The Kingdom of Ireland — Capital City, Edinburgh.
It was the second most visited city in the British Isles, second only to London.
Back in the twelfth century, the King of Ireland had granted the land's usage rights to the Church's monastery.
But after a series of blows in the fifteenth century, the Church—no longer able to manage its holdings—was forced to relinquish them, and the Kingdom of Ireland reclaimed the city, later designating it as its capital.
Now, in the year 1515, inside a small tavern in the heart of Edinburgh, a group of people were in the midst of celebration.
"See? Didn't I say it? With just a little effort from young Favia here, no monster—no matter how strange—could give us any trouble!"
"Hey, hey, hey! I was the one who said that first!"
The rowdy bunch were hunters—members of an organization based in Orlan. They were celebrating Favia's successful resolution of the Highlands Vampire Incident that had shaken Ireland.
"Hahaha, whatever, whatever! The important thing is—it's done."
"Yeah, good thing it didn't take long. Any more time and we'd have lost a fortune. That region's rich in resources."
"Too right."
Amidst the lively chatter, Favia stood beside an old hunter, his calm smile contrasting with the boisterous energy around him. Most of the hunters looked at him with curiosity and respect; he returned their gazes with quiet warmth.
"Say, who's the young lady with you?"
The old hunter, holding his cup of ale, glanced at the tall, long-haired girl standing behind Favia. She was slightly taller than the fifteen-year-old boy himself.
Though Baobhan Sith kept her head lowered, the old man could still see the faint scars on her face. Her clothes were simple—humble, even. The once-white long dress she wore was now a faded yellow, despite being washed countless times.
But what struck him most was the aura she gave off.
Something unnatural.
It was as if she existed apart from everything around her—frightened, withdrawn...
Yes, that was it.
She carried the scent of constant fear.
"Baobhan Sith," Favia replied simply. "That's her name."
"Oh-ho! Fine name, that. Yes, yes—Baobhan Sith, lovely name."
"Indeed," Favia said with a faint smile. "I rather like it myself."
The old hunter scratched his beard. He remembered that Favia had arrived alone, and now suddenly there was this mysterious girl at his side.
He knew better than to pry into such matters, of course—but perhaps age made him more prone to idle curiosity.
The red-haired fairy girl, shrinking behind Favia, lifted her head slightly when she heard her name mentioned. But the moment she felt all those eyes turn toward her, she quickly lowered it again.
To be honest, it had already been three days since the day Favia had—quite inexplicably—taken her away.
During that time, the two had been staying at this very inn.
From Baobhan Sith's perspective, this human named Favia had done something utterly incomprehensible—
He made her wash her own hair.
He made her wash her own clothes.
He had her doing all sorts of small, mundane chores for herself.
And when she eventually realized that he wasn't planning to hit her at all—
that he never intended to—
the fairy girl's entire body relaxed at once.
It was like preparing for a blow that never came.
That, more than anything, terrified her.
Because she had been ready. She'd grown used to it.
But when nothing happened—no punishment, no cruelty—
she didn't know how to feel.
It was as if the script she had lived by had suddenly been torn apart.
"So, Favia," the old hunter said after a while, "you'll be heading back to England tomorrow, right?
Why not stay in Ireland a little longer?"
"I'm afraid not. Paracelsus is having some trouble in London. I should get back as soon as possible."
"Lord Paracelsus, in trouble...? Ah… I see.
My apologies. We wouldn't be of much help to him anyway…"
At that, the old hunter fell silent. Though he was no magus, he'd been around long enough to understand the unspoken rules of the magical world.
Baobhan Sith, meanwhile, watched the two men talk.
And as she recalled how, in the past few days, the people who greeted her or Favia had done so with kind smiles, a thought welled up in her heart:
I should introduce myself properly... and greet them the right way.
"It's fine, I'll—"
Favia began to speak, but before he could finish, he felt Baobhan Sith's hand slip from tugging his sleeve to pinching his waist—hard.
Her grip was surprisingly strong.
