"Have I played the part well? Then applaud as I exit."
— Augustus Caesar (supposed last words, according to his wife, Livia)
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The bell of the old stone church rang gently through the village of Hage, its chimes softer now, almost hesitant—like even it knew the boy who used to swing from its rope was no longer there.
Inside the chapel, the pews were mostly empty save for a few villagers stopping in for quiet prayer, their heads bowed. But near the front, Sister Lily sat beside Father Orsi, her hands clasped tightly, lips moving in a silent prayer she had repeated more times than she could count.
The faint laughter of children echoed from the back rooms where Asta's younger foster siblings were gathered, but even their voices were more subdued lately.
Lily opened her eyes and looked up at the worn cross above the altar. "It still doesn't feel real," she whispered.
Father Orsi sighed, his usually booming, joyful voice dulled. "He used to run down this aisle shouting about becoming the Wizard King, tripping over the robes and nearly knocking over my altar candles."
Lily gave a weak chuckle. "And you'd chase him out with a broom every time."
"Bah, I let him get just far enough to think he won." Orsi's smile faded as he leaned forward. "He was... light, Lily. Pure, blinding light in this cold world."
There was a knock at the chapel door.
It creaked open to reveal the children—Nash, Aruru, Hollo, and Recca—huddled together with a small wooden box in Aruru's's hands. They walked up the aisle as if approaching a sacred ceremony, their expressions solemn.
"We... we made this," Nash said, voice trembling. "For Asta."
They placed the box on the altar. Inside were little mementoes: a tattered headband Asta had once tied around Hollo's wrist when he scraped his arm, a broken toy sword they'd sparred with, a drawing one of them had done of "Asta the Hero," stick arms and all.
Lily knelt beside them, tears finally slipping down her cheeks. "He would've loved this," she whispered. "He would've picked it up, held it above his head, and called it a national treasure."
The children nodded, some of them sniffling.
"I keep thinking," Lily continued, "about all the times I told him to stop shouting. Stop running. Stop fighting."
Father Orsi put a hand on her shoulder. "And yet he never stopped. That's why he made it so far."
She smiled through her tears. "And that's why it hurts so much."
The chapel filled with silence once more as Father Orsi led them in a short prayer—not just for Asta, but for peace, for strength, and for the dream that even without him, they would continue to live with the same passion and kindness he had shown every single day.
As the children filtered out again, Recca paused at the doorway and looked back toward the altar.
"We'll become heroes too," he said quietly. "Just like big brother Asta."
And for a moment, it was as if the light coming through the stained-glass windows grew a little warmer.
The sun hung low in the sky as Gauche Adlai walked into the quiet village of Nean, arms full of gifts—sweets, toys, storybooks, and handmade trinkets he'd found across the kingdom. He grumbled under his breath, pretending the bags weren't heavy, but there was a lightness in his step that hadn't been there in a long time.
Children's laughter echoed across the small orphanage courtyard, where Marie played tag with Rebecca's younger siblings—the same kids Asta had once gone out of his way to protect. The sight of them chasing one another in circles, unbothered and smiling, brought a flicker of warmth to Gauche's usually steely gaze.
"Marie!" he called out.
She turned, instantly breaking into a grin. "Big brother!"
She ran into him with enough force to knock the bags from his hands, and they both stumbled back a bit, laughing.
"I brought some stuff for you," he said, holding up the first bag, "and for everyone else, too."
Marie's eyes widened as Gauche kneeled and began untying the bundles, revealing sweets in bright wrappers, a box of painted wooden animals, and puzzle games. "Let's share them with the others!" she exclaimed, and without waiting, she began handing them out, treating every gift like it was treasure.
From the orphanage doorway, Sister Theresa watched with a knowing smile. The white-haired nun stepped forward, folding her arms as she observed the man once known for being cold and brash, now gently showing a young girl how to braid a candy ribbon.
"You've gotten softer," Theresa remarked lightly.
"Tch," Gauche scoffed, not bothering to hide the blush dusting his cheeks. "Don't go spreading that around."
Her expression faded into something gentler as she stepped closer. "None of us have been ourselves lately. Since Asta..."
"I know," Gauche muttered. He looked down, watching Marie help a younger boy unwrap a toy sword. "The funeral... something about it—it just... settled something in me."
Theresa remained silent, listening.
"I looked around," Gauche continued, his voice quieter now, "and I saw all of Hage standing there... people who had barely known Asta, people with no magic, some barely scraping by—and yet they came. Every single one of them came to mourn a boy who was born with nothing. And it hit me."
He paused, eyes distant.
"I've been a lot of things," he said slowly. "But now, I just want to be someone Marie can be proud of. Someone she can look up to—since... he's not around anymore."
Theresa placed a hand on his arm. "She already is proud. But I understand."
There was a silence between them, filled only by the sound of the children playing and the wind rustling through the trees.
"Come," she said, turning. "There's something I want to show you."
