Training Grounds, Surrounded by shimmering magic-sealing barriers.
Dust swirled in the stillness.
Eiji rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck with a half-hearted sigh. "You sure about this, Miya? I mean, I know I'm irresistible and all, but if you wanted to punch me, there are less violent ways to flirt."
Across from him, Miya Tsukihiro didn't even blink. Her gaze was the same deadpan glacier it always was—calm, unreadable, and utterly unimpressed.
"You're not irresistible. You're insufferable."
"Ah, close enough."
The two stood in the middle of the training ground, the others watching from the sidelines. Seraphina leaned against a tree, arms crossed, eyes quietly dissecting every move like a queen assessing her flawed knights.
"Begin," Ayaka called flatly.
No warning, no countdown.
Miya vanished.
Eiji ducked just as a blade of wind-carved through where his neck had been. "Woah! Okay, she's not holding back—good to know!"
Miya didn't answer. She flicked her wrist, and the wind changed. A cluster of needles—ice this time—shot toward him. Eiji rolled to the side, caught his footing, then skidded back, panting.
"You know," he wheezed, "I thought sparring was supposed to have a learning curve. Not murder."
"You've had more than enough time to learn," Miya replied coolly, stepping forward. Her motions were graceful, like a dancer—but every step radiated lethal precision.
Eiji's sarcasm cracked—just a little.
"I'm not here to be your execution dummy," he growled, launching forward with an abyssal flame around his left fist.
She pivoted. One palm extended.
Wind condensed like a blade and met his fist mid-swing. The resulting impact sent shockwaves rippling through the arena.
Eiji stumbled back, coughing, his left sleeve torn and his cheek grazed. "Okay… noted. Don't punch the wind."
Miya narrowed her eyes. "Stop dodging. Fight seriously."
He blinked. "You're seriously lecturing me in the middle of trying to kill me?"
She moved again—faster this time.
He barely managed to parry her next strike by shifting the angle of his gauntlet, redirecting the air burst. Then he spun low, kicking up a shield of dust.
"Cheap tricks," Miya muttered.
"Creative tactics," he corrected with a grin, even as his arms trembled. His mana reserves were dipping. She wasn't just testing him. She was exposing him.
Weaknesses. Hesitations. Patterns.
And yet…
Despite everything, Miya hadn't gone for any vital points.
Not once.
Seraphina's eyes narrowed slightly at that observation.
As Eiji raised his fists again—unsteady but still smirking—Miya stood still, watching him. The wind around her had calmed.
"I don't get it," he said, exhaling. "You could've ended this ten moves ago."
"I'm not here to win," she replied quietly.
A pause.
"Then what are you—?"
"Don't get yourself killed," she said, almost too low to hear. "I won't be cleaning up your corpse."
Eiji blinked, his grin faltering.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then Miya turned away, walking off the field without another word.
"…Huh," Eiji muttered, brushing dust off his ripped uniform. "Was that… her way of saying she cares?"
From the sidelines, Amane cupped her mouth with both hands. "IT WAS!"
"Shut up," Miya called over her shoulder.
Seraphina smiled faintly.
And Eiji?
He stood taller. A little bruised, a little shaky.
But not backing down anymore.
Late afternoon at the Rear Camp, Amane's Medical Zone
The sun dipped lazily overhead, casting long shadows across the training island. Ayaka shouting at Riku echoed like a war drum somewhere in the distance. Nearby, Miya's wind magic lashed at dummies with cold fury.
And in the back—quietly, diligently—Amane Shirayuki was healing.
Her little corner of the island looked nothing like a battlefield. A soft, clean tarp lay spread over flattened grass. Wooden crates formed makeshift tables with vials, herbs, gauze, and spell-tagged crystals. A faint protective barrier shimmered above, cast not to ward off enemies—but to ward off noise.
Amane sat on her knees, brows furrowed as she hovered her glowing hands over a slight burn on her palm.
"Lumen–Reveria…"
The golden light flickered weakly, pulsing through her fingers. The burn mended slowly, but her breathing remained strained.
