William's violet gaze swept across the arena, luminous and unblinking, as though he were weighing constellations rather than people. There was expectation there—quiet, immense, and unmistakably heavy. When he smiled, it was gentle enough to disarm, yet sharp enough to leave a bruise beneath the ribs.
"You may use your grimoires," he announced, voice smooth as polished glass. "I trust you've mastered one or two offensive spells by now."
The words themselves were harmless.
The way they lingered was not.
His expression never wavered as he turned and returned to his seat among the captains. Xierra found herself watching him longer than she intended, her attention snagged by something she could not name. There was nothing overtly wrong with him—no barked threats, no crude taunts like the dark-cloaked captain had hurled earlier at Asta. William was courteous. Refined.
And yet.
The weight behind his gaze left her skin prickling, as if she had brushed past a cold flame.
Keep your distance from him.
Inari's warning replayed in her mind, softer now, but no less firm. Xierra frowned faintly. Why, she wondered, her fingers curling unconsciously against her sleeve.
Around her, the arena stirred.
The participants murmured among themselves, glancing down at the grimoires strapped to their backs, clutched to their chests, hidden in satchels, or hugged close like lifelines. Their thoughts aligned in quiet unison—this was it. This was the part that mattered.
"The duty of a Magic Knight is combat," one of the captains declared. "Show us what you're capable of."
"And if you lose," another added coolly, "it will not reflect kindly upon the captain who chooses you."
The arena fractured into motion.
Candidates scattered like startled birds, voices overlapping as they scanned the crowd.
"We need to choose carefully."
"Who looks manageable?"
"I should find someone weaker—"
Some moved with deliberation, others with thinly veiled panic. A few had already clashed in distant corners, spells flaring in hurried sparks. There were no rules forbidding uneven matches. Strength, after all, was its own justification.
William listened to the rising clamor before lifting his hand once more.
"The match concludes when one party surrenders or is rendered unable to continue," he said evenly. "A healer will be present. Fight without restraint." A pause—brief, precise. "However, killing and destruction of the colosseum are strictly prohibited."
The word landed like a hammer.
Ki—l ——em. ——ll th—m. K——l t—em—
Pain detonated behind Xierra's eyes.
Her breath hitched as the world lurched sideways, sound distorting into a ringing void. She staggered, fingers clawing at her temple as if she could physically tear the noise away.
— w—nt t— ——ll th—m al——!
"Xierra—!"
She barely registered the hands that caught her before the ground could. Yuno moved instinctively, steadying her with an arm around her shoulders, grounding her before she could crumple entirely. His grip was firm but careful, as though she were made of something fragile and irreplaceable.
"What's wrong?" he asked, voice threaded with concern.
The ringing ebbed, retreating like a tide dragged unwillingly back into the dark. Xierra blinked rapidly, the blur clearing as she drew in a shaky breath.
Across the arena, William's gaze had found her again.
He studied her—quietly, intently—eyes narrowing behind his mask as if something had just clicked into place.
O—, —ow I w—sh —o— th—m —— —uf—er —s —el——
The voice dissolved.
Xierra swallowed, straightening with visible effort. "I'm... fine," she said softly, though her pulse still thrummed unevenly beneath her skin. She offered Yuno a small, apologetic smile. "Sorry. Thank you, Yuno."
Only then did she truly look at him.
Gold met blue—warm, steady, unmistakably present. It felt as though the sun had chosen that precise moment to shine brighter in her vast, blue sky, its light spilling gently across her thoughts. Like marigolds bursting open after a long winter, petals cupping sunlight without hesitation. Like bluebirds finding their voice again in spring, threading song through the quiet. Like goldfish leaping from a river that had borrowed the sky's colors, breaking the surface in brief, gleaming arcs before returning home.
The intensity of his concern reached her all at once, too sincere to ignore, and heat bloomed across her cheeks before she could stop it. Flustered, she turned her face away, hiding the softness of her expression, and patted his arm lightly—an unspoken thank you, gentle and fleeting.
"Y-You can let go now...!" she managed to squeak out.
Yuno hesitated, as if weighing protest, before easing his hold. "If you feel unwell again, call for me," he said quietly. "For now, you should find an opponent."
Xierra nodded, though her gaze drifted briefly back to the captains' platform—back to violet eyes that felt far too knowing.
