It was a day in December, a few winters ago, when the heavens seemed weighed down by grief, the sky stretched into an endless sheet of dull gray. Snow drifted down in slow, spiraling paths, brushing against warm cheeks with a sting sharp enough to draw breath from the lungs. Each exhale bloomed into pale mist, lingering just long enough to blur the edges of the world before dissolving into the cold.
Winter had a way of making everything feel closer and farther all at once.
Xierra tugged her scarf tighter, jaw clenched as the cold gnawed relentlessly at her fingers. The tips of them burned, red and stiff, and she stubbornly flexed them as if daring the frost to win. She refused to fall ill again—not like last year, when fever had trapped her in bed while the world moved on without her.
The snowfall urged her hands to work faster.
Her gaze drifted briefly across the village, where once-green canopies now stood skeletal and bare. Leaves long surrendered to time had painted the ground in gold weeks ago, only for winter to strip even that away. Beauty here was temporary, fleeting by design. Every breath she took fogged her sight, the chill slicing through wool and skin alike, settling deep in her bones.
Her movements slowed despite her efforts, limbs growing heavy under the cold's weight. And as if winter itself wasn't punishment enough, Asta had been shouting since morning.
Xierra pretended not to hear him.
She focused instead on helping Sister Lily with the laundry, rising onto the balls of her feet to secure damp fabric onto the line. There was no choice in the matter—not when clean clothes were already running thin, not when delaying meant waking to empty chests and nothing dry to wear. Winter did not grant mercy for small inconveniences. Some garments had already begun to stiffen midair, freezing into strange, crooked shapes that clung to the rope, the sight nearly coaxing a laugh from her despite the cold gnawing at her fingers.
"Why?!" Asta's voice cracked through the air, raw and desperate. He dropped to his knees behind them, fists clenched in the snow, shoulders trembling as tears spilled freely. "Why can't I use magic?!"
Xierra didn't turn around, but her grip on the cloth tightened.
Moments later, his despair vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. He scrambled back to his feet and offered—far too cheerfully—to help with the laundry. Neither Xierra nor Sister Lily asked what caused the shift. With Asta, it was often safer not to.
"Thank you, Asta," Sister Lily said, her smile gentle and unguarded.
Xierra stretched higher beside her, fingers brushing frozen linen as they worked in tandem.
"So, that's why. Will you marry m—"
"No."
The answer was cut clean and immediate.
"Marry—!!"
"No."
"Mar—!"
"No."
Each rejection struck him harder than the last. Tears streamed freely now, clinging to his lashes and dripping from his chin. Xierra glanced over, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and pity. There was something almost tragic about his persistence—how hope refused to loosen its grip on him, no matter how often it was denied.
"M—"
"No, Asta."
"Please... marry me," he whispered at last, head bowed, voice stripped of its fire.
Xierra let out a small, breathy sound—almost a laugh. Almost. There was humor there, yes, but beneath it lay a quiet ache. Asta loved fiercely, blindly, without restraint. Yet Sister Lily wasn't someone he could claim through sheer will. Some paths simply weren't meant for him, no matter how loudly he shouted at the world.
She shook her head softly and returned to the task at hand.
The final garment was hung with careful precision. Xierra stepped back, arms folding loosely as she examined their work, a faint sense of pride warming her chest despite the cold. Over her shoulder, she noticed the church doors opening, soft golden light spilling outward as children began to emerge, their laughter dimming the winter's severity.
"Don't you go crying too, Yuno."
Rekka's voice carried lightly as he walked past, casting a sideways glance at Yuno, who cradled baby Nash in his arms. The infant's cries cut sharply through the hush of falling snow. Xierra caught the subtle shine gathering in Yuno's amber eyes, his composure wavering.
"Nash... he just won't stop crying," Yuno muttered, shoulders tense.
Before anyone could respond, Asta sprang upright, swiping at his face with renewed determination. He spun toward them, thumb jabbing proudly at his chest as a grin stretched wide across his features.
"Yuno, leave this to me!" he declared, confidence blazing anew, as though the cold—and rejection—had never touched him at all.
"Asta...?"
"Gosh... This is going to be chaos," Xierra muttered, shoulders tensing as if bracing against an oncoming gust.
"I'm gonna be the Wizard King, after all!" Asta declared, puffing himself up with unwavering confidence. "Calming down a baby or two? Easy as pie!"