"Come on… even a Grade I spell shouldn't be this—"
"Yoohoo~ got room for one more patient?"
A loud, obnoxious voice cut through her focus like a cracked bell.
Amane looked up just as Eiji Kuroryuu ducked beneath the tarp flap—shirt half-ripped, a faint trail of blood dripping from his temple, and the world's dumbest grin plastered across his face.
She gasped. "Eiji-kun?! What happened?!"
"Miya happened," he said, holding up a peace sign. "Ten out of ten on the violence scale. Negative fifty on the cuddles."
"Sit," she snapped.
He blinked, then obeyed. "Yes, ma'am."
Amane pulled her kit close, hands already glowing as she tilted his face toward her. The cut wasn't deep, but his cheek had a nasty scrape, and the bruises on his arms looked like he'd been tossed around like a rag doll.
"Honestly," she muttered, voice trembling just enough to notice. "Why do you keep acting like this is fine? It's not fine. You're bleeding, Eiji-kun."
He gave a half-shrug. "Bleeding means I'm still alive. If I stop bleeding, then we panic."
"That's not funny."
"Didn't say it was."
A moment passed. She didn't speak again, but her hands were gentler now—hovering an inch above his wound as her magic poured through.
Eiji closed one eye and watched her in silence.
"You're good at this," he said quietly.
Her lips twitched. "It's the one thing I'm useful for."
Eiji frowned. "Don't say that."
She didn't look up. "It's true. Everyone's out there fighting. Ayaka's throwing people like ragdolls, Miya's practically a walking storm, Seraphina-sama never falters, and Riku—well, he keeps up. And me? I sit here and patch them up after they break."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Amane finally looked at him. "Isn't it?"
"No," Eiji replied simply. "It's the only reason half of us are still standing."
Her breath caught. She didn't cry—she never cried. But the look in her eyes softened, fragile, and warm.
"…You believe that?"
"I'm living proof, aren't I?" He gestured to his freshly-healed temple. "You've saved me more times than I can count. I mean, I wouldn't trust Ayaka with a healing spell. She'd probably use a sledgehammer."
Amane giggled—just a little.
"Thank you, Eiji-kun…"
He stretched his arms above his head, wincing. "You should stop thanking me for obvious truths. It starts to make me feel like a motivational speaker."
"…You could never be a motivational speaker."
"I'm wounded."
"Not anymore," she smiled faintly, lowering her hands.
He opened his eyes and looked at her.
Looked.
She had dark circles under her eyes. Her hands trembled slightly when she rested them on her knees. Her mana was flickering again. Not from overuse—but from doubt.
"You've been training too, haven't you?" he asked.
"I have to," she replied, avoiding his gaze. "If I can't keep up… I'll be left behind."
"You're not behind."
"I feel like I am."
The words came out like a confession. Raw. Honest. Almost guilty.
Eiji stood, dusted himself off, then leaned forward slightly.
"Then let me ask you something."
She tilted her head. "Hm?"
"I need a favor."
Amane blinked. "A… favor?"
He nodded. "Something for my training. It's weird. But you're the only one to help me pull it off."
Amane's eyes widened. "Me?"
"Yep."
"But… I'm not strong like—"
"I know that. And that's why I'm asking you."
The way he said it—firm, no sarcasm for once—shook something in her chest.
"You trust me?" she whispered.
"I wouldn't be asking otherwise."
He scratched the back of his neck. "Can't tell you what it is yet—need to test some stuff first. But… will you help me?"
She stared at him, then slowly nodded. "Then… I'll keep you alive too, Eiji-kun."
He gave a crooked grin. "Now that's the spirit."
From afar, Seraphina had been watching them.
She returned to her notes—battle assignments, mana charts, and strength curves.
But something about the way Amane was smiling now…
It was stronger than any stat she'd written.
And maybe—just maybe—Eiji had finally stopped pretending that this war was his alone.
Underground Dojo
"Hey. Sit there. Watch. And don't blink," Ayaka ordered, dragging Eiji by the collar like an unwilling housecat.
