Memories of days gone by lived on like half-forgotten dreams—soft-edged, luminous, and stubbornly impossible to erase. They clung to the quiet spaces of the heart, resurfacing in moments of stillness: laughter carried on cold air, promises spoken with shaking hands, warmth shared when the world had offered none.
Those memories were not fragile things.
Yet the future stretched before them as something entirely different—not fixed, not inevitable, but pliant. A wide, unmarked expanse waiting to be shaped by will, by choice, by the courage to reach forward instead of looking back.
And now, standing amid broken stone and scorched earth, Xierra realized she was witnessing one of those once-distant hopes made real.
For a fleeting moment earlier, she had believed this battle would be her last.
That certainty cracked the instant Revchi's body was hurled into the brick wall with bone-rattling force. The impact echoed sharply through the air, dust spilling from the fractured surface as thin cracks webbed outward like shattered glass. Xierra winced despite herself, eyes tracing the damage with a strange sense of relief.
...Explaining this to the Mayor and Father Orsi was going to be an ordeal.
Asta drove his sword into the ground with a resounding thud, the vibration shuddering faintly through the soles of her boots. The sound carried weight—solid, unmistakable. It wasn't magic that held him upright now, but muscle honed through relentless effort, stubborn repetition, and sheer refusal to give in.
Seeing him stand like that—chest rising and falling, shoulders squared despite exhaustion—steadied something deep inside her.
She hadn't realized how tightly she'd been holding her breath.
A familiar warmth shifted above her. Inari, who had been perched atop Yuno's head with evident displeasure, scrambled down with a flick of shadow and ember, settling neatly onto Xierra's shoulder. His body curled into her as though he belonged there, tail wrapping loosely against her collar.
He would never admit it aloud, of course—but her presence was preferable. Predictable. Familiar. Safe.
The fox exhaled softly, the sharp edge of his earlier grin dulling into something quieter. The air around them felt different now, less charged. Xierra felt it too and let out a breath of her own, a small laugh escaping her lips.
"That sure took a long while," she said, her voice light, almost disbelieving.
Only then did she notice her hand—still entwined with Yuno's.
Her fingers loosened instinctively as her gaze drifted back to the unconscious man sprawled across the ground. Revchi lay unmoving, eyes rolled back, the whites stark against bruised skin. Veins stood out faintly, pulsing with the remnants of pain that hadn't yet released him.
His dark hair was a tangled mess, clotted with dust and ash. But it was the scar that caught her attention—a jagged line carved across his face, harsh and permanent, like a shadow that had refused to fade.
"That's..." she murmured, stepping closer without thinking.
Yuno turned toward her, brow knitting slightly as he followed her line of sight. He found nothing out of the ordinary, only the fallen man and the aftermath of violence.
"What is it?" he asked quietly.
"A battle scar," Xierra replied, her tone subdued.
It stirred something unsettled within her. Scars like that were not born overnight. They were earned through loss, through cruelty, through a world that had taught someone to survive by hardening themselves.
She knew that world. Too well.
"Pity him not," Inari interjected, his voice slicing cleanly through her thoughts. His golden gaze remained fixed on Revchi, sharp and unyielding. "A man who carries rot in his core is not owed forgiveness simply because he bleeds."
Xierra blinked, then let out a soft chuckle as she straightened, setting her grimoire aside.
"Sounds like you can read his mind," she said lightly.
Inari scoffed. "I am surprised you cannot."
"I don't exactly have superhuman telepathy, Inari."
"On the contrary, Master." His lips curled into a knowing smirk, something old and unreadable glinting beneath it. He cleared his throat and flicked his tail forward. "Though I will concede—he was formidable."
"I... can't argue with that," she admitted, sighing. "It'd be strange if a Magic Knight weren't."
Yuno nodded beside her, silent and thoughtful. The fight replayed itself in fragments behind his eyes—moments where things might have gone differently, if only for a heartbeat. But regret did nothing now. The past was immovable.