It unraveled exactly as Xierra had predicted.
The moment Nash was transferred into Asta's arms, the fragile calm shattered. Asta attempted to sway him back and forth with exaggerated enthusiasm, his movements too large, too fast—more like he was sparring with the air than cradling an infant. Nash's cries sharpened instantly, cutting through the winter hush and bouncing off the church walls.
Xierra let out a slow breath, lips twitching despite herself.
Nearby, Rekka pressed a hand to her mouth, her shoulders quaking before she gave up entirely and laughed, pointing as Asta panicked, swinging Nash with increasingly frantic motions.
"Asta," Xierra called, her voice firm but not unkind, threaded with restrained amusement. "That's not how—here. Give him to me."
She stepped forward and held out her arms without hesitation.
Asta froze, embarrassment blooming across his face as realization dawned. He hesitated for half a second before carefully—almost reverently—placing Nash into Xierra's waiting hold.
Despite her age, there was a quiet steadiness in the way she adjusted her stance, one arm supporting Nash's back while the other anchored his small, trembling form. She shifted her weight subtly, rocking him with gentle precision rather than force. Her voice followed soon after—soft, low, a wordless hum shaped more by instinct than thought.
The crying faltered.
Then softened.
Then dwindled into small, hiccupping breaths.
Xierra felt the tension ease from Nash's tiny body, and without thinking, she lifted her chin just a fraction, pride flickering across her features like a hidden spark finally catching light. Her lips curved upward, bright and unguarded.
Sister Lily approached, eyes warm as she watched the baby settle. "You did wonderfully, Xierra," she soothed, voice flowing like a quiet prayer. She reached out, brushing a finger over Nash's downy hair. "There, there... you're okay n."
Nash slipped fully into sleep.
Asta stared as if he'd just witnessed a miracle.
Around them, the other children gathered closer, peering over shoulders, whispering in awe. Rekka smirked, folding her arms.
"Well done, 'Wizard King,'" she teased, clearly enjoying herself.
Asta spun around, flustered. "S-Shut up!"
Their bickering escalated quickly, voices overlapping, laughter threading through the cold air—until a sharp whistle sliced through the noise.
A gust swept across the churchyard, stirring snow from rooftops and scattering it into the air. Xierra turned just in time to see Father Orsi descending carefully behind them, boots dangling as his magic broom slowed. A bag bulged at his side, heavy with supplies, and a folded letter was clenched in his gloved hand.
"Ah—there we go..." he sighed as his feet touched the ground, posture stiff as he steadied himself. "Hello, everyone."
Xierra's eyes lingered on the bag, noting the way it sagged with weight. Food. Cloth. The small mercies that made winter survivable.
"I was hoping," Father Orsi continued, clearing his throat, "that one of you might be willing to run a little errand."
Asta's hand shot up instantly. "Me! Me! Me!" His voice echoed far louder than necessary.
Yuno cast him a sidelong glance.
Xierra winced slightly at the noise, carefully transferring Nash back into Sister Lily's arms before stepping closer. Her gaze drifted to the letter in Father Orsi's hand, curiosity quietly blooming.
"Would one of you be willing to deliver this to the mayor?" Father Orsi asked, lifting it just enough to emphasize its importance. "It's... rather important."
Asta's enthusiastic shouting continued in the background.
Father Orsi walked past him.
Past Rekka.
He stopped in front of Yuno and Xierra instead, kneeling to meet them at eye level. "Yuno," he said gently, "could you take this on? Xierra will be with you, so you won't be going alone."
Xierra nodded immediately, offering Yuno an encouraging smile that was all warmth and certainty. She knew the way. She always did.
Behind them, Asta's expression crumpled.
"Huh? Me?" Yuno blinked, startled.
Father Orsi scratched his cheek, glancing briefly over his shoulder where Asta stood, still mid-protest. A bead of sweat slid down his temple. "Well... I'd feel more at ease trusting something this important to the two of you." He exhaled softly. "No offense, Asta."
Xierra caught the look and understood. She could almost picture the letter lost, singed, or fed to some unfortunate creature.
She stepped closer to Yuno, voice light but steady. "I'll make sure we get there safely."
Father Orsi smiled, relief evident. "That's exactly why I'm counting on you."
It was a reassurance offered with hesitation, thin as frost over glass, yet no one voiced an objection. Too many past mishaps lingered in memory—burnt deliveries, misplaced errands, good intentions unraveling into quiet disasters—for Father Orsi's caution to be questioned.
