Sweat gathered along Inari's temple as his gaze drifted toward the pit below, where Mars lay bound in hardened steel and spells layered with unforgiving precision. The fox turned his head away a moment later, shoulders lifting with a restrained breath, as though he were politely excusing himself from an undignified reaction. The sharp curl at the corner of his mouth betrayed him anyway—amusement tempered by decorum, a laugh swallowed before it could disgrace the fallen.
He adjusted his stance, tails settling with practiced elegance. Sassy, yes—but never sloppy. There was a certain refinement even in his restraint, as if mocking fate itself required taste.
Xierra caught the flicker of mischief all the same.
She followed the direction of his averted gaze, then sighed through her nose, shaking her head. Inari was enjoying this far too much—though he'd never admit it outright. Deciding it was better to leave him to his silent theatrics, she scooted closer to where the others had gathered and immediately spotted Mimosa standing upright, posture careful but steady.
That alone sent a ripple of concern through her.
"Mimosa," Xierra called, her voice easing through the air with gentle insistence. She slowed her steps as she approached, hands loosely folded at her sides. "Are you sure you should be up and about right now? You can rest longer, you know."
Her eyes traced Mimosa's stance, noting the way her shoulders were held, the slight caution in her movements—subtle things most would overlook.
"Yeah, is it okay for you to be up?" Noelle added, glancing over with a practiced side-eye, arms crossing over her chest. Her tone carried its usual firmness, but worry slipped through the cracks no matter how hard she tried to seal it away.
Mimosa let out a small, uneven laugh, the sound light but not entirely confident. She placed her slender hand against her chest, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of her robe, and offered them a reassuring smile. "I'm mostly recovered. Really. Don't worry."
The smile lingered just long enough to convince, just short enough to raise doubt.
"I see..." Xierra nodded, understanding settling into her expression. She stepped back half a pace, giving Mimosa space, and let her gaze drift across the rest of the group. She chose silence then, allowing herself to absorb the scene rather than interrupt it.
Fragments of conversation drifted past her.
Someone fretted aloud about whether Mars' steel confinement would truly hold. Klaus responded immediately, voice firm and offended on behalf of his own magic, declaring it one of his strongest binding spells. Nearby, Asta was nearly tearing his hair out over his Black Bulls robe, shouting about the rips earned in battle, while Luck laughed and clapped him on the back, promising Vanessa would patch it up once they returned.
The noise blended—concern, relief, bravado, exhaustion—each emotion overlapping the next.
Xierra exhaled, the weight of it pressing into her shoulders. And as if to add to it all, she was painfully aware of her position among them.
She was the only Crimson Lion King here.
No familiar cloaks. No voices she had trained beside. No comforting presence from her own squad to anchor her. The realization sat heavily in her chest, sharper than she cared to admit.
Just great.
Her attention shifted then, drawn by the absence of sound rather than its presence.
She, Inari—and oh.
Yuno had been quiet the entire time.
He stood apart from the scattered conversations, posture composed, eyes fixed somewhere ahead. Not distant, exactly. Just inward. As though he were listening to something only he could hear.
Xierra hesitated only a moment before drifting closer. She told herself it was practical—standing alone felt worse than sharing silence—but the truth was simpler. He felt safe. Familiar. Even after his occasional teasing, even with his calm demeanor that sometimes made her feel transparent, he was still someone she trusted.
She stopped beside him and rose onto her tiptoes, then dropped back down. Did it again. And again. A small, repetitive motion born of restless energy, boots tapping lightly against stone.
Yuno noticed.
He reached out and patted her head, palm warm through her hair, the gesture unthinking but gentle.
"Are you bored?" he asked, voice low, almost careful.
Xierra stilled and shook her head, humming faintly as she answered. "No, not really. I was thinking."
"About what?"
Her lips parted—then pressed together again. She stared ahead, eyes unfocused, weighing the thought of sharing against the comfort of silence.
During the clash earlier, when magic collided and wills scraped raw, she had seen things she wasn't sure she was meant to witness. Glimpses pulled from Mars' past—memories not offered, but torn loose. A light cherry-haired girl. His only friend. The way her words lingered in his mind long after she was gone, each sentence carrying meaning heavier than its sound.
She wondered whether to keep it to herself.
Because what she had seen was not cruelty—but loneliness sharpened into a weapon.
