The forest lay quiet in the late afternoon haze, the kind of stillness that whispered hidden truths. Jay Arcanine stood alone, breathing in the cool metallic scent of mana that still clung to the air. He flexed his fingers, barely aware of the last battle's echo slipping from his senses.
Magic never truly fades, he knew, but it recedes like footprints in sand — eventually forgotten, eventually replaced.
Jay turned, his gaze slipping toward the place where Ddraig had stood moments before. The draconic silhouette was gone now, replaced by something altogether different.
Light flared.
Not the blazing, overwhelming glow that heralded a dragon — but a slow, deliberate shift of form that solidified into… human shape.
A woman stood there.
Tall. Proud. Wrapped in an outfit that bore faint echoes of something legendary — dramatic lines and cloth that framed her like a story told in silhouette. It was the kind of attire a conqueror might wear in myth, something evocative, striking, impossible to ignore.
Underneath, she wore casual clothes that still managed to twist attention — a crisp white shirt with two buttons undone, fitted denim jeans that hugged her shape with confident ease, and that presence… powerful even without roaring flames.
Her eyes — bright, precise, calculating — met Jay's.
"…Seriously," Jay muttered.
She blinked once, expression unreadable.
"You're staring again," she said, voice a low rumble — but there was something playful hidden beneath it.
Jay straightened up, clearing his throat.
"I didn't expect… well," he gestured vaguely, "this."
Truth was, Ddraig's true form — or at least this version of it — was both unexpected and strangely fitting. The casual clothes were one thing, but the aura she carried… It was not casual.
"You look like someone's character model," Jay deadpanned (A/N:Nobunaga Avenger but more bountiful and her eyes color are emerald green).
"No," she replied, voice flat. "I know what I look like."
Jay's eyes flicked again — he noticed, and he definitely was trying not to.
"You had to pick something that… emphasizes certain… qualities," he said carefully.
She blinked once, unimpressed.
"…I did not design myself for your entertainment," she replied. "But I also did not intend to look unattractive. You humans can be… difficult to read."
Jay froze.
Then internally groaned:
Of course my dragon buddy tailored herself to fit my preferences after using my memories. Utter chaos. And honestly… not bad. Jay Tought
Jay's lips twitched in a smile under his mask — a smile she would never see.
"So why… female?" he asked. "Why this form?"
A soft exhale — almost like amusement — escaped her.
"I was female originally," she said simply. "Albion and I were female. We hid our true forms for I forget how long it was. Assumptions were made. We have too many male dragons and gods chasing us. So we shifted to male forms to minimize attention."
Jay's head tilted.
"…Right."
Silence settled, heavy and awkward.
"Still," she said, stepping closer with an unimpressed expression, "you're wearing that full mask. Why?"
Jay shrugged.
"If I take it off now," he said, "we'll deal with more problems if I do that. At least not here. Wait till we get to my world. I will show you what is hidden behind this mask, my face and you will stop wondering why the hell I use this mask."
She eyed him — eyes sharp, analytical — but didn't argue.
"…hmph ok," she said.
Jay nodded.
"So what now?" she asked.
He exhaled slowly.
"I want to find Asia Argento," Jay said.
Asia Argento was one of the kindest souls Jay had ever encountered. Kind in the way light is kind — forgiving, warm, and capable of healing without hesitation.
But kindness is not always spared on this world.
Ever since Asia had been banished from the Church for healing a demon — a Devil whom she could not stand to see suffer — the world had become harsher to her than any battlefield Jay had ever faced.
"She didn't hurt anyone," Jay murmured. "She didn't do anything wrong... She just couldn't let another being die."
He had tried to help. He had tried to fix it — but Freed and Reynaert were moving fast. Their alignment would be complete in less than ten minutes.
Time was slipping.
"I'm going now," Jay said.
He turned to Ygnisia — that was her name now, he'd decided.
"Do you want to come?" Jay asked. "Or do you want to find Albion?"
Ygnisia's expression softened into a faint smirk.
"I will find Albion," she said. "And give her a surprise."
Jay nodded.
A pause. Something unsettled, yet familiar.
Then he asked the question.
