It sounded like a complaint about the future of Britannia.
Baobhan Sith thought so to herself.
"There's no helping it. Who could've stopped Lord Londinium from crushing all opposition? I thought Queen Mab of the King Clan would at least resist a little, but the result was the same."
"Don't be stupid. Even back when Mab's clan were just Northern fairies, they were already getting along fine with humans. If her husband hadn't died at the hands of that witch, that war wouldn't have ended so quickly."
"Ugh, so it's the same bunch of people again? How boring."
"Looks like things really didn't change after all."
"So then, how's the plan coming along?"
The sudden shift in topic made Baobhan Sith's heart tighten.
"Oh, it's going smoothly. We've blended in with the group delivering congratulations to the clan. Once we get 'that thing' inside, we just wait and enjoy the show at tomorrow's coronation!"
"But if the new king dies during the coronation, won't suspicion fall on us? The Round Table Army can still fight."
"If the new king's dead, what's left to worry about? The Wind Clan's already prepared."
"With so many people in Londinium... just thinking about it makes me wish tomorrow would come sooner."
"I hear those humans are living in comfort. I wonder what kind of screams they'll make when their necks snap and their guts spill out?"
"How tasteless. It's not even—"
Baobhan Sith could listen no longer. The weight of the situation hit her like ice water.
Despite everyone's efforts to prepare, the sheer scale of the coronation work had led to lapses—hers included. And now, some of Londinium's fairies had betrayed the Sage and the Witch.
She had to report this immediately.
As she turned to leave, a chill of danger ran straight down her spine.
Already gripping her Spell Tome, she raised a shield just in time to block a blow that split through a tree trunk wider than her body.
"I knew I sensed something listening in. Turns out it's just a lowly Londinium fairy," one of them sneered. "Looks like you're from the Wing Clan, same as me?"
A fairy with sensory abilities, then. Baobhan Sith realized she had underestimated them. Her concealment Magecraft couldn't fool the perception of high-ranking fairies with keen senses.
"You heard us, didn't you? Then don't think about running."
Another fairy drew its sword, and the rest followed suit, weapons flashing in the dim forest light.
"Give up quietly. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."
"...I refuse," Baobhan Sith answered firmly. "You intend to disrupt the coronation ceremony—to destroy the peace that the Sage-sama and Witch-sama worked so hard to build. I will stop you!"
She knew that turning her back now would only make her an easy target. There was no room left to retreat.
They hadn't meant to let her go from the start; their talk of sparing her was empty bluster.
Baobhan Sith wasn't skilled in close combat. All she could do was use Magecraft to reinforce her body, dodge fatal strikes, and strike back when she saw an opening.
But lacking experience in deadly combat—and with a kind heart by nature—her attacks lacked killing intent. The fairies noticed, and their strikes grew bolder, more aggressive.
A blade grazed her shoulder, cutting deep. Gritting her teeth, Baobhan Sith pressed a hand to the wound and retaliated with another blast of Magecraft.
The first fairy to mock her lunged for a killing blow, but her spell struck squarely, hurling him into one of his comrades and sending them both rolling across the forest floor.
Next—
Baobhan Sith turned to find her next target, but a sharp, freezing pain stabbed into her back. She felt her strength draining away, the loss of blood accelerating.
A short sword had pierced straight through her chest from behind. It was a Fang Fairy—swift and viciously precise.
Seeing their comrade's strike land, the other fairies rushed in to finish the job. But the one whose blade impaled Baobhan Sith suddenly noticed the hilt trembling faintly in his grip.
"...Not if I can help it!"
Gathering the last of her mana, Baobhan Sith used the dagger lodged in her heart—and her own blood—as the catalyst to unleash a wide-range Gale Magecraft.
The fairy who had ambushed her, along with the ones already fallen, were torn apart by the uncontrolled blast of wind.
The forest around them cracked and groaned as more trees were ripped from the ground.
Having spent the last of her strength in that counterattack, Baobhan Sith collapsed, her Spell Tome slipping from her grasp and falling beside her.
Her vision dimmed. She couldn't tell if the darkness closing in was the forest's shadows or her fading sight. Her trembling hand groped across the ground until it found the Spell Tome. The familiar touch brought her a fleeting moment of comfort—before the realization struck that she couldn't stop here.
"I... have to... report... this..."
She forced herself up, blood welling up from her throat.
Clamping a hand over her mouth did little good; the crimson still spilled between her fingers. Her body felt light, hollow. She pushed herself upright and began to stagger toward Londinium's gate.
But after only two steps, her legs gave out. She dropped to her knees, unable to bear her own weight.
"Why... can't I... stand..."
Tears streaked her cheeks, mingling with the blood at her lips and falling silently to the dirt. A guttural sound escaped her throat as Baobhan Sith summoned every shred of will left in her body, forcing herself to rise again.
