Before the first sunrise painted the sky in shades of gold and rose, Erza returned home.
The city was still asleep. Luna City lay beneath a blanket of darkness, its streets empty, its windows dark, its inhabitants lost in dreams that would fade with the coming light. The only sounds were the distant hum of streetlamps and the soft whisper of wind through the narrow alleys. Even the birds had not yet begun to sing.
Erza opened the window.
The latch clicked softly beneath her fingers—a sound she had heard a hundred times before, a sound that had become as familiar as Yuuta's heartbeat. She slid the glass aside and stepped into the apartment, her boots silent on the wooden floor, her silver hair still wild from her flight across the ocean.
The time was now 5:00 AM in the morning.
The apartment was dim, lit only by the faint glow of a single lamp on the dining table—the one Yuuta always left on for Elena, so that she would not be afraid if she woke in the night. The light cast long shadows across the walls, across the photographs of Elena, across the calendar marked with ordinary days.
As soon as she entered, she saw Yuuta.
He was still sleeping.
But not on the floor where she had left him.
Her grandfather had moved him.
Isvarn had lifted Yuuta from the cold wooden floor and placed him on the couch—the old, worn couch that sagged in the middle, that had springs that poked through the fabric, that Yuuta had covered with a blanket to hide the stains. He had placed a pillow beneath Yuuta's head and pulled a blanket up to his chin.
And had Elena in his arms.
The little girl—their daughter, the princess of Atlantis—was curled against her father's side, her silver hair spread across his chest, her small wings folded against her back. Her tiny hand rested on Yuuta's arm, her fingers curled around his sleeve. Her face, in sleep, was peaceful. Innocent. Unmarked by the horrors that had shaped her father's past.
Both of them were sleeping peacefully.
Father and daughter, tangled together on a worn-out couch in a small apartment in a city that did not know their names.
Erza stood in the doorway and watched them.
Her heart ached.
Isvarn was sitting at the dining table, a book open in front of him, his ancient eyes moving slowly across the pages. He did not look up when she entered. He did not need to. He had felt her presence the moment she stepped through the window, had sensed her return before her feet touched the floor.
"So, my queen," he said, his voice low and calm, not looking up from his pages. "Have you decided?"
He knew he had won.
Not because he was arrogant—he had never been arrogant, not truly, not in the way of younger beings who mistook confidence for wisdom. He knew because he had seen the change in her eyes, the softening of her features, the way her shoulders had lowered when she stepped through the window.
He had changed her heart.
That was his role. That was his purpose. That was the duty he had carried for millennia—to guide the queen, to advise the ruler, to point the way when the path was unclear. He had been the great sage for the first queen of Atlantis, centuries ago, when the kingdom was young and the throne was new. He had guided the second queen through wars and famines and the rise of enemies. And now, he was here to guide the third.
The third generation queen.
His granddaughter.
And he would. No matter how difficult, no matter how painful, no matter how much she resisted. He would guide her to the right path.
Erza was silent for a long moment.
Her violet eyes moved from her grandfather to the couch, to Yuuta and Elena sleeping in each other's arms. She watched the rise and fall of their chests, the slow rhythm of their breathing, the peaceful expressions on their faces.
Then she spoke.
"Yes. I have decided."
Her voice was warm.
Not cold. Not sharp. Not edged with the ice that had frozen her words for so many years. Warm. Soft. The voice of a woman who had made peace with her choice—not because it was easy, but because it was right.
"I have decided," she continued, "that I will go back to where I came from."
Isvarn stored his chair.
The wooden legs scraped against the floor—a sharp, sudden sound that broke the silence of the apartment. He closed his book with a soft thump and set it on the table. His violet eyes, ancient and knowing, fixed on his granddaughter.
"Then let us depart," he said, rising to his feet. "Before that human wakes from his slumber."
His voice was calm, but there was urgency beneath it—the urgency of someone who had seen her change her mind before, who had watched her waver and hesitate and contradict herself again and again. He did not want to give her time to think. He did not want to give her time to doubt. He wanted to leave now, before she could speak another word.
But Erza was not finished.
"I am not finished," she said.
Her voice was cold now, the cold of certainty. The cold of a queen who had made her decision and would not be rushed.
Isvarn paused.
His hand, which had been reaching for his cloak, froze in mid-air. His eyes narrowed. His jaw tightened.
"What do you mean, my queen?" he asked. His voice was careful, measured, but there was something beneath it—something that sounded almost like fear. "Is there something else? Have you not already decided to return to your kingdom?"
He was afraid.
Not of her—he had never been afraid of her, not truly, not in the way that lesser beings feared her power. He was afraid that she would change her mind. That she would undo everything he had worked to achieve. That she would choose love over duty, passion over wisdom, a mortal over a kingdom.
