16th century, somewhere in a shipyard in London, England.
The shipyard was filled with the usual racket of hammers, saws, and shouting workers. Though Baobhan Sith had long grown accustomed to the noise, she still felt a vague restlessness gnawing at her.
"Is this part done yet…"
The fairy girl squinted down at the design drawings left behind by Favia and couldn't help but sigh again.
To her, things like shopping for groceries or cooking a meal were nothing—she could do those effortlessly. The fact that Favia once had to guide her hand-by-hand had been entirely on purpose.
But these kinds of precise, intricate tasks… she really didn't understand them. She felt she'd have a better time making shoes than this.
So, Baobhan Sith could only admit that she wasn't very bright—a truth she had come to feel deeply over these past two years.
"Boss lady, we're heading out! You should rest early too."
"Yeah, it's a festival today. Don't work too hard."
"I'm not the boss lady! I'm just an acquaintance!"
Still busy with her tools, the girl didn't even look up, only protesting as she always did.
After a while, she wiped the black soot off her cheeks and stood up, resting her chin on her hand as she looked out the window.
"Sigh… I'm so tired…"
Outside, London had sunk into night. Perhaps because of the festival, the streets were packed with people.
"When are you coming back, Favia…"
The last time she'd been with that most important person was on that small island shrouded in violet mist.
The fairy girl had already lived through her second autumn since that day.
To Baobhan Sith, everything that happened on that island still felt like a dream—an absurd, vivid dream.
That purple-haired girl who commanded tentacles, and the violet smoke that seemed like it could swallow the world itself—it had all been so unreal.
She vaguely remembered losing consciousness. And when she opened her eyes again, everything had returned to normal.
The sky was blue once more, and the islanders behaved as if nothing had happened, as though those terrifying events were merely an illusion.
Then three months passed. Beneath a vast, crystalline sky, Baobhan Sith set out alone on her way back to London. Her gaze was lowered, her hands groping unconsciously at her chest. Normally, traveling alone would have terrified her—but that time, she felt no fear at all.
Perhaps it was because, even in her dreams, she kept calling out his name again and again.
"As long as you hold what's precious to you close to your heart," Favia had once told her, "it will always light the dark, narrow path ahead."
She remembered that. Just as she remembered how he used to pray to the moon that glimmered faintly through the clouds.
When she finally returned to London, and to the little house they had shared, she found the silence unbearable.
Without Favia, the world itself seemed drained of sound. Even the small room felt lifeless—dim light, no voices, no warmth.
The silence was deafening. Even though she'd lived alone before, she'd never noticed how quiet it truly was.
She knew the reason: she had spent so much time with Favia that she had forgotten what solitude really sounded like. He had filled every day with words, thoughts, and warmth—so naturally that she had never realized how empty the quiet could be.
And so, the girl kept thinking—about him, about herself, about them.
Every time loneliness or pain welled up, she would recall the two years they'd spent together.
How he'd told her to sit by the fire when she came in soaked with rain.
How he'd treated her wounds, patient and gentle.
Looking back now, through the lens of time, Baobhan Sith began to notice things she hadn't seen then.
Like how nervous he'd looked the first time they met, when she'd started crying.
Or how guilty his expression became when she avoided talking to him.
Or how he'd smiled when she rejected other people's help and came to the shipyard to see him instead—how he'd laughed softly as he treated her throat.
Recalling these little things, she found herself wondering what he must have felt then—and the thought made her strangely happy.
Maybe, she thought, even though Favia's face had looked so calm and radiant, deep down he must have been anxious—for her, who had so little confidence in herself.
Baobhan Sith wiped at her cheeks. Even if it was only for a fleeting moment, she wanted to wear the kind of expression he had imagined for her.
Her body didn't seem to listen, but still, she tried her best to smile.
If Paracelsus and Makiri hadn't come knocking on her door looking for Favia, perhaps the fairy girl would have stayed in that little house forever.
"I see… so that's why Favia suddenly disappeared? No wonder he stopped coming to the shipyard," one of them said. "In that case, we'll have to close the place down for a while."
Paracelsus looked quietly at the fairy girl. Her expression was pained, as though she were only moments away from breaking down in tears. She clutched tightly at her clothes, twisting the fabric until it was full of wrinkles, as if that could suppress the turmoil in her heart.
"I suppose that's all we can do," he finally said. "I'll look into any records related to that purple mist later."
"Close… what, exactly?" Baobhan Sith asked in confusion. She didn't quite understand what they meant by "closing for a while."
"The shipyard," Makiri explained. "It was bought with Favia's own money, and he built ships there himself. Now that he's disappeared, there's no choice but to suspend operations for a time."
"Can't you just… not close it?" the fairy girl pressed. "If Favia was building ships, I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted it shut down."
She knew well that, to most magi, such mundane acts were meaningless. But Favia was not like other magi. His heart and his character had always been different—anyone who knew him could tell that much.
If he had done something, there had to be a reason behind it.
"That's true," said Paracelsus, "but with Favia gone, the workers can't just start on their own. This is all we can do for now."
It might have sounded like a trivial matter, something inconsequential—but Baobhan Sith couldn't accept it. She knew Favia wouldn't either.
