Fiery tendrils crackled through the heavens, tearing open the night with shrill screams of heat and steel. The air itself seemed to recoil as blades collided, their shrieks swallowed by the roar of an unfolding calamity.
Below, the city had already begun to die.
Homes drowned in red, their silhouettes bending and collapsing beneath the hunger of the flames. Stone roads split apart like brittle glass, veins of fire crawling through the fractures. Towers that once stood proud now leaned at broken angles, their remains jutting upward like the exposed ribs of a corpse. People ran—no, fled—clutching children, calling names that would never be answered, their voices fraying into desperate cries that vanished into smoke.
Above it all, something watched.
An enormous, unblinking eye hovered in the sky, vast and merciless, its pupil reflecting the terror below with detached curiosity. Dark wings scattered around it as crows fled in frantic swarms, but the eye did not so much as twitch. It lingered, listening to prayers that dissolved the moment they were uttered.
The body beneath it was wrapped in crimson scales, each one shimmering as though caught between blistering heat and numbing frost. Steam coiled from its fanged maw with every breath it took, slow and deliberate. From its back unfurled four colossal arms, stretching outward as if savoring the destruction it could bring.
One hand moved.
The inferno that followed erased an entire district in an instant.
There was no scream afterward—only absence.
Half of Clover's capital fell with that single, careless strike.
From the demon's eye, light began to gather. At first, it was faint, a trembling glimmer. Then it swelled, spiraling inward as countless particles fused, sharpening into something blinding. When it fired, the beam carved through the city like judgment itself, sweeping across streets and plazas, leaving nothing unscathed. Walls disintegrated. Towers shattered midair. Life vanished without ceremony.
Explosions rippled outward, one after another, until even the castle walls crumbled into dust. Some structures burned to ash where they stood; others were torn apart and scattered to the wind. When the echoes finally faded, there was barely anything left to mourn.
Heaven and earth grieved alike for a world turned into a living hell.
At the heart of the ruin, upon the last tower still standing, a lone mage remained.
Light gathered around him, soft yet resolute, his grimoire floating at his side as though bound to his very soul. His cloak fluttered violently in the storm of heat and debris, yet his stance never wavered.
Lumiere Silvamillion Clover—the first Wizard King.
His gaze lowered, drawn by movement amid the devastation.
Below, cutting through fire and falling rubble, a fox-like spirit bounded forward with impossible speed. Upon its back stood a girl, her figure small against the chaos yet unyielding. A sword flashed in her grip, its edge catching firelight as she guided the creature with practiced precision. Her other hand clutched a grimoire to her chest, its pages trembling—not in fear, but anticipation.
Her resolve burned brighter than the city around her.
Lumiere recognized her instantly.
A slow breath left him, heavy with understanding. "What matters now," he murmured to himself, sorrow threading through his voice, "is the enemy before me."
His four-leaf clover grimoire turned the pages of its own accord, stopping with purpose. Light pooled at his fingertips as he faced the towering demon, meeting its many eyes without hesitation—even as grief reflected at him from within that monstrous gaze.
The demon struck.
Its massive hand crashed down upon the tower, stone and light shattering together. Lumiere's form fractured into radiant shards, scattering like broken stars—only to reassemble in an instant behind the beast. He surged forward, speed bending the air itself, as a roaring cyclone spiraled outward, trapping the demon within a prison of shrieking wind.
The city continued to collapse around them, but Lumiere's focus never faltered.
This creature had once been someone he loved.
Loved like a friend.
Loved like a family.
Regret flickered through him—but it did not slow his hand.
Blades of light tore through the air, striking from every direction. They barely pierced the demon's hide, yet they herded it, guiding its movements with ruthless precision. When it twisted to find him, Lumiere was already above.
Light gathered again—this time into enormous swords, each one rivaling the demon's own scale. They descended like falling stars, embedding themselves into the ground around the creature, forming a blazing cage brighter than the fires consuming the city.
Lumiere raised his hand.
His fingers curled slowly, deliberately.
The swords trembled, drawn together by an unseen force, converging as though pulled by the gravity of his resolve. Light exploded outward, swallowing the demon in fire and brilliance. Thunder cracked through blood-red clouds as power condensed, compressed into a single, radiant core resting in Lumiere's palm.
He grasped it.
The light screamed, forging itself into a blade born of sky and lightning.
