"The Black Bulls are a filthy disgrace to the Magic Knights!!"
The words struck harder than any spell.
Xierra reacted before she could stop herself—her shoulders drew tight, breath catching sharp in her chest as Klaus' venom cut through the chamber. The light from the mana crystals overhead washed his figure in harsh magenta and gold, turning his sneer into something almost feral. It was not pride speaking anymore. It was contempt, raw and unfiltered.
Her brows knit, concern sharpening into something heavier. This was no longer posturing. The air had grown taut, stretched thin as glass under pressure, and she could feel the moment tipping toward something irreparable.
Then—warmth.
Amber caught cerulean.
Yuno had moved without announcement, his steps careful, precise. When his hand came down on her head, it was gentle, grounding—fingers resting there as if he were anchoring her to the present. Not possessive. Not showy. Just there.
"Yuno?" The sound slipped out before she could measure it, surprise threading through her voice.
He did not answer. His attention stayed fixed ahead, jaw set, eyes trained on the standoff unfolding between Klaus and Asta. Yet his hand did not leave her, thumb brushing once against her hair in a small, steadying motion.
Xierra swallowed. Whatever storm raged ahead of them, he had noticed her first.
Across the chamber, Asta stepped forward.
There was steel in his posture now, feet braced against the uneven stone, sword angled just enough to promise retaliation. His glare burned bright—but unlike Klaus', it held no spite. Only resolve. Xierra realized, distantly, that this was the same look he wore when he refused to bend. When the world pushed, he pushed back harder.
"Bring it on, you jerk!!" Asta shouted, voice ringing clear through the space. "The Black Bulls are gonna capture this dungeon first!! Just you wait!!"
He thrust a finger forward, confidence blazing—only to falter mid-sentence.
"You, Gol—darn... No, uh... Solden... Wait—"
Xierra pressed her palm to her face.
Any remaining tension cracked under the sheer absurdity of it. She peeked through her fingers just in time to watch Asta squint in visible distress, as though the name itself were an enemy spell.
"...You group with the weird masked boss!!"
Silence followed.
Several people reacted at once—Noelle inhaled sharply, Mimosa stiffened, and Xierra let out a low, resigned breath. So much for dramatic impact.
"Weird... masked...?" Klaus repeated, disbelief crawling across his features. One eye twitched violently.
The air thickened again, heavier than before.
Before he could form a solid thought, his fury detonated.
"You scum!!" he roared. "Are you mocking our sublime Captain Vangeance?!"
The dungeon answered him with violence—stone trembling, dust cascading from above as his mana surged outward, pressing down on everyone present like a crushing hand. Pebbles skittered across the floor. Light flickered.
Xierra stood her ground. Yuno's hand tightened briefly against her hair, a silent question. She did not step back.
It took Klaus a heartbeat too long to understand what had just happened.
The moment clarity struck him, it did so without mercy—his shoulders tensing, posture snapping rigid as if affronted by the very air. Inari, who had been lounging atop that noble perch with the ease of royalty, reacted instantly. He sprang away just as Klaus lurched forward, the once-stable ground turning into an open war of verbal assaults.
What followed was nothing short of a spectacle.
Klaus seized Asta by the collar with all the indignation of a man whose honor had been dragged through mud, while Asta answered with flailing, airborne swings that carried more fury than precision. They stumbled, spun, and nearly toppled—an uncoordinated clash of limbs and shouting that resembled a violent folk dance gone terribly wrong.
"In any case, your captain is the weird one!!"
The words barely left Klaus' mouth before Asta shrieked back, voice cracking with outrage. "What was that, you jerk?! Captain Yami's way better than that mysterious wanna-be masked dude of yours!!"
"Why all those muscles?!" Klaus snapped, tugging Asta closer. "Why the tank top?!"
"He's macho and completely awesome!!"
The insults escalated rapidly—barbs hurled like daggers, each carefully aimed yet somehow restrained. Klaus accused Yami of barbarism and questionable leadership. Asta retaliated by mocking William's secrecy, his mask, and his overly calm demeanor. They circled each other with clenched fists and bared teeth, neither quite crossing the line into outright violence.