Move... forward.
She repeated the command in her mind, even trying to drive her body with what little mana she could still muster.
But her fairy core had been shattered. No spell could move her now. Even the Spell Tome was slipping from her fingers.
Move... forward!
She somehow managed to take another step. Something inside her cracked—a brittle sound like ice breaking against stone.
Her body pitched forward, and this time, she fell into a soft embrace that caught her before she hit the ground.
"Baobhan Sith?!" Aesc's voice.
"Quickly, lay her down," Shiomi's voice followed.
"...I'm sorry... Sage-sama, Witch-sama... I've troubled you both again..." She lifted a trembling hand, which Aesc caught and held tightly. "Someone... intends to assassinate the new king..."
Baobhan Sith forced the words out, racing to relay the intelligence she had uncovered.
"Don't speak," Shiomi said, gripping her hand. "Your condition alone tells us everything. You've done more than enough, Baobhan Sith. I was simply too late."
He and Aesc had once crafted a sensory ritual using Baobhan Sith's hair as a medium. Whenever she faced mortal danger, the spell would alert them, allowing them to rush to her side as swiftly as possible.
But... reality seldom matched one's hopes.
"...Forgive me... I can no longer serve you both... I hope... you'll find a better secretary one day..."
Her voice grew weaker. Knowing that death was moments away, Baobhan Sith spoke her farewell with quiet acceptance.
"No. There might still be a way," Shiomi said.
"But your Authority isn't complete," Aesc interjected, her voice tense. "You couldn't interfere with the life and death of fairies, who exist like planetary terminals. That's why you protected me with a pain-substitution ritual instead. Are you saying... you can do it now?"
Shiomi placed his hand over Baobhan Sith's wound.
"Her life as a fairy is nearly at its end. What I intend to do now is intervene in what comes after—a fairy's rebirth as the next generation elsewhere."
"What do you mean?"
"To let her be reborn not as an ordinary fairy, but as one carrying both your blood and mine," Shiomi replied. "A reversion and reconstruction of life itself."
"My blood?" Aesc blinked, then nodded firmly. She looked down sorrowfully at the dying woman in her arms. "Then do it. Take whatever you need—my blood, my life—anything."
Baobhan Sith wanted to say please, don't grieve for me... I'm not worth your tears.
"But if we do this," Shiomi said solemnly, "she'll be reborn as an infant. She'll grow up again, slowly... and she'll forget everything she's experienced with us."
"...Even so," Aesc whispered, pressing her lips together, "that's better than losing her."
Shiomi nodded firmly. Then, softly, he asked, "Baobhan Sith... would you be willing to become our daughter?"
Even if not born from either of them, once their blood mingled within her, she would reincarnate as a fairy child capable of growth—raised, protected, and loved by them. She would truly become their child.
"...I... am deeply honored..."
Her consciousness fading, Baobhan Sith summoned her last bit of will to answer. It didn't matter whether she would remember them. Rather than be reborn as some distant "successor," she wished to return by their side—to stay with them from the very beginning.
"Then—"
Shiomi pressed his palm against Aesc's. From their cut hands, blood welled and mingled, infused with mana.
"Sea of Life, Primordial Goddess, Tiamat, mother of all beings born of this planet. As your twelfth son, I pray for the power to nurture life—to save this kind soul from further unjust calamity and pain."
His low voice carried reverence as he prayed to Tiamat, merging his power with the blood now suspended in the air. Whether his divine mother would permit it, Shiomi could not be certain. But still, he prayed, earnest and unwavering.
Aesc lowered her gaze, watching Baobhan Sith's still face as she followed his prayer silently in her heart.
The blood slowly turned to light, seeping into Baobhan Sith's body. It spread through her limbs, enveloping her whole form in a warm, radiant glow.
Within the light, her body began to shrink. Her tattered robes slipped away.
When the light finally faded, a newborn girl with crimson hair lay before them, sleeping peacefully.
Shiomi gathered the fallen cloth, reshaping it through Magecraft into soft swaddling before carefully lifting the transformed infant into his arms.
"It worked?" Aesc asked, her tone caught between wonder and sorrow.
"She's alive," Shiomi said quietly. "But not yet fully stable. We'll need to take care of her."
"This... is our child?" Aesc murmured, awe and tenderness mingling in her voice. She felt an irresistible urge to hold her.
Sensing her thought, Shiomi placed the baby gently into her arms and guided her on how to hold the child properly.
"However," he said, his tone hardening, "there's still unfinished business."
The warmth in his voice vanished, replaced by a cold, razor-edged intent to kill.
He raised his hand, and a storm of crows erupted into the air, forming a dark whirlwind that carried them away into the forest.