That day—the one when they had sworn themselves to one another for the second time in their short lives—had already slipped behind them.
It rested somewhere in the past now, pressed flat and preserved alongside scraped knees, shared bread, and nights spent staring at the same stretch of sky. Their childhood vows had been folded into history, sealed away with the innocence that had birthed them. And yet, the promise itself refused to fade.
It endured.
It lingered in the way their steps still fell into rhythm. In the way their eyes instinctively searched for one another in a crowd. What had once been spoken with trembling voices had transformed into something vast—an everlasting dream, shaped by time and sharpened by resolve.
A dream to climb higher than where they had been born.
A dream to become strong enough that no one they loved would ever be taken from them again.
A dream that sometimes felt too heavy for hands so young to carry.
And yet, impossibility had never truly stopped them before.
The road stretched long beneath their feet, dust curling with every step toward the royal capital. The sky above them was wide and mercilessly blue, offering no shade, no comfort—only distance. Xierra walked with her gaze lifted, her thoughts quieter than usual, doubt creeping in where excitement should have settled.
Inari had taken it upon himself to chastise Xierra for every flicker of doubt that surfaced along the road. Each time she hesitated, he countered it with unwavering confidence, insisting she would clear the exam effortlessly—as if success were already written into fate. She would have called it an exaggeration, and perhaps it was, but there was little room to argue when his conviction proved even more immovable than her own uncertainty.
By the time they reached the royal capital, time had begun to blur. A day—maybe two—slipped past unnoticed, swallowed by unfamiliar streets and restless anticipation. Everything moved too quickly after that, until suddenly the waiting was over. In the span of a few heartbeats, they stood on the brink of the Magic Knights' entrance exam—the very event that had set the entire kingdom buzzing.
Throughout her walk along the stone-laid roads of Kikka with the boys, Xierra became acutely aware of just how far the news had traveled. The Magic Knights' entrance exam clung to the air itself—passed between merchants hawking their wares, murmured by travelers lingering at crossroads, spoken with excitement in narrow lanes where sunlight barely touched the ground.
Castle Town Kikka was vast, its avenues branching endlessly like veins, yet the same words echoed everywhere she turned. If even the sparrows perched along the rooftops had tongues, she was certain they would be chattering about it too.
"The Magic Knights' entrance exam..."
Her voice slipped out softly as she tilted her head upward. The sky above was an uninterrupted stretch of blue, pristine and almost unnervingly calm, as though the universe itself was holding its breath. She stood beside Yuno, close enough to sense the quiet focus radiating from him. While she looked up, he looked outward—eyes tracing the shape of the city, the people, the looming structure ahead with measured attentiveness.
At the heart of Castle Town Kikka rose the stadium.
Massive slabs of pale stone curved skyward, forming a colosseum-like structure that dwarfed everything around it. Its walls bore the marks of age—weathered grooves and faint carvings worn smooth by time—yet it stood unyielding, solemn in its purpose.
Xierra recalled overheard descriptions from earlier that morning: a grand arena where futures were decided. Seeing it now, she believed every word.
Towering ramparts enclosed both the arena and the swelling crowd, funneling participants inward. Mages from every corner of Clover gathered there—robes of varying hues, staffs gripped tight, mana flickering in nervous bursts. Some stretched or practiced incantations under their breath. Others stood rigid, eyes closed, as if bracing themselves for a storm.
Xierra felt very small.
She had never seen so many people in one place. Not even the grimoire ceremony back in Hage came close to this scale. The noise alone was overwhelming—a constant hum of anticipation, fear, confidence, and ambition colliding all at once.
"Six months of training," she murmured, folding her arms as her gaze drifted across the arena floor. Mana sparked here and there as participants warmed up, light dancing at their fingertips. "I hope it pays off."
Something shifted against her shoulders.
Xierra's lips curved instinctively into a smile as she reached up, fingers brushing through what she assumed was fur. Inari, unseen as always. He had likely cloaked himself the moment the crowds thickened, choosing stealth over spectacle. She scratched lightly where she thought his head would be, earning a faint warmth in response—confirmation enough.
Yuno remained at her side, his attention fixed on the other examinees. His eyes moved with quiet calculation, weighing strength and composure in equal measure. Then, as if sensing her unease without needing to look, he turned to her.
"Don't worry," he said simply.
Before she could respond, his hand came to rest atop her head—light, steady, grounding. Not possessive. Not showy. Just there.
