The car pulled up to the apartment building as the morning light was beginning to warm the streets.
The building was the same as it had always been, faded paint, cracked steps, the smell of years pressing down on it like a weight. But it felt different now, returning to it. It felt like coming home.
Elena was asleep on Yuuta's back, her small arms wrapped around his neck, her face pressed into his shoulder, her wings folded against her spine.
She had not woken when they left the academy, had not stirred when they got into the car, had not opened her eyes when the driver wished them luck and told them they would be in touch about Elena's start date.
She was exhausted, Yuuta knew. The past two days had been harder on her than she let anyone see. She had been brave, had been strong, had been everything he needed her to be. Now she was sleeping, and he would carry her up the stairs, and he would lay her in her bed, and he would let her rest.
Erza walked beside him, her hands in her sleeves, her face turned toward the building with an expression that might have been annoyance or might have been something else. She kept looking at her ring.
The white dragon coiled around her finger gleamed in the morning light, its violet stone pulsing faintly. She studied it as though it were a puzzle that had no right to exist.
The ring had passed from queen to queen for generations, waiting centuries to find someone worthy. And now it had chosen Yuuta.
A mortal.
A man who stumbled up stairs and forgot to buy milk and talked to his car because he had been lonely for too long.
His ring had taken the shape of Zareth, the primal black dragon who had created it alongside Seraphina.
She looked at him. He was climbing the stairs ahead of her, one hand steadying Elena on his back, the other gripping the railing.
His legs were still weak from the night in the field, and although Erza had healed his injured hands, his movements remained careful and unsteady. He was not graceful.
He was hardly the powerful partner she imagined such an artifact would choose. Yet the ring had chosen him.
"Maybe I am mistaken," she murmured to herself. "Maybe he is a hidden dragon. Something ancient. Something that has been waiting to wake up." She looked at him again, at his stumbling steps, at the way he nearly tripped over his own feet. "No. He is not even human. He is something lower. Something that crawls."
He stumbled again, caught himself on the railing, and let out a breath. "Damn. How can I not walk? My legs feel like they belong to someone else."
She sighed. "Dragon. Ridiculous. He does not even look like a human to me. That is how low he is."
Then she remembered the hug.
The way she had run across the field, had fallen to her knees beside him, had grabbed him and held him like she would never let go.
The way she had buried her face in his hair, had felt his arms around her, had let herself be something other than the Dragon Queen for one moment, one moment too long.
Her face went red.
"Damn it," she said, the words sharp, angry, meant for herself.
"I have to remove this memory. I have to erase it. So that when I kill him, I do not hesitate. So that I do not remember the way he looked when he gave me the ring. So that I can do what I have to do."
She would kill him when the time came. Whatever weakness she had shown in that field, she would not allow it to change her decision.
They reached the door.
Yuuta shifted Elena on his back, fumbled for his keys, and pushed the door open. The apartment was dark, quiet, the way it always was when they left it. The kitchen where he cooked. The sofa where she read. The table where they ate together.
It was small and cramped, nothing like the rooms at the academy. But it was theirs. A home.
Yuuta stepped inside. He looked around, at the familiar walls, the familiar light, the familiar silence that had been his companion for so long. And then, without thinking, he said the words he had said every day for years, to an empty apartment, to a silence that had never answered, to a hope that had never been anything more than a habit.
"Welcome home."
The words hung in the air.
Before Erza and Elena entered his life, he had said those words to an empty apartment countless times. It had been a small, foolish habit, but one that made the loneliness easier to bear.
Now, there was someone to hear.
Elena stirred on his back, her voice soft, sleepy, the voice of someone who was still half in a dream. "Welcome home, Papa."
She snuggled closer, her arms tightening around his neck, and was asleep again.
Erza looked at him.
Her expression was the same cold mask it always was, the mask she wore to keep the world at a distance. But there was something underneath it, something that might have been annoyance or might have been something else entirely.
"You are not going to make my child as pathetic as you," she said. "Do not put your useless habits into her."
He turned to face her, Elena still asleep on his back. "She is our child, Your HIghness. Not yours. Ours."
"What do you mean, ours?" Her voice was sharp, cutting, the voice she used when she was defending something she did not want to lose. "She is clearly my child. Look at her. She has my hair. My face. My power. You were simply, involved. That does not make her yours. Do not put your rubbish teachings into her."
"That is not rubbish teaching," he said. "She needs to become a queen someday. That is why I am teaching her."
Erza went still. Her eyes, which had been cold, went colder. Her voice, which had been sharp, went flat. "What do you mean? You are teaching her to become a queen?"
Yuuta's mouth snapped shut.
His face went pale.
He had said too much.