"I have to speak with the mayor in the next village over," Father Orsi explained, his voice carrying a weight that bent his shoulders ever so slightly. "If we're to make it through the winter, we'll need him to spare us additional provisions. The nomotatoes Xierra brought back from the farmers..." He paused, fingers tightening around the strap of his bag.
They won't last us the whole season.
The worry in his eyes was unguarded, raw in a way that made Xierra's chest tighten. He didn't have to say what he was thinking for her to be able to tell.
"I can work harder, Father," she said quickly, stepping forward before the thought could falter. Her voice rang earnest, almost urgent. She remembered the long days in the fields, the ache in her arms, the way the farmers had smiled apologetically as they counted their stores. She could do more. She wanted to.
"No can do, Xierra." Father Orsi lifted a hand, stopping her gently before she could continue. His expression softened, lines of fatigue easing into something kinder. "I know you mean well," he said, quieter now, "but you're still a child. You should be laughing, running around, having fun. Not carrying burdens meant for grown-ups."
He let out a quiet sigh, dressing his reasoning as something she could agree to. "If I let you work any harder, you'll wear yourself thin. You might fall ill before you even realize it."
The words settled heavily.
Xierra's shoulders sank, just a little, as if the cold had finally found its way beneath her coat. She looked away, lips pressed together, disappointment flickering across her face like a dimmed candle.
Sister Lily noticed.
She stepped closer and rested a warm hand on Xierra's shoulder, grounding her. "Let Father Orsi and me handle this, Xierra," she said gently. "You don't need to worry so much."
Her tone softened further, brightening deliberately. "How about helping me bake some cookies later? The others would love that."
Xierra stared at the snow-dusted ground, boots nudging a frozen clump of earth. "Mm... okay," she murmured, voice small but obedient.
Sister Lily smiled, sympathetic and understanding all at once. She knew how deeply Xierra valued being useful—how helping wasn't a chore to her, but a way of proving she belonged. Still, there were limits a child's body should never be asked to cross.
She adjusted Nash in her arms, then knelt so they were eye to eye. "How about this?" she said softly. "We'll gather enough ingredients to bake for an entire week. And once winter is over, you can help the villagers as much as you like."
Xierra hesitated. "...Promise?"
"I promise."
Her eyes lit up instantly, shining bright as scattered starlight. She nodded with vigor, relief, and excitement blooming in equal measure.
Nearby, Asta scowled, arms crossed so tightly they seemed to lock him in place. Watching this, Yuno straightened, fingers curling briefly at his sides.
"I'll go," Asta blurted. "Yuno, I'll do it!"
Yuno shook his head before the thought could root itself. He looked up at Father Orsi, resolve steadying his voice. "No. Father asked me to go. I—I'll take care of it."
Father Orsi studied him, concern flickering briefly. "Are you certain? It's a long walk."
"I'm with Yuno," Xierra added at once, stepping to his side. Her voice was light, confident. "We'll be fine."
"But you're such a scaredy—"
"Am not! Shut it!" Xierra snapped back, cheeks warming as she shot Asta a glare sharp enough to sting.
Yuno let out a chuckle. "I'll—no," he corrected, glancing at Xierra, "we will be fine."
Xierra beamed, satisfaction curling warmly in her chest. She shot Asta a smug look, one he answered by sticking out his tongue before turning away with an exaggerated huff.
Moments later, bundled tightly against the cold, Yuno and Xierra stood at the church gate. The letter was secured in Yuno's grip, its edges stiff with importance. Snow crunched beneath their boots as they stepped forward, breath blooming white between shared smiles.
"We're heading out!"
.
.
.
The cold gnawed at the air itself, a sharp, merciless bite that slipped through layers of wool and skin alike, sinking straight into bone.
Xierra lifted her chin toward the heavens, studying the slate-heavy sky stretched endlessly above them. Clouds hung low and swollen, bruised shades of charcoal and steel pressing down on the land as though the world itself had exhaled and forgotten to breathe back in. Her hands were tucked behind her back as she walked, boots crunching softly against packed snow. Every few steps, she skipped forward without warning, humming a melody she'd picked up from a wandering merchant weeks ago—an off-key tune, cheerful despite the cold.
She smiled to herself at the memory. He'd been loud, eccentric, and far too eager to sell charms that "guaranteed luck," whatever that meant.
