Date: July 7, X791 – Sunset
Location: Crocus, rooftops overlooking the city
The sun was setting over Crocus, casting a warm orange light across the rooftops. The light spilled like fire over cracked tiles and broken chimneys, softening the damage left behind. Below, the city had quieted. People were still moving through the streets—clearing rubble, calling out names, helping where they could—but the panic had passed. Now came the heavy silence of after.
High above it all, on a rooftop near the palace walls, Teresa sat alone.
Her armor, still scratched from the fight, caught the last of the sunlight. Her short cloak fluttered gently behind her, brushing against the stone ledge where she sat. Next to her, her sword lay ready. She hadn't dismissed it—not yet. Her silver eyes glowed faintly in the fading light as she watched the city beneath her with a gaze that missed nothing.
She hadn't moved in a while. Not her hands, not her shoulders. She was still, like she belonged to the rooftop itself. But inside, her mind was alive—restless, turning over thoughts she couldn't ignore.
Warmth.
The word drifted up from somewhere deep inside her. It didn't belong, but it came anyway. That old feeling she had buried a long time ago. The warmth that once filled her chest, the kind that made you believe people could matter.
She remembered what it had cost her.
That warmth had made her soft. It had made her trust. It had made her hesitate. And in the end, it had burned her down to ash.
"Warmth burns," she thought. "It burned me once. It won't again."
Far below, families worked together, pulling wood and stone from fallen homes. Someone had lit a fire near the plaza. Around it, people sat—eating, sharing blankets, telling stories about what had happened. Teresa watched them. She didn't move. Her expression didn't change. But something in her chest shifted—just a little.
A memory floated to the surface: small hands tugging at her cloak, a little girl laughing and calling her pretty. Asuka. That smile. So open, so fearless, even when looking straight into the eyes of someone built for war. Teresa's lips twitched, almost into a smile. But the moment passed. She forced it back. She didn't have the luxury of soft things.
Smiles were cracks.
And cracks let in the warmth.
She reached for her sword, lifted it slowly, and tilted the blade toward the dying sun. It caught the light and gleamed sharply. With her fingertip, she touched the edge—just enough for a thin line of red to appear on her pale skin. She stared at it, calm, as the blood rolled slowly down.
"This," she whispered, "is what I am. A blade. Not a person. Not a story. Not an echo."
From the street below, a child cried out for their mother. The sound rose into the air and found her ears. It didn't hurt, not exactly. But it stayed with her, like a hand pressing lightly against her armor.
She didn't move.
The first stars began to show in the sky.
Teresa leaned back on her hands, her gaze drifting upward. The sky was wide and open, painted in soft purples and blues. So different from the one she had known in the world she came from. But no matter the color, the sky never felt any closer.
She whispered again, not knowing why. "Edges stay. Echoes fade."
She didn't remember when she had started saying things like that. Little pieces of thoughts, half-memories turned into mantras. Maybe it helped keep her steady. Maybe it helped her stay cold.
Romeo's voice came to her then, uninvited. Always so stubborn, always so sure. He believed there was still something good in her. He believed she didn't have to be alone.
He was wrong, of course.
But the idea of him saying it again—just once more—made something tighten in her chest. She pushed it down.
She saw more faces, too. Macao. Mavis. Asuka's bright eyes. All of them had seen something in her that she couldn't understand. It scared her more than the dragons had.
Because what if they were right?
Her hand moved to the emblem on her cloak. The Fairy Tail symbol. She didn't wear it for the same reasons the others did. To her, it wasn't a sign of family or belonging. It was just… useful. A connection that kept her in the right place, at the right time. That's what she told herself.
But tonight, she could feel it. Like a quiet weight she couldn't ignore.
Down in the square, someone had started singing. A low, simple melody. A few others joined in, uncertain at first, then stronger. It wasn't a happy song. But it was human. Real.
Teresa listened, just for a moment.
Then she looked away.
High above, a shooting star cut across the sky—a bright streak of silver that vanished almost as quickly as it came. She watched it go, her eyes following it until it disappeared behind a rooftop.
Her face softened. Just for a heartbeat. Then she was herself again—cold, still, unreadable.
She stood up, her movements smooth and silent. Her cloak lifted with the breeze, catching the moonlight like a pair of wings made from shadow. Her sword slid into place across her back. Her hand hovered near the hilt, always ready.
Below her, the city kept moving. Healing. Hoping.
She turned from the edge of the rooftop and stepped back, deeper into the darkness. Her pale blonde hair shimmered once more in the moonlight before she vanished from view.
She left no sign. No words. No goodbye.
Just the silence of a blade at rest.
And above the city, the stars kept shining—quiet witnesses to a girl made of steel and sorrow.