Gauche followed her through the garden path behind the orphanage. It led to a small hill overlooking the village—peaceful, solemn. There, surrounded by fresh flowers and small tokens of remembrance, stood a modest stone epitaph. It read:
Asta of Hage
The Boy Who Defied Fate
Magicless—but never powerless.
A hero born of nothing, who gave everything.
Gauche stared at the stone for a long while. The breeze cooled the back of his neck, and he swallowed hard, the tightness in his chest unexpected.
He knelt, setting down a folded handkerchief beside the stone—a token Marie had sewn with his help. It had the Black Bulls insignia, stitched crookedly in gold thread.
He didn't say a word. Just stood there, letting the silence speak for him. The weight he carried—the anger, the guilt, the helplessness—felt lighter somehow. Not gone. But easier to bear.
When he finally turned back, the sun was beginning to set, casting Nean in a warm golden light. Marie stood at the bottom of the hill, waving up at him, a smile bright enough to chase away the gloom.
And Gauche made a silent vow.
He would protect that smile, no matter what.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the Black Bull's training grounds. At the far end, far from the others, a small figure stood with her back straight and a glint of determination in her eyes.
Noelle Silva, dressed in her usual regal attire, faced Yami Sukehiro, the captain of the Black Bulls. She had requested this training personally—no one had forced her to be here. It wasn't out of the ordinary for her to be under intense training, but this time... it was different.
She was ready.
But Yami didn't seem to share her enthusiasm. His usual lazy stance was replaced by one of quiet observation as he leaned against a nearby pillar, his eyes scanning her form.
"You've come a long way, Noelle," Yami remarked, his voice a low rumble, "but that doesn't mean you can slack off. You still have a long way to go before you're anything close to a 'real' mage."
The words were sharp, but Noelle didn't flinch. Not anymore.
She gripped her Grimoire tightly and slammed it against the ground. The pages flipped open, and her Water Magic surged forth, gathering into a powerful vortex around her. The water swirled, crackling with energy, but she wasn't done. She had to push harder, go further.
The Sea Dragon's Roar formed, her spell taking on its familiar shape, but she wasn't satisfied. Yami wasn't impressed. Not yet.
With a growl, Noelle concentrated harder. She willed more power into the spell—pushing her limits, feeling the burn in her arms and chest as she forced herself to summon a Sea Dragon of greater size, greater ferocity.
But it wasn't enough. The moment she released the spell, her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. The vortex of water fizzled out of existence as quickly as it had appeared, leaving a small puddle in her wake.
Yami was silent for a moment.
"That's the best you can do?" he asked, his voice unbothered. His hands were in his pockets, his posture nonchalant. But Noelle could see the slight narrowing of his eyes. He was pushing her.
She clenched her jaw, eyes stinging with frustration. "I'll do better," she muttered, rising back to her feet. Her body screamed in protest, but she ignored it.
"Noelle." Yami's voice was gruff, yet there was a hint of something softer beneath it. "You've got potential. I can see that. But potential doesn't win battles. It's how far you're willing to push yourself when you have nothing left that counts."
He walked toward her slowly, his boots scraping against the dirt, and when he stopped in front of her, he gave her an almost amused look.
"You've got a lot of pride, don't you? Can't let anyone see you fall, huh?"
Noelle's heart skipped, but she refused to meet his eyes. "I'm not falling. I'll never fall again."
The words sounded like a vow, but she wasn't sure if she was trying to convince him—or herself.
Yami's gaze softened, just a fraction. "That's the spirit, kid."
Then, as if it had been a joke the entire time, he grinned.
"You're gonna need it, because you're not done. Now get up, and show me what you can really do. No more holding back."
Noelle swallowed hard. She could feel the weariness, the exhaustion clinging to her bones, but there was something else—something deep inside that ignited a spark. A fire. Something stronger than the Sea Dragon she had conjured.
Yami didn't have to tell her twice. Now that he thought about it, maybe he should get her a katana of her own
The royal training cliffs of the Crimson Lion Kings were no place for the faint of heart. The air here was thinner, hotter, and carried the scent of scorched stone. Trees didn't grow here. Nothing did—except warriors.
Mereoleona Vermillion stood barefoot atop a cracked plateau, arms crossed, fire magic rolling off her like a second sun.
Before her, Leopold was on one knee, gasping for breath, his body drenched in sweat and soot. His shirt had long since burned away. Next to him, Mimosa knelt with her hands hovering over a massive burn on her side, healing it with practiced speed, but her eyes remained locked on their instructor.
"I said push past your limits," Mereoleona growled, "not kiss them and beg for mercy!"
Leopold tried to stand but fell again, his knees buckling under the weight of mana exhaustion.
"I am pushing them!" he shouted, gritting his teeth. "Every second I stand here—every breath I take—is further than I've ever gone before!"
Mimosa steadied him, her hands glowing gold as she poured more healing into his side. Her once-perfect braid was half unraveled, her robes tattered and stained.