Her fingers brushed the edge of her grimoire.
Laughing softly, Xierra straightened her posture and leaned closer, the motion light and unguarded. "What?" she teased, tilting her head just enough for mischief to glint in her eyes. "You don't want to battle me?"
Her laughter followed, bright and unrestrained, and she lifted a hand to cover her mouth as if to contain it—though it did little to hide the warmth lingering in her gaze.
Yuno watched her for a moment longer than necessary. Something in his expression eased, the sharp edge of focus melting into something gentler. He exhaled quietly, fingers tightening around the spine of his grimoire as though grounding himself.
"If it's possible," he admitted, voice low, "I don't want to fight you."
The honesty of it startled her—not enough to hurt, but enough to settle warmly in her chest.
"Fair enough," Xierra replied, still smiling. "I don't want to fight you either." Her laugh softened, turning fond. "Who knows what tornado you'd send my way?"
Yuno huffed a small, almost amused breath. A smile curved across his lips, brief but genuine, before he lifted a hand in farewell and turned away, already scanning the arena for an opponent.
Xierra returned the gesture with a beam that lingered even after he had gone, then turned in the opposite direction, her eyes drifting across the sea of competitors scattered throughout the colosseum.
Yet her thoughts refused to follow.
The looming clash ahead failed to capture her attention. Instead, her mind circled back to the voice—the one that had slithered through her thoughts earlier, uninvited and unresolved. She slowed her steps, gaze lifting instinctively toward the masked captain seated above.
William Vangeance.
Her brows knit together. Just what was that?
The voice had not been hers.
It had carried weight—raw and jagged—yet beneath it lay something frayed, exhausted. It burned with fury and grief in equal measure, as though hatred had been stitched together with sorrow until the seams gave way. It spoke of resentment, but the kind born not from malice... rather, from loss.
Someone wronged.
Someone broken.
The unfamiliar emotions pressed against her chest, searing hot for a fleeting moment, as though embers had been scattered beneath her skin. Her steps faltered.
... i— a—— —a—pen—d be—ause of ——a— —ne pr—m—se — ma—e —hem a—l d—.
Her breath hitched.
It's that voice again.
A—d —hat em—ty —ro——se th—— I —a—e th—m—
Xierra clenched her jaw, biting down on her lower lip as she pushed forward despite the pounding in her head. The sensation was eerily familiar—too similar to the agony she had felt beneath the demon skull. As though something ancient had reached out and dragged its memories through her veins.
Her heart twisted, flooded with grief that did not belong to her. Longing. Regret. An ache so deep it felt carved into bone.
"I wonder who you are," she murmured inwardly, steadying her breathing. "And why you sound so... tired."
She slowed, inhaling deeply until the air filled her lungs, cool and grounding. Gradually, the pressure receded. The voice withdrew, leaving behind only a dull echo.
Xierra lifted her hand to her shoulder, fingers brushing the space where Inari usually rested. He's not saying anything... she realized. Still asleep.
A quiet sigh slipped past her lips. Her shoulders sagged as the last remnants of pain dissolved, and she leaned back against a stone pillar, letting its cool surface support her weight. For a moment, she closed her eyes, gathering herself—unaware of the sharp, contemplative gaze fixed upon her from above.
.
.
.
Behind a feathered mask, violet eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"Sir, is there something that concerns you?"
The question came softly, carried by a healer stationed at the edge of the arena. Their robes fluttered faintly in the breeze that swept through the open colosseum, scented with stone dust and lingering mana.
William did not answer right away.
His gaze remained fixed on a lone figure near one of the pillars—small against the vastness of the arena, her posture betraying fatigue she had tried so carefully to hide. Distance blurred her features, yet something about the way she leaned back, eyes briefly closed as though steadying herself, drew an unfamiliar weight into his chest.
His violet eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but in something far closer to concern.
He exhaled, then finally leaned back into his seat. "No," he said after a pause, voice calm once more. "Nothing serious." A beat passed. "One of the participants appears to be... ill."
"'Ill'?" the healer parroted, brows furrowing as they followed the direction of William's gaze. Understanding dawned slowly, followed by hesitation. "Sir, it is against regulation to administer healing before a participant is injured during the final exam. If you permit it, we could make arrangements—"
"No."