A loud grunt snapped their attention back.
Asta stood a short distance away, breathing heavily, arms trembling as he lifted his grimoire high above his head like a sacred relic. Tears streamed freely down his face, carving clean paths through soot and grime.
"All right!!" he yelled. "I—I don't know how, but I got a grimoire!!"
"Congratulations, boy," Inari drawled, shifting closer into Xierra's warmth. "And now that you've exhausted yourself, kindly remain silent. I require peace."
Asta nodded enthusiastically.
Then immediately ignored him.
He pressed his cheek against the grimoire with fervent abandon, rubbing against the worn cover as though afraid it might vanish if he let go. Ash smeared further across his face, and Xierra couldn't help but stare in mild awe at how he hadn't burned himself from sheer enthusiasm alone.
"It's old and tattered," Asta declared proudly, "but I'll treasure it forever!"
Inari shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
Xierra covered her mouth, laughter slipping out despite her best efforts. Leaning closer, she whispered, "Sorry about the noise. He's always like this. I hope you'll forgive him."
Her voice—soft, familiar—stirred something distant in Inari's memory. His ears flicked, eyes narrowing for just a moment before he scoffed and turned away.
With a quiet huff, he curled tighter against her shoulder and closed his eyes, resolutely tuning out Asta's continued shouting.
Hmph. The boy doesn't even notice how many leaves his clover has.
The voice echoed directly inside Xierra's mind.
She stiffened, blinking hard. It had been a while since he'd done that—spoken like this, thoughts resonating against her own like a bell struck once too close. The sensation lingered, humming faintly even after the words settled.
Inari chuckled. You'll grow accustomed to it.
Perhaps I'll try chatting with squirrels next, she shot back, amused despite herself.
If you find one with more than two functioning thoughts, perhaps. But do not expect much, Master. There is only room for one exceptional conversationalist.
She bit down on a laugh, shoulders shaking as she forced herself to stay quiet. If Yuno noticed her smiling at nothing, he'd surely worry. But she couldn't help it.
In moments like these—surrounded by warmth, by voices, by futures still unfolding—Xierra felt it clearly.
Hope wasn't loud.
It was gentle. Persistent.
And very much alive.
Xierra gathered herself with a quiet, almost apologetic clearing of her throat. The sound barely stirred the air. Inari remained curled atop her shoulder, his small form nestled so perfectly against her collarbone that he might have been part of her shadow. He felt impossibly light—less like a creature of flesh and fur, more like a thought given shape. She wondered, not for the first time, whether that weightlessness belonged to his nature as a spirit, something tethered to the soul rather than the body.
He slept without tension now. The sharpness that usually defined his expressions had softened, smoothed away by rest. His tiny muzzle was relaxed, breath even, a faint curve tugging at his lips as though he were dreaming of something kind. Xierra held herself perfectly still, muscles locked not from strain but from care. She did not dare shift, not even by accident, unwilling to be the one who shattered a moment he had so rarely earned.
"Asta."
Yuno's voice cut through the quiet, sudden but steady. It drew both Asta's attention and Xierra's, pulling her gaze from the fox spirit to the boy standing before them. Yuno stepped forward, his grimoire clasped close to his chest, fingers tightened along its edge. There was weight in the way he stood—something unspoken pressing down on the space between them.
"I'll repay you for this someday."
The words were simple, but they landed heavily.
Xierra let out a soft laugh before she could stop herself. It slipped free, warm and unguarded, carried on the gentle breeze that brushed against the open field. Sunlight clung to her lashes when she smiled, turning her features faintly gold. She looked at Asta then, truly looked at him, and placed a hand against her chest as though steadying her own heart.
"That 'I' should really be a 'we,'" she said, eyes closing for just a second. "You saved both of us. Even if I arrived late... I still owe you. For everything."
Yuno glanced back at her, a small motion of his head inviting her closer. Only then did she realize how far she had lingered, as if afraid to intrude on something sacred. She moved without hesitation this time, steps whispering across the grass, until she stood between them—no longer an observer, but a part of the space they shared.