"You'll be fine."
The words were unassuming, but they struck deeper than she expected. Her breath caught for half a second, warmth blooming in her chest and spreading upward in a way that felt unfamiliar and disarming. Butterflies stirred, uninvited and persistent, fluttering beneath her ribs despite herself.
She let out a small chuckle, partly to mask it, partly because she genuinely felt lighter. His touch—brief though it was—quieted the static in her thoughts. She swayed her hands at her sides, forcing the tension to bleed away.
"Right," she said, nodding. "Inari would chastise me endlessly if he's awake."
Her gaze wandered again, taking in the sheer magnitude of the gathering. The gates continued to swallow new arrivals by the minute, the arena steadily filling until it felt like the entire kingdom had converged upon this single moment.
The Magic Knights wandered in Xierra's thoughts like a constellation she had memorized long before ever seeing the night sky in full. Nine squads—each one a pillar of strength within Clover—mages who stood directly beneath the Wizard King's command, grimoires raised against the chaos that threatened the kingdom.
The notion sent a quiet tremor through her, subtle yet unmistakable, like the first spark catching dry tinder. It slithered through her veins and settled in her chest, a restrained fire that warmed without burning—anticipation wrapped tightly around resolve.
Somewhere deep inside, a question took root, unfurling like a bud on the brink of bloom. Which path would open for her? Which banner would one day claim her loyalty, her magic, her future?
Her mind wandered back to Hage, to evenings steeped in the glow of firelight and the scent of simple meals.
Merchants and travelers would rest their tired bones within the church's walls, their voices low but animated as they traded stories for shelter and warmth. They spoke of far-off lands and harrowing encounters, of Magic Knights who arrived like dawn after a long night—figures who stood unflinching before despair, who shed blood and scorched their own limits so that villages like hers could sleep beneath untroubled skies.
That was why the kingdom admired them so fiercely.
Xierra shifted on her feet, a restless energy building despite her efforts to stay still. She bounced lightly once, then again, trying to shake off the unease curling in her stomach. Excitement tangled with fear, neither willing to loosen its grip.
This was the beginning.
And whether she was ready or not, she was already standing at its threshold.
Amid the swelling excitement in her chest, Xierra felt a familiar warmth lingering where Inari had slept—curled along her right shoulder, unseen yet undeniably present. The heat there was gentle, steady, like embers banked beneath ash. A soft smile curved her lips as she reached up, fingers brushing through empty air with practiced ease, coaxing the spirit fox back into rest.
She had grown fond of him—more than she had ever expected.
Her first impression of Inari had been alarming, to say the least.
There had been something sharp and otherworldly about him, something that made her think of devils and contracts whispered in the dark. Yet the longer they traveled together, the more that image fractured. He was nothing like the monster her instincts had initially painted. Formal to a fault, eloquent in a way that bordered on archaic, he carried himself with the dignity of something ancient and proud.
Unless, of course, Asta was involved.
The moment the boy opened his mouth too loudly—or charged headfirst into danger with that reckless grin—Inari shed all pretense of refinement and turned downright feral. Snapping, snarling, and smacking sense into him whenever possible. It never failed to amuse her, even now. There was a strange comfort in their chaos, in the predictability of Inari's outrage and Asta's indignant protests.
Thinking back on the journey to the royal capital, Xierra realized just how fiercely protective the fox had been. Every step they took through unfamiliar forests and winding roads, Inari lingered close, his presence sharp and alert. She knew—without a doubt—that his relentless training had been born from that same instinct. He wanted her strong enough to stand on her own.
Still, when Inari was around, she rarely had the chance to use her full abilities. He was always there first—baring teeth at unseen threats, flaring his power like a warning bell.
It wasn't exactly ideal, but she let him. He seemed to enjoy it, after all. There was a certain reckless joy in the way he threw himself into danger, as though protecting her was not a burden but a privilege.
That truth had been etched into her memory during one particular night in the forest.
A beast had lurked too close to their camp, its presence thick with malice. Before she could even rise to her feet, Inari had expanded into a massive silhouette of flame and fur, placing himself squarely between her and the threat. He had not hesitated. Not once. Later, when they slept, he curled beside her—his larger form acting as a barrier, a living shield that kept her safely out of reach.
Especially from Asta.
She almost laughed at the memory. Even meters apart, Asta had somehow managed to roll across the ground in his sleep, limbs flailing, muttering nonsense about becoming the Wizard King. Inari had bristled the moment the boy got too close, shifting just enough to block him without waking anyone.