He had let his guard down and spoken before thinking. Ever since Elena first called him Papa, he had secretly wanted to teach her kindness and compassion, to help her become a different kind of queen from her mother.
It was the legacy he hoped to leave her: proof that he had loved her and tried to give her something good.
He could not let Erza find out. If she knew, she would kill him. Not in a year. Now.
"If you do not tell me what you mean," Erza said, and her voice was the voice she used when she was about to read someone's mind, when she was done waiting, when she was ready to take what she wanted, "I will look into your brain. And trust me, mortal, you will regret it."
He met her cold gaze and knew she was serious. If she looked into his mind, she would uncover the plan he had kept hidden from her.
He gently lifted Elena from his back and placed her in Erza's arms. She was soft, warm, still sleeping, her small face peaceful against her mother's chest. Erza took her without thinking, without planning, without doing anything except holding her daughter close. It was so natural, so automatic, that for a moment she forgot to be angry, forgot to be cold, forgot to be anything except a mother holding her child.
Yuuta went outside and closed the door.
From behind the closed door, she heard his hurried footsteps racing down the stairs.
"YOU IDIOT MORTAL!" Her voice tore through the hallway. "WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU GOING?!"
His voice floated back, distant and breathless.
"I'M GOING TO BUY SOME MILK....!"
He was not going to buy milk, and they both knew it. He was escaping her questions before she could pry into his mind.
Erza stood in the doorway, holding her sleeping daughter, watching the empty stairs.
He had actually run away from her.
She should be angry. She was angry. She was furious. She was going to kill him when he came back, and then she was going to kill him again, and then she was going to
She looked down at Elena.
Small. Warm. Trusting.
She had accepted Elena from him without hesitation, trusting him in that small, ordinary moment.
She closed the door.
She stood in the hallway, Elena's weight warm against her chest, and looked at the apartment around her.
Her gaze passed over the kitchen where he cooked, the sofa where she read, and the table where they ate together. The apartment was nothing like the palace she had left behind.
She thought about the words she had wanted to say.
The words she could not bring herself to say when he was there, when he was looking at her, when she was still pretending to be cold.
She had been turning those words over in her mind ever since they learned Elena had been accepted.
"Welcome home," she whispered.
The words were small, quiet, meant for no one but herself.
Her cheeks warmed as she glanced toward the kitchen, imagining the three of them sitting together when Yuuta returned. She could not explain why such simple words made her heart beat faster.
She walked into the apartment, Elena still in her arms, and waited for him to come home.
Meanwhile, Yuuta continued down the street, muttering to himself about breakfast. The neighborhood settled back into its usual quiet routine.
A few minutes later, a white car pulled up in front of the building, conspicuous against the ordinary surroundings.
The vehicle gleamed under the sunlight as if it had never once touched dust, and engraved across its surface was a polished cross surrounded by intricate holy symbols that shimmered faintly, giving off an authority that was impossible to ignore.
The door opened, and several figures stepped out, each dressed in pristine white robes that resembled the formal attire of the Orthodox Church.
With practiced precision, they gathered beside the car and bowed their heads, waiting respectfully for its passenger.
When the second door opened, a woman stepped out, and the atmosphere seemed to change around her.
The gardener nearby unconsciously slowed his movements, his attention drifting toward her without his permission, while a passerby found themselves unable to look away, as though something about her demanded silence rather than admiration.
She was undeniably beautiful, yet it was not a beauty that invited closeness or casual praise, but one that created distance, as if she belonged to a realm far beyond ordinary people. Her attire flowed gently around her, marked clearly with the symbols of a saint, and though a blindfold covered her eyes, it did nothing to diminish the weight of her presence. Instead, it made her feel even more untouchable, as though sight itself was unnecessary for someone like her.
One of the attendants stepped forward, bowing deeply before speaking with a voice filled with reverence.
"Greetings, Saint. This is the place where your beloved child has been staying."
Saint Mary was a name known across many lands, spoken with admiration for both her intelligence and her unmatched beauty, and surrounded by stories that claimed her prayers could cure any disease. To the world, she stood as a symbol of faith and miracles, someone whose existence alone inspired belief in something greater.
However, to Yuuta, she was not a distant figure of worship, but his godmother, someone tied to his life in a far more personal way, and the reason for her arrival was far from simple curiosity.
A letter had reached her, one that she could not bring herself to believe no matter how many times she read it, and the only way to silence that doubt was to see the truth with her own eyes.
She did not know that Yuuta had already left, or that someone else was inside the apartment.
That someone was no ordinary woman. If she wished, she could bring destruction upon the world itself. Yet at that very moment, she sat calmly with a book, indifferent to everything beyond its pages.
And without realizing it, Saint Mary had just arrived at the doorstep of that very presence.
To Be Continued...