Turning her head, she glanced at Yuno. He moved more cautiously, steps measured and deliberate, eyes fixed on the frost-glazed ground as though it might betray him at any moment. His breath puffed out in pale clouds, vanishing almost as soon as it appeared.
The sight warmed her chest in a way the winter could not steal.
"The mayor's place should be just ahead," Xierra said lightly, voice carrying between breaths. "Past a couple more roads."
But the path ahead grew increasingly treacherous. Snow lay thicker here, untouched and uneven, swallowing stones and roots beneath a deceptive white sheen. It was clear no one had bothered to clear this stretch yet—too far from the heart of the village, too quiet to matter.
Xierra slowed, then stopped altogether.
She turned back just in time to see Yuno's foot catch on something hidden beneath the snow. His balance wavered—just for a heartbeat—before the ground vanished from under him.
"Yuno—"
He fell backward into the drift with a startled gasp, snow blooming around him like shattered feathers. The fall itself was harmless, softened by the powder, but the letter slipped free from his fingers, caught by a sharp gust of wind that sent it skidding across the surface.
Xierra bolted forward without thinking.
She snatched the letter before it could vanish into the white, clutching it tightly to her chest as she dropped beside him. Snow soaked into her knees as she leaned over him, worry creasing her brow.
"Are you okay?" she asked quickly, her voice gentler than the cold allowed. "Does anything hurt?"
She tugged his sleeves back down where they had ridden up, her fingers brushing over his forearms as she checked for scrapes. When she found none, she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding—though bruises were another matter entirely.
Yuno let out a small, sheepish laugh, shaking his head. "I'm okay."
She passed the letter back to him, watching as he brushed snow from its edges with careful hands, as though it were something fragile.
"The snow's worse out here," he said quietly, glancing around. "We'll need to watch our footing."
Xierra nodded, though the motion was stiff. When she tried to move again, her boot slid slightly, sending a jolt of alarm through her spine. She caught herself by grabbing a nearby fence, fingers curling tightly around cold wood.
Letting go felt like inviting disaster.
She stayed close to Yuno after that, steps smaller, more deliberate. Her imagination—far too vivid for its own good—conjured images of unseen holes and hidden drops beneath the snow, and she swallowed them down with effort.
Her hand drifted to the small pouch at her waist, tapping it absentmindedly. The familiar shape inside steadied her. The mask was there—always was. Father Orsi had insisted she keep it close, ever since she could remember. Neither of them knew where it had come from. Maybe it belonged to her parents. Maybe someone else had once held it dear.
She remembered the day he'd given it to her, the thrill of riding a broom for the first time, laughter tearing from her throat as the village blurred beneath them.
If only we could fly now, she thought wistfully. This would all be so much easier.
The road ahead remained familiar despite the snow. Hage was small, its paths etched into memory through years of repetition. She knew every corner, every fence, every crooked rooftop.
Unlike Asta, who would've already sprinted ahead, yelling loud enough to wake the clouds.
The thought earned a quiet smile.
But it faded just as quickly.
A chill traced its way down her spine, sharper than the winter wind. She slowed again, eyes scanning the quiet stretch ahead. Nothing moved. Nothing stirred.
And yet—
Something felt wrong.
Perhaps it was only the cold, teasing the ends of her hair into standing on edge. Or perhaps it was something deeper, heavier—an unease that curled in her chest and refused to name itself.
Xierra pressed her lips together and kept walking.
She did not like the way the silence lingered.
.
.
.
"Oh, thank you," the mayor replied, his head dipping into a modest bow, gratitude softening the lines of his face. A gentle smile followed, warm despite the creeping cold. "Please inform Father Orsi that I have received it."
"Will do!" Xierra answered at once, mirroring the bow with earnest enthusiasm. Yuno followed a heartbeat later, movements polite and practiced. As soon as they straightened, Xierra spun on her heel, a sudden brightness lighting her expression.
"Oh—and, Mayor!"
He turned back to her, a chuckle escaping him at her energy. "Yes, young lady?"
"I'll be returning your books in a few days!" she declared, eyes gleaming as though she'd just been entrusted with something sacred.
The mayor laughed, rich and genuine, nodding in approval. "That's perfectly fine. Have you not finished them yet?"
"Not yet," she admitted, scratching her cheek sheepishly. "I haven't had the time."