Eiji stumbled, waving his arms. "Wait, why am I—?"
"You need to see how real combat works," she said, shoving him onto a stone bench against the wall. "Not whatever dance recital you did with Miya."
Eiji raised a hand. "For the record, I survived that recital."
"Barely," Riku muttered, already at the center of the dojo, spinning a wooden bokken in his hand with smooth familiarity.
The underground dojo reeked of effort—sweat, dust, and old scars clinging to the walls. Half the lights flickered; a few training dummies leaned sideways like they'd already given up.
Ayaka grabbed her wooden sword and cracked her neck. "Riku. Full speed. No pulling back."
"Wasn't planning on it," Riku said flatly, stepping into stance.
"Good."
She lunged.
Their bokkens collided with a sharp crack, echoing off the stone walls like thunder. Eiji flinched and blinked rapidly.
Ayaka twisted, slamming an overhead strike. Riku blocked—but barely. He staggered, slid backward, then shifted into a sweeping arc that clipped her ribs.
"See that?" Ayaka barked mid-motion. "Footwork! Not flailing!"
"Thanks for the tutorial, Sensei Bruise-a-lot," Eiji muttered.
Riku's eyes narrowed. "You're wide open."
Ayaka grinned. "Try me."
Another burst—this time faster—Eiji leaned forward unconsciously. Their movement was chaotic but not sloppy. She was all muscle, aggression, and momentum. He was controlled, with minimal movement and redirection.
Still, they argued the entire time.
"You're overextending again," Riku snapped, parrying a sideways swipe.
"You're underestimating force," Ayaka retorted, slamming her shoulder into his chest.
They separated. Breathing hard. Circling.
"Are they trying to train or kill each other?" Eiji whispered to himself, eyes wide.
"They don't know the difference," came Seraphina's quiet voice. She stood at the edge of the entrance now, arms crossed, silent as a shadow.
Ayaka struck again—low feint, high twist. Riku blocked the high strike but caught a boot to the shin for his trouble. He hissed and backed off.
"This isn't a playground," Ayaka replied. "Adapt or fall."
Something in Riku's jaw tightened. His shoulders dropped a fraction. His stance shifted lower, tighter.
"…Fine. You want serious?"
He moved.
Not angry.
Focused.
He cut through the air with surgical precision. Ayaka parried, but this time, it wasn't easy. Their strikes blurred. Eiji could barely follow.
And then something strange began to happen.
The arguing… stopped.
Ayaka went for a high swing—Riku ducked and used her momentum to pivot around, sending her into a spin. She recovered instantly, adjusting to his counter and matching his rhythm.
Strike. Block. Counter. Retreat. Engage.
It wasn't graceful. It wasn't pretty.
But it was synced.
Eiji leaned forward, whispering, "Are they… reading each other?"
Seraphina's eyes narrowed slightly. "They're learning."
Not by talking. Not by planning.
By clashing.
Ayaka slammed a shoulder into Riku's gut—he grunted but didn't fall. Instead, he twisted her wrist, forcing her to step back.
"Nice counter," she said, breathless.
"You're still predictable on left feints."
"And you leave your right open after pivots."
The pace quickened.
Wooden swords clacked and scuffed across shoulders and backs. Bruises bloomed. Neither gave in.
But neither backed down either.
Until finally—
They struck at the same time.
Both blades halted an inch from each other's necks.
Silence.
Heavy breathing. Dust hanging in the air.
"…Draw," Riku muttered.
Ayaka huffed. "Tch. Barely."
Then, to everyone's surprise, she smiled.
Not smugly.
Proudly.
"You held your ground."
"You hit like a truck."
"You're not bad when
."
"You are also not ."
They stood in the middle of the room, battered, panting—and suddenly, not enemies.
Eiji blinked. "Did I just watch enemies-to-co-op speedrun?"
From the shadows, Seraphina stepped forward.
"That's enough," she said. "Both of you—well done."
They turned toward her, straightening instinctively.
