Barbara's lungs burned as she stumbled through the clearing, her boots sinking into the scorched earth. Smoke still curled lazily from the trees, and the remnants of Neah Pyearan's flames glimmered faintly like dying stars.
She had seen battles before. She had served the Lanivelle house for years, disciplined and steady. But nothing—nothing—had ever felt like this.
The vampire was gone, but the weight of his presence still clung to the air like a shadow that refused to lift. And in the middle of it all stood Neah Pyearan.
Barbara's knees hit the ground almost by instinct.
"Pardon my recklessness, Grand Pyearan!" Her voice cracked against the quiet. "If I had stopped them from leaving the manor… this would not have happened!"
She bowed low, fists pressed to the dirt, every fiber of her being trembling between fear and shame.
Neah, standing like an unshaken pillar amidst the destruction, turned her gaze on her.
"You're pardoned," the Grand Pyromancer said flatly.
Barbara blinked, her breath catching in surprise.
Neah's voice held no anger, no accusation—only a calm, razor-edged authority that was somehow worse than fury.
"But—" Barbara began, but Neah silenced her with a single raised hand.
"Enough. Take them both back to the manor," Neah ordered, her sharp eyes cutting toward Faye and Nari, who clung to each other like two frightened sparrows. "And you will not speak of this to anyone."
Barbara opened her mouth, but then closed it. There was no room for argument.
She nodded sharply. "Yes, Grand Pyearan."
But just as Barbara prepared to gather Faye, a gentle, melodic voice interrupted them.
"If I may…"
Every head turned.
The Fairy Queen, Fasya, floated forward. Her wings glimmered faintly against the moonlight, her emerald hair flowing like river vines, and though her expression was serene, her presence carried the weight of something far older than any human could imagine.
"We wish to lend our aid," Fasya said, her tone calm and steady. "Allow my fairies to heal the children. Their injuries, though small, should not linger. We also offer sanctuary—"
Neah's sharp laugh cut through her words like steel.
"Rich," the Grand Pyromancer said, "coming from someone too cowardly to even step outside their forest until the danger passed."
A ripple of outrage swept through the fairies. Their wings buzzed in protest, their voices rising like a swarm of angry bees.
"How dare you—!"
"Insult our queen—!"
"Silence."
The single word, spoken softly by Queen Fasya, was enough to quiet them.
She faced Neah without anger, without malice, only composure so still it was unnerving.
"Your words are not without merit," Fasya admitted, her voice carrying the weight of truth rather than pride. "But I will not risk the lives of my kin in reckless battle. Between life and death, I will always choose life."
Neah's eyes narrowed. "And yet you call that wisdom, when it looks no different from cowardice."
The air between them crackled, hot and sharp.
But Fasya didn't flinch.
"The dragon came here for you, Neah Pyearan," the queen continued, her voice ringing clear as silver bells. "It saw the threads of what could be, and it followed the only path where hope remained. Its kind has always been bound by divine vision. They saw the future where you appeared—and where you would destroy the vampire."
Faye, clinging to Barbara's sleeve, glanced up in confusion. "…The dragon… knew Grandma would come?"
Nari, still shaken, said nothing—but she too was listening intently.
Neah's expression didn't soften.
"And now the dragon lies unconscious," Fasya said gently. "Wounded and far from its domain. Will you not even consider—"
"No," Neah cut her off, her tone sharp as a blade. "I will not let my grandchild sleep under the roof of one who would rather hide behind their precious neutrality than lift a finger when it mattered."
The fairies bristled again, their wings beating so fast they hummed like angry wasps.
Yet Fasya… only smiled faintly.
"As I were to be," she replied softly. "Your grandchild's determination has already begun to shape the threads of fate. That is why the Moirai themselves stir. That is why this boy…" Her eyes fell on Faye. "Is no ordinary child."
The name—Moirai—hung in the air like a curse.
Faye didn't understand it. But Neah did.
Her jaw tightened, her aura sparking like kindling. "Do not speak to me of fate, Queen of Leaves. You see visions, yes, but visions are not truth. If you want to help, then heal the dragon. Nothing more."
Fasya tilted her head slightly, as if weighing the words.
"…Very well," the queen said at last. "But mark this, Neah Pyearan. The boy is already bound by threads older than any of us."
Neah said nothing.
Instead, she turned away.
"Barbara," Neah commanded.
"Yes, Grand Pyearan!"
"Take them home."
Barbara hesitated only for a moment, glancing at Faye, at the Fairy Queen, then back to Neah. "…Understood."
