Time stretched thin, taut as a wire, and for once—
Revchi was the one standing in the dark.
The first scream never made it past his throat.
Inari struck like a phantom given teeth. His fangs tore into Revchi's left shoulder, ripping through layers of stolen finery as if they were parchment. The sound was wet and final. Blood burst free in a violent spray, staining the already filth-darkened robe in fresh, blooming crimson.
Revchi staggered, breath hitching. Gold eyes—ancient, feral—met his mortal gaze head-on, and for a fraction of a second, the man understood. Not fear. Not pain.
Judgment.
Inari's tail flared alight, blue fire spiraling outward with a hiss like breath drawn from hell itself. The flame kissed flesh, and Revchi howled as heat devoured him, fire crawling across his body in snapping tongues. His chains rattled wildly, reacting too late as the fox turned vicious, feral growls vibrating from his chest.
The silver serpents screamed as they melted, links warping and dripping under the unnatural heat.
Xierra moved.
She didn't think—she ran.
Her shoes skidded across scorched stone and broken earth as she lunged for Yuno's grimoire, fingers stretching, heart hammering so loudly she feared it would betray her. The book lay just out of reach, humming faintly, as if calling back to its rightful owner.
She knew she was slower.
She knew she was inexperienced.
She knew Revchi had danced through her spells with humiliating ease.
But she reached anyway.
Steel snapped shut.
In a blink, Inari was wrenched from the air, chains snapping around his form mid-leap. And before Xierra could even gasp his name, cold metal surged around her torso, her arms, her legs—crushing, merciless.
"Ukh—!"
The sound tore from her lungs as the chains constricted, squeezing the breath from her chest. Silver coils bit into her skin, leaving behind blooming marks of scarlet and bruised blue, each tightening pulse carving deeper. Her fingers spasmed uselessly, limbs growing numb as panic clawed its way up her spine.
She fought. Gods, she fought—teeth clenched, muscles screaming—but the chains did not yield.
Revchi straightened, laughter rasping from his throat as if pulled from broken glass. He toyed with the grimoires now in his possession, tossing them lazily between his hands before binding them together with a worn leather strap. It was practiced. Efficient.
He'd done this before.
"Always comes in handy," he muttered, tightening the strap with a satisfied tug.
He turned toward Inari, eyeing the fox with open calculation. Torn fabric and blood did little to dampen his interest.
"A fox, huh?" Revchi hummed, grin stretching wide as the wind howled in eerie agreement. "Heh... maybe I can make a few pennies outta you too."
His hand closed on empty air.
Inari dissolved.
The chains snapped uselessly together, clanging as they struck nothing at all.
"Damn you—!" Revchi snarled, fury flashing across his face before reason reasserted itself. His gaze slid, sharp and knowing, back to Xierra. "Tsk! Illusions. Must be your doing."
He strode toward her.
Xierra's breath came shallow as Revchi lifted her crescent grimoire before her eyes, flipping through its pages with exaggerated fascination. The soft glow reflected in his widened pupils as he whistled low.
"Well, now. This one's a real oddball," he crooned. "Looks like today's my lucky day. Two birds. One stone."
He leaned closer, eyes alight with greedy delight. "Casting two spells at once, huh? For a newbie... you're a rare catch."
"Xierra!"
Yuno's voice cracked through the air, sharp with strain. He struggled against his own bindings, silver biting deeper into his skin with every futile movement. His breaths were ragged now, chest visibly constricting.
Revchi didn't even spare him a glance.
"You'll serve me just fine," he said pleasantly, "far away from this dump."
He tilted Xierra's chin up with a finger, grip firm—too firm. His touch made her skin crawl. Her glare met his without wavering, chains rattling faintly as she resisted even that small violation.
Revchi laughed, tongue flicking across his lips.
Then—
Heat.
Inari reappeared atop Revchi's shoulder, fox-form solid and seething, gold eyes blazing with wrath.