"Then there's no rush," he said kindly. "You should be heading back now. Evening comes quickly in winter."
He waved them off, still smiling, a lightness settling in his chest as Xierra's grin lingered in his sight just a moment longer.
"Thank you, Mayor!" she called back, her voice cutting cheerfully through the dimming air.
"...P-please excuse us," Yuno added, bowing again out of habit. His fingers fidgeted briefly with the hem of his coat before he turned, already easing into their return path.
The mayor watched them go.
Shadows stretched longer across the snow than he liked, dusk arriving with unsettling speed. Though the church lay close and the children were capable, the way the light thinned set a quiet unease in his chest.
"Be careful on your way home!" he called after them. "The roads are slippery!"
"Thank you very much!" Xierra replied without turning, her voice still bright despite the falling light.
"We will!" Yuno echoed, lifting a small hand in reassurance.
They hurried off together, steps careful but light, the snow swallowing the sound of their boots. Their breath fogged the air as they walked, laughter slipping out between them in soft bursts—already talking about warmth, about food, about how they'd dive into the snow near the church just because they could.
But as they rounded a narrow bend, the world shifted.
Their steps halted abruptly.
Someone stood there—too close, too sudden.
Yuno froze, the apology tumbling out of him on instinct. "I—I'm sorry."
The man before them was tall, looming against the gray-veiled evening. His gaze was fixed, unblinking, stripped of warmth or recognition. His eyes felt hollow, like empty stone set into a face that did not belong among the living. He looked less like a passerby and more like something carved and forgotten—only now remembered.
Xierra's heart slammed against her ribs.
Her feet refused to move. A cold unlike winter crept along her spine, curling tight and unyielding, as though an unseen hand had closed around her. The air felt heavier, thicker, pressing in on her lungs.
Her fingers curled unconsciously at her side.
What... is this feeling?
For the first time that day, the snow did not feel soft at all.
.
.
.
The small flame on the candle danced erratically, flickering each time the door closed, as if alive in the dim chill of the room. Gradually, its warm wax pooled beneath its stem, softening into the iron plate below and casting shadows that wavered across the modest walls.
Outside, the wind battered the church's old, worn windows, painting their surfaces with frost in feathery patterns that crept across the glass. These windows had long since lost their clarity, the glass fogged and warped by years of biting winters. There was no money to replace them, so the panes remained—blemished but enduring.
Asta leaned forward on his arms, his gaze unfocused as he looked out into the snowy dusk. His eyes, usually alight with boundless energy, were half-lidded, drowsy from the long wait. From his periphery, he noted Sister Lily's movements, the way she paced restlessly near the entrance, never quite stepping away from the door. She cast glances outside, her worry plain as her gaze scanned the snowy path, her fingers intertwining in nervous habit.
Sister Lily's voice broke the silence, her words tinged with unease. "Yuno and Xierra are taking an awfully long time."
She bit her lower lip, the gesture a small, unintentional attempt to steady herself as she cast a worried gaze toward the frosted window. Snowflakes drifted softly, but their numbers had grown—too quickly, she thought. It was unusual for this much snow to fall so early. The mayor's house wasn't far from the church, yet she couldn't shake the thought that perhaps the children were having to wade through snow that only grew deeper.
Asta's voice interrupted her reverie. "I'm hungry..." he muttered, his lower lip jutting out in a familiar pout. His eyes fixed firmly on the table in front of him, and he let out a little sigh. "And Father isn't back yet either..."
His comment reminded Sister Lily that dinner had been delayed longer than she realized; the usual clatter of bowls and the warmth of soup were conspicuously absent.
With a quiet resolve, she made her way into the small kitchen, where little Nash cooed happily in his cradle nearby. Rekka and Asta sat obediently at the table, their gazes drifting to the empty chairs beside them. The absence of their friends felt heavier somehow, and as Sister Lily gathered the few ingredients they had left, she offered a silent wish for Yuno, Xierra, and Father Orsi to return safely, soon.
"Let's just eat without them," Asta grumbled, his stomach growling loud enough to make his impatience clear.
"No!" Rekka shot back, her tone adamant as she frowned at her older companion. "That's not fair to Xieand Yuno! They'd never eat without us!"
"Boo," Asta replied flatly, though he let the thought linger a little longer this time.
