Chapter 95 — The One Who Takes the Lead
“Thank you for accompanying me.”
Seraphine blinked.
“…I didn’t help you choose the sword,” she said. “You did that yourself.”
“Yes,” Ivaline replied. “But I’m still grateful.”
“…Huh?”
Seraphine didn’t have time to process the answer.
Ivaline reached out, took her hand, and started walking.
No warning.
No hesitation.
Seraphine stiffened as she was tugged forward, words lodging uselessly in her throat. Her gaze dropped to their joined hands—small fingers, firm grip, utterly unselfconscious. There was no shyness in it. No intent to tease. Just decision.
Her ears warmed.
Chronicle observed the situation.
And, for once, did not annotate.
They stopped at a food stall wedged between cloth merchants and spice sellers. Smoke curled lazily into the air, carrying the scent of grilled meat and sweet glaze. Oil crackled softly over open flame.
“This one,” Ivaline said, pointing. “The sauce is light, but it lingers. You should try it.”
Before Seraphine could refuse, a skewer was pressed into her hand.
“…You’re very forceful for a child,” Seraphine muttered.
“Eat,” Ivaline said calmly.
Seraphine hesitated. Pure-blood elven pride rose first—then stalled, unsure what argument it was even trying to make. With stiff posture, like someone handling an unfamiliar artifact, she took a bite.
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“…Delicious.”
The word escaped before she could stop it.
The flavor surprised her. Simple. Warm. Comforting. Nothing refined—no layered seasoning, no ceremonial preparation—yet it stayed, clinging gently to the tongue.
“Umu,” Ivaline nodded, satisfied. “I told you.”
She bit into her own skewer—grilled bird, lightly charred, juice running down the stick. Without realizing it, Seraphine matched her pace. Her posture. Even the way she chewed.
Two elves—one pure-blood, one half—nibbling grilled bird like squirrels with stolen treasure.
People passing by smiled.
Some laughed quietly.
Ivaline found a seat by the edge of a stone fountain and sat, patting the space beside her. Seraphine hesitated, then followed.
They ate in silence.
Then Ivaline swallowed and asked, evenly—
“Aldric said you were only looking out for me. That you tried to keep me out of the subjugation team. Is that true?”
—Cough! Cough!
The question hit like a thrown stone.
Seraphine choked, bending forward as Ivaline startled and immediately patted her back, pressing a cup of water into her hands.
Gulp. Gulp.
“HA—! That idiot! His mouth really is loose!” Seraphine groaned.
“…..”
Ivaline didn’t push. She simply looked at her—blank, patient.
The silence pressed harder than words.
Seraphine sighed.
“…Yes,” she admitted. “I’ve seen enough children die. I don’t want to carry another corpse back from a hunt. Especially not yours.”
“You wouldn’t,” Ivaline said. “I’m strong.”
“And you proved it.”
Three minutes against Nyssa.
Even Seraphine herself couldn’t manage that. Forget three—one was already stretching it for a mage like her.
“You tried to protect me,” Ivaline said. “In your own way.”
“…It sounds embarrassing when you say it like that.”
“So next time,” Ivaline continued, matter-of-fact, “I’ll protect you.”
“…Huh?”
Seraphine snapped her head around.
Ivaline finished her skewer, hopped down from the fountain’s edge, and brushed her hands clean.
“Let’s return.”
“….”
She took Seraphine’s hand again and pulled her along.
That small hand felt warmer than before.
And stronger.
No destination was announced.
They drifted through the streets, letting the crowd thin naturally until the guild hall reappeared ahead of them. By then, the skewers were gone—only faint traces of sauce and warmth remained.
“Let’s return,” Ivaline said, releasing Seraphine’s hand without ceremony.
“The plan should be finished by now. We shouldn’t miss anything important.”
She walked ahead, already focused, already moving on.
Seraphine lingered a moment, staring at her empty palm.
“…You’re just a half-elf, half-human child,” she muttered.
Then she shook her head, exhaled softly, and followed.