And that had been before the worst of it.
Before they had even set foot on the road to the royal capital, Inari had trained her relentlessly. If she were forced to describe it with a single word, it would have been hell.
Pure, unfiltered torture.
Endless running to build stamina, drills that pushed her mana control to its limits, hours spent refining sword techniques and forcing larger spells into submission. Every day blurred into the next, her muscles screaming, her mind overloaded with everything he deemed "necessary" for the entrance exam. There had been moments she thought she might break—but somehow, she hadn't.
Too much had happened in such a short span of time.
Yet among all of it, one sensation lingered above the rest.
The day they left Hage.
They had stood at the edge of the village, waving goodbye to the children of the church and their guardians. Smiles had been worn bravely, hands raised high, even as something fragile twisted in her chest. And as they turned away—stepping onto a road that would carry them far from everything familiar—Xierra had felt it.
A presence.
Not hostile. Not warm.
It was just... there.
Along the journey, the feeling never truly left. It hovered at the edges of her awareness, slipping closer when the path grew quiet, retreating whenever Asta and Inari erupted into yet another argument. Every time they stopped fighting, the sensation crept back in, heavier than before.
She frowned and leaned against a nearby pillar, the cool stone grounding beneath her back. Her gaze lowered as she shut her eyes, brow furrowing.
She was certain of it now.
They had been followed.
But by whom?
No matter how often they turned, how carefully they searched their surroundings, there had been no one. Nothing. Just the road stretching endlessly forward, and that unseen watcher lingering just out of reach.
Xierra exhaled slowly, unease coiling in her chest.
If someone—or something—had been walking alongside them all this time... then why had it chosen to remain hidden?
Lost in the tangle of her own suspicions, Xierra hardly noticed when a familiar presence drew near—until a voice she trusted cut cleanly through the haze.
"Xierra."
She looked up, and amber met blue—like a star-flecked night pouring itself into a canvas of gold, constellations bleeding into dawn. The colors did not clash; they fused, complementary hues blending as if some unseen hand had painted them side by side long before this moment, knowing they would one day meet and make sense together.
Yuno had crouched slightly to meet her at eye level—an act that earned him an immediate, silent protest in her mind. She wasn't that short. She absolutely refused to accept that. Still, the concern in his gaze softened the sting as he tilted his head, studying her face with quiet attentiveness.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
Xierra blinked, then let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head once. "No, no. I'm fine. Why—do I look that bad?"
Instead of answering, Yuno reached up and gently straightened her bangs, smoothing a stray lock back into place as though it were second nature. His knuckles brushed her cheek in passing—light, fleeting, almost accidental. Almost. His eyes flicked briefly toward the faint pink creeping up her ears, and though his expression remained composed, the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying him just slightly.
He said nothing about it.
"You looked down," he replied flatly.
Xierra tilted her head. "Physically, or... emotionally?"
"Both."
She snorted, conceding with a nod. "Fair enough." Reaching out, she patted his arm—casual, deliberate—and felt a quiet satisfaction when he stilled for half a second at the contact. A small victory. A small revenge, but also not quite. "But really, I'm okay. I was just... thinking."
Yuno straightened and stepped beside her, their shoulders nearly brushing. "About?"
She hesitated. The noise of the capital hummed around them—voices overlapping, footsteps echoing against stone, anticipation hanging thick in the air. Xierra lowered her voice anyway. "Did you ever feel like we were being followed?"
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught it—the brief widening of his eyes before he schooled his expression back into calm neutrality.
He always noticed. He always did.
Yuno had known the weight of attention all his life—the stares of expectation, of envy, of judgment—but this had been different. Not prying. Not hostile. A pressure without a source, like standing beneath a gaze that never blinked.
"...Yeah," he admitted after a moment. He lifted a finger to his chin, brow knitting slightly. "I checked more than twice. Inari did too." A pause. "There was no one."
"Exactly!" Xierra snapped her fingers and turned fully toward him. She crossed her arms, then rubbed at her own elbow, a faint shiver trailing down her spine. "That's what bothers me. You don't think it could be—"
"A ghost?" she whispered dramatically.
Something flicked her forehead.
"Ow—!"
Inari's voice followed, thick with sleep and irritation. "Don't be absurd, Master," he muttered, half-yawning. "No wandering spirit would dare approach you while I'm around."