Neah's gaze lingered on the boy for a single heartbeat longer—soft, almost imperceptible—before she turned her back fully to Fasya.
"Come, twins," she said.
Zachary and Jachary fell in step behind her without question, though both cast wary glances back at the fairies.
Faye, however, couldn't stop staring.
The Fairy Queen's luminous green eyes met his. She smiled—a gentle, knowing smile—and for a brief, fleeting second, he swore he heard her voice in his mind.
"Pure heart. Walk your path. We will watch over you."
Barbara picked him up before he could say a word, carrying him as if he were the most precious treasure in the world. Nari followed close behind, still holding his sleeve.
And as they left the Old Forest behind, the fairies watched them vanish into the night.
The queen did not move.
She stood amidst the glow of her kin, looking toward the burnt horizon where Neah's flames had raged.
"…The Moirai have already begun weaving," Fasya murmured softly, her voice for herself alone. "And the boy… is the spindle."
Her eyes glimmered.
"May the world be ready."
---
Back at the Lanivelle manor, the silence of the great hall was broken only by the soft crackle of fire. But this was no ordinary fire.
Before Faye's eyes, the Pyrorevitalize ritual unfolded.
A small, circular pool of flame shimmered across the polished floor, glowing faintly with orange and gold. Its warmth wasn't harsh like normal fire. It was gentle—like a soft blanket on a cold winter night. As the flame licked across his skin, his bruises faded, the cuts vanished, and even the exhaustion that weighed on him disappeared as if it had never been there.
"Wow…" Faye whispered, his red eyes wide with wonder.
Beside him, Nari dipped her toes into the edge of the glowing circle. She didn't smile like he did. Instead, her expression was distant, her little hands gripping the hem of her dress tightly.
Faye tilted his head. "…Nari? You okay?"
She looked at him briefly but didn't answer, only nodding. Her blue eyes flickered with worry, and it made Faye's heart twist a little.
Before he could ask again, a warm, commanding voice broke the quiet.
"Well," said Neah Pyearan, "I guess this is the third time I've met you, boy."
Faye blinked. "Huh?"
The old woman, her hair like molten silver and her eyes sharp as embers, took the tea Barbara had served her and sipped with the kind of calmness only someone terrifyingly powerful could have.
"The first," she said with a little smirk, "was when you were born. The second, when you accidentally burned down a barn using your little Pyro Explosive Magic—"
"WHAT?!" Faye's jaw dropped. "I—what?! That was you?!"
Neah chuckled, clearly enjoying herself.
"And now," she continued, swirling her tea with elegant precision, "this is the third."
Faye stared at her in disbelief. "Third? I… I don't even remember seeing you before! You're really my Grandma?"
Barbara nearly choked on her own breath trying not to laugh.
Neah's smirk widened. "Boy, you've got a lot to learn. My very presence here is already bending the rules of your father's side of the family."
Faye's shoulders drooped instantly. The mention of his father's family was enough to make his heart sink a little.
Neah must've noticed because she set down her cup and ruffled his silky dark hair.
"Don't you dare look down like that, child," she said firmly. "Let me tell you something—most of your family loves you. Your dickhead of a grandfather? He's just so obsessed with reputation that he'd rather kill his own blood than accept you for who you are."
Faye's red eyes blinked. Slowly, they softened. "So… I'm not… hated?"
"Of course not, you fool," Neah huffed. "You're my grandson. I'd burn half the world before I let anyone touch you."
Faye's cheeks warmed, and for the first time that night, he smiled.
"Now then," Neah continued, "let me introduce these two troublemakers."
The fiery twins stepped forward.
"I'm Jackary Pyearan, the older brother," the first said, smirking with folded arms.
"And I'm Zachary Pyearan," the second added with a grin. "I'm the same age as you."
Faye's jaw dropped. "S-Same age?! BUT YOU LOOK SO COOL AND STRONG!"
Both twins laughed heartily at his innocent outburst.
Jackary patted his head. "You'll catch up someday, kid."
Zachary leaned closer with a grin. "Maybe. If you drink enough milk."
"I already do!" Faye puffed out his cheeks, crossing his arms.
The twins exchanged a glance and snickered again.
Then Jackary's gaze shifted toward Nari, who had been awkwardly hiding behind Faye the entire time.
"So," he said casually, "this is the elf girl?"
Nari froze like a startled rabbit.
"Don't scare her!" Faye protested immediately, stepping in front of her with his tiny frame. "Nari's my first friend!"