Mars' past unfolded like a story written in iron and neglect. A childhood forged not by warmth, but by expectation. Power was demanded before understanding. Strength rewarded, weakness punished. And through it all, that single bright presence—a girl who smiled when no one else did, who spoke of freedom like it was something real.
Her absence left a hollow deeper than any wound.
Mars had not become what he was by choice alone. He had been shaped, pressed into purpose, taught that worth was measured in obedience and destruction. The dungeon had not been his first cage—only the most recent.
Looking at him now, bound and silent, Xierra felt something twist uncomfortably in her chest. Pity, perhaps. Or recognition.
Not every enemy was born evil.
Some were simply never given another path.
Seeing the lack of response from Xierra, Yuno released a quiet breath through his nose, the kind meant to steady himself rather than announce impatience. His fingers rested atop her head a moment longer before easing away, the warmth of contact fading too quickly for his liking. The silence between them felt heavier than the aftermath of battle—thick with things unsaid.
He didn't want to press her.
He never did.
Yet there was an ache beneath his calm, a persistent tug that urged him to gather every unspoken worry she carried and hold it carefully, as if doing so might keep it from hurting her. Xierra rarely hesitated without reason. That alone was enough to unsettle him.
Her eyes told the story anyway. Thoughtful. Torn. Shadows of something deeper pass through them like clouds veiling a clear blue sky. Yuno parted his lips, ready to offer something—reassurance, distraction, anything—but the words stalled before they could take shape. For the briefest moment, even he felt uncertain.
He withdrew his hand and pressed his lips together, gaze drifting ahead. Instead of filling the space with sound, he chose stillness. Waiting wouldn't wound him. If anything, it felt right to give her the room to decide.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a memory surfaced—Sister Lily speaking long ago, voice gentle, words meant for a different lesson entirely. Something about patience. About listening more than speaking. Yuno, in his younger years, had taken it quite literally. He was sharp in battle, quick with strategy, but when it came to matters of the heart, he often misread the fine print.
Still, one truth remained unshaken: whatever this was, whatever Xierra needed, his heart had already chosen her. Clumsy understanding or not.
"Oh, dear..." Inari muttered from a short distance away, tails flicking as he wiped a bead of imaginary sweat from his temple. His crooked smile carried fond exasperation rather than mockery. "This is going to take them a while."
"Say, Yuno..." Xierra finally broke the quiet. She twisted her fingers together, nails grazing skin as if grounding herself through the motion. Her shoulders lifted, then dropped, breath unsteady.
"Hm?" The sound he made was low, attentive—an invitation without pressure. He turned slightly toward her, chrome eyes focused, present. Whatever she was about to say, he would hear it.
She drew in a deeper breath than before. The question forming on her tongue felt too large, too fragile. Words she never imagined herself asking anyone.
"If... You know—if the person you treasure most were taken away," she began, voice wavering despite her effort, "if the world decided they didn't get to stay—what would you do then?"
Yuno blinked. Once.
"...Huh?" The sound escaped him before he could stop it, surprise flickering across his composed features.
Just as she expected, the question struck him cleanly, leaving him momentarily unguarded. His brows knit, posture stiffening as he searched her face for context she wasn't offering.
Realizing how heavy it sounded aloud, Xierra let out a breath and started to pull back, ready to brush it off as nothing. But then she met his eyes—sharp with focus now, unwavering—and the resolve there froze her in place.
She faltered under his stare, shoulders drawing inward. Not from fear, but from the intensity of his attention. Yuno didn't look angry. He looked serious. As though her question mattered more than she realized.
Death was not unfamiliar to Magic Knights. Loss walked beside them from the day they donned their cloaks. Names carved into stone. Empty beds in their rooms, left untouched. Promises that ended mid-sentence. Loving someone in their world meant accepting impermanence, even while fighting against it with everything they had.
To lose someone precious was to carry absence like a second shadow. Every victory dulled by the thought of who couldn't see it. Every quiet moment was haunted by memories too vivid to ignore. Some people hardened. Others broke. A few learned to endure, though the cost was never small.
Xierra had seen it in Mars' memories—how a single loss could redirect an entire life. How love, once stripped away, could leave behind only hunger and anger. She feared that truth more than she feared death itself.
What kind of question is that?