Mereoleona approached—not gently. The ground cracked beneath each step. She stared down at them both with a predator's calm.
"You think this is enough? You think Asta died so you could sit here feeling sorry for yourselves? He fought harder than both of you combined and didn't even have magic."
That stung. Even Mimosa flinched.
"Get up, both of you."
They obeyed. Slowly. Stubbornly.
She turned to Mimosa next. "And you. You're transferring to the Crimson Lions. Starting today."
Mimosa blinked. "I—I haven't submitted any request to—"
"You think I asked?" Mereoleona interrupted, fire crackling across her knuckles. "You've got talent. Not raw power like me or Fuego, but precision. I've been watching. You don't hesitate. That makes you dangerous."
Her already terrifying grin grew wider.
" That makes you mine now."
Leopold looked stunned. Mimosa looked terrified.
But somewhere beneath it... something in her glowed.
"Yes, Captain."
Mereoleona let out a chuckle.
"Good. Now. Time to set yourselves on fire again."
In a quiet corner of the Golden Dawn headquarters, where the lush green grass seemed almost too soft compared to the harshness of the rest of the world, Yuno stood. His usual calm expression was masked by a quiet storm inside him. He had been pushing himself beyond exhaustion, trying to reach new heights, testing the limits of his wind magic, and stretching his own endurance.
The sun had just begun to rise, casting gold across the courtyard where the wind mage stood alone—shirtless, bruised, and utterly exhausted. His breath came in ragged bursts, and sweat clung to him like dew to leaves. The air around him shimmered, disturbed by the constant lash of wind spells colliding, reforming, and erupting again.
But despite his determination, the frustration was creeping in. No matter how hard he trained, no matter how many times he summoned his wind magic, it wasn't enough. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, that his growth had plateaued. He had no missions—nothing that required his immediate attention, and it was slowly eating at him. The endless cycle of training felt like it was breaking him from the inside out.
"Why isn't it enough?" Yuno muttered under his breath, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. His clothes clung to his body, heavy with sweat, and his breath came in short, labored gasps.
The wind whistled around him, but it felt weak, unsteady. His heart pounded against his chest as he summoned his magic once more, desperately trying to force the wind into something new, something stronger. He could hear the crackling of the magic swirling around him, but it felt far less powerful than what he knew he was capable of.
"Yuno," a familiar voice cut through the air, and he turned to see Bell, his wind spirit, floating in front of him. Her eyes, usually bright and playful, were filled with a gentle concern. "You're pushing yourself too hard. You need to rest."
Yuno's gaze hardened, his frustration evident. "I can't rest, Bell. I can't keep waiting around for missions. I need to get stronger. I need to be prepared for whatever's coming next."
Sylph hovered closer, her form shimmering in the air as she floated just in front of him. She was quieter than usual, and Yuno could sense her own unease. "I understand. But you're breaking yourself. You've always been strong, Yuno, but there's more to strength than just magic. You have to remember that."
Yuno clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "I can't just sit back and relax like everyone else. I have to keep improving. I have to be the best. I have to..."
"Stop," Sylph interrupted, her voice sharp and firm. "I know you think you need to keep pushing yourself. But it's not just about magic. It's about everything else. Your heart. Your mind. Your spirit."
Yuno's frustration faltered for a moment, a wave of doubt flooding his thoughts. "What do you mean?"
Sylph's voice softened, and her gaze softened with it. "I've been by your side since the dungeon. I've seen everything you've gone through since Asta's funeral, Yuno. I've felt it all. But you don't need to break yourself like this. You've already grown so much. Maybe you need to step back, look at yourself from a different perspective."
Yuno's eyes searched the ground, the weight of her words sinking in. He knew deep down that he couldn't keep running himself into the ground. But it felt like weakness. If he wasn't constantly training, then what was he? What if he wasn't strong enough?
He let out a long sigh, shoulders sagging slightly. "I just... I don't know what else to do."
Bell hovered even closer to him, her tiny form glowing brightly as she placed her small hand on his chest. "I've been with you through every battle, every moment of your life. You're already strong. But if you keep going down this path, you'll only lose yourself. So, let me help you."
Yuno looked up at Sylph, his eyes filled with confusion. "How?"
Sylph's expression was calm, yet filled with an ancient wisdom. "I've been around for centuries, Yuno. I've witnessed the rise and fall of magic, the birth of kingdoms, and the shaping of history. I know the truth of magic. But more importantly... I know the truth about you."
Yuno's breath caught in his throat, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. "You... know me?"
Bell nodded gently, her gaze warm with affection. "I've seen the deepest parts of you. The doubts, the struggles, and the strength you're afraid to accept. Let me help you see what I see. Let me help you find your true potential."
A slow smile tugged at the corners of Yuno's lips, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he relaxed. "Alright. Teach me, Sylph. Show me how to break the limits in a way I've never seen before."
Sylph smiled, a rare, pure smile that filled the air with warmth. "Let's begin. Together."