"I didn't assign you two to vanguard positions for fun. I chose you because your flaws fill each other's gaps. "
Seraphina allowed a slight smirk. " keep it up. Your rhythm just now… that's what wins battles."
Ayaka crossed her arms. "Thank you for the compliment, sera."
Seraphina said, walking past them. "You get another round tomorrow."
Riku groaned. "Of course we do."
As they walked off, side by side—limping slightly, bruised but weirdly satisfied—Eiji remained on the bench, jaw slack.
"Man…" he murmured. "I'm starting to think I'm the weakest one here."
"Correct," Seraphina said, not missing a beat.
Eiji flailed. "Hey—!"
"But…" she added, "you're the most unpredictable. And that might be exactly what we need."
Private garden terrace.
The mansion's rear terrace lay secluded—several steps above the training fields and tucked behind walls of ivy and flowering vines—a stone path wound through pale lanterns, flickering gently against the onset of Evening.
Seraphina Falcor stood alone at the edge of the terrace, her back to the archway. The breeze tugged softly at her cape, golden threads catching the last light rays. She wasn't looking at the garden.
She was looking beyond it.
Or beneath it.
Footsteps approached.
Crunch.
Crunch.
Two shadows emerged from the corridor—limping, bruised, and unusually quiet.
Ayaka Ryuzen and Riku Shinseira, battered from their sparring session, walked in with the casual exhaustion of soldiers returning from a storm.
"Nice view," Ayaka muttered, rolling her shoulders. "Pity my left arm's numb."
"Be grateful it's still attached," Riku replied. "You almost snapped my collarbone."
Ayaka smirked. "Almost."
Seraphina didn't turn. She heard them. She always did.
"You're not here to admire the scenery," she said softly.
"No," Ayaka admitted, stepping forward. "We came to ask about… the other thing."
Now Seraphina turned—just slightly—her golden eyes meeting Ayaka's.
"The Crimson Wraith."
A silence fell between them.
A long one.
Only the distant hum of cicadas and the rustle of tree branches filled the air.
Seraphina's gaze drifted to the horizon again.
"You're planning everything," Ayaka said, voice low. "Positioning us. Assigning strategies. Watching Eiji. But you haven't mentioned him once."
"We don't need him," Seraphina replied.
Ayaka blinked. "You're sure?"
Seraphina's cape fluttered behind her as she approached the stone balcony. "We'll win without him. We must."
Riku frowned. "That thing… It's still sealed, right?"
His voice wasn't teasing. It was quiet. Careful.
Like a child asking if the nightmare in the basement was still locked behind the door.
"Yes," Seraphina answered, still facing away. "And it will stay that way."
Ayaka exhaled sharply. "Tch… You make it sound like he's a curse."
Seraphina's knuckles tightened slightly on the edge of the marble rail. Her voice softened, but her tone didn't lose its edge.
"He's not a curse," she said. "He's a storm I haven't released. A fire I haven't lit."
"But you could," Riku said carefully.
Seraphina didn't answer immediately. Then, quietly:
"Yes. I could."
Another gust of wind stirred the flowers behind them, petals fluttering into the darkening sky.
Ayaka walked beside her, arms crossed. "He's part of your peerage. He is one of us. Or was that just for paperwork?"
"He was one of us," Seraphina said. "But he chose silence. And I gave him that silence. You both know what happened."
Ayaka glanced at Riku.
They did.
Even if they weren't allowed to speak of it openly.
Even if the details were locked behind magic and silence, its weight still clung to the halls like smoke.
Riku leaned against the archway. "Do you think he's still the same?"
"No," Seraphina said.
She looked down at her hands, fingers tightening as if they remembered when they placed the final seal.
"He's stronger. But strength without control… is destruction."
Ayaka scoffed. "That hasn't stopped you from using us. We're not exactly saints, you know."
"You bleed," Seraphina replied, "but you don't lose yourselves."
Ayaka said nothing.
Riku looked away.
"That's the difference," Seraphina added, her voice low. "You step to the edge. He jumps."
The garden felt colder then. Or it could be the memory hanging in the air.
