Beneath the winter snow valley.
The white-haired girl's smile outshone even the moonlight.
And for some reason, Allen—watching this scene—felt a sudden, nameless fire ignite in his chest. It burned through him, searing his mind into numbness, while his body was left cold as ice.
As a swordsman, his grip on the blade was supposed to be steady.
Yet under cover of night, Allen's hand trembled ever so slightly.
This had only happened twice before—similar, yet entirely different.
Similar, in that both times it occurred under the same person's gaze.
Different, in the emotion held in that gaze.
The first time, in a dream, it was the green-haired girl—her eyes dull, hollow.
The second time, here in the valley bottom, it was the white-haired girl—her eyes burning bright with warmth.
Sylphy's blazing gaze tangled with the fire in Allen's chest, the mingled heat making it hard to breathe. On instinct, his hand reached out, as if to touch the snow-white hair that had turned so because of mana exhaustion.
But his hand froze in midair.
At that moment, as his eyes once again landed on Sylphy's hair, he suddenly understood why his heart had caught flame.
It was because of that crumpled, worn scrap of a "memo" tucked in a drawer at the Greyrat home.
The countless times he'd written and rewritten it this past year, filling it densely with his "Future Sight"—each stroke a relentless interrogation of his own will.
Should I give up Future Sight?
Should I try to change the future?
Can the catastrophe of the Displacement Incident be prevented?
In the storylines he'd now become part of, could Paul be saved from death? Could Zenith's laughter and joy continue to fill the Greyrat household?
And beyond that...
If the Displacement Incident could truly be avoided...
Would Sylphy's hair have remained its beautiful emerald green?
If she hadn't been teleported into the skies… would her mana reserves have stayed intact, never forcing her hair to bleach itself white?
But now—
Even before the Incident arrived, at a moment when he believed there was still time to choose—
Sylphy's hair had already turned white.
Earlier than in the original timeline. Right before his eyes. Spurred by the ripple of butterfly wings.
It had happened—just like that.
Without even giving him time to react.
Allen's thoughts spun fast.
But Sylphy's actions were even faster.
In that distracted moment, the hand he'd suspended in the air was gently cupped by another, soft and small.
Allen looked up to find Sylphy, a hint of apology on her face as she gingerly guided his hand to rest against her own snow-white hair.
He was stunned into silence.
Sylphy's expression was clearly tired, but she still offered a shy, sheepish smile.
Allen's hand, knotted with years of sword calluses and hardened joints, felt rough against the soft strands. Yet to Sylphy, it felt deeply familiar—safe.
A gentle green light shimmered from her palm, flowing across Allen's body.
Chantless Healing Magic.
Her voice, even now, was soft and sweet, though it carried an undercurrent of weariness.
"Your expression was kind of scary, Allen... I knew you'd be fine, with your skills—you could keep yourself safe, so you threw us out midair like that. But still…"
She looked into Allen's face, her words apologetic, but her gaze filled with firm resolve.
"I couldn't help worrying. How's the wound on your back? Has it healed? I've been working hard to improve my healing magic, you know. Look, I can even cast without chanting now. Last year, you said that when I got good enough, I could be your healer. But I never had the chance. And your techniques... they're all so hard on your body."
"I guess what I'm trying to say is…"
"Maybe—just maybe—you might need me too."
Allen stared blankly at Sylphy, realization dawning like lightning.
This butterfly he had become… had already stirred up a storm.
Over the past year, Sylphy hadn't just copied his mannerisms, or Roxy's way of speaking.
Even her personality had shifted from what was written in the original story. The gentleness was still there, yes—but the stubbornness, the once she decides, nothing will stop her grit, had already started to emerge now that she'd shaken off the shadows of childhood insecurity.
In the source material, that side of her had only truly come out in her devotion to Ariel—the gratitude, the friendship. With Rudeus, she was mostly that warm, understanding "White Mom" figure. Quiet. Subtle.
But in the old Rudeus's timeline, her conviction had been unmistakable—after Roxy died, when Rudeus fell into despair, she still answered Ariel's call. With barely any preparation, she chose to go to the capital with Ariel and Luke.
And ultimately, to her death.
Thoughts flashed and scattered. And then, her soft body collapsed into his arms.
Allen jolted "awake."
"Sylphy?!"
"It's fine… I'm just tired. My mana's nearly gone... Sorry. At least I managed one healing spell."
Holding her in his arms, Allen was hit by a rush of emotions. Something was on the verge of spilling over—but now wasn't the time to dwell on it.
The air reeked with the blood-stink of monsters, slithering just past his nose.
Sylphy opened her mouth to speak again—but Allen lifted his hand and flicked her forehead. Then, in a single twist of his arm, he hurled her toward the cliff wall.
The stone shattered. With precise control, his battle aura ripped through rock, carving it away in an instant. In the blink of an eye, a small, tight chamber appeared—its walls honeycombed with narrow holes.
Allen caught Sylphy midair and set her down inside, even as she flailed and tried to hide her face.
"This way, even if the monsters try to burrow through the cliff, we'll know in advance. Really, this all happened because of my idea in the first place. You just rest. Leave the rest to me."
Sylphy peeked through her fingers, her eyes finding Allen again.
He was already turned away, back facing her.
His arm rose in the dark—
Blade drawn!
The sword sliced the air, its shockwave rippling like a stone striking still water!
All around them—crowding, creeping monsters, as dense as a tide—exploded into mist and gore!
Blood sprayed, mixing with shattered limbs as it rained down on Allen's shoulders.
His voice drifted through the night air, reaching Sylphy's ears.
"Close your eyes. Rest. Regain your mana."
"Don't look. Don't listen. Don't think."
Beyond the outline of his back, the darkness festered thick as tar. Countless crimson eyes clustered like hives of bees, crawling outward across the valley floor.
There was no end in sight.
The monsters were terrifying—but Sylphy saw only Allen's back. His wounds were already gone.
She let out a breath, weary and relieved, and obediently closed her eyes.
"Okay. But… it might be a long time before I can cast healing again."
"That's fine. I've still got energy to spare."
"...I don't believe you. Sensei said in her letter that you're a terrible liar."
"Trust me. You just need to wait."
Still leaning against the rock wall, eyes closed, Sylphy smiled faintly.
"Alright. I'll trust you. But... how long is 'waiting' supposed to be?"
"If your mana's drained, it'll take at least one full night to recover, right? So, until then... I'll be waiting."
In the night, Allen's lips curled into a grin as he looked toward the sea of monsters rising and falling in the dark.
The beasts howled!
The tide surged!
The ground quaked!
His voice rang out like a war drum, shaking the night wind!
"We fight until dawn!!"