Chapter 1: Breaking Point
Chapter Text
The air screamed.
Shards of ice burst outward as Emilia swung her arm, forming a blade of crystallized frost that clashed against something wet, sharp, and alive.
Roy Alphard’s mouth—far too wide for a human—snapped shut inches from her wrist, teeth clicking together with a sound like a bone splitting.
“Ahh—how wasteful, how wasteful! Even your panic’s delicious!” Roy giggled, twisting his neck like a marionette whose strings were pulled by a lunatic. “Your fear has such a fine bouquet, Emilia-sama~!”
“D-Don’t call me that in such a revolting way!” Emilia shouted, forcing breath into her cold lungs. She swept her foot back, the air around her shimmering as more blades sprouted from the ground. “Ice Brand Arts—Icicle Line!”
A bristling forest of spears erupted upward.
Roy’s body dissolved into a slithering blur. His form bent unnaturally, ribs folding like paper as he slipped between the lances with obscene grace.
Then his arm changed—bulging, splitting—until it became the limb of something large and starved. Fangs jutted from his elbow. Miasma erupted, black and trembling.
“Carnivorous Bea—”
The transformed limb slammed into her before she could brace.
The impact tore the breath from her chest. Emilia crashed backward, rolling through dust and broken stone. Her shoulder screamed. The world spun, doubling into colorless smears.
She forced herself up, vision trembling. “Spirits, lend me—!”
“No, no, no.” Roy’s voice whispered beside her ear. His shadow loomed over her though she couldn’t remember seeing him move. “No spirits. No help. Only me. Only bizarre eating!.”
Another arm lunged—this one human-shaped yet ending in fingers like hooked talons. Emilia conjured a shield of ice, but it cracked instantly under the force. Her knees buckled.
Roy Alphard leaned close, breath cold and sweet like a rotting orchard.
“Hahaha~ You’re so scrumptious when you fail! tsu~”
She didn’t see his hand until it touched her cheek.
Her body locked.
“Ahh… there it is. Your name.” Roy’s smile widened far beyond a smile. “Such a gentle thing. I’ll take good care of it, Emilia-tan~”
A wrenching sensation tore through her—not pain, but an unraveling. Her thoughts wavered. Something immense and indescribable was being pulled out of her chest, out of her throat, out of her existence.
“N-No—stop… stop it…!” Her voice cracked like thin ice under a heel.
Roy sang, “Emi—li— aaaa~”
And swallowed.
The world hiccuped.
The air stilled.
Emilia stumbled backward, clutching at her chest as if something physical had been stolen. Her breath came thin and shallow, and the syllables of her own identity slipped out of reach like a dream upon waking.
Roy licked his lips. “Mmh. Fresh and satisfying. Thank you for the meal,tsu~”
“Wh… what… did you… do to me…” Emilia whispered. Her voice sounded so small.
No one answered.
Roy was gone—slipped away into the ruins like a starving fox after snatching a chick.
Emilia staggered, hand scraping the wall as she forced her legs to move. Her senses swirled, but something instinctual drove her forward.
The camp.
She needed help.
Her friends.
Her family.
The streets blurred as she half-ran, half-fell through the battered city. By the time she reached the familiar perimeter of their encampment, her breath was ragged and her knees trembled.
Garfiel was the first to see her.
His eyes went wide—then filled with feral hostility. “Oi… ya ain’t—what the hell’re ya doin’ lookin’ like—!”
“Garfiel, wait—I need help, something happened, Roy—Roy did something to my—”
“Don’t move!” Otto’s voice cracked as he scrambled backward, hands raised instinctively. “P-Please maintain distance! If you are… if you are what you look like—!”
“What I look like…?” Emilia whispered.
Beatrice peeked out from behind a stack of crates, face pale, her drill curls trembling. “That hair… those eyes… identical, I suppose. Identical to that woman. That thing. It’s… it’s like seeing her shadow…”
“The witch’s mimic? Or somethin’ worse?” Garfiel’s teeth bared. “Ya ain’t makin’ sense. And ya smell wrong. Far too wrong.”
“But it’s me,” Emilia insisted, reaching out a hand. “It’s Emilia. It’s—”
“ Garfiel, we need to think about this first, I suppose. No miasma, but could it be the work of pride?”
“Oi, step back!” Garfiel roared, claws bursting from his hands. “Back off! Ya ain’t comin’ near Otto, or Beako, or anyone! Ya hear me?!”
“Garfiel… please—”
He lunged.
Emilia gasped and threw herself aside, rolling across the dirt as Garfiel’s transformed claw ripped through the earth where she’d been standing. Sparks flew from his teeth as he hissed, readying another strike.
“Garfiel, stop!” Otto shouted, voice breaking. “We—we don’t know what she is! What if this is dangerous!”
“I said BACK OFF!”
Emilia saw nothing else.
Her body moved on sheer panic. She turned and fled, lungs burning, vision pulsing, Garfiel’s roar echoing behind her like a beast chasing prey.
Her legs carried her without thought, without direction.
Away from them.
Away from their fear.
Away from the place where her own name no longer existed.
She didn’t stop running until Priestella’s narrow, ruined streets swallowed her whole.
The moment the alley closed behind her, the roar of Garfiel’s rage faded—but the panic in her chest didn’t. Emilia stumbled deeper into the twisting stone corridors of Priestella, her breath scraping against her throat. Her legs finally buckled, and she caught herself against a wall slick with river mist.
“Wh… why… why did they look at me like that…?”
Only the sound of distant boots answered her. Patrols. Search teams. People afraid of Witch Cult remnants. People afraid of her.
She pressed herself flat against the wall, trembling. The footsteps passed, but her fear clung to her skin like cold mud.
The next hours blurred.
Then the next days.
And then—a week.
The city wouldn’t welcome her. Emilia had to hide.
Shops slammed shutters closed when she walked by.
Guards shouted for unidentified individuals to halt.
Children pointed and whispered about the “silver-haired ghost.”
She stopped talking.
Stopped knocking.
Stopped trying to explain.
She learned to slip behind broken walls when patrols came.
She learned which abandoned homes had half-rotten appaa left behind.
She learned that stale bread softened if you soaked it in river water long enough.
Her hands became raw from climbing cold stone.
Her feet blistered.
Her stomach twisted in on itself until the ache became familiar.
Every time she tried to rest, her mind flooded with the same crushing thought:
If my name is gone… Elior Forest… will they all… ? The elders… the children… even Mother Fortuna’s grave…?
Her fingers curled against her palms.
“If even they lose me… then I really… really am a…”
She swallowed, but the word refused to form.
Somewhere in her—something recoiled every time she tried to name herself.
The world didn’t just forget her.
It erased the space she used to fit.
It was on the seventh night—maybe? Maybe the sixth? Time had grown foggy—that she noticed it.
A presence.
Someone watching her.
It pricked at her neck, a thin needle of awareness.
Not murderous.
Not hostile.
But unwavering.
Like someone staring at a portrait they weren’t sure they remembered.
Emilia shivered and turned sharply.
“Who’s there? W-Who’s… following me?” Her voice cracked, thin and frightened. “Come out!”
Silence.
Only the faint drip of water from a broken pipe.
She backed up a step, heart tripping. “I-I’m not… I’m not losing my mind, am I…? No, no, I’m not, I—”
A breath of air behind her.
Close.
Very close.
Emilia spun around.
A figure stood at the mouth of the alley—hood pulled low, cloak torn, boots filthy with dried mud. Strands of hair hung from beneath the hood, messy, uneven… and streaked in both black and white, tangled as if torn out by frantic hands.
He didn’t move toward her.
He didn’t speak at first.
He just watched her with a stillness that felt almost painful.
Then, in a low, rough voice—hoarse like someone who’d screamed for too many nights—he said:
“...Emilia.”
Her breath froze.
Not because he said it gently—he didn’t.
Not because he said it warmly—there was no warmth there.
But because he said it with certainty.
As if he remembered her.
As if he couldn’t forget her even if the world demanded it.
“Y… you…” Emilia whispered. “But no one… no one knows that name… not anymore… how… how are you…?”
Her eyes blurred.
Because in that moment, she wasn’t looking at the hooded stranger.
She was thinking of her father Geuse’s clumsy jokes.
Mother Fortuna brushing her hair from her eyes with gentle fingers.
The children of Elior tugging at her sleeves.
Her camp laughing around a warm fire.
All the things she thought she didn’t deserve.
All the things she thought she had lost because she was selfish enough to want them.
Her knees went weak.
The last thing she saw as consciousness slipped was the figure lunging forward, arms reaching.
Her body didn’t hit the stone.
He caught her carefully, as if she were something fragile—a snowflake that would dissolve if held too hard.
The hood slid slightly as he lifted her weight, revealing more hair—white burned into black, black scorched into white—and eyes that had forgotten how to rest.
His forearms were adorned in scars. Some old. Some new. Some too precise to be anything but torture.
He looked down at her with an expression that wasn’t joy… wasn’t relief… but something hollowed-out and aching.
And in a voice that trembled—not from weakness, but from something deeper and older
He whispered:
“Your… knight is here for you… Emilia-tan…”
Her name left his lips like a prayer spoken by a man who needed little hope to cling to.
The city around them stayed silent.
Only he held her.
Only he remembered her.
Chapter Text
The stench was what always woke him first.
It clung to the stone like a second skin—wet mold, stagnant water, old iron, and the faint, sour bite of blood that wasn’t fresh enough to belong to anyone alive. Subaru hugged his knees, forehead pressed into them, breath shaking against the chill creeping up through the floor. The cell was small enough that if he stretched out his legs, his toes would touch the opposite wall. Small enough that the darkness felt like it breathed with him.
Small enough that he had died in it more times than he could remember.
A faint clack of shoes on the staircase made his spine turn rigid. He didn’t lift his head. He didn’t need to. The pattern of steps—the rhythm, the slow, even pace—was identical in every loop. Never rushed. Never hesitant. Never emotional.
Just like him.
Just like Felix.
A soft blue glow lit the corridor, sliding across the cracks of the cell door. Subaru’s breathing stuttered. His fingers dug into the fabric around his knees until his nails tore into skin.
The cell door opened with a gentle metallic sigh.
Felix stepped inside.
Not the Felix who teased, nor the Felix who threatened, nor the Felix whose temper flared like a blade catching sunlight.
This Felix was… erased.
Expressionless. Unblinking. Monotone.
A hollow puppet in a healer’s apron.
“Good morning,” Felix said in that flat, empty voice. “Let’s begin. Pride-kun, how do we cure Crusch-sama?”
Subaru’s throat closed around the answer he didn’t have.
He used to say I don’t know.
Then please stop.
Then I’ll find a way.
Then I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—
Now he only whimpered, breath fracturing as he pressed himself tighter to the wall.
Felix didn’t comment on the noise. He never did anymore.
He only repeated, “How do we cure Crusch-sama? And what do you know of the Witch Cult?”
The same words. Same tone. Same cadence.
Every loop.
Subaru’s eyes tore up toward him—toward the faint shimmer of water magic already gathering at Felix’s fingertips. Blue light dripped between them, each bead forming from the air like a cold tear.
“N-No… no, no, no—please, not that, I—I don’t— I can’t—”
Felix approached. Calmly. No hesitation. No contempt. No malice. Just procedure.
“Hold still, Pride. This will help us get the answers we need.”
“No—NO—!”
But the first touch of Felix’s hand landed on his shoulder, and Subaru screamed before the magic even sank in. Because he remembered. Because his nerves remembered.
Because his body remembered everything.
The water didn’t stay water. Under Felix’s control it burrowed beneath his skin, heating—boiling—inside the muscle. Subaru convulsed, back arching against the wall as steam curled from his collar.
It blistered first.
Then it tore.
Felix watched, expression blank, as Subaru’s skin split along the path the boiling water carved.
“How do we cure Crusch-sama?”
“Tell me your connection to the Witch Cult.”
Subaru choked on a sob. “I DON’T KNOW—!”
He didn’t even try to lie anymore. Lying had only earned him slower deaths.
The boiling spread into his arm. Subaru thrashed, nails scraping stone, voice cracking into high, raw whimpers. His head slammed into the wall—anything to distract from the agony tearing through him.
Why—? Why again—? Why am I still here—?
He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t hold onto anything but pain and the looping echo of Felix’s questions.
But the agony didn’t erase memory.
It dragged it out.
Dragged him back to that day.
———
He had walked toward the Emilia camp with everything in his chest burning—fear, urgency, desperation. Beatrice’s voice echoing that single word: “Miasma…”
He remembered the looks.
He remembered Otto’s face crumbling.
He remembered reaching towards them, only for Garfiel’s hand to shove him back.
He remembered Reinhard stepping forward, calm but cold.
And Felix—this Felix and not-this Felix—coming close, eyes sharper then.
“You’re carrying Archbishop-level miasma. Please end resist and answer to our question..”
Then jail.
Then interrogation.
Then death.
Once.
Twice.
Ten times.
A hundred times.
Five hundred and fifty-five times.
Infections that spread too fast for healing.
Felix’s “mistakes.”
Executions when patience ran thin.
———
“Pride-kun,” Felix said, as if they were in a clinic and not hell, “you haven’t answered my question yet.”
Subaru screamed as the boiling reached his ribs.
He curled in on himself, body trembling so violently he thought his bones would crack. Tears dripped onto the stone.
He shouldn’t have spoken to the spirits.
He shouldn’t have tried befriending them.
The little fire spirit who danced for him.
The earth spirit who hummed softly in his ear.
The yang spirit who nudged his cheek with gentle warmth.
He’d clung to them like lifelines.
He’d begged them to help him escape.
And that had doomed him.
Felix had noticed the mana fluctuations. Had declared Subaru was “summoning cultist familiars.” And the punishments had sharpened, deepened.
There had been loops where Felix amputated him.
Loops where Felix forced regeneration too fast, leaving nerves shattered.
Loops where Subaru never made it past the first day.
And today—today felt like the same hell wearing the same face.
He slammed his palms to the ground, body curling around the pain as blood trickled from the deep, boiling lines slicing his skin.
His voice broke into jagged pieces:
“W-Why…?
Why me…?
What did I do…?
What… does this world want from me…?”
Felix tilted his head. Not sympathetically. Not cruelly. Just mechanically.
“I’ll repeat the question.”
Subaru’s scream echoed off the stone—
and the part ends here.
……
……
……
The room was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind of quiet—this one was brittle, strained, like a string pulled tight enough to snap. A long wooden table sat in the center, its polished surface reflecting the faint glow of the lanterns. Three figures occupied the room, each carved from a different kind of tension.
