On that day, the city of Albion awoke to dusk with towering flames in remembrance of this world—safety was never an option, and this was a grim reality.

A girl stood up from a food cart, placing the glass cup back down as 3 armored men, 1 without a helmet and sporting dark blue hair, followed behind her.

Aliza Chrown placed her hat back onto her head of short-silver hair. She was at least two-heads shorter than the blue haired male, and at least a head shorter than the shortest of the armored men around her. Each of them held an emblem of a blue phoenix on their chest, hers a crest sitting on her flat breasts, and there's etched into their clear armor.

"Interesting," She looked upon the sky, dull blue eyes making their way from dying stars to vibrant flames, and then to the crowded streets of Albion.

It was a mess. Yelling mixed with spontaneous shock, people ran back and forth and she noticed the Southern Tower lit with the red light of forewarning—the city was now on lockdown. No one was allowed in, and no one was allowed out.

"Crow's Nest has returned," She concluded, matter-of-factly.

"Them?" The male asked, troubled at the thought.

"Yes, them." She affirmed.

It could only be them. They had been buried for years, she had hunted them down willingly and at command, yet they always found a way to sprout through cracks in peace. Always, an ever growing trouble hidden in darkness. Experience told her as much, and with the warning of the Demon Lord's awakening looming over them, there was reason.

She glanced back, and spoke to her subordinates.

"Come, we've to prepare—a counter attack must come." She chuckled.

"No one knocks on the doors of my country, my backyard, and wallows away freely."

Her voice oozed as her shadow flickered.

She gripped the handle of the silver blade at her side and walked.

. . .

Three black chains hung a crimson blade within an abyss of endless white as a hazy image of a girl, clad in clear iron armor, appeared behind.

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"Have you forgotten. . .?"

An ageless whisper punched into her very soul as the voice resounded through the realm.

"Did you forget your faith?"

It continued, caring little for her emotions.

"Did you forget your path?"

She felt as if she were moving closer, infinitely closer. And finally. . .

"I will not stand for weakness."

Silver eyes narrowed onto hers as the void crumbled away.

. . .

The cotton handkerchief stopped before the blade on his lap as the boy's hand paused.

"Hmm?" He shifted his attention, a pair of mystifying, pale, purplish-gray eyes tracked onto the bed.

The murmur rang again, this time much more audible.

He watched in quiet curiosity as Maria awoke through white bedsheets and scattered peach hair. Her eyes squinted and made way to view the spacious room, and then trekked to the gaze that fell on her.

"Goodmorning," He said, a light smile on his lips.

"Good. . .morning?" She replied, holding back a small grimace of pain and confusion.

Was it already morning? How long had she slept? Why did her body feel so weak? . . .and what was that dream?

"Ugh. . ." Her voice leaked in displeasure.

It felt like a hundred fire ants were nibbling at her brain. She barely had the energy to think of much, and it took a moment for the memories to rush in but when they did, she was quick to action.

Her eyes sharpened as she fully sprung awake.

"Where's Ais?" There was anger in that voice as she questioned the black haired boy before her.

"Rest for a bit," The boy replied and she realized he appeared the same age as her, "I'll get her."

She watched him stand. Indeed, he should have been about the same height as her. He took his short sword and sheared it at his left side, pocketed the handkerchief, and smiled.

"I'm surprised you're not questioning why I watched over you?" He suddenly asked.

"Was there no one else?" Maria asked.

The boy's laughter burst from his lips.

She stared at him with placid eyes.

'Had she said something funny?'

It took him a moment but he sooner stopped.

"Sorry sorry—you're completely wrong." He took a breath and continued, "No, I simply wanted to see my future wife."

". . .what?" Maria asked, her gaze sharpening.

At that moment, her eyes turned a golden trace.

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"What-"

Before she could even wonder at the message, the boy waved her off.

"Alright alright, rest well, I'll bring Ais." He quickly scrambled towards the door.

Not a moment had he left did her personal guard walk on. There was tiredness in her steps, and her haggard posture spoke much of her sleep.

Maria thought to be sympathetic, but the memory of the prior day came.

"You, you dared to knock me out." She said.

"Yes," Ais said, "sorry."

'?'

The protector looked at her and Maria felt something amiss. On the usually expressionless face of her guard was the eyes of a wounded puppy.

"Where—"

Suspicion abounded her voice as uncertainty took over and the speed of her pacing heart increased.

"Where's Arthur?" She asked.

Ais took a breath, "In the room, left of yours."

She breathed a relieved sigh.

"One of the Royal Guards, the one sent to meet up with him and Layfon. . .found him passed out upon the floor, after the situation became stable." Ais continued.

Dread returned.

"Take me to him."

"Maria. . ."

"Let me see him." The girl remained unmoving in her stance.

"Mhmm, as you wish, princess," Ais could only abide.

The door to the room opened. It was bright, and Maria hurriedly walked towards the bed. The worry in her heart only rose as the boy turned.

"Maria," A gentle smile floated on his haggard face.

He seemed weaker than normal. He seemed lighter, like a fragile existence that could soon be blown away, and her steps stopped as she realized it right away.

Before she knew it, she was already at his side with stained eyes.

"Your arm. . .what,"

The words hung at her throat but she couldn't force them out, only the tears came. She clutched the bed sheets.

"Ah. . .right," He scratched his red hair, before moving to scratch his cheek.

"This isn't funny! This isn't funny," The childishness of a 7 year old girl showed at that moment, "why haven't they healed you yet? Where's Fraz!?!"

He sighed, "My arm burned in the flames, it's lost."

"I told her we should have went for you. . .I told her we should look for you. . .I-"

An arm dragged her forward.

"Don't worry. . ." The boy's voice resounded, soft and hollow, as a single hand harassed her hair.

"I'm fine."