When she lifted her eyes to Asta, pride swelled like a living thing. It hung between the three of them, bright and undeniable. Their smiles widened in response, mirroring one another, reflecting the trials they had endured and the bond that had refused to break beneath their weight.
"Do you still remember our promise?"
The question rose from Xierra's lips before she could weigh it. It had been buried for years, pressed deep beneath rivalry and distance, yet it surfaced now as naturally as breath. Those words were threads spun in childhood—threads that had bound them into something more than friends, more than rivals. Family, shaped not by blood, but by choice.
Asta blinked, then broke into a grin, surprise threading through his voice. "I didn't think you'd remember."
She shook her head, laughter following easily. "With how distant you two have been lately, I thought neither of you would."
Her gaze lingered on Asta's expression—the same reckless brightness she remembered from long ago, unchanged despite everything.
The memory surged back in an instant. Three fists meeting in the cold, the dull ache of impact blooming beneath skin already numbed by winter air. It had been simple. Clumsy. And yet it carried the weight of everything they wanted to become.
To reach the very top of Clover. To become the strongest. To protect what mattered. To chase truths hidden beyond the horizon. To dream without restraint.
Yuno let out a quiet sound—something between a breath and a laugh. A rare curve lifted his lips, small but radiant, and for a heartbeat, Xierra hardly recognized him. In that moment, he looked like the sun itself—brilliant, distant, and impossibly warm. Perhaps he had always been that way. The brightest presence in her universe.
Evening crept in around them, wrapping the field in amber light. Fireflies drifted low through the grass, their glow scattering like embers in the air. Their fragile luminescence pushed back the dark, soft but defiant. When Xierra tipped her head upward, she caught sight of a pale crescent lingering in the sky—the moon, faint and watchful, refusing to vanish entirely.
The sun and the moon were never meant to share the heavens. Each ruled their own domain, bound to separate paths by time itself. And yet, sometimes—just sometimes—they lingered together. Close enough to see one another. Close enough to care.
Perhaps they, too, defied what was written.
The promise echoed between them—the one forged on a winter night long past. Snow clung to their hair, bruises marred their skin, and frost bit at their fingers. They had been young. Hurt. Unstoppable. Even then, pain had never been enough to silence their dreams.
That memory felt distant now, like a star suspended far beyond reach. And yet, with every step forward—no matter how small—they edged closer to it. Each step was a victory. Each moment, proof that the dream still lived.
"Let's see..."
"...who becomes..."
"...the Wizard King!"
.
.
.
The memory rose unbidden, bright and reckless as a spark struck against flint.
They had been smaller then—knees scraped raw, fingers numb from cold, breath puffing white into the winter-dark air. Snow clung stubbornly to their hair and lashes, melting into their skin as they stood shoulder to shoulder beneath a sky too vast for children who dared to dream so loudly.
"I'm going to protect you two and everyone else!"
Asta's voice had cracked with effort, but his eyes had burned fiercely, brighter than the lantern light trembling beside them.
"I'm gonna make everyone happier! We'll have nicer things! And I'm gonna prove to everyone that even if you're poor— even if you're an orphan— you can still become the Wizard King!"
The vow had echoed into the night, clumsy and sincere, sealing itself into their bones.
.
.
.
"Hold on, hold on."
Xierra lifted her hand, palm outward, breaking the moment as neatly as cutting a thread. The evening light caught on her fingers as she frowned in genuine confusion.
"Shouldn't it be Wizard Queen in my case?"
The words lingered in the air—an afterthought delayed by the long years. Her brows knit together as realization dawned, slow and incredulous. How had none of them noticed before?
Yuno stared at her.
Then—utterly betrayed by the moment—he laughed.
It slipped out sharp and unrestrained, startling even himself. He turned away slightly, lifting a hand to his face as he wiped at the corner of his eye, shoulders shaking despite his best efforts to contain it.