The interruption was gentle, but firm enough to halt the healer mid-sentence. William lifted a hand, palm outward, a quiet boundary drawn in the air between them.
"It's all right," he continued, tone even. "There's no need."
The healer inclined their head and stepped back, lips pressed together, leaving William alone with his thoughts.
He looked at her again.
This time, there was no smile to soften his expression—only contemplation, and something that lingered just beneath it. His eyes followed Xierra's still form, watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers curled and relaxed at her side as though testing her own strength.
"We'll see how this goes," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
At last, his attention shifted away from her, sweeping over the arena where participants continued to move, circle, and size one another up like pieces on a board. Rising from his seat, William's presence commanded silence as surely as any spell.
"Now," he announced, voice carrying effortlessly across stone and sky, "would the first competitors please step forward?"
.
.
.
William's booming voice cut cleanly through the air, sharp enough to pull Xierra from the spiral of her thoughts.
She blinked, breath catching, and lifted her head just in time to see two familiar figures stepping into the heart of the colosseum.
Asta. Sekke.
The arena had been restored without her noticing—stone tiles scrubbed clean of scorch marks, cracks sealed as if they had never existed. The staff had worked with practiced efficiency, leaving behind a pristine battleground that gleamed beneath the sun. It looked untouched. As though nothing had ever been broken there.
Xierra's fingers curled unconsciously at her side.
Before the signal was given, she watched their mouths move from afar. Asta's eyes still held that unmistakable brightness—clear, earnest, almost painfully honest—but Sekke's expression twisted into something darker, something that made her skin prickle. Whatever he said, it struck its mark.
She saw it the moment Asta's shoulders stiffened.
He didn't laugh.
Didn't shout.
Didn't puff out his chest like he usually did.
Instead, he turned and walked to his position in silence.
Xierra's brows knit together.
That wasn't like him.
A quiet unease settled in her chest, heavy and unwelcome. Would he be all right? Could he win? She hated herself for the doubt even as it surfaced, thin and trembling. Asta had always been strong—stronger than anyone gave him credit for.
Still, her heart wavered.
She didn't look away.
The moment Sekke raised his shield and the metal cannons flared to life, Asta moved.
There was no warning. No hesitation.
He surged forward like a released arrow, boots striking stone with raw force, and in a single breathless instant—
The shield shattered.
Not cracked.
Not dented.
Split cleanly in half.
The sound echoed through the stadium, sharp and final, and for a heartbeat, the entire world seemed to freeze.
Xierra sucked in a breath.
A triumphant smirk curved Asta's lips as Sekke's defenses collapsed, disbelief written plainly across his face. The jeers from earlier died mid-breath. The careless laughter. The dismissive glances. The whispered assumptions—
All of them fell silent beneath the weight of that single strike.
Xierra's chest warmed, something bright blooming there, fierce and proud.
She brought her hands together, clapping softly, a clear whistle escaping her lips. "Good job, Asta!"
He didn't hear her over the roar of the crowd—but it didn't matter. The victory wasn't hers, yet it felt right all the same, like watching the sun finally break through a storm others insisted was permanent.
The captains' reactions were impossible to miss.
Asta was fast—terrifyingly so. No mana. No enhancement. No magic woven into his movements. Just muscle, instinct, and years of relentless training carved into his body. He fought like someone who had never been given anything and refused to stay down because of it.
The colosseum buzzed with disbelief.
That single question—how?—hung thick in the air, slipping from parted lips, echoing from stunned throats. Xierra saw Sekke crumple fully to the ground, unconscious, foam gathering at the corner of his mouth.
Defeated.
Asta straightened slowly, sword still in hand, breath steady despite everything. His voice carried when he spoke, rough and unwavering.
"I'm not here to mess around," he said. "I'm not here to slack off and call it a day." His grip tightened. "I'm here to work harder than anyone else—and become the Wizard King."
Xierra smiled.
Across the arena, she caught sight of Yuno—and he smiled too.
Different paths.
The same sky.
They were both aiming for the highest place in the kingdom, second only to the throne itself. The Wizard King. A dream so vast it terrified others just to hear it spoken aloud.
Xierra exhaled, shoulders loosening.