"You?" he hissed, voice sharp as drawn steel. "A lowly human? Dare to touch her?"
Flames erupted from his paw as his fangs sank in once more. Revchi screamed, slapping frantically at the fire until it sputtered out, leaving scorched skin and an angry red hand trembling at his side.
"That damned pet of yours—!!"
His hands phased straight through Inari's body.
The fox merely grinned.
"Oh, forgive me," Inari drawled lightly, teeth flashing. "I almost forgot—I can dissolve when caught. You'll have to try harder if you plan to sell me. Your mortal gold isn't nearly enough."
He vanished again.
"Get back here, you wild beast!"
"You think I would?" Inari's voice echoed mockingly through the night. "How adorable."
Above them, the oppressive darkness thinned. Xierra's spell unraveled, leaving behind a calm, evening sky. The sudden tranquility felt cruel, mocking the chaos below. She could almost hear Inari's disapproving sigh lingering in the air.
Revchi scoffed, turning back to her as she strained against the chains once more.
"Hah! Trying to escape? Don't bother. You won't break free."
He brushed his fingers along his grimoire, eyes gleaming.
"Now then..."
His attention shifted—to Asta.
"Hey." Yuno's voice cut in, hoarse but sharp. "Who are you calling a loser?"
Xierra's heart lurched.
Maybe it was desperation. Maybe it was defiance. Or maybe—just maybe—it was the same stubborn spark that had always burned brightest in Asta's eyes.
The light that refused to die.
The light that had carried them this far.
Their beacon.
"Asta is my rival!" Yuno declared, his voice unwavering. The words rang through the fractured clearing like a vow carved into stone.
Xierra felt them settle deep in her chest, heavier than any spell she had ever cast. Yuno was never one for needless declarations. He spoke when it mattered—and this mattered. There was no arrogance in his tone, no posturing. Only certainty. Only truth.
Revchi's gaze flicked between the two boys, sharp and assessing. Asta was still forcing himself upright, palms scraping against the dirt as he pushed past pain that should have kept him down. His body trembled, bruises dark and blooming beneath torn fabric, but his spine straightened all the same.
When he spoke, it was hoarse—yet bright.
"I'm not done yet!"
Revchi took an instinctive step back as Asta rose fully, as if sheer will alone had stitched him together. Logic screamed that the boy should have collapsed again. His body bore every sign of defeat.
And yet—
"Sorry for showing you two this pathetic side of me," Asta said, breath uneven but steadying as he lifted his head. His gaze locked onto Revchi, lime-green eyes burning with ferocity. "Yuno. Xierra. Just hang on. I'll kick this guy's butt!"
Xierra's breath caught.
A shiver rippled across her skin, goosebumps rising in its wake. She shut her eyes for a brief, fragile second, trying to anchor herself—to slow the frantic beats of her heart. When she opened them again, Asta stood before her like a star refusing to dim, his battered silhouette etched against dusk-basked walls.
Something about it unsettled her.
Not fear. Not awe. It was something far heavier than the in-betweens.
It crawled beneath her skin, coiled tight around her ribs. Her thoughts spiraled, cruel and relentless.
If she had dodged those chains—
If she had reacted faster—
If she hadn't hesitated—
All the what-ifs pressed in from all sides, drowning her in regret. Doubt gnawed sharply at the edges of her confidence. Her magic. Her decisions. Herself.
She clenched her fists as much as the chains allowed.
And then she looked at Asta again.
Despite everything—despite the blood, the bruises, the impossible odds—he still stood. Still smiled. Still believed. That stubborn and infuriating light in his eyes pushed back against the darkness pooling in her chest.
Her heart pounded, matching his resolve beat for beat.
The next impact made her cry out.
"Asta—!"
Her voice tore free as Revchi's chains snapped forward, slamming Asta into the stone wall with bone-rattling force. Dust burst outward, fragments skittering across the ground. Asta crumpled, then was yanked up again without mercy.