Rekka's only response was a frustrated grunt as she crossed her arms. Just then, a faint rumble sounded from outside. Asta's gaze snapped to the window, his bright lime eyes tracing the snowflakes as they drifted down in a delicate, silent procession. The world outside was a frozen expanse, with no signs of life breaking through the ice-etched glass.
And then, a thought crept in, unbidden yet growing with every passing second: Was Sister Lily right to worry?
.
.
.
Snow descended in relentless sheets, smothering the world beneath a pall of white so dense it swallowed sound itself. It pressed in from every direction—an endless, suffocating hush—until even their own breathing felt like an intrusion upon winter's dominion. The cold was not content to linger on skin alone; it gnawed deeper, seeping into muscle and bone, burrowing into places warmth had once claimed.
The road beneath their feet was treacherous, its familiar grooves erased beneath a glaze of ice and powder. Each step threatened betrayal, the ground slick and unkind, eager to wrench balance away. They should have been home by now. They should have been sitting at the long table, steam curling from chipped bowls, Sister Lily's gentle scolding filling the air. Instead, fate had stranded them here—two children dwarfed by a storm and cornered by a man reeking of alcohol and desperation.
This winter was merciless. It tested. It swallowed. And it churned them bare to the bones.
The impact came without warning.
A dull, sickening thud met Yuno's abdomen, knocking the breath from him in a sharp, fractured cry. His body folded instinctively as he was thrown backward, boots skidding uselessly before the snow claimed him. He vanished into the white with a gasp, the ground unforgiving as it welcomed him with icy cruelty.
"Yuno!"
Xierra was moving before thought could catch up. Her knees hit the snow beside him, soaking instantly through worn fabric as she reached for him with shaking hands. Her own state mirrored the chaos around them—hair tangled and stiff with frost, lashes clumped with half-melted flakes, clothes clinging damply to her frame. At her hip, the small leather pouch swayed precariously, its strap stretched thin and frayed, the result of rough fingers clawing at it earlier. Inside lay her mask—her quiet refuge—now hanging by little more than stubborn will.
Yuno curled inward, teeth clenched so tightly his jaw trembled. Each inhale was a battle, the cold slicing into his lungs while pain bloomed hot and angry beneath his ribs. His breath hitched, shuddered, then stilled as he fought to regain control.
A shadow crept across the snow.
Xierra felt it before she saw it—the weight of another presence pressing down on her spine. Slowly, she rose, turning just enough to place herself squarely between Yuno and the looming figure behind them. One arm extended instinctively, a fragile barrier of bone and will. Her other hand fisted around the torn pouch, knuckles white.
She was not brave by nature. Fear had always been quicker than courage, sharper in its grip.
But fear, she realized dimly, could be endured.
The man's laughter sliced through the stillness, clearer now, sobered by malice rather than drink. "You're wasting your strength, kid," he sneered. "There's no winning this."
Xierra swallowed hard, forcing her voice past the tightness in her throat. "That pendant," she said, words trembling but unwavering, "Give it back."
Her gaze locked onto his fist, where the pendant glinted faintly beneath a crust of ice. She knew what it meant to Yuno—how he clutched it on restless nights, how it anchored him when the world felt too vast. That knowledge burned in her chest, hotter than the cold ever could.
For a fleeting second, something flickered in the man's eyes. Slight regret, perhaps. Or memory. Then his fingers tightened, and the moment vanished.
"I'm just trading it for coin," he shrugged, indifference settling in like rot. "Means nothing to you brats."
Anger made Xierra's hands tremble, but her feet stayed planted.
"Give... it... back."
Yuno's voice was barely there, dragged from between clenched teeth. He pushed himself upright, swaying as pain rippled through him anew. Snow clung to his lashes, his breath shallow and uneven, but his eyes burned with something fierce and unyielding.
The plea only seemed to amuse the man.
With a sharp shove, he sent Xierra tumbling aside. The world spun violently as she struck the ground, the impact jarring enough to steal what little air she had left. Before she could even cry out, another kick landed against Yuno's side. His body jerked, a broken sound tearing free as he collapsed once more, arms curling defensively around himself.
"Pathetic," the man spat, examining the pendant as though it were treasure wrested from the earth. "What could children like you ever do with something like this?"
Yuno staggered to his feet again. Each movement was deliberate, pained, yet stubborn. He reached out, fingers trembling, his voice rough but resolute.
"...That's mine."
The words rang clearer this time—quiet, but aflame with defiance.