He pointed it downward, directly at the demon's skull.
As Lumiere swung, a silent apology stirred in his chest—words he could not speak, not yet. Not until centuries had passed and the world they dreamed of finally existed.
A world without war.
Without suffering.
A world where no one lived in fear.
A world where unity was not a wish, but a truth.
A dream, he knew, only remained a dream if no one reached for it.
The blade fell.
The demon roared—then fell silent as the strike cleaved through its skull, a cruel mirror of the destruction it had once wrought upon the world.
When the light faded, Lumiere descended, boots touching the ground with barely a sound. He closed his grimoire, exhaustion settling into his bones as he turned.
The girl was still there, standing atop the fox spirit. Its growl rumbled low and threatening, vibrating through the ruined air. Instinctively, Lumiere stepped back, hands lowering in surrender.
"...I don't want to fight," he said quietly, sorrow heavy in his steady voice. "Can we talk?"
The girl dismounted the fox with quiet grace, her feet touching scorched stone without a sound. One hand lingered at the creature's nape, fingers pressing gently into its fur. The beast's low growl softened beneath her touch, its tension easing as if it recognized her sorrow more than her command.
She faced Lumiere then—half her expression hidden behind a mask fractured by heat and battle. What remained visible was far worse.
Her eyes, once bright enough to rival the morning sky, had dimmed into something hollow and distant. The warmth that had once lived there—the easy trust, the gentle mirth—had been scraped away, leaving only the faint echo of who she used to be. They looked at him without recognition, without even curiosity, as though he were a stranger carved from ash.
Torn fabric clung to her frame, edges blackened and frayed. Burns traced her skin in cruel patterns, fresh scars overlapping older ones, each a testament to battles survived at terrible cost. The girl who had once dreamed among wildflowers, laughing beneath open skies, was gone. Lumiere searched for her instinctively—for her smile, for the light she carried so effortlessly—but found only a hardened silhouette standing amid ruin.
One hand gripped her grimoire.
The other held a blade stained dark with blood.
No words passed between them.
The silence pressed down, thick and electric, heavy with questions neither dared to voice. Slowly, deliberately, she shifted her grimoire in her grasp. Where a clover should have rested upon its cover, a crescent moon gleamed instead—foreign, unfamiliar, and unmistakably out of place in Clover's lands.
The pages began to turn on their own.
She spoke then, her voice low and steady, though the spell she uttered did not seek Lumiere's ears. As her chant unfurled, the air changed. Cherry blossom petals drifted through the smoke, pale pink against a sky bruised by fire. They fell softly, impossibly gentle, settling atop broken stone and scorched earth.
Above them, the flames began to recede.
The inferno that had devoured the heavens dimmed, its fury ebbing as though lulled to rest. Beneath the falling petals, the three-eyed demon lay still, its massive form finally devoid of motion.
Without acknowledging Lumiere's presence again, the girl approached the fallen demon. She knelt beside it and laid her palm against its forehead, her touch reverent—almost tender. Words slipped from her lips, too quiet to catch, meant not for the living. As she spoke, something coiled around her form: a spirit both ominous and devoted, curling protectively at her back like a silent vow.
When she rose, her gaze returned to Lumiere.
Cold. Distant.
And yet—there it was. Just for a breath, regret flickered through the blue of her eyes, carefully buried beneath layers of resolve. She closed her grimoire and secured it at her waist, turning away as though staying another second would fracture something fragile inside her.
"...I'm sorry," she murmured, the faintest curve touching her lips. Not a smile—only a memory of one. "They need me right now."
Before Lumiere could find his voice, she mounted the fox once more. The creature leapt forward, swift and silent, and together they vanished into the night. Her final words dissolved into the wind, carried away along with the demon's lingering soul—unclaimed, uncertain, bound to her path.
History would later tell a simpler story.
Humanity stood on the brink of annihilation.
A single mage rose.
He saved them all.
Lumiere Silvamillion Clover became the Wizard King, and his name was carved into legend.
But legends rarely spoke of the others.
Of wandering souls that drifted between worlds.
Of beings who served the heavens, who walked the underworld, who guarded ancient rites and bore sins not of their own.
Of those who healed, who destroyed, who loved—and were forgotten.
Were they ever real?
Or were they nothing more than illusions—fading remnants of an era erased by time?