Erza did not look at him.
Her eyes were still fixed on Yuuta—on the man sleeping on the couch, on the father of her child, on the mortal who had somehow, impossibly, captured her heart.
"I have decided," she said, "that I will Return after giving him, happy Life."
Isvarn froze.
"Until then," Erza continued, her voice soft but absolute, "I cannot return."
The words hung in the air like a blade suspended over his head.
Isvarn's hand dropped to his side.
His fingers curled into a fist.
His jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles in his neck stood out in sharp relief.
"This makes no sense," he said.
His voice was no longer calm. No longer measured. No longer the patient, gentle tone of a grandfather guiding his granddaughter.
For the first time since he had arrived on Earth, the old dragon snapped.
"We have discussed this," he said, stepping toward her. His boots thudded against the wooden floor. His silver braids swayed with each step. "We have argued about this. I have explained the dangers. I have warned you of the consequences. And you agreed. You agreed to return to Atlantis. You agreed to leave him here, in the world where he belongs, where his sealed memories will not break and his mind will not shatter."
He stopped a few feet from her, his violet eyes blazing.
"But now—" He threw his hands up, a gesture of frustration, of exasperation, of a being who had tried everything and was running out of options. "Now you change your word again? Again? How many times must we go through this, my queen? How many times must I explain the same truths?"
Erza was quiet.
She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her silver hair still wild from her flight, her violet eyes fixed on her grandfather's face. She did not interrupt him. She did not argue. She simply listened.
Isvarn continued, his voice rising.
"This is a sin, my queen. A sin against our ancestors. A sin against Seraphina herself, who founded our kingdom and established our laws. If you keep contradicting yourself—if you keep changing your word, again and again, as if your promises mean nothing—you will lose your authority as queen."
He stepped closer, close enough to see the flicker of emotion in her eyes, close enough to feel the warmth of her breath.
"A queen's word is absolute," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It is the foundation upon which kingdoms are built. It is the bond that holds nations together. If your word becomes uncertain—if your promises become conditional—then your people will lose faith in you. Your enemies will see weakness. And your kingdom will crumble."
He paused, letting his words sink in.
"Please, my queen. Consider this. Consider what you are risking. Consider the cost of your indecision."
Erza was silent for a long moment.
The only sounds in the apartment were the soft breathing of Yuuta and Elena, the distant hum of the city outside, and the quiet rustle of Isvarn's robes as he waited for her response.
Then she spoke.
"Tell me, Grandpa."
Her voice was cold.
Not warm. Not soft. Not the gentle tone she had used when she first entered. Cold. Sharp. The voice of a queen who had been pushed too far.
"How can I leave him?"
Isvarn went silent.
He had expected argument. He had expected defiance. He had expected her to raise her voice, to summon her power, to threaten him with ice and fury. He had not expected this—this quiet, controlled, devastating question.
Erza waved her hand, gesturing at the room around them.
The cheap apartment. The worn furniture. The cracked walls. The stained carpet. The photographs of Elena on the refrigerator—taped to the door because there was no money for frames. The calendar marked with bills and appointments and ordinary days.
"Tell me," she said. "Do you think I can leave him after knowing what he has endured? After seeing his past? After witnessing the laboratory and the Death Well and the arena?"
Her voice cracked.
"Do you think I can walk away while he barely survives? Can you not see how poor he is? How hard he struggles just to live?"
She gestured at the couch—at the sagging cushions, the exposed springs, the blanket that covered the stains.
"This apartment is not even his home," she said. "It is a rental. A temporary shelter. A place he can afford on a culinary student's salary. He owns nothing. He has nothing. Nothing except—"
She pointed at herself.
"Nothing except me."
Her hand dropped to her side.
"And you want me to leave him?" she said, her voice rising. "You want me to abandon him in this world—a world where he does not belong, where he has no family, where he has no one—and call it a peaceful life?"
She stepped toward Isvarn, her violet eyes blazing.
"You want me to return to Atlantis, to my palace, to my wealth and my power and my servants, while he stays here—struggling, suffering, alone—and call that justice?"
Isvarn opened his mouth.
"But, my queen—"
Erza cut him off.
"I have decided."
Her voice was absolute now—cold and sharp and unbreakable. The voice of a queen who would not be questioned, who would not be debated, who would not be moved.
"I will make his life easy. A life where he will not worry about anything. A house—a real house, with a yard and a garden. Wealth—enough that he will never have to count coins again. Safety—protection from the shadows, from the threats he will never see coming."
She turned to look at Yuuta.
His black hair spread across the pillow. His red eyes closed. His chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.
"How can you expect me to leave my man in poverty?" she asked, her voice softer now, almost gentle. "I have endless wealth. I have power beyond measure. I have resources that could buy this city a hundred times over. And he—he struggles to feed himself. He works two jobs to pay for his education."
