Such confusion and fear could only be soothed by a bracing battle and a kill—like a traveler struggling through the desert receiving a bottle of clear water. But as long as he does not leave that desert, the thirst will never truly vanish.
Her hands finally let go of the railing. Without her noticing, she had gripped the iron bar so tightly it had twisted. She turned around to face Sū ěr, prompting him to let go as well. They stood facing each other.
Looking down at Jibril now-diminutive frame, Sū ěr could see her small Adam's apple bobbing nervously.
After a long silence, Jibril took a small step back with one leg and sank into a half-kneeling position. Her wings, which had been spread wide during their earlier play, were now tucked obediently against her waist. The halo above her head stopped spinning and settled behind her skull.
Her head was bowed. She offered no more words, nor did she need to explain. Sū ěr knew this was a ritual.
In his understanding of the Flügel, this was their only posture of absolute, loyal submission. It meant that if he placed his hand before her now, then from that moment on, Jibril would carry out his every command to the end, even at the cost of her life.
He only needed to reach out.
The kite with the broken string was searching for an invisible chain—a chain to keep it from drifting and tumbling with the wind.
The Flügel were a race that did not reproduce. To them, "romantic love" or any other nuanced psychological emotion was a joke reserved for gossip.
Yet at this moment, Jibril felt her heart—her core—throbbing. The energy bursting from within felt like an explosion occurring inside her every second, making her dizzy and lost.
Why hasn't he responded?
Why doesn't he reach out his hand?
Is he... hesitating?
Unable to help her rapid breathing, Jibril wanted to look up, but despite her slight trembling, she remained perfectly still.
She could wait.
Yes, she could wait... a thousand years, two thousand, three thousand, or even longer.
Jibril closed her eyes.
She heard Sū ěr sigh.
Her heart plummeted along with it, as if falling into a bottomless abyss.
Just as Jibril felt as if she had fallen into an ice cellar, a pair of hands slid through the hair falling at her sides and tucked under her armpits. With a slight lift, he picked her up.
Unlike before, when Sū ěr looked down at her, they were now eye-to-eye.
His eyes were the same, just a bit gentler—as if he were pitying someone... Is he pitying me?
This posture should have invited Jibril frantic struggle. Yet, the pink-haired Flügel remained motionless, as if all strength had drained from her body, concentrating her entire weight into those hands. Yes, she should struggle—against this joke of a gesture, against the fury of having her pledged loyalty rejected.
She should have been angry. But until the man spoke again, Jibril remained quiet and still. Or rather, she had lost all strength; even her arms hung limply from Sū ěr hands.
"Don't look like the sky is falling... I didn't refuse because I have a problem with you, you know?" Sū ěr helpless voice reached her.
The pink-haired Flügel's current body wasn't heavy. With Sū ěr strength, he could probably hold her like this until tomorrow morning.
These thoughts and questions had likely been in Jibril heart since the moment Artosh liberated her from her innate mission. They had merely been suppressed by the urgent news from Tet, only to explode now that her body had shrunk and her will had softened.
Yes, if the God of War truly died one day, then unlike her sisters who would surely commit suicide to follow him, Jibril would only feel infinite loneliness and pain—but she would never end her own life.
She had grown weak. Countless times weaker than the version of herself immersed in slaughter and battle.
It was Sū ěr who made her weak.
It was everything they had been through together that made her weak.
It was love.
An emotion Jibril knew of, but had never truly understood.
Sū ěr realized this fact. Then—he pulled his arms back, bringing the pink-haired Flügel closer to him until she was pressed against his chest, allowing her to hear his heartbeat.
Thump-thump.
Sū ěr felt a strange sense of trance. If he replayed the long thread of his memory, this seemed to be the first time he had actively pulled Jibril into his embrace, acknowledging an emotion that had long existed and been known, but never placed out in the open.
No words were spoken, nor were they needed. In this embrace, Jibril gradually settled, taking Sū ěr entire heart into her own.
He didn't need her to kneel in fealty, nor did he need her to place herself beneath others. They should be equals—equal in gaze, equal in communication, with no need to hide anger or dissatisfaction under commands and loyalty.
And there was no need to label this feeling as "loyalty."
She should be free. To embrace everything around her with her own free will, to embrace her future destiny—even if they, who had broken fate with their own hands and will, never believed in the word "destiny." But in this moment, Jibril hoped that her fate, Sū ěr, and even that "weed" Think could be entwined, existing together forever.
She already possessed a freedom other Flügel could never imagine, and now she possessed... a love they could never imagine.
Amidst the lights of the city night.
Click.
Placing a piece onto the black-and-white board, Tet looked up, propping his face with one hand while the other tapped the edge of the board. He was smiling mischievously. "It's your move~"
The malicious Old Deus chuckled at the Elf across from him.
"Where can a fly caught in a spiderweb possibly run? ...Checkmate." Without a hint of panic, Think didn't even tilt her head. She simply placed her piece in its proper position after careful thought. Finally, her brow relaxed slightly as she declared checkmate to Tet.
"Aww~ a spiderweb, huh? That's some scary love right there~" The boy of ambiguous gender sighed enigmatically, then chuckled. "But it's a bit too early to call it checkmate~ I'll move here—"
Click.
As his hand moved away, Think beautiful eyebrows furrowed once more. A long silence followed.
"...Tsk."
"...Next time... next time I'll definitely win."