Forgive me, her voice lingered in his thoughts. I hope we never meet again. Our paths crossing would only bring you more pain.
Perhaps it was selfish of her to leave.
But it was no less selfish to remain, watching her disappear.
Both had been caught in the same web of doubt, scorched by betrayal and solitude, bound by wounds no divine light could mend. Even heaven's touch could not erase the scars etched across their hearts—marks left behind by demons, by love, and by a future once dreamt, now painfully out of reach.
.
.
.
Xierra startled awake with a sharp inhale, her chest rising and falling too fast to keep pace with her thoughts. Her heart hammered violently, as though it were trying to escape her ribs. Something warm slid along her temple, dampening her skin. She lifted a trembling hand and brushed her fingers through her hair—only to find them slick with moisture, strands clinging messily to her forehead.
...Sweating? Why am I sweating?
The question lingered, unanswered. Confusion bled into unease, but she forced herself to slow down, pressing a palm against her chest. In, then out. Again. Gradually, her pulse obeyed, settling into something steadier, something survivable.
When she finally exhaled fully, the world came back into focus.
The room lay hushed and dim, bathed in the faint glow of moonlight spilling through a single open window. She sat alone atop an oversized bed—large enough to fit four bodies, yet now feeling painfully expansive. The sheets were twisted and rumpled, pillows abandoned and cold beside her, as though the space itself had recoiled from her restless sleep.
Just as she shifted toward the edge of the mattress, the door creaked softly.
"Awake?" came a familiar voice.
Xierra let out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound, and nodded. "Yeah." Her gaze drifted toward the window, where the night sky glimmered faintly. "What time is it? Doesn't look like morning."
"A little past twelve," Yuno replied. His eyes flicked briefly toward the distant clock before he leaned against the doorframe, arms folded loosely. For a moment, his attention wandered outside, toward the lingering heat clinging stubbornly to the air. He seemed to consider calling the wind—then thought better of it. Turning back to her, his voice softened. "How are you feeling?"
"Hm? How am I feeling?" Xierra echoed, blinking slowly as the question sank in. "I'm... okay, I think? Just woke up, so maybe a bit hazy. But I feel fine." She tilted her head slightly. "Why?"
Yuno crossed the room without a word. He rested the back of his hand against her forehead, then briefly compared it to his own temperature. His brows knit in concentration before easing. "You had a fever last night," he said calmly. "Not long after I brought you inside." After another second, he nodded to himself. "It's gone now."
"...A fever?" Her eyes drifted to the bedside table. A shallow basin sat there, water still inside, a cloth draped over its rim—darkened where it had been used, recently, repeatedly. Understanding settled in slowly, followed by a quiet, sheepish smile. Her shoulders sagged. "I barely remember anything. Just that I was cold." She glanced back at him. "Sorry for the trouble."
"There wasn't any," Yuno replied, immediate and gentle.
"Yuno! I brought the fresh cloth you asked for!"
The whisper-shout burst through the room as Rekka slipped inside, holding the neatly folded cloth over her head like a prized trophy. The moment her eyes landed on Xierra—upright, alert, no longer flushed—her face lit up.
"Xierra! You're awake!"
Xierra chuckled and patted the space beside her. "Were you really that worried?"
Rekka ignored the invitation entirely and lunged forward instead, arms wrapping tightly around Xierra's form. Her laughter spilled freely, bright and unrestrained. The cloth slipped from her fingers, fluttering uselessly to the floor. "Nah! Not even a little," she said cheerfully. "Yuno was here, so I knew you'd be fine."
"...Yuno was?"
"Mm-hm!" Rekka leaned back just enough to grin wickedly. "You should thank him properly, you know. With all your heart and soul. Passionately. Affectionately."
She shot Yuno an exaggerated look. "Right, Yuno?"
A soft chuckle slipped past him—quiet, almost private. He nodded once, face composed. "Yeah. You'll have to make up for the time I lost last night."
Xierra stared at them, stunned.
"See?" Rekka said smugly.
"...Did you not sleep at all?" Xierra asked slowly.
"Just a little," Yuno answered.
Rekka gasped, hand to her chest. "Allow me to translate." She straightened, clearing her throat dramatically before dropping her voice into an overly serious tone. "'No. I lost all my sleep last night. You're supposed to be spending the whole day with m—' mmfph—!!"
"All right. That's enough."