Xierra thrashed against her restraints, metal biting into her skin as panic surged. Her struggles grew wild, desperate, but Revchi paid her no mind. Asta was flung, struck, dragged—treated like nothing more than a disposable toy.
Rage burned hot and sharp in her chest.
Her muscles screamed as she fought the chains, frustration bleeding into fury. The marks along her arms deepened, red and blue blooming like bruised constellations. Each second that passed carved another tally into her mind—another moment she couldn't protect him.
"Inari," she gasped, voice cracking under the weight of it. "Can't you do something about these chains?"
The desperation in her words startled even her.
"I'm afraid the answer is no, Master."
The change in Inari's tone paused her.
Gone was the teasing lilt, the playful arrogance. What remained was grave, heavy, settling into the air like ash. "My physical body can only manifest when your grimoire is with you. As things stand... There is nothing I can do."
Her movements slowed, then ceased entirely.
The anger drained from her, leaving something colder behind. Regret pressed deep, sharp, and suffocating. Her gaze fell, lashes trembling as a realization surfaced—one she hadn't wanted to acknowledge.
"...Wait," she murmured. "So everything you said earlier—was that just a bluff?"
Inari hesitated. "...Not all of it," he admitted, a faint frown tugging at his expression. He let out a quiet, almost sheepish chuckle before sighing. "I suppose I was... embellishing."
Despite herself, Xierra huffed weakly.
Inari continued, his voice gentler now, steadier. "But hear me well. If you master your magic—if you draw out your potential to its fullest—I will be able to manifest without the grimoire."
She felt useless, trapped in remorse as she struggled against the unyielding chains. If only she had trained harder and studied more—the weight of regret bore down on her with each futile attempt to break free. But she refused to resign herself to waiting idly; managing to free one hand brought some relief.
Xierra and Yuno watched Asta's battered form with profound concern etched across their faces. Despite their efforts, Asta continued to be battered by Revchi's relentless onslaught of spells, leaving his eyes bruised and his body in shambles.
"Chain Magic: Dance of the Pitless Vipers!"
Yet Asta kept pushing himself up, refusing to stay down no matter how many times he was thrown back. His determination burned bright, undeterred by the repeated blows and the disdain of others.
"You can't do a thing in this world. Just give up." Revchi's mocking laughter grew louder, more unhinged than before. "Doesn't it hurt to always try but to no avail?"
"Asta!" Yuno's voice pierced the turmoil, echoing Xierra's unspoken plea. "Are you going to quit that easily?!"
Asta's body twitched at Yuno's call for his name, his muscles tensing beneath the pressure of exhaustion. His eyes flickered open, determination etched into every line of his weary face.
Slowly, he pushed himself up from the ground, his movements deliberate despite the bruises and cuts that adorned his form. Each labored breath he took seemed to fuel his resolve, a solitary promise shining in the way he refused to stay down, no matter how hard the chains of defeat tried to keep him there.
"I don't want to say this again," Yuno began, his voice resolute.
Fate was indeed fickle. It laughed at the world and its stupidity, thinking that it could stray away from the path it had inscribed.
"You're my—no, our rival!"
And justice was blind. Blind to the bruised boy who refused to stay down. Blind to the chains that bound the innocent. Blind to the suffering unfolding beneath an uncaring sky.
"You want to beat us, right?!"
But the mortal heart wasn't so easily swayed.
"You're going to aim for the top!"
And the world wasn't going to stop for them. Not for Asta, not for Yuno, and not for Xierra. It would keep turning—for peasants and nobles alike, for villages on the edge of maps and kingdoms built on power. It would ignore the fallen and celebrate the sun as though it were the only light worth acknowledging.
"If you give up now, who will protect Sister Lily? Who will look after the children at the church? Who will defend Hage Village?!"
