Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Bring her to my chamber. I will see to her myself.”

Commanding, yet icy cold. This is the first time queen Morgan’s voice reaches Artoria’s ears. As much as she wants to talk back and challenge those words, acting as the queen’s adversary she’s born to be—

No, Artoria understands the futility of the situation too well.

With her eyes covered by a blindfold that won’t allow as little as a resemblance of light through. Being hovered over the shoulder of the worst possible Fairy Knight imaginable. Her own hands tied behind her back.

Stupidly enough, Artoria has been captured by Fairy Knight Gawain. For no other reason than a stroke of bad luck. The worst luck.

Of all the people to find her, it’s been the despicable Gawain. No, Barghest.

“Understood, Your Majesty.”

Artoria grits her teeth in frustration as she feels herself getting carried to who knows where. Why Barghest didn’t just kill her is beyond her. Why Morgan herself didn’t behead her on the spot is even more outlandish.

No matter how much she thinks about this, there’s no way she should still be alive in this situation.

Maybe it’s just a sadistic whim of the queen — wanting to play with the captured Child of Prophecy for the audacity to be born into this role regardless of will or choice, before ending her miserable existence.

Not like there’s anyone who’d bother saving her.

‘At least it’ll be over soon,’ Artoria thinks bitterly.

A smile creeps onto her face. Defeated, but strangely relieved.

In the end, whatever expectations and hopes were placed on her, she’s disappointed all of them. There has never been any chance she would’ve been able to stand up to Morgan, anyway.

The fairies bet on the wrong ‘Child of Prophecy’; better luck for the next one.

Artoria is carelessly dropped face-first onto something that feels uncharacteristically soft and smooth, and the hands tied behind her back make it difficult to sit up. Though with some struggle, Artoria manages; if only to make breathing easier.

“At least be a little more gentle!”

“You’re in no position to make demands, Child of Prophecy. You should thank the queen’s benevolence for your life, if anything.”

There goes that haughty Barghest again, talking down to her as usual. If there’s one regret Artoria has, it’s that she’s never been able to knock that Fairy Knight down a peg or two. Better three.

“I wouldn’t recommend to try and make an escape. The guards would surely catch you, and I don’t believe Her Majesty’s order of capturing you alive reached all of them.”

With those parting words, Barghest leaves Artoria to herself.

Making an escape? Laughable.

Though it doesn’t sit right with Artoria to just give in either. Not that she’s granted any time to form a strategy.

“You are a lot more obedient than I would have believed.”

Morgan’s soft but commandeering voice cuts through the silence of the room. It can’t have been too long since Barghest dropped her off.

Artoria scoffs.

“If you’re planning to kill me—”

“How foolish. I have no intention of taking your life, Child of Prophecy. No. Artoria of Tintagel.”

Morgan gently removes the cloth shielding Artoria’s eyes. She takes a moment to adjust to getting her sense of sight back, blinking away the blinding light.

Artoria finds herself on what turns out to be queen Morgan’s bed, which explains the surface feeling as soft as it does. Not that Artoria would know how a bed of this luxury feels.

“That’s a lie.”

“I believe you know I am telling the truth. Rather, you can see as much.”

Artoria grits her teeth. Referencing Fairy Eyes in such a casual way, Morgan either has no plans of fooling Artoria to begin with, or she’s able to get lies past them. The latter would be the more reasonable thing to believe, given this is Morgan.

But nobody is exempt from the curse of seeing through falsehoods; not even the almighty queen of the Fairy Nation.

So far, Morgan hasn’t spoken a single lie. More than that, she possesses absolutely no animosity towards Artoria. No ill intentions. If anything, there is a hint of sympathy. It makes absolutely no sense.

Maybe Artoria’s Fairy Eyes broke once she got herself captured and clearly failed her purpose.

“What do you want from me?”

“Artoria of Tintagel. You have been born into the role of a savior. You never chose such a fate for yourself. This burden has been yours, regardless of your own will. Which is why I am giving you a choice.”

Morgan cups Artoria’s face and caresses her cheek with her thumb. The simple gesture gives Artoria goosebumps, and makes her shudder. She swallows, unsure how to process this situation.

It’s a completely foreign sensation, accompanied by a slight tingle traveling down her spine.

She can’t remember ever having felt such a soft touch, and although it’s Morgan — the tyrannical queen she’s supposed to bring down — it feels nice. In a wrong way, but still: nice.

“The fairies will never appreciate your sacrifices. They will be quick to turn against you for no particular reason, or on nothing but a whim. I am sure you have made that experience by now.”

Artoria bites her lip. She’d prefer not to remember all the instances of working herself to the bone just to get cast aside the next moment. The few occasions someone had as little as a kind word for her — not as a lie, not to sway her — could be counted on one hand.

“I am asking you to cast aside your destiny. Do not follow the prophecy. Stay away from the pilgrimage. If you do that, I am willing to accept you as my subordinate.”

An all too alluring offer. Wouldn’t that be what Artoria wished for this whole time?

Not having to be the Child of Prophecy, not having to shoulder all these heavy burdens, everyone’s hopes and expectations. Like a devil’s temptation, Morgan speaks to Artoria’s deepest desires.

But that would be too easy. Too good, too simple a solution.

“How do you know all of that?”

Morgan removes her hand from Artoria’s cheek, feeling as though her attempt at negotiation has all but failed.

“Like you, I am a Fairy of Paradise. I know the hardships that await a savior because I have lived through them for millennia. In the end, I elected to ignore the destiny bestowed on me in favor of becoming the queen of this land.”

As much as this revelation is a shock at first, that soon turns into boiling anger. Artoria clenches her fists and grits her teeth.

“It’s all your fault…”

Her destiny never was hers to bear originally. If only Morgan would’ve fulfilled hers, Artoria wouldn’t have to go through any of this. Just for some selfish delusions of grandeur, wanting to rule a darn country!

“It’s only because of your failure that I have to be the Child of Prophecy! Screw that. I’ll take you down for sure!”

Child of Prophecy, destiny, fate — who cares. No, this is personal now. It’s only because of Morgan that Artoria has to lead such a life of hardship and suffering, and that’s enough of a reason to want to stop the queen’s reign.

Morgan sighs.

She has expected Artoria to be somewhat belligerent, though hoped that the young fairy would be willing to stand against her fate, much like she herself had.

Maybe Artoria hasn’t seen how little deserving of a savior the fairies truly are. Maybe she still holds onto some naïve hope that the fairies can be saved yet.

“That is a very bold claim from someone as weak as you. Your existence poses no threat to me whatsoever.”

“We’ll see about that!”

‘No, we will not,’ Morgan thinks.

This foolish successor of hers, the new Fairy of Paradise — she’s much too precious a soul, despite her very apparent character flaws. If she were to go through the pilgrimage and become another savior, she would break.

There’s no way any fairy could take that path unscarred.

Morgan would not let another fairy walk down that path. No one shall repeat her past, no one shall even think of taking her beloved country from her.

The queen tucks a stray strand of Artoria’s hair behind her ear, not missing the flinch at the touch. She’s noticed how surprisingly responsive Artoria was earlier, though at the time she paid it no mind. But now…

This may be just the way to go.

If the stubborn fairy is more receptive towards soft touches than rationality and negotiation, so be it.

“I am not short on time. I will make you succumb, Artoria of Tintagel. But fear not — I have no plans of hurting you.”

“What are you— mmph!?”

Morgan’s lips capturing Artoria’s silences her mid-question while providing an inkling as to what’s the answer. With her eyes shut tightly, Artoria is frozen in place by the sudden advance.

A kiss is the very last thing she would have expected.

“No need to be that tense. I assure you, I will be very gentle.”

Morgan’s breath tickles Artoria’s skin, and as much as a part of her wants to recoil, she lacks the inner strength to do so.

Morgan holds her chin — gently, as promised — and applies just enough force to open Artoria’s mouth slightly. Using the small gap between her lips to slip her own tongue in.

“Nnh, nmmph..!!”

As much as Artoria wants to complain, that proves to be an impossible task.

Morgan’s tongue feels so weird in her mouth. A foreign object; warm, wet, and moving. Clearly intent to explore every little centimeter of the inside of her mouth, eliciting whimpers that luckily catch in Artoria’s throat.

No way she’d give Morgan the satisfaction of making such pathetic noises in response to her ministrations.

Once Artoria fully catches up to the situation, she bites down on Morgan’s tongue, forcing the queen to break the kiss. Artoria pants, trying to catch the breath she hasn’t fully realized she was holding, blissfully ignorant of a certain warmth spreading throughout her body.

Artoria’s mouth curves into a proud smile when she sees Morgan wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and sees some blood.

‘I got her!’

Though this feeling of success, having actually inflicted a wound on queen Morgan (one that she would never even want to boast of, given the context), is very short-lived.

Replaced with an entirely new flavor of terror within a second by Morgan’s use of magecraft to burn her clothes to a crisp, leaving nothing shielding Artoria’s modesty.

“W-w-wait!”

This renders her about fully vulnerable. In front of a tyrannical queen she’s just not only hurt but also offended, no less.

Artoria instinctively tries to cover up with her hands — just to be reminded of the fabric binding her wrists, keeping her arms firmly in place behind her back.

“I see that I have been too lenient. You need to be properly educated. Or should I say… tamed.”

A small push of Morgan’s hand lets Artoria land face-first on the bed yet again. While just slightly appreciating not having to maintain eye contact in this compromising situation, Artoria realizes that even with her face turned to the side, she can’t see what Morgan may be up to. It adds another layer of anticipation… No, surely just fear to this.

Morgan runs her fingertip from Artoria’s nape down to between her shoulder blades, making the poor captured fairy jump.

“Hyaah— Hey, cut that out!”

“I will make sure that you learn your position. I will humor none of your requests unless I am satisfied with your behavior.”

‘Does she think I’m a pet or something!?’

Artoria grits her teeth, though even in frustration or anger she wouldn’t be more intimidating than a little bunny. Clearly just prey in the hands of the skilled and overpowering predator.

Prey that doesn’t understand its own position; believing to be in a position to fight back.

Although it’s undeniable that the feather-light touches feel strangely pleasant, Artoria pushes that thought into the deepest corner of her mind to ignore it.

But her body stays unaware of the internal denial, reacting naturally to the intimacy. Her ears taking on a reddish hue doesn’t escape Morgan.

‘Interesting,’ the witch thinks with mild delight.

Morgan has never spared romance and related activities much thought, much less does she have any experience in this field. She has never loved another in this way; for a lack of time or importance, or for a risk of such attachment becoming a liability.

If not for her counterpart’s memories from Pan-Human History, she wouldn’t have considered using such means to break Artoria’s will to oppose her in the first place.

Her counterpart is quite the shrewd individual; successfully using any means of manipulation to get her way. Though, in the end, it didn’t fully work out for her.

Morgan would learn from those mistakes. But this once, taking inspiration from her counterpart seems to have a good chance of being an effective approach, and provides some amusement for herself as well.

She leans down to let her warm breath tickle Artoria’s ear, not missing the further reddening, and how the captured fairy pulls up her shoulder in an unsuccessful attempt to protect herself.

“You may give in at any time you wish.”

Artoria chokes.

Pushing a bit farther, Morgan brushes her lips over Artoria’s ear, feeling the skin to be as hot as the color would suggest. She considers pulling away again, but only before she hears Artoria’s whimper through clenched teeth.

“Nngh…”

With a smile, Morgan opens her mouth and grazes her teeth over Artoria’s ear. She holds Artoria’s head to keep her firmly but gently in place, preventing the poor fairy from turning her head to evade the queen’s mouth.

Morgan’s tongue darts out just a little, tentatively licking behind Artoria’s ear.

The shudder speaks a clear language, though Artoria tries her hardest to not give any reaction away, biting back any further noise that may just naturally leak out.

Not that it matters.

Morgan knows perfectly that Artoria is fighting a losing battle. And she’s sure that Artoria must have realized as much, though she’s still fighting for a victory she won’t be able to attain.

There is the start of a disappointed whine when Morgan finally pulls away, though Artoria stops herself as soon as she notices her denied desire’s vocalization in her own voice.

‘I’m not disappointed at all, not at all…’

Artoria tries to steady her breath and her emotions in the brief respite granted to her, not wanting to delve deeper into the fact that she, for some reason, doesn’t hate being touched like this by Morgan.

When she very definitely should hate it. Feel disgusted even.

No, actually, despite her reactions, it does feel wrong on every level. Wrong, but inexplicably pleasant. The confusing mixture of feelings being just more of a reason to hate everything about this.

Morgan lets her eyes wander over Artoria’s naked body, the fairy’s hands unfavorably tied behind her back. Gawain is a very reliable Fairy Knight, but this type of immobilization hinders Morgan more than it helps her.

It doesn’t allow for many options when it comes to positions — not if she wants to avoid adding unnecessary discomfort — and limits which parts of Artoria’s body are easily accessible.

She considers a punishment for this lack of mindfulness, but decides to let it slide. Gawain couldn’t have known of such developments. Especially given that this hasn’t been the plan from the beginning.

Artoria’s body tenses when she feels Morgan’s hands softly glide over her sides. The caress feels nice… no, definitely not. Just weird, that’s for sure.

But at the very least, the sensation isn’t nearly intense enough to elicit a reaction from her, giving her a break from trying her best to keep down her voice — and occasionally failing.

The suspense becomes a worse torture than a more purposeful touch the longer Morgan just idly runs her hands over soft skin. Just knowing that Morgan is merely playing with her, Artoria expects a more direct attack on her dignity at any moment.

As much as she forces herself to stay on guard, sharpening all her senses for any warning sign — Artoria can hardly see Morgan in the corner of her eye; she simply has no idea of Morgan’s exact plans.

To her surprise, she feels the piece of cloth tying her wrists together loosen.

“Huh?”

Artoria blinks. Is she just imagining this?

No, when she moves her arms, they are no longer bound. Her movement is entirely unrestricted.

Artoria pushes herself up from the bed to sit up for a more comfortable position — before realizing upon losing contact with the luxurious bed’s fabric that she is stark naked, Morgan having efficiently made quick work of her clothes earlier.

Embarrassment rises to her face in the form of heat, her cheeks feeling like they’re on fire.

“Hyaah! D-Don’t look!!”

Artoria awkwardly clutches at the blanket in a desperate attempt to pull up the fabric to shield herself from Morgan’s amused gaze. She presses the velvety soft blanket to her modest chest, pretending she can’t feel her rapid heartbeat drumming in her ears.

Morgan can’t help but think of this reaction as quite endearing, though she spares it no comment, nor much further thought. As enjoyable as this endeavor can be in some ways, it’s still strictly professional.

“That confinement proved disadvantageous, so I took the liberty of removing it.”

“…thanks.”

‘She’s not letting me go, right? No way, right??’

A small hope bubbles up inside Artoria, though it immediately gets clouded by a disappointment she doesn’t quite understand.

“I believe you have no genuine intention of fleeing. However…”

Morgan extends her hand towards Artoria, who flinches a second before the touch. Morgan’s fingertips make contact with her neck, just barely.

When she opens one eye to peek at what Morgan is doing, fearing the worst — the queen deciding to strangle her and enjoying the sight of her desperate attempts to fill her lungs with any bit of oxygen as the light of life leaves her eyes — Artoria still finds nothing like contempt in Morgan.

No violent intention either.

Artoria feels a slight prickling sensation around her neck before realizing it to be caused by some magic. Artoria reaches up to feel something not quite plain physical but ethereal wrapped around her neck, like… like a collar.

Morgan actually just put a collar on her.

Not a real one. Instead, it’s the result of some magecraft this wicked queen works. Which makes it worse.

“What is this!?”

“A collar.”

‘I knew that much! How can she just come out and say it so casually!?’

“It will place you right here in case you ever stray too far. Among other applications.”

Morgan gracefully stands up from the bed while Artoria still struggles to keep up with the situation, implications, and basically everything that’s happening.

“I will see to your needs being met. If you require anything, do let me know. Do not misunderstand your situation however, Artoria of Tintagel.”

The queen is not being kind. No, she is just treating Artoria completely like a pet she assumes responsibility for and ownership of; no more, no less. Infuriating. Disgraceful.

Artoria glares at the queen, though Morgan finds little threat in the poor little fairy’s attempt at playing defiant.

“I need new clothes. And food.”

“I will have Gawain deliver you new garments and an appropriate meal. Is that all? I have matters to attend to.”

Artoria grimaces at the mention of Barghest being the one to deliver her what she asked for, sullying any feeling of relief she may have otherwise had for Morgan at least accepting her demands, or for the respite of her absence.

Though if she’s going to be by her lonesome until Morgan’s return, there’s an awful lot of time to kill and very little to keep herself occupied with. Artoria realizes that being in Camelot — taken hostage by Morgan — may just prove to be a once-in-a-lifetime chance.

“… do you have some books on magecraft?”

“Oh?”

Morgan’s mouth almost resembles something akin to a smile. At least Artoria would swear that’s what she’s seen, although that’s hard to believe. Strangely, Morgan carries a sense of nostalgia at this question.

“I will have Gawain bring you tomes so you can study as much as you wish while you have the time. I commend your eagerness to improve yourself, Artoria of Tintagel.”

‘She’s the last person I want any praise from…’

Despite that thought and the sour aftertaste it leaves, Artoria feels a warm fluttering at her core at those words. She elects to ignore that feeling, waiting for it to pass. Nothing but a fluke, maybe just her nerves.

With no goodbye, Morgan disappears into the hallway, leaving Artoria by herself.

Utterly confused at everything that has transpired: at her current situation, at everything that is Morgan, and most of all at what she herself thinks and how she feels about Morgan.

Artoria feels strangely lonely now that she is alone, wondering if she wishes for the queen to return soon, but… No, there’s no way that she’s looking forward to any further abuse from queen Morgan.

Artoria’s tense muscles relax, and she releases a breath, unaware she has been holding it in the first place, coming out as more of a deep sigh.

Now that she has the time and freedom to do so, she scans the room she finds herself in. Morgan’s bedroom, evidently. And for some reason, apparently, this is going to be the room Artoria will find herself confined to for the foreseeable future.

Unless she somehow manages to make her escape, not before getting rid of this stupid magical collar around her neck that she can just feel connects to her very core.

A shiver runs down her spine at the thought of what that vile thing may be able to be used for; the all-too-convenient teleportation seems like the least problematic part. On top of that, it’s a physical proof Artoria has been captured and is at the mercy of her worst enemy; the tyrannical ruler she is meant to defeat.

It puts her in her place. As someone entirely beneath Morgan, like a pet — a lower species taken in for personal amusement.

‘I was no good after all…’

It’s not a new revelation at all. A nagging voice in the back of her mind told her as much ever since. Child of Prophecy? Fairy of Paradise? Laughable. She wouldn’t amount to much; not to anything, really. It’s been futile from the very beginning.

Hopes for salvation placed on a fairy who wouldn’t even have made it into Camelot if not for being taken hostage by a Fairy Knight, served to the queen on a silver platter.

Artoria smiles bitterly. The earlier relief returns, disgusting and wretched. Wrong, yet genuine.

At least it’s all over now. She won’t have to deal with all those fairies ever again. Won’t have to work hard just to be hated and seen as nothing but a nuisance anymore.

Compared to that, maybe being in Camelot, stuck with the queen who at the very least doesn’t loathe her very existence — even though Morgan of all fairies should — isn’t all that bad.

It’s peaceful. It’s easy. It’s not a normal life by any means, but the closest to normalcy Artoria could probably attain.

Her fists clench involuntarily. No, Artoria can’t accept this.

As alluring as it is to cast aside all the burdens stuck to her shoulders, growing in weight each day — it’s at least ten times as wrong.

She’s definitely, definitely not going to give in to Morgan!

The slight rush from this newfound motivation is very short-lived. As soon as the door opens, Artoria suddenly remembers her precarious condition, and scrambles to pull up the blanket higher with fervent urgency to not be seen in her exposed state.

In comes Barghest, clad in her full armor, so annoyingly tall that she almost has to hunch down to pass through the door, pushing a cart with three full meals on top of it, clothes draped over her arm. Just the sight of her grinds Artoria’s gears.

“… pardon the intrusion. On Her Majesty’s order, I have brought undergarments and a dress, along with food.”

Barghest tries her hardest to not let her face show it, but she can’t get her confusion and inappropriate theories past Artoria, much to her dismay. Artoria really doesn’t want to have even an inkling of what that oversized knight is thinking.

It’s so wrong in every way.

‘She’s a pervert on top of everything else…’

If Artoria thought reasonably about it, she would realize that such an assumption doesn’t take a lewd mind. Given she’s the one not only on the queen’s bed, but nude and with a collar around her neck.

If anything, it’d be weird to not assume something intimate going on between the two of them.

At least Barghest possesses enough decency to keep her mouth shut. She places the clothes on the bed carefully, then turns around to allow Artoria something akin to privacy to get dressed. It’s seriously annoying how chivalrous this Fairy Knight is.

Artoria puts on the clothes brought to her, feeling relieved to finally have fabric cling to her body again like a protective layer. Not that it really has any defensive capabilities. The dress is a little loose, but certainly not uncomfortable.

It’s mostly white, with the chest part being a deep blue, decorated with gold patterns. It feels like something a high-class fairy would wear in a casual setting, maybe on a walk through a peaceful garden, a light breeze providing the gentle caress of nature.

Completely unsuitable for Artoria.

“I’m done.”

Something inside her simply refuses to express gratitude to Barghest, though the Fairy Knight pays that rudeness no reaction. That’s kinda even more aggravating.

“Please enjoy your meal, Child of Prophecy. I will return shortly with the books from Her Majesty’s library.”

Barghest excuses herself and leaves Artoria alone again, unsure when the Fairy Knight would return. With how big Camelot is and how clunky Barghest, it could be a long time — or just a short while, if the library is near this room.

Who knows, maybe Morgan really likes books? That would explain why she has her own library.

Or maybe that’s just common for a fancy fairy with power and wealth. Artoria wouldn’t know.

Frustrated, Artoria picks up a fork and stabs the poor slab of meat on one of the plates before shoving it into her mouth. Table manners aren’t a concern to a plain village girl like her; she’s not planning to mind them now just because she is in a queen’s bedroom.

It only takes a single bite to realize it, but Artoria greedily takes a big sample from every plate to confirm — the taste, the texture, the everything was just mind-blowingly perfect.

She’d drool at the mere thought of such a good meal. Having three of them in front of her, Artoria wolfs them down, momentarily forgetting about her circumstances and the personal grudge.

The empty plates feel disappointing, having another dish wouldn’t hurt. Artoria hasn’t eaten that well ever before. More than that, she never would’ve imagined getting a taste of such luxury.

Barghest returns to find Artoria idly sitting on the bed and pulling at a frayed string on her new dress. She’s surprised to see all three plates cleaned of all the food stacked on them.

“I see you have a healthy appetite.”

Barghest doesn’t mean to make fun of Artoria, though that’s how she interprets it, reacting with a disgruntled pout.

“I prepared three dishes so that there would be something you would find agreeable, as Her Majesty could not provide me with information on your diet. However, it appears my concern was unfounded.”

“Wait, you made that? You can cook!?”

This is probably the one thing that could sour this blissful meal, even in hindsight.

‘What the heck can’t she do!?’

“Yes. Cooking is a hobby of mine that I tend to when I find the time. I take it as a compliment that you have finished three whole plates. I thank you for that, Child of Prophecy. If you wish, I will prepare bigger portions next time.”

“No, I’m good.”

Ugh. Barghest is so annoyingly perfect and capable of just everything, it’s infuriating.

Barghest nods, but makes a mental note that the Child of Prophecy needs more food than her short stature and slim figure would suggest. If queen Morgan wishes for her demands to be met — within reason — and the food preparation falls onto Barghest, she would follow that order to the best of her abilities.

She sets down the heavy tomes in her arms next to the bed onto the floor with a noticeable thump. Artoria wonders how much those things actually weigh together, knowing that she herself would never be able to carry what looks to be at least 20 tomes, each as thick as about three regular books. If not more.

Artoria swallows at the thought of how much reading material that is, and how difficult and complex the contents may be.

But she’ll manage. Definitely! If Morgan can do it, so can she. At least that’s what her competitive spirit tells her.

“Her Majesty asked me to relay the following message to you, Child of Prophecy: She will be late today. You are to go to bed when you are tired; there is no need to wait for her return.”

With that, Barghest excuses herself. Leaving Artoria with a pile of books to read, on a velvety soft bed, in a nice dress. It feels entirely surreal.

‘As if I’d wait for her return!’

Artoria scoffs as she picks up the tome at the top and starts reading it with furrowed brows. She’ll show Morgan and that damn Barghest, eventually.

Morgan returns to her chamber late at night to find Artoria lying on her back, sprawled across the entire bed, leaving no room for another person despite its size. With an open book on her chest, her hand loosely on top of the cover, Artoria is snoring peacefully.

‘Her manners are sorely lacking…’

Morgan approaches her bed with naturally light steps, though Artoria wouldn’t be so easily waken by how deep in slumber she is. Morgan brushes Artoria’s hand off the book and picks it up, placing it carefully on one of the towers of tomes next to the bed.

Those would have to be moved to another spot, but that can wait.

Unexpectedly, Artoria rolls over to her side in her sleep, opening some space. Morgan wonders how this girl can be so carefree in the enemy’s territory.

The serene look of Artoria peacefully asleep facing her stirs no emotion in Morgan.

It only reminds her of how unscarred and naïve this fairy still must be. Not having gone through countless years of battle, sacrifice, and suffering, only to turn up empty-handed with more than one knife in her back. Again, and again, and again.

A kind heart shattered into pieces. Ideals twisted into something unrecognizable. The ungratefulness, the cruelty, the betrayals being the only constant in one’s life.

That’s what it means to be a ‘Fairy of Paradise’.

As a kindred spirit, Artoria would inevitably have to learn that lesson and either break, or stand and aim to destroy everything Morgan has worked so hard for.

Unless she’s taken off that path preemptively. By any means.

Without thinking, Morgan reaches out to touch Artoria’s cheek. It feels warm and soft. She wonders if that kind of sensation is able to bring comfort. For her, it does not.

Morgan watches Artoria’s chest rise and fall slowly, her breath shallow and even in sleep. She planned to continue from where she left off earlier upon her return, but decides against it. Her tongue still feels sore, the slight not forgiven. It’s a due Artoria will have to pay still.

“Enjoy a night’s rest while you can, Artoria of Tintagel.”

She breathes those words into the silent night and pulls the blanket over Artoria’s body to tuck her in.

Chapter Text

“Undress, Artoria of Tintagel.”

Morgan’s voice leaves no room for discussion. It’s less of a command, and more of a statement of what’s going to happen.

As much as Artoria doesn’t want to oblige, snarling in natural defiance, she remembers how quickly Morgan can get fabric to disappear, leaving not even ashes behind. The choice isn’t between following the order or disobeying; it’s between undressing herself or forcing Morgan’s hand.

Frustrating. Just so indescribably frustrating to be utterly at another’s mercy.

“Got it…”

With a pout, Artoria slowly slips out of the dress she’s only received a day ago. Under Morgan’s watchful gaze, no less. If she’s enjoying the sight, her eyes don’t give it away. Just an icy blue that feels like it doesn’t stare into Artoria’s soul, but rather through her entirely.

Artoria carelessly throws the dress onto the bed next to her, not caring about creases in the fabric. That, however, inspires some emotion in the queen: mild ire.

“I must wonder if you have no manners at all.”

Artoria clicks her tongue.

‘So what if I don’t!?’

“That is of no concern right now, however. You will learn in due time. More importantly…”

Morgan crosses the distance with a few calculated steps, cupping Artoria’s cheek. She doesn’t miss the half-flinch at the sudden touch, nor the shudder when she caresses the soft skin with her thumb. Artoria’s cheek starts to heat up, too, taking on a more reddish hue. How adorable.

“I don’t believe I told you to stop.”

Artoria’s heart sinks. She’s biting her lip, considering her non-existent options. The last bit of clothing shielding her from Morgan’s scrutinizing eyes is a bralette and panties. White and simple, but adorned with small, lacey decorations.

If possible, Artoria would like to keep herself at least this little covered up.

“Do I have to?”

To her surprise, Morgan gives her tinge of rebelliousness some consideration. But with how unreadable her gaze is, Artoria wouldn’t know whether that’s a good or a bad sign. She swallows. The nervosity is eating at her.

“I will allow this for today. But I will have you stand by that decision.”

Artoria is in disbelief at how easily Morgan relents. Is this some kind of trap?

She breathes a sigh of relief, though interrupted by Morgan’s free hand resting on her thigh. Her breath hitches.

Artoria doesn’t dare to speak up or complain. No, all things considered, this much is practically nothing. It’s just a perfectly normal touch, if you ignore the fact that it’s Morgan. The tingly sensation it leaves on Artoria’s skin means nothing.

“I assume you remember the grave mistake you committed yesterday, Artoria of Tintagel?”

Morgan’s voice carries a slight edge. Not the edge of despising the one talked to — the edge of someone in a higher position calling out unacceptable behavior and expecting it to be fixed. There’s no emotional attachment whatsoever to it.

Obviously, Artoria remembers. She nods.

“What was your mistake?”

“… I bit you.”

‘And I’d do it again,’ she adds mentally.

“And why did you do that?”

An icy shiver runs down Artoria’s spine at the sight of Morgan’s face. A gaze that won’t accept anything but a truthful answer, a proximity that leaves no place to hide. Cornered, with no way out.

“B-because… you k-kissed me…”

The words come out mumbled, an almost-whisper just loud enough to be heard. Artoria hopes this will be enough to satisfy Morgan’s interrogation.

Morgan holds Artoria’s chin and turns her head to face her properly. Artoria hasn’t even noticed she’s averted her gaze slightly in a futile attempt to at least avoid eye contact.

“That is no reason; it’s merely an action. What about that kiss had you make that decision?”

Artoria’s mind is busy scrambling together a reason. Really, why did she bite Morgan? To defy her? Sure. But that’s unrelated to the kiss.

No, in that moment specifically, she just felt the strong urge to do anything to stop it. Like she couldn’t take it anymore. An overwhelming intensity of feelings she can’t place, wanting them to just stop.

Even now, it’s confusing. It’s not simply her heart and mind being split on how to feel about Morgan’s advances; it’s that neither of them has decided yet. It’s nothing but a mess, and if Artoria could, she would avoid facing them entirely.

“…I don’t know.”

Artoria flinches, expecting to have given the wrong answer. Surely, Morgan wouldn’t be so kind as to let it slide. Intentions or not, this will definitely make Morgan at the very least slap her.

Maybe carve her own words, the evidence of her useless stupidity, into her skin with the sharp edge of any nearby blade. Never letting her forget her gross mistake of not only biting the queen and drawing blood, but giving a dumb ‘I don’t know’ to explain it.

“I see.”

Surprisingly, Morgan’s voice softens again. Artoria reluctantly opens her eyes to see Morgan’s expression unchanged, as usual. Not only that, but even her Fairy Eyes don’t pick up on malice directed at her.

It feels like a trap. A disaster waiting to happen.

Just lulling her into a feeling of safety, to make her crash and fall down even harder later on. She wishes Morgan would just get it over with quickly and be done with it.

Morgan touches the magical collar around Artoria’s neck. Artoria feels a slight tingle in her spine, signaling that Morgan is doing something with that wretched thing.

“What did you do?”

“The collar’s connection to your very core allows me to send certain commands to your body directly. Such as limiting the amount of strength your muscles are willing to put out.”

As if to demonstrate, Morgan holds Artoria’s chin and forces the girl’s mouth open a bit. Morgan’s thumb brushes her bottom lip, making Artoria shudder at the intimate gesture. Once she slips it into Artoria’s mouth, almost mockingly stroking the row of front teeth, Artoria instinctively bites down. Hard.