Otto sat stiffly near the corner, hands folded together, his thumb tapping anxiously against his knuckle. Julius stood near the window, back elegantly straight yet carrying an unmistakable heaviness. And Reinhard—his posture impeccable as always—stood unmoving beside the door, but the faint crease at his brow betrayed him.
No one wanted to speak first.
Finally, Julius exhaled. “At this point,” he said, his tone pristine but shadowed, “we must acknowledge that Ferris is acting… unusually.”
Unusually.
A soft word for something far colder.
Otto swallowed, his voice thin. “A-Ah, Sir Julius… forgive me, but… Ferris-san has always been quite passionate about Crusch-sama’s wellbeing. Perhaps this is simply—”
“No,” Julius cut in gently, but firmly. “This is not passion.”
Reinhard nodded once, the lantern light catching the red in his hair. “Ferris is not himself. Even without knowing the man as deeply as you two do, I can sense… a distortion.” His hand curled lightly at his side, an unconscious movement. “The aura around him is—wrong.”
Otto blinked. “R-Red-haired Saint-san, if I may, are you implying that Ferris is—”
“I’m implying he is changing,” Reinhard answered, voice calm but weighted. “And that change is dangerous.”
Otto’s throat tightened. His voice came out smaller. “…Is it because of the prisoner?”
Subaru’s name hung unspoken in the air.
Julius’s jaw tensed. “I suspect the phenomenon concerning Crusch-sama has pushed Ferris beyond his limits. But regardless, this cannot continue. Torturing a prisoner endlessly is not… acceptable.” His eyes flicked away for a brief moment, as if ashamed that he even had to state such a thing aloud.
Otto rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… I understand, Sir Julius, but I’m the Internal Affairs Minister of the Crusch Camp, not a miracle worker. Intervening directly with Ferris-san could very well—”
“Otto.” Julius stepped forward, placing a steady hand on Otto’s shoulder. “You’ve faced the unimaginable before. Do not underestimate the importance of what you’ve accomplished.”
Otto blinked in confusion.
“Your quick thinking was vital against Sloth.” Julius smiled faintly—genuine, but pained. “And your strategy against the White Whale was irreplaceable. Without you, Priestella would have collapsed entirely. Your voice carries weight, even if you fail to see it.”
Otto’s breath hitched. Compliments weren’t just unexpected—they were suspicious. Dangerous. Alarming.
“…J-Julius-san, please don’t praise me so offhandedly. You’ll make a humble merchant like me faint.”
Reinhard stepped closer, expression firm. “Your role grants you authority, Otto-dono. And your judgment is trustworthy.”
A pause. “More trustworthy than mine, in fact.”
Otto blinked up at him. “Eh?”
Reinhard offered a thin, strained smile. “If I attempt to intervene, it may escalate matters. Ferris avoids me. Crusch-sama’s condition has unsettled him, and adding my presence could push him further into instability.”
Otto’s stomach twisted. If even Reinhard felt uneasy approaching Felix, then—
“Then what do we do?” he asked, voice soft.
Julius exchanged a glance with Reinhard.
“We separate Ferris from the prisoner,” Julius said. “At least temporarily. You, Otto, will handle it under the pretense of an internal audit. That falls directly under your jurisdiction.”
“An audit…?” Otto paled. “I—yes, technically that is within my authority, but Ferris-san will—he will skin me alive.”
“Then I will accompany you,” Julius replied.
“And I,” Reinhard added.
Otto’s eyes widened, almost comically. “Y-You both? T-That feels like using a royal decree to swat a fly!”
“Ferris is no fly,” Julius murmured. “And Pride… is not a criminal to be discarded.”
Reinhard’s head lowered ever so slightly. And he murmured silently,
“I fear for the man, though I do not know him.”
Otto stared between them—Julius’s steadfast guilt, Reinhard’s restrained concern—then slowly nodded.
“A-Alright. I will do what needs to be done.”
“Good,” Julius said softly. “Then our next step is—”
A sharp knock echoed at the door.
The three froze.
The handle turned, and a stern-faced official entered—robes neatly pressed, posture rigid, eyes cold with bureaucratic authority. Bordeaux Zellgef.
Julius straightened. “Minister Bordeaux. We were in the middle of—”
“I know what you were in the middle of.” Bordeaux cut him off briskly. His eyes swept over the trio with thinly veiled irritation. “All three of you seem to have forgotten yourselves.”
Reinhard lifted his chin politely. “Minister, if this is regarding our concerns about Ferris—”
“I don’t care.” Bordeaux’s voice cracked like a whip. “The Crusch Camp’s internal affairs are none of your business, Sir Reinhard. You are to cease your interference immediately.”
Julius’s jaw tightened. “We are acting to prevent unnecessary suffering.”
“And you will stop.” Bordeaux snapped. “The prisoner’s treatment is sanctioned. His miasma level is dangerous. I will not have you undermining Ferris’s efforts.”
Reinhard opened his mouth to protest, but Bordeaux silenced him with a single raised hand.
“Sir Reinhard, the Royal Council has decided to assign you to a border security matter in the Hyclara Plateau. You are to depart by morning.”
Reinhard blinked. “…Hyclara? That is -- certainly a long distance from here, Wise men.”
“Precisely.” Bordeaux smiled thinly. “You may take pride in your efficiency.”
Otto and Julius exchanged a sharp, horrified look.
Reinhard was being removed.
“Minister,” Reinhard said quietly, “you are deliberately sending me away.”
“Correct.” Bordeaux clasped his hands behind his back. “Do not meddle further.”
Then he left.
The door closed.
The room fell into a silence heavier than before.
Reinhard let out a slow exhale. Not anger. Not frustration. Something rarer—helplessness.
“…It appears,” he said softly, “that I am to be kept out of this matter.”
Julius closed his eyes. “Then it will fall to us, Otto.”
Otto’s stomach dropped.
“…Wonderful,” he muttered weakly. “I always wanted to die young.”
But he stood anyway.
Because someone had to.
And because somewhere beneath the stone and screams, a boy no one remembered was suffering.
The lanternlight flickered across their worried faces—
and the part ends here.
……
……
……
A sound of a witch’s screech came.
The cell always smelled the same.
Damp stone, old metal, and the faint, sour sting of burned flesh—that last one was his. Subaru leaned against the cold wall, arms wrapped around his body, waiting for the footsteps that always came at the exact same pace, the exact same rhythm. He didn’t count steps anymore. He used to. Not after the two-hundredth time.
Sssshhht—
The iron door slid open.
Felix Argyle stepped through.
Not the Felix he knew.
Not the one who teased Crusch, or pouted, or played coy.
And not the deranged, cruel versions he’d expect to meet so that he could reason with his misfortune.
This Felix was nothing.
Just a pair of dull blue eyes and a voice like cold water: flat, monotone, routine.
“Morning, prisoner. It’s only your third day, but I have a simple question.”
“How do we cure Crusch-sama?”
Subaru flinched. His back scraped against the stone.
Hearing that line again made his breath shake.
Felix didn’t wait for an answer. He never waited.
A hand, soft and deceptively gentle, gripped Subaru’s forearm. Pale mana gathered at the fingertips—a ripple of water.
Then it sank into his skin.
Subaru’s body jerked violently as the nerves lit up with boiling pain, water threading beneath his flesh like hot needles. His scream tore itself out of his throat before he could choke it down.
Felix didn’t react.
Not a twitch.
Not a wince.
Just the same question, in the same dead voice.
“How do we cure Crusch-sama?”
Subaru whimpered, voice cracking. “I—I don’t know—Felix—please—I told you—I told you over and over—there’s nothing—”
“How do we cure Crusch-sama?”
The water magic twisted. His veins burned as if they were filling with acid.
His mind reached for anything, anywhere else—
—but it found memories.
Always the same memories.
The day he approached the camps—both Emilia’s and Crusch’s—together, begging for help, for someone to just listen—
Beatrice stepping forward first. Her little face pale, voice shaking as she declared the miasma pouring off him was worse than the Sin Archbishops.
“Subaru?… I—I’m not certain, but…I believe you’re… one of them, in fact.”
He remembered trying to laugh it off.
A joke, right?
A misunderstanding?
Then Reinhard’s hand on his shoulder.
Then chains.
Then fire.
Executions.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Felix’s voice droned on, cutting into the memory.
“Tell me about the Witch Cult’s structure. Tell me about their cells. Tell me about your gospel.”
“I don’t have one—! I’m not—ngh—F-Ferris, I’m not with—”
“How do we cure Crusch-sama?”
The water boiled inside his nerves again. Subaru’s head slammed back against the wall, eyes squeezing shut.
He tried to think.
Tried to breathe.
Tried to remember who he was—
—who he had been—
But the loops blurred together.
Sometimes Felix made mistakes and infections killed him slowly.
Sometimes they executed him after a month.
Sometimes they cut off limbs one by one.
And once—
he tried to befriend a passing fire spirit.
A tiny ball of warm light, curious and brave.
He’d whispered hopes to it.
Begged it to help him escape.
He even promised to save it too.
But when Crusch’s guards saw—
they thought he was using Witch powers.
They dragged him out.
Felix broke his arms that loop.
Then he tried with an earth spirit.
Then a yang spirit.
Each time ended worse than the last.
Today was another restart.
And he didn’t know if he wanted to keep going.
Why won’t the world leave me alone?
Why does it hate me?
Why… why didn’t Emilia come? Even once?
Is that how grotesque I am? So disgusting she couldn’t bear to even see me?
His breath hitched.
He didn’t notice Felix stop spelling.
He barely noticed when the signature line came again—
“How do we cure Crusch-sama?”
Subaru stared blankly at the floor.
“…It’s my fault,” he whispered. “It’s always my fault.”
A faint flicker of light appeared at the corner of his vision.
He blinked.
Then another.
And another.
Three tiny motes drifted near the bars—one red, one gold, one green. They spun slowly, awkwardly, as if trying to perform a dance they’d never practiced.
Subaru choked on a sob. “…You guys… you’re back again.”
Felix didn’t react.
He never noticed the spirits.
He couldn’t.
The little red one floated down, brushing lightly against Subaru’s wrist, warming the cold spots left by the magic. The gold spirit shimmered, calming the ache in his muscles. The green one pulsed at his temple—cool, soothing, mending the mana poisoning curling inside him.
They circled him, determined, tiny guardians in a dungeon nobody cared about.
Subaru bowed his head, tears slipping silently onto his knees.
“…Why do you even… stay?”
The spirits drifted closer at his shaking whisper.
A soft hum filled the air—warm, gentle.
Maybe they didn’t know the answer.
Maybe they didn’t need to.
Felix’s voice came again, closer now.
“Archbishop. How do we cure Crusch-sama?”
Subaru didn’t respond.
Because something else stirred inside him.
Something quiet.
Something cold.
Something resentful.
It crawled up like an unseen hand gripping his spine.
An authority.
Sloth.
His breath stalled.
Felix reached for him again—
—and Subaru felt the bars behind him tremble.
clank
The bars rattled.
At first it was faint—just a soft metallic tremor, like a draft brushing the iron. Subaru stared, breath caught in his throat, Felix’s hand still hovering inches from his skin.
“…Pride?”
Felix leaned forward, monotone steady, “If you’re plotting to run, that would be—”
The bars lurched violently.
Felix’s words stopped.
A pressure swelled behind Subaru’s eyes—a slow, twisting pull, like invisible fingers curling around his mind. Something dark. Something that had always been there, waiting, but never touched.
Sloth.
It wasn’t a whisper.
It wasn’t his voice.
And it wasn’t his voice.
It just was.
An ache.
A command.
A concept pressing down on him like gravity.
The bars groaned—
then bent outward, metal screaming as though crushed by a giant’s palm.
Felix recoiled, for the first time showing an emotion: confusion. “Wh—Suba—what are you—?”
Subaru rose to his feet.
Slowly.
Shakily.
The three spirits hovered behind him in a tight circle—Maia’s soft emerald glow outlining the cracked stone, Elektra burning bright and angry, Celaeno’s pale golden shimmer pulsing with anxious warmth.
They weren’t afraid of him.
That alone nearly made Subaru cry.
He stepped out of the cell. The floor felt unsteady, like the world was tipping, but his mind moved with eerie clarity. Sloth’s weight wasn’t overwhelming—it was just there. A part of him.
Felix backed up one step. “Prisoner. Stop. This… this isn’t rational. Tell me what you’re doing. Tell me—”
“I’m leaving,” Subaru murmured.
Felix blinked. For a moment, it almost looked like he was trying to understand—
trying to form the concern he used to have, once.
“Subaru… you’ll hurt Crusch-sama’s chances.”
The boy’s heart twisted painfully.
But he kept walking.
“I’ll… help her one day,” Subaru whispered, not even sure if he meant it. “Just… not like this.”
Felix summoned water at his fingertips—
—but the three spirits rushed him instantly, light flaring.
The Green one shot downward, slamming into the stone and sending up a burst of grit that blinded Felix. The Red one streaked across Felix’s hand, heating the air enough to distort his magic. The Gold one struck Felix’s forehead with a bright tap—disorienting him just long enough.
Subaru didn’t hurt Felix.
He just ran.
Down the hall.
Up the steps.
Through the half-lit stone corridors.
His lungs burned. His legs trembled. But for once in hundreds of loops—
—nobody caught him.
He burst into the courtyard, lungs dragging in the cold night air like it was the first breath he’d taken in years.
Above him, the sky stretched wide—ink-black, endless, scattered with stars that glittered like frost on dark glass. He hadn’t seen the sky in so many loops. Not properly. Not without iron bars between him and the night.
Something inside him eased, just a fraction.
He staggered toward the stables, and Patrasche turned her head at once, recognizing him immediately. Her warm, heavy snout pressed gently against his shoulder, grounding him.
“…Good girl,” he whispered hoarsely.
A soft trio of lights floated into view beside him—one green, one red, one pale gold.
The spirits.
His spirits.
They hovered tentatively, as if waiting for permission to exist.
Subaru looked up again.
The stars above blurred as his eyes stung.
“Maia… Elektra… Sterope…” he murmured.
The spirits flickered, reacting to the names.
He lifted a trembling hand toward the sky.
“…My parents… gave me a name from the Pleiades…”
The word parents snagged in his throat.
A small, involuntary wince shivered through him—sharp, hollow, humiliating. Thinking of home hurt in a place deep enough to feel physical.
He swallowed.
“…S-So it’s only fair… you get star names too. Better ones than mine.”
The spirits pulsed warmly, as if accepting the tribute.
Elektra danced a little circle—fiery and bold.
Maia steadied the air with a quiet green glow.
Sterope drifted nearer, soft gold radiance like a small lantern braced against wind.
Subaru bowed his head.