The world would keep on spinning, orbiting the sun like it was its only beacon of hope, its only source of light. It would ignore all other stars in the universe, indifferent to falling comets and distant planets. It wouldn't care about heavenly entities or celestial bodies. And it certainly wouldn't be mindful of the void that surrounded it.
"If you give up now, then you're admitting you're not ready for the world."
For the sun was its universe.
"If you give up now, I'll gladly take the top spot. I'll be the one who protects Xierra with all I have. So don't you think you should do the same for your dream?!"
But to the sun, there were other stars just like it, burning balls of fire scattered across the vast cosmos. Other planets, too, orbited their own stars—prettier stars, more colorful ones, and even brighter ones.
Yet, why did the only planet that cradled life seek the sun's warmth so fervently? Why did the planet that was home to countless beings yearn so desperately for the sun's embrace?
Xierra did not understand why she stood at the center of that gravity.
Why her cheeks burned as though kissed by flame, flushed in too many shades of red to count. Why her chest felt tight, overheated, every breath caught halfway between inhale and exhale. Why her stomach twisted, unsteady, her knees threatening to give way beneath a weight she could not name.
Among the heavens—among stars that dazzled and planets that shimmered in elegant orbit—the sun had chosen the Earth.
And now, impossibly, it felt as though that gaze had chosen her.
Amber eyes, bright as molten gold, lifted to meet hers. Precious. Coveted. Unyielding. Like the sun itself, unwavering in its brilliance—yet fixed upon her all the same.
But to Yuno, she was his sun. Her warmth breathed life into a world he once found cruel and unforgiving. Her smile became his purpose, and her laughter fueled his resolve.
Asta might have been a star in both their skies—brilliant, relentless, impossible to ignore—
But Yuno would guard his sun with everything he had.
He would protect her, just as she had once melted the snow clinging to his hands that winter day, her warmth seeping through the cold until his fingers stopped shaking.
He would protect her, just as she had slowed her steps to match his while they climbed that hill together, never once urging him to hurry.
And he would protect her, just as she had brushed the tears from his cheeks without judgment, her smile offering reassurance in a world that so often refused to be kind.
"No... not yet..."
The words barely registered to Xierra. Her thoughts tangled, heart pounding too loudly in her ears as she struggled to understand what Yuno meant—what any of this meant—when Asta's voice tore through the confusion like a blade through fog.
"I'm not giving up!!"
Revchi staggered back with a sharp gasp, as though an unseen force had slammed into him. His chains snapped wildly through the air, silver lashes striking out in panic, all of them aimed at Asta.
Before they could reach him, a grimoire appeared.
It hovered before Asta like a forgotten tome pulled from the depths of time itself. Its cover was worn, dulled by grime and dust, as though it had been cast aside by the world and left to rot in memory's shadow. And yet—beneath the neglect, a five-leaf clover glimmered faintly, stubbornly refusing to fade.
"A... grimoire...!"
Asta's voice shook, disbelief weighing down every syllable. His eyes widened, reflecting the truth before him—the piece that had always been missing.
Xierra blinked, once. Twice.
She half-expected the vision to dissolve, to vanish like a dream pulled apart by waking. But it remained.
Beside her, Yuno smiled.
It was bright. Genuine. Directed at her first—brief, warm—before his attention returned to Asta. Pride shone unmistakably in his eyes.
Following his gaze, Xierra's breath caught.
Her mouth fell open, disbelief and joy colliding in her chest as the impossible settled into reality.
"Asta not being chosen?" Yuno laughed, the sound sharp and bright, nerves humming beneath his skin like a live wire. "There's no way that could happen."
The answer came not in words, but in steel.
From the heart of Asta's grimoire, a blade tore its way into existence—massive, brutal, far too large to be wielded by any ordinary boy. The broadsword settled into Asta's hands as though it had always belonged there, its weight unquestioned, its presence absolute. Calloused fingers tightened around the hilt, steady and sure.
Revchi's breath hitched.
