beneath her sleeve. She made a mental note never to stand within Mimosa's reach again without mental preparation.
Noelle released her as well, eyes scanning Xierra from head to toe with a critical edge, as if checking for damage. More emotional than physical. Whatever she saw made her frown deepen. That kind of affection, she decided, might very well prove fatal if repeated too often.
"Still clinging to people like that, I see," Noelle scoffed, tossing one of her pigtails back as she crossed her arms.
Mimosa brushed it aside with another laugh. "I heard the Black Bulls can be quite unruly. Are you managing well?"
Noelle clicked her tongue. "And what about you, Mimosa?" she fired back. "Does someone as airheaded as you truly last among the Golden Dawn?"
"Of course!" Mimosa replied without missing a beat. Pride lit her features. "Everyone there is incredibly supportive. Because of them, I can use my magic freely, without worry." She tilted her head, smile gentle but earnest. "You struggled with control before, Noelle. How are you doing now?"
From the sidelines, Xierra and Inari shared a glance.
She didn't catch any of that insult; the look clearly said.
Noelle's jaw tightened, teeth pressing together as she forced something close to civility across her face. The tension sharpened, threading itself beneath the surface of the exchange like a drawn wire.
Mimosa Vermillion remained blissfully unaware.
But the others felt it—an unease coiling beneath Noelle's composure, sharp and unresolved, waiting for the slightest misstep to snap.
Mimosa's posture brightened without warning, as though a thought had struck her like sudden sunlight breaking through clouded stone. She lifted a hand to her cheek, eyes gleaming, while Klaus and Yuno stood just behind her—straight-backed, composed, the picture of the Golden Dawn's discipline.
"Oh!" she announced, unable to keep the delight from her voice. "The other day, during a mission, the three of us received a star from the Wizard King!"
The dungeon's dim glow caught on her smile, turning it almost luminous. Klaus adjusted his gloves, chin lifted with quiet pride. Yuno remained calm, though there was a faint ease in his stance that spoke volumes.
Asta leaned forward immediately, enthusiasm bursting past restraint. "Yeah! We got a star a few days back, too!!"
His grin stretched wide, eyes glittering with triumph as if the very concept of stars lived inside him. Noelle tossed her silver hair back, posture straightening, clearly pleased to stand beside that confidence rather than behind it.
Xierra watched them all, silent.
She inclined her head once, acknowledging the exchange, and kept her mouth shut. She could have spoken—could have mentioned her own mission with Rhein and the recognition they had earned, but the air already felt sharp enough to draw blood. Pride piled on pride rarely ended well. She chose restraint instead, folding her thoughts inward.
Asta opened his mouth again, momentum carrying him forward—
"Liar."
Klaus' finger snapped out, accusation clean and unyielding.
Asta's balance vanished. He tipped backward and crashed to the ground in a clatter of limbs and protest, yet Klaus did not even glance down at him.
"As if newly inducted Black Bulls could obtain a star so effortlessly," Klaus continued, voice polished with disdain. "It is impudent that you were assigned to this mission at all."
Asta shot back up, fists clenched. "The Wizard King called for us directly!!"
"Another transparent falsehood."
"I'm not lying!!"
Xierra exhaled through her nose, slow and tired. Her patience thinned like stretched thread. She shifted her weight, already half-prepared to disengage from the brewing mess—until Klaus spoke again.
"Now that I think of it," he added, eyes narrowing as they swept over the Black Bulls, "there were meant to be three of you."
The words landed heavily.
Klaus' magenta gaze sharpened. "Did your missing comrade abandon you and crawl home?" A cruel smile curved his mouth. "Or perhaps he already fell victim to a trap spell. Hah."
The dungeon stilled.
For a brief moment, no one answered. Mana motes hovered uneasily, the river's dull gleam stretching shadows across stone and broken brick. Klaus' smirk deepened, smug in the silence.
Then Inari moved.
Perched atop Klaus' shoulders, the fox smacked his face with sharp precision.
"Wh—?! Why do you keep hitting my face, fox?!"
"To make you quiet," Inari replied flatly. "And because you jump hastily to conclusions."
He drew a slow breath, ears twitching as his senses stretched outward. Xierra felt it then—a subtle tightening in the air, a pull she recognized through their bond. Her gaze sharpened, instinct following his lead.