"Oh, Yuno!" Asta pointed at him like he'd caught him committing a crime. "That's illegal! You can't just laugh!"
"You—you laughed!" Xierra gasped, eyes lighting up as if she'd just witnessed a miracle. She leaned forward, delight bubbling over. "You actually laughed, didn't you?!"
Both boys blinked at her tone—bright, ringing, alive in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.
"Let's move on," Yuno muttered quickly, clearing his throat. A faint flush crept up the curve of his ears as he straightened. "Didn't you say you wanted to travel the world?"
The levity dimmed. Xierra's smile faltered—only a fraction—but Asta caught it. His shoulders drooped in quiet sympathy.
Then she tilted her head.
"When did I ever say that?" she asked lightly. "I don't recall sharing my bucket list with anyone."
Yuno stiffened. He turned his face away, fingers brushing over his mouth in a gesture far too practiced to be casual. The color blooming in his ears betrayed him entirely.
"I... may have overheard you once," he admitted. "With Sister Lily."
"Oh?" Xierra drawled, grin sharpening with satisfaction. "Did you, now?"
She relished the way he flinched—small, almost imperceptible, but real. It felt like long-overdue repayment for years of composed glances and quiet knowing smiles aimed her way. Her laughter softened as she exhaled, gaze drifting toward the horizon where the sun bled amber and rose into the clouds.
"Well, that part is true," she said. "But seeing the two of you like this—so stubborn, so certain—how could I not want to walk the same road? Your determination is contagious."
She turned back to them, beaming so brightly that both boys instinctively raised their hands.
"And besides," she added cheerfully, "I can explore the world after I become a Magic Knight."
"Don't get it twisted," Yuno said, voice steady once more. "I'm not planning on getting friendly with my rivals."
The word hung there, charged.
Xierra studied him—the sharp lines, the composed posture, the quiet fire beneath it all. Something about his intensity made her chest tighten. It reminded her how often she wavered, how easily her resolve bent in the wind.
"Rivals, huh?" she murmured, a crooked smile tugging at her lips. Her gaze pierced straight through his carefully built walls. "And where does that leave me?"
She fluttered her lashes, deliberately exaggerated.
Yuno's ears flamed.
"You're... too kind for me to treat coldly," he replied after a pause. Then, almost without thinking, he reached out and ruffled her hair.
Xierra yelped. "Hey! I can be fierce too!"
"Debatable."
She clutched her chest dramatically. "After all these years," she lamented, "and you still doubt me."
Inari, blinking awake atop her shoulder, grinned wickedly. "Cruel," he chimed in. "Absolutely cruel. Look what you've done—my master's heart lies in ruins."
Xierra dissolved into laughter, and even Yuno couldn't entirely hide the way his lips twitched.
The moment was shattered when Asta stomped between them, arms crossed. "Enough already! I'm starving! Save the romance for later."
Inari's gaze drifted over Asta then—scratches, bruises, torn fabric. "Shouldn't you worry about your injuries first?"
Asta froze.
Then screamed.
"I forgot!!!"
Xierra clamped her hands over her ears as Yuno grabbed her arm and pulled her back, retreating until Asta's panicked sprint toward the church faded into the distance.
"...Energetic," Inari mused.
"Unfortunately," Xierra sighed, glancing at the unconscious man still sprawled on the grass. "He's also your problem now."
"I'll handle him," Yuno said, already stepping forward. "Find the mayor. And Father Orsi."
She saluted lazily. "Aye-aye, sir."
And with that, she turned toward the village—heart light, steps steady, dawn's promise lingering warmly in her chest.
.
.
.
The day had left its fingerprints everywhere—on her nerves, in her muscles, in the quiet spaces between her thoughts.
Xierra slipped into her room with practiced care, easing the door shut until it whispered against the frame. The faint creak still echoed louder than she would have liked. For a moment, she lingered there, palm resting against the wood, letting the chaos of the outside world settle into something distant and muted.