Mars had not suffered just one loss. That was the cruelest part of it.
His childhood had been carved away piece by piece, not by chance, but by design. Faces blurred together in his recollections—children no older than himself, trembling hands raised in surrender, eyes filled with futures that would never come to pass. Dreams crushed before they could even take shape. Ambitions silenced mid-breath. Each life taken was another thread severed, another proof that survival demanded cruelty in the game forced upon them.
He had been made to believe there was no alternative. That to hesitate was to die. That compassion was a flaw to be burned out of him. Humanity had written the rules, and Mars had been molded into their answer: a pawn sharpened into a blade, a living weapon forged for the sake of his country's pride and fear. Victory demanded blood, and he had paid the cost over and over, until the line between victim and executioner blurred beyond recognition.
That was what haunted her the most—not the violence itself, but the sureness of it that had all been preventable. That somewhere beneath the armor of duty and survival, there had once been a boy who only wanted to live, and was taught instead how to destroy.
The thought crashed into her mind, panic fluttering beneath her ribs. She braced herself for rejection, for irritation, for the possibility that she had crossed an invisible line.
But Yuno didn't recoil.
"Of course, what else could I do?" he replied, voice firm, a faint breath escaping him as his hand reached out, like it always did, and settled atop her head. The gesture was steady, grounding. Protective. He didn't know what had prompted her question, but that hardly mattered. "Everyone leaves this place someday. That can't be changed."
His gaze sharpened, resolve burning bright. "But if it means having more time with them—more days, more moments—then I'd protect them with everything I have."
The intensity of his eyes pinned Xierra in place. She swallowed, heart racing. She didn't even know why she'd asked. The question felt reckless now, exposed.
Why would she ask something like that in the first place?
The answer surfaced easily, unwelcome yet honest. Mars' memories still clung to her thoughts, refusing to fade.
A breeze swept through the ruined chamber then, cool and cleansing, brushing against their skin like a quiet reassurance. The charged air lightened, and Xierra released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her lips curved upward, eyes closing as relief washed through her.
She and Yuno stood like opposites drawn together—sun and moon sharing the same sky, wind finding its star, earth steady beneath heaven's endless stretch.
A small giggle slipped free as she nodded.
"Right... I don't know why I even asked that," she admitted, voice warmer now, lifting her gaze to offer him the brightest smile she could manage.
The sight struck him hard.
It was the same smile she wore beneath sunset skies, when gold light painted her features, and the world seemed briefly kind. Yuno's breath caught, a tightness forming in his throat as the courage he'd summoned moments ago slipped away.
He couldn't move.
He didn't want to.
All he could do was stand there—quiet, stunned—and commit that smile to memory, wishing, with everything he was, that he could see it for the rest of his days.
Yet, even with all of that, he didn't respond.
Yuno stood before her with the stillness of a carved monument, posture straight and composed as ever, yet his focus had clearly drifted somewhere far beyond the dungeon walls. The ambient glow of enchanted sconces reflected faintly in his eyes, but there was no recognition there—no flicker of awareness, no sharp return of attention. It was as if the world had paused around him, leaving only his thoughts to run unchecked.
"Yuno?" Xierra called again, her voice lifting just enough to test whether it might reach him this time.
When it didn't, she lifted her hand and waved it slowly in front of his face, fingers tracing the air between them. Nothing. Not even a blink. From her angle, he looked absurdly serious, brows drawn ever so slightly, lips set in that familiar line that usually preceded battle—not whatever internal chaos had clearly seized him now.
She leaned closer, tilting her head as she studied him, then reached out and tapped his shoulder.
Once.
Twice.
Still nothing.
Her lips twitched, amusement blooming despite herself. The sight was too strange—Yuno, unshaken by enemies and captains alike, utterly undone by thoughts she could only horribly guess at. A quiet laugh escaped her before she could stop it, light and unguarded, and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand as her shoulders shook.
"Oh no," she whispered to herself, eyes bright. "He's gone."
Above them, Inari let out a long, theatrical sigh from where he lounged across his master's shoulders. The fox turned his narrow gaze away, sable tail flicking with irritation as if the very air offended him.
"Unbelievable," he remarked dryly. "To think the prodigy of Hage would be struck down not by spell or steel, but by romance."