It was almost impressive.
Xierra covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, shoulders shaking despite herself. Inari, now perched safely nearby, snickered openly, tail flicking in delight. The two of them shared a look—mutual disbelief mixed with amusement—as they watched how desperately Klaus and Asta restrained themselves from turning this argument into a crater.
Yuno released a long, tired breath.
The anti-bird fluttered down, settling comfortably on his right shoulder as if sensing the familiar exhaustion. Without looking, Yuno's hand returned to Xierra's head, fingers resting there in a steady, absent motion. They exchanged a synchronized head shake, their shared judgment unspoken yet identical.
"What a waste of time," Inari sighed.
Then, as if compelled by fate—or pure mischief—he added, far too casually, "Honestly, Captain Fuegoleon is a thousand times better than either of them."
The effect was immediate.
"He's strong and doesn't need to yell about it," Inari said, flicking his claws one by one. "Doesn't posture, doesn't tantrum. Even his flames behave better than most Magic Knights. Including you both."
Yuno stiffened. Oh no.
"And don't get me started on his mana control," Inari went on. "Refined. Powerful. Warm. A proper captain. Hmph."
Klaus and Asta exploded at the same time.
"You take that back—!!"
The chamber descended once more into shouting, accusations flying wildly as both Magic Knights found common ground solely in their outrage toward the fox. Yuno closed his eyes briefly, already regretting not stopping Inari sooner.
Xierra exhaled sharply. "They're hopeless," she muttered, tone flat with disinterest. "Inari included."
Sensing imminent retaliation, Inari slipped away with graceful ease, padding toward Mimosa and Noelle, who had remained suspiciously quiet throughout the chaos. He seated himself between them, posture innocent.
Klaus finally staggered back, breath uneven, irritation etched deep into his face. With a dramatic motion, he shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose, hair bouncing sharply.
"Fine, you impossible fools!" he barked. "We'll show you the difference between the top Magic Knight squad and you dregs!!"
Without sparing anyone else a glance, he called out, "Mimosa!!"
"Okay!" she replied almost immediately.
Mimosa stepped forward, calm and radiant despite the noise behind her. She opened her grimoire with care, pages fluttering as if eager to comply. Her finger lifted, pointing delicately into the space ahead.
Roots burst forth from nothingness, thick and twisting, veins of green pulsing with life. Blades of grass followed, then stems, climbing rapidly as petals unfolded. Within moments, a massive rafflesia bloomed, crimson and white, its presence commanding silence.
"Plant Creation Magic: Magic Flower Guidepost!"
From the heart of the bloom rose a three-dimensional map, glowing emerald. The dungeon's layout shimmered into view, corridors and chambers sculpted in light, green motes drifting lazily around it.
Xierra leaned forward, eyes alight with curiosity.
As she studied the spell, Yuno's attention shifted—not to the magic, but to her.
She looked different.
More engaged. More vivid.
Yuno noticed it in the way her gaze followed the floating map—not just watching, but understanding. Her eyes moved with intent, tracking the paths, pausing where danger might lie. There was a subtle tension in the line of her shoulders, not born from fear, but readiness. Confidence settled into her posture as naturally as breath, worn easily, without bravado.
She no longer stood as someone waiting to be guided.
It struck him then—sharp and unexpected—that she was not the same girl who used to laugh first and think later, who smiled wide and bright without considering what the world might take from her in return. That light was still there, unmistakable, but it had been tempered. Polished by distance. By choice.
Not worse. Just grown.
Time had done its quiet work in the weeks they had spent apart.
"You've changed a bit, Xierra," Yuno spoke at last, the words slipping free before he could stop them. His voice carried less certainty than he intended, as if the thought had surprised him, too.
She turned toward him, head tilting slightly, curiosity softening her features. "Hmm? Did you say something?"
He met her eyes for a brief second—long enough to feel the weight of it—then looked away. "No," he answered smoothly. "It's nothing."