Yuno gently covered her mouth, careful not to press too hard, and looked away with a quiet cough. Rekka squirmed uselessly beneath his hand, muffled protests spilling out as he continued evenly, "Aren't you supposed to help with the laundry today? I think I heard Sister Lily calling."
"Oh? Did she now?" Rekka took the opportunity instantly. Slipping free, she darted toward the door, flashing a toothy grin over her shoulder. She saluted dramatically. "Then I shall take my leave! Have fun together!"
The door closed behind her, leaving the room warm and still once more.
Yuno glanced over his shoulder, lingering there until he was certain Rekka's footsteps had truly faded down the corridor. Only then did he release a long, quiet sigh—one that seemed to loosen something tight in his chest. He bent down and retrieved the cloth from the floor, smoothing it carefully between his fingers before setting it back beside the basin, where the water had long since cooled.
"Forget what she said," he murmured, voice low and gentle. "Rest today. I'll cover for you in the fields."
He turned to leave.
"Wait."
Xierra's fingers closed around his sleeve before he could take another step. The contact was light, hesitant, yet it stopped him all the same. Yuno turned back, a flicker of surprise crossing his features as he met her gaze.
"I—I'm fine," she insisted, her words tumbling out more softly than she intended. "Really. Let's... go somewhere today." The invitation carried a shy warmth, as though she were bracing herself for rejection even as she offered it.
Yuno blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His eyes swept over her, instinctively searching for signs of her remaining illness before he spoke. "What about the fields?" he asked, brows knitting faintly.
"I'll let the farmers know I'm taking a break," she replied easily. Releasing his sleeve, she smoothed her dress with a small, grounding gesture—as if readying herself to stand, to move, to live again outside these walls.
He watched her quietly, amber eyes softening. There was warmth there—undeniable, steady—but threaded through it was something lonelier, something unspoken. He wanted her to rest. He did. And yet, a selfish part of him ached at the thought of letting the day pass without her beside him. Soon enough, their paths would diverge again, swallowed by training and distance and responsibility.
"And besides," Xierra added with a light, breathy laugh, "the bonus from before should last us the month if we're careful." She tilted her head, eyes bright with a familiar spark. "So—where do you want to go?"
Yuno hummed, lifting a hand to his chin in exaggerated thought. He turned his gaze away, staring at nothing in particular, before glancing back at her with a faint, teasing curve to his lips. "Where do you want to go?" he returned. "I'll follow your lead."
"Really?" She hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Then, how about the demon skull?"
The words felt strange on her tongue. She couldn't remember her dream—not clearly—but a name tugged at something distant, something buried deep beneath sleep and heat and fear.
Yuno studied her for a moment, then gave a small nod. "All right. Just... don't push yourself."
"I won't," she promised, smiling as she shifted toward the edge of the bed. "I'll get ready."
As she moved, sunlight crept faintly through the window, brushing gold across the floor—quiet, patient, waiting for them both.
.
.
.
The walk to the skull passed more quickly than Xierra remembered. Their boots brushed through quiet stretches of farmland where the soil lay dark and resting, then carried them past fractured stonework half-swallowed by ivy—ruins that bore the hush of years long forgotten. Beyond that, the forest welcomed them with a softening shade, its canopy knitting sunlight into shifting patterns upon the earth.
Xierra tipped her chin upward, eyes tracing the flawless blue stretched above the treetops. Warmth kissed her skin, gentle and unhurried, nothing like the oppressive heat from earlier. A breeze slipped between them, playful and precise, tugging at loose strands of hair and cooling the air just enough to make her smile.
...Is this Yuno's doing?
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. With his wind magic now honed and obedient, subtle changes like this had become second nature to him—small mercies he rarely announced. The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence.
As they stepped beneath the jagged arch of bone and shadow, the sun vanished behind them. The skull loomed overhead, ancient and hollowed, its presence less menacing than the legends suggested.
"Why the skull?" Yuno asked, his voice echoing faintly as they crossed the threshold.
"No reason," Xierra replied, her laugh quiet and easy. "We hardly ever come here. And..." She paused, letting her gaze roam. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"
Yuno followed her line of sight. Light poured through the cavernous eyeholes, filtering down in soft, golden beams that illuminated moss-slick stone and the roots of a tree rising proudly from the skull's heart. Its branches unfurled in layered canopies, leaves whispering gently as if sharing secrets only the forest understood.