Or so she means to.

While she’s certainly doing the biting motion, she just can’t bring up enough force to truly bite. At best, this counts as a nibble. Artoria tries again and again, yet the result is the same. It feels like she’s putting all the strength of her jaw into the movement, but hardly any of it gets translated into the action.

Morgan faintly smirks as the realization hits Artoria.

With no exaggeration, Morgan has such easy access to control Artoria’s means of resistance all she likes. Making her unable to fight back even without physical restraints; merely by her own body disobeying her. It’s scary. Terrifying.

Morgan slowly rubs the top of Artoria’s tongue with the pad of her thumb as tears rise to the helpless fairy’s eyes. The futility of any attempt to stop Morgan is unbearable.

‘Stop… please,’ Artoria begs in her mind.

“Nnh… nnngh…”

Ignoring the pleading whimpers, Morgan grabs Artoria’s tongue between her thumb and index finger, slightly pulling it out. Artoria bites back a sob. Her fists clench. She doesn’t dare to try and push Morgan away, or consider it an option at all.

Too afraid she’ll find the strength of her arms gone to not put up any fight, just like her jaw. Scared that even if her arms still obey her just fine now, that can change in a matter of seconds if Morgan deems it necessary.

“Do you think you can keep proper control of yourself like a good fairy now? Or will I need to render you powerless?”

Artoria frantically nods, feeling the warm tears run down her cheeks. Anything but this terror of powerlessness. Pain would be easier to endure. Anything Morgan does to her would be better than this.

“Good. I will place my faith in you, Artoria of Tintagel.”

With another tingle down her spine, once Morgan lets go of her tongue, Artoria tries to bite down and is elated to find her jaw obeying her again. She realizes how greatly she miscalculated when Morgan seemed to let the offence slide with as little as burning her clothes to a crisp.

“I’m sorry… I won’t bite you again.”

Artoria chokes on her own sobs. Pathetic; she feels utterly pitiful.

Morgan softly wipes the tears with her thumb; the affectionate action is a clashing disconnect to the full control she exerts over Artoria. Superficial safety and care, extended as long as lines aren’t overstepped.

“You are forgiven on account of it being your first and only offence. Do not count on that to be the case next time.”

With a sniffle, Artoria nods.

“… I’m sorry…”

‘I won’t do it again…’

“Good. I’m glad you’re a fast learner. As my subordinate, you are not to stand against me. Is that clear?”

Yet again, Artoria nods.

Next, she feels Morgan’s lips on hers again. Her entire body tenses — afraid of making a wrong movement, any move Morgan would deem an attempt at opposition. Afraid to give Morgan another reason to take away her bodily autonomy again.

Artoria feels tears rising to her eyes again. She closes them in an attempt to stop herself from crying. She won’t cry again.

Morgan’s hand finds its way to Artoria’s back, slowly trailing down her spine. She pulls at Artoria’s bottom lip with her teeth, her other hand drawing lazy circles on Artoria’s thigh.

Against common sense, despite everything, the sensations spread a comforting warmth throughout Artoria’s body, leaving mild sparks in their wake.

She’d want to reject those feelings, but they’re a distraction from the paralyzing fear. Artoria welcomes them. She reluctantly opens her mouth, inviting Morgan in for another passionate kiss.

This time, Artoria would let Morgan do as she pleases. She will prove that there’s no need to ever use that collar again. Artoria won’t disappoint Morgan again.

Morgan accepts the invitation. Unreserved, she takes to exploring Artoria’s mouth with her tongue. Licking the roof of her mouth, then settling on rubbing her tongue on Artoria’s when other places elicit little reaction.

“Nnnh…”

Artoria feels the urge to yet again get rid of Morgan’s tongue, but she wills herself to stop any such attempts. It won’t end well for her; she’ll have to endure.

The rough texture of Morgan’s tongue against her own. No room to escape the foreign stimulation. But no, she’s the one who invited this kiss.

Artoria decides to reciprocate, hoping it would please Morgan, prove herself. She tentatively pushes her tongue against Morgan’s, who in response entwines their tongues. A clear sign that this is the right call. This is what Morgan wishes and expects of her, so Artoria would oblige.

With a lack of experience and technique, Artoria tries to copy Morgan’s much more skillful movements. She knows she can’t keep up, but finds that taking a more active role in the kiss feels good.

It blurs the surroundings and circumstances, along with her anxiety, into irrelevant details, so easy to forget. The negativity in her mind slowly replaced with a warmth in her abdomen. Foreign but pleasant.

She whines when Morgan breaks the kiss, then forces herself out of the haze. Morgan licks her lips almost predatory, a sight Artoria finds her eyes glued to. She swallows.

“Do you want more?”

Artoria shifts uncomfortably, biting her lip and averting her gaze. Until Morgan grabs her chin and forces Artoria to meet her eyes.

“I asked you a question. If you’re asked a question, you are to answer.”

“… I do.”

The answer isn’t fully genuine. It’s what Artoria believes Morgan wants to hear, what she believes to be the right answer.

At the same time, admittedly, it doesn’t feel wrong for her either. Apart from the looming threat around her neck, Morgan’s touch is not only warm and gentle, it also sparks unknown but enjoyable feelings in Artoria.

As much as she’d wish to turn a blind eye to that, she feels her best bet to make it through is to lean into that.

At the very least, it doesn’t hurt. She’s not cold, and the room isn’t at all cramped. She’s fed and given books to study if she wants to.

For Artoria, this situation is a major improvement to her previous life, even if she has to be Morgan’s pet. Including the appropriate treatment.

“Good.”

Morgan hums, undoing Artoria’s twintails. She gets her fingers stuck in the tousled mess, but frees them without effort. Artoria tenses, feeling strangely more vulnerable and open with her hair down.

Morgan’s fingers combing through her long, golden strands and softly caressing her back in the process does little to help her relax.

Once Morgan feels she’s done all she can to straighten Artoria’s hair to the best of her abilities with nothing but her hands, she gives the fairy a soft push. Artoria falls back onto the bed, Morgan straddling her hips.

She’s looking up at Morgan from below, and though a part of her feels annoyed and wants to retaliate, she knows better than to act on that instinct now. Instead, Artoria grabs the blanket with her hands, clenching her fists.

Waiting for the queen’s next move.

Artoria flinches when she feels Morgan’s fingers at her sides, slowly making their way up until they meet the fabric of her bralette. Her breath hitches when Morgan cups her modest breasts. Morgan starts fondling them, her movements deliberate and calculated.

It doesn’t feel bad, but besides fanning the warmth in her lower abdomen, Artoria wonders what’s the point. She considers that maybe Morgan is just a pervert who enjoys groping another’s breasts.

Though Artoria bans that thought in fear of Morgan catching wind of that defiance. Maybe it would show on her face if she allows herself to linger on that idea.

Morgan’s thumbs find the hardening nipples and brush them over the bralette, the fabric dulling the sensation.

“Nnh..?”

A low whimper escapes Artoria, much to her own surprise. Morgan finds pleasure in the reaction and rubs the pads of her thumbs over Artoria’s nipples again and again. With each time, the tingle grows stronger. Like a small electric current, it travels down her spine to mix with the pooling warmth in her groin.

Artoria lets go of the blanket with one hand to bring her fist to her face, biting down on her finger to keep her voice down.

It feels good, but in a wrong way. No, more than anything, it’s weird, and she wants it to stop, no matter how nice it feels. It’s embarrassing and humiliating to have someone else make her feel such things, as if she’s an instrument to be played to another’s heart’s content.

Without a word, Morgan keeps playing with Artoria’s nipples. Gently pinching them, before returning to roll her thumbs over them. Artoria quivers at every new movement and shifts uncomfortably when Morgan keeps it up.

Though with Morgan straddling her hips, there’s little wiggle room for Artoria.

“Ahh—”

A moan escapes Artoria, who feels her face heat up to the max the instant she hears it come out of her own throat. How Artoria wishes to disappear right then and there. How she catches herself wishing for just a little more, for Morgan to touch her directly—

But no! No way, that’s not what she wants at all.

As if Morgan can sense the building need for a more direct touch, she lets go of Artoria’s breasts to place both her hands on the fairy’s stomach instead.

Morgan’s palms feel soft and smooth on Artoria’s skin, whose breath catches in her throat. She’s unsure what sensations or feelings she’s supposed to expect, but she’s expecting something. Almost looking forward, but at the same time dreading it.

Morgan rubs her palms up and down Artoria’s stomach, gentle as all her touches.

‘It feels nice, but…’

Artoria mentally scolds herself for that thought. For the tinge of disappointment at Morgan’s next move being only a light massage. For her dissatisfaction at losing the foreign tingly feeling she’s almost gotten used to.

“Did you hope for something different?”

“… did not.” Artoria turns away. It’s bad enough to feel things she doesn’t want to feel, but Morgan seeing through her is frustrating.

“I see.”

Morgan shifts her position on Artoria, sliding down a bit to sit on her thighs. She can see the small damp spot on the white panties but doesn’t comment on it. If Artoria doesn’t realize it herself, Morgan isn’t going to spell it out for her.

When Morgan traces the hem of those white panties with her fingernail, just barely touching, Artoria closes her eyes. She knows where Morgan is going to touch next, and she’s not mentally prepared yet.

No matter how Artoria thinks about it, she’d probably never be mentally prepared to be touched there, of all places.

But instead, Morgan’s nail trails down to Artoria’s thighs, the feeling of the hard nail ghosting over her skin giving her goosebumps. Artoria bites down harder on her finger, her hand clenched tightly into a fist.

‘Not enough…’

Disgruntled, Artoria inwardly scolds herself yet again. She hates herself for her body wanting the touch Morgan is withholding.

The hand holding onto the blanket tightly to ground herself twitches when Artoria almost instinctively wants to take hold of Morgan’s wrist, but the disapproving look in Morgan’s icy blue eyes stops her dead in her tracks.

Although its physical form is only for show, Artoria can feel the magic collar choke her. It’s the fear of being paralyzed again that tightens her airway, threatening to cut her off from oxygen entirely. Through the haze of pleasure, she manages to push the memory away, but the glare alone is a stark reminder.

If Artoria dares to obstruct Morgan in any way, Morgan will take away her means to do so. No mercy.

It’s better to endure and play along to keep control over her body than to attempt defiance and lose it entirely. That’s the conclusion Artoria reaches yet again.

Whatever Morgan does to her, however unbearable the feeling of unwanted pleasure is — it’s better than having her bodily autonomy taken from her and being violated while entirely vulnerable and helpless.

Though in the end, it makes no difference.

But realizing that would be a cruelty that Artoria’s mind protects her from.

“Good. You can keep yourself under control.”

As if to reward Artoria’s forced obedience, Morgan presses the knuckle of her middle finger against Artoria’s core. Artoria jumps at the touch, a sudden jolt making its way from the point of touch to her groin in split seconds. Her thighs shift uncomfortable once Morgan pulls her hand away again.

“Nnh!! …please…”

Artoria’s plea is like a soft whine. She just wants to be distracted from the looming threat of the collar again; she wants to forget all about it. If Morgan’s touch can do that, Artoria is willing to succumb.

Morgan understands her victory as all but assured. Artoria is quite the headstrong fairy, but her other self’s memories aren’t wrong: the tactical use of pleasure is the strongest negotiation tactic. Skillfully employed, it could bend anyone to one’s will.

A stubborn, naïve little Fairy of Paradise is no exception.

But this much isn’t enough.

Morgan doesn’t have faith in Artoria fully submitting to her just yet. She may, for the moment, and that’s the important first step. But that’s not satisfactory at all. Morgan already expected as much, though.

From the very beginning, Morgan had planned to take it slow and meticulously work towards Artoria’s complete and utter submissive obedience — the only guarantee for her to not follow the prophecy and stand against her.

The only way to assure all her goals are met:

Not having to kill Artoria for the sake of staying in charge of the Fairy Nation she loves.

Artoria not having to go through the pilgrimage and betrayals tied to being a Fairy of Paradise.

Keeping the Fairy Nation secure, safe, and stable.

Morgan mindlessly draws figures on the growing damp spot on Artoria’s panties, the occasional whimper providing a beautiful background noise. She wonders briefly if it really feels as good as it looks, judging by Artoria’s reactions, but finds that she has no particular interest in finding out for herself.

Maybe at some point Morgan had wondered about these things, but those days are long gone. The young fairy’s reactions are adorably amusing, but they strike no particular chord with Morgan. This is a means to an end, no more, no less.

Artoria tries to buck her hips, though Morgan straddling her thighs makes that near impossible. The movement is instinctual, plain natural — and so shameful.

As if she’s spelling out for Morgan that she wants to be touched more. Artoria wants to hide her face so badly, losing not only control over her body’s reactions, but her feelings and even mind decide to stand against her common sense, too.

She bites her lip and covers her eyes with her arm to block out every sight. The immature and irrational feeling of not being seen just because you yourself can’t see. It’s the sliver of solace Artoria can provide for herself, and she’s not picky about comfort.

“I want you to remember that you insisted on not fully undressing.”

Before Artoria can wonder about this reminder, Morgan lightly scratches a small, barely noticeable protrusion. The fabric dulls the stimulation just enough to feel maddeningly teasing.

“Nnhaahh!”

Artoria’s hips jerk as she lets out a half-suppressed moan at the surprising touch. But Morgan doesn’t stop.

Her nail scratches over the damp panties, hitting just the right spot, like an itch and the scratch for that itch at the same time. It feels so indescribably nice; the pleasure sparks in Artoria’s lower abdomen — yet, at the same time, it’s not enough.

It gives Artoria the urge to just scratch that unsubsiding itch herself. To reach down between her legs, slip her own hand under those stupid panties and touch herself directly.

Not that Artoria can do that. Not with the domineering threat of Morgan’s presence, not with the hardheaded denial that won’t allow it.

Still, the need to relieve that itch is getting too overwhelmingly strong. Artoria’s patience runs thinner with each movement of Morgan’s annoying nail.

Frustrating.

Artoria regrets not just undressing completely earlier. Evidently, that was the wrong decision.

“I-I’m sorry, hahh… Please—”

“I warned you that you would have to abide by your own decision for today.”

“Nngh…”

Artoria grits her teeth. Morgan is right. She’s right, and Artoria hates her for it. It takes all her willpower to keep her hand still, tangled in the blanket she’s lying on.

Relentlessly, Morgan’s nail keeps up the light movement. As much as Artoria tries to shift her thighs, or to buck her hips, she’s both powerless to stop the stimulation and unable to increase it to a more satisfying level.

Common sense be damned. Artoria just wants the relief she instinctually knows is waiting at the end of the line.

“Please…!”

Yet again, her beg falls on deaf ears. Morgan pretends not to hear the vocalized need and desperation.

Out of options, Artoria squeezes her eyes shut and desperately tries to focus on Morgan’s light scratching, dulled by the panties, teasing her in such a tantalizing way. It only takes a single finger, only the tip of one fingernail, to drive her crazy with little effort.

Artoria wills herself to concentrate on nothing but the tingle, the sparks, the jolts. Maybe that’ll intensify it just enough. Only a little bit more — that’s all Artoria wants. All she needs.

Her hips shiver. Almost, she’s almost there. Unknowing what goal exactly she’s aiming for, Artoria tries to rush ahead to the best of her limited abilities. Her body knows, and her mind has long given up and just follows her instincts.

The relief Artoria is craving more than anything else is just around the corner. There’s no doubt about it. Almost. She’s almost there.

‘Just a bit— Just a little bit more…!’

Artoria can almost taste it when Morgan suddenly retracts her hand. All stimulation stops at that moment.

As if the finishing line disappears right before one’s eyes.

Artoria’s eyes shoot open. She tries to buck her hips yet again in disbelief, shifting them uncomfortably — but Morgan’s hand is not available.

“W-why… why!?”

Artoria whines pitifully. The stimulation is gone, yet the unbearable heat in her core persists. Its outlet gone, the accumulated pleasure has nowhere to go. Artoria would do anything, anything to dissipate it, to turn the pleasure into a firework instead of letting it convert to frustration.

But no can do.

Even now, she doesn’t dare to defy Morgan by finishing what the queen started herself. Artoria wants to cry, complain, beg, negotiate, and scream at the same time. Instead, what leaves her mouth is an incomprehensible mess of gargled whimpers. The frustration is evident in her tone and face.

Morgan knows she’s got Artoria right where she needs her. Zero resistance left.

“Artoria of Tintagel, I ask you again: Will you become my loyal subordinate? Will you forfeit your role, to serve me instead?”

“Yeah— Yeah, I’ll do anything you want! Just, please…!”

Artoria is beyond caring about what she has to promise to get a full taste of what she has only gotten a glimpse of. She meets Morgan’s eyes — disinterested and icy as always — while tears shimmer in her own. It wouldn’t take much. Morgan only has to touch her a bit more.

“Smart choice.” Morgan leans forward to cup Artoria’s cheek, caressing the almost scorching hot skin with her thumb. “If you can make the same pledge to me once you cool down, I will believe you and reward you accordingly.”

Frustrated, Artoria lets out a strangled noise. The little shred of hope she’s had entirely shatters, but even that doesn’t make her crave a proper finish less. Why can’t Morgan just give it to her now?

“Hnngh… fine.”

‘I hate you. I hate you so much. This is the worst.’

Artoria’s thighs feel uncomfortably cold once Morgan gets up, freeing Artoria’s movement, physically at least. If not for the collar’s lingering threat, Artoria would simply deliver herself what Morgan denies her. Instead, she sits up on the bed, her legs feeling weak.

Though Artoria glares at Morgan, the red cheeks and her still labored breath sabotage any threat such a gaze may hold.

“I suggest you freshen up. I will have a change of clothes brought to the bath.”

Artoria nods with a low hum. She takes the discarded dress and carelessly throws it over to avoid having to walk through Camelot’s halls in underwear.

“Take your time in the bath. But don’t think that I would not know what you are doing. You aren’t to touch yourself. Is that understood?”

“…yes.”

There goes Artoria’s last hope. She won’t even be able to make use of the bit of privacy granted to her.

“Once you return, there are matters I wish to discuss.”

Artoria gives a last nod and closes the door behind her, feeling messed up beyond rationality. Now that the hazy fog of need slowly clears from her mind, Artoria realizes what just happened. She actually agreed to be Morgan’s subject, didn’t she?

Strangely, Artoria doesn’t hate the idea. If anything, she feels a bit relieved.

The decision isn’t to be made anymore. It’s not her fault. She hardly had a choice. Artoria can rest assured, blaming her submission on Morgan, and on not having any chance from the very beginning.

It’s a tranquility that lightens all burdens on her shoulders instantly.

It doesn’t matter whether this is the right decision. It’s too late to think about that, anyway. The prophecy is someone else’s problem now.

With her head lowered, Artoria makes her way through the eerily empty hall. She figures Morgan prefers her solitude, and that’s why this part of Camelot is mostly devoid of fairies.

It feels strange, but it’s a blessing. The fewer fairies Artoria has to interact with and be around, the more peace of mind she’s granted. Not that she’d thank Morgan for that.

She arrives at the door to the bath and opens it to step inside, only to realize a few seconds later that she’s way out of depth here.

Conceptually, Artoria knows what a bathtub is. But are they generally this big and luxurious, or is that unique to nobles, or even the queen specifically?

She gets closer to the bathtub made of stone, inspecting it along with some handles near a faucet, hoping to figure out how to deal with it. To no avail.

Artoria tilts her head as she looks at it with confusion.

“How the heck am I supposed to get water in there?”

It would be a lot easier if she could simply wash herself as she’s used to: going to the nearest source of water, dipping in, and washing off the sweat as quickly as possible to avoid staying in the freezing cold water for too long.

Artoria isn’t in a patient mood and she doesn’t want to deal with Morgan’s wrath in case she breaks anything. So, she decides she’ll have to ask for help. Although it makes her feel especially stupid and helpless to have to run back to Morgan for such a simple thing.

When she reopens the door to the hallway, her mood sours immediately.

Barghest — in her full armor as usual, although it feels entirely out of place here — is heading her way.

“Ugh…” Artoria sticks out her tongue in disgust at this awful sight.

Not only does it have to be Barghest to provide her with meals, but now it’s also her who’s sent to bring her a spare of clothes? Of all the people following Morgan, it just has to be this one for every single errand? Morgan must be trying to mess with her.

“I have brought a change of clothing at Her Majesty’s request.”

Barghest hands over the fresh clothes — identical to what Artoria is wearing now — and is about to take her leave, when Artoria decides she’ll have to bite the bullet anyway, so might as well get it over with now. Better Barghest than face Morgan so soon again.

“Can you help me prepare the bath?”

“As you wish, Child of Prophecy.”

Barghest seems slightly taken aback, but follows Artoria into the bath easily. With a few movements of her hands, she gets the bathtub to fill slowly with water. Artoria pays close attention to ensure she’ll be able to manage on her own next time. It’d be easier with labels.

“How hot do you like your bath?”

“I don’t really care.”

With a nod, Barghest fumbles with two handles until she seems satisfied with the water temperature. Not too hot in case Artoria is sensitive to heat, but hot enough to dispel exhaustion in a way only a well-deserved bath can.

“It’s not my place to ask, but… How come you struggle with something as normal as preparing a bath?”

Artoria sits on the edge of the bathtub, the stone surface feeling cold against her thigh. Barghest’s attitude is as awful as usual.

Acting like such a fancy, oversized bath where you can apparently choose the temperature of the water freely is part of the daily life of normalcy. As though it’s the most basic thing for everyone.

“Because I never had a bath before.” Artoria’s brows furrow at Barghest’s surprise. “I washed myself in a lake, river, or such.”

Barghest wonders if that’s normal for commoners, though… No, as far as she knows, even if a fairy doesn’t have an own bathtub, there are public baths available for use. But she understands she shouldn’t pry further, so she doesn’t ask.

There’s no need to spell it out, anyway.

Although Barghest doesn’t know much about Artoria, she’s seen enough to have a basic idea of what kind of life the Child of Prophecy has led.

Her clothes were clearly cheap hand-me-downs, fixed multiple times in hopes of lasting another year, at least another month. The tenacity — physical and mental — of someone who knows struggle and pain, and how to endure.

Not to mention her body’s condition, although it’s clear Artoria tries to hide her blemishes. One foot over the other, as though Barghest hasn’t already seen that Artoria is lacking toes. Keeping her palms out of sight when she can, as though that can hide the calluses forever.

As far as one can tell, Artoria has been hard-working and diligent for the last two decades.

‘Is Her Majesty planning to make the Child of Prophecy a Fairy Knight?’

The thought crosses Barghest’s mind. Not that Artoria possesses the strength to be a useful asset against calamities, but as the Child of Prophecy, she must have some prowess, or at the very least be able to grow her abilities tremendously.

Even if she’s clearly weak now, Barghest can see the potential merit Artoria may be able to bring to the table in the future.

But that’s none of her concern. It’s Morgan’s decision alone who she gives the rank of a Fairy Knight.

“Can I ask you something?”

Artoria cuts through the silence between the two while waiting for the bathtub to be sufficiently filled.

“Of course. Though I won’t give you any answers if you seek to go against Her Majesty.”

‘Who’d be so stupid to ask that kind of thing directly anyway… Does Bageko take me for a fool?’

“Why did you become a Fairy Knight?”

Although she’s arrogant like no other, literally looking down on everyone, Barghest doesn’t seem all that bad. If she had a different physique entirely and could be more mindful about rubbing that into other’s faces, Artoria could almost see herself getting along with Barghest.

She’s neither selfish nor dishonest; if anything, Barghest seems like a straight-forward and reliable fairy. A complete outlier.

“Her Majesty gave me that title for my efforts, and I accepted it as an honor. I proudly follow her orders and fight to protect fairies from calamities.”

“So you became a Fairy Knight to protect others?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Then… Why follow Morgan? Don’t you see how many fairies suffer and die under her rule? How many live in more fear of Morgan than calamities or Moss?”

‘How many fairies hate her rule so much that they’d place all their hopes on some stupid prophecy and pin every burden on the back of a single fairy,’ Artoria adds in her mind, though she doesn’t want to spout that bitterness at Barghest.

That would just feel pathetic.

“Do you believe the situation would change for the better if Her Majesty ceased to exist, Child of Prophecy? Are you planning to take her place?”

“…well, that…”

“Her Majesty— Queen Morgan is the one who keeps this land stable. She fends off calamities and mitigates the damage to fairykind. She lives to protect our land, and I follow Her Majesty to aid her in that cause. Strength is not simply a privilege, it is a responsibility to use it for the sake of the weak.”

Artoria considers Barghest’s words. They’re as annoyingly haughty as usual, looking down on those who have to fear for their lives. But the underlying motivation for Barghest is something that can’t be criticized.

“Queen Morgan has been doing that for two millennia. In the distant past, there were constant wars. The fairies needed to rely on their savior Tonelico, of whom legends are told to this day.”

Tonelico — the savior. Artoria knows the feats she’s achieved, according to legends. The fairy who returned to save the land from calamity when she was needed, just to disappear afterwards.

The one whose legends Artoria is expected to live up to, be the savior the fairies selfishly demand to appear to solve their problems for them, even in this age.

“Though the situation is not ideal now, I believe that Her Majesty’s rule is for the benefit of fairies. I don’t believe that the Child of Prophecy could replace her.”

Those words sting. The truth of them cuts deep, even though it’s not news.

Although Artoria feels the need to prove Barghest wrong and show her how much better she can save fairies and give them hope, a nice life, and everything Morgan that can’t, without the stifling tyranny and detestable things like an existence tax — she knows she’s not cut out for this.

Morgan said she herself is a Fairy of Paradise as well, one who went against her purpose, to follow her own selfish ambitions instead. They may be cut from the same cloth, but Artoria feels that there’s way too big a gap between her and Morgan.

“You’re right.” Artoria lowers her gaze with a bitter smile. “Even if I spent all my life, I’d never catch up to Morgan. There’s no way I’d ever beat her.”

Matching the savior Tonelico is a pipe dream. Overcoming Morgan is plain delusional.

‘And I definitely couldn’t spend such a long time living to protect the fairies. There’s nobody forcing her to do it. Nobody’s appreciating it. She must be insane to go to such lengths…’

“That goes without saying.” Barghest turns off the water. “Comparing yourself to Her Majesty is out of the question. But if she sees merit in you, I believe you’d do well to follow her. If you want to help the fairies, that is.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

Such a lie. She’s already pledged her loyalty to Morgan anyway, albeit under special circumstances; there’s nothing left to think about. Not that she wants to help the fairies all that much in the first place. Barghest has the wrong idea, like some idealistic fool.

“Please enjoy your bath, Child of Prophecy… Artoria.”

Barghest bids her farewell and leaves Artoria alone in the bath, with a bathtub filled with steaming hot water. Artoria reaches her hand inside and winces at the heat, though finds it to be not actually painful. Just surprising.

It’s her first time touching water of such a high temperature, not counting that one time she spilled boiling water over her hands and couldn’t use them without excruciating pain for about a week.

Artoria takes off her dress, then the bralette, and finally the panties, in which she spots a very noticeable, damp spot. Heat rushes to her cheeks at the realization of what caused it, and how Morgan definitely saw it.

In a panic reaction, Artoria immediately throws the panties into a corner of the room to get rid of the shame, then tentatively steps into the bathtub.

The water feels almost unbearably hot at first touch, though once Artoria gets used to it, the water’s heat feels like a soothing embrace that flushes all the concerns and exhaustion out of her body.

This is pure luxury. High-class fairies definitely don’t bathe for utility’s sake; it’s for relaxation.

Artoria lets herself sink deeper into the water until her mouth is just barely under the water’s surface. Closing her eyes, Artoria feels like she might never want to leave this bathtub again.

Not that that’s possible. While she can take her time, Morgan told her as much, she’ll have to return eventually.

Artoria leans her head back onto the edge of the bathtub, resting the back of her head on cold stone, providing a pleasant contrast to the hot water encasing her body. She stares at the ceiling, wondering if this is going to be her life now.

She frowns at the memory of what transpired earlier. For a moment, Artoria considers just drowning herself in the bathtub in utter embarrassment, and shame. The heat of her cheeks would probably get the water boiling.

Morgan touched her.

Obviously, Artoria knows about that kind of intimacy — conceptually, that is. You can’t go through life without ever hearing about things like that. She never delved deeper into it, though.

Her existence only had a single purpose from the very beginning: fulfill the prophecy, beat Morgan, save the land. No choice, not negotiable at all. That kind of fate doesn’t leave time to think about anything like personal desires.

And even if it did, Artoria doesn’t feel like she has any right to wish for anything for herself. She has to be useful and be the Child of Prophecy she’s expected to be, that’s all.

Artoria tried her hardest to be just that, and yet, she was met with failure and disdain. As though her mere existence is an offence.

Only Morgan treats her differently.

The queen doesn’t expect Artoria to fulfill any expectations or to pull off some really grand thing out of nowhere. She provides luxury of all kinds.

Not only that, Morgan makes Artoria feel things she’s never felt before, and never would’ve believed she ever would experience.

Artoria’s stomach churns at the recent memory, and she brings her fingers to her neck to feel the magic collar. Tears well up in her eyes again. The damn thing’s presence is a stark reminder of her position. She’s such a fool. The queen’s pet.

Morgan isn’t doing any of those things to treat her kindly out of the goodness of her heart. Morgan doesn’t care about her.

All the queen is doing is slowly breaking Artoria into submitting to her; taming her like a wild animal until it becomes a subservient pet. Morgan might as well just choose traditional torture; that would be just as effective.

And not leave any confusing feelings and sensations to remain.

Even in this moment, Artoria feels the now too familiar heat pooling in her core. Whether it’s from her recalling the earlier events, or still lingering from then, she doesn’t even care to know.

‘It’s disgusting…’

Artoria doesn’t want to feel that way, much less because of Morgan.

If not for this damn collar, Artoria wouldn’t even consider embracing Morgan’s touch. No, she’s not embracing Morgan’s touch; she’s escaping into the pleasure Morgan provides to distract from the terror looming around her neck.

And yet, her body doesn’t understand that nuance. Her body, as though it has a mind of its own, wishes for Morgan to touch her again, and take her to further heights.

Artoria loathes herself for this, for succumbing so easily.

When Artoria returns to Morgan’s chamber, her hair is still damp, the strands loosely cascading down her back. A few droplets make their way down to soak small spots in her dress.

Artoria never really bothered to dry off her hair completely; at that length, that just takes way too long. It’ll dry on its own eventually anyway, much less of a hassle.

Morgan puts a book she’s been reading down onto the pile of tomes upon Artoria’s return.

“Sit.”

Morgan gestures to the bed, perfectly made as though their intimate encounter never happened. Artoria’s heart still skips a beat at the idea of returning to that spot.

Though Morgan isn’t the type to allow for much deviation from her wishes, that control freak of a queen. That much Artoria has learned so far.

So, she sits down on the edge of the bed. Anxiously awaiting Morgan’s next move. When Morgan joins her, she has a hairbrush and hair ties in hand and takes a seat behind Artoria.

“I can do my own hair, you know.”

“You can turn it into a tangled state, that I have seen.”

Ignoring Artoria’s dissatisfied grumble, Morgan touches Artoria’s hair, and the remaining water droplets dissipate into the air. It feels like Morgan is just flexing her magecraft, showing off how much greater she is, to be able to use it like it’s nothing, for a menial task that doesn’t even need to be done.

Annoying.

Once the golden locks are dried, Morgan starts carefully brushing them. Starting from the bottom and slowly brushing any possible tangle or knot out of Artoria’s hair with precision and patience.