A pause.
"You look nice today."
The reaction was immediate.
Color bloomed across her cheeks, quick and unguarded, climbing up to the tips of her ears. Her eyes widened, caught between disbelief and embarrassment.
"W-Where did that even come from...?" she squeaked out, voice thin with surprise.
Yuno allowed himself a small smile—nothing sharp, nothing teasing. Just honest. "Nowhere," he replied. "I just wanted to say it."
He glanced at her again, steady this time. "You look pretty."
She sputtered, lifting a hand to brush her hair back as if it could hide the heat burning her face and reddening ears. "Oh, come on," she protested, half-flustered, half-defensive. "You're teasing me. I always look like this."
Yuno huffed out a quiet laugh—rare, warm, unrestrained. "Really?"
His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary. "Maybe we've been apart too long. I remember how you look."
Then, more softly—but no less firmly—he added, "But you're not the same."
There was no accusation in his tone. No loss.
Only recognition.
And something close to pride.
His words were simple, but they stayed.
Inari glanced back, caught the moment, and promptly dissolved into silent laughter—tail swaying wildly as he turned away, utterly delighted.
"I'm rooting for you, kid," Inari declared, voice ringing with delight as he threw his weight back, laughter spilling freely from his chest. His tail flicked in broad, satisfied sweeps, the sound growing louder until it rasped, forcing him to clear his throat with an indignant cough that only made him laugh harder.
Yuno responded with little ceremony. A brief nod, controlled and calm, paired with a faint curve to his lips—something restrained, but real. The marigold in his eyes caught the dungeon's fractured torchlight, glinting with something teasing beneath the composure.
Xierra, meanwhile, continued to swat at his arm with light, uncoordinated strikes. They landed harmlessly, her efforts meeting nothing but solid muscle hidden behind stretched sleeves.
"Inari," she warned, teeth clenched as she resisted the urge to groan outright. "Why are you siding with him?"
The fox spirit grinned, sharp and unapologetic. "Because he's currently the most perfect candidate for you, Master. Why else?"
"What?!"
The sound escaped her before she could stop it. Xierra froze, shoulders locking as heat rushed to her face in a swift, traitorous wave. She turned sharply away from Yuno, eyes darting anywhere else—crumbling stone walls, chipped runes, the uneven brick beneath her boots.
The dungeon floor, cracked and worn by centuries of footsteps, had never seemed so fascinating.
"Curse you," she muttered under her breath, fingers twisting together as she shifted her weight. "And your confession..."
Yuno heard every word.
The satisfaction that spread across his expression was unmistakable. Not smug—never that—but victorious in the quiet way he always was. His mouth tilted upward just enough to betray it.
"Do you want me to say it again?" he asked, voice even, though his tone carried an edge of amusement.
Xierra stiffened. Slowly, she turned her head. "...What?"
"I like y—"
"No, stop! Stop—shush!"
She reacted on instinct, spinning toward him and pressing her hand firmly over his mouth. Her palm barely covered half of it, fingers stretching in vain as she rose onto the tips of her boots.
It was useless.
Yuno let out a low laugh, warm and unmistakably pleased, and leaned forward without hesitation. The distance vanished in a breath. Her arm bent awkwardly between them as their faces drew close—far too close.
Xierra's breath caught.
His presence filled her senses all at once: the steady warmth of him, the faint scent of wind and parchment, the way his eyes softened when they focused entirely on her. Her heart stumbled, losing all sense of order as her grip faltered.
Yuno tilted his head slightly, just enough to make her realize how easily he could close the gap if he wished.
Her face burned.
The color spread fast—deep and vivid—calling to mind florist roses displayed at dawn, the gleam of polished garnet, the heavy red of a sky just before nightfall. It was the kind of warmth that felt too bright to hide, too honest to deny.
It burned with embarrassment and shy protest, with a restraint she barely held together. She bit the walls of her mouth, subtle but telling—a small habit that only he ever seemed to notice, especially when Xierra was caught in moments like this, flustered and defenseless in a way she never allowed the world to see.