Far from the scene, Eiji would never have guessed that a member of Seraphina's peerage had been sealed like a weapon.
That someone too dangerous to control still waited beneath the surface of their team's calm exterior.
Ayaka shifted uncomfortably. "So we just… keep pretending he's not there?"
"No," Seraphina said. "We remember him. We respect what he was. And we move forward without relying on him."
Riku asked quietly, "Even if we're losing?"
Seraphina turned finally, facing them fully.
"If it ever comes to that," she said, her voice like steel wrapped in silk, "then I will be the one to unseal him. No one else. Not the council. Not the others. Only me."
Ayaka narrowed her eyes. "You're that confident?"
"I have to be," Seraphina replied. "Because the moment I'm not… he'll know."
Riku's expression darkened. "…He's awake down there, isn't he?"
Seraphina didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Ayaka folded her arms. "So this is your gamble."
"It's not a gamble," Seraphina said, stepping past them. "It's a decision."
She paused before disappearing into the corridor.
"And if I'm wrong…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
She didn't have to.
Because the thought of him—the Crimson Wraith—unleashed and unchained…
It wasn't a strategy.
It was a last resort.
As Seraphina's footsteps faded down the hall, Ayaka looked at the fading sky and muttered, "You ever get the feeling we're walking on a blade?"
Riku nodded. "Every damn day."
19:32 at Evening
At dining Table
The long table was half-filled, and the overhead chandelier cast warm golden hues over steaming bowls of rice, simmering stew, and untouched plates.
No one was eating.
The fatigue of the day didn't weigh on their limbs. It weighed on their silences.
Miya sat at the far end, away from the candlelight, her fingers carefully drawing precise runes into a small sheet of reinforced paper. Her chopsticks lay untouched on her tray. Beside her plate, a flickering orb of wind rotated like a slowly turning gear, each glyph glowing for half a second before fading into the next.
She wasn't hungry.
She was recalibrating.
Tuning herself the same way she did her magic arrays.
Across from her, Ayaka Ryuzen dipped her bruised hand into a bowl of ice water. She winced—but didn't stop. Her knuckles were swollen, wrapped in a medicated cloth with bitter herbs.
"Stubborn idiot," she muttered.
She didn't say Riku's name.
She didn't have to.
Riku sat a few seats down, scarfing his food like nothing had happened. But his eyes flicked toward Ayaka now and then, and each time they met, one would scoff or look away.
It was progressing in its messed-up way.
Near the middle of the table, Amane Shirayuki sat with a small photo frame in hand.
The frame was old—worn along the edges and slightly cracked from age and travel. In it stood Seraphina's peerage: Seraphina and Amane in the center, flanked by Ayaka, Miya, and Riku, standing behind them like a watchful pillar.
And next to Riku… a fifth figure.
Blurry. Faint. A boy. Motion blur partly obscured his face, like someone who didn't belong in the picture.
Amane stared at him for a long time.
Then, slowly, she smiled.
Her gaze drifted up to Eiji across the table. "You're not eating?"
Eiji blinked. "Huh?"
He hadn't realized she was talking to him.
He was staring at the burn holes in his sleeves. A strip of cloth from Miya's wind spell had sung straight through the shoulder. His gauntlet—still retracted—tingled faintly beneath the bandages Seraphina had applied hours ago.
He poked at his rice. "I was thinking."
"About what?"
He looked up. His voice didn't carry the usual sarcasm.
"About what I'm even fighting for."
The sentence hung there. Heavy. Honest.
No one interrupted.
Seraphina stepped through the open archway, her soft footsteps as quiet as breath. She moved like a ghost—not out of habit, but because she didn't want to break the moment.
She had watched them all day.
And now… she watched them break silently in the calm after the storm.
Ayaka was still scowling; arms crossed, pride and pain locked together like blades in a sheath.
Miya refused to rest—because rest meant reflection.
Riku pretended he wasn't tired—eating not because he was hungry but because it was something to do.
Amane is trying to smile—for everyone's sake but her own.