“…If you’ll have me… I’ll contract with you three. I’ll… try not to be dead weight this time. I’ll try to be something better.”
One by one, the spirits touched his forehead—
an earthy thrum, a spark of heat, a gentle warmth in his chest—
and a thin thread of mana bound each of them to him.
“…Thank you,” Subaru whispered.
Then he took Patrasche’s reins, climbed onto her back, and disappeared into the trees, fleeing the Crusch estate for the last time.
Hours Later — Priestella
The ruined canals and broken stonework of Priestella stretched in cold, moon-washed silence. Subaru kept off the main paths, Patrasche hiding in pockets of shadow whenever patrols passed.
Finally, he slipped into a narrow side street and dismounted, letting Patrasche press herself into the dark behind a collapsed balcony.
He crept forward, mana dim under the cloak of night.
Then—
A flicker of silver.
He froze.
A girl stumbled out from between two walls, breath heaving, lavender eyes wide and unfocused. Hands shaking. Shoulders trembling.
Rumors whispered by villagers echoed in his head:
“The silver ghost.”
“The wandering elf.”
“No name… no memory…”
Subaru’s heart clenched painfully.
“…Emilia,” he breathed.
He had imagined this scene so many times—
but always from a cell, bleeding out on stone,
always wondering—
Why didn’t she ever come?
Did she hate me that much?
Was I so disgusting she couldn’t stand to see me?
Did she think I deserved every death?
Each execution, he waited for her silhouette in the door.
He prayed for it.
He begged for it in the dark.
But she never came.
And every time, something inside him rotted a little more.
But Now—
seeing her here, scared, lost, stumbling through the ruins of Priestella—
his throat locked up.
Because he understood.
He had been so wrapped in his own agony—
his own deaths—
his own desperation—
he had never once stopped to think what she might have been going through.
He had assumed cruelty where there had only been tragedy.
“…I’m the dunderhead,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I didn’t even consider… what happened to you.”
Emilia whipped around at the faint sound, panic splintering across her face.
“Who’s there? W-Who’s… following me?”
“Come Out!”
Subaru stepped from the shadow.
Slowly.
As if afraid she’d vanish.
The spirits hovered beside him, dim and silent.
The night held its breath.
“…Emilia.”
Her eyes widened, fear turning into something colder—confusion, emptiness.
And Subaru felt his chest break open, raw and shaking.
He wasn’t ready.
He wasn’t enough.
But he took one step toward her anyway.
Notes:
Made this felix cold instead of the crazy one every other fanfic has.
Seriously felt weird to see him be literally evil for like no reason in every reforgotten…
Chapter 3: Reunion
Notes:
i have come to the conclusion that people hate ai and good grammar.
so we offer u this, desu~pure authentic garbage writing of purely mine!
Dine in! tsu~
Chapter Text
A fire cackled.
One that spoke of silence, not warmth.
Emilia regained her sight and found she lay on the ground with a thin sheet of white draped over her.
She didn’t feel like leaving.
On one hand was the comfort of the sheet —
she hadn’t rested in a week.
Always fearing capture by the guards.
Or worse, by her friends.
On the other hand was resentment.
Would Emilia even make a difference now?
Her name was lost.
Her village left to rot.
Her old family abandoned by her.
Her “rotten” face ruining what little beauty she touched —
all because she resembled the Witch.
…
Why?
Just why?
Why was Emilia the source of misfortune?
Her father Guese.
Her mother Fortuna.
Her village.
Her camp.
Him???
But before Emilia could descend any further into this abyss of loathing, she noticed it.
A man.
No — a boy.
The same boy with peppered hair whose presence she had sensed when rummaging through the rubble-stripped alleys.
Emilia tried to speak, to ask why he was even near someone as cursed as her—
But he got the first word.
“A-Are you—u alright?” he asked, voice shaking with fear.
Emilia nodded, unable to form anything more.
In truth she wished to spill everything at once:
Why did you save me?
Who are you?
Why are you hurting so badly?
But nothing came.
The boy lifted his head, the firelight catching his face.
Small but deep cuts lined his jaw and neck.
But far worse were his eyes — bruised from crying far too long, far too often.
“O-Okay. Okay. She is okay. They are okay. A-All is okay…”
The last words trembled, yet tried to comfort.
Emilia examined him.
Old cloth wrapped around his arms.
Punctured knuckles.
A face carved with guilt.
His face.
She couldn’t stop looking at it.
…
Emilia propped herself up on one elbow. Her joints screamed. Her throat dried.
“You…”
Her voice cracked. She cleared it softly.
“You were the one who… saved me?”
The boy jolted.
“SORRY! I-I am s-so sorry! I just— I was w-worried! It gets c-cold around here, I thought you might n-need something—!”
His voice spiraled.
Rambling.
Panicking.
Tripping over his own breath.
Emilia took notice.
She stood and stepped toward him — to ease his fear.
But he flinched violently.
Like someone expecting a blow, not comfort.
“Hey,” she murmured, “I’m not the best person to say this to you, but…”
“I will save you,” declared the amethyst-eyed girl, words that she didnt have prior reason for.
The scarred boy froze.
His next ramble died before it reached his tongue.
Her voice struck something raw inside him.
“Oh…”
The fire crackled louder.
Emilia frowned — she had so much to ask.
But right now, he took priority.
“Are… are you hurt?” she asked gently.
The boy’s eyes went wide.
Then — almost — he laughed.
But it folded into a strangled cry, his shoulders curling inward.
His fingers clawed at his sleeves as though trying to hide the trembling of his hands.
“I— I mean— haha— that’s… a d-dumb question, isn’t it…?”
He stared at the ground.
His voice thinned to a fragile thread, ready to snap.
“Of course I’m hurt…”
“May I… may I check?” she asked.
His breath hitched.
His eyes darted down — the simple offer landing like a knife.
“I-I don’t— I… uh…”
Then, ghostlike:
“No.”
Emilia’s heart twisted.
Was it because of her?
But the boy’s expression was not fear of *her*.
It was fear of himself.
He reached for his forearm — where he had reached countless times before.
The wound.
The memory.
The taboo.
He began to tug at the bandages too sharply—
“Wait!”
Emilia reached instinctively—
Her hand wrapped around his wrist.
The boy froze as if struck by lightning.
Their eyes met.
Both wide.
Both raw.
Both terrified.
Silence.
…
Emilia didn’t release him immediately.
Her fingers rested lightly, barely touching — but enough to stop his breath.
He stared at their hands in disbelief.
As though it were forbidden.
As though he did not deserve to be touched gently.
After a few moments, she slowly loosened her grip.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered anxiously. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“N-No. You didn’t.”
A lie — but one spoken with the full weight of a trembling heart.
The air grew thinner, colder.
The fire shrank inward.
“Um…” she murmured. “If… if you don’t mind telling me… why were you watching over me?”
The boy swallowed.
His breath clicked in his throat.
“I-I saw you c-collapse. And I thought you might be in d-danger.”
A sting bloomed behind Emilia’s ribs.
She didn’t know who he was.
She didn’t know why he was here.
But she knew this much:
This trembling boy had saved her from a fate she could not fight alone.
Was she truly so selfish…?
Emilia stepped closer, earning another startled jerk.
“May I ask something?” she asked.
He hesitated.
“…Y-Yeah?”
“You spoke as if I was… in danger. Isn’t that normal?”
Pain streaked over his face.
“With me looking like—”
“NO!”
The word cracked the silence like a whip.
“IT WAS MY FAULT! I MESSED US UP! I— I FUCKED UP EVERYTHING— I—”
But before the last cry could tear out, three lights appeared.
He jolted.
“G-Gh—?”
A tiny scarlet orb nudged his elbow firmly.
A viridian one brushed around him, checking for fresh harm.
A pale gold one circled his head protectively.
Emilia gasped.
“Spirits…?”
He looked away, embarrassed.
“S-Sorry… they just — uhm — they don’t like it when I… when I touch it.”
The green spirit bumped his shoulder repeatedly until he withdrew his hand with a flinch.
“I-I’m not hurting myself, okay? It just— feels itchy— that’s all—”
The orange spirit flared sharply.
The pale one chimed in concern.
Emilia’s breath trembled.
Puck…
The absence pulled open an old wound.
He noticed.
“Someone you knew?” he asked softly.
“Yes. Someone who never judged my face… only my heart. He was like a father to me. He loved me.”
And someone else… but why couldn’t she…?
The spirits hovered closer to her, listening.
Emilia blinked at them — soft, childlike awe returning.
“They’re sweet,” she whispered. “They really care about you.”
The peppered haired boy let out a bitter, broken laugh.
“They’re the only ones who do.”
The spirits all flashed angrily in protest.
…This boy.
This boy was hurting himself with every breath.
Emilia felt her own pain flare.
“I care.”
“…what?”
“I said I care! You dunderhead!” she puffed.
“All you do is hurt yourself! And you saved me — twice — and now you act like I owe you nothing?!”
He blinked, wounded and confused.
“O-Owe…?”
“You saved me — even with my face, even without my name!”
“Yeah. You too.”
Emilia froze.
"What?"
And then blurted,
“ Did you… lose your name?”
He nodded, ashamed.
Emilia’s horror surfaced, even though she had forgotten her own state moments before.
“I don’t know who I am to anyone anymore,” he whispered.
“Not to the knights. Not to my family. Not to y—…”
He swallowed.
“…anyone I thought I mattered to.”
Emilia felt something fracture inside her.
“What is your name?”
The boy looked like a man seeing light after drowning in dark.
She reached for him. Slowly. Openly.
“It’s not your fault,” she said.
Those words—
He had died over five hundred times to hear those words.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry even when I shouldn’t be.”
“You don’t need to be,” Emilia whispered.
The spirits spun happily around them.
“A-Alcor,” he murmured.
“My name is Alcor.”
“My name is Emilia,” she answered softly. “Just Emilia.”
The spirits rejoiced.
“They really don’t want you to be alone,” Emilia breathed.
Alcor’s voice cracked — not from fear this time, but from fragile relief.
“…They never leave.”
“Good. No one should.”
But the moment shattered—
A crunch of footsteps.
Voices in the distance.
Alcor moved without thought — instinct swallowing reason — and clapped a trembling hand over Emilia’s mouth as he pulled her behind a crumbled wall.
His entire body shook violently.
“D-Don’t move,” he whispered into her ear, voice cracking.
“Please— please don’t move— if they find us— if they take you too— I can’t— I can’t—”
Every word was desperate.
The footsteps drew closer.
The spirits pressed against Alcor’s back protectively, but trembling.
Emilia held her breath, clutching his sleeve—
—while Alcor’s terrified heartbeat pounded against her cheek.
Chapter 4: A fresh start
Notes:
The work was 6969 words before this,
Chapter Text
Ashes shifted.
A fire breathed.
And the whole world stood still.
Alcor’s hand stayed clamped over Emilia’s mouth, fingers trembling violently, breath cutting in and out like broken machinery. His body was pressed against her— not out of boldness, not out of intent— but out of terror, pure reflexive terror, the kind born from losing too many people he tried to protect.
Emilia felt his heartbeat slamming through his ribs.
The footsteps outside grew louder.
Shuffling.
A muttered voice.
Then another.
Not knights.
Not guards.
Something worse in the ruins of Priestella—
desperate men.
Looters.
“Check over there,” one whispered.
“Nobles fled in this direction. Might still be coin left.”
Alcor squeezed his eyes shut.
His breath stuttered against Emilia’s cheek.
Patrasche, hidden behind the building’s collapsed frame, gave a soft, controlled snort— a warning to him and him alone.
The three spirits— scarlet, viridian, and pale gold— compressed into trembling sparks at Alcor’s back, as if trying to bury themselves inside him.
One of the men’s boots scraped near the wall.
Emilia’s pulse raced.
Alcor’s grip reflexively tightened—
She gently tapped his wrist with two fingers.
Just enough to say:
I understand. I won’t move.
His breath hitched, then steadied by a hair.
Outside—
“Nothing. Just rubble.”
“You sure? Saw something glowing.”
“Probably just embers. Let’s keep goin’. Other districts’ll have better loot.”
Their steps faded.
Silence slowly settled again, thin and trembling like a spider’s web.
Only then did Alcor release her mouth—too fast, like he realized what he was doing and panicked about the implications. He scrambled back a few inches, hands raised in apology, fear, and embarrassment all smashed together.
“S-sorry!” he whispered, voice cracking. “I just— I thought they— if they saw you— I— I didn’t mean to—”
Emilia shook her head gently.
“It’s alright.”
But the boy didn’t look convinced.
His hands had curled into trembling fists on his knees.
Finally, with deliberate breathing—almost rehearsed—he whispered:
“We… we can’t stay out in the open. There’ll be more.”
He glanced toward the shadowed doorway of a half-burnt building, its wooden sign hanging crookedly above the entrance.
………
Its painted letters were charred and unreadable.
Alcor swallowed hard, then turned to Patrasche.
“Good girl, Patarasche…… keep watch, okay?”
Patrasche pressed her forehead against his shoulder—softly, firmly—then moved to position herself behind a pile of broken stone, ears pricked and vigilant.
Emilia watched the entire exchange.
This creature, who should by all rights be skittish or wild in such chaos, treated him with a trust deeper than instinct.
Like she understood how fragile he was… and refused to let the world touch him.
Emilia rose slowly, steadying her sore limbs.
Alcor didn’t take her hand, didn’t lead her—
but he hovered close, as if pulled by the fear she might disappear if he drifted too far.
The inside of the building was dim.
Broken mirrors.
Chairs toppled.
Curtains torn and fluttering like ghosts.
As the door creaked shut behind them, Emilia whispered:
“Thank you. For protecting me.”
Alcor flinched—
Not like someone complimented,
but like someone stabbed.
He looked away quickly.
“I… I didn’t protect you. I just— I just didn’t want something to happen. That’s all.”
His voice was small.
And Emilia, exhausted and trembling, didn’t argue.
She simply sat down on an overturned stool, wrapped her arms around her knees, and let her eyes drift half-closed.
Alcor looked at her.
A girl with no name.
A girl hunted for her face.
A girl who still thanked him like he hadn’t been shaking apart moments ago.
He exhaled slowly.
Then moved closer, settling down near the wall where he could see both entrances.
The fire from outside flickered through gaps in the boards, casting pale gold across Emilia’s hair.
Alcor’s three spirits drifted near her uneasily, as if keeping cautious guard.
The boy’s voice came soft, barely audible.
“…Rest. I’ll stay awake a bit.”
And with exhaustion gnawing at her bones,
Emilia finally slept.
The night thinned into a cold, gray quiet.