He straightened with refined grace, ears twitching. "I'll be revising his training regimen later. Combat and emotional awareness. Perhaps then I won't have to witness him collapsing from cardiac failure the next time she so much as smiles."
Inari's irritation was, in truth, threaded with familiarity.
He had been there long before this—before the royal capital glittered on the horizon, before anticipation sharpened into nerves at the entrance exam. In quieter days, when their world only consisted of Hage and the neighboring villages, he had trained Yuno also through discipline and control, correcting posture with a sharp flick of his tail, refining instinct into intention.
Even distance had not dulled that role. Letters had traveled between them with the help of Xierra—pages filled with measured observations, revised drills, careful adjustments to match Yuno's growing strength from afar. Inari read between every line. He always did.
What he hadn't accounted for was absence.
Somewhere between one letter and the next, between training notes and progress reports, Yuno's composure had begun to tilt. The quiet steadiness remained, but beneath it, something had taken root—something warmer, unruly, unmistakably human. Inari noticed it immediately. He found it endlessly amusing. The heart, it seemed, was far less obedient than magic.
"However!!"
The sudden bark of a voice shattered the moment entirely.
Both Xierra and Yuno jolted, the latter blinking hard as if dragged back from the depths of his own mind. Klaus Lunettes stood a few steps away, chest puffed out with rigid pride, one hand already adjusting his glasses as though preparing for a proclamation of great importance.
"We will allow you entry into the Treasure Hall as well," Klaus declared, emphasis sharp and decisive. "But just this once!"
Behind him, Mimosa wore a polite, patient smile that suggested she had already accepted whatever chaos was unfolding, while Asta and Noelle stared between them in open confusion, clearly unsure how they'd been swept into this decision.
Yuno exchanged a glance with Xierra. Neither of them had the faintest idea how the conversation had veered in this direction—but they nodded anyway, because that seemed easier than questioning it.
From his perch on Xierra's shoulder, Inari rose smoothly to his feet and hopped down, paws barely making a sound against the polished stone. He flicked imaginary dust from his foreleg and regarded Klaus with cool appraisal.
"And why, pray tell, are we suddenly members of the Golden Dawn?" he asked, tone silkily unimpressed. "Last I checked, we were affiliated with the Crimson Lion Kings. Do try to keep up."
Asta bristled immediately.
"Yeah, what he said! And why are you acting so high and mighty, Four-Eyes?!" he snapped, pointing accusingly at Klaus. "But—uh—thanks anyway, you big jerk!"
The argument ignited instantly, voices rising and overlapping familiarly. Seeing no end in sight, Xierra stepped forward, placing herself between the noise and the looming entrance ahead.
The doors to the treasure hall towered over them—vast slabs of ornate material etched with glowing bevels that shimmered like molten gold beneath the light. Magic clung to their surface, heavy and watchful, as though the doors themselves were judging who dared approach.
"All right! To the treasure hall!!" Asta shouted suddenly, charging ahead without hesitation.
Xierra barely had time to react before he brushed past her, momentum knocking her off balance. Klaus surged forward right after him, determined not to be outdone, their footsteps echoing as they raced toward the entrance.
"Wait—!" Xierra reached out, panic threading her voice. "The doors are—"
They stopped short, both freezing in unison.
Understanding dawned with painful clarity.
"—locked," she finished, letting out a nervous chuckle as she caught up to them. "It's likely the doors are made of magic, Asta."
Two stiff silhouettes stood before the unyielding entrance, realization settling in at last.
"Huh?"
Asta glanced back at Xierra, brows knitting together as though he were trying to force sense into the moment by sheer effort alone. His head tipped to the side, then the other, eyes darting from her to the towering doors and back again. If confusion could take shape, it would have been standing right there, sword drooping slightly in his grip.
"I seriously don't get what you're trying to say, Xierra," he added, scratching at his cheek in genuine puzzlement. "The doors are magic. They're closed. That's... that, right?"
Inari's ears flattened.
"What my master meant," the fox snapped, gliding forward with sharp precision, "is that you can cut the doors down with your anti-sword, you useless kid."
He circled Asta once, eyes narrowing at the weapon in the boy's hands as if offended by the fact it hadn't already been swung. "You're standing there with the single most inconvenient thing magic has ever encountered, and you're still confused."
Asta opened his mouth—promptly too late.