Chaotic didn't quite cover it, she thought. Attacked on the very first day she received her grimoire—there weren't many who could claim that particular honor.
The room greeted her with a hollow stillness. The candles by the bedside had long since surrendered, their wicks curled into brittle black threads, leaving behind only the faint, acrid perfume of burned wax. Cold pooled low in the room, creeping along the floorboards and seeping into her skin despite the tightly shut windows. Outside, the wind threaded itself through unseen cracks in the chapel's aging bones, its low whistle steady and oddly comforting, as a lullaby hummed by something ancient and patient.
Her gaze drifted to the bedsheets—creased, dulled by age, clinging stubbornly to their imperfections. They looked tired. Tomorrow, she promised herself. Or perhaps the day after. Exhaustion pressed down hard enough that even small resolutions felt ambitious.
The children slept soundly.
Their breathing wove a gentle rhythm through the darkness, soft and unbroken. Rekka lay beside her, curled inward like a small, stubborn knot of warmth, completely unbothered by the chill. Xierra envied her for that. She eased herself beneath the covers, tugging the duvet close, seeking shelter from the cold that gnawed at her ankles and spine. Nights in Hage were rarely cruel, but they had teeth—especially when the body was worn thin, and the heart refused to rest.
Sleep, however, did not come.
Time stretched. The ceiling became far too familiar.
Asta muttered something incoherent from across the room, punctuating it with a sharp kick that rattled the mattress. Xierra rolled her eyes, though a faint fondness softened the gesture. Some habits never changed. Eventually, she exhaled and pushed the blanket aside, sitting upright.
She stared into the dim.
I can't sleep, she admitted to herself. This is bothersome.
A quiet hum slipped from her throat as she rubbed her temple, gaze drifting from bed to bed. Nash's earlier insistence made more sense now—Yuno stepping in with his calm authority, smoothing things over as he always did.
And Asta... well. Restlessness clung to him like a second skin. It always had.
Her eyes traced the room once more. Rekka near the edge, Arlu sprawled with reckless abandon, Sister Lily breathing so softly she seemed barely there at all. Peaceful. Untouched by the storm still echoing inside Xierra's chest.
She rose.
Carefully, she threaded her way through the narrow gaps, feet silent against the floor. The door protested faintly as she opened it, drawing a sharp look from her.
I thought only the front door needed oiling, she grumbled inwardly.
The hallway's chill brushed against her face, sharper than the room behind her. She slipped out and eased the door shut, letting the muted click seal her decision. The church lay suspended in a hush so profound it pressed against her ribs. Remaining inside that room would have smothered her.
The fox mask called to her.
She retrieved it from its hiding place, fingers lingering on its smooth surface before slipping it into her worn leather bag alongside her grimoire. The familiar weight steadied her—an anchor in the quiet.
Her gaze lifted to the clock on the wall. The second hand marched onward without mercy.
An hour past midnight.
Not ideal. But neither was lying awake with a heart that refused to slow.
Xierra exhaled, squaring her shoulders as she stepped deeper into the sleeping church. If rest wouldn't come to her, then she would meet the night halfway.
"Having trouble sleeping, Master?"
Inari's presence unfurled beside her like a quiet ember, his voice no louder than the breath of the night itself. Moonlight skimmed along his foxlike silhouette, catching in the edges of his flame-kissed fur.
"The night is a dangerous time to wander around," he added mildly. "I'm certain the local thieves and hoodlums would find your company... irresistible."
Xierra tilted her head, the corner of her mouth lifting into something sly and familiar. The cold nipped at her cheeks, but her eyes gleamed with quiet amusement. "But I have you," she replied lightly. "You'll protect me from the horrors lurking in the dark, won't you? Or is that too tall an order for a fox with such legendary talents?"
Inari let out a low, amused huff. "Quite the charmer, aren't you, Master?" His tone dripped with mockery, yet there was warmth beneath it—an old echo, one that tugged at memories he rarely acknowledged. He studied her for a moment longer before humming thoughtfully. "So. A midnight climb?"