Dust drifted lazily from the ceiling beams. The building around them groaned every so often, like it remembered being whole once but no longer had the strength to pretend.
Emilia slept first.
…
Her breathing steadied—slow, fragile—her body curled into the blanket he’d placed on her. Even asleep, she looked tense, like rest was something her mind no longer believed in.
Alcor watched her across the dim room.
He didn’t try to sleep.
Not yet.
His arms rested over his knees, chin buried in the crook of an elbow. The bandages around his wrists throbbed faintly with old pain.
His spirits hovered quietly nearby—three dim lights, warm but subdued, trying not to disturb the stillness.
And yet…
He couldn’t look away from Emilia.
She looked so different now—hair scattering across the wooden floor, face softened by exhaustion—but under the shadows he could still see the strength buried in her expression. The same quiet determination she’d used to speak those impossible words:
“I will save you.”
His chest tightened sharply at the memory.
Subaru.
That was what his old self had been called.
The one who broke, failed, died, and kept pretending tomorrow would be better.
But now…
I can’t let anything happen to her. Not again. Not ever again.
His breath trembled.
She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t remember me. She shouldn’t trust me. But… if she disappears too…
His head dropped, forehead touching his sleeve.
…then what am I even doing here?
The spirits drifted down, touching his shoulders with faint warmth.
Elektra brushed his cheek with light, scolding in her usual fiery way.
Sterope tried nudging his forehead upward in gentle encouragement.
Maia hummed a soft tone, easing the ache in his chest.
Alcor let out a tiny, shaky laugh.
“Yeah… I know. I know. I’m still here.”
He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm.
The room was quiet except for Emilia’s soft breathing and the distant crackle of a dying fire outside.
His exhaustion caught up slowly, like a tide pulling at his limbs.
Each blink grew heavier.
He looked one last time at Emilia.
Her silver hair.
Her sleeping face.
The faint crease on her brows that hadn’t eased even in slumber.
Even after all her fears—
Even after losing everything—
She had still tried to save a stranger.
You’re too kind for this world, he thought.
Too kind for me.
The weight behind his eyes finally grew too much.
Alcor’s head dipped sideways, shoulder brushing the wall.
His breath slowed.
And at last—
He slept.
…
Morning seeped in quietly—thin, colorless, and cold.
Emilia woke slowly, as if rising from the bottom of a frozen lake.
Her eyelids felt heavy.
Her limbs felt heavier.
But her heart—
Her heart felt like it had been carved with a dull blade.
She blinked once. Twice.
The ceiling above her came into focus—splintered wood, cracked beams, dust clinging to every surface.
Her breath wavered.
She sat up, pulling the thin sheet with her, clutching it like a shield.
Then her eyes scanned the room.
And her stomach twisted.
She knew this place.
Even in ruin, even stripped of its warmth, even hollowed out—
she recognized the slanted mirror shards on the ground,
the counters lined with brushes and ribbons,
the tall wooden chair broken on its side,
the faint trace of perfume under all the dust.
It was near this place.
Where Garfiel lunged at her with fangs bared.
Where Beatrice screamed and hid behind Otto.
Where Otto stammered in fear.
Where every face twisted—not in confusion or pity—but dread.
Like she was something diseased.
A monster wearing a girl’s shape.
Emilia’s breath hitched.
Her hand pressed over her mouth to quiet the small, strangled sound that escaped.
It’s my fault.
Of course it’s my fault…
Why did they run?
Why did they tremble?
Why did they look at her like that—like her very existence was a curse?
Because she looked like the Witch.
Because she was born wrong.
Because everything about her was a mistake.
A tremor ran through her fingers.
She curled forward, hair falling like a curtain around her face.
Each breath hurt, scraped, tore.
If I weren’t half-elf…
If I didn’t have this hair…
These eyes…
These ears…
Her throat closed.
Her hands pressed over her ears without thinking—touching the delicate points that had caused her so much grief.
If she could just—
Her gaze slowly drifted.
Across the counter.
To the object resting there.
A pair of heavy, dust-speckled shears.
Large enough to clip through branches.
Sharp enough to slice anything she hated about herself.
Her pulse pounded at her temples.
Slowly—hesitantly—she reached out.
Not because she wanted to hurt herself.
Not exactly.
But because maybe… maybe if she changed herself—
if she carved away the parts that made people afraid—
maybe they wouldn’t scream anymore.
Maybe they wouldn’t run.
Maybe she wouldn’t lose every warm thing she touched.
If I cut them off…
If I stop looking like her…
Her fingers were inches from the metal.
Just a little more—
Something small and blue slammed into her wrist.
“Ah—!”
The impact wasn’t painful—just startling.
A tiny sphere of water hovered in front of her hand, rippling anxiously.
It bumped her hand again.
Then again.
Then latched onto her fingers like a desperate child refusing to let go.
“W–what are you…?”
The little spirit trembled violently, emitting faint splashes of mana as if pleading with her.
Healing mist seeped from its surface, drifting over her arm and fixing tiny bruises she didn’t remember getting.
The spirit was panicking.
Because she had reached for those shears.
Because it felt her intention.
Because it didn’t want her to hurt herself.
Emilia’s throat tightened.
Even a spirit—
a tiny, frightened, and blue spirit—
thought she was worth stopping.
Her vision blurred for a moment.
She blinked the tears away quickly, like she was afraid to be caught crying.
That was when a soft rustle sounded against the wall.
Emilia turned.
Alcor stirred—hair disheveled, breath uneven, still half-asleep.
His gaze found her, then the spirit hovering over her trembling hand.
His eyes widened instantly.
“Emilia…?”
…
…
…
“…don’t do that.”
…
Alcor’s voice cracked before he was fully awake.
He pushed himself up on one elbow, blinking hard, the shadows under his eyes stark and heavy.
His gaze darted between Emilia, the shears, and the trembling water spirit pressed against her hand.
And whatever sleep still clung to him evaporated instantly.
“Emilia—”
His voice broke into a rasp.
“D-Don’t… please don’t do that…”
Emilia stared down at her own fingers, still half-curled toward the shears.
Her cheeks flushed with shame.
“I wasn’t— I mean, I didn’t think— I just…”
Her breath hitched.
“I just wanted to stop looking like… like her. Like something everyone hates.”
Alcor flinched as if struck.
He scrambled upright, nearly tripping on a fallen cushion, and reached her side without thinking—then froze again, hands suspended awkwardly in the air, terrified of touching her without permission.
The three spirits—Maia, Elektra, and Sterope—floated around him in distressed circles.
The blue water spirit clung tighter to Emilia’s wrist.
She swallowed thickly.
“I-I wasn’t going to do something foolish,” she insisted, voice cracking. “I was just thinking… if I changed myself, then maybe… maybe people wouldn’t look at me like I’m cursed.”
Alcor’s breath stuttered.
“Emilia…”
He shook his head, violently.
“No. No, don’t say that. Please don’t.”
The desperation in his voice filled the room like cold air.
“You’re not cursed. You’re not wrong. Nothing about you needs to be—”
He hesitated, eyes flicking to the shears.
“—cut off.”
Emilia looked away.
Her voice grew small.
Brittle.
“You saw how they reacted, didn’t you…? Garfiel, Beatrice, Otto… they didn’t even hesitate.”
Alcor’s hands curled into trembling fists.
“People panic,” he muttered, bitterness twisting his tone. “People assume. People see what they want to see. They don’t… they never look.”
His voice cracked.
“They didn’t see you.”
Emilia swallowed again, hard.
Something burned painfully behind her ribs.
“What if they were right to fear me…?”
Alcor snapped.
“NO. They weren’t.”
His voice was loud enough to make the spirits jump.
He forced himself to breathe, shoulders shaking, and lowered his tone.
“No one deserves what you went through.”
Emilia stared at him.
He wasn’t rambling.
He wasn’t panicking.
He wasn’t even looking away.
He was… steady.
Gentle.
And hurting.
Hurt in ways she didn’t yet understand.
The water spirit—tentative but determined—slid up her arm and nestled against her collarbone, humming a faint, soothing mana tone.
Alcor noticed and let out a soft, almost relieved exhale.
“…Looks like someone else cares too.”
The spirit bobbed proudly.
Emilia blinked in astonishment.
“I didn’t even notice it was here last night…”
“It probably found you while you slept,” Alcor murmured. “Spirits… they go where they’re needed.”
His voice softened further.
“They must’ve known you needed someone.”
Her eyes widened, watery.
“Someone…?”
Alcor looked away, cheeks coloring faintly.
“…Well. Yeah. No one should wake up alone. Not after… everything.”
The blue spirit floated over to him next—hovering expectantly near his chest.
Alcor stared.
“…Are you… asking to contract with me?”
The spirit twirled in a bright, shimmering loop.
Emilia’s eyes sparkled despite the gloom.
“Oh—! Alcor, that’s… that’s wonderful.”
She smiled gently, wiping her cheek.
“Spirits only choose good people.”
Alcor’s breath stalled.
Then—slowly—he blushed.
A small, fragile thing.
Like a boy who had forgotten how to react to kindness.
“D-Don’t say it like that… you’ll make me sound— I don’t know— better than I am.”
“You are,” she answered softly.
He looked like he wanted to argue, but the spirit nudged his cheek with a soft splash of light.
“…Fine, fine,” he whispered.
He raised a trembling hand.
“Let’s… make this official.”
The spirit brightened with joy.
“I’ll call you… Alcyone.”
The water spirit chimed with approval—its body glowing a deeper shade of blue.
Maia, Elektra, and Sterope circled around them, welcoming their new companion.
Emilia watched with a watery smile.
A small warmth bloomed in her chest.
But Alcor exhaled, gaze drifting toward the cracked window.
“We… need to move,” he said quietly.
“Cleanup knights will reach this district by noon. If they catch us— it won’t go well.”
Emilia’s smile faded.
“Oh…”
Alcor hesitated.
Then he looked at the iron tin Alcyone was nudging repeatedly with its little currents.
Alcor held up the small tin box the blue spirit had led him to — its lid dented, its label half-scratched off, but the contents unmistakable: black dye.
He looked at Emilia.
Then at her silver hair.
Then back at the dye with a tiny, self-conscious wince.
“I, uh… I was thinking,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “If we’re gonna get you out of here — really out — people can’t recognize you. Nothing witch-like. Nothing that makes knights yell first and think never.”
Alcor continued, “So like, this here, we got some black dye. So, if, you know…”
Emilia froze.
Her hand lifted instinctively to the curtain of shimmering silver cascading down her shoulder.
“My… hair…?” she whispered.
Alcor panicked immediately.
“W-Wait, wait, I’m not saying it’s bad! Or cursed! Or anything— I mean, it’s— it’s beautiful, really— it’s just— people are idiots and— and I don’t want them hurting you because they’re ignorant, judgmental, dunderhead—”
He stopped himself.
Emilia blinked.
He really just stole her word.
The spirits bobbed around them — Maia hovering firmly at Alcor’s shoulder like a supervising parent, Elektra flickering with excited sparks, Celaeno looping slow orbits, radiating warmth.
The lone blue water spirit floated gently toward Emilia, brushing her bruised wrist with a soft pulse of soothing mana.
She felt her throat tighten.
“…You think changing my hair will help?” she asked softly.
Alcor nodded with too much earnestness.
“People don’t look twice at normal hair. You deserve to walk without being hunted.”
“Walk…” Emilia murmured. “Like anyone else.”
“Yeah,” he said. Quiet, but firm. “Like anyone else.”
Something in her chest loosened. Not healed — but eased, enough to breathe.
“…Alright,” she finally whispered.
“If it’ll help… then please… do it.”
Alcor blinked, caught off guard.
“Y-You’re sure?”
“My face frightens people,” Emilia said, voice low but steady. “My name is gone. My place is gone. If this lets me live without hurting anyone just by existing… then it’s fine.”
Alcor’s expression softened — painfully, almost reverently.
He shook his head.
“It’s not your face that’s the problem,” he murmured. “It’s the world that doesn’t deserve it.”
Her breath hitched.
But he moved before she could fall apart again.
“Um— sit?” he asked, gesturing toward a dusty wooden stool.
Emilia obeyed quietly, folding her hands in her lap.
Her hair spilled over her shoulders like moonlight pooling on the floor.
Alcor knelt behind her.
His hands trembled before touching even a single strand.
“You don’t have to be so careful,” Emilia whispered.
“I do,” he said.
The dye was cold when he brushed it in.
Emilia shivered.
But his fingers were warm — careful, almost apologetic — parting her hair, smoothing it, weaving the black through silver with slow precision. The spirits hovered close, watching with interest. The blue water spirit occasionally dabbed at her cheek, confused by why water kept forming in her eyes.
Emilia let out a tiny laugh.
“It feels… strange.”
“Sorry— too rough?”
“No,” she said softly. “Just… different. Like I’m letting go of someone I used to be.”
Alcor paused.
“…Do you want to?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
Then—
“No.”
Then—
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
“Then let’s just… make you harder to find. Not someone else. Just… you, but safer.”
Her lips parted in a faint, astonished smile.
No one had ever put it so simply.
After some minutes, he stepped back.
Her hair, once flowing silver, now faded into deep black at the roots and mid-lengths, with only faint streaks of moonlight hidden beneath — like stars swallowed by night. When gathered together, the effect was strikingly gentle: short layers framing her cheeks, longer strands braided loosely behind, keeping her ears half-hidden without fully erasing who she was.
A new shape.
A new silhouette.
A new self.
“…Alcor,” Emilia whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
His ears went bright red.
“R-Really? I just— I just copied something I saw back home once— it’s nothing special— it’s just practical—”
“It’s special to me.”
He shut up immediately.
The spirits chimed brightly — all four of them — as if approving the moment.
Then Alcor stood straighter, eyes steeled with a different kind of resolve.
“We leave soon,” he said. “Knights will be here by noon. If we go west, through the riverway, we can make it to the trade roads before they block the crossings. And then… Kararagi.”
“Kararagi…” Emilia whispered.
“A fresh start,” Alcor said. “No one there cares about witches or bloodlines. Just money and food and yelling. You’d fit in better than all of them.”
Emilia gave a tiny, disbelieving laugh.
But when Alcor extended his hand, she took it.
He helped her onto Patrasche’s saddle, climbed up behind her, and —
For the first time in days,
the world did not feel cold.
Emilia leaned into the steady warmth behind her chest, the gentle weight of safety she didn’t recognize yet but wished she had known sooner.
This was her second chance, she thought again.
Her fingers curled around Alcor’s sleeve.
And I won’t let go this time. Not you. Not this.
The spirits darted ahead like tiny guiding stars.
And the two of them rode out into the quiet morning, unseen, unfound —
but not alone.