Artoria’s anxiousness slowly fades, and she comes to enjoy the way Morgan’s hand occasionally brushes her back or shoulders. This gesture feels like something that should feel natural, an experience she’s been robbed of in her life.

“How come you let your hair grow out if you are unwilling to take proper care of it?”

“Keeping it short is annoying. I’d have to keep cutting it all the time. It’s less of a hassle to just tie it back.”

“Did nobody ever teach you how to tie your hair properly?”

If Artoria always wears her twintails the same way Morgan has seen, then the answer is already clear. Stray hairs tangled into the ties, strands of her bangs somehow making their way into the hairdo.

It’s as though Artoria figured out how to tie her hair by herself and never bothered improving in the craft.

“No.”

“What did your parents even teach you, I must wonder…”

“Nothing, because I don’t have any.”

Morgan’s hand stills for just a moment, mulling over those words. But she catches herself and moves on. She’s almost done brushing the golden locks. Artoria folds her hands in her lap.

“I am referring to the fairies who took you in. The fairies who raised you, under whose roof you lived.”

“Like I said… I don’t have any. There was someone who took care of me, but…”

Artoria doesn’t need to continue. Morgan is aware of the fate of Tintagel, the village that harbored the Child of Prophecy. Whoever that fairy was, they are dead now; just like everyone else from the young fairy’s home.

A cruel fate Morgan knows too well. Despite the shared sentiment, she doesn’t regret Tintagel’s fate, however.

“Well, I don’t think he counts as a parent, anyway. I didn’t live with him.”

Not that Artoria really knows what having a parent would be like, but by Morgan’s definition, she definitely didn’t have anyone to be considered a parent. She bounces her foot absentmindedly as she thinks back to earlier days.

For some reason, a sense of nostalgia fills Artoria at the memories. She certainly doesn’t want to go back to those days, but she still finds herself missing Tintagel. No matter what, it still is her home after all.

A home doesn’t need happy memories attached to it.

“None of the fairies in Tintagel wanted me to live with them. They made me sleep in a barn, you know? At least hay is pretty soft, so that wasn’t too bad. I liked the smell.”

Not too bad, besides only being protected from the weather by what might as well be a thin sheet of paper. The cold, the rain, the wind — what civilizations build houses to keep safe from, was a recurring visitor in Artoria’s life.

The barn’s cheap construction did little more than mellow the weather’s consequences slightly. That was Artoria’s ‘normal’, she didn’t know any better until now.

Morgan finds it hard to believe those words. Much more so for the nonchalant tone with which Artoria recounts her life in Tintagel.

“I will braid your hair.”

“Did you have a family?”

A long time ago, that question alone would have stung and required Morgan collect herself.

But by now it’s nothing but a distant memory. One she will never forget nor forgive, but far enough removed from her soul to truly touch her anymore. With enough years, anything can wear down.

“I did.” Morgan recounts the earliest years of her life as she splits Artoria’s hair in half, tying the right side into a braid first. “I grew up in Orkney. The Rain Clan took me in, and their head raised me as though I were her daughter.”

Artoria feels a bitter jealousy creep up her throat like bile.

“What was your family like?”

“Mother was always kind and gentle. Father had a warm smile on his face at all times. Mother’s daughter — that is, her successor — was a reliable older sister to me.”

‘How come she was allowed to have a family?’

“However, the Rain Clan is no more. You should know as much.”

Artoria swallows. She was too busy feeling miserable about herself to connect the dots.

There is no Rain Clan. She’s hardly even heard of them before. They must be gone for a long time.

“… what happened?”

“About 6000 years ago, fairy clans banded together to punish the Rain Clan fairies for protecting the Fairy of Paradise. The Rain Clan ceased to exist on that day.”

“So that’s why you gave up on your destiny, huh?”

Artoria can understand that all too well. Who would even want to help the murderers of one’s own family? She still loathes Morgan for being at fault for the burden falling onto her in her stead, but she can’t actually blame her.

“No, I did not. I gave up on the fairies that day, but not on this land. I simply changed my methods to ensure the future that I always envisioned when I realized that what the fairies need isn’t a savior who appears to solve their problems, but a queen who will take the reins herself.”

“… wait…”

“The Fairy of Paradise before you, who came to be known as Tonelico the savior, is the current queen Morgan, yes.”

Tonelico, whose legends are known by every fairy. The savior whose return fairykind yearns for to save them from Morgan’s rule — yet, Tonelico herself is the very fairy who turned into the Morgan ruling over the isle without mercy now.

It’s such a bitter irony.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Chapter Text

Morgan, sitting on her bed, puts one leg over the other while she waits for Artoria to speak up. If the (former) Child of Prophecy has the guts to ask for negotiations, then the queen will entertain her.

Not that Artoria has much of a say in her fate; not if her plans don’t align with Morgan’s own, that is. But at the very least, Morgan is willing to hear her out and consider a compromise. There’s no reason not to.

However, Artoria’s eyes seem almost glued to the floor. Her cheeks are decorated with a rosy pink that suits her. She’s out of depth still, and it doesn’t take much of a read on people to see that Artoria regrets putting herself on the spot like this.

It’s painfully obvious.

Morgan has learned a few things about her successor over the past few days — Artoria is a fairy with a strength of will she herself probably doesn’t realize she possesses, held back by her lack of self-esteem and a deep-rooted pessimism. It’s a shame, truly.

If Morgan could’ve known Artoria would be this type of fairy, she would’ve ensured the Child of Prophecy fell into her hands years ago. Morgan would’ve raised Artoria herself, turning her into a formidable Fairy Knight capable of making use of her own potential.

It’s too late for this, though.

Too late to spare Artoria from a life no better than that of cattle.

“So…”

Artoria tries to swallow the lump in her throat. Unsuccessfully. This is more difficult than she thought. The self-inflicted pressure extends from the inside to wrap itself around Artoria, as though keeping her in a chokehold.

“Just name your terms, Artoria. That is what you wanted to discuss, no?”

“Yeah. I… I want you to remove this collar.”

Morgan raises an eyebrow. This comes as a surprise — she expected Artoria to be more demanding. The last bit of defiance she could show are demands, after all.

Surely there must be something else on Artoria’s mind.

“Naturally. My subjects do not wear collars. Is that all you want?”

“Hnngh… Well, can I even ask for anything else?”

“You may bring up any wish you have. I will decide whether I humor it.”

Artoria is more than aware that she’s in the weaker position here. If she doesn’t relent, Morgan will just whittle her down until she does.

It’s frustrating.

Like she’s just dancing on the palm of this wicked queen’s hand. There seems to be no point in bringing up anything else she may want.

What else could she ask for, anyway?

As all-powerful as Morgan is known to be, even she has limits. Having the burden of the prophecy taken from her shoulders is as close as Artoria can get to her dream of a normal, peaceful life.

Honestly, she never would’ve thought even this much is possible. Isn’t that more than enough?

“… Just removing the collar is fine.”

Morgan stands up and takes a single step, tilting Artoria’s chin up to face her directly. The way Morgan naturally looks down on Artoria makes her inwardly cower, especially at this lack of distance. Morgan’s soft hand on her chin doesn’t help.

“Is that truly all? If not, name your wish now.”

“… I want… a normal, ordinary life.”

Artoria’s voice is a mumbled whisper. Uttering wishes she never believed she’s allowed to have. The life she doesn’t believe she’s allowed to dream of. It’s not in the cards for her, it never was, and never will be. Yet, Morgan leaves her no choice but to speak those words.

“A nice, warm home, and… a lot of free time… Maybe something like a family… A life in which nobody has any expectations for me…”

A tear runs down Artoria’s cheek at the renewed realization that as simple and plain as her greatest wish sounds, she’s still never going to have it fulfilled. The one life she got is this, being cursed to be the Child of Prophecy.

Even after submitting to Morgan, the expectations of other fairies won’t disappear. They’ll be easier to ignore, but she knows they’re still out there. She feels them every night.

“I understand.”

Morgan brushes the tears away with her thumb.

‘No need to tell me. I know that’s out of the question…’

Artoria is grateful that Morgan doesn’t tell her it’s an unreachable dream. Entirely impossible. Hearing that from Morgan would further shatter the crumbs of hopes and dreams Artoria carries in her heart.

She forces a smile of acceptance, though it tastes bitter.

“If that is all, I take it you don’t wish to continue from a few days ago.”

‘Ah, that…’

A few days ago… When Artoria found herself at Morgan’s mercy, having herself fondled and teased. She would’ve much preferred to be able to push that thought aside.

Now that the whole event flashes through her mind again, Artoria can’t help but wonder about it: Does she want to?

If asked on that day, her answer would’ve undoubtedly been a ‘Yes!!’ — but now, with a clearer mind? Artoria is willing to repeat her pledge of submission to Morgan without the carrot of a relief she doesn’t quite understand dangling in front of her nose.

Not that she doesn’t have second thoughts about submitting herself. And really, Artoria feels annoyed at giving up. Something deep inside her is just such a sore loser, no matter what. But also, she’s tired. So exhausted.

“I’m not sure…”

The words come out before Artoria realizes. She scolds herself mentally for that indecisiveness. How dare her mouth give way to uncertainty like this? There’s no reason to go through with this. None at all!

Yet, the idea of a distraction that can push the feeling of being pathetic out of her mind, overwrite it with a warm, tingly feeling that’s impossible to ignore… It’s tempting.

Artoria knows it’s wrong, and that she shouldn’t seek Morgan’s intimacy, but maybe just this once is fine.

Suddenly, disrupting her train of thoughts, Artoria feels Morgan’s hot breath on her ear, making her shudder. Morgan’s lips almost brush her earlobe, and Artoria can hear the blood rush in her ears. She feels her ears heat up.

Surely Morgan can feel the warmth radiating as well, being that close.

“Pledge your loyalty to me, Artoria. Do this one thing, and I will reward you.”

Artoria feels every single beat of her heart thumping in her chest, her pulse quickening. Morgan distances herself again and waits for Artoria’s next move. Negotiations are over.

Once Artoria properly subjects herself to Morgan, she will finally be free of the looming terror in the shape of a collar around her neck. She won’t have to ‘save the fairies’ or anything like that anymore.

Not only that, but Morgan will touch her again.

It’s not that Artoria would’ve asked for it, and she’s on the fence on whether she even wants Morgan to. But the mere thought of the queen’s hands roaming her body again, eliciting that addictively sweet electricity in her body, ignites a tiny spark in her lower abdomen.

Artoria’s face overheats at the realization of how easily swayed she is.

‘Ugh, whatever!’

With her eyes cast down, Artoria gets down on one knee. She tells herself that she doesn’t have a choice anyway, and that serving Morgan is better than what’s awaiting her if she follows her fate.

It’s entirely unrelated to the warmth slowly spreading through her body.

“I swear my loyalty to you, Morgan… Your Majesty. I won’t be the Child of Prophecy anymore. I’ll never go on the pilgrimage.”

That’s all she has to say, right? Artoria feels weak and defeated at having said all that so directly. Moreso at how easily such a pledge of unconditional loyalty comes over her lips.

She’s really never been cut out for the great destiny expected of her. Not with how easily she folds, given the opportunity to take an easy way out.

With a pleased smile, Morgan touches Artoria’s nape — specifically the magic collar. It dissipates into glowing particles that soon disappear into thin air.

Artoria feels like this is the first breath of fresh air in days. She’s got her full autonomy back; the only thing binding her now is her own subordination. And that’s fine by her.

“A smart choice. You did well, Artoria. Now, undress so I can reward you accordingly.”

It’s a test, for sure. A test of how willing Artoria is to follow Morgan’s commands, even without being forced to via the threat of using a magic collar.

Artoria second-guesses herself for a moment, considering to walk back on her half-hearted internal admission of wanting Morgan to make her forget about her insufficience and the disappointment she must be.

But no, Artoria won’t do that. She can’t.

Is it because she’d be left with a need she herself won’t be able to meet if she doesn’t do as Morgan says? Or is it because her submission broke down the last rest of resistance in her mind? Artoria doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter.

Artoria gets up from her kneeling position to pull the dress over her head while Morgan watches. Her expression doesn’t give away whether she’s pleased.

Artoria almost lets the dress drop onto the floor, but catches herself before making this careless mistake. Morgan would chide her for her ‘lack of manners’ again.

Instead, she folds the silky, mostly white dress as neatly as she can — to the best of her abilities, which isn’t that much — and places it on the dresser.

Next, Artoria takes off the bralette, which feels easier to do with her back turned to Morgan. At least that shields her body from Morgan’s eyes for now. Her panties follow suit, both pieces of underwear put on the folded dress.

“No hesitation. Good.”

Morgan’s words are words of praise that Artoria doesn’t want.

She doesn’t want to be complimented in a way that sends a shiver down her spine. Artoria doesn’t comment on that, however. She turns her head slightly to look at Morgan from the corner of her eye, still standing near the bed. Waiting.

“Now, come.”

The queen seems unable to take the edge of authority out of her voice when speaking commands. Even if she did, Artoria would’ve followed, though. As if under a spell, Artoria shuffles towards the bed in small steps, one hand covering her crotch, her other arm covering her chest.

She knows it’s futile to hide, and only a matter of time. But if only a moment of modesty is granted to her, then she’ll make the most of it. A completely natural reaction.

Coming to a stop right in front of Morgan, Artoria averts her gaze. This isn’t the first time she shares an intimate moment with Morgan. Counting the very first day, when Morgan created the collar, today would be the third time.

Not nearly enough to get used to the shame accompanying this defenseless openness.

Morgan’s hands find their way to Artoria’s hips, her touch light. Artoria jumps at the sudden contact, though she should’ve expected it. Should be mentally prepared.

Holding the younger fairy’s hips, Morgan turns Artoria and changes their position, until Artoria finds her back to the bed.

It doesn’t take a genius to see what’s going to happen next.

A small push is all that’s needed for Artoria to fall back on the bed, her arms instinctively moving to catch the fall that wouldn’t hurt.

Once Artoria realizes that she has just given up the last bit of cover, it feels as though every drop of blood in her body rushes to her face. Her cheeks feel like they’re aflame, her head feels light.

“B-be gentle…”

‘Why did I say that!? Ugh, I just wanna disappear…’

Artoria turns away, unable to face Morgan. Not with what’s about to happen, not with the growing anticipation she feels. Not with such stupid things coming out of her mouth.

It’s weird. In such a short time, Morgan definitely corrupted her.

“Of course. This is a reward for a loyal subject, not a punishment for a defiant fool.”

A warning. Though Morgan doesn’t say so directly, Artoria understands her place. She asked for this — in some way, tinted with uncertainty — and once she got the stone rolling, she has no right to call it quits.

Morgan will do as she likes, and Artoria will enjoy it. That’s all there is to this.

Morgan gets on top of Artoria, holding herself up with both of her hands on either side of Artoria’s head. She leans in to bring her lips to the side of Artoria’s neck — a sensitive place so open and easily accessible with Artoria’s head turned to the side.

Artoria pulls her shoulder up instinctively to shield her neck, though it does nothing to that effect.

“Hnnh…”

Artoria’s voice leaks out in a higher pitch when Morgan’s lips part to suck on the skin of her neck. It’s not as light as the touches Artoria is used to from Morgan, yet anything but forceful.

A shiver runs down her spine when she feels Morgan’s teeth carelessly graze her skin, surely just overly sensitive from the attention. Artoria briefly wonders how it would feel to be bitten, though she bans that idea from her mind immediately.

She doesn’t need that image in her head right now.

Morgan’s hand finds its way to Artoria’s breast. She wastes no time drawing out the anticipation. Instead, Morgan cups Artoria’s breast with a light squeeze, then lets the pad of her thumb brush over Artoria’s nipple. It only takes a few repetitions for the peak to harden, begging for more attention.

Which the queen is happy to provide.

Upon Morgan lightly pinching the nipple for a change of stimulation, Artoria arches her back into the touch.

“Aahhn..!”

The reaction makes Morgan wonder if Artoria prefers a more intense stimulation. Or maybe that’s just what feels better in general? Though that matters little. Morgan isn’t planning to touch anyone else in that way.

There’s no point in learning about what feels good for the average fairy. What matters is Artoria’s enjoyment.

And given Artoria is still a bit too headstrong to voice her preferences honestly, the whimpers, moans, and her body’s involuntary reactions are all Morgan can go by. That’s more than enough, though.

Luckily, Artoria is exceptionally reactive.

Morgan alternates between flicking her thumb over Artoria’s nipple and occasionally giving it another light pinch.

The pace at which Morgan changes her approach is deliberately irregular, not allowing Artoria to get used to change, or expect it. Catching the former Child of Prophecy off-guard every single time she switches.

Morgan observes intently as Artoria arches her back, shudders, and whines. Varying how much force she puts into the stimulation to probe for that thin line between sweet pleasure and discomfort bordering on pain.

It’s not difficult to keep treading that line once she finds it, though.

“Hyaah! W-wait, if you— Nnnh… k-keep going like that…”

Artoria claws at the sheets, and kicks her feet. The electric current running through her body becomes too strong to handle — Morgan just so easily sends jolt after jolt down her spine, along with a pleasant shudder that flushes Artoria’s mind clean.

‘No way, this is too much, no way—’

The last time pales in comparison — that much is clear to Artoria. She had no idea how all-encompassing those feelings of pleasure could be, not until this moment, where Morgan so expertly touches her like this.

Not a slow, light tease meant to erode her resistance, not delicately sweet.

Instead, Morgan now gives Artoria all she would’ve begged for, all her body asks for, and more. It’s overwhelming, both in a pleasurable and a scary way.

“M-morg— Hahhn.. Your Majesty!”

Artoria’s gasp carries the sound of blissful desperation. What exactly she means to plead for is unclear to herself.

More, does she seek the relief she’s been denied the last time?

Or does she simply want Morgan to stop, unable to endure this onslaught on her senses further?

Ignoring — or following — the breathless plea, Morgan’s hands wander down. Her fingertips brush Artoria’s sides, giving her a break from the relentless stimulation of her breasts, though a neglected tingle lingers in her nipples.

Frustrated, Artoria bites her lip. She feels the overwhelmingly powerful urge to take over what Morgan ceases, playing with her own breasts in the way she knows she can’t mimic.

But would Morgan allow that? More than that, would she want Morgan to watch her do something so shamelessly needy in front of her?

A whiney groan escapes Artoria’s lips as Morgan’s hands reach her hips, then move past her core without as much as brushing the heat source between Artoria’s tightly closed legs, to move on to her thighs.

Morgan rubs the smooth skin of Artoria’s thighs with her hands, giving them a light massage. Almost as if to cool down the need in Artoria’s hazed state just a little.

Frustrating.

It’s not what Artoria wants (needs) right now. So tantalizingly close, yet so far. Morgan can be so cruel, even when it comes to what’s supposed to be a reward.

No wonder she’s seen as a cold-hearted tyrant.

“Nnngh…”

“Impatience is quite a vice. However, just this once, I will overlook that.”

The shame of being called out so openly like this goes straight to Artoria’s head. She wouldn’t have thought that her face would be able to radiate even more heat than it already does, but she finds that to be a naïve thought now.

In a poor attempt to hide her embarrassment, Artoria covers her face with both of her hands, mumbling an incoherent mess of what can’t be considered words into her palms.

Artoria’s body tenses when Morgan’s fingertips slowly stroke up her thigh, moving towards the inner side. Artoria holds her breath without noticing at the growing anticipation.

When Morgan’s hand barely brushes her core, Artoria jumps.

“Hya— …huh?”

Surprisingly, Morgan retracts her hands. Artoria looks through the gaps between her fingers to make sense of the abrupt stop. Her eyes meeting Morgan’s icy blue ones sends another involuntary shiver down her spine. It turns her legs weak.

If there was any resistance left in her, it’d melt like an ice cube thrown into a volcano.

“I cannot proceed if you deny me access.”

Morgan states matter-of-factly. Artoria finds herself flabbergasted at how unaffected Morgan is in such a situation. How calm and collected she has the audacity to be, when Artoria feels like a mess who’s falling apart more each second.

With a light tap of her finger on Artoria’s thigh, Morgan reminds her of the problem here. Instinctively, Artoria has her legs closed, as though that could quell the heat in her lower abdomen.

Naturally, it doesn’t.

“B-but… this…”

Artoria tries her best to scramble together enough of a coherent thought to put it into words. The last time was one thing, but now? Her heart thumps in her chest, she can feel it speed up.

Morgan — or anyone, for that matter — seeing that part of her directly… That feels about ten steps too far, at least. Maybe a hundred.

But, at least to herself, Artoria can’t deny the excitement at the thought of Morgan touching her directly. Not when the indirect touch the last time was already so good. Not with how stimulating Morgan’s direct touch is on her nipples. Maybe too intense.

Losing the battle against carnal needs, Artoria reluctantly spreads her legs, just enough for Morgan’s hand to have enough freedom to touch her. She completely covers her face with her hands again.

There’s no way Artoria would want to see anything that’s going to happen, much less make eye contact with Morgan while she’s doing it.

“Well done.”

“Hyaaauu—!!”

Artoria arches her back when Morgan’s fingers explore her wet folds, covering themselves with the natural lubricant to glide over the slick skin more easily. Instinctively, Artoria almost closes her legs again to protect her most sensitive place, but Morgan’s placing her other hand firmly on her thigh stops her.

A small gesture that’s no warning, just a reminder — a reminder that this is supposed to be a reward, and that Artoria should allow and enjoy it. Not give in to her shame or insecurities, just let it happen. A strange reassurance.

Though it’s not like Artoria has enough capacity of mind to think about that.

Unsurprisingly, Morgan finds Artoria’s clit with ease. Using both her index and middle finger’s pads to stroke the bundle of nerves in slow, almost circular movements. Artoria’s breath hitches. She automatically pushes up her hips to seek more friction, more pleasure.

Forming any coherent thought is impossible with this exquisite mix of sensations.

The overwhelmingly intense tingling right where Morgan touches her, too much and not enough at the same time. Each shudder sent down her spine like an electric current, further fanning the flames in her lower abdomen.

A pressure slowly building deep inside her, like climbing a mountain.

Artoria moans, her pitch raising another note or two, while she rocks her hips.

With such clear signals, Morgan doesn’t need to ask whether Artoria feels good. And unlike last time, Morgan fully intents on granting Artoria full taste of the relief she was denied the last time.

This time, Morgan will push Artoria over the edge she seems to be approaching rapidly.

She applies a little more pressure, to which Artoria reacts almost immediately with her legs shivering, and her body tensing up.

“Aahh, w-wait! Haaahh—”

Artoria whines.

More than the last time, and much more than expected, she can clearly feel how close she’s to a peak she couldn’t imagine even if she tried. Artoria feels the pleasure build up in her core, exceeding any capacity she has.

It feels as though it might spill over at any moment, threatening to consume her whole. A scary outlook, but a temptingly liberating one.

Morgan understands. She speeds up the circular movements. Artoria feels the stimulation intensify when she’s already so close. It takes little time until she reaches her climax, with a breathless, high-pitched moan that starts through gritted teeth.

“Hnnhhh… Hyaaaaahh!!”

Starting from her core, waves of hot pleasure course through her body. The warmth reaches every part of Artoria, complementing the intense, culminated pleasure with blissful comfort.

Artoria sinks back into the soft bed, out of breath. A moment like this, so entirely spent in a good way, free from doubts and worries — she’s never felt this content happiness before. Artoria genuinely enjoys this peace of mind and relief that’s granted to her.

When Artoria finally removes her hands from her face, she finds her eyelids heavy. It takes a lot of effort to just keep them open and not drift into sleep. Morgan meets her gaze before reaching out with her clean hand to cup Artoria’s cheek.

‘… No way, is she…?’

Artoria can’t keep her eyes open anymore. The approaching slumber overtakes her with ease. That’s not simple fatigue by itself, no. It must be something Morgan is doing to her, probably some kind of sleep spell.

But… why?

Artoria wants to ask that question, but finds her mouth unresponsive. Yet, unlike with the collar, there’s no fear. Not even discomfort. Artoria just feels herself slowly slip into a peaceful sleep against her efforts to stay conscious.

She’s not scared of what’s happening, or what’s going to happen.

“I may not be able to change your past, nor your life’s course… But I will grant you the respite that I am able to provide. Farewell, Artoria of Tintagel.”

Morgan’s words barely register. Artoria’s mind grows heavier, while her body gets lighter. As though she is floating, or maybe disappearing.

Artoria feels as though she loses every connection to her surroundings slowly. Not only her senses disconnect, but so does her consciousness.

It grows hazy, until she’s out cold.

Chapter Text

Artoria wakes up with a mild headache, her thoughts feeling somewhat fuzzy. She opens her eyes and finds them having trouble to adjust to the light. But after a few blinks, she manages.

Once she is fully awake, Artoria realizes that she’s in a completely unfamiliar place. Wearing what seems to be a light blue nightgown, a piece of clothing she definitely doesn’t own.

She finds herself in a room furnished with a desk, a bookshelf stacked with books, and some other pieces of furniture, along with the bed she’s lying on. And a chair next to the bed, on which a girl sits and closes her book upon noticing Artoria sitting up in bed.

“You finally woke up.”

The girl’s voice sounds soothingly soft, and strangely familiar. Artoria can’t put her finger on it, but it reminds her of someone. Someone she can’t quite remember. Maybe she’s just imagining it.

Her face looks strikingly similar to Artoria’s own. At a quick glance, one could even say they look the same.

The differences are subtle: the girl’s eyes are a cool crystal blue, while Artoria’s are a warm emerald green. The girl wears round glasses, unlike Artoria, who wears none. Her hair — a lighter shade of blonde — is in a half braid she wears to one side, while Artoria usually keeps hers in twintails, though right now she has her hair down.

On top of that, she has a more mature look to her overall. A feminine and elegant vibe, completely different from Artoria.

“My name is Tonelico. You’re in the Land of Rain, in Orkney. Do you remember anything from before you lost consciousness?”

“I’m Artoria… Caster. Uhm, either is fine. And…”

Artoria tries to recall what happened, but she draws a blank. No, it’s more that she feels she should know, like she has the memories — but she just can’t reach them. They’re blurry and blackened at the same time. Her headache worsens just trying to recollect.

It’s futile.

“… I don’t…”

‘Just what happened…?’

The girl — Tonelico — takes in her words and nods. She must have expected that Artoria wouldn’t remember how she got here.

“Excuse me for being this forward, Artoria. But… You are a Fairy of Paradise, correct?”

Artoria feels her blood run cold. How can Tonelico know that when she’s just met her? Is she planning to hand her to queen Morgan now?

That thought fills Artoria with dread.

Her flight instinct kicks in, but she doesn’t have the first idea how. The window seems like the best choice, but a quick glance reveals that she’s pretty high up in some tower that’s part of a castle.

A fall from that height wouldn’t be pleasant, to say the least.

Tonelico notices Artoria’s apprehension. That all but confirms it for her. No need for Artoria to spell it out.

She’s suspected as much ever since Artoria was found and taken into the castle for recovery.

A strange fairy with low magical power and the same face as herself? That simply adds up too well, although Tonelico hoped it to be merely coincidental, as unlikely as that is.

“No need to be so tense. I, too, am a Fairy of Paradise. But there shouldn’t be two, which means…”

Tonelico brings her hand to her chin, thinking for a moment. Artoria has no idea why two Fairies of Paradise would exist at the same time either, but she doesn’t even really know the first thing about her situation anyway.

If she tried to rack her brain for answers, she knows she’d come up empty-handed.

“Yes, that must be it... Artoria, this may be hard to believe, but I’m sure that you came from the future.”

“…what!? There’s no way!”

“I can’t say for sure how you got here, but… that’s the only explanation. There is no reason for two Fairies of Paradise to exist here, at the same time. And there should be none before me in history. What’s left is the Fairy of Paradise who is my successor, sometime in the future — and that must be you.”

There’s something Tonelico isn’t saying… Or rather, she’s not entirely honest about not knowing how Artoria ended up here. Such a lie can’t slip past Fairy Eyes, and Tonelico should know as much, since she should have them, too. Though, lie or not, that’s just a minor detail. Negligible.

If she’s right and this is the past, then…

Wait. Tonelico is the name of the savior who disappeared 2000 years ago. Is this that Tonelico? Before Artoria can ask out loud, Tonelico holds up her hand in front of Artoria and shakes her head.

“Wait. You must be careful, Artoria. You aren’t meant to exist here— now. You should refrain from sharing information from your time. I’m not sure what consequences that would bring.”

“Got it…” Artoria looks down at the blanket covering half her body. “But what am I supposed to do now?”

“I’ll get Mother so that we can discuss it. Please wait a moment, I’ll be right back.”

Once she excuses herself, Tonelico leaves the room, and Artoria is by herself. Alone with her concerns. Really, what is she going to do now? Is there any way to return to her time? How would she find out how to get back, and can she even do it?

It seems so futile. Trapped in what she should know as the land she grew up in, yet so far in the past that it’s an unfamiliar place. It might as well be a different world entirely.

The drizzle against the window is a calming noise, though it hardly calms her nerves now. If Tonelico’s hypothesis holds true, then Artoria is now at least 2000 years in the past, possibly more. As a Child of Prophecy…

No, does this time even need a Child of Prophecy?

In this age, Morgan shouldn’t be the queen. Morgan probably doesn’t even exist yet. So that role is meaningless.

Artoria breathes a sigh of relief: There’s no need to do anything about that now, and nobody here would expect it of her either. This isn’t her time to take up the responsibility as some kind of chosen savior — it’s Tonelico’s.

There is a soft knock before the door opens again, and in comes a woman followed by Tonelico. She is noticeably taller than Tonelico, with silver hair that has a blueish shine, and deep blue eyes. A white robe that shows little skin and a gold headpiece that looks similar to a crown.

Even if Tonelico wouldn’t have referred to that woman as Mother before, the similarity in clothing illustrates their relation.

“My, you truly look just like our Tonelico.”

She takes a seat on the chair near the bed, Tonelico standing behind her. Tonelico is half lost in thought, ruminating over things she feels no need to share. Her brows are slightly furrowed in concern, she doesn’t meet Artoria’s eyes.

“Pardon my manners. I am Regina, the Head of the Rain Clan and Lord of Orkney. I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Artoria Caster.”

“L-likewise.”

Artoria knows clan heads, but this fairy is different. She’s gentle and kind, and most surprisingly: genuine.

Her behavior is not an act played to gain trust or sympathy, to manipulate for her own gain. No, Artoria can see that Regina is a good fairy. Something she’s come to believe can hardly exist.

“I understand that your situation is rather… unique. You are welcome in Orkney for as long as you wish. We have enough space in this castle for another fairy.”

“Thank you for your hospitality. I’ll work hard to—”

“Oh, please. There is no need for that. You are like our Tonelico, so it’s only natural that I would take you in as a daughter like I did her. There is no need to feel indebted to the Rain Clan, Artoria.”

Artoria stares at Regina in disbelief. Just like that, she is given a home, no strings attached. No expectations. She doesn’t realize she’s crying until she feels tears run down her cheeks.

‘W-why am I…?’

Taken out of her thoughts, Tonelico quickly hands Artoria a handkerchief. Artoria accepts the soft fabric and hurriedly wipes her tears.

“Thanks,” Artoria mumbles with a sniffle.

“I will take my leave now. It’s already quite late, after all. Don’t hesitate to ask if you need something, Artoria. And Tonelico? Please take good care of Artoria.”

“Of course, Mother. Goodnight.”

After bidding the two Fairies of Paradise goodnight, Regina leaves them alone. Artoria is left in Tonelico’s care now.

“… did Mother perhaps say something wrong?”