"How can that brain of yours be unable to comprehend her words?" Inari continued, voice rising with every step. "It is painfully simple."
He sprang upward and smacked the back of Asta's head with a sharp paw. Then again. And again. His smoky tail lashed from side to side like an irritated banner, every movement precise and full of dramatic disdain.
"Ow—ow—ow! Stop hitting me, you damn fox!" Asta yelped, ducking and flailing uselessly as if that might help.
"I will if you stop being stupid!" Inari shot back, bristling. "The idiotic state of your brain is contagious to my master and me!"
"What?!" Asta shouted, straightening abruptly. "There is no such thing!"
"Yes, there is," Inari fired back without missing a beat. "Especially with you around."
They locked eyes, tension snapping tight between them. Xierra swore she could almost see it—thin, sharp sparks skittering through the space they shared, neither willing to yield an inch.
"Now, now—let's not fight!"
Luck wedged himself between them with a grin far too cheerful for the situation, pressing a hand against each of their faces as if breaking up a playground scuffle. His laughter rang bright, entirely unbothered by the near-hostile air.
He pulled his hand away from Asta and pointed toward the doors, repeating Xierra's explanation with exaggerated simplicity. "Just cut it, Asta. Shink! Like that!"
Asta froze.
The words took their time settling in, expression shifting slowly as realization crept across his face. The added sound effect clearly did nothing to help—but something finally clicked.
"Oh."
Without another word, he raised his sword and brought it down hard against the lower portion of the doors, shouting something entirely incoherent as he did.
The moment the blade made contact, the magic unraveled. Not shattered—unmade. The enchanted surface thinned, then scattered, dissolving into nothing but drifting traces of light that vanished before they could touch the floor.
A surge of brilliance burst from the opening beyond, flooding outward in a blinding wave. The air trembled with it, humming against their skin, and one by one, they squeezed their eyes shut as radiance spilled into the hall.
Opening their eyes turned out to be anything but a mistake.
Light poured in from beyond the broken doors, not harsh but overwhelming in its abundance, gilding every surface it touched. It spilled across stone and skin alike, warm and dazzling, as if the room itself had been waiting—patiently—for witnesses. The air felt thicker here, heavy with ancient magic and wealth untouched by time, carrying the faint weight of history pressing gently against their chests.
Beyond the threshold rose mountains of gold.
Not neat stacks, but wild, careless hoards—coins cascading into one another, chalices overturned and brimming with gemstones, their polished rims catching the light like fireflies caught in glass.
At the heart of the largest mound stood a sword, carved and ceremonial, driven deep into treasure as though claiming dominion over it all. Pearls spilled from broken strings at its base, and jewelry of every cut and color glittered around it, jewels flashing in quiet defiance of restraint.
"Oh... I wish Rhein was here," Xierra breathed, awe threading through her voice.
Her gaze traced the veins of gold and crystal, and without meaning to, her thoughts drifted to him—his fascination with minerals, the way his eyes would light up at raw gemstones and rare alloys. The sight before her felt like something he would have cataloged with reverence, hands itching to examine every glinting surface.
"Too bad he's not," Inari replied, dipping his head in agreement.
He gave a small, deliberate nod, tail swaying in a slow arc behind him. One paw lifted as if measuring the distance between admiration and caution, ears twitching at the chaos already unfolding deeper within the room.
From the far side of the chamber, Asta's voice cut through the splendor with unrestrained enthusiasm.
He darted from pile to pile, laughter tumbling from him as he shouted about gold and swords and things that probably didn't deserve names at all. Luck chased after him with bright eyes and a grin that bordered on feral delight, hands hovering dangerously close to treasures that had clearly survived centuries without being poked.
"Control yourselves!" Klaus barked, voice sharp with disbelief. "This is not a marketplace, you uncultured swine—!! Do you even have any sense of decorum?!"
Even the other knights of noble birth looked undone.
Mimosa's lips parted in wonder, her eyes reflecting gold instead of green. Noelle hovered nearby with barely concealed astonishment, pride forgotten in the face of excess. Klaus himself froze mid-lecture, staring as though the room had personally offended his worldview. And Yuno—steady, unshakable Yuno—stood silently, eyes wide enough to betray how thoroughly the sight had caught him off guard.
For once, none of them looked prepared.