"Yeah, as you've guessed."
"Then do try not to fall," he said dryly. "I'd rather not scrape you off the stonework."
She answered with a small nod and a grin that betrayed her excitement, already moving. A cardigan lay abandoned over the back of a chair nearby; she snatched it up and slipped it on as she headed for the door. It was a poor fit—too loose at the shoulders, sleeves brushing past her wrists—but it was warm enough. No footsteps followed her. No voices called her name. Her quiet escape, it seemed, had gone unnoticed.
The rooftop greeted her like an old confidant.
Cold air swept across the open height, crisp and biting, carrying the scent of damp stone and distant fields. Xierra settled herself atop the church roof, the village sprawled below in a patchwork of slumbering lights and darkened paths. She rubbed her hands together, breath blooming pale in the air, then set her leather bag on her lap and folded her legs beneath her.
Her grimoire rested open before her, pages pale as fogged glass. She smiled faintly at it—something between fondness and uncertainty—and began to turn the pages. The parchment whispered with each movement, illustrations slipping past her gaze like half-remembered dreams.
"What are you searching for, Master?" Inari asked, watching from beside her. His eyes tracked her hands with sharp interest. "You've been turning those pages for quite some time now. Relentlessly."
"Mmm," she hummed, noncommittal. Her attention drifted not to the words, but to the sky above—the endless scatter of stars, trembling gently as if they, too, were breathing. "Nothing in particular."
Inari's tail flicked. Once. Twice. A restrained sigh followed. "You won't find answers if you don't ask," he said at last. "And that expression—if you keep frowning like that, you'll age faster than you should."
She crossed her arms, scoffing softly. "If I get wrinkles, I get wrinkles. What's life without a few marks to show you've lived?"
He snorted. "I'm sure that handsome boy will adore you regardless. Lines or no lines."
Xierra blinked. One brow rose slowly.
"You took the words right out of my mouth."
A presence shifted behind her.
"So this is where you've been, Xierra."
She turned just in time to see Yuno land atop the roof, boots meeting tiles with a muted clink. He moved with practiced ease, careful not to disturb the loose pieces beneath his feet, balance flawless as ever. The wind lingered around him, playful and obedient, tugging lightly at his hair before settling.
Her eyes widened, surprise flickering openly across her face.
"I flew," he added, answering the question she hadn't voiced, his tone casual—almost dismissive. A faint curve touched his lips, gone as quickly as it appeared.
Inari clicked his tongue appreciatively. "Must be nice, commanding the wind like that," he remarked. "I like you."
Yuno blinked, a short, startled breath leaving him before he could stop it. A chuckle followed—soft, unguarded, gone almost as soon as it surfaced. Praise was rare enough as it was, but hearing it come from a fox spirit made it stranger still. He rolled the feeling off his shoulders and stepped closer, coming to stand beside Xierra.
Only then did he notice it—the faint bloom of color along her cheeks, deepening by the second. Moonlight caught on it, making her look almost fever-warm against the night's cold, as though she were lit from within.
"What are you doing up here?" he asked after a moment, voice even but curious. "It's late."
Inari shot Xierra one last knowing look, the curve of his grin unmistakably impish. Then his form unraveled into smoke, ember-bright and fleeting, dissolving into the night air. He knew when to retreat. Some silences were meant to be shared by only two.
Xierra drew in a slow breath, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of her cardigan as she tried to calm the uneven rhythm in her chest. "Couldn't really sleep," she admitted, barely above a murmur. She turned toward Yuno, searching his face. "What about you?"
"I heard you sneaking out."
"Oh." Her eyes widened, the realization landing a beat too late. A small, sheepish laugh slipped free as she squeezed her eyes shut, shoulders slumping. "Sorry about that."
