The clock on the wall marked 6:00 PM. Outside the window, the sky of Aerilis had deepened into a bruised orange, the distant floating islands silhouetted like jagged teeth against the twilight.
Virelle let out a long, dramatic sigh that ruffled the pages of an adventuring magazine she was hovering over. She had spent the last hour in a cycle of restless curiosity. She had stared at the sky until the clouds stopped moving; she had paced the ceiling; she had even flipped through every one of Aiven's "Monthly Adventurer" issues, finding the tactics sections laughably primitive.
"Boring," she whispered, her voice a soft bell in the quiet room. "Master's world is so very quiet."
Her gaze drifted from the magazine to the bed. Aiven was still deeply asleep, his breath slow and rhythmic. In the dim light, the sharp lines of exhaustion on his face had softened. His dark brown hair was a chaotic mess against the pillow, and his hands—the ones that had gripped a nicked sword with such stubbornness—were relaxed.
Virelle floated closer, descending until she was hovering just inches above him. She rested her chin on her hands, her violet eyes tracing the bridge of his nose and the slight furrow of his brow. A strange, pulsing warmth bloomed in her chest—a resonance that had nothing to do with mana and everything to do with the man beneath her. It was a comfortable feeling, like sitting by a hearth after a long flight through a storm. Despite her boredom with the room, she realized with a start that she could watch him sleep for an eternity and never find it tedious.
"You really are a strange one, Master," she murmured.
Suddenly, Aiven's eyelids flickered. His lips parted, and a soft, broken sound escaped him.
"...Lyra..."
The name was barely a breath, but in the silence of the apartment, it hit like a thunderclap.
Virelle stiffened. The warmth in her chest was instantly pricked by a sharp, cold sting of jealousy. It wasn't a roar of anger, but a persistent, nagging ache. This woman, this "Lyra", was a ghost, a memory of a world erased, yet she occupied the most sacred parts of Aiven's heart.
Virelle pouted, her silver-lavender hair shimmering with a faint, agitated glow. She wanted to be the one he called for. She was the one who had saved him; she was the one currently guarding his life.
But then she looked at his face again. The pained tension that usually gripped Aiven's expression had vanished. For the first time since she had been summoned, he looked truly happy—peaceful, as if he were walking through the sunlit streets of Hearthport again.
Virelle's shoulders slumped. Her jealousy remained, but the sassiness drained out of her. She couldn't bring herself to be truly angry at a man finding solace in a dream.
"…So it's her again," she whispered, a bit sadly.
Feeling a sudden need for air, she drifted away from the bed. The one-room apartment felt smaller than usual. She decided a brief excursion to the hallway might provide some distraction, so she passed through the door like a wisp of smoke.
Outside, the iron corridor was bathed in the flickering light of low-quality mana-lamps.
"Oh! Hell—"
Dax, the neighbor, was halfway down the hall, clutching a half-empty bottle. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he saw Virelle emerge. Up close, without Aiven there to shield her, her ethereal beauty was blinding. Her skin seemed to catch the moonlight, and her violet eyes held a depth that made Dax feel like he was staring into a nebula.
"U-Uh, hey there," Dax stammered, his usual smirk replaced by a look of sheer, nervous awe. "Aiven's... uh... still busy?"
Virelle didn't even turn her head fully toward him. She remained suspended in mid-air, her translucent sleeves fluttering in the evening breeze.
"Master is resting," she said, her tone cool and dismissive. "And I have no interest in engaging in small talk with commoners."
Dax blinked, his face flushing. "Right. Sorry. I just... you're really something, you know?"
Virelle spared him a single, sidelong glance. A playful, smug curve returned to her lips. "I am aware. You are welcome to praise my brilliance if you feel the urge, but do it quietly. If you wake him, I'll turn your drink into lukewarm dishwater and your hair into a nest for pigeons."
Dax opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat. Virelle, losing interest as quickly as she had gained it, turned around and drifted back through the door into the apartment. Dax stood in the hallway for a long minute, staring at the closed door.
"Lucky bastard," Dax muttered, taking a swig from his bottle. "Maid-master roleplay, floating mage girlfriend, and he doesn't even look like he knows what he's doing."
The first rays of dawn filtered through the grime-streaked window, cutting a sharp line of light across Aiven's face. He groaned, the habit of a logistics clerk's internal clock pulling him back to consciousness at exactly 7:00 AM.
He blinked, his eyes adjusting. As the haze of sleep cleared, he realized he wasn't alone. A few inches from his face, a cloud of silver-lavender hair drifted in the air. Virelle was asleep, suspended horizontally in mid-air right beside his bed.
Aiven let out a small, startled sound—half-gasp, half-yelp—and scrambled back against the headboard.