Asta sprinted past another heap of coins, Luck close on his heels, both of them laughing as if the room were a playground rather than a relic-laden vault.
Across the chamber, Noelle floated above the ground, silver water coiling obediently around her hands, forming a smooth sphere that reflected the glow like a mirror. Below her, Mimosa hovered with a magic cape unfurled, expression focused despite the splendor around them. The sight eased something in Xierra's chest. They were alert. They were ready.
Maybe the danger had passed.
Maybe the battle was truly over for them.
The thought tempted her more than she liked to admit.
Weariness pressed down at once, sudden and heavy, her limbs protesting as adrenaline finally ebbed away. Just a minute, she told herself. Just enough time to breathe. Darkness tugged gently at the edges of her vision, inviting and kind.
She could close her eyes for a moment. Just a moment.
"Master."
Inari's voice reached her before sleep could claim its victory.
She didn't catch every word, but she felt it—the care woven into his tone, the same way he used to wake her from restless nights when dreams turned cruel. It steadied her more than any spell ever could.
"I know you're tired," he continued, drifting upward until they were eye to eye. His gaze stayed level with hers, unwavering and warm. "But keep your guard up. When this is finished, I promise you can sleep as much as you want back in your room."
Something in his eyes made the promise feel real.
Seeing exhaustion weigh so heavily on her stirred something fierce in him. He wanted nothing more than to see her rest without fear, without shadows clawing their way into her peace.
"That's new, coming from the devil instructor." Xierra glanced to the side, watching him move with tireless grace. He looked untouched by fatigue, sharp and attentive, even though she knew better. He always carried more than he showed.
With a quiet sigh, she nodded, eyes closing briefly as she took in the room once more.
Her steps, light against the stone, were enough to draw Yuno's attention. He lifted his head from an ornate vase cradled carefully in his hands and offered her a small nod—simple, familiar.
She was about to return it when something stirred.
A small white sphere drifted from the mouth of the vase, glowing faintly as it bobbed through the air. Xierra's face lit up instantly, a grin breaking through her fatigue as her blue eyes tracked the light's playful movements.
Boring was the last word anyone could use for the treasure hall.
There were artifacts scattered everywhere—devices that projected flawless images of whoever stood before them, metallic containers that housed tiny living creatures, and countless accessories and tools infused with strange, silent power. They lay strewn across the floor and pedestals alike, untouched yet inviting.
Surrounded by so much wonder, it was easy to forget why they were there in the first place.
That lapse didn't last long.
Klaus inhaled sharply and shoved his square-rimmed glasses back into place with aggressive precision. "Hey! Everyone!" he shouted. "Do not touch anything! This is a historically significant location, not your personal toy box!"
His complaints continued, layered with lectures about protocol, responsibility, and respect.
Inari grimaced. He turned his attention away from his master and cast a look toward Klaus, then promptly dragged his gaze far, far away from the mage with a long-suffering sigh.
"He really has nothing better to do than to lecture us since the mission started," he muttered.
Xierra laughed quietly, setting aside the vase Yuno had offered her. "I don't think we do either, Inari."
Yuno remained beside her, patient and present, as though time itself had paused for them alone.
Until his attention was pulled in another direction. Surrounded by the chatter and surging mana of the Magic Knights, Yuno found his thoughts straying.
It wasn't drawn by gold or jeweled excess, nor by Asta's shouting or Klaus' lectures. Instead, his gaze settled on something far quieter—a lone scroll resting atop a low marble stand near the far wall. Unlike the surrounding artifacts, it lay undisturbed, its edges unadorned, its surface untouched by time's obvious wear. It did not sparkle or boast. It simply waited.
"What do you think we should do, Yuno—hmm?" Xierra began, turning toward him mid-thought. "What is it?"
Her words trailed off when she noticed he hadn't even shifted at the sound of her voice. His posture remained still, shoulders squared, eyes fixed on that single point across the room. There was a sharpness to his focus she rarely saw outside of battle.
She followed his line of sight—and saw it too.
The scroll seemed to breathe.
It looked and felt alive.
Faint currents of wind traced around it, curling in delicate streams that slipped in and out of the parchment as though it were drawing breath. Each pass glowed a quiet green, brightening and dimming in slow intervals. The air around it felt lighter, charged, tugging gently at her senses.
Without a word, Yuno stepped forward.