And Eiji…
Seraphina paused beside him.
He didn't even look at her.
He stared at the table like it held answers he couldn't read.
"They're all broken…" she thought. "But still standing. That's what matters."
She took a deep breath and stepped fully into the room.
"I've reviewed today's performance," she said, voice clear but not cold. "And despite the bruises… you've all improved."
Ayaka grunted. "Barely."
Seraphina raised an eyebrow. "Your footwork has sharpened. You overextend less. Riku made you yield ground. That's a first."
Ayaka blinked. "...He did."
Riku gave her a smug look. She threw an ice cube at him.
"Riku," Seraphina continued, "your defensive reads were excellent. But you hold your offense back too much. Trust your instincts more."
He muttered, "Yes, Commander."
Miya glanced up from her array. "And me?"
"You overwhelmed Eiji with precision magic in record time," Seraphina said. "But you lacked follow-through. You hesitated twice—once before the finishing blow. Why?"
Miya said nothing.
But her hand tightened around the chalk, just slightly.
"…I see."
Seraphina didn't press further. She turned to Amane.
"Your mana efficiency is up 15%. The pain compression field you used on Eiji's ribs held longer than expected."
Amane's face brightened just a little.
"However," Seraphina added, "you need to start thinking about battlefield triage. If two people collapse at once, who do you choose?"
Amane hesitated. "...I don't know."
"Then that's what we'll train next."
Eiji raised a hand weakly. "Feedback for me?"
Seraphina looked at him for a long moment.
"You were creative. Unpredictable. Resourceful."
"…But?"
"But your reactions are slow, your magic output unstable, and your stamina drops too fast. You fight like someone improvising every second."
"I am improvising every second."
Seraphina's tone softened—just slightly.
"Then let's start making your improvisation something we can rely on."
The room was quiet again.
But it wasn't heavy anymore.
It was… still.
Connected.
"We're not perfect," Seraphina said at last. "We never will be. But we move forward—together. And we do it knowing each other. Not just strengths… but cracks."
She looked around again—at their bruises, small smiles, and silences.
And then she turned to leave.
But just before disappearing through the archway, she stopped.
"And Eiji," she called, glancing over her shoulder.
"Yeah?"
"That question you asked yourself earlier…" Her golden eyes locked with his. "You'll find your answer. Eventually. But you'll have to bleed a little more first."
He nodded.
And for the first time all day… he smiled.
Just a little.
After dinner at the Rooftop."
The rooftop lanterns swayed in the wind, their soft orange glow casting long shadows across the stone floor. From up here, the entire island stretched out in solemn silence. Training fields now lay abandoned, and even the mansion below seemed to exhale, finally still after a day of clashes and chaos.
They all sat in a loose circle around a worn stone table at the center, sharing cups of tea, half-empty snack trays, and a shared silence.
"If I die during the Arcane Game, promise me someone will delete my browser history," Eiji said
Ayaka snorted. "You even have a browser?"
"I'm a man of mystery."
"You're a man of mediocre stamina," she replied, flicking a bean at his forehead.
Amane giggled softly beside them, her teacup cradled in both hands. Her eyes shone slightly brighter under the moonlight—less burdened than before. She leaned toward Miya, who sat quietly beside her, legs crossed, eyes watching the stars more than the group.
"Do you think the moon looks different here than on the mainland?" Amane asked.
Miya answered without turning. "No. But we only look at it when we're far from home."
That made everyone pause for a moment.
Seraphina stood nearby, arms folded, cloak rustling slightly in the wind. She hadn't said much since dinner. She didn't need to. Her presence was grounding.
"We're not far from home," Eiji said after a while. "We are home. At least for now."
That earned him a few glances. Ayaka raised an eyebrow. "You getting sentimental on us?"
"Must be brain damage," Riku muttered.
Eiji smirked. "Yeah, well… I took enough hits today to become a philosopher."
Miya finally turned to him, her tone flat. "Your philosophy was running into my wind spells face-first."
"Hey, I call that proactive learning."
She didn't smile.