She swatted at where she knew his tail would be, careful to keep the motion subtle. "You say that like it's comforting."
Yuno watched the exchange with mild curiosity, his gaze drifting instinctively to Xierra's right shoulder. "Whatever it was," he said slowly, "it felt close. Like something unseen."
Xierra stilled.
"Something invisible," he'd repeated.
Her eyes lit faintly as realization began to thread itself together—memories of half-told stories, of her grimoire's origins, of secrets brushed over but never fully explained.
Her hands clasped together as the thought settled in.
Invisible.
She didn't say it out loud.
The night belonged to them. The world was theirs to roam—shared with mortals, yet forever separate. Parallel paths that would never truly meet.
Some pieces still refused to fit together, jagged and unresolved, but Xierra found herself circling back to the same quiet conclusion: whatever had been trailing them was not human. If she had to give it a name, she would call it a spirit.
Between relentless training sessions and the daily—often loud—debates about why Sister Lily would never return Asta's feelings, Inari had let fragments of truth slip through. Just enough to sate Xierra's curiosity. He spoke of the beings sealed within her grimoire, of spells that remained dormant because she was not yet ready to bear their weight.
Of creatures born of the night.
Of existences that hovered in the fragile space between life and death.
They were dead, in the strictest sense of the word—but not gone. They lingered, bound to the mortal plane by unfinished wills, by promises that refused to fade. Beings unseen by ordinary eyes, blamed for misfortune and miracles alike. Supernatural answers to questions humanity could not—or would not—explain.
They wielded magic, just as humans did. Yet their power flowed differently, shaped by laws older and stranger than any kingdom. They were not bound by flesh, nor by time, nor by the same fragile rules that governed the living.
Inari never confirmed her suspicions outright. He was, after all, one of those beings himself—a fox spirit, perhaps even something closer to a god. It was a guess Xierra had for quite a while. He could appear and vanish at will, drifting in and out of reality as easily as breath. If another spirit truly had been following them, he would have sensed it long before now.
Which made the uncertainty gnaw at her all the more.
"Let's think about that later," Yuno said, cutting through her spiraling thoughts with practiced ease. He gestured toward the shifting mass of people ahead. "Where's Asta?"
"Ah—right." Xierra sighed, a tired smile tugging at her lips as she scanned the crowd. Searching for Asta in a sea of participants felt like looking for a spark in a bonfire. "I think he ran ahead... again."
A sharp huff echoed in her mind.
That reckless child has an astonishing talent for vanishing at the worst possible moments, Inari grumbled telepathically.
If he gets himself into trouble this time, I'm not lifting a single paw.
Xierra bit back a laugh.
Nearby, a nervous participant exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to his chest as though to steady his racing heart. His knees trembled beneath him, fear clinging to his frame like damp cloth.
That was when Xierra noticed them.
Birds—strange ones, unlike any she had seen before.
Anti-birds.
Recognition flickered through her mind, pulled from the pages of a thick encyclopedia she had once borrowed from the mayor back in Hage. Navy blue feathers gleamed alongside streaks of scarlet and white, their sharp eyes glittering with eerie intelligence as they swooped low over the crowd.
"Ow—hey! What's wrong with these birds?!" someone shouted, flailing wildly as several of them pecked at his shoulders and arms.
Chaos rippled outward. Some participants were left untouched, while others were relentlessly harassed, the anti-birds circling them like judgment made flesh.
Xierra blinked.
None came near her.
"They're famous around the exam venue," another participant explained breathlessly to his companion, swatting at a bird that refused to relent. "The less magic power you have, the more they peck at you."
Which left only one other explanation.
...Oh. Xierra blinked.
Slowly, a look of dawning realization crossed her face—the kind that crept in far too late to be graceful. Her shoulders stiffened, and she subtly glanced down at herself, as if expecting the answer to be written somewhere on her clothes.
Wait.
Did that mean—
Her lips pressed into a thin line.
"...Are they scared of me?" she muttered under her breath, half-disbelieving, half-offended.
The idea landed with all the elegance of a dropped plate.
Instead of pride or awe, a ridiculous sense of defeat welled up in her chest. So that was it. Not Yuno's mana. Not Inari's invisible intimidation tactics. Not that any of those would help her case, even if she weren't here.
But it was her.
Xierra deflated slightly, cheeks puffing out again as she let out a quiet, wounded huff. "That's... unfair," she whispered, shooting one last longing look at the anti-birds harassing everyone else. All she wanted was to pet one. Just once.