“No, that’s not it.” Artoria fumbles around a bit with the blanket’s edge. “It’s just…”

She’s unsure how she wants to put things. She cannot give away certain parts and details, as per Tonelico’s warning. Apart from that, does she even want to share?

But something about this place — Orkney’s castle — and the genuine warmth of the clan head makes her feel comfortable about opening up. Not that there’s much of a point in trying to hide anything from Tonelico.

Fairy Eyes can be such a hassle to deal with.

“I never had a ‘mother’ before… Or lived in such a big castle.”

‘Or in any building made for fairies, or in my own room…’

“Is that so?” Tonelico slightly tilts her head. “This room is yours, if you like it. If not, we could look at other vacant rooms, though not all of them are furnished…”

“No, this one’s fine.” Artoria shakes her head. She doesn’t want to impose on the Rain Clan too much. “Can I really stay here?”

Tonelico smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. The smile isn’t completely genuine. Artoria decides not to comment on it.

“Of course. Mother said as much.”

Silence engulfs the two fairies as raindrops keep hitting against the windowpane in a soft rhythm. Artoria looks outside, watching the clouds drift, and the drops of water fall. It’s soothing.

At least when inside and warm, rather than being mostly unprotected against the cruelty of nature while living in a barn. Artoria pushes that memory away.

“The sound of rain is beautiful, isn’t it?” Tonelico breaks the silence. “I love listening to it while I’m in my study reading.”

“Yeah.”

There’s another moment of silence after the failed attempt at making conversation.

“Tonelico, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“… how do you feel about being a Fairy of Paradise?”

A heavy question for someone who’s basically a stranger. But it’s not every day one meets someone sharing those burdens — an opportunity to ask that question to someone who would understand.

A question that can’t wait to be asked in the future.

“Hmm… Well, I think it’s a good thing that I am a Fairy of Paradise. Only because of that I will be able to save this country. I want to create a country in which everyone — fairies and humans alike — will get along and work together.” Tonelico’s cheeks take on a rosy pink. “That sounds a bit childish, doesn’t it? But still, it’s the dream I want to follow.”

Artoria’s stomach churns at that answer. Even more so at how honest and genuine Tonelico is about this. It’d be better if it were just a cheap facade, a lie.

Unlike Artoria, who’s always wished for nothing else but to escape her duties and expectations, Tonelico embraces her role. Not only that, she has her own ambitions to go along with it.

Naïve ambitions.

Artoria can’t tell her as much, but whatever Tonelico aims for, it won’t happen. The Fairy Nation of the future isn’t a kind place at all. In fact, it’s a land that would be better off not existing in the first place.

A place of selfishness, cruelty, and ignorance.

“I hope you can do it.”

It’s a bitter mumble, but Artoria means it. If anyone can turn this wretched place into the land of Tonelico’s dreams, Artoria would genuinely want that to happen. But if she’s honest, even if she didn’t already know, she has no faith in that being possible at all.

“I take it you feel different.”

“… yeah. To be honest… I just always wished I wouldn’t have to do it. Not that I had a choice.”

While Artoria can taste the bitterness of her words in her mouth, Tonelico bites her tongue. After a brief moment, Tonelico stands up and places the chair back at the desk where it belongs.

They both could tell that, though neither of them openly shows it, they each struck a nerve in the other, Fairy Eyes be damned. It makes for an awkward atmosphere, and difficult conversation.

“I will head for my own room now. If you need anything, you can find my study and my room down the hall. Goodnight, Artoria.”

“Yeah, goodnight.”

Once Artoria is alone, she flops back onto the bed. She stares at the ceiling, trying to figure out what exactly she should do now.

As much as Artoria hated being the Child of Prophecy, at the very least, she knew what she was supposed to do. She had a goal and could spend her time trying to avoid following her destined path, or following expectations to get fairies off her case.

Now? None of these things matter. No role, no expectations, nothing. She’s taken into the Rain Clan like a daughter of the clan head, free to live her life in this new home. Artoria should feel relieved, and she does, but at the same time, she’s lost.

However Artoria ended up in the past, she has no means to return to her own time. She doesn’t even know how she would go about that. She’s realized that before, and none of that changed.

Not that she even feels all that strongly about returning to her proper time. Not when she can stay here, in peace.

“Is this really fine…?”

Artoria pulls the pillow away from under her head and presses it onto her face in frustration. She groans her frustrations into the soft fabric. All she’s ever wanted was to live a normal life, unburdened by the stupid prophecy. And now that she’s at the start of that, she still finds herself unhappy with that.

Without a prophecy to follow (or avoid), Artoria has to find an own goal. Something that came so easily to Tonelico.

“Wait a sec…”

Artoria removes the pillow from her face, dropping it onto the bed next to her face. She rolls onto her stomach, resting her head on her arms.

She may have no role now, but once enough time passes that she reaches her actual time, she’ll be the ‘Child of Prophecy’ again. Millennia older, but still. Essentially, her pilgrimage, along with the rest of her destiny, is only postponed.

Unless she can make sure that a Child of Prophecy won’t be needed.

Artoria rolls to her side, letting her eyes wander to the rain outside again. A Child of Prophecy is needed to dethrone Morgan. If there’s no Morgan, or if Morgan at least doesn’t rise to become the Fairy Nation’s queen, then there’s no need for a Child of Prophecy.

All she has to do is make sure Morgan never becomes queen.

Can she do it…? No, if anything, she’s got a much better chance of pulling that off than of fighting Morgan directly! There’s no way Morgan was that powerful from the very start, after all.

And maybe Tonelico will help her, too. Morgan’s rule is the antithesis to Tonelico’s ideal of a picture-book fantasy land, so she’d have every reason to prevent that rule. Even if Artoria can’t tell Tonelico about any of that directly, she’ll make her understand how important that is.

Artoria can’t help but smile to herself at that genius idea. First thing tomorrow, she has to find out what year it is exactly to gauge how much time she has left.

In her own room, Tonelico sighs, walking towards her staff resting against the wall in the room’s corner. She looks at it with a tinge of melancholy and uncertainty as she runs her fingers over the wood.

It would only take split seconds to turn it into a spear, or a sword… anything with a blade. Capable of piercing a heart, or cutting through limbs swiftly.

So easy to get rid of problems.

It’s not an approach Tonelico likes or wants to consider, given a choice. But choice is a luxury that’s seldom granted, Tonelico understands that.

‘She shouldn’t exist here. Or at all. But if I have a successor, then that means…’

Tonelico doesn’t want to finish that line of thought.

She can’t fail.

What was the point in her other self — Morgan from Pan-Human History — sending all the memories of her own life, knowledge about Fairy Britain, and conclusions about its downfall to her if she’s still going to fail?

Does she have the wrong idea? Does she need to reconsider everything and restart her efforts from scratch?

Time’s running out.

There’s only a few months left until the event that would normally cost her life occurs. Only thanks to Morgan, she’s able to plan and prepare accordingly, though Tonelico doesn’t know details. She only knows when it’s going to happen, not what will happen.

On her following birthday, Tonelico will — did, in the original timeline — find her end.

She will not rise again, and the entire country is doomed. By the time Morgan was summoned, a few thousand years in the future, there was no life left on this island.

Morgan entrusted that knowledge, along with all the other information, to Tonelico, being the Morgan of this world, to prevent that from happening.

Not out of the goodness of her heart.

It’s evident from how she’s lived her life that Morgan of Pan-Human History isn’t much of an altruist. She simply saw Tonelico as another version of herself, a new chance to take control of Britain as its rightful ruler.

Nothing Tonelico has any interest in herself, though. But she’s grateful for the advantages provided nonetheless, even if she doesn’t plan to follow Morgan’s ambitions.

Tonelico has her own goals, and she will dedicate her life to them. For that, she has to live. As the Fairy of Paradise and future savior of fairies, so that the future can be bright and warm for everyone.

That is the plan, at least. But another Fairy of Paradise appearing throws that into disarray.

Everything about Artoria Caster showing up here is strange. She was found by some fairies of the Rain Clan near the castle and brought here because they weren’t sure what to do with this strange fairy.

But how did she get sent to this era in the first place?

There’s no doubt as to who sent Artoria. Given Tonelico’s other self from Pan-Human History is no more, it must be her own future self. There’s no other fairy who would be capable of such a feat. Much less consider it in the first place.

The idea of sending anything — or a fairy, no less — to the past is outrageous, seemingly impossible. But her own future self may just do such a crazy thing.

Just… why?

Tonelico leaves her staff and sits on her bed, hands folded in her lap. She’s confident that she could overpower and kill Artoria easily if she so chooses. And given the risk of time paradoxes, that’s what she should do.

An existence like Artoria’s is a threat to this land.

Obviously, Tonelico can’t say she personally likes Artoria either. Seeing the proof of her approaching failure in the form of a successor stings.

But Artoria isn’t a bad fairy. She may be rough around the edges, and certainly isn’t needed in this era, but it’s clear that she carries her own wounds. As a Fairy of Paradise, Artoria is exactly the type of fairy Tonelico should help, guide, and protect.

That’s what Tonelico stands for, and that’s what she will do. Tonelico will place following her ideals and beliefs over cold rationality.

Even if she has to swallow her own bruised pride for that.

Chapter Text

Artoria nervously fumbles with her hair. She’s only wearing the light blue nightgown she’s originally woken up in here in this time, for a lack of a change of clothes. Barefoot on stone. Though it’s not actually cold in Orkney’s castle.

Right now, she finds herself in front of a closed door. This should be Tonelico’s room. Tonelico told her it’s here yesterday, and if there’s anything Artoria needs, she’s supposed to tell Tonelico.

Yet, in front of Tonelico’s room, Artoria now feels nervous.

What if Tonelico is still asleep? What if she doesn’t hear her knocking? What if Tonelico isn’t even here in the first place?

‘Aaah, what am I even supposed to do…’

Somehow, the less danger and pressure there’s around, the more even the simplest things can cause anxiety. Paradoxically, it helps prevent panic if there’s some bigger problem to focus on. One that’s an immediate threat, which is something Artoria doesn’t have right now.

Suddenly, the door next to the one Artoria stands in front of opens, out comes a surprised Tonelico.

“Oh? Artoria, did you need something?”

Peeking inside the room reveals basically nothing but books. Artoria wouldn’t be surprised if the room had bookshelves for walls. Not only that, there are books stacked on the floor, and two smaller piles on a wooden desk, on which one book lies open.

Tonelico practically has her own impressively stacked library.

‘Right, she said here’s her room and her study…’

“Good morning! Uh, so, I was wondering about if there’s a change of clothes.”

“… ‘Good morning’? It’s already noon.” Tonelico raises an eyebrow. “Hmm… We will have to get clothes for you first. For now, you could borrow something from me.”

Tonelico closes her study’s door behind her and moves into her room, motioning for Artoria to follow her. She opens her closet and looks over her clothes, most of them various types of robes and white, some tights in black or navy blue.

Basically, just variations of what Tonelico usually seems to wear.

She picks out a set of navy blue tights and a white robe shorter than the one she is wearing, though on the shorter Artoria it would easily reach her knees. With a last look over the choice, Tonelico settles on those and hands them to Artoria.

“Those should fit. But you should take a bath first… And I presume you haven’t eaten yet either.”

“Yeah.”

Artoria accepts the clothes.

“Come, I’ll show you the way to the bath.”

Tonelico goes first and Artoria follows, like a puppy confused by its new surroundings. The castle is quiet, almost dead-silent, apart from the soft sounds of footsteps from both Tonelico and Artoria.

“Is it always so quiet here?”

“Yes, for the most part. I’m the only one living in this tower, after all. Or rather, I was.”

“Oh, I see.”

Artoria can see the slight irritation, but she averts her gaze and tries to ignore it. Tonelico is difficult to make sense of. She seems to both dislike and care about Artoria at the same time. Neither of those feelings is a lie, but Tonelico does her best to hide the negative impression.

Obviously, that’s futile. But Artoria doesn’t want to press it.

Tonelico opens a wide door to reveal a fairly big bathroom, with a luxurious bathtub in one corner. She leads Artoria inside, taking the clothes from her arms and placing them on a nearby stool.

Artoria looks at the bathtub with some confusion. She’s never taken a bath in a bathtub before, but somehow she feels she knows how to work the handles to fill it with water. Maybe it’s simply logical, and that’s all.

No, that can’t be it. One can’t know something like this with no prior experience. It makes no sense. Probably nothing but a wrong hunch. There’s no way she’d have that kind of knowledge.

“Do you need help?”

“I never really took a bath before, so…”

Sympathy flashes through Tonelico’s mind, with a hint of disbelief. But she doesn’t have to ask further. She knows Artoria is telling the truth, outrageous as it sounds. There’s no need to remind her of unpleasant memories.

Her successor must have lived a pitiful life.

Not having a family, never having taken a bath before… Just what did she go through? And why? It tugs at Tonelico’s heartstrings, almost enough to make her forget that Artoria is living proof of her own future failure.

And a spectacular failure it must be if it’s a future in which a fairy would grow up in such circumstances.

“It’s not difficult. I’ll show you.”

With a gentle smile, Tonelico explains the handles on the bathtub and each one’s function to Artoria. Showing her the selection of soaps and herbs to be used for a bath, and how long a bath should ideally take. Including how a nice, hot bath is the best way to relax and ease sore muscles.

Finally, she demonstrates the taught knowledge by filling the bathtub.

“Hold your hand in.”

Artoria does as Tonelico says, feeling the water. It’s warm, almost hot.

“Is the temperature fine?”

“Hmm… I think it’s a bit too cold.”

Tonelico adjusts the temperature handle and after a moment, the water’s temperature increases. Feeling hot, but not painfully so. Somehow, Artoria knows that this is the right temperature as though it’s familiar.

“Yeah, this should be good.”

Artoria takes her hand out of the water and wipes it on her nightgown, earning another look of disapproval from Tonelico, though she doesn’t say anything. Instead, Tonelico walks over to a shelf and takes out two towels, which she places near the bathtub.

“Isn’t that bathtub pretty big?”

Looking at it, that’s the observation Artoria makes. She doesn’t really know how big bathtubs normally are, but this one seems excessive for a single fairy.

“Maybe so? Mother used to bathe with me here when I was younger.”

“Bathed together, huh…”

Artoria tries to imagine sharing a bath with someone else in such a bathtub. The heat immediately rises to her face, and she tries to get rid of that image.

“… what are you thinking about?” Tonelico sighs. “It’s not like that. It was back when I was very young. A child. She helped me wash up.”

“I wasn’t thinking about anything like that!”

“Even without Fairy Eyes, your red face would give it away to anyone. Honestly, as a Fairy of Paradise, you should refrain from such improper thoughts.”

Artoria pouts. Tonelico has a point, somewhere. She hates to admit it. Artoria doesn’t even understand why her mind went that way in the first place. She never cared about such things before.

“If it’s so improper for a Fairy of Paradise, how would you know enough to tell in the first place?”

“…”

Tonelico thanks her self-control for not letting herself get provoked enough to retort. Artoria has enough luck to be able to make a good point somehow; one Tonelico is too petty to give her.

A draw in which neither fairy plans to budge.

“I believe you can bathe yourself.” Tonelico turns off the water, the tub is already full. “I’ll be in my study. We can head to the dining room for lunch together afterwards.”

“What about breakfast?”

“That was about three hours ago.”

Tonelico leaves Artoria alone, who takes her time soaking in the bath. The water has just the right temperature to disperse all the lingering fatigue and exhaustion. She’s having a sense of déjà vu she can’t place.

Doesn’t matter. For now, she’ll enjoy the bath.

While waiting for Artoria’s return, Tonelico sits back down at the desk in her study. The book left open is one she’s read before, like all the books in her possession. But it never hurts to reread a tome. There’s usually a new piece of information to be learned that you missed the first time, or it’ll at least reinforce your memory of the contents.

Though this one she picked back up with a purpose.

Artoria’s amnesia appears awfully convenient. She remembers most of her life perfectly fine, well enough to recount her own past. Only the time from before she ended up here is lost.

‘I doubt that’s merely a coincidence…’

Not that Tonelico can prove that hunch yet. The first step to confirm her theory is research — she knows there are ways to tamper with someone’s memories. Advanced magecraft that Tonelico herself hasn’t yet learned to put into practice, but she roughly understands the concept.

The question is, does it add up? Is that what happened?

It’s a possibility, at least. Or rather, normally, it would be. If this were the case, then the mystery wouldn’t be one.

Altering memories is something that doesn’t work on Fairies of Paradise. They can remember and forget naturally, like any other fairy, but forcefully deleting or changing their memories is impossible.

That doesn’t mean that everything related to memory alteration would have no effect, though. Tonelico would know, living with the memories of her other self from Pan-Human History.

Clearly, that’s not a natural way to accumulate memories either, but it worked.

She’s convinced that someone — as to who, she’s got a good idea — caused this convenient amnesia by choice. The remaining questions are how and why. And based on the answers to those, whether it would be good for Artoria to regain her memories or not.

Should Artoria be an adversary who stands in the way of Tonelico, it would be better for Artoria to keep her amnesia. While Tonelico is certain she wouldn’t hesitate to take Artoria’s life if push came to shove, she’d prefer not having to kill.

Though if Artoria ultimately is harmless with no intention to go against Tonelico, then there’s no harm in helping her restore her memories. If it’s possible at all. Though it should be, given they cannot be gone.

At the knock on her door, Tonelico closes the book. She is done with the relevant chapter anyway.

“Come in.”

Artoria enters the study with some reluctance, her hair still damp. She looks at Tonelico’s hand resting on the cover of the closed tome.

“Did I interrupt your studies?”

“No, don’t worry about that. I just finished.” Tonelico notices the unkempt state of Artoria’s hair. “Ah, a hairbrush…”

“No, I’m good. I just need hair ties.”

‘I can’t believe this girl…’

A deep breath to calm her nerves. She’s responsible for Artoria now, Tonelico agreed to take care of her.

That includes making sure she would be properly groomed and on good behavior. If Artoria can’t ensure these things on her own, it would fall to Tonelico to teach her. Confronting her with a poor attitude won’t help.

“That won’t do, Artoria. You have to take proper care of your hair.”

Tonelico stands up and grabs Artoria’s wrist, dragging her into her room with her. Artoria isn’t happy about this development, but she at least obediently follows. Maybe she’s not a lost cause.

“Here, sit down.”

Tonelico gestures at a chair while she picks up a hairbrush and a few hair ties. She doesn’t know what hairstyle Artoria would go for and how many she’d need, but somehow she’s fearing the worst outcome. Such as Artoria not even knowing what to do with hair ties.

Artoria does as she’s told and sits down on the chair, looking around the room while bouncing her legs.

Tonelico’s bed is only marginally bigger than the one in her room, and there are a few bookshelves here. Filled to the brim with various books, though there are noticeably fewer tomes than in her study.

“You sure like to read, huh?”

“Mhmm. I’ve always loved books.”

Tonelico gently combs Artoria’s hair with her fingers to get rid of the worst tangles without causing any discomfort. With the length of Artoria’s hair, about the same as her own, there’s no choice but to take it slowly. Luckily, they have time.

“How many of the books in your study did you even read?”

“All of them, I’m sure. Whenever I get a new book, I tend to read it right away.”

“Whoa… Seriously? Do you even do anything but read?”

Tonelico’s eyebrow twitches, but she bites her tongue.

‘Patience, Tonelico. Surely she doesn’t mean to be rude.’

“I also practice my magecraft and train regularly. But yes, I spend most of my time in my study. Practice needs a sound foundation of theory, after all.”

“You don’t have a teacher for magecraft?”

“I don’t.”

Artoria stays quiet. This isn’t a surprise — fairies don’t have any need for magecraft, not in the future, not in this time. A magecraft teacher can’t be found by conventional means… and may even disappear without a trace one day. Artoria would know.

Tonelico picks up the hairbrush and gets to work on Artoria’s hair.

Yesterday was a different matter, but starting today, Artoria should look presentable. The excuse of just having regained consciousness won’t do anymore. The least a fairy should do is take proper care of their appearance to not appear sloppy.

‘A shame she doesn’t take better care of herself.’

“But I never felt I need one,” Tonelico continues. “The right tomes are the most invaluable teacher.”

“I don’t think I could learn anything by just reading a couple books, though…”

‘I’m sure you could, if you just studied properly.’

“Did you have a teacher, then?”

“Something like that, I suppose.”

It’s not something Artoria wants to dwell on too much. She could already feel the loneliness creep back into her heart, cold and heavy.

“Hmm.. Well, if you’d like, we could study together. Though I’m not sure how good a teacher I could be, so maybe just being fellow magi-in-training.”

Too good an offer to pass on.

Child of Prophecy or not, Artoria is personally interested in magecraft, too. Having the chance to learn alongside the Tonelico, who is a magecraft user like herself? A true once-in-a-lifetime chance.

“Yeah, I’d love to!”

‘At least she has the right spirit.’

Tonelico smiles, though she already feels the exhaustion. It’s going to be rough to not simply study by herself anymore, instead having another fairy by her side. One who seems to lack every basic manner, no less. A troublesome individual by nature.

But it’s a good way to gauge Artoria’s skill and talent, and compare it to herself. As her successor, Artoria should be at the very least on the same level. Else, she would bring shame to being a Fairy of Paradise.

That would bother Tonelico.

For that reason alone, it’s best to make sure Artoria is properly educated. And if, apparently, nobody else bothered to make that happen until now, at least not to a satisfactory degree, it would be on her.

“We can start this evening.” Tonelico puts the hairbrush aside. “I’m done. Now it’s your turn.”

Tonelico places a few hair ties into Artoria’s hands and watches as she clumsily parts her hair in half to tie her hair up in twintails. A few shorter strands from the sides get caught in the ties, standing up wildly.

It gives Artoria a messy look despite the great care Tonelico put into her work.

‘At least it looks kind of cute.’

For that reason alone, Tonelico decides not to complain. Otherwise, she would’ve taught Artoria how to do this hairstyle properly. But in a way, this clumsily messy look suits her enough to make up for its lack of tidiness.

Before Tonelico realizes, she pats Artoria’s head. Artoria swats her hand away, her brows furrowed and her cheeks a rosy pink.

“Hey! What’s that for?”

“Ah, sorry. I couldn’t help it.” Tonelico smiles.

Despite all her flaws, Tonelico can’t deny that Artoria possesses some natural cuteness. Almost charming, in a way. Endearing, even. In the same way a young wild animal would be adorable even when it nips at you.

Tonelico clears her throat.

“Now that you’re ready, we can head for the dining room. It’s a little early for lunch, though.”

“All right.”

Artoria gets up and moves towards the door, but Tonelico’s hand on her shoulder stops her. When she turns around, there’s something like a portal behind Tonelico, looking like a pool of water with unlimited depth.

Tonelico pulls Artoria along through it, which feels like taking a dive into a lake, though with no temperature change nor feeling wet. They emerge in the corner of an empty dining room with a big wooden table already set.

“What was that!? You can teleport!?”

“I’m a witch, after all.” Tonelico chuckles. “I call it Water Mirror. I don’t usually use it in my tower, but for such trips, it’s quite convenient.”

Not that Tonelico can cover much more distance. Her magical prowess is very limited. Study and train as she might, there are limits to her power. Compared to the other fairies, a Fairy of Paradise is almost uselessly weak.

That’s a problem the pilgrimage should solve, but it’s still a few months too early for that.

“Tonelico and her teleportation. It’s all fun until she’s suddenly behind you,” says a girl who looks similar to the Rain Clan’s head, Regina, though maybe a bit younger, yet taller.

The same face and nearly the same looks, which already confirmed that it’s Regina’s successor — the next head of the Rain Clan. Fairies born with the same purpose share the same face after all.

“Geez, Amelia.” Tonelico pouts. “That wasn’t on purpose. I apologized.”

“So you say, but I see your training, you know. I’m sure you’d never even walk anymore if Mother hadn’t told you to cut down on the teleportation.”

Tonelico can’t refute that. Maybe it’s a little childish, but she enjoys being able to switch locations so easily. The surprised reaction of someone who hadn’t expected it is icing on the cake.

However, Tonelico has a reputation to build and uphold as the Fairy of Paradise, so refraining isn’t really a matter of choice.

Childish pranks like this aren’t suitable for a Fairy of Paradise. Using the same move for surprise attacks and practising them, however, is nothing but strategically sound. Only a fool would not hone such a skill. It would surely be invaluable in battle.

“More importantly!” Amelia puts her hands together and is in front of the bewildered Artoria with quick steps. “You must be Artoria, right?”

“U-uhm, yeah. Artoria Caster. It’s my pleasure to meet you…?”

“Aww, you’re so cute! You remind me of Tonelico when she was younger.”

She brings her hands to Artoria’s cheeks, rubbing them like she’s a cat, or maybe a hamster. Artoria is too surprised by the sudden contact to really say anything. Though it’s not unpleasant. Just… unexpected.

The kindness and genuine excitement Amelia shows openly at meeting Artoria are more overwhelming than the lack of distance.

“Amelia, you’re crowding her.” Tonelico gives Amelia a stern look. The comparison feels like an insult, too.

“Ah, my bad.” Amelia gets back to a more comfortable distance and clears her throat. “It just took me back a bit. I’m Amelia, daughter — successor — of Mother, the head of the Rain Clan. In a way, that makes me Tonelico’s older sister.”

“I-I see.”

Tonelico has such a big, warm family. Parents, and even an older sister. Artoria can’t help the pang of envy in her heart. There’s no way Tonelico can fathom solitude and abandonment with a life like this.

“Though I suppose you and Tonelico would be more like sisters, no? Since you’re both Fairies of Paradise. Well, and Mother took you both in, too.”

Artoria and Tonelico meet each other’s eyes. They hadn’t really considered that. Sisters, them? That doesn’t feel right at all. They hardly know each other. Having the same face and origin definitely isn’t enough to consider another a sister, or see any kind of relation.

“Calling us ‘sisters’ is going a bit far…”

“No way! Someone like that definitely can’t be my sister…”

Amelia chuckles at how in sync the two of them are, though she leaves it at that. Tonelico can be pretty stubborn, and she has a feeling that Artoria has the same hardheaded streak.

Relationships between fairies aren’t like those between humans anyway, so sisters or not hardly matters. It’s for them to decide whether they see each other as such. Though with time, they might.

The three sit together for a light meal. A simple salad, consisting of various cut vegetables, sprinkled with some chopped nuts for flavor. Not tasteless by any means, but still faint.

Artoria feels not quite satisfied with a dish like this, but she’s grateful to be served nonetheless. There’s no food she wouldn’t appreciate.

“Mother would prefer if we could have meals together like we used to,” Amelia says. “But recently, she and Father have become too busy.”

“That’s a shame.”

Artoria’s mumble is merely polite, not genuine. In the first place, there’s no need for fairies to consume food anyway.

It’s a luxury fairies partake in for nothing but their own enjoyment. Skipping meals isn’t something that needs to be pitied. Even without sharing meals, none of them are lonely either.

“It can’t be helped.” Tonelico wipes her mouth with a napkin. “As a clan head, Mother has a lot of responsibilities, and Father insists on supporting her.”

Tonelico exudes a feeling of guilt, though she speaks as if she were unconcerned. Amelia is concerned, but hides it behind a cheerful smile.

The fact that even this seemingly warm and genuine family fills the gaps between each other with lies and false facades puts Artoria at depressing ease.

It seems no matter who it is and who they’re with, everyone lies — there are no exceptions.

Of course, not even Artoria herself refrains from lying. Honesty is nothing but an idealistic concept. No wonder fairies and the world are the way they are, rotten and hopeless at the core.

No salvation could fix that.

“What are you thinking about, Artoria?”

Amelia’s question reaches her, but Artoria keeps her eyes on the empty wooden salad bowl, poking it with the wooden fork. As someone who sees through others by default, it’s easier to not look at someone when interacting with them.

Easier to feign ignorance.

“Nothing.”

“Is that so?”

Though Amelia doesn’t push it, her tone leaks that she’s well aware of Artoria’s ruminations. Almost as though she, too, possesses Fairy Eyes, but that’s not really possible, is it? That’s a curse unique to Fairies of Paradise, and Amelia isn’t one.

“We should head back and get started on our studies soon,” Tonelico says.

Does she mean to break the tension? Somehow, Artoria feels mildly annoyed at Tonelico feeling the need to jump in, as though to save her.

“Don’t be too hard on her, Tonelico. You may not realize it, but you’re pretty exceptional.”

“I’m well aware that I better mind my expectations.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Artoria slams her hands onto the table. “If you can do it, so can I!”

“… is that so?” Tonelico grits her teeth, failing to hide her irritation. It washes away any relief that could’ve bubbled up at Artoria overcoming the melancholy.

‘Who does she think she is…?’

“Oh my,” Amelia says with her hand in front of her mouth.

Artoria’s competitive outburst is unexpected. The right (or wrong) buttons pushed, and her fighting spirit flares up, going from 0 to 100 — all it takes is a minor bruise to her ego.

“We will put that to the test soon enough.” Tonelico smiles, but there’s nothing gentle or reassuring about it.

It’s a declaration of war for a battle that’s postponed for now. Unlike Artoria, Tonelico has enough class to not seek confrontation so aggressively. Though she will not lose — at the very least, not against Artoria. That’s for sure.

“Calm down, both of you.” Amelia sighs.

She waves her hand, and within just a moment, both Tonelico and Artoria feel their building aggravation dissipate. It feels like a gentle summer drizzle washes away their heated temper, leaving the comforting warmth of refreshment.

It earns Amelia a confused look from Artoria and a poorly suppressed pout from Tonelico.

“A little trick from a Rain fairy,” Amelia says with a smile. “It has its limits, but calming a fairy is our forte.”

So well, in fact, that neither Tonelico nor Artoria have it in them to get annoyed about the fact that their mood was just manipulated. It helps that Amelia has no ill intentions; it’s near impossible to be mad at someone with a kind smile who goes out of her way to prevent strife.

Though that’s only a very temporary fix.

If it takes less than a full day for the two Fairies of Paradise to be at odds with each other — although luckily only in a competitive sense, rather than outright malicious — it’s surely going to happen again.

They’ll have to work through it themselves and learn to get along.

Amelia has no doubt that Tonelico will be able to do that, and she places the same faith in Artoria.

After a curt goodbye, Tonelico uses her Water Mirror spell to whisk herself and Artoria away, placing them into Tonelico’s study. Without missing a beat, hoping to prevent another argument flaring up, Tonelico scans the contents of her personal library.

They have to start somewhere with the studies, and she doesn’t understand Artoria’s current level, nor does she know what type of magecraft she specializes in.

“Is there any specific magecraft you’re interested in, Artoria?”

“Hmmm…” Artoria stares at a few tomes, some of which’s titles she can’t even make sense of. “I’m not sure what would be the best to go for.”

‘I don’t want to get a lecture for the magecraft I’ve already learned either…’

“In that case, what are your plans now?”

A strategic question. Is Artoria planning something that would turn her into Tonelico’s adversary, a threat? Or something innocuous?

Artoria considers her next words. Giving too many details away is what Tonelico warned her against, so she can’t do that. But she still wants (needs) Tonelico’s support to prevent her own role as the Child of Prophecy from being necessary.

“I want the future to be one that doesn’t need me.” Artoria fumbles with her hair. “So… I thought I should help you. For your pilgrimage, and all that other stuff.”

“… you want to support me?”

Not what Tonelico expected. Not with how pessimistic and cynical Artoria seems about the role of ‘Fairy of Paradise’, nor with how she clearly doesn’t believe Tonelico’s ideal can be achieved.

Artoria is someone who hates being a Fairy of Paradise from the bottom of her heart, why would she willingly go along with a pilgrimage, even if it’s not her own?

More importantly, Tonelico wonders if Artoria realizes that a future that doesn’t need her would be one in which she isn’t born in the first place.

