(More lively than I expected…)
As the sunset bathes the village square in crimson, a crowd gathers, buzzing with festival-like excitement—a rare sight in this haven. They're here for the Half-Century Era Meteor shower, a grand event for humans, hyped up by Linie's chatter.
It makes sense. For humans, it's a once-or-twice-in-a-lifetime spectacle. I recall Himmel boasting he'd seen it ten times, implying I'm ancient. Infuriating man. Is he reuniting with that cold-hearted elf now? Even the Goddess wouldn't know. Lost in such trivial thoughts—
"Lady Aura!" A small girl runs up, a refugee who arrived today. Exhausted, yet brimming with energy, she offers me a white flower from the village fields. It reminds me of Lily, who once gave me a similar bloom, though far shyer than this bold child.
"Thank you," I say, words Himmel taught me, now second nature. Not for deception, but gratitude.
"Sorry, Lady Aura…" her mother rushes over.
"It's fine. Keep an eye on her—she might wander off," I warn.
I know the struggle, having wrangled three children, two especially troublesome. One still keeps me busy. Even with my Scales, tracking them via mana detection was a chore. For humans without that skill, it's worse.
"You're well-loved, Lady Aura," Lernen says, appearing beside me.
A master mage's stealth—impressive. I must stay sharp, though he's no fool to attack me now. He knows I won't strike either. A truce, of sorts.
"First time I've been given my own flowers," I muse, eyeing the bloom.
Children's ignorance, but meaningful. No need to point it out—waste of time.
"Where's Linie?" I ask.
"Eating sweets over there. She'll join soon," he replies.
"Causing trouble, huh?"
My guard's off gallivanting, as usual, likely fawned over by villagers. Same in the Holy City. Everyone's fooled by her charm. No real harm, but a nuisance for Lernen, who seems unbothered—almost amused. Battle maniacs, they get along too well.
"These flower fields are stunning. I wish Serie could see them," Lernen says, gazing out.
I'm taken aback. "Serie? She likes flowers?"
"Yes. Flower-field magic is one of her favorites."
Serie, liking flowers—or their magic? Either way, it doesn't suit her. I'd suspect a lie, but Lernen has no reason. It must be true.
"Hm… I thought she mocked trivial magic. She's interested in more than fighting?" I say.
I recall a ceremony where she demanded my favorite magic. I answered, unaware it was hers too. Her "trivial" jab was a cover. Childish elf.
She's not just demon-like, then. A living grimoire, mastering all magic, combat or not. Like Frieren, collecting spells. They're alike. She'd scowl if I said so, like when Himmel teased her.
"Fighting's all I know," Lernen admits. "I'm an old mage."
Self-deprecation again. Old mage means combat-focused? Then new mages are… what? I don't get it. Serie's older, anyway.
"Don't know about old, but you're her favorite. She's showing you off," I say.
"What do you mean?" he asks, stunned.
It's the first time I've seen him falter. So perceptive, yet oblivious?
"You didn't know? She sent you here to brag. Typical," I scoff.
First-Class Mages are her prized collection—her disciples. Lernen's special, sent to flaunt before me. Like Himmel parading Linie. Childish.
"Maybe I'll stay in her memory, then," Lernen says softly, a calm smile breaking through.
That's it. Humans crave being remembered. Pointless worry with Serie—she recalls disciples from a millennium ago. A century's nothing to her, claiming she's lived since mythic times.
"Like Flamme or Frieren? Great mages? I'm not them," he protests.
Poisonous humility. Great or not, it's irrelevant. Frieren's greatness is debatable, anyway.
"Ask her yourself. Stop fretting and train instead," I snap.
If it bothers him, confront her. Like Himmel, overthinking instead of speaking. Ask, train—Serie would approve. Why can't he see that?
"Serie would say the same," he murmurs, eyes closed.
"I'm not her," I retort, bristling.
Comparing me to that elf? An insult rivaling Himmel's. Say it again, and I'll silence him with the Scales.
"Aura, sorry for the wait! Got tons of sweets! Want some, Lernen?" Linie bounds over, arms full.
This girl, the festival's star, and him—split them, and they'd balance out. Serie would agree.
Night falls, darkness enveloping us, the moon our only light. The crowd hushes, all eyes skyward, waiting. Then it begins.
A single streak of light. Then another. Like rain, they multiply, growing brighter.
The Half-Century Era Meteor shower, awaited by her, my first time seeing it.
"Mama! So many candles in the sky!" the girl cries, pointing.
Candles—apt for a child. The meteors' fleeting glow mimics them. When they fade, the spectacle ends.
Villagers cheer, clap, raise hands, or pray. I've heard wishes made before a meteor vanishes come true. Laughable. No magical basis—just fantasy. Yet, to humans, this is special.
(Pretty, but… underwhelming, I think.)
I expected more. Maybe she hyped it too much. Humans and demons differ—stars and constellations mean nothing to me. Short-lived humans find meaning in this. Did she think I'd enjoy it? A rare misjudgment.
"Wow… so beautiful, Lady Aura!" Linie gasps, eyes aglow.
Her radiant face captivates me, like before. A girl once indifferent to flowers, now transformed, unguarded. She's the exception.
I touch my face, smiling softly, unlike then.
(I get it now.)
Himmel's true reason for inviting me. Not just to see meteors, but to share them. She longed to watch with friends again. The meteors were an excuse.
(Just say so, you fool.)
Always posturing. After fifty years, I still don't fully know him.
"It is beautiful," I say.
The same scene feels different now, shared with someone. That's why Himmel awaited this.
I couldn't watch with him, but I'll tell him I saw it. That I remembered.
To my friend, surely gazing at the same night sky—
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