Still, Favia kept his composure, waiting patiently.
"I... I..."
The fairy girl's tongue stumbled again.
Why can't I say it properly?
Why can't I speak in a beautiful voice, with confidence, and just say—
I'm Baobhan Sith. It's nice to meet you all.
"Ah... ahh..."
She finally lifted her head, her voice loud enough to draw everyone's attention—
but then froze.
So many eyes.
So many faces turned toward her.
Her heart crumbled under the weight of their stares.
Unable to endure it, Baobhan Sith bolted.
She ran out of the tavern hall and up to her room in the inn.
"What's wrong? What happened to that girl?"
"Did we say something to upset her?"
The hunters exchanged confused looks, murmuring to one another.
"Ah, sorry, sorry," Favia said quickly, smiling as he waved a hand. "Baobhan Sith and I were playing rock-paper-scissors. She lost, and she's a bit upset about it. My fault."
The room fell silent for a moment.
The hunters all blinked, dumbfounded.
"Hahaha, you all keep celebrating. I'd better go apologize."
---
Upstairs, second floor.
The fairy girl had rushed back to her room and now sat curled up in the corner.
Failure.
That was all she could feel.
A deep, irretrievable despair wrapped around her like chains.
She couldn't do it—
couldn't talk properly, couldn't act like a normal fairy.
She was useless.
She'd long since grown accustomed to that truth,
but to fail like this in front of him—Favia—
hurt in a way she didn't expect.
Because when he looked at her,
he didn't see the deer hooves at her heels.
He didn't avert his gaze, nor did he stare at them with disgust.
The other fairies had always looked at her with revulsion,
as though her deformity—those hooves that should not exist—
were proof she was a mistake.
A blemish on their perfect world.
But Favia—
he looked at her naturally,
as though she were no different from anyone else.
Without disgust.
Without hesitation.
That simple fact made her heart twist and flutter all at once.
It made her uneasy…
and yet, undeniably happy.
Therefore—
"I... I'm so... useless..."
The silver-haired boy who opened the door let out another quiet sigh at the sight of the despondent fairy girl. Then, after a moment's thought, he gently offered,
"Would you like me to comb your hair for you?"
Baobhan said nothing. So, taking her silence as consent, Favia approached her, adjusted her posture so it would be easier to work with, and lightly brushed his fingers through her hair from behind.
He then took out a comb and began carefully detangling it from the ends upward.
The moment he touched it, he could tell—her hair itself was fine and soft, but there were so many knots, so much grime built up over time, that the once vibrant red had dulled into a lifeless hue. Favia couldn't quite understand why she hadn't just used magic to clean it, but then again, this was the first time he'd helped her wash up—so, he figured, he might as well do it properly himself.
"Don't... don't do that..."
"Hm?"
"Everyone... doesn't want me... like this..."
"Just so we're clear," Favia replied evenly, not stopping his motions, "this isn't a request—it's an order. You can start giving opinions after you've repaid the money you owe me."
"...Okay."
Baobhan nodded slightly.
Truth be told, she wanted to tease him a little for that, but she didn't have the courage.
So she simply stayed quiet, letting him tend to her hair. Her eyes drifted toward the window.
Sunlight streamed through, catching on the fine dust motes that floated lazily in the air, turning them into tiny glittering stars. For some reason, that faint scent of warmth and light made her feel at peace—perhaps even... happy.
In that room, for that fleeting moment, it felt as if even time itself had paused.
The boy just kept moving the comb through the fairy girl's hair with patient care.
—
The next day, Baobhan followed Favia back to London.
When they arrived at the Clock Tower, Favia immediately sensed a tense atmosphere within the Association. After asking around, he learned that the current Pope of Rome had issued a call to arms: England's Inquisition, along with those of all other European nations, was to prepare to confront the Ottoman Empire—the same Ottomans who had destroyed Byzantium and now occupied Albania, standing across the sea from Rome itself.
And that Pope was none other than Alexander VI—the most infamous and controversial pontiff of the Renaissance.