“Yeah. If you can make that dream of yours come true, then Mor— uh, I mean, a certain fairy won’t be able to… uhm, do all the things she does. Now that I’m here, stopping her at the start seems like a more feasible thing than trying to fight her later on.”

‘There’s no way someone like me could beat Morgan, after all…’

Artoria puts on a brave face of determination to sell her plans — a habit she’s grown too accustomed to — but it won’t fool her own feelings. They’re dragged down heavily by a heart incapable of believing in itself.

“I see. It appears that your role has a more clear-cut goal, and you want to prevent that goal from coming into realization. That seems reasonable.”

Tonelico walks to a bookshelf in the corner, her finger wandering over the spines of a few books before settling on a specific one. She takes it out before handing it to Artoria.

“You can try this one. With the spells from this book, you can boost another’s physical capabilities. Or would you like to try your hand at healing? Though I have to admit, I don’t really have books on that.”

“No, reinforcement sounds good! Thanks.”

“You should also work on your active combat abilities… But I believe we can get to that at a later point.”

‘Artoria seems like the type to learn better using her body than her head, anyway. Brawny without much brains.’

Tonelico doesn’t voice her thoughts, though there’s no need to. Artoria can tell without that. It annoys her, but she doesn’t comment on the low opinion Tonelico has of her. She’ll simply prove herself and make Tonelico eat both her words and thoughts, eventually.

Before starting with the book and guided self-study, Tonelico takes some time explaining her own self-taught theoretical basics to Artoria, hoping that it would ease her start. There’s still enough time left to get started properly tomorrow, after all.

After a long session that leaves Artoria’s head smoking — so it feels to her, anyway — they split up in the hallway where Tonelico would make for her own room, while Artoria would go for hers.

“Good work today, Artoria. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Tonelico. And… thanks.”

In her room, Tonelico feels like she’s developed migraine since Artoria arrived. Earlier, she brushed over Artoria’s slip-up successfully without giving Artoria any reason for distrust, but it’s something she can’t ignore.

A certain someone in the future, her name starting with ‘Mor’, supposedly being the core of what’s going wrong.

It feels like a given that this could refer to no one but Morgan.

Though Morgan, the Servant from Pan-Human History, shouldn’t exist in this timeline’s future. And Morgan’s equivalent in Fairy Britain is Tonelico herself.

Tonelico can’t imagine a dystopian future in which fairies like Artoria have a pitiful life because of her actions. How could she be the cause of such a future? A villain when she’s meant to be the very opposite? That seems outrageous.

But Artoria didn’t lie.

“Just what is going to happen…?”

Chapter Text

“Take this!!”

Artoria charges at Tonelico, swinging her already battered staff with all of her force. Tonelico, however, disappears into the ground, submerging herself into a Water Mirror with a smile radiating confidence and joy.

No surprise where she’d pop back up. Artoria knows how much of a one-trick-pony Tonelico is with that spell.

She turns around to face her sparring partner, only for her cheek to be met with Tonelico’s foot almost immediately. Artoria sees stars before she feels the magic energy explode on the touch to add some more destructive power to the attack. Unnecessarily so.

Gracefully, Tonelico lands on her feet, ready for another strike if need be. Half a meter away, Artoria lands on her butt instead, rubs her quickly bruised cheek, and winces at the pain.

“That was uncalled for! Seriously, Tonelico!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Tonelico chuckles. “You’re the one who asked for a rematch, though.”

“A rematch, not a kick to my face!”

“You should’ve evaded. What were you planning there?”

Tonelico reaches out her hand to help Artoria back up, who accepts the help as she sulks at the question. Or rather at being caught in how little she thought about her strategy before employing it. If one can even call her approach that.

“Swing the staff around and knock you out.”

“…figures.” Tonelico sighs. “You can’t always go on the offence, you know?”

“I knooow! But it’s so hard to even get close to you with that dumb spell. I can’t waste a chance like that by leaping back or ducking just to avoid a hit!”

In the last few months, soon after Artoria and Tonelico started studying magecraft together, they started to spar regularly — holding Magi-Matches. Seeing whose magecraft is more destructive… or rather, who’s the stronger mage between the two.

It helps to compare their prowess to each other, spur them on to improve and, most importantly, provides a good outlet for their competitiveness towards each other.

At the start, Artoria stood no chance. Every sparring session was a one-sided beating. Even worse, it was clear that Tonelico went easy on her. But that blow to her pride only fired up Artoria, and she improved her magecraft at an incredible pace.

All just to get back at Tonelico.

Yet, in all those months, Artoria hasn’t won a single Magi-Match. Although Artoria is both more nimble and physically stronger than Tonelico, Tonelico is a better strategist, has a quicker mind, and more importantly: Tonelico is the better mage between the two.

That doesn’t come as a surprise, not with how long Tonelico has been studying and practicing magecraft; she’s practically spent nearly all of her waking time on magecraft studies.

Despite that, Artoria has gotten close to victory a few times already, and her attacks regularly connect by now — which, all things considered, should be enough of a win. Not to Artoria, however.

‘Next time I’ll get her for sure…!’

“Here, let me take a look.”

Tonelico inspects Artoria’s cheek closer. The bruise looks pretty bad. The skin is a bit chafed, too. She carefully touches the wound with her thumb, which makes Artoria wince and inhale sharply.

“Careful! That hurts.”

“Sorry.” Tonelico actually feels bad. “Is it just your cheek, or do you think the impact also hurt your neck? You don’t have a concussion, do you?”

Artoria moves her neck, checking for pain or blockage in her movement. She finds herself to be perfectly fine, though. She’s got no headache and isn’t dizzy either, and she remembers the kick to her face perfectly well.

No problems with her memory of the impact. In fact, she’ll make sure to remember it in detail as further motivation.

“No, I think that’s all good.” Artoria tastes some blood. “I cut the inside of my cheek on my teeth, though.”

“That will heal on its own pretty fast, at least. For your cheek, a herbal bath should speed up the healing process. Should be fine by tomorrow.”

Luckily, none of them ever sustains an actually worrisome injury from these Magi-Matches, even though neither of them ever holds back nowadays. They’d get scolded and probably prohibited from these sparrings if they went too far.

“Tomorrow is your birthday, right?” Artoria asks.

“Yes. After that, I will go on my pilgrimage. So this was our last Magi-Match here, I’m afraid.”

Artoria sees the dark cloud in Tonelico’s mind. Tonelico is hiding something. She’s had the whole time, but her worries have gotten worse lately. It was easier to ignore at first, but now that they’ve gotten closer, Artoria finds it hard to let that pass.

“What’s on your mind, Tonelico?”

“It’s just that I’ll miss spending all my time studying and training with you, Artoria. You’ve actually become like a sister to me, and I really appreciate you in my life.”

The smile Tonelico shows isn’t genuine at all. What she says sounds pretty off, too. Not entirely honest — at least not what she’s truly thinking right now. It’s not a lie either, though. She must know that Artoria can tell.

“Yeah, the pilgrimage will be kinda annoying.” Artoria sighs. “Are you sure you don’t want me to ring any bells?”

“Mhmm. I’m not sure what would happen if a Fairy of Paradise from the future does… or if two Fairies of Paradise do. It’s not your responsibility to begin with. I appreciate you supporting me on the journey, but you shouldn’t burden yourself like that. You have your own goal, after all.”

Artoria’s own goal of preventing Morgan from ascending to the throne. As long as Tonelico maybe actually manages to create her utopia of a country, there would be no Morgan.

With how strong Tonelico already is, she may be able to beat Morgan easily in a battle, too. For once, Artoria dares to feel a little hopeful.

And she’ll cling to this hope and follow Tonelico.

“How are your ribs?” Artoria asks.

“You didn’t hit me that hard, don’t worry. Nothing a herbal bath won’t have healed by tomorrow.”

Artoria refrains from a pout. It’s not that she wants Tonelico to be hurt, but it’d be nice if the few hits Artoria lands wouldn’t be so easy to brush off. If only they could continue their days of studies and spars, but Tonelico is very adamant about starting her pilgrimage tomorrow.

Maybe a birthday is a special occasion, and waiting another full year would unnecessarily delay everything? Not that Artoria would know, she herself has nothing like a birthday.

Although the fairies of Tintagel couldn’t wait for Artoria to turn 20 — for no other reason than the prophecy speaking of it —  a birthday wasn’t granted to Artoria. She’d only picked up by chance that another year had passed. She’s never celebrated her birthday.

Though Tonelico’s isn’t celebrated either. A day like any other, except for it being the start of the pilgrimage of the fairy who will become Tonelico the savior.

“…Artoria?”

Tonelico’s voice pulls Artoria out of her own mind.

“Huh?”

“I just asked you something. Were you even listening?”

“I was!” A defensive lie, only to not admit her fault to Tonelico.

“Is that so?” Tonelico’s eyebrows narrow. She’s not buying it. “In that case, what’s your answer? Yes or no? Given you were listening, you don’t need me to repeat the question.”

‘Ggh… Dammit.’

Artoria is too committed to the stupid lie to backtrack now. At least it’s a yes-or-no question. It can’t be anything too bad, anyway. Artoria simply has to wing it and hope for the best.

“My answer is ‘yes’, obviously.”

Tonelico’s amused smile immediately lets Artoria know she messed up. That was the wrong answer.

“I’m glad you don’t mind bathing together. That will save us some medical herbs, too.”

“… what? Wait, that’s what the question was about!? No way! I definitely mind!”

Nevermind. In this case, backtracking is a very valid approach. Artoria’s face heats up immediately at the realization of her blunder. How could she have expected that to be what Tonelico asked!?

“See, I knew you weren’t listening.” Tonelico pouts. “Won’t you reconsider? You already agreed, too.”

“When I didn’t know what this was about! That doesn’t count.”

Taking a bath together is weird.

It’s not that it’s cramped — no, the bathtub has more than enough space to fit both Artoria and Tonelico easily. But it’s shamefully intimate. There’s not a single centimeter of skin Artoria would be able to hide from Tonelico’s eyes, and she certainly has no interest in seeing that much of Tonelico either.

Despite her protests, though, Artoria finds herself in the bath with Tonelico a mere second later. Water Mirror be damned.

It doesn’t take long for Tonelico to prepare the bath, humming as she adds a few medical herbs that would soothe both fairies’ minor injuries. They should be in perfect shape tomorrow, after all.

Artoria grumbles. She has no idea what Tonelico is up to. There’s a mischievous glint in her clear blue eyes, one that Artoria, over time, found to be common for Tonelico.

Tonelico tries to keep up a good image, and she genuinely is strict about the weirdest, most inconsequential things — but underneath that, Tonelico is the type who will play a trick or two for her own amusement.

In a way, that’s just like Artoria came to believe fairies behave, but in a much less harmful manner.

It can be a pain, and Artoria feels like a fool whenever she falls into a trap Tonelico happened to lay out for her, only to feign ignorance later… but it’s all in good fun.

Annoying, but Artoria has grown fond of this playful streak. It provides a sense of normalcy, something she enjoys.

Though that doesn’t mean Artoria goes along with every single one of Tonelico’s whims.

“Why are you so insistent on sharing a bath today? Taking turns was fine every other time before.”

“I’d like to see it as a rite of passage.” Tonelico’s smile poorly hides more complex intentions. “I— We’ll leave for the pilgrimage tomorrow. I don’t think there’ll be another chance to take a nice bath together any soon.”

If that’s all, Artoria would have an easy time refusing.

Sharing a bath, entirely defenseless, with a Tonelico who is planning something? Yeah, no way. Hard pass. That’s too much.

Underneath that, more strongly, there’s a sense of melancholy to Tonelico’s mood. If not for those damn Fairy Eyes, it would be well hidden. For some reason that Artoria can’t discern, this means more to Tonelico than she’s willing to express.

Artoria doesn’t have it in her to reject Tonelico like this.

With a disgruntled, deep breath, Artoria gives in. Still wary of Tonelico’s intentions, but whatever happens, she knows Tonelico wouldn’t harm her.

“Fine. But don’t do anything weird! And don’t look!” Tonelico’s amused face gets to Artoria. “I mean it! Turn around!”

“All right, all right. If that’s your condition.”

Tonelico raises her hands in resignation and turns around, her back facing Artoria. She doesn’t feel the need to bring up months ago, when Artoria appeared in Orkney, it was Tonelico herself who changed the clothes of the unconscious fairy.

There’s nothing about Artoria’s body Tonelico hasn’t seen before, and nothing too different from her own, in her opinion.

Unsure if Tonelico will stick to that agreement, Artoria turns around herself and undresses. She takes in a sharp breath when fabric brushes over a bruise too roughly, or over chafed skin too carelessly. Not a single serious wound, but her arms and legs are littered with minor injuries.

Artoria walks over to the bathtub, not taking her eyes off Tonelico to make sure she really isn’t looking, then steps into the bathtub. She winces in pain when the hot water engulfs her, irritating the chafed skin and bruises.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long for the herbs’ effect to numb the pain, turning the bath into the source of relaxation a bath should be.

Once she’s sat down, the water reaches her shoulders and Artoria feels that she’s well hidden. Maybe this bathtub really is too luxuriously big, but in a moment like this, it’s a blessing.

“I’m done.”

Tonelico takes off her glasses and puts them onto a small counter near the sink, then disrobes gracefully. Her neatly folded clothes are placed onto a stool, before she turns around and makes her way to the bathtub, seeming unashamed.

Artoria really, really doesn’t want to ogle Tonelico, but from the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help but admire her figure. Before envy rises up in her.

Artoria pouts. Before she realizes, her petty thoughts are voiced.

“How do we have the same face, but that’s where it ends?”

Tonelico, unbothered by that question, gets into the bathtub behind Artoria. Respecting Artoria’s wishes for Tonelico not to look at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Being taller is one thing, and not fair to begin with, but… how can you be bigger in every way that matters!? What did you do to get boobs this big?”

“They aren’t— Geez, why are you so hung up about that?”

Tonelico’s arms wrap around Artoria’s shoulders from behind and pull her in close, smoothly and swiftly enough that Artoria feels Tonelico’s soft breasts against her back before she can react.

“W-what are you—”

“I think yours are cute the way they are. No need to worry.”

“Hmph. That’s easy for you to say…”

Artoria tries to pretend to be unaffected. But how could she be!? Her back resting against Tonelico’s quite well-endowed chest (in Artoria’s opinion), Tonelico’s legs to each side of her…

Bathing together is already intimate no matter what, but in this position, there’s hardly any space between them. Artoria feels her heart rate increase, and her face is quickly heating up. She chalks that up to the water temperature getting to her.

‘Geez… What’s with her?’

Artoria wants to get this over with as quickly as possible.

Tonelico’s hands move to embrace Artoria’s waist instead. Artoria tenses up involuntarily. Tonelico rests her chin on Artoria’s shoulder, her eyes closed. No peeking, she promised.

Though embarrassing, it only takes a peaceful moment of this shared tranquility for Artoria to grow more comfortable. It’s not that bad. In fact, being held like this, surrounded by the hot water soothing her wounds — it’s nice.

Tonelico feels warm and soft, too. Pleasant.

“... wait a sec… How would you even know!?”

Suddenly, Artoria realizes Tonelico can’t form any opinion on Artoria’s body without having seen it before.

“You did look after all! Pervert!!”

“So did you, didn’t you?”

Artoria could swear Tonelico barely pushes her boobs against her back as a reminder. Yeah, she couldn’t have given an envious comment on their size had she not looked. Caught red-handed.

“Ugh…”

‘I fell right into this one…’

“Although… I don’t mind.”

Tonelico’s voice lowers; the sensual tone so close to her ear sends a shiver down Artoria’s spine. She feels like a poor little fly caught in a spider’s web.

As if on cue to the realization, Tonelico’s hand moves up to cup Artoria’s breast. She gives it a light squeeze, pretending to feel for its size and form as if to assess it. Tonelico’s hand is soft and gentle. A pleasant warmth spreads through Artoria’s body at the touch.

“Nnh— W-what are you… doing, Tonelico?”

If Artoria wanted to, she could easily get up, bonk Tonelico on the head as deserved, and stomp out of the bath. If she wanted to.

Instead, she finds herself wanting to lean into the touch, yearning for more. As though she knows that this comfortably warm feeling can turn into something more. Something that’d feel so much better.

It’s not that Artoria thought about this before, she really hasn’t — but out of nowhere, it’s like a switch inside of her got flipped.

“Just a light massage.”

It’s a blatant lie. There’s no need for Fairy Eyes to know that. But Artoria lets it slide. Whatever Tonelico is thinking, whether this was her plan from the beginning — it doesn’t really matter.

Nothing but a moment of shared intimacy between two fairies who’re close; skinship between sisters.

That’s what Tonelico tells herself as well.

‘Please don’t hate me, Artoria.’

“Hahh! Nnmh…”

Tonelico’s thumb finds Artoria’s nipple, brushing over it to elicit gasps, making Artoria squirm in Tonelico’s embrace. Her other hand moves down, halting between Artoria’s legs.

‘But tomorrow… if something happens to me, or to you…’

“W-wait, Tone— Ahhnn…”

Tonelico moves her hand further down, remembering what she’s read in novels hidden in a special private library of hers. Her index and middle fingers explore Artoria’s folds, finding them noticeably wet, even under the water.

She can feel Artoria quiver as the pads of her fingers slide over the slick skin.

‘If one of us finds her end tomorrow, I want to have done this at least once.’

“Hnmmhh—!”

Artoria jumps a little when Tonelico’s fingers brush over her clit. She bites back a moan, feeling ashamed of her lack of self-control, how easily those embarrassing sounds leak out of her mouth, closed or not. Of how willingly her body shows how good it feels.

Shudders travel down Artoria’s spine so delicately, complemented by the sweetly prickling sensation Tonelico’s fingers leave in their wake. Currents of electricity connect each touch directly to the heat pooling in Artoria’s lower abdomen as Tonelico curiously maps out Artoria’s privates with her two fingertips.

Tonelico’s touch quickly becomes something Artoria craves, something irresistible. Whenever she brushes a certain place, Artoria feels a spark; a fresh surge of heat traveling the short distance between her core and her lower stomach immediately.

An addictively tingling sensation courses through her body as a side effect.

“Hahh… Tonelico, that place— Hnnhh!”

It feels good. But Artoria finds quickly that, as indescribably good as she feels, it’s not enough. Instinctively, Artoria closes her legs, but that doesn’t deter Tonelico at all.

Although she has her hand clamped between Artoria’s thighs, Tonelico has enough freedom of movement to lightly scratch the little bundle of nerves that makes Artoria whimper and shudder.

“Ahhnn! Haaahh, T-Tonelicooo!”

“Does it feel good?”

Artoria grits her teeth at this stupid question. Tonelico knows the answer. She doesn’t have to ask. How can she even ask something so shameful this casually? That’s way too embarrassing! Artoria isn’t gonna answer that.

“You should be more honest, Artoria.”

With a complacent smile, Tonelico kisses Artoria’s earlobe. She doesn’t miss the poorly restrained sigh.

Artoria’s reactions are so cute, so addictive. Tonelico wants to touch her more, make her feel even better. Create a memory of shared intimacy, however fleeting this moment may be.

Artoria is leaning back against Tonelico; Tonelico’s body, warm and soft against her own, being the one thing still grounding her. Tonelico switches from a light scratching motion to rub the pads of both her fingers over Artoria’s clit in a circular motion — suddenly intensifying the stimulation with no prior warning.

“Nnhaaaahh! W-wait!”

Artoria rocks her hips against Tonelico’s hand, seeking more friction despite her pleas. The pressure building inside her, along with the sweet pleasure Tonelico’s dexterous fingers provide, overwhelms Artoria’s entire being.

Yet, she knows that a bit more, just a little more — and she’ll reach new heights.

‘Don’t stop now, Tonelico… Please, don’t stop!’

Though Artoria doesn’t understand why, she pleads for Tonelico to continue in her mind. It’d be way too embarrassing to say that out loud. Bad enough to beg like this in her own head. She prays Tonelico understands, or at the very least keeps going either way.

Tonelico knows better than to draw this out longer than necessary.

Artoria is close, there’s no doubt. She wants to see Artoria come undone; to be the one pushing Artoria over this edge.

“Nnnh… Tonelicooo— Hyaaaaahhhnn!!”

Artoria’s voice breaks as she calls out Tonelico’s name the moment she tips over, reaching a climax that flushes any other thought or sensation out of her mind momentarily.

Nothing matters besides Tonelico’s hand on her sex, Tonelico’s hot breath against her ear, Tonelico’s soft breasts squished against her back; nothing but Tonelico.

When Artoria comes down after a sweet moment of bliss that feels like an eternity disconnected from the concept of time, yet entirely too short in every way, she’s breathless, slumped against Tonelico. Who still has her fingers resting against Artoria’s clit.

‘It’s still twitching a little. How cute.’

Tonelico knows better than to say this out loud. She’ll keep it to herself. Although it’s tempting to say it, simply because Artoria would get adorably flustered, raising her voice to deny the undeniable truth.

“You really are a pervert, Tonelico…”

“You looked like you enjoyed yourself, though.”

It only takes the slightly smug tone in Tonelico’s assessment to bring the strength back to Artoria’s limbs — at least enough to turn around and corner Tonelico against the edge of the bathtub.

“Oh, yeah? I wonder how you’d look, then!”

Artoria knows she’s way out of depth here, but she doesn’t care. If she lets Tonelico get away like this, she’ll never hear the end of it. She’ll have to get even — right here, right now.

Besides, diverting her attention keeps Artoria from lingering on ruminations over the meaning of any of this, a welcome change of pace.

Tonelico is surprised; she hasn’t expected Artoria to turn the tables on her. Though she welcomes it. Wondering if it really feels as good as it seemed for Artoria, as divine as her novels make it out to be.

She doesn’t expect the real thing to keep up with fiction, but maybe…

Before Tonelico knows, Artoria’s hand finds its way to Tonelico’s sex. Even under the water, it’s noticeably hot and… wet. Artoria is surprised she can tell. She doesn’t really know whether that’s normal — whether or not it’s a good sign.

“You’re wet.”

‘This stupid girl lacks all sense of delicacy…’

Tonelico’s minor irritation — at having this very obvious and entirely unnecessary detail pointed out so flatly with no regard for the mood — dissipates as Artoria’s fingers poorly attempt to copy Tonelico’s earlier ministrations.

Despite the clumsiness — or maybe because of it — each touch ignites a fluttering feeling deep inside of Tonelico.

“Hahh…”

Tonelico leans her head back on the tub’s rim and sighs softly. Her arms wrap around Artoria’s shoulders, as if to keep her close.

Artoria swallows. That’s not the reaction she expected at all. Why’s there no resistance?

Tonelico isn’t even telling her to stop. It feels so shameful and taboo to do this now, with how flushed Tonelico’s face is, how blissful her expression. The sensual voice can’t be described as anything but sexy.

It spurs Artoria on, feeling the heat in her own abdomen ignite yet again. Though she brushes that aside quickly, focusing on the task at hand, not realizing it’s her arousal clouding her rationality.

Artoria tries to feel around the slick folds with the pads of her fingers and her thumb — looking for that one spot that made her jump when Tonelico touched it.

She finds a protrusion eventually, and when she briefly presses her thumb against it, Tonelico’s back arches and she takes in a sharp breath. Realization flashes across Artoria’s face, soon to be replaced by a smug grin.

‘Found it.’

Artoria almost violently rubs her thumb over the small nub, making Tonelico grit her teeth in pain.

“Geez, you’re way too rough… Can’t you ever do things in a non-aggressive manner!?”

Flustered at having messed up something that came so easily to Tonelico, like it’s the most natural thing, and annoyed at being called out like this, Artoria decides to take the criticism to heart. Moreso than Tonelico would like.

“My bad…”

The sincere apology is mumbled, though Artoria is a fast learner. She adapts right away, trying a different approach. Her thumb circles Tonelico’s clit, only barely touching it. It works like a charm, if Tonelico pushing her hips up against Artoria’s hand is anything to go by.

“Hnnn… Much better…”

Artoria’s heart throbs at Tonelico’s words. Maybe it’s the breathy tone. The flushed cheeks. Or the way Tonelico pulls her even closer, making Artoria nearly lose her balance.

She’s never taken Tonelico as clingy or needy, but maybe this sort of thing brings a new side out of someone.

‘Even Tonelico has a cute side, huh?’

For a change, Artoria gently flicks Tonelico’s clit, letting Tonelico’s whole body tense up at the stimulation. Though she resumes softly circling the sensitive nub again right away.

After all, Tonelico clearly doesn’t want her to be too rough, so Artoria will make sure that won’t happen again.

“Aaahhnn! Nnngh…”

Tonelico grits her teeth. Artoria can tell she’s frustrated, but not in a bad way. Tonelico’s hips push against Artoria’s hand more intently, more desperately. Clearly, this overly gentle touch is enough to make Tonelico shiver, sigh, and whimper; but it’s not enough to give her the pleasure she craves.

Just enough to give her a faint taste, dangling the full course in front of her nose.

“Does it feel good?”

Artoria can’t help but use this opportunity to return the question she herself left unanswered, albeit she asks it in a mocking tone. Turns out it actually isn’t embarrassing at all to ask the question.

Though maybe the intoxicating sight of Tonelico’s flushed face, accompanied by her breathy voice, helps.

“Nnnnh… It does, but…”

Shifting uncomfortably, trying to push her core into Artoria’s hand just the right way to finally feel that sweet friction she needs on her clit, Tonelico is growing impatient. Artoria is playing with her, and she knows it.

It’s infuriating, yet she doesn’t find it in herself to be mad.

“Buuuut?”

Artoria’s thumb pauses its movement on Tonelico’s bud. So close, yet so far. The slightest movement would give Tonelico what she wants, but Artoria is purposely withholding it from her.

Overly frustrated at this delay, Tonelico reaches down to grab Artoria’s wrist, meeting the surprised fairy’s gaze head-on. They both have Fairy Eyes. There’s no need to verbalize what she means, what she needs — Artoria can see it. Like Tonelico can see Artoria is just as aroused as she is.

If nothing else, at least their physical craving for each other is mutual.

Normally, Artoria would scoff at Tonelico’s hypocrisy. Not being able to say what she wants properly, but asking the same from Artoria before.

But looking into those lust-clouded crystal blue eyes, seeing the same longing in Tonelico that she feels in her own core, such pettiness is the farthest thing from her mind.

Artoria relents.

She lowers her head to bite Tonelico’s shoulder — softly enough to not risk breaking skin, but hard enough to let Tonelico feel a little sting. Artoria simply can’t bear the eye contact any longer and seeks a way to avoid it. Having something to keep between her teeth helps calm her nerves as well.

“Hnngh!”

Artoria flicks her thumb over Tonelico’s clit. Slowly at first, softly. Increasing the pace and pressure over time, probing for that sweet spot of the most intense stimulation she can give without it getting uncomfortable, or painful. Tonelico’s legs shiver when she finds it.

“Haaaaahh! T-this is… Aaahhhnn…”

It doesn’t take long for Tonelico’s voice to raise another pitch or two. Clearly, Artoria is doing it right this time. She feels Tonelico clawing at her back. Artoria winces in slight pain, but she doesn’t let up.

Tonelico must be close to that edge, after all, and Artoria really wants to see Tonelico all spent and out of breath. The one win she can get against Tonelico, and such a sexy one at that.

“Nnhaaaah! Artoria, I— Nnnh… I’m— Hyaaaaahhh!!”

Tonelico’s whole body shakes, her hips riding out that high on Artoria’s hand. Artoria lets go of Tonelico’s shoulder, whose arms around Artoria also lost their strength. Making it easy for Artoria to distance herself and inspect the result of her work.

Breasts heaving with each heavy breath Tonelico takes, her head resting on the bathtub’s edge with her eyes closed. Artoria has never seen Tonelico look this blissful before — it makes her heart throb, which she decides to ignore.

Instead, she allows a petty sense of pride to swell up inside her at having beaten Tonelico so clearly.

‘My win.’

Though she doesn’t dare to say that out loud. It’d be bad if Tonelico were to retaliate now. It’s best to enjoy her victory in silence (for now) and maybe brag about it later.

Yeah, that’s a good decision.

Curiously, Artoria notices that there’s still something wet on her fingers. A bit too viscous to be water. Artoria realizes that it’s from Tonelico’s privates, and she can’t help but wonder… So she licks it off her fingers.

Artoria is unsure what she expected, but she’s still let down.

Maybe it’s because of the water, but there isn’t much of a taste. A little bit tangy, with a very faint sweet note; though the latter can be just her own imagination, or wishful thinking.

Artoria wonders if the taste were stronger if one were to lick that place directly, but…

“I believe you’re the pervert here, Artoria.”

‘Ugh…’

Tonelico, yet again, has managed to catch Artoria red-handed. She’ll never live this down, will she? Artoria pouts, her face beet-red.

“You started this.”

“So I did.”

‘How can she be so unashamed!?’

It doesn’t take long for Tonelico to catch herself again, being the well-mannered fairy she’s almost always presenting herself as. As though none of this just now actually happened, or as if it was nothing but a dream.

“Come, let’s properly wash up now. I’ll wash your back for you.”

“… yeah, sure.”

Artoria feels like a fool to be embarrassed about what happened. Maybe it’s not a big deal to begin with, and she’s only overreacting. Possibly this type of intimacy is actually normal between fairies who are close? She wouldn’t know.

Before she ended up here in Orkney, she didn’t have anyone she was that close to, after all.

She decides not to think too much of it. It wasn’t a mistake, nor does she regret it. But Artoria hopes it won’t happen again, if only because she would rather avoid seeing confusing feelings in Tonelico that she can’t quite place.

Much less stir up emotions in herself that she doesn’t understand.

Chapter Text

As if a shared bath isn’t enough intimacy for a day — or maybe a whole week at least — Artoria now finds herself in Tonelico’s room, in utter disbelief at the situation unfolding. Tonelico, in a light blue nightgown made of the softest silky fabric imaginable, is patting the extra pillows she added to her bed for this night.

“This should be enough,” Tonelico says.

“I guess…”

It’s not that Artoria minds a sleepover. In fact, when Tonelico suggested one, she agreed without giving it much thought.

Tonelico’s bed looks softer and is bigger — not by much, but noticeably enough. Spending a night in more luxurious comfort than the surprising amount she’s already been granted since she’s been in Orkney is too tempting to pass.

Since when has Artoria become so greedy? Maybe she’s just always had this side to her, but no opportunity for it to arise.

Not that it matters. Artoria sits down on the bed and finds that while it looks softer, it’s a bit harder than hers. Still much better than a pile of hay, though. Definitely not uncomfortable at all. She shifts around and hears the bed creak a little under her weight.

In the meantime, Tonelico places their clothes on her desk, which she’s tidied up already.

Tomorrow, both she and Artoria will embark on their journey, starting Tonelico’s pilgrimage. For that occasion, they’ve gotten new clothes. As much as Tonelico loves her robe, it’s not the most practical for travel.

She opts for more sturdy black leggings and a white dress with gold highlights that reaches about halfway to her knees. The sleeves are still wide to leave much room, as that’s what she’s used to from her robes — comfort that will remind her of home.

A two-layered hooded shoulder cape to provide more warmth if needed, but easy to discard if impractical in the moment. The hood may come in handy to protect against the weather.

Artoria has decided on a more tightly fitting, plainer white dress than Tonelico, decorated with black buttons rather than gold highlights. Similar black leggings and a navy blue two-layered shoulder cape to complete the outfit. A navy hat that Artoria insisted on, but Tonelico had to be convinced would add to the look.

As Tonelico’s fingers run over the fabric of the neatly folded clothes, she wonders how things will go.