She withdrew with a strangled sound, hands flying up to cover her cheeks as if that might conceal the crimson blooming there. Turning sharply, she faced away from him, shoulders drawn tight as she tried—and failed—to calm herself.
"You're being unfair, Yuno..." she complained, voice muffled as she sulked into her palms.
Behind her, he smiled.
Stepping closer, he lifted a hand and brushed it through her hair, fingers gentle as they combed through strands still warm from her fluster. The action was familiar—easy. Comforting in a way that made her chest ache.
"How?" he asked, genuinely curious, as if her accusation puzzled him. But it didn't. And it was fun teasing her, he admitted to himself. Very fun.
She faltered.
It struck her then how different he'd been today. More present. More willing to reach out. Since entering the dungeon, he had stayed close—never crowding, never pulling away. A steady presence at her side. A hand on her head. A quiet reassurance when the air grew heavy.
Comfort.
The memory surfaced uninvited—his indirect confession from that one day. The careful words. The meaning woven between them. She had buried it beneath missions and training, told herself it was easier not to dwell.
Yet now, every glance at him brought it back.
The dungeon seemed to tighten around them, stone walls pressing inward as the tension between squads loomed nearer. Magic pulsed faintly through ancient veins carved into the structure, stirring unease in the air.
And still—Yuno grounded her.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He met her gaze without hesitation, amber eyes steady, reflective. There was no demand there. No pressure. Only understanding.
As if he knew exactly what she was wrestling with.
As if he were willing to wait.
Xierra opened her mouth to answer—then stopped.
"All right!" Mimosa's voice cut cleanly through the moment, bright and decisive. "I know the rough layout of this dungeon."
The space shifted instantly. The fragile bubble between Xierra and Yuno gave way to preparation, to purpose.
"Yuno!" Klaus called, sharp and authoritative.
Yuno straightened at once, his usual composure sliding back into place like armor. "Understood."
He stepped forward, opening his grimoire as power gathered around him. The air changed—lighter, sharper. Pages turned on their own, each movement precise.
"Wind Creation Magic: Heavenly Wind Ark."
The winds answered eagerly, spiraling beneath his feet as magic shaped itself into form. Currents twisted and layered, crafting a vessel from invisible force. Robes fluttered. Hair lifted. The dungeon breathed with them.
And Xierra watched—heart still racing—not as someone standing behind him, but as someone standing beside him.
The Heavenly Wind Ark took shape with careful intent, every current bending to Yuno's control as if the air itself had learned obedience. It rose from the dungeon floor in a smooth ascent, carrying its passengers upward without jolt or strain. Pale streams of wind intertwined beneath their feet, braided and steady, forming railings and tethers that resembled rigging drawn from a sky-bound vessel.
It did not rush. It hovered—a quiet authority in motion—its path clean and unwavering. The ark moved like something long meant to exist, its structure neither rigid nor fragile, but balanced between precision and freedom. Every curve of wind bore Yuno's signature: restraint paired with strength, discipline shaped into beauty.
Klaus' mouth curved into a self-satisfied smirk as the ark steadied. He lifted a hand, pointing without hesitation. "Yuno. Bring her along as well. There's no reason for her to remain with them any longer than necessary."
"And by her, you mean my master," Inari cut in, padding closer to Xierra with his tail flicking in sharp offense. He stopped short of climbing onto her shoulder, eyes narrowing. "She has a name. You might want to try using it."
Klaus clicked his tongue, adjusting his glasses with a practiced motion. "I am well aware," he replied stiffly. "Which is precisely why she's coming with us. Efficiency matters in a dungeon like this."
Yuno inclined his head once, already in agreement. "I was planning to," he admitted.
The wind reacted immediately.
Silvery strands slipped downward, gentle but firm, circling Xierra's waist before she could register what was happening. The air beneath her feet vanished in an instant.
"Whoa—!"