Virelle's eyes snapped open instantly. She didn't look groggy; she simply transitioned from sleep to full awareness. A playful smirk touched her lips as she saw his wide-eyed expression.
"Good morning, Master," she chirped, rotating in the air until she was upright. "Did you have a pleasant journey through your dreams? You were quite vocal."
"…Good—why are you there?" he croaked.
She stretched like a cat—arms extended, back arching—still suspended, boots hovering a handspan above the floor. "Hmm? Oh. This was convenient."
He rubbed his eyes, then looked again. She was still floating.
"You… you were sleeping," he said slowly. "While floating."
"Yes."
"How?"
Virelle tilted her head, genuinely puzzled by the question. "I can do anything. This is hardly impressive."
Aiven looked at his narrow bed, then back at her. The logic was sound, even if the image was bizarre. He stood up, the events of the previous day rushing back to him. "Virelle... did you eat dinner last night? While I was out?"
Virelle shook her head. "No."
Aiven's heart sank. A wave of guilt washed over him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have slept so long. You must be starving."
"I am quite hungry," she admitted, her stomach giving a small, perfectly timed growl.
"You could have woken me up," Aiven said, swinging his legs out of bed. "Or gone downstairs. There's a bakery on the corner."
Virelle hovered closer, her expression turning uncharacteristically serious. "I considered it. But I was worried. I thought... if I stayed out too long exploring, you might wake up alone. You'd look around, find the room empty, and panic because your protection was gone." She tilted her head, a hint of her usual sass returning. "And I didn't want my Master to have a heart attack before breakfast."
Aiven stared at her, caught off guard. She had stayed in a cramped, boring room all night just to make sure he didn't wake up afraid. "Right. Well... I appreciate the concern. Let's go grab some breakfast."
"Did you... take a bath?" Aiven asked, glancing toward the small bathroom.
"I did," Virelle replied, patting her silver hair. "Though I must say, Master, your 'cleansing chamber' is laughably small. I had to fold my legs just to fit in that porcelain basin. It's a miracle I didn't accidentally teleport the plumbing into the alleyway."
Aiven winced. "I'll try to be quick. Don't... delete anything while I'm in there."
He performed a hurried scrub and emerged ten minutes later, dressed in durable traveling clothes. He strapped his nicked short sword to his hip. "Ready?"
"Starving," she answered.
Aiven took the resignation letter with him and they headed out.
They stepped out into the humid morning air. Aiven led her to a small, open-air eatery between two leaning tenements. It was a chaotic place; steam rising from pots, grease sizzling, and commoners shouting orders.
Virelle stared.
"…Why are they shouting?" she asked, hovering just above a narrow bench. "Are they fighting for dominance?"
"No," Aiven said, already sitting. "They're just… talking."
"So loudly?"
"Yes."
She frowned. "How primal."
A serving plate was shoved onto the table moments later—cheap flatbread, steaming meat, fried vegetables glistening with oil.
Virelle poked it suspiciously.
Then she took a bite.
Her eyes widened.
She took another bite. Faster.
Then another.
"…Oh," she said softly.
Aiven watched as her posture relaxed, irritation melting away bite by bite.
"This is," she admitted, chewing thoughtfully, "surprisingly excellent."
He smiled. "Told you."
She glanced at him, genuinely impressed. "Master, your taste in culinary selection is commendable. I withdraw all previous criticism of the environment. The shouting adds… texture."
"That's one way to put it."
As they ate, Aiven leaned in, his voice low. "We need a plan, Virelle. We have to focus on raising our Adventurer ranks. F-Rank pay won't sustain us. And I need to know what happened. Who are you? And why was it me who summoned you?"
He paused, a memory from the dungeon flashing in his mind—the voice calling his name. He leaned closer. "In the dungeon... before you appeared... I heard a voice. It called my name. Was that... was that you?"
Virelle stopped eating. "What did you say, Master? I can't hear a word over that man shouting about his airship cargo."
The clatter of dishes and the hiss of the grills created a wall of sound between them.
Aiven slumped slightly. "Never mind. It's too noisy here."
"Anyway," Aiven said, finishing his bowl. "Today, we quest. We need to build a reputation."
Virelle's prismatic orb chimed an excited note. She spun in the air, a playful smirk returning.
"Finally," she said, straightening up. "Some action. I was beginning to fear I'd be forced to stare at clouds and walls forever."
She paused, then added with mock seriousness, "Also, if this were a story, the readers would definitely be getting bored by now. There's only so much trash duty one can endure before demanding explosions."
Aiven laughed under his breath. "Let's try not to blow anything up today."
She smiled sweetly. "No promises."
Outside, the Guildhouse waited, along with whatever trouble was next.