Somewhere nearby, another examinee yelped as a bird dive-bombed his head, and the sound snapped her out of it.
She shook her head, suppressing a laugh as the absurdity of the situation settled in. Of all the realizations to have on the day of the entrance exam, this had to be it—standing in the middle of a massive arena, surrounded by future knights, and sulking because magical birds refused to come anywhere near her.
This exam was already off to a strange start.
More participants flailed and stumbled as the anti-birds descended in relentless swarms, sharp beaks striking exposed skin, wings beating loud and merciless against panicked cries. Bruises bloomed like ink beneath the skin; shallow scratches traced frantic attempts to shield faces and arms. Confusion rippled through the crowd—until one voice rose above the din, sharp and accusatory.
"Hey—look at them!"
A finger jabbed through the air.
Xierra startled at once, shoulders jerking as though the accusation had weight enough to strike her. Dozens of eyes followed the gesture.
"Not a single bird is near them!"
"Oh—it's them."
"Huh? Who?"
"The ones from the boonies..."
The words stacked atop one another, whispers compounding into something heavier, something suffocating. Xierra's heart lurched. She had a fleeting, irrational regret—I should've moved when I had the chance. Now it was too late. Attention clung like burrs, prickling her skin as heat crept up her spine.
Her breath hitched as more voices chimed in.
"Isn't he the one with the four-leaf clover grimoire?"
"A four-leaf clover?!"
"No way—that's just a legend!"
"And the girl—she's the one with that strange grimoire, right?"
"I wouldn't call it strange..."
Xierra shrank back on instinct, retreating into the shadow cast by Yuno's taller frame. She pressed close behind him, fingers curling into the fabric of his cloak as though it were an anchor. If she could fold herself smaller, disappear between the seams of his presence, she would. A human shield—for lack of a better word, she reasoned—but no, that sounded far too violent. Still, the thought flickered through her mind, unhelpful and ungracious.
Yuno glanced back, unbothered by the attention, his gaze calm as ever. One brow lifted slightly.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Don't laugh," Xierra muttered. "I'm hiding."
"I'm not laughing."
She shot him a look—well, attempted to, from behind his shoulder. "Yes, you were."
Her hands came up to cover the sides of her face as she turned toward the nearest stone pillar, suddenly finding its weathered surface fascinating. If she focused hard enough, maybe the murmurs would fade. Maybe the heat flooding her cheeks would subside. It didn't help that she caught it—the faintest curl at the corner of Yuno's lips, so subtle it could have been imagined.
It sent her spiraling anyway.
"If stares could kill," she groaned under her breath, voice thick with embarrassment, "I'd be dead a thousand times by now."
Yuno didn't respond immediately. His expression remained composed, though there was something lighter in his eyes now—quiet amusement he didn't bother to mask. He paid no heed to the hushed gossip swelling around them. Instead, his gaze drifted past the crowd, sharp and searching.
Then he spotted it.
A flash of familiar ash-colored hair, weaving through the sea of bodies with reckless determination.
Asta came barreling toward them, expression fierce, loud even without words—utterly unmistakable.
A breathless, almost theatrical chuckle cut through the air.
"Heh... heh... heh..."
Asta emerged from the chaos with the kind of dramatic swagger that suggested he believed the world itself was his stage. He trudged toward them with exaggerated steps, dust clinging stubbornly to his boots, grin stretched wide despite the pandemonium unraveling behind him. Xierra could practically feel Inari bracing himself, coiled tight beneath her ribs, as though one wrong word might send him launching straight at the boy.
"One of us is gonna become the Wizard King," Asta declared, chest puffed out as if he were already standing atop the Clover Kingdom's highest spire. His eyes shone, bright and unyielding. "Our legend starts here, Xierra! Yuno!"
The words landed like a dropped bell—loud, impossible to ignore.
Around them, the whispers swelled.
"What...?"
"Did he just say—"
"'Wizard King'?!"
Gasps rippled outward, disbelief crackling through the crowd like static. Xierra felt the sudden weight of attention shift, heads snapping toward them in unison.
She and Yuno stared at Asta as if he'd grown a second head. Truly, it was nothing new—they had heard that proclamation more times than she could count—but hearing it shouted here, beneath looming stone arches and watchful eyes, sent a prickle of unease crawling up her spine.
