Kurono glanced sideways at the tiny figure flitting beside him, her wings leaving behind faint traces of rainbow light like a child's drawing come to life. There was something soothing about the gentle hum of her flight, something that untied the knots in his chest.
"Lily," he asked softly, more to start a conversation than anything else, "why are you staying here all alone? Or… is someone with you?"
Lily tilted her head, hovering just above a patch of moss, her feet never quite touching the ground. "There is no one," she said with a slight shrug, her voice light as wind chimes. "I live alone. I'm the Guardian."
Kurono frowned, curiosity tickling at his already-restless mind. "But you said there are other fairies. Why aren't any of them here with you?"
A shadow passed over Lily's tiny face, and her wings slowed slightly. "They don't like Lily," she said simply, in the same way one might declare that it was raining. "They think Lily is too big. Too ugly."
Kurono blinked. The words sounded so absurd coming from such a lovely little creature that for a moment, he wondered if she was joking. But fairies, as Shirou had once told him, couldn't lie.
"Who said that?" he asked sharply, a protective heat rising in his chest. "That's just nonsense. You're adorable—cuter than anything I've ever seen." His voice held a rare softness, tinted with real indignation.
Lily turned to him slowly, her eyes—clear emerald green—shimmering with a light that hadn't been there before. "Really?" she asked, the word small and tremulous.
"Absolutely," Kurono said, more firmly now. "You can even ask my friend. He'll say the same."
Lily's gaze flitted briefly to Shirou, who was still walking beside them, half-lost in his thoughts, and then returned to Kurono. A soft smile bloomed on her face, so pure it could've melted the cold off a mountain. "You look good too, Kurono."
Kurono coughed, feeling his ears turn red. "Uh—thanks," he muttered, awkwardly scratching his neck. It wasn't every day a fairy child complimented him.
Shirou, without looking up, mumbled, "Fairies can't lie. She doesn't think you look bad."
Which, of course, only made Kurono more flustered. He was still getting used to the idea of being seen—really seen—without suspicion or fear. Lily, it seemed, was immune to all the darkness he carried. Or perhaps she just didn't care.
Whatever the case, something shifted after that. Lily began to speak more, flitting around them like a butterfly and asking him endless questions in that innocent, musical voice. She asked about where he came from, what humans were like, whether the stars looked the same from other lands.
In return, she chattered about her forest, her tiny house, and the village they were headed toward—Irz, it was called. A small settlement tucked far away from the grand cities of the Kingdom of Daidalos. Peaceful, untouched by the wars and empires of the world. Only about a hundred or two hundred people lived there, she said, and not all of them were human—or even half-human.
"There are Lizardmen and Lamia," Lily explained cheerfully, "and Elves and Harpies and Warcats! Oh, and Goblins—nice ones, not the wild kind—and even some Orcs! But not scary Orcs."
The village chief was an Elf woman, wise and graceful, and the people were kind, according to Lily. The nearest settlement was five hours away by carriage, or thirty minutes if you could fly, which she said with a proud flutter of her wings.
Still, not everything was as idyllic as it sounded. Wild goblins, great beasts, and all manner of lurking dangers prowled the deeper forests, which was why Lily had taken it upon herself to protect the other fairies—most of whom were too small or timid to defend themselves.
"They don't like Lily," she repeated once, more softly this time, "but Lily still protects them."
Kurono felt something tight in his chest at that. It wasn't fair, not even a little. But the child-fairy didn't seem bitter, only determined.
She told him how she visited Irz from time to time to trade. Fairy dust, it turned out, was quite valuable. A pinch could heal mortal wounds, and alchemists used it in high-tier potions—though not without paying handsomely.
There was even an adventurer's guild in the village,"Not many strong ones. All low rank. They don't fight much." She didn't seem to think much of them, though it was clear she didn't dislike them either. Just another piece of the village she helped protect, quietly and without thanks.
Kurono didn't speak for a long while after that. His thoughts were still tangled, but Lily's voice—bright, innocent, and oddly wise—was like sunlight filtering through old curtains. Gentle. Steady. Warm.
And perhaps, just perhaps, enough to guide him home.
----------------
As they neared the village gates, a hush seemed to fall over the woodland path. The sun had dipped low behind the trees, casting long shadows across the road, and the wind had gone still—expectant, somehow. That was when Shirou saw them.