Guess that's my cue, she thought, gaze drifting back to the field. I should probably find an opponent...
A small, wry smile tugged at her lips.
"This might take a while."
.
.
.
Xierra wandered along the upper level of the colosseum, her steps light, deliberately ignoring the wide eyes and stunned silence that followed Asta's victory. Voices buzzed beneath her like disturbed insects, disbelief crackling through the air. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she imagined Yuno wearing the same quiet, satisfied smile she felt tugging at her own lips.
The murmurs grew louder as she passed.
"What the...?"
"What the heck just happened?!"
"That sword—was that magic?!"
"I thought he was just some dunce from the boonies!"
She lifted a hand to her mouth, shoulders trembling as she stifled a laugh. If she let it spill freely, she was certain the weight of all those judging stares would petrify her on the spot. Still, she couldn't help it—there was something undeniably entertaining about the way doubt had turned into confusion so quickly. One moment, they scoffed. Next, they scrambled for explanations.
Humans really were strange, she thought, reins tightening gently on her amusement.
She slowed to a stop when she spotted a familiar figure leaning near the stone railing.
Amber eyes met hers.
As expected, Yuno was smiling.
"Yuno," Xierra called softly, careful to keep her voice low despite the noise below. He hummed in response, turning fully toward her. "Did you find an opponent yet?"
He shook his head, gaze flicking briefly back toward the arena floor where Asta stood. "No. What about you?"
She let out a quiet laugh and let her shoulders slump. "Nope. No luck." Her eyes followed his, settling on the boy below. Her smile softened, widening just a little. "He's amazing, isn't he?"
Yuno nodded without hesitation. "Yeah. He's our rival, after all."
She giggled in agreement and leaned forward, resting her hands against the cool stone railing. From the second floor, the arena looked vast—voices echoing, sunlight spilling in like molten gold.
Below them, Asta straightened, sword held with unshakable confidence, the same earnest fire burning in his eyes—the same fire that lived in all three of them.
"...Just what is up with that guy?"
"Did he really say something about becoming the Wizard King?"
Asta snapped his head toward the crowd, veins nearly popping as he yelled, "Shut up with all that blabbing!! I said I'm going to become the Wizard King! Got a problem with that?!"
A stunned pause followed.
"...What?"
"Is he stupid?"
"He must be. Just a peasant from nowhere—what's he thinking?"
"Keep dreaming, idiot."
"Give it up already."
Laughter broke out again, sharp and cruel.
"Hey! Who are you calling pathetic?!" Asta screeched.
Xierra exhaled slowly, the tension easing from her shoulders. Yuno had been right. Asta didn't need saving. He never had. He had always stood back up on his own, fists clenched, voice louder than anyone else's doubt.
Maybe I should stop worrying so much, she thought, a wry smile tugging at her lips.
Something shifted against her shoulder.
A soft yawn brushed her ear.
"Hush," Inari murmured aloud, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "That kid really doesn't know how to stay quiet, does he?"
Xierra kept her gaze forward, answering just as quietly. "Well, anyone would snap after being insulted that much. Even you."
A faint huff of amusement followed. "Fair point."
She turned her head slightly, smiling despite herself. "Did you rest well, Inari? You should sleep more. I still haven't found an opponent."
"I'm quite all right, Master," he replied lazily. "I've had enough rest for one day."
She could almost picture the shrug in his voice. A soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it.
Yuno glanced sideways at her, brow lifting faintly. Seeing nothing particularly funny, he quickly pieced it together and looked away again.
Inari clicked his tongue lightly. "Something's put you in a better mood, Master."
She leaned closer to the railing, lowering her voice further. "It's Asta."
"The boy?" Inari paused, then added, "Ah. He won."
"Yes."
A beat of silence. Then, gently: "You're proud."
"Why wouldn't I be?" she whispered back.
Inari hummed, thoughtful. "You should be. Though perhaps you should save that feeling for when you win later." His tail brushed her cheek in a teasing flick. "You're far too happy over someone else's victory."
She didn't answer right away.
The spirit sighed softly and settled more comfortably against her shoulder, ears twitching as he listened to the lingering chaos below. "Still," he added, voice quieter now, "I suppose there are worse things than being happy for others."
Xierra didn't reply.
She didn't need to.