Xierra peeked from behind Yuno's shoulder, only to immediately regret it when even more gazes locked onto them.
Then—a sharp flutter of wings.
Xierra barely had time to clamp a hand over her mouth before laughter bubbled out of her. A dark swarm of anti-birds descended upon Asta with vicious enthusiasm, beaks flashing as they dove straight for his head.
"I'll show you the results of my six months of training—"
His bravado shattered instantly.
"—Ooowww!! Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!!"
The birds pecked mercilessly, sharp beaks nipping at his cheeks, tugging at his hair, relentless as they chased him in tight spirals. Asta flailed, arms windmilling uselessly as he yelped in genuine agony.
"Serves you right for being loud," Inari scoffed, his refined composure evaporating entirely.
Xierra's laughter died the moment Yuno let out a long, tired sigh beside her.
"Now, don't be like that."
Inari huffed. "I genuinely question how you managed to survive living under the same roof as that kid for fifteen years."
"Well..." Yuno trailed off, as though the answer itself was too complicated to voice.
"Arghhhh!!" Asta bolted across the stone floor, shielding his head as best he could. "What's with these freakin' birds?!"
A sharp, mocking laugh rose from the crowd.
"Look at him," someone sneered, pointing openly. "That's pathetic—even for someone from the lower realms."
Asta was running without direction now, panic overtaking whatever sense he had left. He zigzagged wildly through the gathering, nearly colliding with other examinees. Her fingers curled behind Yuno without her realizing it, heart hammering painfully hard.
He's going to hurt himself, she thought, dread coiling deep. Or worse.
He should stop running—or he'll crash straight into someone, Inari warned, voice sharp with urgency.
The warning came too late.
Asta slammed into a towering figure with a sickening thud.
Time froze.
The anti-birds scattered instantly, screeching as they fled, vanishing as though chased by an unseen predator. The sound of the impact rang through Xierra's ears, over and over again, until it drowned out every other sound.
Her soul left her body.
That wasn't just someone.
That was a man. Broad-shouldered, immovable, built like a wall carved from iron. Asta crumpled against him like a thrown pebble.
Oh. He's dead, Xierra thought faintly. He's absolutely going to the graveyard.
The man looked down slowly, eyes dark and merciless.
"You wanna die, runt?"
The threat wasn't shouted. It didn't need to be. His presence alone pressed down on the air, suffocating, forcing nearby participants to recoil instinctively. There was nothing particularly remarkable about his mana—if anything, it felt eerily muted—but that only made him more terrifying.
Xierra swallowed hard, cold fear crawling up her spine. Even from a distance, that stare alone was enough to make her feel like she'd been dragged to the edge of a cliff.
She wanted nothing to do with him.
Inari, unfortunately, felt very differently.
"Why in the world are you excited about him, of all people in the stadium?!" she hissed, careful not to let others hear.
"Why indeed, Master!" Inari exclaimed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "I sense his magic—it's extraordinary! Entirely one of a kind!"
Xierra could practically hear the grin in his voice.
"It would do us good for you to train under him. He's certainly not a participant—of that, I'm confident!"
His certainty was terrifying in its own way. Xierra stared at the man again, unease twisting in her gut.
Inari, she thought weakly, your confidence is going to get us killed someday.
And judging by the way Asta lay groaning at the man's feet—
That day felt uncomfortably close.
Xierra jolted when the man's hand closed around Asta's head.
Hard. It was too hard.
Her breath hitched sharply as she snapped her hands up, palms pressed over her eyes. Still, worry betrayed her—she peeked through the narrow gaps between her fingers, heart pounding painfully loud in her ears. Asta wasn't bowing. He wasn't apologizing. He was thrashing, arms flailing as he tried—very unsuccessfully—to pry himself free.
"Oh no. Oh no, no, no—" she whispered under her breath.
"He'll be fine," Yuno said calmly beside her.
She turned to him at once, staring as though he had just declared the sky green.
Fine?
He didn't even raise his voice. His posture remained loose, shoulders relaxed, eyes steady as he watched Asta's predicament unfold. "Don't worry about him too much."
Xierra blinked. Slowly. "Yuno," she muttered, "his eyes look like they're about to escape his skull."
A soft voice brushed her ear, low and amused.
"He really will be fine, Master."
She stiffened just slightly, tilting her head without looking. "Inari," she hissed, barely moving her lips. "You are being remarkably unhelpful right now."