Four figures stood just beyond the village's low stone wall—out of place, startlingly so. Their clothing shimmered in contrast to the earthy hues of the world around them: modern, clean-cut, and unmistakably foreign. A girl with long crimson hair stood at the front, her posture regal but tense. Behind her, a trio—one boy and two girls—lingered with uncertain eyes, half curiosity, half wariness.
Shirou slowed to a stop. His breath caught.
They were like him.
"Lily," he asked under his breath, "are those... the humans you mentioned?"
"Yes," the fairy replied simply, hovering just behind his shoulder, her tone neither anxious nor excited. "They are kind. You can speak to them."
That was all the assurance Shirou needed. He stepped forward, heart thudding with a mix of relief and apprehension.
"Hello," he called out, raising one hand in greeting. "My name is Shirou. I'm from Japan. You?"
The red-haired girl's eyes locked onto his the moment he spoke. For a split second, she looked almost stunned—but she recovered quickly, her expression hardening as if struggling to hold herself together.
"Rias Gremory," she answered, her voice cool but unmistakably strained. "Also from Japan. Let me guess… the White Sacrament?"
Shirou nodded slowly, noting the stiffness in her shoulders and the tight grip of her hands at her sides.
Rias Gremory. That name didn't sound Japanese. A foreigner. Behind her, her team wore similar uniforms, though they also didn't look normal. Mages. Or something else.
"You were summoned too?" Shirou asked, his voice softer now. He could feel the weight she carried.
Her jaw clenched. "No. He was. We… followed."
There was pain in her eyes—anger and fear mixed with the kind of desperate resolve one finds in only those who have lost something precious.
"Did you see someone with similar clothes? A guy with brown hair, a stupid face… and a red gauntlet?" Rias's voice broke slightly at the end, her eyes not quite meeting Shirou's anymore. It was a strange mixture—of hope, weariness, and a deep fear that made her look older than she was.
Shirou hesitated. There was something fragile in her question, like a thread stretched too thin. But before he could speak, Kurono stepped forward, gaze lowered.
"I remember him," he said quietly.
Rias's head snapped toward him, and the others behind her tensed.
Kurono closed his eyes, the memory seeming to press heavily against his words. "A boy with a red gauntlet… always shouting Boost. He wasn't a refined fighter—but strong, far stronger than most. Our first battles ended in draws. But eventually… he won."
He opened his eyes and looked straight at her. "That was the last time I saw him."
Rias looked as if the breath had been knocked out of her.
"He's alive then," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "He must be."
Kurono nodded slowly. "Maybe. But… the people running this project—" his voice dropped as if speaking of them too loudly might summon their presence, "—they're creating puppets. Not just machines. Living weapons. I think your friend was… taken."
Shirou's brow furrowed. "Puppets?"
Kurono nodded. "Mindless soldiers. Enhanced. They're preparing for war. The Arc Continent plans to invade Pandora… and I'm sure they'll send the puppets ahead. Your friend might be… one of them."
A heavy silence followed.
Rias stood very still, her knuckles white. It was Akeno who touched her arm gently, grounding her. No one spoke.
They were out of their depth—schoolchildren thrown into a foreign world with monsters, politics, and conspiracies far beyond their experience. And yet… they hadn't broken.
Not yet.
"Thank you," Rias said eventually. Her voice was low but calm, as though she'd folded her fear into a small, quiet space inside herself. "We'll talk again soon. I need to speak with my team."
With that, she turned and began walking away, her group falling into step behind her without a word.
The trio watched them go, the figures soon swallowed by the village's misty outskirts.
Shirou sighed, the tension draining from his body like air from a balloon. "She's stronger than she looks."
"She has to be," Kurono said softly. "He means the world to her."
Their journey resumed, winding down the forest path until it gave way to the outskirts of Irz Village—a place that seemed to exist halfway between myth and reality. A Lizardman, tall and imposing, waited at the entrance with a heavy spear in hand. But instead of threatening them, he gave a polite nod.
"Welcome," he said in a deep voice. "Lily vouches for you. You may enter."
As they passed through the gate, guided by the watchful Lizardman, Shirou's eyes widened. The village was alive in ways he hadn't expected. Goblins with sun-wrinkled skin and weathered tools tended to small plots of farmland. Others balanced baskets or swept their stone thresholds. There was no hint of menace here—only community, routine, and the echo of something lost in their own world.
Even the monsters, it seemed, could live like people.
Lily floated beside him, quiet for once, her wings catching glimmers of fading sunlight. "This place is safe. For now."
Shirou nodded.
For now would have to be enough.