Xierra forced herself upright, vision swimming as nausea and cold tangled together. Her legs quivered beneath her weight, the edges of the world blurring in and out like a half-remembered dream. Through the haze, she saw Yuno's outstretched hand, saw the faint swirl of wind gathering in his palm. It was small, fragile—but alive.
The man laughed, cruel and echoing. "You think that'll scare me?"
Xierra tried to shout, to warn him, to tell Yuno to stop—but her voice betrayed her, trapped behind a chest that refused to draw breath properly. Panic flared as the cold tightened its grip, her limbs growing heavy, unresponsive. Still, she did not look away from Yuno. Even as darkness crept at the edges of her sight, warmth sparked faintly in her chest—a stubborn ember urging her to stay.
Stand up.
Something brushed her hand.
The contact was light, almost imagined, yet it cut through the numbness with startling clarity. Xierra's fingers twitched as she forced her eyes open. Snow-dimmed shapes sharpened slowly, resolving into the shape of a paw—dark-furred, dusted with white, solid and real.
It closed around her hand.
The touch was gentle, grounding, imbued with a warmth wholly foreign to the storm. It anchored her, pulling her back from the brink as another presence loomed closer. Golden eyes met hers, luminous and steady, their gaze piercing through fear and pain alike.
Not cold. Not cruel.
Kind.
A soft brush against her cheek slowed her ragged breathing. Another reassuring tap followed, coaxing tension from her clenched muscles. When a gentle nudge met her brow, clarity rushed back all at once, her senses flaring awake.
She drew in a breath.
The creature sprang lightly onto a nearby ledge, snow scattering as it landed. In one fluid motion, it leapt onto her shoulder, its weight surprisingly comforting. A plush tail swept snow from her hair, then her shoulders, careful and deliberate. Warm breath ghosted her ear as it leaned close, voice resonating not aloud—but within her mind.
Stand up. I'm here with you.
.
.
.
"You want to fight me," the man sneered, his lips curling as he loomed closer, "and die?"
A vein pulsed violently at his temple, throbbing beneath mottled skin. The sight alone was enough to make Yuno's breath hitch. He clenched his jaw, teeth digging into his lower lip until it burned, until it hurt enough to distract him from the terror clawing up his spine.
It never worked.
The tears came anyway—silent, relentless—spilling down his cheeks in thin, shimmering trails. They traced the curve of his face and vanished into the snow clinging to his collar. He didn't sob. He never did. But the quietness of his crying somehow made it worse.
Xierra saw it all.
Something inside her twisted sharply, like a thread pulled too tight. Without quite realizing it, she crouched and scooped up a handful of snow, packing it together with trembling fingers. The cold bit harshly into her skin, numbing her palms, grounding her. Behind the motion, the leather pouch at her waist loosened, its frayed strap finally giving in as it slipped soundlessly into the powder below.
She didn't notice.
The creature did.
In a flicker of movement, it leapt down from her shoulder, its dark form melting into the snow's shadow. With deliberate care, it shifted its body just enough to conceal the fallen pouch completely, obscuring it from the man's wandering gaze.
Xierra straightened.
Her heart thundered in her ears as she hurled the snowball with everything she had. It flew crookedly, clumsy and slow, falling apart before it ever reached its mark.
The man turned.
His eyes widened—not with surprise, but with something far more unsettling. A sharp, feral glint flashed within them as his attention snapped fully onto her.
"You too, brat?"
He crossed the distance in seconds. Rough fingers fisted into her collar, yanking her forward so abruptly her feet barely touched the ground. Xierra gasped, her hands instinctively clawing at his sleeve. Her gaze darted wildly, searching the storm for the creature that had steadied her moments ago.
Gone.
For a terrifying heartbeat, doubt crept in. Had it ever been there at all?
Then she saw it—the faint rise beneath the snow, the precise outline of her pouch hidden where no drifting wind could have placed it. Too deliberate. Too careful.
And beneath her panic, the warmth lingered. It hadn't faded. It sat deep in her chest, stubborn and real.
The man shoved her aside.
Xierra crashed into the snow near Yuno, the breath knocked cleanly from her lungs. Pain flared, bright and sharp, but it was Yuno's voice that cut deeper.
"Xierra!"
He scrambled toward her, hands shaking as he helped her up. His face was blotched red from crying, lashes heavy with frost, eyes wide with fear that had nothing to do with himself.