Inari closed his eyes, content to sit there in silence beside her, as the echoes of Asta's defiance rang through the colosseum.
Boredom settled over him like a thin veil of dust, dulling even the edge of his usual restlessness. Inari stifled a yawn that rippled through his invisible form, more out of habit than exhaustion. The arena below still throbbed with residual magic, the stone warmed by recent clashes, the air sharp with ozone and stirred sand—but none of it held his attention now.
Instead, his gaze drifted upward, lingering on the elevated seats where the nine captains presided like constellations pinned against the sky. Their postures were composed, expressions carved into practiced neutrality. He wondered—briefly, idly—what they made of the magicless boy who had fought with such ferocity. The one who refused to bow refused to break. The thought amused him.
His mouth curled, unseen.
"Who to spy on first..." he murmured, the sound dissolving before it could ever reach mortal ears.
He rose in a languid stretch, joints loosening as he stepped behind Xierra. His paw rested on her shoulders—light, familiar, grounding—and he leaned his weight there just long enough for her to feel the pressure, a silent announcement of his presence. Muscles unfurled; his tail arced in a lazy curve.
"Master," he sent smoothly, "I'll be away for a minute or two. Make sure you don't stray too far from Yuno."
Xierra tilted her head, eyes lifting from the arena's chaos. "Hmm? Where are you going?"
"Somewhere."
The reply came wrapped in teasing warmth, deliberately unhelpful. Xierra's lips pressed into a thin line, her brows knitting together as she followed the echo of his presence fading from her side. She exhaled through her nose, resignation softening her curiosity. No matter how many years passed, Inari never changed—answers were always riddles, departures always sudden.
Her fingers curled against the fabric at her knees.
Be careful, she thought, even if she knew he'd hear it whether she spoke or not.
.
.
.
In a blink that bent space rather than crossed it, Inari reappeared among the captains. The shift was silent, seamless—his form slipping between the folds of mana that pooled thickly around them. He tucked his presence close, wrapping it in layers of concealment as he drifted nearer.
Below, the last echoes of steel and shouted spells faded into murmurs. The captains remained quiet, eyes tracking the battlefield's aftermath—until one voice finally broke through.
"Hm. Is it a form of creation magic?" Finral mused, chin propped on his hand as his gaze followed Asta's figure. Curiosity colored his tone. "It didn't look like he had that kind of magical output during the earlier tests."
Inari tilted his head, ears twitching. He padded closer, careful to keep his essence thin and unobtrusive. If he slipped—if even a flicker of his power surfaced—they might mistake him for a hostile being—an enemy. Or worse, trace him back to Xierra. The thought sharpened his focus.
"He's not using magic," Yami cut in, voice rough as gravel. He tapped ash from his cigarette, embers scattering briefly before dying against the stone. Smoke curled around his shoulders as he leaned back. "Not a scrap of it."
Finral blinked, then laughed softly. "So he wants to become Wizard King without magic, huh?" His smile widened, bright with intrigue. "We really did get an odd one this year."
Inari's muzzle lifted in agreement, a silent nod none could see. His golden gaze slid across the captains—measuring, weighing—before settling on the one he had been watching far more closely than the rest.
William Vangeance.
With a flicker of movement, Inari hopped up, perching atop the back of William's chair as if it were made solely for him. His tail swayed, slow and rhythmic, brushing through empty air as seconds passed.
William did not startle. He did not stiffen, nor did his breath hitch. Yet something in his posture shifted, subtle as a leaf turning toward the sun.
"Inari," William said quietly. Low. Small. His voice was a mere whisper.
The spirit's ears twitched.
You can sense me, he replied, voice even, calm as still water. And speak to me, too. As expected of the Golden Dawn's captain.
A pause, thoughtful. If you can detect me, then surely others have their suspicions.
"They do," William admitted, a faint smile touching his lips. Memories flickered—of Xierra murmuring to empty air, laughing when no one stood beside her, reacting to things unseen. He leaned back slightly. "Why are you here?"
Inari's tail gave a mild flick.
What do you mean by "why"? I'm accompanying my master. Do I need another reason?
William's smile lingered as his eyes closed. Fingers interlaced, resting atop one knee as he crossed his legs with effortless grace. "No. He simply didn't expect to see you."