"...Yeah," he said, almost to himself.
The words fell away, replaced by a silence that felt earned rather than awkward.
Yuno lowered himself onto a moss-laden rock, the damp greenery yielding beneath his weight. He rested there, shoulders easing as he took in the view anew. He couldn't remember the last time he'd truly looked at this place. The tree at the center—how had he missed it before? Life flourishing where death had once reigned.
He suspected he knew why Xierra had chosen this spot. Still, he waited.
His gaze shifted to her, where she stood a short distance away, crouched and murmuring to Inari. The fox spirit bounced around her with restless energy, brushing past her ankles and circling back as if urging her to follow.
Yuno drew one knee up and rested his arm against it, chin settling into his palm. His thoughts drifted, unbidden. He wondered—often—if she felt it too. He had never said it outright, only let the truth surface in half-phrases and lingering glances. She always caught them. Always answered with teasing smiles and gentle deflections that left him uncertain.
No. Don't rush it.
He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes.
She'll speak when she's ready.
"Sorry, that took so long."
Xierra's voice pulled him back. She stood before him now, smiling, warmth curling at the edges of her expression. Inari streaked past her in a blur of white and gold, springing from stone to root before vanishing through one of the skull's vast eye sockets.
Yuno lifted a hand in a lazy wave. "It's fine. Where's he off to?"
"Exploring," she answered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She extended her hand toward him, fingers open and inviting. "Want to explore too?"
For a brief moment, he simply looked at her hand—then took it. The contact was fleeting but steady as he pushed himself to his feet. His height had her stepping back slightly, a small gap opening between them, charged and quiet.
"Sure," he said, lips curving. "Let's go."
.
.
.
They wandered together, side by side, basking in the gentle chorus of birdsong that filled the air. As they approached the sturdy tree standing tall at the center, they scaled and explored every nook and cranny.
The insects crawling across the bark weren't the most pleasant sight for Xierra, but some caught her attention—particularly the ones with iridescent shells that shimmered in the sunlight.
"Look, there's a family of squirrels here," Xierra whispered, giddiness spreading across her face as she spotted a fluffy bundle of toffee nestled in a hollow of the tree trunk. Surrounded by fruits and nuts, their cozy home, made of twigs and sprigs, somehow appeared far more inviting than the church, Xierra thought to herself.
Yuno made his way over, peering at the little critters curled up for their afternoon nap. "Isn't it cramped in there?"
"Not for them, it's not," Xierra replied with a chuckle.
Yuno hummed thoughtfully, his mind drifting to random musings as he observed the squirrels. He often had these peculiar thoughts whenever he came across something that felt out of his ordinary life. His gaze shifted upwards, and he raised an eyebrow. "Those branches are an odd bunch."
"Where?" Xierra asked, following the direction of his gaze. Her eyes focused on a cluster of leafless branches near the edge of the skull, tucked away in a corner.
She squinted, trying to discern more clearly. "Looks like there's an entrance up there," she said, a spark of intrigue in her voice. She then turned to him, a glint lighting up her eyes. "Wanna check it out?"
With a simple nod and a flick of his finger, Yuno summoned a gentle gust to lift them. They rose effortlessly, gliding through the leafy canopy and weaving between nature's reaching arms until they arrived at the concealed entrance, half-hidden behind brittle, dry branches.
Xierra leaned forward, inspecting the space as Yuno watched closely from behind, ensuring they were undisturbed. She pushed aside the charred branches, which disintegrated at her touch, scattering into faint ashes. She brushed off her hands and tilted her head, noting the peculiar state of the entrance. "These look like they were burnt," she murmured with a frown. "It's narrow, though—we'll need to crawl through. Is that all right with you?"
Yuno nodded, gesturing with an open hand toward the passage. "After you. I'll follow."
She gave a quick smile and eased through the cramped entrance. As she moved ahead, Yuno lingered, running his fingers lightly over one of the charred branches, his expression tightening as he examined it. A flicker of thought crossed his mind, but he kept it to himself.
"Yuno?"
"Right behind you," he replied, brushing off his musings and following her inside.
Past the narrow crawlspace lay a vast, verdant chamber, blanketed with moss and crawling vines. A warm glow crept thinly through the cracks overhead, illuminating the greenery that sprawled across the ancient stone walls. Xierra's eyes lit up, and she eagerly motioned for Yuno to catch up.