He shook his head once, dismissing it, then lowered himself to the roof beside her, folding his legs beneath him. The tiles were cool through the fabric of his clothes, the stone holding onto the night's chill. Wind threaded softly around them, humming low and steady, far gentler than the cramped room they'd left behind—no muttering, no flailing limbs, no restless dreams spilling into the dark.
After a while, Yuno spoke again.
"Are you sure," he began, gaze angled toward the horizon, "that you want to join us in becoming the Wizard King?" He paused, then corrected himself. "The Wizard Queen."
Xierra's lips curved upward, playful and thoughtful all at once. She lifted a hand, as though shielding an invisible light forming beneath it, and let out a quiet hum. Her thoughts wandered back to that promise—so loud, so earnest, made with fists clenched and hearts too young to understand consequence. Back then, the future had been a simple thing. A word spoken loudly enough, and it felt real.
But futures weren't born from noise alone.
They needed choice.
They needed resolve.
It's something to savor, Inari's voice echoed gently in the recesses of her mind, calm and grounding. Not rush through.
Xierra stilled, letting the thought settle. Her shoulders eased, and a small, genuine smile followed. She laughed under her breath, then leaned back, bracing herself on her arms. Her face tipped upward, eyes slipping closed as the cold breeze swept across her skin, sharp and refreshing.
"Yeah," she said at last, voice lighter. "I've made up my mind, Yuno."
He turned slightly, listening.
"I was thinking," she continued, "Magic Knights go on missions, right? Travel, fight, protect people." A smile tugged at her lips. "I can still see the world. Just... with more responsibility." A soft chuckle escaped her. "Double the work. Maybe more."
"I see," Yuno replied. He nodded once. "Good for you."
She didn't miss the sincerity beneath the brevity. She never did.
Xierra had long accepted that this was how he spoke—measured, restrained. Still, memories stirred unbidden. A younger Yuno, small hands clenched in fabric, eyes too wide and wet. A boy who had once trembled at the unknown, who had cried when the world felt too large.
That boy was gone.
In his place stood someone steady, sharpened by purpose, his resolve tempered by years of quiet determination. The promise they'd made hadn't just pushed him forward—it had reshaped him.
"And you know what?" Xierra turned her head, eyes bright with challenge as they locked onto his. "It's going to be three times the work for you." Her grin widened. "You'll have to beat Asta and me. And who knows how many others out there? So... make it four."
For a heartbeat, Yuno simply stared.
Then he smiled.
Not the faint curve he usually allowed himself—but something warmer, softer. Something fond.
They let the moment rest there, unspoken. Both of them leaned back, gazes drifting upward to the vast spill of stars overhead. The sky stretched endlessly, dark and clear, each point of light trembling like a distant wish.
Xierra's thoughts wandered again—to the spell she'd cast earlier that day. The hesitation. The choice she'd made in that instant.
If she'd chosen differently... would it have changed anything?
The question lingered, aching and unresolved, suspended among the stars as the night quietly listened.
The silence between them stretched—gentle, unhurried—until Yuno finally spoke.
"...You did well today."
His voice was steady, as it always was, but there was something beneath it this time. Something more tender. Something gentler. Something meant only for her.
Xierra turned toward him. He was staring upward, eyes tracing the vast cathedral of sky overhead, where the stars were beginning to pale at the edges. She had to tilt her head back slightly to look at him properly—and the realization struck her then, quietly but firmly.
He had grown.
Not all at once, not in a way that demanded attention, but enough that she felt it now. Years ago, they had stood nearly eye to eye, shoulders brushing evenly. Now, his presence loomed just a little higher, broader, as though the world had gently shaped him while she'd been looking elsewhere. Same age. Same starting line. Yet different currents carried them forward.
"Did I?" she murmured, more to herself than to him.
Her fingers closed her grimoire with care, as though sealing something fragile inside, and she slid it beneath her bag. Drawing her knees inward, she wrapped her arms around them, curling into herself. Her forehead pressed against her legs, voice muffled but honest.