The twins raised their brows, then glanced at each other… and laughed again.
"First friend, huh? That's kinda cute," Zachary teased.
"Enough," Neah snapped her fingers, silencing the twins. Her gaze turned to Nari. "Come here, little one. Let me look at you properly."
Nari squeaked in panic. "E-Eeeiiikkk!!"
"She's not gonna eat you," Jackary chuckled.
Nari reluctantly stepped forward, trembling slightly.
Neah crouched to her level, her sharp gaze softening just a fraction.
"How can an elf child like you end up here? Evergreen Paradise is very far from these lands," she asked, curious but calm.
Nari bit her lip.
And then, with surprising steadiness, she spoke.
"It was about… ten years ago," she began.
The room grew quiet.
"When I was just a baby, my mother… Hannari… she was running away from bandits. My father—he was human. She… she was angry at him at first, for trusting the wrong people. But he held her hand, and he told her it would be okay…"
Nari's hands trembled slightly.
"Then… the orcs came. They killed my father right in front of her."
Faye gasped, clutching his fists.
"My mother… she ran. She found a carriage that had been attacked. There was a girl there—crying. A human girl. And… even though she was scared, even though she was bleeding… my mother gave her baby—me—to that girl. She… she smiled before she… didn't get up again."
Faye's eyes welled up.
"That girl… she grew up. She raised me. She named me Nari because of my necklace. She… she's my mother now. Her name is Valice. She runs an orphanage in Tanuriq."
When Nari finished, the room was quiet for a long moment.
Even the twins, usually so full of mischief, had fallen silent—though Jackary had fallen asleep leaning on the wall halfway through. Zachary, at least, was still awake… barely.
Barbara, however, gave a small, warm smile.
"Incredible," she murmured. "To remember something from when you were a baby… That's almost like photographic memory."
Neah exhaled deeply. "Whether it's memory or instinct doesn't matter. What matters is… you've survived, girl. And for that…"
Neah reached out and patted Nari's head.
"Thank you," the old woman said softly. "For being my grandson's first friend."
Nari's eyes widened—and then her cheeks flushed bright pink.
"W-With pleasure!" she squeaked, but there was a bright, happy smile on her face.
Faye grinned too, standing beside her proudly.
Neah's expression softened for just a second before she abruptly smacked the twins on the head.
"Wake up, you lazy brats! Time to go."
"Ugh—!" Jackary groaned, rubbing his head.
"Why so soon?" Faye asked, looking disappointed. "I still… I still have so many things I want to ask you."
Neah crouched down, looking him in the eyes.
"My dear grandchild," she said softly, "if fate wills it, we will meet again. Not as fugitives of rules, but as family—without chains, without boundaries."
Faye stared at her… and then nodded with determination.
Neah, who didn't believe in fate, found herself silently praying that maybe… just maybe… fate would listen this time.
Jackary smirked. Zachary waved lazily.
And then, just like that, they left.
Faye stood at the window, waving his little hand with all his might, smiling brighter than he had in years.
Barbara and Nari stood behind him, watching quietly.
And though he didn't say it aloud…
For the first time, Faye truly felt like he wasn't alone.
---
Understood. I'll craft this continuation to be 2,000 words full of warmth and quiet magic, while deepening the sense of unseen guardianship from Queen Fasya. This chapter will show Faye's innocence and the silent protection surrounding him, blending comfort and wonder after the chaos.
---
Chapter Ten: Sweet Dreams Beneath the Black Swan
Barbara stood before Faye, her blue eyes sharp and serious for the very first time. The young boy looked up at her in confusion, blinking his fiery red eyes as though he'd been caught in the act of mischief.
"Young Lord," Barbara said sternly, bowing her head in disciplined respect, "you must never run off into danger like that again. Do you understand? You left the safety of the manor. You stepped into a battle you could never hope to survive."
Faye froze, his small hands fidgeting nervously at his sides.
It wasn't the words themselves that stunned him—it was the tone. Barbara had always been calm and emotionless, her words soft and flat like a river without waves. But now… for the first time, her voice carried weight.
She was scolding him.
And though the words were harsh, there was something in them—something unfamiliar but comforting.
Worry.
Faye's head lowered instinctively, his short figure bowing. "I-I'm sorry… Barbara…"
His voice was small. Genuinely apologetic.
Barbara's expression faltered, her composure cracking for the briefest second. The sight of the boy—this child who'd been abandoned, isolated, and shunned since birth—bowing to her without hesitation struck her chest with a strange ache.