Maybe leaving tomorrow is too early. Maybe it’s too late. Would she find her end in Orkney? Or on her pilgrimage, taken out by one of the calamities she’s only vaguely heard of? Maybe an unfortunate accident, or…

“…—co? Tonelico?”

Artoria’s voice pulls Tonelico out of her ruminations.

“You got that look again. What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Tonelico lies with a smile of false warmth. “I’m just looking forward to the pilgrimage.”

She joins Artoria on her own bed. Either believing that she’s got Artoria fooled, or that Artoria would let this topic go. It’s become a habit for the two of them, anyway.

They cannot lie to each other undetected, but still unanimously value the other’s privacy, so they leave things be. No uncomfortable questions asked, no prying.

Pretending to believe pretense is nothing but a miniscule white lie, barely noticeable on a mountain of already piled up lies. As long as the care for each other is genuine, such is the lesser evil.

Artoria lets herself fall flat on her back on Tonelico’s bed with a deep sigh.

“Aren’t you looking forward to it, Artoria?”

“I don’t know.”

Almost like a cat, Artoria stretches her tired limbs before she yawns with her mouth wide open. Tonelico bites her tongue; this isn’t the time to criticize Artoria’s lack of manners.

Not with tomorrow being a big uncertainty. But seriously, how often has she already told Artoria that this is very unladylike behavior? It can’t be that hard to at least cover one’s mouth.

“I wanted to run away and avoid my own pilgrimage, but… This time around, it’s different.”

If she were honest, Artoria would have to admit she’s actually looking forward to it a bit.

It’s ironic, really. When it was her own responsibility and something everyone equally expected of her and loathed her for, Artoria wanted nothing more than to shirk her duties entirely, dreaming of a normal life that seemed unattainable. But now?

It’s not Artoria’s pilgrimage, and she’s not the Child of Prophecy. Instead, it’s Tonelico’s pilgrimage, and Artoria is simply Artoria. It’s her own decision to accompany and support Tonelico — although it’s for her own goal rather than Tonelico’s — and that makes it so much easier.

If she were to fail, nobody would be disappointed. Rather, she’s already failed as Child of Prophecy by being here now, anyway.

The normal life she’s always wanted is something that’s now surprisingly easy to leave behind in favor of a pilgrimage that’s not her own. One that she is confident she can be useful on in her own way.

“Because you’re not alone?”

Artoria considers that thought for a moment, and it puts a smile on her face. Which she shakes off as soon as she notices it, her cheeks taking on a rosy color.

Sure, anything’s less daunting if you have someone by your side, but still. She doesn’t want Tonelico to read into it. Although, admittedly, having Tonelico in her life is something that’s grown on her. She wouldn’t want to miss Tonelico anymore.

“No… Well, I guess. I mean!” Artoria groans in frustration at stumbling over her own words as Tonelico gives a light chuckle. “That makes it less scary, yeah. But also, this time, it was my choice.”

“I see.”

Tonelico lies down as well, turning her face to look at Artoria’s profile. Artoria has come quite a long way. At the start, she was so guarded and pessimistic.

By now she’s considerably opened up and shows more of the personality hidden under layers of negative emotions and a habit of trying to live up to expectations she’s hated ever since.

It warms Tonelico’s heart to see Artoria like this. Carefree, relaxed, and somewhat flustered.

Although Tonelico knows it’s a respite with limited time. Tomorrow will be a crucial day. Artoria must be from a future in which Tonelico’s life doesn’t end tomorrow — a future to a past in which Artoria wasn’t by Tonelico’s side.

Her mere presence here is an unpredictable factor in a fate that’s already too vague to circumvent reliably. A risk.

To ensure her own survival — or at least raise her chances to the maximum she can achieve — Artoria should’ve been removed from the equation. Tonelico knows that. She understands that fact; it’s never been something she questioned.

If it were Morgan, she would at the very least bend Artoria to her will. In the case that doesn’t work, she would kill Artoria without second thoughts.

And yet, Tonelico faltered.

Not as the Fairy of Paradise, who has no right to end the life of a fairy who did no wrong, but as the Rain Witch Tonelico, who couldn’t bring it over her heart to kill someone who is something akin to her younger sister.

At the very least, as long as there is no concrete evidence, no unshakable reason to believe Artoria would be a threat to Tonelico’s dream or survival, Tonelico would refuse to take this life. That’s the conclusion she’s reached back on that day she met Artoria.

Now, at this very moment, she’s glad she made this decision.

If keeping Artoria by her side turns out to be the wrong decision, leading to the demise that was predetermined for Tonelico from the very beginning — if not for the attempted intervention of Morgan from Pan-Human History — then so be it.

Tonelico will accept that fate as the consequence of her own decision. That’s the feeling blooming up in her chest as the recalls the last few months with Artoria. Having those memories is worth risking everything for.

Tonelico knows it’s wrong to feel that way as a Fairy of Paradise; she shouldn’t cling to such worldly affections. Her duty — her dream — stands above all, and if Artoria poses a threat to fulfilling it, then Artoria should be removed from her life. She knows that much, and yet…

A finger prods Tonelico’s cheek. Removed from the spiral she finds herself in whenever she thinks this over, Tonelico snaps back to reality to see Artoria pout as she meets her gaze.

“You’ve been staring, Tonelico.”

“I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.”

‘No point in dwelling on that now,’ Tonelico decides.

She takes off her glasses and puts them on her nightstand, turning off the room’s light with a movement of her hand. It’s getting late, and they have to get up early tomorrow. The earlier they leave, the better. Probably.

Tonelico drapes the blanket over both of them.

Artoria would ask yet again what she’s been thinking about if Tonelico gave her the chance. But her concerns are her own cross to bear, not Artoria’s. An older sister’s job is to protect and take care of her younger sister, that’s what Tonelico learned from Amelia.

“Goodnight, Artoria. Sweet dreams.”

“… Goodnight.”

Artoria turns around to face the wall rather than Tonelico. Although they’re not nearly touching, sharing the bed feels warm and comfortable. She can faintly hear Tonelico breathing behind her; slowly and flatly, probably already asleep. Does Tonelico not have any difficulty finding sleep, unlike herself?

‘I wonder what got her so worried…’

Obviously, Artoria knows it’s futile to ask.

Tonelico avoided the question with such certainty; she would simply say that it’s ‘nothing’ as she usually does and that would be the end of it. Frustrating.

While it was an unbearable burden for Artoria to be expected to fix problems both within and beyond her capabilities, she now finds it so much worse when troubles bothering one she cares about are kept from her.

Artoria genuinely wants to help Tonelico, who’s shown her fake smile more often than her real one the closer they got to the start of the pilgrimage. But there’s nothing she can do. Fairy Eyes can’t read a mind, and for the first and only time in her life, Artoria wishes they could; rather than wishing to not have them at all.

‘No point dwelling on it,’ Artoria thinks.

Searching for more warmth, Artoria moves a little closer to Tonelico, until she feels Tonelico’s warmth against her back. Not long after, Tonelico — asleep or not, Artoria can’t tell — puts her arm over Artoria’s waist.

Artoria tenses up at first. She really doesn’t want to get caught seeking Tonelico’s proximity. But when there’s no further movement and no words, not even a whisper, Artoria relaxes into the embrace.

It’s nice. Pleasantly warm. Tonelico’s scent brings comfort; she smells like home. Maybe, just maybe, this can even keep the nightly terrors at bay. At the very least, Artoria feels protected and safe like this. A feeling she’s never known when she went to sleep.

After a short while, Artoria dozes off into a peacefully deep slumber.

In the morning, Tonelico wakes up to find herself rather immobilized. Sometime at night while they were both asleep, it appears that Artoria wrapped her arms around Tonelico and is still clinging to her tightly.

Tonelico tries to free herself from the iron grip gently but finds the endeavor futile. Artoria is holding onto Tonelico as if her life depended on it.

‘How strong is she?’

Artoria rouses, giving Tonelico faint hope that she’s awake. Ready to start the day. That hopes dies as quickly as it sparks when Artoria only nuzzles her face into Tonelico’s chest with a soft mumble.

“Nnmmh…”

“Artoria? Artoria, it’s morning. Time to wake up.”

“Nngh…”

Tonelico is growing a little impatient. Artoria clearly isn’t entirely asleep anymore, given she reacts almost verbally. Though her intent to stay like this for longer, to laze off in the comfort of bed, is just as obvious.

Luckily, Tonelico has a good idea what would help, given she knows Artoria well enough by now.

“I don’t mind a hug, but I’d appreciate if you didn’t take advantage of my sleep to bury your face in my breasts.”

Immediately, Artoria startles. She goes from half-asleep to fully awake in less than a second, pushing herself away from Tonelico in a poor attempt to save face, as though she could hide this blunder from Tonelico anymore.

“I’m glad that you’re finally awake. Good morning.”

Tonelico’s amused chuckle really gets on Artoria’s nerves. She’s just mocking her, right? How did she end up in that position, anyway? Artoria must have mistaken Tonelico’s boobs for a pillow in her sleep, so she tells herself at least.

“Morning…” Artoria rubs the sleep out of her eyes. “Ah! Right. Happy birthday… That’s what’s said, right?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Finally free of Artoria’s hold, Tonelico gets up and stretches her back. She doesn’t know how long they’ve been in this position, but she can feel her body being sore.

Sharing the bed sounded like a sweet idea to make another precious memory to hold on to, just in case, but reality always has a way to crush delightful dreams like this. No, Tonelico still cherishes the morning of waking up with Artoria clinging to her so unabashedly.

The new clothes fit perfectly. They feel natural, almost like a second skin. In front of the mirror in her room, Tonelico stops braiding her hair and combs the braid out with her fingers. This would take too long to keep doing every day on a journey, so she should opt for a simpler hairstyle. Also, something’s missing.

Tonelico takes a black and navy ribbon with golden rims out of a wooden chest she keeps on her dresser. She ties her hair into a ponytail with the ribbon. It’s a different look — less refined and elegant, Tonelico feels.

But not bad at all.

Tonelico can’t help but smile at her reflection in the mirror. Last year for her birthday, she received this ribbon from her mother, the Rain Clan’s head, as a birthday present.

She’d cherished it too much to wear it, too afraid to dirty or rip it in her training. But now that she’s going to leave, Tonelico wants to bring a piece of home, of her family, on her journey with her. Maybe it’ll work as a good luck charm.

Even if it doesn’t, it carries this special sense of nostalgia only an important gift from someone you cherish could.

Artoria is a bit more sluggish in the morning. Although Tonelico wants to exhale sharply at Artoria’s tardiness, she refrains. At least she’s finally gotten dressed by now.

“Shall I do your hair?”

“Sure, if you want to.”

Tonelico smiles as warmth bubbles up inside of her. Artoria never minded letting Tonelico do her hair, but Tonelico knows all too well that this was usually rooted in laziness. That’s the type of fairy Artoria is.

But by now, it’s not only that anymore. Although Artoria doesn’t say so, there’s no need to. Just like Tonelico, Artoria simply enjoys such sweet moments.

There’s nothing special about them. They’re not particularly intimate. And yet, times like these are when the two Fairies of Paradise feel connected in their own shared moment, almost removed from time and space.

After brushing the golden locks, Tonelico takes two hair ties and ties Artoria’s hair into the twintails hairstyle she always wears. Though Tonelico is more meticulous, so none of it looks messy. There are no stray strands found near the hair ties.

Finally, she takes the ribbon she wears with her usual robe and ties it around Artoria’s chest.

“I wear one in my hair. It’s only natural if you wear one as well. Now we match.”

Although Artoria’s — formerly Tonelico’s — is plain black, decorated with a red gem. Still, they’re similar enough. Artoria feels strangely happy about this insignificant gesture.

“Can I keep it?”

“Of course. It’s yours now.”

Suddenly, a loud crash disrupts the peace shared between the two fairies. The ground shakes violently. Artoria trips over her own feet, falling into Tonelico’s arms, who catches Artoria instinctively.

‘… is this…!?’

Tonelico grits her teeth. Too late. She’s too late after all. They should’ve left yesterday. Maybe even before. A thousand thoughts race through her mind simultaneously, most of them focused on how she’s messed up.

“We have to leave. Now.”

Artoria looks at Tonelico in shock. She can tell Tonelico is serious, more serious than she’s ever seen her before. It’s a matter of life and death. Artoria swallows, before she realizes a crucial detail Tonelico missed.

“What about Regina? And Reinhard, and Amelia? And the other fairies!?”

‘What should I do… What’s the right decision!?’

Tonelico curses Morgan for not giving her enough information to know the answer to any of the questions occupying her mind. She must leave. She’ll die if she doesn’t escape, every cell of her body screams that at her.

It’s something Tonelico just knows on an instinctual level.

And yet… Her family is still here. There are voices in and around the castle, none of them pleasant. Something akin to explosions can be heard in the distance, though Tonelico tells herself it’s only her imagination. Tonelico takes her staff.

“Let’s head for the throne room. It’s not far.”

Artoria nods and follows Tonelico as she runs out of her room with a sense of urgency neither of them has felt before. Any second lost could prove disastrous. Passing the windows, they see the outside. The sight isn’t pretty.

Fairies of various clans, both armed and unarmed, running berserk in Orkney. Any Rain Clan fairy unfortunate enough to be spotted is maimed, beheaded, ripped apart. Blood isn’t only flowing, it’s gushing out of wounds that aren’t just lethal, but unnecessarily cruel.

It doesn’t matter if they fight back. It doesn’t matter if they beg for their lives. It doesn’t matter if they cry. The attackers know no mercy. They’re led by bloodlust, a hunger for violence that can’t be quenched, no matter how much blood and guts they spill.

Tonelico grabs Artoria’s hand to pull her along. If she could, she would pry Artoria’s eyes away from this massacre as well, but her hands are tied. She should’ve used her Water Mirror spell. Saving it for the escape, knowing of her limited magic, feels like the wrong choice now.

Her own eyes are trained on the way forward. Tonelico can’t allow herself to acknowledge what’s happening around the castle right now, and surely in the castle as well. It would distract her from what she can still do.

Hopefully, the throne room is still safe. If only she can at least save her family. At least them. Her hand grips Artoria’s more tightly.

Artoria can’t believe what she’s seeing outside of the castle. This past has been peaceful, hasn’t it? Orkney was peaceful. All of a sudden, it’s come to this…?

It’s even worse than the cruelty she knows fairies are capable of. Her mind struggles to keep up with the events. She’s shivering. Whether from fear, anger, or a combination of both, Artoria can’t tell.

In the hallway leading to the throne room, on the last stretch, Amelia stops them. She’s running in a panic, having expected the two Fairies of Paradise to head this way.

“Just what are you two thinking!? You two need to leave Orkney, quickly!”

“What about Father? And Mother? And—”

‘The other fairies of the Rain Clan,’ Tonelico finishes in her head.

She knows the answer.

While the castle has been quiet, and the noise dulled by the walls, it’s become clearer by the minute. The fairies entered the castle not too long ago. No longer limited to outside the castle, the inside must have become a massacre by now as well.

All her senses tell her the truth a part of her refuses to believe even now. The smell of blood, the number of screams decreasing, making room for nothing but battle cries, and orders to ‘find the Fairy of Paradise’.

It’s an all too clear situation. Tonelico’s stomach churns. It hurts.

Amelia simply shakes her head. Though she doesn’t know the current state of the king and queen of the Rain Clan either, their fate is clear. If they are still breathing now, it’s their last or second to last breath.

The Rain Clan is pacifistic down to its core. Even at a time like this, even if they try to defend themselves — they’ll be overpowered with ease. It’s not a battle or a war, it’s slaughter.

Tonelico takes a deep breath, though the smell of death lingering in Orkney makes her wretch. This isn’t the time to lose oneself to emotions and panic, though, so she doesn’t allow herself that luxury.

She can’t.

She has to live, and she has to protect Artoria, whose hand she feels tremble in her own. Whose rage and hurt she can feel radiating.

“I understand.”

As much as Tonelico doesn’t want to do this, as much as she would rather fight all the clans with her bare hands than let her family die — it’s a feat she can’t accomplish. It constricts her heart, but she knows her limits.

“I will go and pretend to be the Fairy of Paradise. They know neither your name nor face. I am sure they won’t be able to tell the difference.”

Tonelico swallows and forces her heart to freeze over, lest she wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears she wants to shed.

The Rain Clan’s princess Amelia, her sister who has been by her side and taken care of her for as long as she can remember, who’s read books to her and taught her how to read — she is set on sacrificing herself for the sake of saving Tonelico’s life, along with Artoria’s.

There’s no anger in Amelia, and even the sadness takes a backseat to her determination to protect her sisters.

Tonelico knows she would never be able to live up to Amelia as an older sister. Nobody would.

As much as Tonelico wants to cling to Amelia now for a reassuring sense of security, she can’t. Amelia’s mind is made up, and Tonelico has to accept her decision.

It’s Artoria who takes issue with this, and it hardly takes Fairy Eyes to see the anger in the short fairy reach its boiling point. She’s held back so far, too overcome by emotions to think or speak, functioning only on autopilot.

“But—”

“Artoria, we don’t have time,” Amelia says sternly. “Tonelico, you understand the situation, right? Please, take Artoria and leave. You should be able to make it out of the castle unharmed. They won’t be looking for another Fairy of Paradise. For once, I’m glad you have your Water Mirror spell.”

“If we leave now, you’ll—”

Artoria doesn’t get to finish her complaint as Tonelico puts her hand to Artoria’s nape and sends a shock through her system, paralyzing her.

Luckily, Artoria is short and light, so Tonelico can easily carry the immobile but conscious fairy on her back after gently closing her eyelids for her. To keep her eyes from drying, and to shield Artoria from the sights on their way. She’s seen more than enough by now.

Tonelico’s hands are trembling, Artoria notices.

Amelia gives Tonelico a warm smile. She’s glad that her sister catches on so quickly, and that Tonelico is able to make the right call. Even in the worst of hardships. Nothing is won if Tonelico and Artoria die here as well. The Rain Clan lives on with them.

“Thank you, Amelia. I am grateful to you, to Mother, to Father… to all of the Rain Clan fairies. I will never be able to repay your kindness.”

That’s the least Tonelico can say.

There’s nothing she can do. It’s only because of her that these gentle fairies are getting eradicated, if only they hadn’t taken her in… If only she’d considered this possibility rather than focus on herself being the sole target meant to die on this day.

If only she’d left earlier. Way earlier. She may be long dead by now, but the Rain Clan would still live in peace.

Amelia takes a deep breath. She doesn’t have Fairy Eyes, but she’s known Tonelico for long enough.

“Don’t blame yourself. You didn’t choose to be a Fairy of Paradise. We took you in and raised you because we wanted to. Even though it has led to—… We don’t regret it. Mother, Father, and I — even if we knew this would be the outcome, we would still raise you just the same. I know the rest of the Rain Clan feels the same. That goes for Artoria, too. The two of you are fairies of the Rain Clan, just like us.”

Tonelico chokes back tears.

“You grew into a good fairy, Tonelico. We— I’m very proud of you. It’s a shame that we won’t be able to watch over your pilgrimage, and see you fulfill your destiny… But Mother was always certain that you would turn this country into a peaceful, beautiful place. As the Fairy of Paradise, you will be just in your judgement. You will bring salvation. I believe in you, too.”

Amelia turns around and collects all her inner strength for the sacrifice she’s about to make.

“I’m glad I don’t have to worry as much about you, since you won’t be alone. I couldn’t have wished for someone better than Artoria to keep you company. I pray that the two of you will make it out of this safely, Tonelico and Artoria. Take care of each other. Live on. For the Rain Clan.”

As Amelia takes off running towards the throne room where the voices seem to pick up, Tonelico turns around and swings her staff. Water Mirror is her forte, and although she cannot cover too big a distance at her current level, it’s how she’s making her escape with Artoria. One change of location at a time.

The few times she finds herself surrounded by fairies lusting for blood, Tonelico doesn’t hesitate to turn her staff into a spear and pierce the hearts of her enemies.

Splattered, foreign blood only feels warm for a moment before it dries. Even with her soul scarred, her heart shattered, and her hands blood-stained, Tonelico is undeterred in her escape from the land of the rain, her grip on Artoria not loosening for even a split second.

Finally, Tonelico reaches a cliff at the far edge of the Rain Clan’s territory. Removed from the spilling of blood and guts. When she turns around, she can see Orkney aflame. The adrenaline in her subsides.

As the rain falls on Orkney, unable to extinguish the flames of war and hatred, Tonelico’s tears finally fall as she sinks to her knees. Within such a brief moment, Tonelico has lost everything she’s held dear so easily.

Everything with one sole exception: Artoria Caster.

Tonelico clings to the still paralyzed fairy for dear life as she wails her pain out of her soul.

After a brief moment, Tonelico catches herself again. This isn’t the time to grieve. They’re still close; this area isn’t safe. She puts Artoria down and cancels the immobilization. Artoria shoots up and glares at Tonelico.

“What was that for!? We could’ve— We could’ve…”

Artoria sees the pain in Tonelico’s eyes. The crystal blue is dulled now. Her hands are covered in dry blood, some of which is clinging to her cheek and hair as well.

The rage Artoria was about to fly into subsides at this pitiful sight. Tonelico feels the same as her, but worse. It’s heartbreaking to see. Even more crushing is that Tonelico forces herself to keep going, as though she’s unaffected.

“We need to go. You can walk on your own, right?”

Tonelico gets up again and starts walking south. She doesn’t wait for Artoria’s response, but Artoria follows.

They strut along the route Tonelico chooses in silence.

Tonelico focuses on her task, her pilgrimage, and finding a place to camp for the night — pushing Orkney and the Rain Clan out of her mind.

And Artoria wants to say so many things, anything to lessen the pain — aware there’s nothing she can do or say to heal Tonelico’s shattered heart.

Artoria’s hopes deflate. How stupid was she? She knows the cruelty of fairies and how beyond saving they are.

This world is a cruel one. It should just perish already.

She’s known that ever since she can remember, and yet Tonelico’s naïve dreams of utopia and determination to make it happen lulled her into the fantasy as well.

Utterly foolish, the two of them. Look where their hopes and dreams got them now.

Keeping her eyes glued to the ground, Artoria suddenly spots a pair of glasses lying in the grass. Carelessly thrown aside. They’re Tonelico’s. Artoria picks them up, but all she sees in front of her is Tonelico’s back, the ponytail swaying side to side as she keeps walking undeterred.

“Tonelico, your glasses…”

“Leave them. I won’t need glasses anymore.”

Somehow, that stings Artoria’s heart. Tonelico is far-sighted, so she’s fine without her glasses, unless she wants to read. The thing she’s loved most — but now she’s given up on that.

It feels like Tonelico isn’t Tonelico anymore, changing into someone marked by despair and suffering, leaving no remains of the fairy she used to be.

Artoria puts Tonelico’s glasses into her pocket. She can’t bring it over herself to leave them behind. It’d be like leaving the Tonelico she knows behind in the ruins of Orkney — a thought too painful to bear.

Once night engulfs them, Tonelico finally settles down in a small forest. She absentmindedly collects firewood and builds a campfire.

They left in such a hurry that they didn’t bring a tent or any luggage. All they have is each other now. Tonelico sits down and stares at the fire, forcing herself to remember the vivid image of her home ablaze, unable to do anything.

Tonelico will burn that image into her mind. And she’ll desensitize herself to this memory at the same time. She will numb the pain and close off her heart.

If the other clans want to stand against the Fairy of Paradise and everyone associating with her, so be it. Tonelico won’t forgive them. She won’t hold back. On this day, they forfeited their lives by killing the Rain Clan.

Artoria isn’t sure where to look anymore. Seeing the fire brings back memories that are way too recent. It hurts.

Seeing Tonelico’s empty eyes is even more painful. Artoria simply looks at her boots.

This morning, they were still new, but after this day of walking, the slightly worn look makes it feel like a more distant memory. As though it wasn’t only hours ago that the Rain Clan was still alive, in peace.

As though it wasn’t only a few hours ago that Tonelico and Artoria were happy, looking forward to taking on Tonelico’s pilgrimage together. At this point, Artoria thinks the fairies deserve Morgan’s rule.

She’s only spent a few months in Orkney, but the Rain Clan was genuinely kind and caring. They were good fairies.

When Artoria remembers she didn’t know of a Rain Clan before meeting Tonelico, she feels sick. She should’ve realized that this clan is unfamiliar to her earlier. She should have told Tonelico, and then maybe—

“Maybe I should have killed you when you appeared.”

The bitter regret leaves Tonelico’s mouth before she can so much as stop herself. Not that she possesses the headspace necessary to mind her words anymore. Her eyes are still trained on the crackling fire, a reminder of the all-to-recent fate that befell the home she loved.

For no other reason but her own cursed existence.

Artoria’s eyes widen in shock. She swallows. The words pierce her heart, their echoes reverberating the pain throughout her whole chest.

As her bleeding heart sinks and her stomach churns, Artoria feels herself choke on words she can’t force over her lips. Holding back the tears that are welling up makes her eyes sting.

Part of her refuses to believe her ears. Another part feels a carnal anger boiling up from the depths of her broken soul. More than anything, it’s simply painful; emotionally and physically.

“W-what…? What did you just say!?”

“… It’s nothing. Don’t mind it.”

Tonelico lies down on her side, her back facing Artoria. She wouldn’t be able to sleep, but her body needs rest.

In this moment, Tonelico wishes for nothing more than her bitter lie to be true. She wishes she’d genuinely believe that Artoria’s death would be for the better.

If only Tonelico felt no attachment to Artoria, she wouldn’t have to endure this crippling fear of eventually losing her as well. Artoria, who is all Tonelico has left, and who doesn’t belong in this time in the first place.

On the other side of the fire, Artoria simply wishes lies couldn’t hurt.

Chapter Text

Sitting on a rock, her head propped up on her hands, Artoria is left to her own devices for a while again. Time to ponder over the past and current situation, not that it changes anything.

It’s been a couple of days since Tonelico embarked on her pilgrimage, Artoria in tow.

Only a few days since Orkney’s downfall.

Since Tonelico told Artoria that she should’ve killed her weeks ago.

Remembering those words leaving Tonelico’s mouth, and the indifferent tone, still makes Artoria’s heart feel as though countless shards of glass pierce it. They’re not kind enough to stop the beating of her heart or rip it apart to numbness.

Artoria knows Tonelico doesn’t mean it. Tonelico didn’t mean it when she said it.

And yet, it hurts. Unbelievably so. Too much to even cry, as though the pain is the only emotion permitted in her soul. All-encompassing. As though no amount of tears could do this crushing, suffocating feeling justice.

Artoria wants to be mad at Tonelico. Complain, scold her, yell at her, hit her — make Tonelico admit she didn’t mean it.

The thought of Tonelico taking back the words — the obvious lie — feels too good to be true. The old Tonelico would’ve said it with a gentle smile, adding a ‘You didn’t actually believe that, did you?’ as if it was nothing but a tasteless prank.

Seeing the old Tonelico again would heal Artoria’s heart, at the very least it would remove some of the shards digging into it with every breath she takes. Hearing an admission of a lie from Tonelico herself may be her only salvation.

That’s exactly why Artoria is reluctant.

If she were to speak up, Tonelico might reinforce her original statement. While it was a lie a few days ago, it could be true the next time Tonelico says it.

Artoria doubts she could take it as truth if a lie already hurts this much. It’s not something Artoria wants to experience. She’d rather swallow those feelings and bury them deep inside of her.

Eventually, time will heal that wound; so she tells herself. Not that she believes it.

In contrast, Tonelico already had her act together again the very next day after spouting such a cruel thing. She didn’t mention it anymore, and she didn’t take it back either. She didn’t apologize.

Not then, not until now. As though it all didn’t happen — as though it’s a cruel hallucination Artoria made up for no other reason but to torment herself — Tonelico hasn’t talked of that day since. Not even about Orkney.

She’s acting as the kind, proper Fairy of Paradise, with a smile that oozes fake. Excruciatingly so. It’s a mask for the hurt, numbness, regret, and anger swirling inside of her. Surrounding her like a heavy thunderstorm constantly, engulfing Tonelico at its heart.

Tonelico doesn’t allow herself the time or space to grieve. It’s heartbreaking to watch.

Artoria takes out Tonelico’s glasses from her pocket. The keepsake from the happy times that she refuses to let go. The lenses are smudged. Artoria never needed glasses, so she’s not used to handling them.

However many times she tries to clean the lenses — they were always perfectly clear when Tonelico wore her glasses — there’ll still be smudges and streaks.

To Artoria, the glasses feel like a reflection of Tonelico. Still there and recognizable, the same as always, but dirtied and blurred. And try as Artoria might, she cannot restore the glasses to their former shine; the same way she can’t bring the old Tonelico from Orkney back.

At least the speckles of blood could be cleaned off. If only the same could be said of the blood on Tonelico’s hands, that, although washed off physically, will remain there for life mentally. It’s something you never stop seeing; not with your eyes, but with your heart.

Once Artoria has put the glasses back into her pocket, she looks at the distant town. She wonders when Tonelico would return. This is already the second bell she’ll ring.

Although Artoria insisted to tag along for the first one not too long ago — after all, they planned to tackle this pilgrimage together — Tonelico vehemently refused. With a fake smile cold enough to give anyone chills. A warning. Artoria complied.

Tonelico leaves no room for argument, and she doesn’t give any reason. Compliance is forced, presented as the only option.

Artoria doesn’t like how Tonelico keeps her out of everything, even more so than before. But even so, she begrudgingly lets it happen.

Artoria wants to trust in the Tonelico she knows; believing that the kind-hearted but strict bookworm is still there. Somewhere deep inside of the broken fairy trying her utmost to keep herself going.

But ever since Tonelico returned after ringing the first bell, Artoria hasn’t been so sure anymore.

From the very beginning, Tonelico has been a genius — a prodigy. Knowing countless spells and theories, soaking up knowledge like a dried sponge desperate for water. It was hard — near impossible — for Artoria to even have a chance at keeping up.

Artoria never truly reached Tonelico’s level. Maybe she could’ve if they had more time. Not anymore.

It’s as though ringing a bell removes a limiter on Tonelico’s true power. If she was a gifted witch before, she’s turning more into force of nature with every bell she rings. The gap that existed between Tonelico and Artoria ever since has become impossible to bridge after a single bell. It will only widen exponentially with every other bell.

Any chance Artoria has ever had at standing up to Tonelico is gone now. Tonelico doesn’t need to rely on words alone to force compliance. She could use other means.

Would she?

Artoria doesn’t want to entertain that thought. It feels wretched and wrong. Tonelico wouldn’t — there’s no way Tonelico would do something like that.

And long as Tonelico doesn’t do anything too awful (dangerous), Artoria would stay by her side and support her. Not like she has much of a choice, or anywhere else to go.

But what if Tonelico strays from that path? What can Artoria even do then? Nothing.

It’s hopeless.

Artoria finds herself back to square one in this forsaken place, in well above her head. Only now she knows more about the extolled savior than the fairies of her time do, and it proves her pessimism right.

Tonelico, this utterly broken girl, is the savior whose legends persist, painting her as this perfect fairy? What a joke. Ridiculous. She’s suffered too much.

A savior who starts out losing everything.

The Rain Clan was going to perish eventually, sometime before her time; Artoria knows that for a fact. She should have told Tonelico. Artoria feels immense guilt choking her for not saying anything.

It’s her fault Tonelico has to go through this. Her fault she, too, lost her home — the one family she’s had in her life.

By ending up way in the past, Artoria wound up with this one chance to change something, but she didn’t amount to anything. As both a Fairy of Paradise and as Tonelico’s sister, she’s an utter failure.