He chuckled at her enthusiasm, shaking his head. "Calm down, don't push yourself too hard."
"Oh, I'll be fine," Xierra replied with a dismissive wave, hands finding their way to her hips as she gazed around in wonder. "Isn't this quite the sight?"
A faint curl lifted at the corner of Yuno's mouth, a quiet smile born from witnessing her wonder. He let her linger in it, the way her eyes traced every inch of the chamber as if committing it to memory, before his attention drifted elsewhere. His boots carried him only a few steps away when something sharp and deliberate broke the spell of tangled vines and softened stone.
A slab of rock stood upright near the chamber's edge—broad, flat, unmistakably intentional.
He approached it slowly. The surface bore markings carved with careful precision, lines that curved and intersected with a purpose too deliberate to be dismissed as erosion. When his palm brushed along its edge, the stone offered no resistance—smoothed, shaped, refined. It felt wrong in the best way. Too orderly. Too aware.
"Xierra," he called, his voice echoing softly against the chamber walls.
She answered without words, appearing at his side almost instantly, curiosity humming beneath her breath. Her gaze locked onto the stone the moment she saw it.
"What... is this?" she asked, circling it with measured steps. "A monument?"
Her fingers hovered before finally tracing the carvings, following the way the lines spiraled inward and outward, weaving together like threads of an unfinished story. Set within the stone were hollowed sockets of varying shapes—some empty, others cradling gemstones that caught the light and fractured it into scattered prisms across the moss-laced ground.
"There are stones already placed here," she murmured.
"Gemstones?" Yuno hummed, eyes narrowing slightly as the reflections danced over his boots.
Xierra leaned back to take it all in, her gaze traveling upward as the slab loomed over them, casting long shadows that seemed to breathe with the chamber itself.
"It feels... unfinished," she said slowly. "Or waiting. Why put something like this here, of all places?"
Yuno pressed his hand against the stone, sensing the quiet age settled deep within its grooves, the damp chill clinging to moss and time alike.
"No one's been here for a long time," he said. "Not recently."
Something tugged at Xierra then—gentle, insistent.
She reached out.
Her fingertips brushed one of the embedded gems, noting how its edges had softened with age, worn smooth as if by countless touches long forgotten—
White swallowed her whole.
F—rgi—e m—. B—t I h—pe t——t w— nev—r m——t a—ain.
Pain flared behind her eyes, sharp and unrelenting, as though something had driven itself straight through her temples. She recoiled with a sharp inhale, hands flying to her head as she squeezed her eyes shut, teeth clenched against the ache that refused to fade.
Images flickered—fractured, unstable, never settling long enough to grasp.
They were not hers.
Red bled into everything. Heat roared in her veins. Fire devoured the edges of her vision until there was nothing else.
"Xierra?" Yuno's voice cut through the haze, closer now, urgent. His hand found her shoulder, firm and warm, anchoring her to the present. "Are you all right?"
She barely heard him.
O—r p——hs c—oss—ng —oul— on—y b——ng —ou —ore pa—— a—d su—fer—n——
"Urgh—!"
Xierra crumpled to her knees, the strength draining from her limbs as if it had been torn away. Her fingers dug into her hair, clutching at her head while a violent, searing pain tore through her skull. It felt as though something inside her was splintering—thoughts cracking apart under a pressure far too immense to bear.
The chamber warped around her. Moss and stone bent and swayed, their edges blurring into streaks of color that refused to stay still. The air itself seemed to ripple.
She could see Yuno.
Or rather, she could see the idea of him. Doubles of him.
His face hovered in front of her, features drawn tight with fear she rarely ever saw so plainly. His lips moved quickly, urgently, yet whatever he was saying never reached her. The world swallowed his voice whole, leaving behind only the sight of him—those familiar eyes searching her face, anchoring themselves to her even as everything else slipped away.
She clung to that image.
I—m —rry—
The words echoed again, sinking deep. The ache in her head throbbed in time with the voice, each repetition striking harder than the last. She chased after it desperately, grasping for a name, a face, anything that might give the apology meaning.
But the moment she neared understanding, the pain sharpened viciously, forcing her back into the dark.