The morning air tasted cleaner once they left the shattered district behind.
Patrasche trotted quietly, hoofsteps softened by the thin veil of dust blanketing the street. Dawn hadn’t fully broken yet — just a pale blue glow smearing the horizon — leaving the world empty, breathless, peaceful in a way neither Emilia nor Alcor trusted.
Emilia sat in front, Alcor bracing her lightly from behind so she wouldn’t fall.
The spirits glided beside them, small streaks of color in the half-light — drifting, twirling, occasionally nudging Patrasche’s reins as if giving directions.
It was quiet.
Soft.
For the first time in six days, Emilia wasn’t running.
“…Alcor?” she said gently.
He stiffened immediately. “Y-Yeah? Sorry, did I sit too close? Am I heavy? Are you uncomfortable—”
“No,” she interrupted with a tiny laugh. “I just… wanted to thank you.”
Alcor blinked.
“Oh.”
“I mean it.” She reached up, fingering the newly dark strands of hair brushing her cheek. “I feel… different. But in a way that doesn’t hurt.”
Her smile wavered.
“In fact… I feel like I can breathe again.”
His breath hitched — barely audible over the wind.
“I’m… I’m really glad,” he whispered.
Her cheeks warmed.
It felt strange to be grateful for something she once thought she must never change. Her silver hair was her mother’s, her family’s, her home’s. And yet… the black dye didn’t take that away.
It just made her harder to find.
Harder to hurt.
And Alcor had done it with hands that shook not from fear of her, but from fear of harming her.
Her chest tightened.
She turned her head slightly, just enough to see him.
He wasn’t panicking now.
Not rambling.
Not trembling.
Just watching the road ahead, gaze tired but focused — as if her safety was a task he took more seriously than breathing.
The realization struck Emilia painfully:
He was always looking out for her.
Even before she had a name to remember.
Even before she knew his.
“…It’s beautiful,” she whispered again, touching her hair. “Thank you, Alcor.”
He ducked his head. “I-It’s not that big a deal, really…”
“It is to me.”
Silence fell again. Not tense — warm.
The world was quiet enough for Emilia to hear her own heartbeat.
She inhaled slowly, letting the breeze sweep the dust from her thoughts.
…
For Emilia there, a new determination had begun to form.
Not loud. Not sudden.
A seed pushing through frost.**
I miss them.
Her mother, Fortuna’s smile.
The elves of Elior Forest, their gentle hands braiding her hair.
Even Roswaal’s manor — warm, loud, messy, full of bickering and laughter — the first place she ever felt she could belong.
And I loved them. All of them.
Tears pricked at her eyes.
But the forest had frozen.
And the manor had left her behind.
Her name was gone, carved clean out of every heart she once touched.
I lost everything.
But then…
She looked at Alcor — at the bruises he hid with shaking hands, at the new scars wrapped in old cloth, at the exhaustion carved into a face far too young.
He lost everything too.
And still—
Still he saved her.
Still he covered her with a blanket.
Still he held her hand when she fell apart.
Still he dyed her hair so she could live.
Emilia clenched her fingers in the fabric of Patrasche’s reins.
This is my second chance.
I won’t waste it.
Not like the first.
Not by hiding.
Not by running.
Not by letting the world decide who she was allowed to be.
She looked over her shoulder.
Alcor didn’t notice — too focused on scanning the rooftops, checking the corners, protecting her even now.
Her heart twisted.
He saved me.
Now I’ll save him.
I’ll save him even if he doesn’t ask.
Even if he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.
Even if he tries to push me away.
Even if it scares me.
Emilia wiped her eyes before the spirits could notice.
Her voice was barely a breath, but it carried the weight of everything she had left:
“…I won’t let go of you, Alcor.”
He didn’t hear her.
But the spirits did — drifting closer, glowing just a bit brighter.
And Patrasche kept walking.
Steady.
Forward.
Carrying the two towards a future that finally felt possible.
Priestella that morning was loud.
Brimming with sounds of constriction and relocating families
But the rooftop Julius stood upon was quiet.
He watched the city from above — a kingdom of waterways, rising banners, and scattered early sunlight — his posture straight, his cloak swaying in the warm breeze.
Behind him, Joshua Juukulius landed lightly, brushing dust from his pristine coat.
“Brother,” Joshua said with a sigh too dramatic to be accidental, “this is a waste of time.”
Julius didn’t turn.
He simply folded his arms behind his back and continued surveying the main road.
“We’re hunting an “considered” escaped criminal,” Joshua continued. “But more importantly, you are Julius Juukulius — the finest knight of the kingdom. You shouldn’t be chasing after some… mediocre vagrant.”
Julius finally spoke — calm, refined, and carrying that unmistakable poetic lilt.
“The duty of a knight, dear Joshua, is not measured by the worth of the target.”
He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the wind brush his lashes.
“It is measured by the weight of the innocent who may suffer in his absence… and the monsters who thrive in darkness when no one pursues them.”
Joshua frowned. “You speak as if this Archbishop Subaru Natsuki is truly innocent.”
Julius opened his eyes.
“…We don’t know what he is,” he said softly. “Only that the Sage Council acted recklessly by involving Ferris in such a matter.”
Joshua’s eyes narrowed.
“You still think that was a mistake?”
“Ferris,” Julius said with a composed exhale, “has always carried a fragile heart. The discovery of Lady Crusch’s… condition… shattered what little stability he had left.”
Steps sounded behind them.
A third figure stood at the rooftop’s edge, sunlight framing him in uncompromising brilliance.
Felix Argyle.
Hair uncombed.
Tail low.
Eyes red-rimmed yet burning with a feverish glow.
Ferris didn’t bother greeting them.
“Tsu…” A faint clicking rose from his teeth — irritation, exhaustion, fury all tangled.
“So that’s how it is, huh? Ya two talking behind my back… nya.”
A voice came from behind, like a panther who crept out of the shadows of a jungle.
Joshua scowled. “Sir Argyle. Your attitude is unbecoming.”
Ferris ignored him entirely.
Instead, he stared down at the sprawling city below, arms crossed but trembling, his voice drifting in a monotone that chilled more than it soothed.
“That man…”
He blinked once, slowly.
“That smell of spirits around him… that abnormal glare… that dragon he stole from us… it was all wrong, nya.”
Joshua rolled his eyes. “You’ve said this a hundred times.”
“No,” Ferris whispered.
His tone sharpened, slicing the air like a blade pulling free.
“You don’t get it. Subaru Natsuki did something. He twisted something. Broke the chamber apart with that witchy stink… drew spirits like a cultist. Manipulated me. Manipulated us all.”
Julius’ brows twitched — the faintest sign of discomfort.
“…Ferris—”
“And I…” Felix clicked again, louder, eyes narrowing as emotion finally cracked through the shell,
“…Ferris is the idiot who made a scene and let him get away.”
The wind blew across the rooftop, stirring dust.
Felix’s tail lashed.
“But I’m done blaming myself.”
His voice rose — no longer monotone, but burning, seething, driven.
“I’ll save Crusch-sama.”
He took a step forward, hand curling into a fist.
“Even if I have to tear apart the whole damn world.”
Another step.
“And I’ll punish the monster who caused all this.”
His eyes glowed with that terrifying, grief-twisted resolve.
“Pride won’t run from me again.”
Joshua swallowed.
Even Julius… lowered his chin, shadow crossing his face.
Below them, the city streets bustled unaware.
Above them, three hearts — suspicion, duty, and rage — aligned on a single name.
A single target.
Natsuki Subaru.
The road narrowed as the sun crept over the fractured rooftops.
Ahead, faint silhouettes gathered — armor glinting, spears resting casually across shoulders.
A checkpoint.
Patrasche sensed it first. She slowed, tail stiffening, legs tucking tight against her body.
The spirits retracted back into the rock Alcor carried.
Alcor felt their tension and went rigid himself.
“…Kn-Knights,” he whispered.
The word left his lips with a tremor he tried — and failed — to hide.
Emilia felt his hands stiffen where they held the saddle behind her.
She didn’t look back at him, but she slid her hand gently over Patrasche’s neck, signaling calm.
“It’s okay,” she murmured softly. Then, louder, steadier: “Let me handle it.”
Alcor didn’t argue.
He didn’t trust his voice to come out right.
As they approached, four knights stepped forward — not hostile, but alert, eyes scanning the early-morning emptiness. One raised a hand.
“Halt! Identification, travelers.”
Emilia sat straighter.
Her dyed hair glimmered dark under the rising light — unfamiliar, but grounding.
She cleared her throat lightly.
“We’re heading west, toward Kararagi,” she said, voice smooth, mature, convincing. “Wanted to leave before the reconstruction squads started blocking the roads.”
The knights exchanged looks.
“Your names?”
Emilia didn’t blink.
“El—” She caught herself expertly. “Emma. And this is Alcor.”
Behind her, she felt Alcor stiffen again — his breath hitching.
The knight’s eyes narrowed, scanning the boy’s pale, anxious expression.
“And your relation?”
Alcor swallowed — too loudly. A bead of sweat slid down his cheek.
The knight noticed.
Emilia stepped in immediately.
“He’s my husband.”
Alcor choked on nothing.
Elektra hovering near his shoulder nearly flickered with excited light.
The knights blinked, obviously surprised — Emilia’s youthful face didn’t help her case — but she held their gaze with serene, practiced confidence.
“…Your husband?” the lead knight repeated.
“Yes.” Emilia nodded firmly. “We’re newly married and heading to Kararagi for work contracts. We’d like to arrive before nightfall if possible.”
A pause.
Then—
“Oi! Captain!” someone behind the checkpoint shouted. “We’ve got a situation on the east side — need you now!”
The captain groaned. “Always at the worst time…”
He waved them through with a distracted motion.
“Fine, fine — go. We’ll be closing this road soon anyway. Make haste.”
Emilia smiled politely. “Thank you. Safe duties to you.”
Patrasche walked past the checkpoint without hesitation — almost proudly — only relaxing once the knights were completely behind them.
Only then did Emilia finally exhale.
Alcor let out a shaky breath of his own.
“That was…” He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “…way too close.”
Emilia turned slightly toward him.
“You okay?”
Alcor blinked at her, startled by how calm she sounded.
Then—
“…Thank you,” he said softly.
She didn’t expect his smile.
It was small, tired, and a little crooked — like he was still learning how to make one — but real.
Warm.
Grateful.
Something in Emilia’s chest loosened.
Her lips curved gently in return.
“Of course,” she whispered.
They rode on, the morning light growing stronger, the four spirits dancing quietly in their wake.
Two fugitives.
Two nameless souls.
Two Unnamed Hearts, moving toward a place they hoped might finally be safe.
Chapter 5: The Softest Night
Chapter Text
The heat hit them first.
Kararagi heat wasn’t like any other—it was a thick, humming warmth that draped itself over the skin, a lazy creature that refused to let go. Even so, Patrasche trotted along the dusty road without complaint, tail swishing with quiet pride.
Emilia breathed out softly, letting the warm wind brush her cheeks and tug at the ribbons in her hair.
“We… actually made it,” she murmured, wonder dripping into every word. “Alcor, we reached Ivada in a single day… in this heat. That’s incredible.”
Behind her, Alcor sat steady, tired shoulders relaxing at last. He held the reins loosely, one hand always close enough to Emilia to keep her balanced.
“…It’s all Patrasche,” he said with a small smile. “She carried us the whole way.”
At her name, the ground dragon gave a dignified huff, as if accepting a trophy.
Emilia giggled—and instantly frowned as something clicked.
“…But Patrasche is Otto’s, isn’t she?”
Alcor stiffened for just a heartbeat.
“…She found me,” he answered quietly. “When I needed her most. That’s all I know. And all I care about.”
Emilia looked from Alcor… to Patrasche.
The dragon snorted and nudged Alcor’s elbow with deliberate affection.
As if saying Mine. I choose him.
Emilia’s face softened into a warm, blooming smile.
“Well… I’m glad she did. You two look really happy together.”
She leaned in with a playful glint.
“Happier than when Otto kept insisting she trusted him. Poor man.”
Patrasche growled with deep offense.
Alcor burst into a laugh he had to hide behind his arm, shoulders shaking.
They crossed the border gates without trouble—the Kararagi knights too busy shuffling papers and complaining about heatstroke to care. And then—
The city of Ivada opened before them like a bright, painted page.
Lantern strings swayed between wooden stalls.
Bold Kararagi patterns splashed across shutters and signs.
Food smoke drifted lazily with the scent of grilled skewers, spiced breads, and cold teas.
Emilia’s eyes widened, sparkling.
“It’s… so lively.”
Alcor nodded, a small smile tugging at him.
“Kararagi’s like that. Loud, warm, and always up to something.”
They left Patrasche at a bustling stable, where Emilia kissed her cheek—earning a proud rumble that made the stablehand jump. Then they reached an inn where a middle-aged woman in tidy office clothes greeted them with a grin just a bit too wide.
“Ahh, travelers! Hot day, yes-yes! You must be thirsty, tired—good news, I have the perfect room for—ah! Price is right here~”
She opened her ledger like it contained ancient secrets.
The numbers were a crime.
Alcor’s eye twitched. He reached for his coin pouch—
—when Emilia gently placed her hand over his.
“Ma’am,” she said sweetly, “we would like the standard rate.
Not the ‘pretty travelers are too exhausted to argue’ rate.”
The innkeeper froze like someone slapped her with a ledger.
“A-Ah? These—these are the—!”
“No,” Emilia said with a calm smile. “They aren’t.”
A long, defeated sigh.
“…Standard rate it is.”
Alcor pulled Emilia back with a tiny, grateful tug before she could deliver a parting lecture.
Their room was small, a little dusty, but clean and cozy. One bed, one window, one tiny table—and a warm orange glow from the lanterns outside spilled through the curtains.
Alcor let his pack drop with a thud. Then, with a quiet breath, he untied the ragged crystal at his neck. One he had found on the road to priestella with Patrasche.
As soon as the crystal touched air—
Four tiny lights burst out like freed fireflies.
Maia zipped to his shoulder, vibrating happily.
Elektra flared bright and began circling the ceiling like a spark with too much caffeine.
“Don’t burn things,” Alcor said gently.
Elektra dimmed—dramatically.
Emilia laughed softly, her face warming.
Sterope drifted toward her, quiet and curious.
Alcyone nestled at her collarbone, radiating gentle, cooling comfort.
“They’re… really sweet,” Emilia whispered. “Especially toward you.”
Alcor scratched his cheek awkwardly.
“They just… like being around.”
“They must see something good,” she said.
He froze—just a second.
But she didn’t notice.
She was too busy petting Alcyone, smiling with that soft joy she rarely let herself feel.