"I'll go!" she suddenly shouted, standing up so fast that her chair nearly toppled over. She raised her right hand high, her voice loud and trembling. "I'm Favia's friend! Everyone's seen me there so many times—they all know me!"
Her outburst startled the two magi. Paracelsus and Makiri both turned to her, their gazes now fixed entirely on the small fairy girl.
Though embarrassment flushed her face and cold sweat beaded on her skin, she forced herself to focus on what she had to do, holding her composure by sheer willpower.
Then, in a calm and steady voice, she declared, "If I go talk to them, they'll listen."
Paracelsus and Makiri exchanged a look, then chuckled softly. They understood her feelings. Though, the word "friend" did feel a little too vague for what she clearly felt toward him—after all, they too were Favia's "friends," and even they could sense her feelings ran deeper.
"Very well," Paracelsus said. "We'll leave it to you. But if you need help with anything, please tell us. We'll be there."
"That's right," added Makiri. "If anything goes wrong, speak up. We'll take care of it."
After they left, the fairy girl ran straight to the shipyard and began working in Favia's name.
No one opposed her. Whether it was out of understanding, respect, or simply the silent pressure of the atmosphere, none of the workers spoke against her.
And so, as things started to move again, the work slowly began to resemble the vision she carried in her heart. She felt relieved—comforted even.
At the same time, she threw herself into learning everything she could about the craft. Every beam, every plank, every rivet was the fruit of Favia's effort, and she wanted to honor that by doing it properly.
Even if no one cared whether it was done well, even if she had no real reason to do it herself—she wanted to build with her own hands.
The work was grueling, but to Baobhan Sith, it felt right.
Every motion was careful, deliberate. She used all her strength, mindful not to drop or damage the pieces that had taken hours to shape.
She knew Favia wouldn't scold her if she failed. He wouldn't even mind. But she also knew—deep down—that he would be proud of her if he saw her trying.
And because of that, she had to keep going.
No matter what happened, she would never give up.
Even if she didn't truly love the work itself—even if all she wanted was to wait for him to return in this place.
"It's getting late… time to sleep… huh?"
Just as she turned to leave, something flickered in the darkness of the city.
A pinpoint of light flared deep beneath London's streets, then streaked upward—dragging a glowing tail behind it. In the next instant, it burst across the sky, twisting like a fang of light as it pierced the night above the city.
The bolt gleamed a brilliant crimson-silver, rising with impossible speed until it became a small, falling star.
Baobhan Sith lifted her head, drawn outside by the sight before she even realized it.
That was—
"…An aurora."
At that moment, the heavens above unfurled a vast, shimmering curtain of color. Red, green, violet—waves of light rippled and flowed like silken fabric drawn across the night.
Auroras were supposed to appear only in the far north, the high polar skies. Their cause was still a mystery, said to be the breath of solar wind colliding with the atmosphere and the earth's magnetic field. But there had never been any record of one over London. Perhaps, tonight, something beyond reason had called it here.
Someone whispered, "A… sign of God?"
That murmur spread, igniting cheers across the city.
"It's a sign from God!"
"This year's going to be a blessed one!"
"Wow… is it just us seeing this? Or the whole world?"
Throughout history, the aurora had been given many names. To the native tribes of North America, they were "dancing spirits." In medieval Europe, they were divine omens—messages from the heavens.
For Baobhan Sith, this wasn't her first aurora. In the fairy realm, such sights were common—gentle lights that shimmered in the skies of that hidden world, a boundary between fantasy and reality.
But this—this was the first she had seen since coming to London.
In her gaze, the glorious aurora stretched endlessly across the night sky, its luminous waves rippling until they faded away like the tide.
And as she watched that fading light, a strange sadness welled within her chest.
It was like bidding farewell to a passing season, or mourning something precious slowly slipping away.
Even the words she wanted to say felt too heavy to speak.
Still, if nothing else, she wished she could share this "special" moment with the one in her heart.
She had thought about it many times—but Favia still hadn't returned. And so, she kept it all quietly locked within herself.
"It's beautiful," she whispered.
That faintly bitter air lingered over London.
When it was all over, the fairy girl broke into a small run, her hurried steps echoing on the cobblestones as she headed straight back to the little house they had shared.
Inside that silent room, she waited once again—for her friend.
Perhaps the only "friend" she would ever have in this lifetime.
She didn't hope for anything more. All she wanted was for him to stand beside her again, to live their days together as they once had.
That was all.
After writing her diary, Baobhan Sith lay down on her bed. Favia's face appeared in her mind, and her cheeks flushed red as she pressed a gentle kiss against the long dress he'd left behind.
"Good night, Favia."
...
One day in Baobhan Sith's diary:
Today, I went to the shipyard again, hammer in hand, and worked hard.
At first, I was nervous and fumbled a lot. I almost made a mess of things—and nearly screamed "Aaaah!" out loud. I even felt tears coming, but then I remembered how Favia used to comfort me back then, and I managed to hold them back.
Anyway, with everyone's help, it was actually really fun. Paracelsus and Makiri have been helping me a lot.
But, Favia… when are you coming back?
Half a year?
A year?
Ten years?
No matter how long it takes, as long as I'm alive, I'll keep waiting for you.
So—
Can you come home soon?