This "he" you referred to, Inari said, gaze sharpening, I assume he resides within you?
"Who knows?" William's chuckle was soundless, contained entirely within his chest. To anyone else, he would have appeared serene—perhaps even distracted. Mad, some might have thought, if they noticed the way his lips curved for no visible reason.
Inari huffed. You're just as vague as I am.
"Am I?" William's voice softened.
For a moment, his smile wavered. His lips parted as if to speak, then stilled. The silence stretched—thick, weighted—before his thoughts shifted, drawn inexorably to a name that had never truly left him.
Your previous master...
Inari went rigid, not expecting William's voice to resound in his head.
His tail stilled mid-sway. The golden light in his eyes dimmed, darkening like a sunset swallowed by storm clouds. Something old and aching stirred beneath the surface—grief folded carefully away, wounds long scarred but never healed.
They were hidden.
But they were there.
William turned his head just slightly, voice gentle, almost reverent.
"Tell me," he asked, "what happened to her?"
.
.
.
Xierra found herself breathless—not from exertion, but from wonder.
Every battle unfolded like a living mural before her eyes. One moment, hulking figures of mud clawed their way from the stone, limbs collapsing and reforming at their wielder's command. The next, fire blossomed midair—compressed, detonated, reborn—its heat rippling through the stands in shimmering waves. Smoke took on shape and intent, curling into half-formed bodies, while humans wreathed in flame exhaled destruction with every breath.
It felt endless. Boundless.
Water arced and scattered into prismatic droplets, catching the light as they spun. Earth groaned and answered its caller, slabs of stone grinding together like ancient teeth. Wind laughed as it danced—playful, violent, free—lifting cloaks and hair alike. The unnatural became familiar in its abundance, and creation itself seemed to pulse beneath the arena floor.
She liked seeing them.
Not because it offered her any advantage, nor because she sought to measure herself against them—but because witnessing magic by itself was exhilarating. It stirred something bright and restless in her chest, sent warmth racing through her veins. Each clash felt like a heartbeat, each spell a breath drawn by the world itself.
Xierra hummed quietly, the sound nearly lost beneath the roar of the crowd and the echoing impacts below. Her shoulders eased, tension melting away as she leaned forward, eyes alight.
The space beside her—where Yuno had stood not long ago—did not trouble her as much as she thought it might.
Only minutes earlier, a noble named Salim had requested Yuno's presence. Xierra still remembered the hesitation in his steps, the way his brows knit together as he followed the man. He had looked back once, just once, uncertainty flickering across his features—until she waved.
Brightly. Encouragingly.
"Good luck," she had said, smiling wide enough to chase his doubts away.
"I'll be back," Yuno had replied, lifting a hand in return.
"Take your time," she had answered easily. "We'll meet up here once you're done."
She reached out now, fingers brushing the stone where he had stood, tapping the surface absentmindedly. A quiet ache nudged at her chest before she could stop it.
"...Am I lonely?" she murmured under her breath.
The thought startled her.
Xierra shook her head at once, dark hair swaying. "No—no. He's only gone for a few minutes," she whispered to herself, as if the words needed convincing. "I told him to take his time."
Straightening, she smoothed her sleeves, adjusting the fall of her clothes—when a familiar weight settled onto her shoulders.
A soft, dramatic sigh followed.
Xierra lifted a brow. "Did something happen," she asked quietly, "or are you just exhausted from wandering around? Too exhausted."
She reached up, fingers threading gently through Inari's fur, stroking the top of his head. He leaned into the touch with a low sound, warmth pressing closer to her neck.
"I'm quite well, Master," Inari replied, voice kept low, nearly swallowed by the surrounding noise. "Nothing interesting caught my eye. So I came back."
"...If you say so."
She didn't miss it—the faint edge of frustration tucked beneath his words. Inari might have thought himself subtle, but she had known him far too long. Xierra's lips pursed slightly, though she said nothing more.
Something happened, she thought. And he doesn't want to tell me.
Curiosity tugged at her, insistent—but she let it go. For now.
Inari shifted, tail brushing lightly against her arm. "Where did Yuno go?" he asked in a hushed tone. "I thought he was with you."
"A noble took him," Xierra answered softly, eyes scanning the arena as she spoke. "Salim, I think his name was. Probably asked Yuno to be his opponent."