"I feel like I'm falling behind... compared to the two of you."
Yuno didn't answer right away.
The wind whispered across the rooftop, cool and clean, tugging softly at the hem of her cardigan. He let the quiet hold her words, as if giving them space to breathe. He had learned—somewhere along the way—that listening mattered more than fixing.
"You and Asta are always ahead," Xierra continued, her voice threaded with frustration. "Your dreams are so big. So far out there." She swallowed. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever catch up."
Moonlight spilled over her platinum hair, turning each strand into something luminous, almost unreal. It slid along her cheek as she spoke again.
"I'm not strong like Asta. I don't have magic like you, Yuno." Her fingers tightened slightly in her sleeves. "All I do is read. Study. Think. I help when I can, but..."
Her breath shuddered. "It never feels enough."
"But it is."
Yuno's voice cut through the doubt without raising itself—calm, sure, immovable.
He shifted closer, the space between them shrinking until his presence was unmistakable. When she lifted her head at last, he was already watching her, eyes steady and soft. A small smile touched his lips—not practiced, not restrained. Real.
"You're doing your best," he said simply. "Aren't you?"
She hesitated.
"That's enough, Xierra," he went on, his tone firm in its kindness. "More than enough."
The words came easier than they used to. She noticed that too. This wasn't the distant boy who once swallowed his thoughts whole. This Yuno spoke when it mattered.
"You don't need to compare yourself to Asta," he continued. "Or to me. You don't need to match anyone's pace."
His gaze never wavered.
"You're you. And that's not lacking. That's incredible."
Her chest tightened.
The familiar chorus of doubt still scraped at her thoughts, sharp and persistent. She frowned, shaking her head once, as if trying to scatter the voices clinging to her ribs.
This time, she chose differently.
She listened.
She believed.
She trusted him.
Because she always had.
"And don't listen to anyone who tells you otherwise," Yuno added.
He leaned closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth he carried despite the chill. A rare, genuine smile curved across his face—unguarded and sincere.
"To me," he said quietly. "You're the greatest gift I've ever met."
Her world stuttered.
Heat rushed up her neck, blooming fiercely across her cheeks and ears. Xierra sucked in a sharp breath and turned away at once, hands flying up to hide her face. Her fingers parted just enough to peek through—
—and caught Yuno's expression.
Amused. Fond. Completely unapologetic.
"Urk..." A frustrated sound slipped out as she looked away again. "Don't say things like that out of nowhere, Yuno."
"It wasn't out of nowhere," he replied, tilting his head, feigning innocence. As if he hadn't just unraveled her entirely.
She flinched, face burning hotter. Words tumbled under her breath—nonsense, really—anything to shake the feeling curling tight in her chest.
As much as Yuno wanted to remain there, suspended beneath the thinning stars, tomorrow waited patiently beyond the horizon. Responsibility always did. He stood, exhaling softly, and brushed his hands against his trousers before crouching again.
"Come on," he said, firm but gentle, hands resting on her shoulders as he turned her toward the way back. "It's late."
"I'm not tired yet," she protested weakly.
"Inside is warmer. You'll catch a cold."
"No, I wo—achoo!"
The sneeze tore through her protest, followed by a small, helpless sniffle.
Yuno raised one eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You were saying?"
"Okay, okay!" she groaned—and promptly sneezed again. "Achoo!"
He shook his head, quietly wondering if living with Asta had infected her with that particular brand of stubbornness. With a sigh, he tapped his grimoire and flicked his finger.
Wind gathered at her feet, gentle and obedient, lifting her just enough to guide her safely down. Another flick—and her bag, along with her grimoire, drifted neatly into his grasp.
He lingered for one last glance at the night sky, reluctant to let it go.
Then Xierra sniffed loudly.
"You jinxed it," she accused, narrowing her eyes at him.
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Don't play dumb."
"I'm not." That maddeningly handsome smirk stayed firmly in place.
She huffed. "Lies. I smell deceit."
To Be Continued...