"It's only a grip. He is not dying," Inari replied airily, tone hushed to match her own. "And if he does, it will not be from something so mundane."
Xierra shot a sharp look toward her right shoulder—empty, infuriatingly so. "That is not comforting."
Her focus snapped back to the clearing as voices began to rise around them. Other participants were whispering now, glancing nervously between the enraged man and the struggling boy in his grasp. Two figures hurried forward, faces pale as parchment, urgently pulling the built man away while apologizing in frantic bursts.
They ushered him off—far, far away from Asta.
Only then did Xierra realize she'd been holding her breath.
She exhaled shakily.
"Finral Roulacase and Gordon Agrippa...?" she murmured, tapping her index finger thoughtfully against her chin. Her eyes fluttered shut as she searched her memory. "Those names sound... familiar."
Inari's voice brightened instantly, barely restrained excitement slipping through his whisper.
"An incantation magic expert," he repeated, clearly delighted. "How charming."
Her stomach sank. "Why do you sound happy?"
"They are Black Bulls, Master," Inari said softly, reverently even. "This is excellent. Truly perfect."
Xierra's eye twitched. "Don't say 'perfect' like that."
Inari's voice returned, quieter now—measured, assured in a way that made Xierra's shoulders tense. "That man earlier—the one with the killing intent? Yami Sukehiro. Their captain."
She frowned slightly, fingers curling into the hem of her sleeve. "You're awfully certain."
"I am," he replied smoothly. "I did not arrive at that conclusion lightly."
Her gaze drifted, unseeing, as memory stirred—long afternoons sprawled across the floor of the mayor's study, books stacked haphazardly around her; evenings spent rereading spines cracked with age while the hearth crackled softly nearby. Inari had always been there during those moments, half-asleep on her shoulder or lurking just out of sight, listening more than he ever let on.
He had read with her.
Through her collection—dog-eared encyclopedias, regional histories, outdated bestiaries—and through the newer volume she'd acquired only months ago. A traveling merchant had carried it, wrapped carefully in oilcloth, boasting of how recent the information was. An updated registry of Magic Knight squads, their captains, and the latest members to earn their cloaks.
A fair price for knowledge, she had thought—no, she had said, nearly bouncing on her heels as she handed over the coin. Knowledge was always worth more than gold.
"That book," Inari continued, clearly pleased with himself, "the one you nearly memorized—updated rosters, affiliations, magical specializations. I took the liberty of studying it while you were occupied."
Xierra's lips parted. "...You mean the one I wouldn't shut up about for three days."
"The very same," he confirmed. "Black Bulls. Infamous. Chaotic. But their captain is exactly as described—unrefined mana control, violent pressure, and a presence that crushes lesser wills."
She swallowed.
"And," Inari added, his tone dropping into something reverent, almost hungry, "there is another within that squad who has captured my interest. One whose magic defies expectation. Perhaps you should consider joining—"
"No," Xierra said immediately, cutting him off as she turned away, arms crossing tight against her chest. "Absolutely not."
"But Master—"
"There is no universe," she continued flatly, "where I join the Black Bulls."
A brief silence followed.
"...You would have to be dragged over your dead body?"
She shot him a look. "You would have to walk over it."
A thoughtful hum. "Then I suppose that would make enrollment rather difficult. A shame."
She groaned softly. "You're impossible."
Beside her, Yuno let out a quiet huff of breath—almost a laugh. His lips curved just slightly, eyes flicking toward her face as it cycled through disbelief, annoyance, and quiet dread in rapid succession.
"You're talking to Inari again," he said.
Xierra startled. "Was it that obvious?"
"Your expressions are... expressive. Very."
She groaned softly and pressed a hand to her face. "Clever use of your vocabulary."
Yuno's gaze drifted back to Asta, who was now sprawled dramatically on the stone ground, groaning as if his soul had been halfway ripped from his body. There was no panic in Yuno's eyes. No urgency. Just familiarity—worn smooth by fifteen years of shared chaos.
Then—
A sudden hush fell over the arena.
The anti-birds scattered all at once, wings beating frantically as they fled the grounds in a dark, panicked wave. The air shifted—heavy, oppressive, like a storm pressing down before the first crack of thunder.
Xierra felt it immediately.
Inari inhaled sharply near her ear.
"...That is overwhelming."
Her spine straightened, senses prickling as invisible pressure bore down on her chest. "A captain," she whispered. "It has to be. Each one is said to rival hundreds of mages... maybe more."