The sound escaped her before she could stop it, surprise cutting clean through her composure. The lift was smooth, almost careful, and yet the sudden distance from the ground sent a flutter through her chest—half alarm, half exhilaration. Her boots cleared the stone, her cloak stirred, and she was drawn upward as if the sky itself had decided to claim her.
Yuno guided her onto the ark with unspoken focus, easing the winds until her feet met the platform. Xierra adjusted instinctively, knees bending just slightly as she steadied herself. When she looked up, her eyes shone with disbelief, tracing the structure beneath her as if confirming it was real.
She crossed her arms and leaned against the wind-formed railing, gaze sliding toward Klaus with clear displeasure. "Care to explain why I'm coming with you again?" she asked, her tone edged with dry bite. "I'm not part of the Golden Dawn. You made that very clear earlier."
Yuno didn't answer. Instead, the air shifted once more, lifting Inari onto the ark. The fox landed neatly, padding forward before settling onto Yuno's shoulders with a satisfied huff.
Klaus let out a small sound of irritation. He stepped closer and placed a firm hand on Xierra's shoulder—not unkind, but decisive. "This isn't about squads," he declared, already turning away. "It's about results."
His gaze snapped toward the Black Bulls below. "Do try to keep up, Black Bulls."
The challenge hung there, sharp and deliberate, as the ark hovered higher.
Xierra scowled.
It didn't quite land the way she intended—her expression collapsing into something closer to a pout instead. Yuno noticed. Of course he did.
"Okay," she muttered, defeated, folding her arms tighter. "Don't explain, then."
Below them, Noelle's voice rang out in disbelief. "He's carrying four people that easily?!"
Asta laughed, loud and bright, eyes burning with excitement. "That's Yuno for you! Amazing like always!"
Xierra crouched near the edge of the ark, peering down. Her blue gaze softened as it landed on Asta, the familiar fire in him impossible to miss. A small smile curved her lips before she straightened again.
"Sooo..." She dusted off her lap with careful precision, glancing between them. "You're racing for the treasure halls? Together?"
"Yes!" Mimosa answered instantly, stepping forward with her grimoire floating nearby. She clasped Xierra's hands with open excitement. "And you're coming with us!"
Xierra blinked, taken aback by the enthusiasm. She eased her hands free and took a step back.
"Right. I thought I'd be competing too—"
A quiet shake of the head caught her attention.
Yuno didn't look at her directly, but the small smile he wore gave him away. "Not happening."
"What?" Xierra frowned, annoyance creeping in beneath the confusion. She tilted her head, challenging. "Why not? You think I can't keep up?"
Klaus adjusted his glasses again. "We'll need you," he stated. "Now move, Yuno."
Inari scoffed, tail swaying. "Just admit you don't have a spell bright enough to guide the way," he chimed in, voice laced with smug amusement.
Turning away with a dramatic flick of his tail, disappointment was written plainly across Inari's small frame. Any hope of tearing through the dungeon alongside the other squads had been stolen the moment Yuno drew him into the Golden Dawn's path instead. He huffed under his breath, ears flattening.
Still—
Annoying as it was, there was comfort in proximity. Yuno's presence carried a steadiness Inari trusted, even when his pride protested.
Xierra gave in with a quiet sigh and lowered herself into a crouch near the ark's edge. Her gaze found Asta's instantly. That familiar, blazing green cut through the distance like it always had—unwavering, earnest, alive.
Her unfocused look softened.
The tension in her shoulders eased, and her lips curved into something gentle, something warm. Snow touched by morning light. She drew her hand back, fingers curling tight, then thrust her fist forward in a silent challenge.
Asta's grin widened in response.
Beside her, Yuno lifted his chin just slightly, eyes sharpening as he met Asta's stare. There was no need for words between them. There had never been.
Memory surged in like floodwater breaking through stone.
The promise. The hunger to rise higher. The vow whispered into cold air, carried by breath that trembled with youth and certainty. It returned painted in gold and ember—fireflies hovering like scattered stars, their glow stitched into the dim orange stretch of evening where the sun hovered at the edge of surrender.