Her eyes glistened.
"Tell me, Grandpa. How can I call myself his wife—how can I call myself a dragon, a queen, a being of power and honor, if I walk away while he sinks?"
Isvarn was silent.
He looked at her at his granddaughter, at the queen he had guided since she was a hatchling, at the woman who had grown from a weak, rejected dragon into the most powerful being in existence.
He saw the emotion in her eyes.
The emotion of a wealthy wife who could not bear to see her husband live in poverty.
She was not thinking like a queen anymore. She was not thinking like a dragon. She was thinking like a woman who loved a man, who had seen him struggle, who could not stand by and watch him suffer.
And he understood.
He did not agree. He did not approve. But he understood.
Isvarn bowed his head, his ancient body folding with the grace of someone who had spent centuries serving queens. The Light flickered across his silver hair, catching the lines of age that had been carved into his face by time and duty.
"Whatever my Queen wishes," he said, his voice low and steady, "it shall be done. I will wait for you, my Queen."
Erza did not look at him. Her eyes were fixed on Yuuta, on her mortal, who was sleeping peacefully on the worn sofa, unaware of the fire burning in her chest, unaware of the decision she had made, unaware that her cold heart had been melted not by magic, but by him.
The choice she had made was not easy. It was the hardest of all.
"My Queen," he said, his voice measured yet laced with quiet concern, "I understand your desire to grant that mortal a life free from suffering… but tell me—how do you intend to achieve this? What path will you walk to make such a wish reality?"
"I have already thought about this," she said. "This world is not what you think, Grandpa."
Isvarn's brow furrowed. "What do you mean, my Queen? This is the world where I sensed no monsters, no creatures that could threaten a dragon. It seemed... peaceful. Empty of the horrors we face in Nova."
Erza shook her head slowly. "No. This world is filled with demons. Their nasty aura wanders the earth every day, hiding in the shadows, feeding on human suffering. You did not sense them because they are weak—too weak for a dragon's senses to notice. To us, they are like mosquitos. But to humans, they are monsters."
Isvarn frowned. He had not considered this. In his world, demons were powerful, dangerous, a threat to be eliminated. He had assumed that a world without mana would be a world without demons. He had been wrong.
"I have made my choice," Erza continued. "I will grant him three wishes."
Her voice was quiet, yet it carried a weight that silenced everything around her.
"First," she said, "I will tear him away from the chains of poverty that have bound him his entire life. He will never know hunger again. Never know the cold emptiness of having nothing. I will give him wealth—not as luxury, but as freedom."
She paused, her gaze lowering slightly, as if recalling every wound he had endured, every night he had gone to bed hungry, every day he had worked himself to exhaustion just to survive.
"Second," she said, "I will protect him. No blade, no curse, no cruelty of this world will ever reach him again. I will stand between him and everything that seeks to harm him—even if that means becoming his shield forever."
A breath passed. Slower this time.
"And third," she said, and her voice softened—almost fragile, almost broken, almost human.
"I will give him a new life. Not a continuation of suffering, but a beginning. A life where pain does not define him. A life where he can smile without fear."
Isvarn was silent for a long moment. He had served queens for centuries. He had seen them make difficult decisions, had watched them sacrifice their happiness for the good of the kingdom. But he had never seen one speak like this. He had never heard such love in a queen's voice.
"Then please," he said, his voice soft, resigned, "allow me to remain at your side. Let me watch over you."
He straightened his back and met her eyes.
"I will wait for you, my Queen. For as long as it takes. I will remain in this world, in this city, until you are ready to return to Atlantis."
He paused, and his voice grew harder.
"But I will not stop reminding you of your duty. I will not stop warning you of the consequences. And when the time comes—when you must choose between your husband and your kingdom—I will be there to guide you."
Erza did not answer.
She turned away from him and walked to the couch. She knelt beside it—her knees pressing against the worn carpet, her hands resting on the edge of the cushions—and looked at Yuuta's sleeping face.
Her mortal.
The man who had endured the worst of things before he had become a man at all. Who had crawled out of darkness and learned to smile. Who had found her in the chaos of her own cold heart and warmed it without even trying.
He was sleeping peacefully.
He did not know the fire that burned in her chest. He did not know the war that raged in her mind. He did not know the choice she had made—the choice that was not easy, not simple, not anything she had ever faced before.
The hardest choice of all.
To love from a distance.
To protect without possessing.
To give without taking.
Erza reached out and brushed a strand of black hair from Yuuta's forehead. Her fingers lingered on his skin—warm, alive, human.
"Sleep well, my love," she whispered. "I will make your life easy. I swear it."
To be continued...