"Yuno?" Xierra called, concern threading through her tone.
He didn't answer.
It wasn't that he hadn't heard her. His expression told her as much—brows pulled together, lips parted just slightly, as if his thoughts had tangled too tightly to free a response. He stopped before the stand and raised a hand, movements careful, almost hesitant, fingers hovering just above the parchment.
Xierra pushed herself to her feet, brushing at her skirt as she hurried to his side. She leaned closer, peering from behind him just as his fingers made contact and the scroll unfurled beneath his touch.
"What's wrong?" she asked again, quieter now, unsettled by how withdrawn he seemed.
Yuno had always been reserved.
Silence was his default setting.
But he had never ignored her.
He shook his head, grip tightening slightly around the edges of the parchment. "I don't know," he admitted. His thumb traced along the symbols with restrained frustration. "I can't understand this writing. I've never seen it before."
Xierra leaned in further, studying the markings. They were unfamiliar—sharp lines broken by soft curves, arranged in a structure that felt intentional yet alien. "Maybe it's from a foreign country," she offered. "But how would something like this end up here?"
The answer never came.
The markings flared without warning.
Light burst from the scroll in a blinding white surge, forcing both of them to squint as the glow swallowed the symbols whole. The wind around it surged violently, spiraling inward as if being devoured. Yuno's grimoire reacted instantly—its pages rattling beneath the cover, trembling as though desperate to break free.
Then—silence.
The light vanished.
Where the scroll had been was nothing more than empty parchment, stripped bare of ink and meaning.
"Uh..." Xierra breathed, exchanging a stunned glance with Inari.
Even Yuno stood frozen, eyes locked on his hands as if expecting the answers to appear there.
"...What happened?" he finally asked.
Inari mirrored him, tail stilled, ears angled forward. "Yes. What did happen?"
Their words barely carried, swallowed by the sound of their own breathing as unease crept through the room.
Klaus' voice cut in sharply. He had stopped shouting altogether now, glasses reflecting unease rather than authority. Mimosa stood beside him, silent and tense.
"What was that light?" Klaus demanded, gaze fixed on Yuno despite knowing the answer wouldn't come easily.
"I don't know," Yuno replied, voice steady but tight.
Xierra let out a strained laugh, wiping a bead of sweat from her temple. "Figures."
She had seen it—the last flicker of light as Yuno's grimoire reacted, the way the scroll emptied itself. She opened her mouth to explain—
Then Klaus' voice rang out, sharp with panic.
"Everybody, ru—!!"
And then everything went black in that instant.
There was no warning—no gradual dimming or time to brace herself. One heartbeat, she stood amid gold coins and magic artefacts, and the next, the world vanished as though someone had torn the light from her eyes.
Xierra didn't know what happened in that sliver of time. Only that sensation fled her body all at once. Sight collapsed into nothing. Sound thinned until it ceased to exist. Her limbs felt distant, unreal, as if they no longer belonged to her.
She couldn't feel anything.
The absence was terrifying in its own way—no pain, no pressure, no sense of self. Just emptiness, stretching endlessly around her. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she had already crossed some unseen boundary, if this was what it felt like to simply stop.
Then sensation returned all at once.
Her body jolted as pain surged through her like lightning through a broken conduit. Every nerve screamed in protest, sharp and overwhelming, stealing the breath from her lungs. One moment, there had been nothing—no weight, no touch—and the next, everything ached. Deep, raw, unrelenting.
She tried to move.
Nothing answered her.
Her arms refused to lift. Her legs felt distant, trapped somewhere she couldn't reach. Panic pressed at her chest, but she swallowed it down before it could take hold. She wanted to scream, to call out—to Yuno, to Inari, to anyone—but no sound came. Not even a whisper of breath.
No. She couldn't waste energy on that.
Training took over where fear threatened to bloom. Assess first. Think. Breathe—if breathing was still possible.
But how?
Her hands slid weakly through the darkness, fingers scraping against rough stone. Something heavy pressed down from above, pinning her in place. Debris, maybe. Collapsed structure. She couldn't tell. The space around her felt tight, unforgiving, closing in with every shallow breath she managed to draw.
Maybe she was buried beneath the dungeon's remains.
The thought sent a cold chill through her, sharper than the pain itself.
Inari wasn't there.