What is that sword?
That isn't magic— it can't be.
He has no magic. He never did.
Panic clawed through him, sharp and merciless, as his eyes snapped back to the grimoire. That book—filthy, neglected, bearing a symbol that should not exist—felt wrong in a way he could not name.
Inari's gaze lingered on Asta, gold eyes narrowing with something between intrigue and caution. "Ah," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, "it seems your little friend has the fortitude to shoulder the devil's power."
Xierra's breath caught.
"The darkness I sensed," the fox continued, tail swaying slowly, "was never entirely his."
"Darkness?" she repeated faintly.
Inari turned his head just enough to glance at her. "Haven't you noticed yet, Master?"
Her bright blue eyes locked onto Asta, and the moment stretched thin.
Something cold slid beneath her skin.
She should have been happy. Overjoyed. This was the miracle Asta had prayed for, screamed for, bled for. The dream he had chased with reckless faith since childhood now stood solid before him.
So why did her chest ache like this?
Why did unease coil in her stomach, heavy and unfamiliar, threading fear through the joy she tried so hard to hold onto?
Revchi's chains—those cursed, writhing extensions of his will—crumbled away like ash scattered by the wind. Spell after spell unraveled, devoured by something far more absolute. He stood exposed, stripped of his defenses, his magic rendered meaningless before a power that did not obey the rules he understood.
The crimson aura bleeding from the five-leaf clover made Xierra's fingers tremble.
She swallowed the questions clawing at her throat. This was Asta's moment. She would not taint it with doubt. Not now. Not when his dream finally had a name.
Revchi screamed.
Gone was the swagger. Gone was the mockery. What remained was raw terror, etched into every line of his face as he staggered back, boots scraping against stone until brick met his spine. His grimoire hovered uselessly before him, pages fluttering in frantic disarray.
Clover leaves each symbolized faith, hope, and love.
The stolen grimoires slipped from his grasp, striking the ground with a hollow thud.
Within the fourth leaf dwelt good fortune.
Asta straightened.
Shadow poured over his once-vivid green eyes, swallowing the light there whole.
"That mark..." Xierra muttered, dread finally slipping through her restraint as she stared at the grimoire. "That five-leaf clover—!"
Within the fifth leaf, resided the devil.
The darkness behind Asta thickened, folding in on itself until it took shape, its shadow etched to the walls—twisted limbs, jagged claws, horns curving skyward, a grotesque silhouette breathing malice into the air. It loomed like a nightmare given form, stretching across the ground beneath the blocked sun.
Asta lifted his sword.
The blade caught what little light remained, its edge gleaming with quiet menace as he leveled it toward Revchi. There was no hesitation in his stance. No mercy in his intent.
Xierra's grimoire shuddered.
Then it flew—lifting from the ground and slamming into her hands with purpose, as though answering a call she hadn't realized she'd made. The leather was warm beneath her palms, pulsing faintly, alive.
Since when did books choose their owners like this?
Or had they always done so—and she had only just learned how to listen?
The chains binding her arms cracked, then dissolved, mirroring the fate of those that had once held Asta. Freedom rushed back into her limbs in a dizzying wave.
She didn't hesitate.
Xierra clutched the spine of her grimoire, pages riffling wildly before settling—right at the beginning. The very first spell. The moment her world had fractured open.
"Inari—no," her voice caught, breath trembling as resolve hardened in her chest. "Ukanomitama-no-Kami."
The name of her first spell rang out like a vow carved into the air.
The fox emerged beside her in a curl of shadow and flame, lips pulled into a sharp grin as he took in the scene. There was a flicker of approval in his eyes as he watched Revchi still standing—barely—after Asta's strike.
"I do believe," Inari said lightly, voice edged with finality, "it's time for you to yield, human."
And beneath the crescent moon hanging over the endless field of clovers, where spirits whispered, and old truths slept—
Something of the past stirred.
The Whisperer.