Her gaze caught movement below—green and gold, unmistakable. "Ah," she added, breath hitching with recognition. "There he is. Looks like I was right."
Inari's ears perked. "That's Salim?" he asked, tail beginning to sway again, livelier now.
Xierra nodded but didn't reply aloud. Her attention had already narrowed, fixed on Yuno's form—and the four-leaf clover grimoire hovering faithfully at his side.
Without another word, she turned and bolted.
"Master—?!" he hissed as she took off, claws scrambling for purchase as he clung to her shoulders. "Master—slow down!"
"No," Xierra replied breathlessly, weaving through the crowd, excitement bubbling over. "Yuno's match will be over the moment he starts casting. I want to see it up close!"
"You can see his spells another day!" Inari protested, fur bristling as they descended the stairs. "Just ask him!"
She didn't answer. She didn't need to.
Xierra slipped into an open space at the edge of the forming crowd just as the match began, heart pounding, eyes shining—just in time to watch the wind rise.
The air shifted.
In a heartbeat, Yuno lifted his hand, his grimoire responding as though it had been waiting for that single motion. Mana surged—clean, precise, unwavering—and the wind obeyed.
"Wind Magic: Towering Tornado," his voice carried, low but steady, barely louder than a breath.
The spell answered with fury.
A colossal spiral of wind tore itself into existence, its base clawing at the arena floor while its peak vanished into the open sky above the colosseum. The gale screamed as it turned, layers of air folding into one another, violent and beautiful all at once. Dust, loose stone, and shattered fragments were wrenched upward, swallowed whole by the spinning column.
It moved.
Not rushed. Not hesitant. It advanced like an inevitability.
Salim barely had time to widen his eyes.
The wind struck him full-on, merciless in its force. His carefully prepared stance collapsed instantly, body flung backward like a discarded doll. He never managed a spell—never even raised his grimoire. When the tornado dissipated, the noble lay sprawled across the stone, unconscious, eyes rolled back, the fight ripped from him before it could even begin.
Silence fell.
Then—
"N-No way!"
"He lost in seconds?!"
Xierra's breath caught, and then she smiled—wide, radiant, unrestrained.
Pride bloomed warm in her chest, spreading outward until her fingers curled against the fabric of her sleeves. Yuno stood there amid the settling dust, composed as ever, as if he hadn't just rewritten everyone's expectations with a single spell.
She didn't care anymore that she hadn't found an opponent.
All she wanted was to reach him.
Her feet shifted forward, ready to move—only to be halted by a sudden weight on her right shoulder.
Inari jolted awake at once, fur bristling as he sprang upright and relocated himself to her other shoulder, glaring pointedly at the offending presence as if daring it to try again.
"Hey, you."
The voice was sharp. Shrill. Commanding.
Xierra turned.
Before her stood a girl wrapped in finery—fabric stitched with gold thread, posture stiff with entitlement. Her chestnut hair was braided meticulously, each plait resting perfectly against her shoulders. Everything about her spoke of wealth, of pedigree, of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
Xierra lifted a brow and waited.
The silence seemed to offend the girl more than any insult could have.
"Are you mute?" she snapped. "Can't you answer when I call you? You have a mouth, don't you?"
Inari's tail flicked once, slow and dangerous. He leaned closer to Xierra's ear, voice lowered to a whisper sharp with irritation.
"Master. Say the word, and I'll skewer her. Or burn her to cinders. Or toss her screaming into the underworld and let the rest deal with her remains."
"No," Xierra murmured back, just as quietly. "Calm down."
She turned her attention back to the noble, smoothing her expression into something gentle, pleasant, even. "Forgive me, Miss," she said softly. "Is there something you need from me?"
Discomfort curled faintly in her stomach. Nobles always carried that effect—like stepping too close to a blade you couldn't see. Still, she held her ground. Retreat would only invite laughter. Or worse.
The girl's eyes narrowed. "You're the one with the weird grimoire, aren't you?"
Xierra blinked, then tilted her head slightly. "Yes, though I wouldn't exactly call my grimoire wei—"
"Save it." The noble waved her off, lips curling. "Cloud-Eyes. Be my partner for this duel."
The words struck sharper than intended.
