The twilight bled across the skyline like diluted ink, soaking the horizon in a somber, bruised orange.
A crisp evening breeze swept past, catching the ragged hem of Jalter’s dark coat.
She lowered her gaze, watching the dying sunlight reflect off her pale fingertips.
“Is it already dusk?” She frowned.
A heavy, lingering bitterness tightened the corners of her mouth.
“Yeah.
I really can’t accept this.” Raising her head, she stared at the distant, sinking sun.
Her shoulders, usually so rigidly defiant, slumped a fraction of an inch.
“It feels like I only just arrived…
but time passed in the blink of an eye.” A faint smile tugged at her lips, though the mirth fractured long before it could reach her golden eyes.
She let out a soft, breathy sigh.
“They say happy times always something-something…
it really is like that, isn’t it?” The fleeting smile vanished, leaving a shadowed gravity in its wake.
She turned her gaze to Fujimaru Ritsuka.
Her golden eyes searched his face, carrying a fragile mix of testing and absolute certainty.
“Do you still remember…
what happened in Shinjuku?” She paused.
Her fingertips curled inward, lightly scraping against her palms as she weighed her next words.
When she spoke again, her voice had dropped to a soft murmur.
“Specifically, that thing.
The two of us…” She faltered, glancing away at the ruined horizon before snapping her attention back to him.
Her gaze burned with sudden intensity.
“Before you went back.
The two of us…
we danced together, didn’t we?” Ritsuka looked at the quiet anxiety hidden beneath her fierce stare.
He didn’t hesitate.
He gave a firm, solemn nod.
“I won’t forget it.” Jalter’s tense shoulders finally relaxed.
A faint, complex curve formed at the edge of her mouth.
She raised a hand, lightly brushing the fabric of her sleeve.
“Same here.
Should I say I’ve seen the records?
Well, think about it—after all, as Avengers, we don’t forget.
But…” Her voice dipped lower.
A hollow emptiness flashed across her expression.
She reached up, tucking a stray, wind-tousled strand of pale hair behind her ear.
“When a Spirit Core has been through that kind of situation once, it still feels a bit surreal.” She seemed to be wrestling with a sudden resolution, her words spilling out in fragmented, defensive pieces.
“So…” The rest of the sentence died on her tongue.
She let out a dry, self-deprecating chuckle, a faint flush of embarrassment dusting her cheeks.
“I mean, ahaha, well—they’re all just excuses, aren’t they?” She stared at the ground, her thumb picking nervously at the edge of her glove.
“Considering everyone else’s situation, it’s not like I don’t understand that this is getting a head start…” Then, she snapped her head up.
The conflict in her eyes burned away, replaced by a desperate, reckless determination.
Her voice took on a forced, airy lightness.
“Well, it’s fine to jump the gun a little, right?” She closed her eyes, drawing in a long, slow breath to steady the tremor in her chest.
When her golden eyes fluttered open, they were wide with an uncharacteristic, raw vulnerability.
Even her voice betrayed a slight waver as she made her request.
“Just once…
could you dance with me again?” As the words hung in the air, the tension bled out of her face.
A sly, genuinely gentle smile touched her lips, crinkling the corners of her eyes.
Her tone shifted, adopting a touch of teasing, coquettish expectation.
“Of course, this time, you have to be the one to invite me to dance, okay?” Ritsuka swallowed the tight knot forming in his throat.
He met her expectant gaze, stepped forward, and offered his hand in a flawless, formal gesture of invitation.
Jalter’s eyes lit up.
A brilliant, unshadowed smile broke across her face.
She lifted her arm, slowly resting her cool fingertips against his palm.
Her fingers curled inward, gripping his hand as if anchoring herself to the reality of his touch.
Once his grip tightened around hers, she stepped into his space.
As the twilight deepened into a bruised purple, the two of them began to move, their steps falling into a slow, quiet rhythm.
Jalter lowered her gaze to their joined hands, then looked up at him, blinking in mild surprise.
“…Heh.
Impressive.” She tilted her head to the side as they swayed through the steps, a genuine note of joy threading through her voice.
“Master, I feel like…
you’re dancing better than last time?” She nodded to herself, her eyes curving into bright crescents.
“That’s right, yes, it must be so.” Her tone suddenly shifted, drawing out the syllables with a deliberate, mischievous edge.
“You’ve danced with someone other than me…” Seeing his posture stiffen, she threw her head back and laughed, a clear, ringing sound in the dying light.
“Just kidding!
