It was perfect. Just as the last word left Sū ěr lips, Jibril sprang into the air and yanked his hair.
In a sense, he had reaped exactly what he had sown.
Those of you who have lived in the countryside might be familiar with a particular phenomenon: you're squatting on the ground when a goose stealthily approaches from behind, then violently flutters onto your back or head. It's called "mounting."
Right now, Jibril was that goose.
A struggling Sū ěr and a furious Jibril engaged in a "mortal struggle," which finally wound down after Sū ěr begged for mercy, leaving the balcony floor littered with white feathers. So many had fluttered down that they were appearing faster than they could dissipate.
The two slumped back against the railing in a similarly exhausted posture. From here, they could see the flickering lights in the distance and the city's omnipresent drone of car horns.
A rare moment of quiet.
Perhaps minutes passed, perhaps longer.
"Leaning here with such a brooding look... are you waiting for me to comfort you?" Jibril spoke with an air of weary maturity that belied her youthful appearance.
"Could you not make me sound like some scumbag who acts deep just to pick up girls?" Sū ěr sighed. Come to think of it, this was the first time he and Jibril had been alone since their reunion. Jibril had tried to pull him aside a few times before, but Think had always intercepted her.
Lady Nirvalen never missed a beat.
But right now, she seems to be playing chess... Sū ěr turned his head to confirm.
Yes, she was definitely playing chess.
When Sū ěr turned back, he saw Jibril watching him from the side. Her cute face rested on her arms against the railing. In those amber pupils shimmering with starlight, something seemed to be stirring, reflecting a rippling aquatic light beneath the night sky.
Sū ěr heart gave a slight tremor.
"...Did something happen?"
There was no evidence, no prompt, yet Sū ěr could no longer see that characteristic madness or haughty pride in the Flügel. She seemed... helpless. Sū ěr couldn't be sure... he was just... taking a shot in the dark.
It wasn't an unspeakable confession of love, nor was it a shyness too bashful to voice. It was a different emotion, leaning toward sorrow.
Sū ěr caught it. He felt he had touched it—yet he hesitated, wondering if he should be the one to expose it. Ultimately, his resolve hardened.
He looked Jibril in the eye, unflinching.
Then, turning his head to look straight ahead, Sū ěr shifted a step closer to her side.
The sound of rustling didn't leave him wondering for long. Soon, something cool—which quickly grew warm—pressed against his arm. Jibril had shifted over too.
It was a tangible sense of presence right beside him, transcending space, as if a silhouette were being traced in his mind. Her outline, far smaller and more fragile than the towering figure in his memories, felt even clearer now.
Strange, isn't it?
A lifeform composed entirely of energy, yet possessing a body temperature like a warm-blooded mammal. Her smooth skin was flawless, down to the nearly transparent fine hairs—more exquisite than any biological creature.
Jibril also looked ahead. The two of them stared into the same darkness.
Without speaking or rushing, Sū ěr simply waited—waited for Jibril to voice whatever it was she needed to say.
He had plenty of time. She had plenty of time.
In the visibly vast future ahead, they would be together forever.
"The Master I served... My Lord... He abandoned me."
Jibril voice seemed to catch; her words were broken and incredibly low.
"He granted me so-called freedom, forbidding me from ever calling myself a Flügel again."
"He said—I am free."
"Am I truly free, Sū ěr...?"
Never had she looked so timid; one might even describe her as frail. Jibril turned her head slightly from where her cheek was buried in her arms, peering at Sū ěr through that narrow gap, hoping he would say something—anything at all.
"Freedom..." Sū ěr repeated softly. He wanted to offer some high-minded evaluation from a moral high ground, but felt he lacked the right. "Not having to compromise, not having to bow down for anything, being able to follow your heart when you want to do something to find fulfillment... I suppose that's the general definition of freedom."
"Do you have that kind of freedom?"
Jibril couldn't answer.
"I..." she hesitated, "I wanted to see you all again, so I came. I wanted to stay by your side, so here I am... Is that freedom?"
"...If we use planetary gravity as an analogy, then I'm afraid you're currently being captured by mine." Sū ěr words were unexpectedly calm and honest. There was no verbal camouflage or subtle hinting; it was practically a direct declaration.
"Then freedom does not exist," Jibril murmured, her mature soul dwelling within that youthful body. "When my Lord... when Lord Artosh said those words to me, my mission and function as a Flügel—along with the very meaning of my existence—were utterly negated."
"Loss, fear, helplessness. If not for the news Tet brought, if I hadn't kept telling myself that you were still in danger in another world and that I carried Tet mission, I fear..."
She didn't finish the sentence, but everything implied in her words was laid bare before Sū ěr.
Only in matters such as these did the Flügel possess such delicate hearts. It was hard to believe such softness could exist within warmongers who enjoyed collecting the heads of other races.
The Flügel were like kites flying high in the sky. The only thing connecting them to the ground was a single, slender, transparent string—devoting their everything to the Master who created them.
And just as a kite with a snapped string will fly off into an unknown corner, a Flügel who has lost her Master will... end her own life.
Jibril was lost, bewildered by two words she had never considered before.
Jibril was afraid, terrified of whether she should end her life right then and there.
She didn't want to die—at least, not for a reason like that.
She still had things she wanted to do, and a person she wanted to see again—Sū ěr.