Where the day had hesitated, unwilling to end.
They had stood together then, grimoires still new in their hands, victory fresh against a fallen former Magic Knight. Later, they had lain beneath a sky gone quiet, watching the light drain away as if the heavens themselves were resting.
And before that—
Snow-stung knuckles.
Hearts set ablaze by fury and hope.
The same words torn from their chests as they fought to reclaim what had been stolen.
That promise rose again.
"Let's see—"
"—who becomes—"
"—the Wizard King!"
The words didn't need sound to exist between them now.
Once more, they stood on the same path. This time, not as children chasing a dream too large for their hands, but as Magic Knights with proof of their resolve etched into every step.
Closer than they had ever been.
Ahead waited the treasure halls of a newborn dungeon, its secrets coiled and patient, daring them to reach for more.
Xierra had imagined exploring it alone with Inari—quiet, careful, on her own terms. Yet Rhein's warnings crept in uninvited: shifting floors, living traps, creatures that skittered and nested in dark corners.
Her shoulders tightened at the thought.
She hated insects. Loathed them. So she stayed.
And for now, that choice felt right.
She straightened slowly, aware of Yuno at her side—close enough that the press of his presence eased the weight in her chest. Even without the race, without competition clawing at her heels, the journey felt lighter.
Not because the dungeon had become less dangerous.
But because she wasn't walking it alone.
"Well then," Klaus commanded, "let us move! We don't want those dregs to reach the halls first."
.
.
.
The wind ark plunged through an archway, its passage violent and unrelenting as it tore into the dungeon's throat. Air screamed past them, pressed thin by speed, while the corridor ahead unraveled into a gauntlet of time-worn brick. The walls closed in tight, their surfaces split by jagged seams and hollowed scars, as though the structure itself had been gnawed at by centuries of neglect.
Above them, wild vines spilled from unseen cracks, thick and twisted, swaying with the ark's passage. Leaves brushed against stone, roots clung stubbornly to mortar, giving the dungeon an unsettling sense of life—one that had learned to thrive in darkness.
For Xierra, the sight stirred something restless and bright. Curiosity sparked behind her eyes, awe threading through her chest. This was untouched ground, an unfamiliar world layered with secrets waiting to be pried open.
And yet, she found herself here not by choice, but circumstance—caught in the long-standing rivalry between the Golden Dawn and the Black Bulls. The irony did not escape her. She was quietly grateful, once again, that her path had led her to the Crimson Lion Kings instead. Their fire burned loud, yes—but it did not waste itself on pointless clashes.
The ark held steady beneath her boots, its surface firm and unwavering as Yuno guided it deeper into the dungeon's veins. The wind obeyed him with seamless precision, forming a platform that felt almost tangible, like glass reinforced by intent.
Still, guilt tugged at her.
Her gaze drifted back toward the darkened corridor they had left behind. Noelle's unsteady magic. Asta's reckless bravery, unarmed by mana. Neither of them possessed a spell meant for tracking, and that truth weighed on her more heavily with each passing second.
She had planned to return. To split off. To even the odds.
A three-on-three race felt fair. Balanced. Anything else felt like borrowing an advantage where none was earned. Her fingers curled at her side, resolve tightening—until Inari's sharp stare pinned her in place.
"Master," he cut in, tone firm despite the grin tugging at his muzzle. "You're worrying too much."
His eyes gleamed with confidence. "That brat and his silver-haired companion are sturdier than you give them credit for. Let them figure things out. This part?" His tail flicked lazily. "This is your path."
Xierra faltered.
The words sank in slowly, threading themselves through her thoughts. Growth didn't come from being shielded. She knew that. She had learned it the hard way. Asta and Noelle deserved the same chance—to struggle, to adapt, to stand on their own.
Her shoulders eased.
"...Right," she breathed, realization settling in. She exhaled, tension spilling from her chest. "It just feels strange—staying here, using their guidance, while the others are left to push forward alone."