You don’t have to look so conflicted.” She looked up at him from her close vantage point.
She put on a mask of haughty indifference, though the tips of her ears had flushed a quiet, betraying pink.
“I’ve already gotten used to it, you know.
My heart won’t race even if we’re this close.” She spun lightly, letting him guide her through a turn.
Her dark skirt flared out in a beautiful, sweeping arc.
“See?
My steps are better than before, too, right?
After all, I’ve practiced.” She caught his slightly puzzled expression and her cheeks darkened further.
She jerked her gaze away, her voice spiking with sudden, defensive fluster.
“Eh?
You’re asking if my heart was racing last time?
I-It wasn’t, you idiot!” The harsh denial crumbled almost instantly.
She let out a soft, defeated breath, her expression melting into something helpless and deeply fond.
“…Dummy.” The only sounds left in the world were the soft rustle of the evening breeze and the rhythmic scuff of their shoes against the ground.
The orange-red glow finally surrendered, swallowed whole by the encroaching dark.
Jalter’s steps began to slow.
The smile faded from her lips, leaving behind an expression of deep, isolating quiet.
A heavy silence stretched between them.
After a long time, she let out a ragged sigh.
She stared toward the blackened horizon where the sun used to be.
“…Haa.
About…
Cinderella.” She paused.
Her feet still moved through the motions of the dance, but her golden eyes had grown distant.
“Just now, I suddenly realized she was a very strong woman.” She looked back up at Ritsuka.
“She danced with the Prince at the ball, and later…
she got the Prince.” Her voice dropped an octave.
The light in her eyes dimmed entirely, and her steps ground to a near halt.
“…But, the night of the ball still has a time limit.” She stared down at their intertwined fingers.
Her grip tightened until her knuckles turned white.
“After actually experiencing it, it still feels quite painful.” She bit her lower lip, a faint, choked tremor slipping into her breath.
“Because I’ve realized that no matter how happy it is…
it will eventually reach the end.” Ritsuka’s chest tightened.
“Jalter.” She stopped moving completely.
When she finally took another step, she kept her head bowed, refusing to meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Master.” She drew in a sharp breath, bracing herself for the executioner’s block.
“I’m at my limit as well.
After this, I can no longer be your strength.” Ritsuka froze.
His fingers clamped down on her hand.
“Why?
Can I ask the reason?” Jalter stared at their locked hands.
“If I have to say, it’s a problem with the Spirit Core.” She furrowed her brow, struggling to articulate the invisible fracture inside her.
“Not quite…
is it the soul?” A cold weight dropped into Ritsuka’s stomach.
Fragments of recent memories snapped together in his mind.
“…Is it because you are Avengers?” Her head snapped up.
Surprise flashed across her face before settling back into a numb, quiet calm.
She gave a microscopic nod.
“…Heh.
So you knew?” Ritsuka shook his head slowly.
“To be honest, I’m not really sure.
Although I have no idea why, I saw Salieri’s letter and heard Kagekiyo’s message.” He stared into her fading eyes.
“And now, I’m talking with you.
Everyone…
all of you are Avengers—” Jalter nodded.
Exhaustion and a strange, terrible relief washed over her features.
“…That’s right.
Well, that’s just how it is.” Her voice began to thin out, turning fragile.
“Because we all listened to that guy…
we heard what he said.” She opened her mouth to explain further, but the words caught in her throat, leaving only a broken sigh.
“So…” Ritsuka gripped her hand tighter, refusing to let go.
“Can’t you…
keep walking with me?” Jalter flinched.
A violent storm of reluctance, guilt, and agony tore through her golden eyes, only to be buried under a suffocating silence.
She stared at his pleading face for a long time.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
Finally, she forced the words past the stricture in her throat.
Every syllable was soaked in absolute helplessness.
“…I’m sorry.” She offered no other farewell.
In the dying light, her silhouette began to turn transparent.
The cool fingers resting in Ritsuka’s palm dissolved into golden dust, slipping through his desperate grasp.
Without giving him a chance to say goodbye, Jeanne d’Arc Alter vanished into the night.
The moment she disappeared, the last sliver of twilight was snuffed out.
Total darkness claimed the wasteland.
A lone gust of wind howled past.
Ritsuka stood frozen in the dark, his arm still raised in the posture of a waltz, his empty palm stinging with the sudden chill.
Then, cutting through the empty wind, a distant, heavy blast of a trumpet echoed across the sky.
It was the trumpet sounding the Seventh Trial.
[Akarin’s Note: Enjoying the story?