"I see," Inari murmured, something sharp and pleased curling beneath his tone. "This exam is far more interesting than I anticipated."
"Thank you for waiting, invited examinees."
The words cleaved through the noise like a blade through silk.
Xierra's breath caught mid-thought. Her chin lifted instinctively, lashes fluttering as sunlight struck her vision all at once—brilliant, unforgiving, flooding the stone arena in molten gold. She squinted, searching for the source, and in that same breath, the world seemed to still.
The anti-birds scattered as if chased by an unseen tide, wings beating in frantic retreat until not a single feather remained. Their absence left behind an uncanny quiet, the kind that pressed against the ears and demanded attention.
And there they were.
Nine figures stood at the forefront of the arena, elevated slightly above the sea of examinees. The Magic Knight captains—names spoken in taverns and whispered by merchants over dying fires, their deeds embroidered into recent bedtime stories and cautionary tales alike. They stood shoulder to shoulder, cloaks fluttering faintly in the rising wind, postures unyielding, eyes sharp with authority earned through blood and battle.
Xierra's chest tightened.
She had imagined them countless times—through secondhand stories, through ink-stained pages—but seeing them now, whole and real, was something else entirely. Even amid the roar of awe-struck cheers and breathless gasps, her thoughts arranged themselves neatly, almost reverently.
Any one of them could become the next Wizard King.
The realization settled over her like snowfall—soft, heavy, impossible to ignore.
Her gaze lingered, moving from one captain to the next, until it caught on one figure and refused to let go.
A mask.
Not ornamental in excess, but deliberate—beige at its base, overlaid with deepened blue and white, crowned by red feathers that curved like embers frozen mid-flight. It was striking, unmistakable. Behind it glimmered violet eyes, luminous and unfathomable, as though secrets had taken root within them and decided to stay.
Something about it tugged at her.
Her fingers brushed unconsciously against the pouch at her waist, where her own mask lay hidden—safe, unseen. The resemblance unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
Those eyes...
Even from this distance, even drowned in the mass of hundreds upon hundreds of bodies, it felt as though his gaze found her all the same. As if the crowd thinned around her without permission, leaving her bare beneath his notice. The sensation slipped beneath her skin, quiet but insistent, and she swallowed.
"I am going to be in charge of the exams this year."
The voice matched perfectly—calm, steady, carrying effortlessly across the arena. The same voice that had summoned silence.
Recognition rippled outward instantly.
"It's the captain of the strongest Magic Knight squad—William Vangeance!"
"The top candidate to become the next Wizard King!"
The title echoed, layered atop itself by eager mouths.
The top candidate, huh?
Inari hummed softly at her side, unmistakably pleased. "How very interesting," he murmured, tone light but keen. "So this is the man they revere most."
Xierra didn't answer right away. Her eyes never left the masked captain.
"Are you aiming for his squad, perhaps, Master?" Inari pressed, curiosity threading his voice.
She exhaled slowly, then shook her head. "No," she replied, just as quietly. "Not yet. I want to see more of them before I decide."
A pause.
Captain William Vangeance opened his grimoire.
The pages turned with a sound like rustling leaves, and when he stopped, the air itself seemed to respond.
"Magic Tree, descend."
The sky darkened at once.
Clouds swelled and collided overhead, devouring the sunlight until shadows spilled across the arena floor. A distant rumble rolled through the heavens—not thunder, but something deeper, older. From within the churning sky, colossal roots broke through, spiraling downward like the fingers of a god reaching for the earth.
Gasps erupted. Bodies tensed. Magic flared instinctively.
But the roots did not strike.
Instead, they slowed—softened—until bark melted into polished wood, branches thinning and reshaping. One by one, they transformed, settling neatly into the waiting hands of the examinees.
Magic brooms.
Xierra stared at the one she held, its surface still warm with residual mana. The weight was light, balanced perfectly, humming faintly beneath her fingers. Around her, others froze in stunned silence, heads snapping up toward the captain in disbelief.
A spell of this scale—this precision—
Her breath shuddered.
The three orphans stood unmoving, eyes fixed on William as though he were a vision carved from myth itself. A chill traced its way down Xierra's spine, not from fear, but from the overwhelming certainty that this—this—was the threshold they had been standing before all along.
William closed his grimoire with a soft, resolute thump. His smile never wavered.
"We shall now begin the Magic Knights' Entrance Exam."
To Be Continued...