"…Before that it's awkward to keep calling you Ddraig. It feels more like a man's name than a woman — what was your name?"
She met his gaze.
"Ygnisia Ddraig Coch."
Jay nodded once. That was enough.
"Got it," he said.
And with a shimmer of mana, Jay vanished — teleporting toward Asia's last known location.
POV — Asia Argento
The day Asia was banished was the kind of morning the sun seemed to regret rising.
It started like any other day in the monastery — soft light filtering through stained glass, echoes of distant laughter, the smell of incense lingering like a gentle promise.
Asia had spent her youth within these walls — cared for by the Church since infancy, trained in prayer and compassion, and honored as someone who carried a sacred gift: the power to heal.
Not just humans. Not just angels. But any being.
Her ability Twilight Healing was a blessing — or so everyone had said.
When she first met Diodora Astaroth — a Devil injured and broken — she saw that pain could belong to anyone. Not only humans. Not only saints. Pain was universal.
So she reached out her hand.
She healed.
And then the world turned on her.
The Church called it heresy.
They said a Devil could not be healed by holy magic.
They said she had betrayed her calling.
They said she was no longer fit to stand among the faithful.
They exiled her.
They called her tainted.
And Asia…
Asia only cried.
She stood there on the steps of the cathedral, robes in tatters, tears like sunlight breaking through clouds of doubt.
Did I do something wrong? she whispered.
Was mercy wrong?
Was compassion a sin?
She had learned in the Monastery that sacred gifts came with sacred responsibility — but she had never learned what to do when kindness itself was interpreted as betrayal.
That day was the day her faith fractured.
Flashback — The Healing of Diodora (Cinematic)
The sun dripped red in the sky like bleeding ink when she found him.
Diodora was sprawled in the ruins of a forgotten battlefield — scorched earth beneath him, wings collapsed like broken sails.
His breath was ragged, body laced with wounds too deep for ordinary healing.
Asia's heart throbbed.
She approached him carefully, eyes soft, hands trembling just slightly with the weight of decision.
"Please… let me help you," she whispered.
He blinked, blue eyes dull with exhaustion and something softer — relief.
"I'm not your enemy," Asia said, voice firm yet gentle.
Her prayers began in silence — soft at first, a murmur that blossomed into radiant warmth.
Her mana flowed through her palms like golden silk, winding into his wounds, knitting torn flesh, sealing broken bone.
But as her power grew, so did the eyes watching.
Guards appeared on the ridge… then more… cloaked figures with stern faces and judgment colder than stone.
"He is a Devil!" one of them shouted.
But Asia didn't stop.
And nowhere in her faith did it say mercy was reserved only for some.
The healing completed, and Diodora opened his eyes — not with malice, not with threat — but with a softness that mirrored her own.
But her act was deemed unforgivable.
The Church declared it heresy.
They sealed her fate.
She was exiled.
Cast out into a world that no longer recognized her devotion as sacred.
Present — Asia's Solitude
Now she stood in a broken cathedral far from the place that once was home.
Her robes were worn and stained.
Her heart — worn thinner still.
She closed her eyes.
"Was it wrong?" she whispered to the empty hall.
Her voice trembled, but it was steady — a fragile song of doubt and longing.
She remembered the touch of Diodora's hand — warm and grateful.
She remembered the flash of sunlight through broken windows — like hope trying to pierce despair.
Tears fell, but not from sorrow alone — from the ache of unanswered questions.
Did I betray my faith?
Or did my faith betray me?
Her hands trembled, folding in prayer.
"I did what I thought was right," she whispered..
She wanted to believe she had done good.
Her breath cracked; her heart ached.
And then she heard it.
Soft footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate.
She opened her eyes.
A figure stood in the distance.
Tall.
Imposing.
Draped in dark cloth that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.
He was at least 6'7" (200 cm) tall — a silhouette carved in shadow and command.
His attire was striking, dramatic — cloth that framed him like a legend stepped out of stories, bold lines and silhouettes that suggested ancient significance.
A black mask hid his face, two narrow slits for eyes that glinted coolly in the fading light.
Asia's breath caught.
"…Who are you?" she whispered.
A/N: Jay Arrived before Freed