Any and all expectations placed on Artoria went disappointed as usual. No matter how hard Artoria works or tries, it doesn’t amount to anything. Anything but pain.

“Sorry, it took a bit longer than I expected. Were you bored?”

Tonelico returns with an apologetic smile. The apology is genuine, at least. The smile isn’t. She smells like blood. Tonelico’s hands are wet and some water droplets cling to her hair.

Tonelico must have washed off the blood before she returned, keeping up an image that Artoria knows isn’t true.

Ever since that day in Orkney, Artoria knows Tonelico isn’t one to hold back in actual combat. If one is in her way and a threat to her life — or someone else’s — she will cut them down without hesitation.

Killing her own heart before she strikes as to protect her soul from the cruelties she deems necessary to commit.

Artoria doesn’t want to know what exactly happened. Her image of Tonelico shouldn’t get more smudged. She wishes Tonelico wouldn’t have to spill any blood anymore; Tonelico should be able to spend her days in her study, reading books as the rain patters against the window.

“No, it’s fine. Are we done here?” Artoria plays along, keeping her thoughts and feelings to herself. This is for the better.

“Mhmm. I think we should camp in the nearby forest tonight. We could hunt a boar. You haven’t had a proper meal in days, right?”

Tonelico tries her best to accommodate and care for Artoria. But it’s all distraction. Distracting Artoria from prying and noticing too much, simultaneously distracting herself from the pain and second thoughts. Staying active does wonders.

“Yeah, sounds good. We still have some salt, too.”

They’ve both turned into full-blown liars and pretenders by now.

Human, fairy, Fairy of Paradise — it doesn’t seem to matter of which species an individual is: When it gets hard, one flees into the comforting fortress of lies. Keeping out the truth and reality for the sake of protecting one’s heart from further destruction.

Keeping relationships on necessary life support as to not lose them entirely.

In nearby woods, Tonelico and Artoria find a small clearing to make their camp for the night. Tonelico takes off her shoulder cape to drape it over the ground as a makeshift bed, and Artoria follows suit.

Thanks to the layer of leaves on grass on soft soil, the ground isn’t too awful to sleep on. Though it doesn’t get close to sleeping in a proper bed. For Artoria, this lack of luxurious comfort feels melancholically nostalgic — only Tonelico keeps them safer from the weather than the cheap barn of Artoria’s life in Tintagel.

Tonelico takes her staff into her hand, transforming it into a spear. Surprisingly, she actually waits for Artoria, rather than going off on her own. As though it’s the most natural thing.

‘Why bother waiting and bringing me along now? You don’t do that when you ring the bells.’

Artoria can almost taste the bile. She wants to hurl those words at Tonelico, but bites her tongue. Lest, the one realization burning itself more into her soul with each passing day may slip out, too.

‘You don’t need me.’

Instead, she gets up and pats her thighs. Tonelico promised Artoria a new staff a while ago — back in Orkney, she didn’t take hers, and now it’s too late to recover it. Not that it’s of importance, it was merely a cheap staff.

Where her Staff of Selection is, Artoria doesn’t know. Probably still in the future she’s meant to live in. Any staff would do, but staffs aren’t exactly the most common tool to be found when fairies don’t normally use magecraft and have no need for them.

Not that Artoria herself has a need for a staff when she doesn’t have to use her magecraft either, with Tonelico taking everything upon herself.

It’s so frustrating.

“I’m coming,” Artoria says.

Her eyes betray her true feelings of inadequateness, but Tonelico doesn’t comment on that.

It takes a while for them to spot a boar nearby. Artoria being the first to notice the leaves rustling, and the distant grunts of a beast. Gifted as Tonelico is, Artoria can at least take pride in having the sharper senses. Not that it’s a real advantage.

“Over there.” Artoria’s voice is a whisper. “Between those two trees there. Under that dead branch.”

“Got it.” Tonelico’s gaze follows where Artoria’s finger is pointing. “Don’t get startled. I want to try something.”

Artoria shoots Tonelico a quizzical look. Tonelico closes her eyes and focuses, taking a deep breath, before she jumps out from their hiding place behind some bushes and charges at the boar with spear in hand.

‘What the heck? It’s just gonna run off if you charge at it so openly…’

True to Artoria’s expectation, the boar notices the armed fairy coming its way and turns around to take off. Before it can take its first step, however, another Tonelico appears from the other direction, cleanly piercing the wild animal’s heart in a swift stab of her spear.

There’s two Tonelicos. Artoria wonders if maybe she’s the one who needs glasses, before following Tonelico. The utter confusion is clear on her face, to which Tonelico chuckles lightly.

“You didn’t expect that, did you?”

“You can copy yourself!?” Artoria wildly gestures at the other Tonelico. “How!? Since when?”

“The ‘how’ is a little too complicated and would take a while to explain,” the copy answers smoothly, before the original Tonelico takes over.

“The ‘when’ would be today, though. After ringing the second bell.”

This new spell is such a cheat. Tonelico’s Water Mirror has been awful — too versatile and with no real weakness — but now Tonelico can multiply herself on top of that!? Artoria feels stupid for ever thinking they could be on the same level.

Anger starts to boil deep inside of her at how unfair of yet another advantage Tonelico has over her.

Worst of all, this copy isn’t merely an illusion. It can act and talk autonomously from Tonelico. A crazy skill to have. Artoria can’t help the urge to try and see if the copy feels real and reaches out her hand to give it a poke, though it swats away her hand in minor irritation.

That also answers that question.

“Hey!”

“Didn’t you watch? It’s clear that I’m not an illusion.”

Right after that, the copy disappears into thin air. Tonelico is rubbing her temples. At the very least, it seems this takes a lot of her to pull off.

“Are you all right, Tonelico?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Tonelico blinks to try and focus her eyes. “The copy doesn’t have my full power and I can’t keep it for long, it seems… This spell is rather limited at my current level.”

‘Limited, the heck!?’

“Yeah, no… Creating some copy of yourself like that with a physical body and all? That seems more like a monster, time limit or not.”

Tonelico’s expression turns unreadable, before morphing into a bitter smile. Artoria knows this feeling she’s seeing so very well. Tonelico is doing a poor job at masking it.

“… maybe I am one.” Tonelico avoids Artoria’s gaze, transforming the spear back into a staff and pulling out a dagger to cut the boar’s hide. “Are you— Do you hate me now?”

Artoria knows what Tonelico meant to ask before deciding on a different question. It’s so unfair. If it were about whether she thought Tonelico was scary, the answer would be so simple.

But no, instead she has to ask this cruel question. The one burning on Artoria’s tongue for days now, that she hasn’t found the courage to ask yet.

Artoria should leave the question unanswered, leave Tonelico to stew in her insecurities and emotions. Just like what Tonelico does to Artoria. Growing closer, seeking intimacy in the bath, telling Artoria she should’ve killed her long ago.

Never elaborating on any of these things. Not caring how the lack of explanation and reason makes Artoria suffer.

But Artoria isn’t Tonelico.

“I don’t.” Artoria bites the inside of her cheek. She finds it still a bit raw from when she cut it on her teeth a few days ago during their last sparring session. “I couldn’t hate you.”

Tonelico is relieved to hear that. The sight stings Artoria. Ugly jealousy over the comfort she herself isn’t given rears its head.

“Not that the same goes for you, though.”

Feeling her eyes prick with tears she won’t allow to flow — not now, not in front of Tonelico — Artoria runs off towards their camp. Tonelico wouldn’t follow. She’d ignore Artoria, let her calm down on her own, and eventually return with the same faked gentle smile, pretending this conversation never happened.

Disgusting.

Back at the camp, Artoria fights the urge to kick over the pile of wood meant for a campfire in angry frustration. Destroy something and run away, not having to see Tonelico destroy both herself and Artoria’s heart any more than she already has.

If only it were that easy.

Instead, Artoria plops herself down on the discarded shoulder cape she has laid down earlier. She pulls her knees to her chest and her hat down to cover her face.

If those stupid tears are to fall after all, they should do it in secret. A choking sob makes its way out of Artoria’s throat. She feels pathetic. Utterly pathetic with how hurt she’s from someone like Tonelico, someone she hardly knows and shouldn’t ever have met.

The one fairy she has who gave her warmth, and made Artoria genuinely feel accepted and welcome — only the second fairy in her life to treat Artoria with any form of kindness.

It stings. Artoria would rather never having known this gentle warmth in the first place.

When Artoria hears the rustle of leaves and a small branch snap behind her, she suffocates the whiney bawls. Beast or fairy, Artoria won’t let anyone but herself see how pitiful she truly is. She’s got that much pride left.

“At first, I really hated you.”

Tonelico’s pressed voice, almost a whisper, utters the worst thing Artoria could’ve imagined hearing now. Her nails dig into the hat she’s pressing against her face as if it can stop the tears, or distract her from the way her heart sinks to her stomach in free fall.

As though that’s not enough, Tonelico has the gall to come closer still, the forest’s ground not allowing for silent steps.

“Because if I have a successor, that means I will fail.” Tonelico tries her best to find the words to explain herself, but finds her endeavor fruitless. “Looking at your face was— I saw the irrefutable evidence of my approaching failure.”

If Artoria’s heart has been broken before, it’s shattered beyond repair now. She’s used to not living up to her role or expectations, being a disappointment who can’t do what she’s born for. But this is the first time her mere presence itself has been the problem.

As though Artoria can’t do anything right, not even exist. She doesn’t need to hear that, much less from Tonelico.

Tonelico, who takes a deep breath, is now less than a meter away from Artoria. Though she keeps some distance at least. Artoria is grateful for that.

“That was selfish. Hating you for something that’s not your fault… That was awful of me.”

Artoria wants to ask if Tonelico still feels that way, but she doesn’t dare to speak. Her voice would break for sure. She’d stumble over her own words; her mouth wouldn’t be able to make more sense of the mess in her soul than her mind can.

That weakness is something Artoria doesn’t want to show to Tonelico. She’s afraid of the answer she doesn’t want to hear, too.

When Tonelico realizes Artoria won’t respond, she’s unsure on how to progress. She’s already cleared up to Artoria that she doesn’t hate her. Isn’t that what Artoria was so hung up about? What else should she say? What can Tonelico say to make Artoria hurt less?

“And you wanted to— kill me,” Artoria doesn’t ask; she states it as a fact, almost choking on the word ‘kill’.

In this context, it cuts too deep to say. A part of Artoria hopes it cuts Tonelico at least a little, too.

The words remind Tonelico of her own words a few days ago. Spoken out of bitter desperation, lashing out because of her inability to deal with the pain, guilt, and regret. Adding another entry to the list of things Tonelico regrets. Her heart sinks at the realization that Artoria remembers, and how much it affects her.

Tonelico takes the remaining two steps before crouching down behind Artoria. She doesn’t dare to reach out her hand to touch her.

“I never wanted to take your life.”

‘A lie. She’s just lying. Shut up.’

Artoria doesn’t want to believe those words. She doesn’t want to fall for what she wants to hear, just to have her hopes crushed later on. If nothing else, then Tonelico would surely change her mind once she learns Artoria didn’t tell her about the Rain Clan’s demise when she knew.

Surely, Artoria deserves to be at the other end of Tonelico’s spear for that. For doing nothing to save Tonelico’s family.

“I thought that— that I should.” Tonelico bites her lip, hoping to convey her thoughts properly. “I thought that it’d be better if I did.”

“Why?”

“Because you aren’t meant to be here, in this time. It’s a threat to the future, to the continuity of time… and to this land.” It stings to think of Artoria so clinically. “I can’t return you back to your time. And the only other way to remove you is to end your life.”

It makes sense. Laying out the facts like that, Artoria knows Tonelico is right. She had every reason to be suspicious of what Artoria’s presence may cause to happen, and how, as the Fairy of Paradise of this time, Tonelico should be the one to mitigate all such dangers to Fairy Britain.

But she didn’t.

‘Why didn’t you do it, then?’

Artoria wants to ask that, and simultaneously doesn’t. She doesn’t want to hear that Tonelico pitied her. But Artoria will get an answer regardless.

“Admittedly… I’ve grown fond of you over time, Artoria. You may not originally belong here, but I’m glad I’ve met you. I’m glad that I didn’t end your life.”

Finally, Tonelico’s hand reaches out to touch Artoria’s back, rubbing soothing circles between her shoulder blades. She feels Artoria tremble, holding back emotions she doesn’t want to spill in front of Tonelico. Choking down sobs she doesn’t want to resound.

Artoria wants to be comforted by Tonelico, who has now told her all she wanted to hear; but feels as though she doesn’t deserve that kindness. Why would Artoria deserve Tonelico reaching out, when she herself watched uselessly as the rain fairies got massacred?

“It’s my fault,” Artoria mutters. “Orkney— The Rain Clan… I knew, but…”

Tonelico doesn’t need to hear more. She can’t believe this has been weighting on Artoria that much. Though, in a way, it makes her happy that Artoria grew this fond of the Rain Clan in the short time she was able to live with them.

Having another fairy to share her fondness for her home with is something immeasurably valuable.

“The Rain Clan doesn’t exist in your time, is that it?”

“Yeah…” Artoria sniffs. Once the dam breaks, there is no stopping the ugly crying. At the very least, Tonelico can’t see her face. “I— I’m sorry. I should’ve said something, anything—”

“It’s not your fault.” Tonelico’s tone is firm. Not a single shred of doubt in her voice, and she wouldn’t allow any in Artoria’s heart either. “So don’t blame yourself. It was— must have been inevitable.”

“But… But maybe if I—”

“Don’t.”

For a while, Tonelico mindlessly rubs Artoria’s back, hoping to provide some relief to the pain and guilt she’s feeling. Undeservedly so.

For herself, this revelation is an enormous relief. As though a weight that’s been sitting on her chest is finally lifted, allowing a deep, free breath like Tonelico hasn’t known in days.

Against her better judgment, days ago, Tonelico couldn’t help but wonder if Artoria’s presence was the catalyst to lead to the Rain Clan’s demise. Maybe Artoria, simply by being in this time where she doesn’t belong, disturbed the timeline enough to bring about a massacre like this.

Part of Tonelico blamed Artoria for the mere possibility. It’s always easier to deal with pain and grief when there’s something — someone — to blame.

If it had been Artoria’s fault, then it would’ve been Tonelico’s fault for not getting rid of Artoria. A punishment for her selfish indulgence, for keeping around a fairy she knows doesn’t belong, for no other reason but personal attachment. It was a gut-wrenching idea; but Tonelico had to accept the consequences of her decision.

That’s what she thought.

If Artoria brought about ruin, and Tonelico invited that, then Tonelico alone would have to atone by seeing things through.

But none of that turns out to be true.

Tonelico leans forward and rests her forehead against Artoria’s back. Artoria feels so warm. She’s missed this feeling in the last few days, hadn’t allowed herself to seek Artoria’s proximity.

Not with her ugly feeling of blaming Artoria for everything — or wanting to, considering it a possibility. But that’s changed now.

Warm tears run down Tonelico’s cheek at this realization: it couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t anyone’s fault — not Artoria’s, not Tonelico’s.

The Rain Clan doesn’t exist in the future where Artoria is from. Which means, even in the past without an Artoria, this massacre happened. This must be the event in which Tonelico lost her own life originally before her other self — Morgan from Pan-Human History — intervened.

Neither of them could’ve changed the fate of the Rain Clan. Not without knowing what exactly would happen; and even if they did, protecting one clan from the others banding together… That’s plain impossible. The Fang Clan by itself would be too strong already.

“… Tonelico?”

“Can we stay like this for a bit longer, please?”

“… sure.”

Artoria is surprised to find she enjoys the weight of Tonelico’s forehead resting against her back. It feels familiar, and brings comfort like nothing else. Simply having Tonelico by her side — Tonelico who doesn’t hate her, nor wants her dead — truly is the salvation Artoria’s wounded souls needs. She hopes she can provide the same for Tonelico.

If only things could be this easy.

“I hate the fairies.”

Tonelico’s voice is like a curse. All her suffering, all the things troubling her — put into those four words. Deep hatred of a pained soul carries the intonation. Artoria feels Tonelico grip the fabric on her back tightly.

“All of them, except for the Rain Clan. Not a single one of them is innocent. They left no one of the Rain Clan but us.”

A warmth spreads through Artoria’s chest at her inclusion. Even blinded by hatred, overcome with anger, Tonelico still genuinely considers Artoria a member of her family; of the clan she holds so dear to her heart.

It reminds Artoria of the Rain Clan’s kindness. They, too, felt the same way about Tonelico, and later Artoria.

Gentle fairies who were pacifistic at their core. Who harmed no one and lived in peace, removed from other clans. Artoria feels the same seething anger boiling inside of her at the memory of the Rain Clan’s end.

Of all the fairies, they deserved such a fate the least.

If there was a single face Artoria could recognize from the massacre, she’s sure she wouldn’t be able to keep control of herself were she to face that fairy again. Thanks to Tonelico, however, Artoria hasn’t seen anyone.

Even at that time, Tonelico took the burden on herself.

Hypocritical as it might be when she feels the same, Artoria worries about Tonelico more than ever. The idealistic Tonelico she even considered naïve when she droned about her plans for a future nation of peace and equality — something that’s in no way possible for as long as fairies exist.

“… are you going to quit?”

What’s the point in the pilgrimage anymore? By now, Tonelico realized what fairies are like. Why go through the pilgrimage? Why do anything for them?

“No. I will finish my pilgrimage and I will save this land.”

“You don’t have to do it.”

It doesn’t make any sense to Artoria. Why go this far?

“This is the place I belong. It’s still our home. And— It’s what Mother, Father, and Amelia wished for, too. I’m doing it for your, their… and for my own sake.”

‘… for my sake?’

Artoria feels utterly stupid. She’s been worried over whether Tonelico wants her dead, or whether she’d come to hate her for not saying anything about the Rain Clan. But that was ridiculous in hindsight.

How could Artoria have known herself to be one of the reasons Tonelico is braving all the difficulties?

“The other fairies, though… I don’t want them to be happy. They don’t deserve to enjoy their lives. I want them to suffer.”

The low whisper is almost a growl. It’s scary to hear that from Tonelico. Artoria can’t help but turn her head just enough to see Tonelico in the corner of her eye — she’s lying. Even after all this, Tonelico doesn’t truly want the fairies to suffer.

It’s reassuring to see that even after everything, Tonelico is still Tonelico after all.

Before she realizes, Artoria turns around and pulls Tonelico into a much-needed embrace. She wants to hold Tonelico — the one fairy she holds dear, which is luckily still mutual — and reaffirm this reality.

But more than anything, the relief of the Tonelico she’s come to know in Orkney still being there, even if hidden under piles of lies made of trauma and hurt, overwhelms her.

“A-Artoria…?”

Tonelico’s voice is muffled against Artoria’s shoulder. She’s more surprised than anything, but slowly relaxes into the embrace, wrapping her arms around Artoria in return. Another’s warmth and proximity do wonders to heal a soul, to calm the raging storm inside one’s heart.

They’re each other’s anchor.

If either of them were to find herself on this pilgrimage alone, her path would be different. No confidant, no comfort — alone with responsibilities and fate, pain and loneliness. But they aren’t alone; Tonelico and Artoria have each other.

“No boar today, I guess.”

“My bad. I left it when I came after you.”

An awkward attempt to change the topic and leave the heavy conversation behind. It’s not as though they have to consume food in the first place, so it’s no big deal.

Artoria would’ve appreciated roasted boar, but missing out is a small price to pay for having her insecurities resolved. At least when it comes to Tonelico, even if not about herself.

“We should start the fire, though. Your turn, Artoria.”

Artoria is surprised. This is the first time since Orkney that Tonelico lets her take care of anything. Maybe it’s her way to involve Artoria more, treat her as a proper companion, rather than an accessory.

While not as fancy nor as strong as Tonelico’s magecraft, Artoria is well capable of basics such as starting a campfire. She’ll do it like she’s learned from Tonelico.

First, Artoria collects a few dry leaves from the ground and places them in the middle of the pile of wood with a mostly empty center. Next, she sets the leaves on fire, waiting a moment for the spark to spread into small flames before adding some branches and finally a few thicker blocks of wood on top.

The fire crackles, painting its surroundings in a warm light. Once the sun fully sets, it’ll take over setting the atmosphere.

With the task done, Artoria gets back on her cape draped on the ground where Tonelico still sits kneeling. Artoria sits down next to Tonelico and leans against her.

“It’s cold.” Artoria looks away, hoping Tonelico doesn’t see the heat she feels rising to her face.

Tonelico’s light chuckle crushes that hope.

“Who are you even lying to?”

Playing along regardless, Tonelico pulls Artoria closer to share her body heat with the supposedly freezing fairy. Tonelico has plenty of that to spare, if the warmth blooming in her chest at Artoria seeking her proximity — albeit awkwardly — is any indication.

“As if you’re one to talk…” Artoria pouts.

“You got me.”

Tonelico feels a pang of guilt. They’ve both lied too much, even though no lie could go undetected. It’s time to change this habit.

“I won’t lie to you anymore, Artoria. I promise.” Tonelico means it. “Whatever you wish to know, you shall receive a truthful answer from me.”

Even before making this promise, Tonelico knew it could lead to problems. There are plenty of things she’s still hiding from Artoria, and lies she’s told for that very purpose. But she doesn’t want to cause Artoria suffering anymore.

Lies aren’t a good foundation for their relationship.

“Good. I accept your apology.”

Tonelico wants to tell Artoria that she didn’t apologize, but bites her tongue. Artoria doesn’t make the same pledge, but that’s fine. Tonelico can live with a lie or two if it puts Artoria at ease. Though with her brows furrowed, Artoria is internally debating something.

“If there’s anything you want to ask, go ahead. Now’s as good a time as any other.”

Artoria meets Tonelico’s gaze for a split second before focusing her eyes on the crackling campfire instead. Chewing on the inner side of her cheek, Artoria is torn between speaking up or staying silent. In the end, she stubbornly charges ahead.

“There is something…”

Artoria’s valor, born of stubbornness, dissipates the moment she opens her mouth. But it’s too late to turn back now.

“That day, in the bath… You know…” Artoria clears her throat. “I want to know… Why?”

‘Don’t look at me like that! You know what I mean, Tonelico…! Don’t make me say it!’

Tonelico’s visible confusion lifts when she recounts the day before they left Orkney. When she insisted on sharing a bath with Artoria after their training session and…

‘Aah, right… I did that…’

Now Tonelico joins Artoria in staring at the campfire. Back then, she considered that day to potentially be her or Artoria’s last day. She didn’t consider consequences, or ever having to talk about it afterwards. And with what happened afterwards, that pleasant last-wish memory has been stuck in a far-removed corner somewhere in her mind.

Of all the things Artoria could’ve wondered about, it has to be this.

“To be entirely honest with you…”

Artoria perks up. Deep inside, she’s hopeful for an answer, although she doesn’t truly understand what it is she wants to hear.

“I— I always wanted to try these things I’ve only read about. And I’ve grown very… fond of you. I also thought it very likely that at least one of us wouldn’t live much longer, and wanted to take the chance while I still had it.”

Tonelico inhales deeply to calm her nerves. It sounds foolish, greedy, and selfish when she lays out her reasons like that. It certainly didn’t feel that selfish back then. She can only hope Artoria will forgive her.

“I see…”

When Tonelico steals a glance at Artoria’s face, she sees Artoria with an awkward smile she’s obviously trying to hide, playing with a strand of her hair to distract herself. The sight is so cute that Tonelico can’t help but prod Artoria for an answer herself.

“That was my side. Which begs the question… Artoria, why did you reciprocate?”

Artoria’s face turns beet red at the sudden question. She didn’t expect her interrogation to be flung back at herself. When Artoria instinctively turns her head to look at Tonelico, she immediately regrets it again.

Those stupid crystal blue eyes and that damned smile that’s genuine for once go straight to her heart, which is already beating hard enough that Tonelico surely hears it.

“Well, that’s— You see— I mean, I was—” With a defeated whimper, Artoria hides her face in her hands. “I don’t know…! I don’t know, okay!? I wanted to pay you back for making me feel all weird, b-but then I saw your face and— Hnngh!”

For a moment, Tonelico is taken aback at the intensity of Artoria’s response. Well, she’s never been all that proper and well-mannered. A genuine honesty shines through in such a mild outburst of emotion.

A very endearing trait, one that Tonelico hopes she gets to monopolize.

“I take it that my fondness isn’t entirely unrequited, then?”

“I-I guess not…”

That’s as much of a straightforward answer as Artoria seems capable of giving on this topic. Tonelico would be a hypocrite to complain, given she didn’t properly communicate the full extent of her feelings either. Feelings, which are both familiar and foreign, pleasant and a little scary. Difficult to put into words that do them justice.

‘I may have fallen in love with you, Artoria,’ Tonelico thinks fondly.

The realization feels right and natural, yet also precious and fragile. Tonelico fears that if she were to speak those words, they may turn into a lie, or shatter like glass. For now, the glimpse they shared with each other as to where their feelings lie is enough.

“In that case…” Tonelico holds Artoria’s chin and turns her head towards herself, forcing eye contact. “May I kiss you?”

Artoria’s mouth opens and closes a few times, wordlessly. She’s caught off-guard by Tonelico’s forwardness. As if feeling Tonelico’s soft fingers anywhere near her face isn’t bad enough, but this bold question makes her brain overheat at the mere idea.

“… please?”

Tonelico adds the plea, leaning in closer. Artoria can almost feel Tonelico’s breath on her skin now. But at a minimal distance, Tonelico halts. This isn’t a last chance scenario like the last time. If Artoria doesn’t want to, Tonelico won’t do it. That’s what she’s communicating, leaving the choice up to Artoria.

Gritting her teeth, Artoria wishes she wouldn’t have to make this choice. If she permits it, it’s the same as wanting it. Artoria doesn’t have an excellent track record of keeping — or even having — things she wants, no matter how small or inconsequential.

She doesn’t want to lose Tonelico. The idea of that is terrifying.

But more than that, Tonelico’s scent is now intoxicating. More than anything, Artoria wants to share a kiss with Tonelico. Whatever those feelings fluttering deep inside her stomach are, they practically yell at her to lean in and close the distance herself.

Her soul yearns for Tonelico.

The fear won’t ever disappear, but the choice turns out to be easy. Artoria closes her eyes, feeling this gives her an easier time to voice her wish, reluctant as she may be.

“… you can…”

Tonelico closes her eyes before she finally brushes her lips over Artoria’s shortly, tentatively. Once isn’t enough. Quick contact is too little. Tonelico gently cups Artoria’s cheeks and pulls her in for a proper kiss.

Her lips touch Artoria’s, feeling the slightly chapped but still soft skin. Tonelico instinctively moves her lips to graze Artoria’s with light, gentle friction that sends sparks flying in her chest.

She’d never have thought kissing could feel this good; a novel’s description sells it too short.

Artoria reciprocates to the best of her abilities. Conveying with her actions what she knows she won’t be able to express with words; making Tonelico understand how she feels. Spurred on by the fluttering feeling deep inside her stomach that only seems to intensify by the second.

After a few seconds of this intimate contact, Artoria feels as though a lock deep inside of her breaks apart, shattering into pieces.

Before she realizes, events flood her mind. Memories Artoria didn’t know she possessed at any point, experiences she was blissfully unaware she’s made.

When Tonelico pulls back, for a moment, Artoria doesn’t see the face of Tonelico. She doesn’t see crystal blue eyes full of warmth, but icy blue eyes that long lost their shine. No smile or gentleness, only a neutral and unreadable expression.

In Tonelico, she sees Morgan.

“The Fairy of Paradise before you who came to be known as Tonelico the savior is the current queen Morgan, yes.”

Morgan’s voice resounds inside of Artoria’s mind, as if to mock her. She’d known. Artoria knew, but couldn’t remember this. Not until now. Nausea overtakes her; she feels sick to her core.

Before Artoria can even hope to make sense of her jumbled mess of feelings and memories, tears flow freely from her eyes. Tears she lacks the capacity to care about.

“You’re Morgan,” Artoria mutters.

Tonelico is nothing but somber.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t make sense. No, it makes too much sense. Now that Artoria knows, it’s so painfully obvious.

Tonelico is Morgan. Tonelico, with ideals that ooze of naïve idealism, is Morgan.

Kind-hearted and gentle now, but intimidating and ruthless in the future. No, Tonelico already is intimidating and ruthless. Only it’s reserved for those who slight her.

The most gut-wrenching isn’t any of the memories that are flowing back into Artoria: Getting caught by Barghest. Being at Morgan’s mercy. Morgan touching her, introducing her to the intimacy she thought Tonelico brought into her life.

Those flashbacks twist and pull at Artoria’s understanding of herself and her situation, dizzying her senses and thoughts. It puts both her relationship with Morgan and with Tonelico in a new light, one she wishes wouldn’t shine on either.

But that’s bearable. It takes the backseat to the more pressing matter.

“Why— Why are you so calm?” Artoria’s voice breaks, while Tonelico is neither shocked nor confused. “Did you know!?”

The worst part is this clear betrayal.

Tonelico should be shaken. She doesn’t know Morgan — Tonelico can’t know her — and that should only raise more questions for her. How can Tonelico act so unaffected and perfectly composed, as though she’s known!? That’s something Morgan would—

Which reminds Artoria of the harsh truth yet again: Tonelico and Morgan are one and the same.

“I wasn’t certain,” Tonelico admits. She wants to wipe Artoria’s tears, but doesn’t dare to reach out. “It’s complicated. Please, Artoria— Let me explain.”

Artoria feels the hot anger bubbling up inside of her. Tonelico kept something like this from her all this time. What would any explanation change?

She feels disgusted at the feelings of affection she’s developed for Tonelico. It was all a trap by Morgan, wasn’t it? An elaborate scheme to fully have Artoria dance on the palm of her hand.

But Tonelico’s gaze hurts.

Though Artoria’s sight is blurred by tears she can’t seem to stop, her Fairy Eyes see clearly: While Tonelico may be nonchalant about this revelation, she’s still worried. Afraid.

Terrified of what comes out of Artoria learning the truth.

With gritted teeth, Artoria doesn’t have it in her to outright reject Tonelico. Not when she looks like this. At the very least, not without allowing her a chance to share her side of the story. If only because Tonelico promised to be truthful towards Artoria from now on.

Deep inside, Artoria hopes Tonelico can give her something to hold on to. A reason to trust her again. Those feelings are but a faint ember, hidden below the sorrows of betrayal.

“Fine.” Artoria wipes her tears with a sniffle. “I’ll hear you out.”

It doesn’t take Fairy Eyes to see that Artoria is utterly done, though. Both angry and empty. Her eyes have lost their usual shine, as though Artoria has given up on everything — including Tonelico. The cynicism is more than obvious.

Tonelico knows she deserves the distrust, and yet, it’s painful to watch. She’ll make Artoria understand; and even if Artoria’s patience runs thin, Tonelico has no plans to let her leave. Tonelico hopes it won’t come to that, though.

The most difficult is finding the right point to start. It’s an understatement to call matters ‘complicated’.

“I am Tonelico. But that is not my original name. Originally, my name was Vivian.” Tonelico lets that sink in for a moment, the name sounds foreign even to her now. “Mother gave me the name Tonelico. Morgan… Is another person. Morgan le Fay. I assume that between now and your time, I will take on her name.”

Artoria nods. She doesn’t understand why this one fairy has multiple names. And if Morgan is a different person, then who is Morgan, really? The Morgan Artoria knows definitely is Tonelico.

That’s the truth, Tonelico didn’t even try to deny it.

“Morgan is from what’s called Pan-Human History. It’s an entirely different world. One day, a few years ago, I received her memories. She sent them into the past to her counterpart in this world — which is me.”