That realization struck harder than any falling stone. Either he had vanished when everything went dark—or he was somewhere beyond her reach. He could be calling her name right now, pacing through wreckage, searching. The idea twisted painfully in her chest. She strained to listen for him, but the silence answered back, heavy and absolute.
She needed a spell.
The realization steadied her, even as pain continued to gnaw at her body. Magic had always been her anchor. If she could just—
Her grimoire.
Where was it?
Panic flickered again as she attempted to open her eyes. Agony lashed through her skull every time she tried, sharp enough to force her back into darkness. Her vision refused to return, leaving her blind and disoriented.
Fine. Then she would adapt.
She relied on what she still had.
Touch.
The stone beneath her palm was cold and unyielding. Broken rock crowded around her sides, uneven and sharp. Her legs didn't respond when she tried to shift them—pinned, then. Trapped beneath something heavy. The knowledge settled in slowly, each second stretching longer than the last.
She wanted nothing more than to stand, to see what had happened. To confirm this wasn't some cruel illusion.
But pain ruled her body.
Even drawing breath felt punishing, each inhale scraping against lungs already strained from exhaustion. The battle with Mars had taken more out of her than she'd admitted. Whatever this was—it doubled that burden, pressed it deeper into her bones.
Still, she searched.
Her fingers brushed over something familiar—smooth where stone was jagged, firm and shaped with intention. A hard, beveled cover. The unmistakable presence of her grimoire.
Relief washed through her, thin but real.
Found it.
The book trembled faintly as she drew it closer, reacting to her touch. Inch by inch, she worked it toward her, fingers clumsy but determined. Pain flared with every movement, but she refused to stop until the grimoire rested fully within her grasp.
Okay. She had it.
Now what?
Random spells would be reckless. Her mana felt unstable, thin from overuse and strain. Casting blindly could worsen her condition—or collapse whatever fragile space remained around her.
She needed to think.
And for that, she needed to stay conscious.
Xierra let out a strained grunt, the sound tearing from her throat before she could stop it. Darkness pressed in from all sides, thick and unyielding. She couldn't see. Her body throbbed with pain that refused to settle, and her legs remained cruelly pinned beneath unseen weight. The realization sank deeper with every shallow breath she took.
Of course. Of course, this would happen today.
As if summoned by the thought, exhaustion crashed down on her without mercy.
It swept over her like a falling star, sudden and overwhelming, dragging at her consciousness until her thoughts began to blur at the edges. Her eyelids felt unbearably heavy, muscles slackening despite her effort to stay alert. Sleep clawed at her awareness, sweet and dangerous all at once.
It didn't take long for her to understand why.
Retrieving her grimoire had taken far more out of her than she'd realized. Every scrap of strength she'd forced into motion had been borrowed, and now the cost was being collected. The realization stirred irritation in her chest, brittle and tired, but even that emotion felt dulled beneath the weight bearing down on her.
Still, she refused to surrender.
The only choice left to her was endurance—clinging to consciousness through agony and exhaustion alike. Pain didn't begin to cover it. That word felt small, almost insulting.
It was burning.
It was hell.
Her body felt as though it had been set alight from the inside, not with flames that consumed skin, but with something far crueler—heat that gnawed at her core, searing through muscle, nerve, and bone alike. She hadn't known bones could hurt like this. The sensation crawled through her frame, relentless and invasive.
Her blood felt as though it boiled beneath her skin. Her flesh screamed to be torn away, as if escape lay just beyond the surface. Pressure built in her head again and again, pounding until she thought it might split apart. She tried to draw a deeper breath, desperate to scream, but her lungs burned too fiercely to allow it.
For a terrifying second, the thought crossed her mind.
Was this it?
No.
The answer came just as fiercely as the pain. She had made that vow long ago—to herself, to those she protected, to the path she'd chosen. She would not end here. Not like this. Not unseen. Not unheard.
But what was she supposed to do?
Her thoughts scattered, refusing to align into anything useful. Her body betrayed her every attempt to command it. Nothing responded. Nothing obeyed.
Her vision remained swallowed by darkness as her eyelids drooped, dragged down despite her will. Consciousness slipped through her fingers like sand.
Then—
A voice cut through it all.
Clear. Urgent. Achingly familiar.
Her eyes flew open.
"Xierra...!!"