But she didn't roll her eyes either.
Small victories.
Seraphina finally stepped forward, placing both palms on the table's edge.
"You've all done well," she said. "Better than I expected. Your coordination and resilience are not perfect, but it's real."
They quieted. Even Riku stopped chewing.
"Three days from now, we face Reignar and his team. They're older. They're stronger. But they're not us." Her voice firmed. "They don't know how to break and rebuild. You do. That's what gives us a chance."
They all stared at her now—some with guarded admiration, others with reluctant respect.
Ayaka muttered, "If we're going to war, at least we're going in with some pride."
Seraphina's gaze softened for a moment. "No. You're not going to war."
They tensed.
"You're going to win."
It wasn't arrogance.
It was conviction.
Eiji felt it settle somewhere in his chest like a quiet ember—not roaring, not blinding, but warm.
They stayed there longer, watching stars, throwing bits of dry fruit at Riku's hair, and soaking in something unspoken. Camaraderie. Bonded silence. The kind you only find after shared exhaustion and survival.
Eventually, one by one, they drifted off. Miya and Amane retired first. Riku gave a lazy salute and followed. Ayaka lingered last, staring out across the sea of stars before muttering, "Don't you dare oversleep again," and heading inside.
Now, only Eiji and Seraphina remained.
He stood by the table, staring at the unfurled Arcane Game map they'd left behind.
Red markers. Blue zones. Battle positions were drawn with too much certainty for something so fragile.
"You're trusting me with this?" he asked quietly, not looking up.
She didn't pause. "Because you haven't run."
"…Not yet."
Her golden eyes flicked to the stars again, and for a breath, she looked tired. Regal, composed—but tired in the way that leaders never admit. The wind pulled gently at her hair, moonlight spilling across her features like a whisper too soft to hold.
Eiji looked at her. Just for a moment.
Three days… then I disappear for good.
But even now… he hesitated.
Later That Night…
The mansion slept.
The wind outside rustled through the corridors like a half-forgotten lullaby. But in Eiji's room, the air was far from still.
A faint pressure stirred him.
Eiji groaned softly, blinking groggily into the dark—only to find a very warm, very real weight pressed against his side.
"...Wha—?"
He shifted.
And nearly choked.
"…S-Seraphina?"
The devil heiress was curled against him, cheek resting on his shoulder as if she belonged there. Her soft breaths fluttered against his arm, and her silver hair spilled across his chest like moonlight.
She blinked awake slowly. "Oh… did I wake you?"
"…Kinda hard not to wake up when you're being used as a human pillow."
She didn't move. "I couldn't sleep. I came to check on you. Laid down for a second. Before i was already asleep."
He rubbed his face. "You know, you say that like this is a normal thing to do."
"It is. Now."
He tried to act annoyed. Failed miserably. "You're seriously going to ruin my reputation."
"You don't have one."
"…Ouch."
She sat up slightly, hair cascading over one shoulder. "Your Arms were warm and comfortable. I didn't realize how cold I was until I got here."
The honesty in her voice struck harder than he expected.
"I won't be able to do this after I'm married," she added softly.
Eiji tensed. "…Why not?"
She didn't answer immediately. Then, in a rare moment, her voice cracked—not with weakness, but worry.
"Because I don't know if we'll win."
He looked at her.
She looked away.
"Reignar… he's not just strong. He doesn't stop. Even if I beat him, I won't walk away unscathed. He possessed an immortal body; even if his head were to fall, he would heal instantly, unlike him. I don't regenerate.
"Then I'll be your regeneration."
She froze.
He leaned closer, voice low and steady. "You're not allowed to fall. Because if someone like you loses, what chance do the rest of us even have?"
Her lips parted.
Then, silently… she wrapped her arms around him.
No glamour.
No command.
Just warmth. Gripping him softly like she was anchoring herself to something real.
"...Thank you," she whispered.
He didn't answer.
But he held her tighter.
Because beneath the weight of war, they didn't need certainty.
They just needed this.
Hope.
A little warmth.
[End of Chapter 25]