Alcor looked at her—at the lantern glow on her face—and exhaled.
“…Thanks. For earlier. You were… pretty amazing.”
Emilia jolted, cheeks pink.
“I—I wasn’t amazing! I just… paid back my debt. You helped me first.”
Alcor lowered his gaze, smiling faintly.
“…Emilia, you’re always like this.”
Warmth lingered between them, soft and glowing like the lanterns outside.
Then, together, they stepped back into Ivada’s vibrant evening—its laughter, its lights, its wandering scents of food and music sweeping around them like a welcome.
Ivada glowed under sunset like a city dipped in orange honey.
Spice smoke curled from food stalls.
Merchants shouted prices in a rhythmic Kararagi drawl.
Children darted past with paper lanterns shaped like little beasts.
It was loud, warm, messy, alive.
Emilia’s eyes were wide the entire time.
“This place feels… like everyone is allowed to be happy,” she whispered.
Alcor walked beside her, shoulders hunched out of habit—but even he couldn’t hide the tiny spark of awe in his eyes when a pair of acrobats flipped across suspended ropes overhead.
“It’s… different from Lugunica,” he said.
“A Different good?”
“…Yeah. I think so.”
A vendor waved skewers at them.
“Ey! Lovely couple! Try somethin’ spicy to warm ya right up?”
Emilia squeaked at the word couple, and Alcor nearly tripped over his own feet, muttering a scrambled apology in at least three languages.
The vendor laughed and shouted something encouraging in Kararagi slang.
They wandered past musicians beating drums in thunderous rhythm, and Emilia slowed to listen. The three spirits twirled excitedly—Elektra crackling with tiny sparks before Alcor hissed at it to behave.
They finally found a small restaurant tucked between two lantern shops, its sign painted with a sloppy teal fish.
Inside was cozy, noisy, and smelled like broth, garlic, and fried batter.
A cheerful waitress ushered them to a table.
Emilia sat bouncing slightly, taking in the chatter around them.
Alcor sat… trying not to look suspicious every time someone passed by.
When the waitress arrived, Emilia beamed.
“Two soups, please!”
“Comin’ riiiiight up, missy!”
Her accent was so rhythmic Emilia instinctively tried to imitate it.
Alcor looked at her with a little smile in his eyes
“...Cute.”
“I wasn’t doing anything!”
Their bowls came steaming—thick broth, herbs, and noodles floating lazily.
Emilia inhaled deeply. “I’m ravenous.”
Alcor stared at her.
“…Emilia. Nobody says ravenous these days.”
“Yes they do!”
“No. They don’t.”
She puffed up like an offended kitten.
He fought a smile and lost.
They began to eat—Emilia with delicate enthusiasm, Alcor with slow, cautious sips.
But then—
Alcor stopped.
His gaze drifted past her.
Emilia followed it.
To a condiment counter.
At the center was a familiar jar.
Creamy. Pale. Familiar.
“Mayonnaise?”
The word tasted like memory.
Rem in the manor.
Warm table chatter.
A world where she felt home.
Emilia felt her throat tighten.
But she looked at Alcor.
He wasn’t hungry for it.
He was homesick for it.
“I—it’s fine. I don’t need it,” he muttered.
Emilia frowned.
“That’s silly.”
“It’s not—”
“You’re not spoiling yourself enough.”
“Emilia—”
She raised her hand.
“Excuse me! Could we have a slice of toast and a side of mayonnaise?”
The waiter called back, “Ay, gotcha!”
Alcor blinked at her like she’d rearranged the stars.
“…You’re crying,” she whispered.
He scrubbed his face quickly.
“No—no, it’s just… I didn’t think anyone would… think of something like that.”
Emilia tilted her head.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
He had no answer.
The toast arrived.
The mayo gleamed.
Alcor took one small bite—
—and something inside him eased.
His shoulders sagged.
His breath softened.
It wasn’t food.
It was proof that the world once held warmth for him.
He ate quietly, reverently.
Emilia’s soup cooled while she watched with gentle patience.
When he finished—licking a tiny smear of mayo from his thumb—she asked softly:
“Feel better?”
“…Yeah.”
When the bill came, he checked Felix’s stolen coin pouch—hands trembling for a moment before he steadied them.(AN: wonder if felix felt any disturbance in the force.)
The waitress winked.
“Aight, sweetheart. Y’two enjoy the night, ya hear?”
Alcor flushed.
Emilia beamed.
The spirits sparkled.
They stepped out into the cool Ivada night.
A city of lanterns awaited.
The inn smelled faintly of sandalwood and old carpets—the kind that creaked like they were gossiping every time someone stepped on them.
Behind the counter stood the same middle-aged woman from before, her collapsing-beehive hairstyle somehow looking more exasperated than ever. She glared at them like she remembered exactly how difficult they had been earlier.
“Oh… it’s you two again,” she muttered. “Rooms are expensive this season—still.”
Alcor blinked. “We… already paid for the room.”
Emilia tilted her head, smiling politely but sharply. “Yes. The room is rented. Coins exchanged. Keys in hand. We do have the room, ma’am. What you’re talking about now—” she tapped the ledger—“is nonsensical.”
The woman’s face flushed with horror. “Nonsensical? Nonsense?! But… but the—”
Alcor tugged at her sleeve, whispering frantically, “Emilia, it’s fine, we can just—”
“No,” she said, voice soft but absolutely firm. “We will pay only the agreed, fair amount. Nothing extra. Or we will go to the inn across the street. The one with the prettier curtains and receptionist who doesn’t act like we’re trying to rob her every time we blink.”
The woman’s shoulders slumped. “…Fine. Fine! Standard rate. No more fees.”
Coins were exchanged like a duel with invisible swords—careful, tense, and very, very relieved.
Emilia gave the counter a tiny approving pat, the kind one reserves for a stubborn child who finally did the right thing. Alcor tugged her gently, ready to escape the scene before anything else happened.
—but of course, that was when the cough came.
“Ahem! One more thing,” the woman called, voice regaining a flicker of confidence. “There is… a stair-usage fee. Very important. Official.”
Alcor froze.
Emilia turned like a glacier deciding whether to nudge a rock. “Stair. Usage. Fee?”
“Yes-yes,” the woman said, nervously. “The stairs suffer wear and tear—”
“Your stairs,” Emilia said softly, cutting through the pretense, “are made of stone.”
The woman blinked.
“If you charge us that,” Emilia continued with angelic patience masking a quiet threat, “we will leave. Walk across the street. Take the other inn. With carpets. And prettier ribbons.”
The beehive collapsed in spirit.
“No fee! Free stairs! Free everything except the room! Please—enjoy!”
Emilia nodded, patting the counter one last time, sealing the victory, while Alcor led her away muttering about heart attacks and Kararagi customer service.
Now that then two hearts had filled stomachs, the glaring situation finally dawned to them.
Their room was tiny but cozy—a small window glowing with lanternlight from the street below, a wooden chair, one little dresser…
…and one bed.
One.
Alcor stopped dead in the doorway.
“Oh.”
His voice cracked.
“I—I’ll take the chair.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you should take the bed.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to… um… impose?”
“Why?”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Emilia exhaled through her nose, grabbed him gently but firmly by the shoulders, and guided him inside like a stern but affectionate instructor.
“Sit.”
He sat.
She planted herself in front of him with hands on hips.
“Alcor. You are a dunderhead.”
“…What?”
“A complete, total dunderhead,” she repeated, nodding with full conviction.
He laughed, flustered. “You can’t just—”
“No! Listen.”
She pointed at him dramatically.
“You keep making decisions based on what other people might feel instead of saying what you feel.”
He tried to speak—
“I’m not done.”
He shut his mouth immediately.
“Feelings need space,” Emilia lectured, pacing with the grace of someone who absolutely did not attend school but watched teachers from afar.
“If you don’t give them space, they get cramped. And cramped feelings get grumpy. And grumpy feelings cause trouble. Or get stuck and make you sad.”
She nodded to herself, satisfied.
Yet inside—
quiet, small, private—
another thought moved through her:
He keeps shrinking himself…
Like he thinks he’s a problem.
Like he thinks he doesn’t deserve to take up space beside anyone… even me.
She returned to her “serious teacher” stance.
“So! You must say what you want. Even small things. Especially small things.
If you want the bed, say it.
If you want mayonnaise, say it.
If you’re tired, say it.
If something hurts, say it.
If you miss something, say it.”
Her cheeks puffed.
“And if you like something, say it.”
He swallowed.
“So… I should talk more?” he asked, unsure.
“Yes!” Emilia bopped his forehead gently.
“Because you’re not a ghost or a shadow. You’re Alcor. And your feelings matter. They deserve to be heard.”
She hesitated—
then added decisively:
“And also… you need to learn how to be a good boy.”
Alcor choked.
Then snorted.
Then burst into helpless laughter, hiding his face in his hands.
“Emilia—ha—no— you can’t just say ‘good boy’ with that face—!”
She turned red.
“What face?! I have a normal face!”
“It’s the teacher face!”
“I do NOT have a teacher face!”
“You absolutely do!”
“Alcor you nincompoop!”
She lunged to poke him.
He dodged.
She chased him in tiny angry circles.
They ended up collapsing onto the bed—
one on each end—
laughing breathlessly.
The spirits drifted around them like warm little stars.
Elektra buzzed lazily.
Sterope glimmered lightly.
Maia curled at Alcor’s cheek.
Alcyone settled by Emilia’s shoulder like a tiny guardian.
Emilia tucked the blanket under her chin.
“See?” she said softly. “Talking is good.”
Alcor exhaled, voice warm.
“…Thank you. For the lecture.”
“You’re welcome,” she said sweetly.
“Dunderhead.”
He chuckled again.
The city lanterns flickered outside their window.
And for the first time in a long while—
they slept peacefully.
Chapter 6: The Arms and The Forest
Chapter Text
Subaru woke to the sound of his own breathing.
Shallow.
Uneven.
Like a man pulling air through smoke.
The dream still clung to him—fire chewing up his legs, screams clawing at his ears, hands dragging him somewhere he couldn’t escape. He bolted upright, chest heaving.
No flames.
No ropes.
Just a dim inn room and a morning far too quiet.
He pressed a shaking palm to his sternum, whispering,
“…just a dream. Just another one.”
But his body didn’t believe it.
He rubbed his eyes and forced himself to look at the bed.
Emilia lay beside him, turned slightly toward him, one hand loosely curled toward his sleeve—like she had fallen asleep reaching for him without realizing it. Her hair, darkened by the dye he’d used, spilled in loose waves across the pillow, catching faint streaks of silver like moonlight trapped in ink.
So peaceful.
So trusting.
So utterly undeserved.
Subaru folded his arms around his knees and buried his face against them.
“…Why are you still here?” he whispered. “Why didn’t you run? Why didn’t you leave me?”
His voice scraped thin and small.
“I should be the last person you trust. I ruined everything. I always ruin everything.”
He didn’t notice the way his nails dug into his skin until—
The crystal beside the bed snapped open.
Light burst out like startled birds.
Maia rammed into his shoulder with a scolding thunk.
Elektra circled the bed in a furious red streak.
Sterope hummed a trembling chord of warning and worry.
Alcyone wrapped cool mana around his wrists, gently unwinding the damage before he could finish it.
Subaru blinked in the sudden glow.
“…you guys…”
Elektra sparked sharply against his forehead.
“OW—okay! Sorry!”
Maia headbutted his cheek.
Sterope hovered close, vibrating with disappointment.
Alcyone nudged his fingers away from his own arms.
He exhaled weakly.
“…Thanks. Really.”
The spirits dimmed a little, satisfied.
Subaru stepped quietly out of bed so he wouldn’t wake Emilia and slipped into the hallway.
The inn hallway was cold and silent except for the soft creak of old boards. Subaru went to the washroom, splashed water on his face, and forced his breath into something resembling calm.
He lifted his gaze to the mirror.
A stranger stared back.
Peppered hair from stress.
Hollow eyes that didn’t know how to smile anymore.
A mouth that only curved up when someone begged him to pretend.
He lifted his cheeks with both hands, making himself smile.
The moment he let go—
flat. Empty.
“…Is she really okay with me?” he whispered. “Am I forcing her again without meaning to? Is she just… too kind to tell me to go away?”
The memory of dragging her from that ruined camp burned behind his ribs.
“I said I’d protect her,” he choked. “But I’ve only dragged her into danger. Over and over.”
His fist pressed to his forehead.
“Just get her somewhere safe. Somewhere better. Then you disappear.”
The thought carved him open.
But it was the only answer he trusted himself with.
He stepped out of the washroom—
—and stopped.
A bright, well-drawn map of Kararagi hung along the wall.
Cities marked in vivid ink.
Trade routes drawn bold and clear.
And there—right at the heart—
BANAN.
Subaru stared.
He remembered whispers from merchants. Half-conversations among Roswaal’s workers. Travelers at fairs.
Kararagi was…
Modern.
Trade-heavy.
Far less obsessed with nobility.
More tolerant of people, demihumans—everyone.
And most importantly:
“Slavery’s illegal. They crack down hard.”
A place that didn’t punish Emilia’s face.
Didn’t fear her heritage.
Didn’t whisper witch.
A place she could breathe.
“I’ll take her there,” he whispered. “She can start something new.”
He swallowed.
“And then I’ll leave.”
The words tasted like rust.
But he turned away from the map, because looking at hope hurt too much.
Elektra and Alcyone floated to him, chiming with little sparks of urgency.
“You woke her?”
Two nods.
“Good. Stay with her. I’ll prep Patrasche.”
They zipped off.
Subaru stepped into the stable yard.
Patrasche perked up immediately. She scanned him with that piercing, intelligent gaze and then nudged him—hard—below the ribs.
“Ow—okay, okay, I know. I look like trash.”
She huffed, unimpressed.
He leaned into her warmth for just a moment.
“…Thanks for not giving up on me,” he whispered. “Even when I can’t figure out how to not give up on myself.”
Patrasche grumbled, scandalized he’d even suggest such a thing.
He laughed under his breath.
“Right. Today we start heading toward Banan. For her sake.”
Patrasche’s eyes narrowed—half agreement, half warning.
“And after that…”
He looked away.
“…I’ll figure out how to disappear without hurting her.”
Patrasche glared in full offense.
Subaru pretended not to see it.
“Let’s get ready.”
Morning light had barely softened the sky when they rode out.
Emilia climbed up behind him on Patrasche, her dyed hair shimmering like polished night.
“It’ll take a few days,” Alcor said quietly.
“That’s fine,” she answered. “We’re together.”
Together.
The word cut him and soothed him at the same time.