Yuno caught her before she could fall further, arms wrapping around her with a protectiveness that bordered on desperation. He held her close, pressing her against his chest as if he could shield her from whatever unseen force was tearing through her mind. His voice trembled against her ear, repeating the same sound over and over—soft, breaking.
Her name.
Through the haze, his warmth remained real.
Then—movement.
From the corner of her fading vision, she noticed a shadow perched upon Yuno's shoulder. Its shape was indistinct, foxlike yet not, edges blurred as though it did not fully belong to this world. It leaned forward, extending something almost like a hand.
When it touched her forehead, the pain vanished.
Not gradually. Not gently.
It was simply gone.
The roar in her skull fell silent, replaced by a deep, swallowing calm. Her body slackened in Yuno's arms as exhaustion claimed her completely, dragging her down into a heavy, dreamless dark.
And then—
Nothing remained.
T— ey ——ed m— ri——t —ow.
.
.
.
"I'm sorry. They need me right now."
The words left her quietly, almost reverently, as if spoken too loudly would shatter what little resolve she had left. Before Lumiere could gather a response—before his hand could reach for her sleeve or his voice could give shape to the ache in his chest—she swung herself onto the fox's back.
Her movement was swift, practiced, and decisive.
With a soft exhale and the whisper of fur against stone, they were gone—vanishing into the open night. Her apology lingered only for a heartbeat before dissolving into the dark, carried away with the demon's soul that clung to her presence, unsettled and unmoored, bound to her fate whether it wished to be or not.
Forgive me. But I hope that we never meet again. Our paths crossing would only bring you more pain and suffering.
Perhaps it was selfish—to leave without looking back.
But it was just as selfish to remain standing still, watching the distance stretch wider with every fading footstep. Both lovers were trapped within the same web of uncertainty, scorched by betrayals they never asked for and solitude the world forced upon them. Not even heaven's gentle hand could mend the fractures carved deep into their hearts—wounds left by demons who had long since claimed their place in history.
Her jaw tightened as she clutched the fox's thick fur, fingers curling into its warmth while the air around them grew heavy with ash. Each breath burned. Each stride carried them farther into devastation. They raced through the aftermath of ruin—past lifeless bodies scattered like discarded remnants of war. Some lay crushed beneath fallen stone, others reduced to fragments unrecognizable as human, their stories silenced beneath rubble and soot.
I'm sorry, Lumiere. I'm sorry. I truly am.
The world itself was selfish.
It cast this fate upon them and marched onward, never once pausing to meet their eyes. Selfish were those who fled the flames, abandoning others to scream into the inferno. Selfish, too, were she and her lover—separated by distances they themselves had carved in the name of survival.
Their titles meant nothing to those left behind.
Once, their names were sung alongside music and laughter. Once, dances were held in their honor beneath peaceful skies. Now, those melodies had been replaced by cries for help, by grief-soaked silence, by trembling voices asking why salvation had failed them.
The First Wizard King was no hero.
He was a hollow figure left standing amid victory that tasted like defeat. His kingdom endured—but his closest companion was beyond his reach, and the place meant for his lover remained painfully empty.
And the Whisperer was no warrior.
She was shattered glass, running only to keep herself from breaking entirely. Her presence soothed the wounded, but peace remained a distant echo of a dream she would never live to see. Those she cherished drifted away one by one, slipping through her fingers no matter how tightly she held on.
Fate did not pity them.
It watched with unblinking eyes—cold, impartial, an endless storm at the center of existence.
With sharpened focus, she urged the fox toward the burning forest. The heat surged violently as she snapped her grimoire open, pages fluttering wildly before steadying beneath her grasp. Her teeth clenched as she spoke a single, resonant chant.
The flames answered.
Fire tore itself from the trees, coiling through the air like living beasts before being dragged into the grimoire's waiting pages. One blaze after another vanished, devoured whole, leaving behind nothing but blackened trunks and drifting embers. Still, they pressed forward—her gaze fixed on the lone silhouette waiting at the forest's edge, her heart blazing brighter than the inferno she had just quelled.
In one fluid motion, she drew her sword.
Steel sang as it met its counterpart, the impact ringing sharply through the scorched air. She slid back a step, boots digging into ash as she steadied herself. With a sharp gesture, she commanded the fox to retreat. Its growl softened, coiling into a tense, obedient silence.
Her eyes burned with resolve as she lifted her blade once more.
"What do you want, Demon?"
To Be Continued...