"I—I'm fine," she murmured, though her knees wobbled beneath her weight. She reached out, gripping his sleeve to steady them both.
Yuno moved then, stepping in front of her without hesitation.
He was small. He was shaking. Tears still slipped freely down his cheeks. And yet, he stood there, shoulders squared as much as they could be, placing himself between her and the man as though his body alone could be enough.
Xierra pressed a hand to her mouth, forcing herself not to break. If he could stand, so could she. She wiped her eyes roughly with her sleeve and stayed behind him, close enough that she could feel his trembling through the air.
Hope thinned, stretched to its breaking point.
Then—
"Yuno! Xierra—!"
The voice tore through the storm like a blade.
Both of them turned at once.
A figure barreled toward them through the snow, boots kicking up powder as he ran with reckless abandon. The moment they recognized him, something inside their chests cracked open.
"Asta—!"
He didn't slow down. Didn't hesitate. With a fierce, wordless cry, Asta launched himself straight at the man, wrapping his arms around the man's waist with every ounce of strength he had.
The impact staggered them both.
For a split second—just one—it almost worked.
Then the man roared and flung Asta aside like a dead weight. His body skidded across the snow before coming to a harsh stop.
"Who the hell are you, brat?!"
Asta coughed, snow clinging to his hair and lashes, but he pushed himself up almost immediately. His eyes burned bright, jaw set in furious defiance.
"That's Yuno's!" he shouted—and charged again.
He was thrown back.
He got up.
He charged.
Again.
And again.
Each attempt ended the same way—snow, pain, a sharp cry—but he never stayed down for long. Every time he rose, it was like watching someone refuse the very concept of defeat.
Xierra's restraint shattered.
Her sobs tore free, raw and aching, her cries growing louder with every time Asta hit the ground. She couldn't stop them. Couldn't breathe past them.
"Asta—!!"
Yuno stood frozen, eyes wide, tears streaking down his dirt-smudged face. His fists clenched uselessly at his sides as he watched helplessly.
"Don't touch me with your filthy hands!" the man snarled. "You stupid little—!"
Asta staggered forward anyway.
Blood trickled from his nose, staining the snow beneath his feet. Bruises bloomed dark and angry across his skin. His clothes were torn, soaked through, barely holding together. Still, he kept moving.
Something shifted.
The man hesitated.
Unease flickered across his expression as Asta came at him again, relentless as the storm itself. With a sharp curse, he stepped back, disgust and irritation twisting his features.
"Damn brat won't quit," he muttered, retreating at last. "What the hell is wrong with him..."
He turned and left, disappearing into the snowfall as though he'd never been there.
The pendant slipped from his grasp, landing softly in the snow.
Asta collapsed.
"Asta!"
Yuno was running before his voice finished echoing. Xierra followed, legs screaming in protest as they raced toward him. Their footprints marked the snow behind them—a messy, desperate trail carved by fear and love.
Asta lay still, half-buried in white. Scratches marred his skin, crimson stark against pale flesh. And yet—
He was smiling.
Xierra dropped to her knees beside him, hands hovering uselessly over his shoulders. Her vision blurred, tears falling freely now.
Snow drifted down around them, settling quietly as if the world itself had chosen to pause.
"...I'm... gonna become the Wizard King..." Asta said suddenly, voice hoarse but bright as ever.
Yuno froze.
Xierra's breath caught.
"I'm gonna protect you two... and everyone else," Asta continued, grinning through split lips. "I'll make everyone happier. We'll have nicer things—!"
Yuno's pendant lay pressed into his palm, his fingers curled tightly around it despite the cold creeping into his skin.
"...I'll prove it," Asta went on. "That even if you're poor... even if you're an orphan..."
The words struck deep.
Xierra squeezed her eyes shut, tears spilling over as the truth settled heavy in her chest. No parents. No riches. Nothing promised.
Asta raised his fist, trembling but determined, his smile blazing like a stubborn sun.
"...you can still become the Wizard King."
Years later, the memory remained impossibly vivid.
That night, the world had been gray—washed of color by fear and snow. And yet, when dawn finally came, it returned painted in light.
Xierra believed in the stars.
She believed they carried memories, that they watched over moments like these and kept them safe. She whispered prayers to whatever listened beyond the moon, beyond the sun—hoping the universe itself might guard them.
A wish for warmth.
A wish for light.
A wish that they would never be alone again.