They left Ivada behind. The city shrank into warm colors behind the hills as the land shifted—Kararagi’s red plateaus rising sharply in the distance.
Sparse forests.
Thorny undergrowth.
A wilder scent to the air.
Emilia leaned closer to hear him over the wind as he explained the route he had pieced together—plateau path, forest pass, the trade road to Banan. She listened with quiet attention.
Hours passed.
Patrasche slowed.
“The forest is… quiet today,” Emilia murmured.
“Yeah,” Alcor muttered. “Too quiet.”
It happened fast.
Figures stepped out from the trees—six, seven, maybe more.
Hard eyes.
Ugly grins.
Coarse weapons.
One rolled a crystal between his fingers like a coin.
Slavers.
A chill washed through Emilia. Subaru felt her grip the saddle—not fear; something darker. Deeper.
“Well, well,” one man sneered. “Pretty little nightly-haired maiden and her mean-eyed boy. Good coin today.”
Emilia went rigid.
Alcor exhaled slowly.
“…Emilia, don’t hurt them too badly.”
She nodded sharply. “I know.”
They attacked.
The first rushed forward—
Emilia swept her hand and thin frost spears slashed across his arm, dropping him with a cry but stopping short of crippling.
Another lunged—
Elektra flared above Alcor, blasting his leg with fire and knocking him down.
Maia spun, summoning a gust that sent two slavers staggering.
Sterope glowed, buffing Alcor’s legs just enough to let him dodge the next strike by inches.
Alcyone formed floating shards of cold, warning back anyone who neared Emilia.
They were winning—
Until the man with the crystal stepped forward.
“I’m ending this.”
He flicked it.
The bright-red fire crystal hit the ground.
Subaru’s stomach dropped.
He grabbed Emilia around the waist and dove.
The explosion scorched earth and bark behind them. Patrasche skidded back, snarling.
Smoke swallowed everything.
The spirits had to retract back to their shared crystal.
Hands grabbed them through the haze.
Strong ones.
Two slavers pinned Emilia’s arms.
Another twisted Alcor’s shoulder until something popped.
She struggled, voice cracking. “Let go of him!”
He tried to fight—but the world felt distant. Slow. Muffled.
Somewhere far away, he heard Emilia struggling. “Let go of him—! Stop it!”
And then something inside him—
Went cold.
Slothful.
Numb.
Hollow.
The opposite of panic.
The opposite of fear.
A quiet resignation that curdled into something sharp.
All his life, he’d been waiting—waiting for someone to hold his hand, to pull him out, to save him first. To notice he was breaking.
And every time, he’d failed.
Failed to save anyone.
Failed to be enough.
Failed to be the one who stood up instead of relying on others.
If he wanted someone to hold his hand—
He should have held theirs first.
It was this “SLOTH” he felt, for still pretending to believe that someone would hold his hand save him.
His breath fogged unnaturally.
Something cracked behind his eyes.
The miasma slipped out, oily and unseen.
And from behind him—
Hands.
Four at first.
Then six.
Then more—blurred outlines, incomplete shapes, warped and disjointed as if sketched wrong.
They slid around the slavers like shadows.
One hand clamped a throat.
Another twisted a wrist.
Another tore a weapon free and hurled it into the dirt.
Another pinned a man to a tree with such force bark cracked.
The slavers screamed as their limbs bent at angles they weren’t built to. Some collapsed. Others were smashed into trunks until they fell still. None died—but they wouldn’t stand for a while. Some bled. Some whimpered.
Emilia’s eyes went wide with horror.
“Alcor—stop!”
He froze.
“You wouldn’t do anything like this, Alcor! You need not feel wrath!”
The hands halted mid-air.
“You…” he said quietly, “don’t know anything about me.”
Emilia shook her head, breath trembling. “I may know enough.”
She looked straight into him—unflinching.
“When we chased each other yesterday, you held back. When you talked to the innkeeper, you were patient. When Patrasche nudged you this morning, you smiled even though you were hurting. And last night… you kept making sure I was okay, even when you weren’t.”
Her voice softened.
“You don’t like hurting people, Alcor.”
His throat tightened.
“Let them go,” she whispered. “If you let them go, that’s the proof.”
His breath hitched.
Agony twisted through him, thicker than the miasma.
But slowly—
One by one—
The shadowed hands withdrew.
Fading.
Flickering.
Leaving bruised, bloody slavers crumpled on the ground.
He felt sick.
Emilia stepped closer, gently touching his shoulder.
“No sorries,” she said firmly. “Not now. Focus on what’s here. Not the past.”
He swallowed, then nodded weakly.
They checked the slavers. Alive. Badly hurt. Definitely not getting up soon.
Emilia bit her lip. “I don’t want to leave them here… but…”
“I hate them too,” Alcor muttered. “But they’ll be found. Someone will pick them up. People always find trouble.”
He rummaged through the cart.
A pouch of Kararagian coins.
A few small crystals.
A ground dragon tethered to a post.
“Sorry,” he told the beast, cutting it free. “Find somewhere better.”
Patrasche grunted approvingly.
Alcor stuffed the coins into his pocket and turned back to Emilia.
“You okay?”
She nodded. “You?”
“…N- I am” he told her. “I’ll manage.”
Patrasche stomped the ground impatiently, wanting them mounted and moving.
“Right. Let’s get out of here,” he breathed. “The faster we reach Banan, the better.”
They rode on—
shaken, bruised, but alive—
toward the plateau, toward Banan, toward the place Subaru hoped would finally let her breathe.
The fierce ground dragon led.
The nightly-haired maiden held on.
The mean-eyed boy looked forward, not back.
Chapter Text
The plateaus of Kararagi were left behind quietly.
Not with triumph, nor with relief loud enough to echo, but with the simple act of continuing forward until the land changed beneath Patrasche’s feet and the air grew warmer, heavier with sound. Where the plateau had been wide and empty, the city of Banan rose like a living thing—layers of wood and stone stacked in practical defiance of the sun, banners strung between buildings, voices colliding and overlapping until the streets themselves seemed to hum.
It was bright.
Painfully so, in a way that made Emilia blink when they finally crossed into the city proper. Sunlight slid across tiled roofs and lacquered signboards, glinting off metal charms and glass beads worn openly by passersby. Merchants called out from open stalls, laughter rang from somewhere down an alley, and the scent of oil, spice, and smoke tangled in the air.
A city alive enough to swallow them whole.
“That’s… a lot,” Emilia murmured, hands tightening briefly around the black cloak clasped at her throat.
Alcor glanced at her, then nodded once. “That’s good.”
She tilted her head. “It is?”
“The more noise there is, the less anyone listens,” he said. “Blending in starts with not standing out.”
As if on cue, Emilia exhaled, fingers loosening. Slowly, deliberately, she unclasped the heavy black cloak they had relied on through the roads and forests of Kararagi. The fabric slid from her shoulders, folded over her arms instead of hiding her shape entirely. Her hair—no longer silver-bright, but darkened and reshaped, bound and styled in a way that didn’t invite the wind to betray her—caught the light only faintly.
No gasps followed. No recoiling stares.
People passed her by without slowing.
Emilia’s shoulders eased, just a little.
Alcor, for his part, only pushed his hood back enough to free his line of sight, keeping it low and shadowed. He moved like someone used to watching corners, counting steps, listening more than speaking.
The mission was simple.
Be ordinary.
They left Patrasche at a modest stable near the city’s edge—nothing remarkable, nothing memorable—and entered the heart of Banan on foot. The streets narrowed and widened without pattern, bending around old buildings and newer ones alike. Cafés spilled out onto the road, low tables clustered beneath fabric awnings, patrons lounging as if time itself had agreed to slow down for them.
Alcor stopped.
“There,” he said quietly.
Emilia followed his gaze. “There…?”
“Find the most carefree person you can,” he instructed. “Someone who looks like they belong so deeply that the city would notice if they weren’t there.”
She frowned at the request, but nodded anyway, eyes moving carefully across the crowd.
A merchant arguing cheerfully with a customer. Too invested.
A pair of youths laughing too loudly. Trying too hard.
An old woman sipping tea, watching everything. Too observant.
Then she saw him.
He sat apart from the others, back resting against a wooden pillar outside the café, long legs stretched out without apology. Smoke curled lazily upward from the long pipe between his teeth, the kiseru held not delicately but with careless familiarity. His kimono was dark, worn like it had seen better days and didn’t care. Tall—taller than Alcor by a noticeable margin—and broad enough that even relaxed, he took up space.
His face was unmistakably lupine, but not sharp like a hunting hound’s. Black hair framed it loosely, ears twitching now and then as if responding to sounds no one else noticed. His eyes, though, were almost always narrowed, giving him a look closer to a fox basking in the sun than a wolf on alert.
He laughed at something someone said nearby, the sound low and unrestrained.
“That one,” Emilia said softly. “He looks… comfortable.”
Alcor watched him for a moment longer than necessary, something unreadable passing behind his eyes.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s our man.”
They approached together.
The wolf demi-human noticed them before they spoke—those narrow eyes shifting just enough to acknowledge their presence. He took another slow draw from his kiseru before speaking.
“Well now,” he said, voice easy, amused. “You two look like travelers who haven’t decided whether to sit down or run away yet.”
Alcor inclined his head slightly. “We were hoping to sit.”
The wolf man’s gaze flicked between them, lingering a heartbeat longer on Emilia—not with suspicion, but with curiosity—and then he shrugged.
“Suit yourselves. Chairs are for customers, but I’m generous today.”
Emilia sat first. Alcor followed.
Up close, the man smelled faintly of smoke and something herbal. His presence was… disarming. Not because he lacked strength—Emilia could feel it coiled beneath the laziness—but because he wore it like an afterthought.
“I’m looking for information,” Alcor said, keeping his tone light. Approachable. “About the city. About staying.”
The wolf man hummed. “Aren’t we all. Banan’s the kind of place people come to forget where they started.”
His eyes sharpened just a fraction. “You moving around a lot?”
Alcor hesitated.
Just barely.
Emma noticed—and answered smoothly. “Yes. We’re thinking of settling somewhere quieter. Somewhere that doesn’t ask too many questions.”
That earned them a grin.
“Well now,” the wolf man said, straightening just enough to seem interested. “You picked the right city to ask the wrong questions in.”
He tapped ash from his kiseru. “Name’s Hal. Some folks call me Hal-san, if they’re feeling polite.”
“Alcor,” he replied. “And this is Emma.”
“Pretty name,” Hal said, without leering, without weight. Just an observation. “Both of you.”
They spoke for a while after that—about Kararagi’s customs, about how Banan never truly slept, about which districts were loud and which were dangerous in quieter ways. Hal talked easily, laughed often, and asked questions that felt casual but landed precisely.
At one point, he tilted his head. “You ever been to Priestella?”
Alcor’s breath caught.
Just enough.
“No,” Emilia said immediately, smile gentle, final. “We haven’t.”
Hal’s grin widened, eyes slitting further. “Shame. Or maybe not.”
Eventually, he leaned back, exhaling smoke toward the sky. “If you’re looking for a place to stay… I manage a few properties. Nothing fancy. Nothing official enough to bite you later.”
The price he named was absurd.
Alcor didn’t even blink.
“That’ll work,” he said.
Hal raised a brow. “Didn’t even haggle?”
Alcor smiled thinly. “For now.”
For now, because this was temporary.
For now, because this wasn’t meant to last.
For now, because leaving was still part of the plan.
Emilia didn’t see that part.
Hal clapped his hands together once. “Then welcome to Banan. Try not to disappear too suddenly. Makes tenants nervous.”
As they stood to leave, the wolf man watched them with quiet interest—like someone checking the weather before a storm, unsure whether it would pass or break.
Blending in had begun.
And for the first time since the plateau, the city did not push back.
The house Halibel rented to them was… unexpected.
Not large, not luxurious, but tidy in a way that suggested intention rather than effort. Polished wooden floors that didn’t creak underfoot, a narrow kitchen with just enough space for two people to argue politely in, and windows that let the afternoon sun in without putting the whole place on display.
Alcor stood in the entryway for a long moment, arms folded.
“…He really doesn’t look like the type,” he muttered.
Emilia, already kneeling to set down the baskets she’d brought back from the market, glanced up. “The type for what?”
“For owning property,” he said flatly. “Or caring.”
From outside, Halibel’s voice drifted in through the open window.
“Oi. I heard that, Alcor-san! My heart’s wounded…”
Emilia giggled despite herself.
Settling in happened faster than either of them expected.
Emilia took to the house naturally, moving through it like she was afraid to disturb its balance, careful with each drawer, each shelf. She returned from the market with vegetables, spices, and unfamiliar ingredients she picked up purely because the vendor smiled at her.
Cooking, however, was another matter.
Alcor stood beside her at the counter, sleeves rolled up, staring down at a pot like it had personally wronged him.
“No, no,” he said, gently moving her hand away from the flame. “You don’t encourage the fire. You— you negotiate with it.”
Emilia blinked. “Negotiate?”
“Yes. Politely. With fear.”
She nodded solemnly. “I see.”
Five minutes later, the soup was slightly burnt and somehow still cold.
“…I’m sorry,” Emilia said, shoulders drooping.
Alcor stared at the result, then sighed. “It’s fine. I wasn’t exactly a master chef before either.”
“That’s not true,” she said, earnest. “You know a lot!”
He didn’t answer that.
Days passed like that—quiet, domestic, deceptively peaceful.
They grew familiar with the rhythm of the neighborhood. Halibel became a constant presence, lounging outside with his kiseru, offering commentary on everything from Emilia’s cooking experiments to Alcor’s perpetually tense posture.
One afternoon, as Halibel leaned against the fence watching Emilia hang laundry, he smirked.
“Y’know, Alcor-san, you’re a lucky man. Got yourself a diligent wife.”
Alcor shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “You’re a perv.”
Halibel laughed openly. “Ah, youth. So defensive.”
It was on that same day—when the jokes were easy and the air felt too calm—that Alcor finally asked.
“…Is there work around here?”
Halibel’s eyes flicked to him, interest sparking. “Oh? Finally tired of loafing?”
“I don’t loaf,” Alcor snapped. Then, quieter, “I just… don’t want to be useless.”
Halibel tapped ash from his pipe. “Public Employment Security Office. Town-approved. Go talk to Crane.”
Emma tilted her head. “Crane?”
“Small lizard man,” Halibel said. “Looks scary. Isn’t. Mostly.”
Alcor told Emilia to stay home.
She agreed.
He believed her for exactly ten minutes.
The Employment Office was a single-floor wooden building, modest and well-kept. Inside, a bulletin board covered one wall, plastered with neatly pinned requests—guard work, deliveries, investigations, odd jobs that ranged from mundane to unsettling.