Inari snickered, thoroughly amused. He knew that look on her face far too well—the spiral of overthinking, the urge to shoulder responsibility that wasn't hers to carry.
Mimosa noticed it too.
She giggled, eyes lighting up as she took in Xierra's knitted brows and distant stare. With a burst of energy, she skipped across the ark and looped her arm through Xierra's, giving it an enthusiastic tug.
"Come on, come on! Don't make that face!" Mimosa chimed. "You'll wrinkle it!"
Xierra blinked, pulled abruptly from her thoughts. "Mimosa—?"
Too late. Mimosa had already maneuvered her across the deck, depositing her neatly beside Yuno before darting away again with a playful twirl. Yuno spared Xierra a glance—acknowledging, calm—before returning his attention to steering the ark.
Inari snorted under his breath.
Oblivious or not, Mimosa had an uncanny instinct for these things. He caught the way she glanced back at the pair, smile bright with quiet amusement, before resuming her place beside Klaus.
Xierra shifted where she stood.
The space beside Yuno felt suddenly too small—too cramped, too close—charged with an awareness she hadn't prepared for. She folded her arms, eyes tracing the passing stone as Klaus and Mimosa resumed their discussion ahead.
Trapped by circumstance, by wind and magic and timing, Xierra remained at Yuno's side—heart unsettled, thoughts loud, and entirely unable to step away.
"Those Black Bull fools," Klaus scoffed, his voice cutting through the steady rush of wind as the ark sailed onward. He adjusted his glasses with a sharp motion, displeasure etched plainly across his features. "As if they could ever defeat us. And that boy—what was he even? I couldn't sense a trace of magic."
Mimosa tilted her head in thought, fingers resting near her cheek. "It is strange," she agreed, eyes drifting toward the dark corridor stretching ahead. The empty halls swallowed their voices, carrying them forward alongside the persistent pull of the wind. "To take someone like that into a Magic Knight squad..."
Klaus' brow furrowed deeper. "What is the Black Bulls' captain thinking?"
Xierra felt the words coming before they landed. She turned her gaze sideways, watching Yuno from the corner of her eye. His posture remained composed, shoulders relaxed, attention fixed forward—yet there it was. A fleeting curve at the corner of his mouth. Barely there, but unmistakable.
Her own lips betrayed her, lifting in response before she could stop herself.
I'll never understand you, Yuno, she thought, fondness threading through the confusion.
"Senior Klaus."
The way Yuno spoke his name—calm, unforced—pulled Klaus' attention immediately. The older Magic Knight turned, wary now, as if bracing for disagreement.
"If I were you," Yuno continued evenly, "I wouldn't underestimate him."
For a brief moment, Klaus stiffened. The reaction passed quickly, buried beneath discipline, but Xierra caught it. The tightening of his jaw. The sharpness behind his eyes as they flicked between the two orphans.
"Forsaken Realm peasants," Klaus muttered, the words edged with contempt. He scoffed, unimpressed. "Hah. If anything, I hope he survives long enough to crawl out of this dungeon. My concern lies elsewhere. We're here to secure this place swiftly—for the kingdom."
There was no lie in that statement.
Klaus never wasted words on false bravado. He did not boast for the sake of pride, nor did he speak lightly of duty. His loyalty was sincere, his intentions clear. And yet—beneath that honesty lingered something rigid. An unshakable certainty born from privilege, from years of being taught where he stood in the world.
Xierra barely reacted.
She had heard worse. Many times. From finer halls, spoken with sweeter voices. Klaus' remarks slid past her without leaving a mark, dulled by familiarity. She had learned long ago which words deserved weight—and which were merely noise.
Klaus, however, seemed far less at ease.
His frustration simmered beneath the surface, carried in the way his fingers curled and uncurled at his side. No matter how exceptional Yuno's magic proved to be, no matter how naturally Xierra carried herself among Magic Knights, something in him resisted the truth standing before his eyes.
Not yet, his silence seemed to say.
You may wield a four-leaf clover. You may stand where you do now.
But I haven't acknowledged either of you.
To Be Continued...