"There is another mana presence here," Inari continued, tone stripped of humor. "Strong. Active. There is a chance the third Black Bull is fighting someone. Some group."
"Group?" someone questioned at once.
"What do you mean by that?"
Inari's mouth curved, just slightly. "Who can say?"
He turned away, dismissing the group entirely, and padded back up Xierra's arm to reclaim his place on her shoulder, tucking himself closer to escape the cold draft that crept through the chamber.
"Though, keep your guards up. We might not be the only ones here."
Xierra lifted a hand briefly, steadying him. Her eyes scanned the passage ahead, thoughts aligning. Whatever lay deeper within the dungeon, it was not idle.
Klaus scoffed. The sound cut sharply through the lingering tension.
Without another word, he strode forward, boots striking stone with rigid intent. The decision was immediate and absolute.
The others barely had time to react.
Asta and Noelle rushed after him—and paid for it instantly. A wrong step sent magic flaring beneath their feet. Stone plates shifted. Vines snapped upward. Blades of hardened mana burst from hidden sigils, forcing frantic dodges and shouted curses.
Xierra moved on instinct.
"Left—don't touch that!"
She seized Mimosa's sleeve and yanked her back just as a glowing pattern flared to life where she had been standing. Yuno adjusted his path at once, following Xierra's lead rather than Klaus' reckless advance.
Ahead of them, Klaus continued, unbothered, weaving through danger with sharp precision.
Behind him, the rest struggled to keep pace—scrambling, leaping, narrowly avoiding the dungeon's hungry defenses—as the weight of unspoken concern pressed heavier with every step forward.
Asta surged ahead, muscles coiling with familiar resolve as he swung the anti-magic sword in a clean, decisive arc. The blade devoured the magic circles laid in its path, swallowing light and leaving nothing behind but harmless dust. The way forward opened at once, stone and sigils stripped of threat, granting the group a narrow passage through the dungeon's teeth.
Sweat glistened along Asta's temple. Noelle's breath came sharper than before, shoulders tight beneath her armor. Neither of them voiced the thought pressing against their ribs.
We can't say he just left us and went off somewhere...!!
A faint huff brushed Xierra's thoughts, private and dry.
"Oh, so the other one did leave without another word."
Only she heard Inari's voice. The fox watched Asta and Noelle with an unreadable stare, ears twitching as if trying to make sense of the invisible threads binding the Black Bulls together.
"Hmph. They'll survive either way," he added, unimpressed, as though people were puzzles he had long since stopped solving.
Klaus halted without warning.
The sudden stop rippled through the group. Soles scraped stone. Shoulders stiffened. Xierra's skin prickled all at once, a sharp sensation crawling up her arms. Cold seeped into the air—not the simple chill of underground stone, but something deliberate, pressing.
She swallowed. "...Is it just me, or did the temperature drop?"
Inari's tail bristled. "No. It's colder for me as well, Master."
Even his voice felt tighter, stripped of its usual laziness.
"Great," Xierra muttered, fingers curling reflexively as she scanned the corridor ahead.
Inari turned his attention to Klaus, peering down at the noble from his perch. The man's posture remained rigid, expression sealed behind practiced restraint. No flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. No hint of fear.
For once, Inari found himself uncertain.
Whether Klaus was thinking deeply—or not at all—was impossible to tell.
A short, derisive sound broke the tension.
Klaus exhaled through his nose, disdain plain as he finally spoke. "Either way, the Black Bulls are a band of miscreants who abandon their own newcomers." His eyes slid toward Xierra, sharp and unyielding. "And I find myself disappointed that you chose to defend them earlier. Your claims hold no proof."
Magenta met cerulean. They clashed heads and tails, the ocean against the flowers peppering earth—like wildfire cutting through a frostbitten field, like lightning tearing across a summer sky that refused to darken.
Xierra did not step back. Her stance remained firm, spine straight, gaze level. She offered him no argument, no explanation—only quiet resolve. The kind that did not need permission to exist.
Klaus looked away first.
His focus snapped to Asta and Noelle, the dismissal in his stare unmistakable. The pressure in the air thickened, mana stirring around him in a suffocating wave. It pressed against stone and breath alike, carrying the weight of his judgment through the chamber.
Every word struck hard, carried from archway to archway, embedding itself into the silence, whether anyone wished to accept it or not. Condemnation.
"The Black Bulls are a filthy disgrace to the Magic Knights."
To Be Continued...