Behind a desk sat a broad-shouldered lizard demi-human with dull green scales and tired eyes.
Crane Donahue looked up as Alcor approached.
“…You lost?” he asked.
“No,” Alcor said quickly. “I’m here to work.”
Crane squinted at him. “You look like a lost child.”
Alcor bristled. “I’m capable.”
“Mm,” Crane muttered, jotting something down. “Dimwit.”
Alcor pretended not to hear it and proceeded to ask every question possible—what if he failed, what if someone got hurt, what if the job went wrong, would he be liable, would he owe compensation, what were the consequences—
Crane sighed deeply. “Kid. If you’re this scared of messing up, you shouldn’t be here.”
Alcor’s hands clenched. “I need to know.”
Crane studied him for a long moment before pulling out a sheet.
“There’s been disappearances. Murders. City outskirts. Investigation job.”
Alcor hesitated.
Then he felt it—eyes on him.
He turned.
Emilia stood near the doorway, a bag of vegetables in her arms. Halibel loomed behind her, looking far too entertained.
Alcor’s heart jumped. “Emi-Emma?! What are you doing here?”
She smiled apologetically. “I went shopping. Halibel-san insisted on joining me.”
“Someone’s gotta keep the lady safe,” Halibel said, chuckling. “Besides, I was curious.”
Alcor shot him a glare.
Emilia noticed the paper in his hand. “…What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Alcor said too quickly.
She stepped closer, read it anyway. “Investigation… disappearances?”
“I don’t need help,” he said immediately.
“I want to come,” Emilia replied just as quickly.
Crane snorted. Halibel laughed.
“Ahh, young love,” Halibel said. “Dangerous jobs, shared trauma—classic.”
Alcor snapped. “Do you know this playboy?”
Halibel’s ears perked up. “Playboy! Playboy! Now that has a lovely ring to it. ‘The Eternal Playboy’… yeah, I like that.”
“What’s bad,” Alcor said flatly, “is that you actually like it.”
Crane shook his head. “You made it big, kid.” He seemed to be gazing at the wolf landlord.
Alcor exhaled slowly, then looked at Emilia.
“…Fine,” he said. “We’ll take it. Together.”
Emilia smiled—not triumphant, but relieved to be with peppered hair boy.
And just like that, the illusion of peace cracked—softly, quietly—enough to let danger seep back in.
Dawn came gently to Banan.
Not with alarms or screams or urgency, but with light—soft gold slipping between tiled roofs, warming the stone streets, stirring the city awake like a careful hand brushing sleep from someone’s eyes. Merchants lifted shutters. Footsteps began to overlap. Somewhere, laughter carried.
Alcor hated how peaceful it was.
He walked beside Emilia through streets that were already alive, hood pulled low, posture easy in the way he had learned to fake. Blend in. Don’t stand out. Be another ordinary man walking with his wife at an early hour, nothing more.
Emma walked half a step ahead of him.
She had insisted on coming.
Not loudly. Not stubbornly. Just with that quiet, immovable certainty she had when she decided something mattered. Her cloak was lighter today, her movements less guarded, but Alcor still watched every passing face, every shadow, every reflection in glass.
He told himself it was habit.
The public employment office sat at the edge of a wider street, a wooden building that looked more like a town hall than anything official. Its door was already open, voices drifting out in low murmurs. A simple sign hung above it—clean, well-maintained, unassuming.
Normal.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of ink and old paper.
Crane Donahue stood behind the counter, massive arms folded, tail swaying slowly behind him as he scanned a ledger. The bloated lizardman looked up when they entered, yellow eyes narrowing slightly—not in suspicion, but in appraisal.
He sighed.
“…Morning.”
“Good morning,” Emma replied immediately, bowing just a little too deeply.
Alcor flinched internally. Too polite. Too noticeable. But Crane only grunted, scratching at the side of his jaw.
“Back already, huh? You two move fast.”
Alcor nodded. “We were told to come early.”
Crane snorted. “You were. Most don’t listen.”
He turned, rummaging through a stack of papers before sliding one free and tapping it against the counter. A map, roughly sketched, edges worn.
“Disappearances,” Crane said. “Not new. But they’ve gotten closer together. Same pattern. Same area.”
He spread the map open.
A cluster of marks circled a section near the edge of the city—older buildings, unused routes, places people avoided without really knowing why.
Emma leaned in, brows knitting.
“…They’re all near each other.”
“Sharp eye,” Crane muttered. “Last one was yesterday. Dawn patrol found blood. No body.”
Alcor’s fingers curled slightly at his side.
“Is this… a monster?” Emma asked softly.
Crane shrugged. “Could be. Could be people. Kararagi doesn’t lack either.”
He glanced at Alcor. “Job’s dangerous. You sure you want it?”
Alcor opened his mouth.
“I do.”
Emma’s voice was steady. Certain.
Crane raised a brow. “Both of you?”
“Yes,” she said. “We’ll be careful.”
Alcor turned toward her, startled. “Emma—”
She didn’t look at him. Her hand brushed his sleeve, grounding. A quiet promise, not a debate.
Crane watched the exchange for a moment, then huffed. “Young love.”
Alcor bristled. “It’s not—”
“Save it,” Crane cut in. “You’re not going alone anyway.”
That made Alcor freeze.
“…What?”
“Partner assignment,” Crane said, already turning away. “Should be here any second.”
As if summoned by the words, the door creaked open again.
Light spilled in, framing a figure standing uncertainly at the threshold.
She was smaller than Alcor expected. Blonde hair, unevenly cut, tied back loosely. Practical gear, worn but cared for. She hesitated, then stepped inside with an apologetic smile.
“Um—hi. I was told to come here for… the investigation?”
Her voice was warm. A little shy.
Crane jerked his chin toward her. “That’s them.”
She turned.
Her eyes met Emma’s first, brightening immediately.
“Oh! You must be— wow, you look really put together,” she said, then flushed. “Sorry. I’m Mirel.”
Emma blinked, then smiled back. “I’m Emma. This is Alcor.”
Mirel’s gaze shifted to him. She tilted her head slightly, studying him with open curiosity, no fear.
“Nice to meet you,” she said. “You look… dependable.”
Alcor didn’t know how to respond to that.
Crane slapped the counter once. “Introductions later. You three will work together. Last known disappearance is here.”
He tapped the map.
“Report back before nightfall.”
Mirel nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir.”
Emilia leaned closer to Alcor, whispering, “She seems nice.”
He didn’t answer.
Something was wrong.
He couldn’t place it. No looks of knights. No pressure. No immediate threat. And yet—his chest felt tight, like a warning caught between heartbeats.
They stepped back outside together.
The city noise swallowed them again. Mirel walked between them, chatting lightly, asking about Banan, about where they were from, laughing when Emma teased her for nearly walking the wrong direction twice.
“I’m terrible with directions,” Mirel admitted sheepishly. “I just sort of… follow people who seem like they know where they’re going.”
Emilia laughed softly. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It’s worked so far!” Mirel finished brightly.
Alcor huffed before he could stop himself.
“…You’re a little dumb, aren’t you.”
The words came out blunt, but not sharp. More tired than cruel.
Mirel blinked—then laughed, rubbing the back of her head. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”
Emma glanced between them, lips twitching despite herself. “You say that very casually.”
“I’ve learned to,” Mirel replied. “Life’s easier when you don’t pretend.”
Alcor watched her from beneath his hood.
There was something familiar about her looseness. Not reckless—just unguarded. Like someone who’d learned to survive without building walls first.
She’s like Felt, he thought distantly.
But… gentler. Like someone who apologizes before stealing your bread.
They walked on, footsteps falling into a rhythm.
“So,” Emma said after a moment, tilting her head. “You said you follow people who look like they know where they’re going. Why’s that?”
Mirel slowed slightly.
“Oh. That.”
She didn’t stop smiling, but it softened—edges rounding off, becoming smaller.
“I don’t really remember where I’m from,” she said. “Or who I used to be. Just… woke up one day, got my name, knew how to fight, knew how not to starve.” She shrugged. “The rest was gone.”
The nightly haired maiden’s breath caught.
Alcor stiffened.
“I was told I lost my memories,” Mirel continued, tone light but careful, like stepping around glass. “Something about an incident. No family came looking. No one claimed me. So I figured… I get to decide who I am now.”
“That’s…” Emma hesitated. “…very brave.”
Mirel laughed again, softer this time. “Or very convenient. Depends on the day, big sis.”
She looked at them, eyes bright, curious. “What about you two? You feel like you’ve been running a while.”
Alcor opened his mouth—
Then closed it.
Emma answered instead, her voice steady. “We’re… starting over.”
Mirel smiled at that. Not prying. Not pressing.
“I like that,” she said. “Starting over sounds nice.”
They turned down a narrower street.
Cracked stone, weeds clawing through the seams, walls bent inward like something had tried to crawl out and failed. Alcor slowed without realizing it, his body responding before his mind could justify the fear crawling up his spine.
Something was wrong.
His heart skipped.
The world tilted.
“Emma—” His voice came out hoarse. “Take her and leave. Now.”
Emilia turned instantly, alarm flashing across her face. “Cor, what are you—are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” he lied, teeth clenched. “Please. Just go.”
Mirel blinked between them. “Big bro…?”
Before Alcor could answer—
A scream tore through the street.
It was Mirel’s.
The air split apart.
Wind howled, sharp and violent, not pushing but cutting, carving space itself into jagged shards. Mirel was already moving, sword flashing as instinct took over—but instinct meant nothing here.
The woman stood ahead of her.
Thin. Pale. Wrapped in black so deep it devoured light. Her kimono hung loose, shortened, exposing long white legs planted calmly against shattered stone. She was unarmed, empty-handed—and utterly still.
Her eyes lifted.
They burned.
Not rage. Not madness.
Focus.
“Die.”
The wind answered.
Mirel’s sword never touched flesh. The blade passed through empty air as her body was taken apart, head severed cleanly and thrown aside, her torso flung backward like a discarded doll.
Alcor didn’t breathe.
His own neck opened.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
—
He was back on the road.
Emilia was screaming his name.
Wind roared again.
Pain erased him.
—
Again.
Again.
Fragments—blood, ice, hands failing to form, Emma’s voice breaking mid-syllable.
The loop snapped only when Alcor forced it to.
Enough.
“Run forward!” he shouted, already moving backward. “Don’t stop—if something moves, hit it from range!”
Emma didn’t argue. She seized Mirel’s arm and pulled her forward, teeth clenched, eyes wet but focused.
The pressure in Alcor’s gut detonated.
“Unseen—HANDS!”
Five shadowy arms erupted from his body, warped and half-defined, their edges unstable, wrong. They slammed into the woman from multiple angles, gripping her limbs, pinning her to the cracked wall behind her.
For a moment—
It worked.
“Emilia—now!”
Ice sang through the air.
Dozens of razor-thin icicles formed in an instant, streaking forward and nailing the woman’s sleeves, thighs, and shoulders to the stone, freezing fabric and flesh alike. Frost exploded outward, locking joints, sealing movement.
Alcor tightened the Hands, feeling resistance—less pain feedback than before, more pressure, more damage.
“She’s restrained,” he said sharply. “Finish it!”
Mirel didn’t hesitate.
She charged, sword raised high, face twisted with determination and terror.
The blade fell—
And stopped.
The woman moved.
Not fast.
Precise.
Her head tilted just enough that the sword passed where her neck had been. Wind screamed at point-blank range, cracking the ice, tearing through Alcor’s grip.
Alcor reacted instantly.
“Get back!”
Two Hands slammed into Mirel’s chest, throwing her clear as the woman’s counterattack detonated. Wind blades tore through the space Alcor occupied a heartbeat later, shredding shadow and flesh alike.
He wrapped himself in the remaining Hands, forming a writhing cocoon.
It wasn’t enough.
Cuts opened across his arms, his side, his cheek. Blood soaked through his clothes as invisible blades forced their way through, carving him up piece by piece.
Emma screamed.
“ALCOR!”
She ran toward him—
Despair hit her like ice water.
She was too far.
He was bleeding.
The woman stepped forward.
A hand rested on Emma’s shoulder.
“That’s enough.”
The air changed.
Cold rolled outward—not freezing, not killing—commanding.
Steel rang as the wind bit something it couldn’t devour.
A tall figure stepped past Emma, black kimono swaying, a golden kiseru held casually between sharp teeth.
“Yes yes,” he said lightly. “That was cutting it close, huh, Cor-san.”
Alcor stared through blood-blurred vision.
“…Hal…ibel…?”
“I get why you’re curious fella now,” the wolf-man replied, already turning toward the woman. “But we’ll save explanations for later.”
He took a step forward.
“It’d be hard to fight that girl.”
The woman didn’t acknowledge him.
“Die.”
Wind collapsed inward, forming a sphere of annihilation that lunged straight for Halibel.
Halibel’s hand flicked.
Something flashed—too fast to see.
The wind detonated elsewhere, tearing into stone far behind him.
“It doesn’t matter if I can’t see it,” Halibel said calmly. “My nose works just fine.”
For the first time, the woman’s gaze shifted.
“Oh,” Halibel murmured. “So you finally noticed me.”
“Die.”
Wind erupted again—faster, denser, overlapping waves meant to erase him.
Halibel moved.
Not dodging.
Dismantling.
He stepped between gusts, intercepting with thrown steel, misdirecting pressure, letting the wind chew into objects he sacrificed deliberately. His movements were lazy, almost bored, yet impossibly precise.
Then he laughed.
“Hoho. Which me would you like to kill?”
His body split.
Four Halibels stood where one had been, each smoking, each real.
“My strength isn’t divided,” one said.
“It’s multiplied,” another added.
“I begged for siblings once, and here they are!” said the third.
“That was a lie,” said the fourth.
The woman hesitated.
That hesitation cost her.
Three kunai flew.
Two were deflected by wind.
The third curved—and buried itself between her shoulder blades.
She staggered, let out a thin sound, then leapt backward, vanishing into the city’s shadows.
Silence returned in pieces.
Halibel exhaled smoke. “Guess one should be fine for now.”
He turned, grinning. “Halibel the Admirer. Just the strongest swordsman and an eternal playboy in Kararagi.”
Alcor stared at him, stunned.
“Emma-san,” Halibel added casually, “check the blonde.”
Mirel stirred immediately, groaning, eyes fluttering open.
Mirel sustained no injuries whatsoever.
But relief barely had time to exist.
Alcor’s knees buckled.
He collapsed.
“ALCOR!”
Emilia caught him as he fell, blood staining her hands, eyes wide with terror.
The street spun.
Darkness took him.
Notes:
What do you guys think of the oc mirel? She could be important in the future…