She had only meant to discipline him. But now, watching his trembling shoulders, she suddenly felt… guilty.
"…Enough," Barbara murmured after a long silence. "I… I was too harsh. Raise your head, Young Lord."
Faye glanced up. His red eyes shimmered faintly, but there was no anger or resentment. Only a small, shy smile.
Barbara turned her face away quickly, hiding the faint warmth rising in her chest.
"Go to sleep," she said, her voice regaining its usual flatness. "You've had enough excitement for one night."
Faye's face instantly brightened, the shadows of fear and exhaustion vanishing from him as if they had never been there at all. "Yay! Nari! Let's sleep together!"
Nari, who had been hugging a pillow nearly half her size, perked up. "Yeah! Let's go!"
Barbara blinked.
Just like that, the two children—who only hours ago had faced a vampire, seen blood, and watched fire rain through the sky—were smiling and running off to their room like nothing had happened.
Barbara exhaled, lowering her gaze.
It was… strange. Most children, even the bravest, would have been crying or trembling. Even adults would have nightmares after such an encounter. Yet here they were—laughing, their little feet tapping against the polished floors as if the world outside hadn't just tried to eat them alive.
Barbara's sharp gaze followed them until they disappeared around the corner.
Then she turned toward the window.
And there—beyond the glass, past the glowing horizon of the old forest—she saw her.
The Fairy Queen.
Fasya, the Black Swan.
The Dream Guardian.
Barbara had only met her once before, and only from afar. A being whose presence was like a quiet melody. Soft. Untouchable. Dangerous, if angered—but tonight, Fasya's expression was gentle, her luminous green eyes calm as starlight.
Barbara bowed her head respectfully.
The fairy queen did not reply, but Barbara understood nonetheless.
It was because of Fasya's magic—her subtle, unseen weaving of dreams and emotions—that Faye and Nari could still smile.
In truth, had a normal child faced the Crimson Vampire, their hearts would have burst under the sheer terror. Fear like that—pure, soul-crushing dread—was a weapon. One that killed without leaving a single wound.
But Fasya would not allow it.
Not for Faye.
Her magic, delicate and invisible, had touched the boy's heart the moment danger arose. She had dulled his fear, replacing it with courage—not recklessness, but the pure kind of bravery that only children can have. She had softened the edges of horror, tucked away the jagged shards of trauma, and wrapped his heart in something warm enough that he could run forward instead of freezing in place.
The Black Swan's smile deepened.
Because it was fate.
The Moirai—the threads of destiny that even the fairy queen herself could not fully see—had led her to act. Not to shield the boy entirely, but to guide him just enough, to keep the fire of his soul from being extinguished.
Fasya raised one delicate hand, and for a moment, the dark sky seemed to ripple.
Her voice, as soft as the wind through leaves, carried across the distance like a lullaby.
"Sleep well, little child."
Inside the manor, Faye yawned so wide his jaw popped. Nari giggled at him, clutching her pillow tighter as they both crawled under the blanket of the grand bed Barbara had prepared for them.
"Hey, Nari," Faye mumbled sleepily, his words slightly slurred.
"Mm?"
"When I grow up… I'm gonna be strong. Strong like my grandma. Strong enough to protect you. And Barbara. And… and even the whole forest!"
Nari rolled her eyes but smiled anyway, her small fingers tugging the blanket closer. "Dummy. You can't even reach the top shelf in the kitchen."
"Hey!" Faye pouted, but his eyelids were already heavy.
Nari giggled again, then turned to face him in the dim glow of the Pyrorevitalize flame still flickering faintly in the corner of the room.
"…But I believe you," she whispered.
Faye, half-asleep, grinned. "Hehe… good."
Barbara stood at the door, silent as ever. But her gaze lingered on the two children curled up under the blankets, their breaths slowly evening out. For just a second, her usually expressionless face softened.
"…Good night, Young Lord," she murmured. "And you too, little elf."
As she closed the door quietly, the wind outside carried the faintest sound of a lullaby.
High above the manor, hidden in the moonlight, Fasya watched. Her black wings spread like a curtain of night, her presence unseen by mortal eyes.
She saw Faye smile in his sleep.
And for the first time in a century, the queen of dreams smiled back.
"Sleep well, child," she whispered once more. "For tomorrow, the threads of fate will begin to weave anew."
The stars shimmered, the wind quieted, and the manor rested in peace.
And in that silence, under the quiet watch of an unseen guardian, Faye Lanivelle dreamed—warm, fearless, and loved.