Xierra felt the twitch before she could stop it—at the corner of her eye, at her temple. A breath passed. Then another. Inari shifted restlessly, claws kneading into her shoulder.
"Rude," he muttered under his breath. "I already miss the loud brat."
Xierra inhaled slowly, then exhaled.
"All right," she said evenly. "I'll be your partner."
The noble smirked, clearly pleased. "Good. If you'd refused, I'd have made you my dog." She laughed lightly, crossing her arms. "Not a bad deal, was it?"
Inari scoffed, voice barely audible. "Why are humans here so exceptionally irritating?"
Xierra's lips curved into a tight smile. "That's a mystery for the ages."
The announcement rang out across the arena, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"May the next competitors step forward!"
Xierra stepped ahead, spine straight, expression serene despite the storm simmering beneath her composure.
She and the noble entered the battlefield side by side.
One wore a smile born of arrogance. The other wore a smile carefully held together—quiet, restrained, and waiting for its moment to crack.
"Master," Inari muttered beneath his breath, voice edged sharp as broken glass, "if this exam wasn't important to you, I would have ended her already and sent her screaming to the depths of the underworld."
Xierra stood on her mark, the pale stone cool beneath her boots, the arena stretching wide and sunlit before her. She let out a soft laugh, the sound light but sincere, and dipped her head slightly as if humoring an old friend. "Thank you," she whispered back.
Inari's golden eyes narrowed, tail flicking. "Even the gatekeepers wouldn't let a soul like hers pass so easily."
"Inari," Xierra murmured gently, her lips curving upward as she waited for the referee's signal. She glanced toward her shoulder, her grin warm and unshaken. "We're going to bring home a victory."
"Why, of course, Master," he replied without hesitation. "I will tear that girl apart if it comes to that."
She burst into laughter then—clear, bright, unrestrained—earning a dozen startled stares from the surrounding stands. "Good to know," she said between soft chuckles. "Though killing is very much not allowed."
"Give the word," Inari whispered fervently, "and I will reduce this entire place to ruins."
"N-No," Xierra replied quickly, a nervous laugh escaping her as she raised a hand in surrender. "Let's... not go that far."
A sharp voice cut across the space between them.
"Hey."
Xierra lifted her gaze from her grimoire, eyes settling on the noble girl standing opposite her. The girl's expression twisted in disdain, lips curling as if the sight of Xierra alone offended her.
"Stop talking to yourself, you dirty little rat," the noble sneered. "You look even crazier than that short runt earlier. And why don't you throw that pathetic little book away while you're at it?"
Inari scoffed quietly, ears flattening. "Dirty little rat? Coming from someone who looks like a walking corpse buried under paint."
The noble continued, her voice dripping with venom. "That filthy thing won't save you from my beautiful Winter Magic. Sewer trash like you should stay where you belong. And you dare dream of becoming a Magic Knight?"
The words struck again and again—sharp, deliberate, meant to wound.
Xierra listened. Yet she did not flinch.
A strange calm settled over her as the insults piled higher, and for a fleeting moment, she wondered if this was how Asta always felt—standing alone beneath a storm of cruelty. He endured it so easily, his spirit unyielding, his heart armored by conviction.
She understood now.
Inari let out a low growl, muscles tensing beneath his fur, but Xierra lifted a hand slightly, silencing him. From the corner of her vision, she noticed Yuno watching from the sidelines, his expression drawn tight with concern.
The fox hesitated, then leapt down from her shoulder, landing softly at her feet. He looked up at her, eyes searching.
"Master?"
A shadow slipped over Xierra's gaze as she lowered her head, the sunlight catching only the edges of her lashes. The wind surged suddenly through the arena, tugging violently at her long platinum hair, sending it streaming like pale fire behind her.
This was it.
This test would show her what all those quiet hours, all that discipline and restraint, had truly amounted to.
She lifted her chin slowly, eyes meeting her opponent's without fear, without anger—only resolve.
"Inari," she asked softly, voice steady as stone, "can you do it?"
A smile spread across the fox's face, sharp and proud, though unseen by the world. He knew exactly what she meant.
"Of course, Master," he replied, voice hushed and reverent. "Use me as you wish. I am yours."
The referee raised his hand, expression unreadable, and brought it down in a decisive motion.
"May the battle... begin!"
To Be Continued...