Tonelico understands how ridiculous that must sound. It’s the truth, but it’s so difficult to grasp, even for herself. Even more difficult to put it into words that don’t sound insane. She can’t blame Artoria for the doubtful expression.

“I knew — because Morgan knew — that I would fail and die. This land perished in the original timeline. Morgan resisted that future, and so do I.” Tonelico takes a deep breath to collect her thoughts. “I believe that your time is the future of the ‘second timeline’. The one in which both I and Britain survived… In which I became Morgan.”

‘For the sake of saving this land,’ Tonelico concludes, but doesn’t say it. It’s only her hypothesis, irrelevant to Artoria.

That explains how Tonelico and Morgan are one fairy, yet aren’t quite the same.

Artoria wants to tell Tonelico that it still changes nothing. What Morgan did still is what Tonelico will be capable of. This fact remains.

But she agreed to hear Tonelico out, so she will patiently wait until Tonelico is done sharing all she knows before making her judgment.

“That would be the Morgan you knew. She is my future, and she is me… but also, I don’t know anything about her.” Tonelico’s voice sounds defeated. “It must have been her who sent you here, although… I can’t know why she did that.”

“I don’t either,” Artoria says. Something Morgan said floats vaguely in her mind, but she can’t recall the exact words.

“Morgan from Pan-Human History… I don’t like her. She is cold and ruthless. A power-hungry fairy, corrupted by betrayal and unfulfilled ambitions. She’s someone who would take any means to ensure she’ll meet her goals. I find that despicable, and thus… I locked the memories I inherited from her. I didn’t want her ego to overtake my own. I am Tonelico, not Morgan. I don’t want to become her.”

Artoria gives a bitter laugh at that. How ironic. That’s so rich, coming from Tonelico, who’ll turn into exactly the type of fairy that this supposed Morgan from Pan-Human History was.

Conveniently, Artoria ignores the gestures of kindness and care Morgan extended to her, and that she was allowed to live rather than executed. Her hurt soul focuses on all the bad instead.

“You did, though. That sounds just like the Morgan I know.”

Ever since Artoria slipped up about the name ‘Morgan’ once, Tonelico feared that may be the case. Morgan was a powerful personality. Having all of her memories inside of herself, it’s a given that Morgan would overtake Tonelico eventually.

No matter how strong Tonelico’s will is, in the long run, that wouldn’t save her. Not against Morgan’s presence of oppression, even if it’s only her memories. Anyone’s mental defence would be eroded over time.

That’s precisely why she’d read through book after book as a young fairy, desperately looking for the right spell to save her self from disappearing. Eventually, she found a surprisingly low-magic spell: Memory Lock.

Memories can’t simply be deleted. It’s possible for a magecraft user strong enough — which Tonelico wasn’t at the time — but comes with an enormous risk: The web of memories, personality, opinion, and more makes up one’s self.

All the various interwoven connections between those parts are highly complicated.

Take away a miniscule piece — such as a brief memory — and all its connections would be forcefully broken off. Other parts influenced by this memory in any way would be affected by the broken link and the missing piece.

Although they won’t necessarily disappear in consequence, they may get eroded, which will spread to further connections and nodes in the cluster that’s the core of one’s self.

Essentially, deleting a memory is almost guaranteed to damage one’s sense of self. The more memories to be deleted, the worse the consequences. Worst case, one’s self could break; leaving behind an empty husk of what used to be a person.

It’s simply not an option.

Locking a memory, however, merely puts it into an inaccessible state for the mind. One can’t actively recall it without removing the lock, but the interwoven connections stay intact.

Tonelico used this spell on herself.

She wrote the information she wanted to keep into a notebook, then cast Memory Lock on Morgan’s memories inside of her.

The spell requires a trigger to work — like a key. An action that would lock up the memories, and will also unlock them when repeated by breaking the lock. Once unlocked, Memory Lock would have to be cast anew.

It’s too simple a spell to provide a mechanism that can lock and unlock with the same trigger multiple times.

There’s no doubt in Tonelico’s mind that the cause of Artoria’s supposed amnesia was Memory Lock, cast by none other than her future self who would know this spell. Following that, the key Morgan used to lock Artoria’s memories must have been a kiss.

Which begs a question for Tonelico.

“What did I— did Morgan do to you?” Tonelico is afraid of the answer, but she needs to know.

Artoria feels sick at the memory. Most of all, at how easily she submitted and sought comfort in the intimacy forced upon her. And how, even now, she isn’t disgusted by what happened between herself and Morgan. Artoria’s feelings on this matter are conflicted.

It would’ve been better if she would’ve stayed ignorant of this past.

“Morgan wanted me to pledge my loyalty to her,” Artoria says. She avoids Tonelico’s gaze. “So, she… touched me until I did.”

She doesn’t want to add more details. Not how crazy Morgan drove her with the teasing light touches, not about the collar that forced Artoria into submission by its terrifying power. Such details don’t matter. Artoria would rather keep her pride than share those things with Tonelico.

While Artoria is wrestling with herself to still her nerves, Tonelico is practically seething now.

‘How could she do something like that to Artoria!? Did she not see this girl suffered enough already!?’

“I won’t forgive her,” Tonelico mutters.

“Huh?”

Artoria is surprised to hear that from Tonelico, of all people. After all, in the bathroom, Tonelico didn’t ask for any form of permission either. Maybe Tonelico and Morgan are a lot more alike than Tonelico likes to admit.

Actually, why does Tonelico talk like Morgan is a completely different person rather than her own future self?

“I won’t forgive her for forcing herself on you.” Tonelico repeats those hypocritical words.

She’s genuine. The anger born of a possessive desire to protect is evident in both her voice and eyes.

It warms Artoria’s heart, if only a bit. Even if Tonelico and Morgan are the same person, Tonelico isn’t Morgan after all.

Where Morgan demands loyalty and submission, Tonelico extends care and protection.

Artoria hasn’t seen it until now, although it should’ve been obvious. No, she simply refused to look at Tonelico and Morgan properly.

Her own feelings — a confusing mess of contradiction — blocked her sight, only allowing the worst through. Even now, it takes all of Artoria’s conscious effort to swallow those emotions.

The edge Tonelico’s voice carries for Morgan helps tremendously. But Artoria wants to see once more that Tonelico isn’t Morgan — that she cares about Artoria as Artoria, not as a subject.

“You did the same, though.” Artoria glances at Tonelico, who is taken aback. “Back in the bath.”

“But that’s—” Tonelico finally realizes her hypocrisy. The similarity to Morgan disgusts her. “I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think it was the last chance. And especially if I didn’t like you… But you’re right. I shouldn’t have.”

Tonelico looks at the fire, averting Artoria’s gaze. Although she tries to be subtle, she’s pouting. Clearly caught red-handed with no genuine remorse for what she did, but understanding that it was wrong.

Morgan would never show such an affected reaction.

“Although if you really hated it, I would’ve stopped.”

Artoria wants to retort, but begrudgingly remembers Tonelico has Fairy Eyes just like her. She didn’t need to ask; Tonelico knew Artoria isn’t opposed. Rather, although she doesn’t want to outright admit it, Artoria enjoyed it.

It’s the most normal thing to relish in pleasant sensations, especially if they’re overwhelmingly warm and fluttering. Almost addictively so.

With the scowl of having an accusation skillfully deflected back to herself, Artoria grumbles in indignation. She feels especially stupid to let her anger dissipate already. Tonelico shouldn’t get away so easily.

“Pretty wicked to use Fairy Eyes for something like that.”

“Well, I’m a witch, after all.”

Tonelico’s smile is plain unfair. Artoria harrumphs. This almost feels like the days back in Orkney again.

The mischievous Tonelico, who smoothly talks her way out of any little prank she plays on Artoria; and Artoria who retorts in frustration but can’t actually get mad at Tonelico. Morgan is all but forgotten.

“I am sorry, Artoria.” Tonelico folds her hands in her lap to still their trembling. “The Morgan you know is me, so… Her actions are my responsibility. It’s my fault that you’re here, too.”

Tears well up in Artoria’s eyes again, but she’s quick to wipe her eyes and stop them before they can wet her cheeks again. Tonelico owns up to things she hasn’t done — and won’t do for millennia, if at all. That’s more than Artoria hoped for.

There’s no clearer proof that Tonelico isn’t Morgan.

After all the tension leaves Artoria’s body, she lets herself fall to the side, her head landing in Tonelico’s lap, facing the crackling, warm campfire.

For a moment, her own forwardness feels strange. The regret gives her the urge to leap back up and pretend this didn’t happen. But after everything today, Artoria is too tired to give in to that.

“I’m not blaming you,” Artoria says. She doesn’t find it in herself to speak of forgiveness. “You’re not Morgan.”

Tears prick at the corner of Tonelico’s eyes. Hearing that from Artoria of all people is more of a salvation than she could’ve thought possible.

The weight of Artoria’s head on her thighs is pleasant, and Tonelico finally dares to reach out, brushing a stray strand aside before caressing Artoria’s cheek. Artoria closes her eyes to lean into the gentle touch and block out the surroundings.

“You still want to support me?” Tonelico needs to hear it from Artoria.

“Mhmm.” Artoria’s voice is drowsy. She opens one eye to look at the fire. “I wanted a future that doesn’t need me. As long as you don’t become Morgan…”

“… that future won’t come to be,” Tonelico finishes Artoria’s thought.

“Yeah. So I’ll make sure you’ll stay Tonelico.”

Artoria closes her eyes again and nuzzles Tonelico’s lap.

For now, she’ll unabashedly enjoy the soft intimacy. She can’t shake the fear that starting tomorrow, a distance would disappear between them yet again.

If that’s the case, Artoria will lap up all the attention and proximity available now; a reminder of Tonelico’s genuine affection and care for her.

“Artoria, do you know what the role of the Fairy of Paradise is?”

“Bringing salvation to the fairies? But I don’t know any details. For me, that meant taking down Morgan, but… That was what the prophecy said.”

“I see.”

Tonelico doesn’t have the heart to tell Artoria the truth. Only by ringing the bells, the Fairy of Paradise learns of her true purpose. ‘Bringing salvation to the fairies’, or saving them, is the duty they both knew they possess ever since their birth.

Engraved in their souls.

But it doesn’t mean what they thought initially. It’s not that they shall save this land — Fairy Britain — and save the fairies from themselves. They aren’t meant to quell calamities and protect fairykind.

They are to bring judgement to this land for the great sins of the fairies’ ancestors and finish the ancestors’ original purpose for them.

Fairy Britain exists to punish fairies for the sin of putting off their task — a grave sin committed millennia ago, when none of those fairies are even still left. Their descendants carry their sin with them. Fairy Britain itself does.

And once this land has served its purpose — once the Fairy of Paradise rings the six bells and finally returns to Avalon to finish her duty — it will cease to exist. Collapse in itself under the weight of accumulated sins.

The fairies will find salvation in the end of their miserable, cursed existence.

Even if no Fairy of Paradise were to reach Avalon and complete her purpose, Fairy Britain would eventually end itself. Curses can only pile up so much, and calamities can only run amok so often until there’s nothing and nobody left to suffer.

Tonelico’s future as Morgan is not the only looming threat. This land’s inevitable demise, the fact that it only exists to perish — there is no true future for it.

Morgan — Tonelico’s other self — must have come to a similar conclusion, and looked for alternatives. Not wanting to give up her home country despite its flaws and the disgusting inhabitants, driven into enough of a corner that she lost to Morgan’s influence.

Artoria’s breathing has been flat for a while now, she must have dozed off. Tonelico looks at the peaceful sleeping face and her heart swoons, before a twinge of sadness breaks the illusion of peace. But Tonelico won’t give in to that.

“I’ll protect you,” Tonelico mutters under her breath.

‘No matter what, I will not let you suffer any more. Whatever it may cost me.’

Tonelico makes this pledge silently, though the weight it carries doesn’t change. She won’t merely accept her fate like this.

Carefully, Tonelico lifts Artoria’s head slightly to replace the lap pillow with a cushion she forms out of nearby leaves with the use of her magecraft. Soft and big enough for two, although not as warm as Tonelico’s thighs.

Artoria rouses in her sleep, as though she notices Tonelico’s proximity being gone.

With a warm smile, Tonelico extinguishes their campfire and lies down in front of Artoria, before draping her cape over the two of them. She closes her eyes and leans forward to touch her forehead against Artoria’s.

Tonelico embraces Artoria and holds her close to herself; her own little salvation. Alive and precious.

In this moment, Tonelico solidifies her pledge. She wouldn’t let anything take Artoria from her, or take Artoria’s happiness. No matter what.

“Goodnight,” Tonelico whispers.

The night is silent, engulfing the two fairies in a much deserved moment of solitary peace. Both of them are exhausted from the recent days, each in her own way. Dreamless slumber lasts throughout the whole night.

In the morning, it’s Artoria who awakens first. Her eyes slowly blink open, only to find Tonelico’s face mere centimeters from her own. Artoria notices how long Tonelico’s eyelashes are, and what a pretty face she has.

To her, the similarity between their faces is only superficial.

Automatically, her gaze wanders to Tonelico’s lips. They look soft, the light pink giving them a nice color that doesn’t stand out too much against Tonelico’s fair complexion. And since yesterday, Artoria knows for a fact that Tonelico’s lips feel at least as soft as they look. If not more.

As she remembers the kiss, Artoria instinctively leans in to brush her lips against Tonelico’s. The simple touch ignites a small spark inside her chest; her hand reaches up to cup Tonelico’s cheek — until Artoria freezes, realizing what she’s doing.

Artoria leaps back, putting as much distance between Tonelico and herself as she can within a split second. With the back of her hand, Artoria covers her mouth, where she still feels Tonelico’s lips lingering somehow. Her face feels hot enough to rival a campfire, if not the sun.

‘W-w-what am I doing here!? I can’t just— Agh, Tonelico is a bad influence!’

Artoria is grateful that, at the very least, she’s not caught. She wants to take this slip-up to the grave. Being this forward feels way too wrong; Artoria has no idea what came over her.

All of Artoria’s hope for keeping this instance a secret dies when she sees Tonelico’s mouth curve into a smile. The worst type of Tonelico’s smiles. It’s the adoring one reserved for what’s cute, and Tonelico never leaves those things uncommented.

“S-shut up! Don’t even say anything!” Artoria’s voice is raised a pitch, and she almost fumbles her speech in utter embarrassment.

Tonelico slowly sits up, running her fingers through a strand of her hair to put it in a bit more order, before bringing her fingertips to her own lips. She makes eye contact with Artoria, as though she’s trying to see if shame is lethal.

“If I had known I’d receive such a sweet wake-up call in the morning, I would’ve told you about my feelings sooner.”

‘How can she say this with a straight face!?’

Artoria hates the look Tonelico is giving her, with those rosy cheeks and the knowing smile that hints at improper implications. Not that Tonelico has such thoughts — not right now, at least — it’s only to draw Artoria’s mind there so Tonelico can tease her about it.

Tonelico is a wicked witch! She has no right to look this pretty and cute!

“T-that didn’t happen! I didn’t— I didn’t do anything, got it!?”

Tonelico stifles her laugh. The deep red face and the bared teeth clash so beautifully, creating the image of an adorable mess of a fairy who tries to intimidate into silence, but fails spectacularly at the task.

“Who are you even lying to?” Even if Tonelico couldn’t see through the lie, she’s felt the kiss. There’s no point in Artoria pretending it didn’t happen.

“Hnnggghhhh…!!”

‘Next time, I should just bite her inst—’

At this rash conclusion born of flustered frustration, an icy shiver runs down Artoria’s spine, and her blood runs cold.

She remembers having bitten Morgan, drawing blood. Her hand immediately snaps to her neck, confirming that there’s no strange magic collar. Nothing to fear would immobilize her for any overstepping.

“Artoria?” Tonelico inches closer upon noticing the shift in Artoria. How quickly the color drained from Artoria’s face is concerning. “Artoria, what’s wrong?”

Artoria bites her lip, her eyes trained on her own knees. She’s shaking. Tonelico puts her hands on Artoria’s shoulders, as if in a clumsy attempt to help ground her. She doesn’t know what else to do.

“It’s… Something about Morgan.” Artoria’s voice is pressed. Although the collar is no more, the fear is paralyzing by itself.

Tonelico pulls Artoria closer, holding her tightly against her chest. Artoria flinches at the sudden movement, and even in the embrace, Tonelico feels how tense she is.

She’s really never going to forgive Morgan. Tonelico refuses to accept Morgan as her future. Even so, the guilt eats at her. Beneath her stubbornness, she knows that she is — will be — Morgan.

“Do you want to tell me about it…?” Tonelico isn’t sure Artoria would. She hasn’t talked much about what exactly went on in the future. “I’ll be happy to listen if you want to talk about it. But… I won’t force you.”

Maybe Artoria needs more time. Tonelico would understand. If she were asked to speak of Orkney’s end, she wouldn’t be willing to be detailed in her retelling. Wouldn’t be able to.

It’d hurt too much. In fact, she doesn’t want to be made to remember it at all; keeping her memories of Orkney pleasant and bright.

Artoria is silent. She considers telling Tonelico, but feels she wouldn’t find her voice. Too ashamed of how foolish she was to ire Morgan in the first place. How very easily she succumbed, giving little resistance. If any.

That’s not how she wants Tonelico — or anyone — to see her. Those memories should be buried.

“… hypothetically speaking…” Artoria’s voice is but a mutter, unsteady and quiet. “If I would… bite you— What would you do?”

Tonelico raises an eyebrow at the question. It’s coming out of nowhere. Artoria biting her…? In what scenario would that even happen?

In her mind, the image of a flusteredly angry Artoria threatening to chomp off Tonelico’s finger appears. Followed by one of Artoria following up on the threat — by nibbling on Tonelico’s finger, lacking the bite behind the bark.

But Tonelico shakes that image out of her head. That’s clearly not what Artoria means; she wouldn’t be this shaken if it were something this simple. For a moment, Tonelico considers the hypothetical seriously, before giving her answer.

“My immediate reaction would probably be smacking you. Instinctively, of course.” Tonelico promised honesty, so she’ll have to abide by that. Especially when it’s important to Artoria. “But more than that… I’d want to know why. What did I do that made you resort to biting me?”

Tonelico feels Artoria relaxing a little, and brings her hand to her head, tousling the blonde strands, which are still a little messy. She hopes the gesture can bring comfort to Artoria.

Although Tonelico still doesn’t understand what this is about, that’s negligible. What matters most is Artoria’s well-being.

Artoria takes a few deep breaths to calm her nerves further. Now that she’s slowly coming down from the panic, Artoria notices that with her ear on Tonelico’s chest, she can hear her heartbeat. For some reason, that calms her down.

The steady rhythm is soothing; but perhaps that’s only because it’s Tonelico.

Her hand grips the fabric of Tonelico’s dress tightly, not wanting to let go. The memory of the collar that can take away her bodily autonomy in the blink of an eye fades along with the terror of reliving that moment.

Tonelico wouldn’t do this to her. Tonelico isn’t Morgan.

Instead of punishing Artoria for deviating from unquestionable loyalty, Tonelico would want to understand, and assume she’s provoked it.

This little reassurance is all Artoria needs to hear to feel safe. As long as it’s Tonelico by her side, she’ll be fine. That’s how Artoria feels. As much as she wants to push this sense of security away; too afraid of losing it all eventually, like everything else before.

“Thanks,” Artoria mumbles.

But Tonelico hears it clearly.

“Anytime.” She means it.

The day has only started, but reinvigorated by a restful night and another moment of solace — repairing the crumbling relationship that’s almost been shattered entirely in an instant upon the break of Memory Lock — gives them enough energy to get back to the task at hand: Tonelico’s pilgrimage.

Although they have no strict schedule, no deadlines, Tonelico prefers they keep moving. Staying in a single place too long could prove dangerous; once fairies find out Tonelico has a comrade, Artoria would become the target of their hatred as well.

… no, once they find out that the one they executed in Orkney wasn’t the Fairy of Paradise, but a simple Rain fairy pretending to be. Amelia gave her life for Tonelico’s and Artoria’s temporary safety from suspicion.

A gesture that could never be repaid. Tonelico almost forgot about this — forced her memories of Orkney to the back of her mind where they couldn’t hurt as much.

Once Artoria has had enough comfort, Tonelico will regretfully cut the proximity short, and they will move on.

Only four bells left.

Chapter Text

Near a lake, Artoria stands at the shoreline, a couple of flat pebbles in her left hand. Without noticing, she sticks out her tongue a little, as though that could help her focus, and throws one of the stones at the water’s surface.

“One… two… Aww, come on!”

Artoria pouts. She glares at the spot where the pebble submerged itself after skipping only twice. Her record is five skips; not that she’s managed to hit it today. It must be these pebbles that are broken somehow, or this lake is cursed.

She picks another stone — flatter than the last, almost triangle-shaped, with round edges. With all the force of frustration, Artoria throws the poor pebble at the water’s surface, counting with amazement as it skips.

“One… two… three, four, five, six, seven, eight!?”

Artoria wouldn’t believe it if she didn’t see it herself; her eyes sparkle in amazement at this entirely useless skill she’s developing. With child-like enthusiasm — her frustrated anger disappeared once success kicked in once — she throws stone after stone.

Though they never skip more than twice at best, most no more than once.

Once Artoria has run out of stones, she leans down to pick up a new one, hardly minding its shape or size. She gets set for the throw, tongue darting out a little—

When out of nowhere, two hands cover Artoria’s eyes. The pebble drops out of her hand, making a little splosh sound when it breaks the water’s surface.

“You ruined my throw!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Tonelico removes her hands, and Artoria turns around to face her with a highly irritated glare. If not for the adorable pout, Tonelico would regret disturbing Artoria’s concentration.

But this face is worth the mild ire.

Tonelico pulls Artoria in for a kiss, which Artoria returns. Artoria’s expression softens once Tonelico pulls away; the rosy cheeks are a more than equivalent replacement for the pout.

“I’m still mad.” Kissing Tonelico is nice, but it doesn’t make up for a messed up stone skip.

“I didn’t know you’ve gotten that much into this new hobby.”

After taking a few steps along the shoreline, Tonelico takes up a pebble of her own. She’s seen Artoria skip stones the last few times they’ve been near a body of water. Never tried it herself; her pleasure has been Artoria’s adorable complaints about the water being broken, or the stones refusing to skip just to spite her.

So irrational, and she knows Artoria is perfectly aware of that herself.

“Mind if I give it a try?”

Artoria’s expression immediately sours. She’s just celebrated her newest stone skipping record today, and now Tonelico wants to skip stones, too?

It’s Tonelico, this annoyingly gifted genius of a fairy. If it’s her, the stone probably skips at least fifty times right away. The mere idea annoys Artoria to no end, and she sets her mind on practicing until she’ll skip at least a hundred times, if not more.

“Sure, go ahead.”

She can’t hide her irritation and brooding competitiveness from Tonelico either way, thanks to Fairy Eyes. It feels even more liberating to clearly put it all into her intonation as well. Not that Tonelico minds.

So far, there’s been nothing about Artoria that Tonelico hates. No matter what, the worst feeling Tonelico ever directed at Artoria was some variation of annoyance, maybe a bit of disappointment.

It’s comforting to be by the side of someone who whole-heartedly accepts you.

Artoria feels the same way about Tonelico. She can be so infuriating sometimes, with how perfect and flawless she is, too good at everything — but genuinely disliking anything about Tonelico? That feels utterly impossible. Artoria can’t even imagine it.

Tonelico trains her gaze on the lake’s surface. Immediately shifting into full focus, and throwing the flat stone the way she’s seen Artoria do it. It skips once—

No, it sinks immediately once it breaks the water’s surface.

Artoria blinks a few times. She rubs her eyes, in disbelief at what she’s just seen. Did Tonelico really mess up completely? That wasn’t a dream, right?

“… what…” Tonelico is as surprised as Artoria at her immediate failure.

She turns around with a reddened face when she hears Artoria snort once the reality sinks in like the stone sank to the lake’s ground.

Artoria breaks into full-blown laughter when she sees Tonelico’s flustered and frustrated face. This is a first. Too good, too funny. She’s always hoped to see Tonelico like this, and now she does over stone skipping, of all things?

“I— I’m sorry, just… Pffft.” Artoria tries her best to stop laughing, to no avail. “Fwahahaha, you should see your face!”

“T-this— It’s harder than it looks!! I’m sure I’ll get it the next time!”

‘The pebble must’ve had an unfortunate shape… No, I threw it at a bad angle… Maybe it was both?’

Confident that she’ll make Artoria eat her cockiness in a moment — make her regret that undignified ugly laugh on top of it — Tonelico scans the shoreline for the perfect stone.

Once she finds one that matches her standards, Tonelico picks it up, gets ready, and gives it her all with the next throw.

… only for it to break the water’s surface and propel forward further below it, until it inevitably sinks to the ground again.

Tonelico’s record stays at an impressive zero.

Artoria drops to the ground now, holding her stomach, which hurts from laughing too much. Normally a sound that would be soothing music to Tonelico’s ears, but right now it adds insult to injury.

Salt into the wounds she’d rather lick in peace, like an injured animal.

While Tonelico is seething, Artoria eventually calms down, sitting up cross-legged. She wipes the tears from her eyes. This has probably been the first time in her life she’s laughed this much, and it being at Tonelico’s expense makes it feel even more cathartic.

“Are you done yet?” For once, it’s Tonelico’s turn to sulk and pout over her inadequacy.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sorry.” Artoria clears her throat. “It’s just… I never saw you fumble anything this hard before. You’re plain awful at stone skipping.”

“You really just said that to my face, huh?” After a brief moment of surprise, it’s now Tonelico’s turn to chuckle softly.

She sits down next to Artoria, watching the small ripples on the calm lake with her. Her sulky irritation is replaced with a gentle but faint smile, an almost melancholic expression.

Artoria wants to ask what’s with that reaction, but she doesn’t have to for Tonelico to go on.

“I never had anyone tell me I failed, or that I’m bad at anything before.” Tonelico leans back a little, propping herself up on her arms. “It’s kind of refreshing.”

“Of course. You pretty much nail anything you try right away.” Artoria’s expression sours again at the mere idea. She rolls her eyes. “That’s the most annoying thing about you.”

“I suppose it is. I don’t think anyone would be as… bold as you are, Artoria.” Not just anyone would speak so rudely to Tonelico, lacking any respect.

“Someone has to take you down a peg and remind you that you’re just a fairy once in a while.”

Artoria puffs out her chest proudly. Even though Tonelico has long reached a level of magical prowess that she wouldn’t be able to match, even though Tonelico knows so many more spells than she’d ever be able to learn, even though Tonelico is all that Artoria will never be — at the end of the day, Tonelico isn’t some incomprehensible being.

She’s a fairy like Artoria.

Knowing how lonely and difficult life is as the Fairy of Paradise — being othered, used, taken advantage of, abused, loathed — Artoria knows that a sense of normalcy and being understood is balm for a hurt soul. Glue that keeps the pieces of one’s heart together, preventing it from shattering under the pressure of adversary.

She’s learned that back in Orkney. She’d only gotten a glimpse of that back in Tintagel.

There’s no one but Artoria who would bother to stand up to Tonelico as an equal. And there’s nobody but Tonelico who would do the same for Artoria. In the whole world, possibly in all worlds, the two of them are one of a kind. Understanding each other comes so natural. For the most part.

“That was the last bell, huh,” Artoria says.

“Mhmm. I’ve rung all six now.” Tonelico’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes anymore when she stares off in the distance like she’s avoiding to look at the present.

“What’s next?” Artoria carelessly throws another pebble into the lake. “… are you going to tell me?”

“Please let me think about it for a bit longer. I’ll tell you once I’m sure.”

Artoria isn’t satisfied with the lack of an answer to this crucial question. But this is a plea from Tonelico; she’s genuine, and desperately hopes that Artoria won’t pry further.

For now, for Tonelico’s sake, Artoria will settle for this. Ever since Tonelico promised to be honest with Artoria, she indeed hasn’t lied nor hidden any truth from Artoria.

This one time, Tonelico requests the privacy of pondering over her course of action by herself. Artoria understands she’d be too demanding if she wouldn’t respect that, just this once.

“Fine.” With a deep sigh, Artoria leans towards Tonelico until her head lands in Tonelico’s lap. “I’m not happy you’re still keeping me out, but… It can’t be helped.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

It pains Tonelico. She knows there’s no real solution. All she does is buy time; time for Artoria to stay blissfully unaware of their fate, the inevitability of it all. Eventually, Tonelico will have to tell Artoria, but… She can’t. Not today, not now.

‘Please, let me enjoy this dream for just a little bit longer…’

Artoria closes her eyes as Tonelico caresses her cheek. She nuzzles into the gentle touch, wishing this simple moment could last forever.

Maybe, once Tonelico brings peace to this land, it can. As fairies, their lifespans aren’t really limited. If anyone can turn this wretched place into a peaceful kingdom, it would be this Tonelico by Artoria’s side. No doubt about it.

Suddenly, a tremor; Tonelico and Artoria feel the ground shake beneath them.

Before even knowing the source, both of them instinctively know this is bad news. Dangerous.

Immediately, they jump into action. Artoria leaves the comfort of resting her head on Tonelico’s lap and gets onto her feet; Tonelico takes her staff and leaps up, trying to pin down the direction at the very least.

“It’s coming from there,” Artoria says, pointing east.

Tonelico nods. It’s not a surprise Artoria notices before her, she’s got finer senses. In a different situation, Tonelico would call them ‘animalistic instincts’ that Artoria possesses in place of proper manners. But now isn’t the time for banter.

“Stay here.”

Once she’s said that, Tonelico takes off towards the source of the ground’s tremble. This isn’t a matter Artoria should get involved in; Artoria shouldn’t endanger herself like that. Much to her dismay, Tonelico can tell that she’s on her tail, though.

‘Why can’t this fool just listen…’

Gritting her teeth, Tonelico has to think fast. She decides to let Artoria follow. In the worst case, she can use a Water Mirror to send her back to the lake still. Beats losing time to a futile argument with a stubborn Artoria.

Not that Tonelico is any less stubborn herself.

After a long dash through thick woods surrounding the lake, Tonelico’s eyes widen in shock as she comes to face with what may as well be a nightmare — in the center of a clearing that hasn’t been one until very recently stands a gigantic reptilian creature.

It’s pitch black. Instead of scales, its body gives off black dust-like particles. Almost seeming as though this beast is made of a combination of coal and shadow. It stands on four thick legs, three claws on each foot. Each one almost as long as Artoria is tall.

The beast’s tail is fairly short, but at this sheer size still gives it a big range. Its hind legs appear sturdier, hinting at its ability to at least temporarily stand on them only.

Upon Tonelico’s arrival, it lets out a low growl that reverberates through one’s soul, instilling an instinctual fear into one’s heart. It’s loud enough that Tonelico wouldn’t doubt it’s heard in all of Britain.

“W-what the hell is—”

“A calamity,” Tonelico mutters.

Although she doesn’t truly know why, Artoria simply understands.

Neither of them has heard of them before, much less seen one. But now that they come to face with this being that feels as though it’s made of pure hatred, its only purpose murder and annihilation — they intrinsically know what it is. Maybe because they’re Fairies of Paradise.

The next thing they understand: This beast has to be taken down.

“Stay back.” The look Tonelico gives Artoria doesn’t leave room for arguments.

“But— I can’t just let you go up against that by yourself! I feel it too, you know!”

“Artoria, please.” Tonelico puts her trembling hand on Artoria’s shoulder. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

With a click of her tongue, Artoria turns away. The raw hurt in Tonelico’s eyes is plain unfair. It’s like looking at Tonelico after Orkney; there’s no way Artoria would be able to put Tonelico through such pain. Never again could she bear seeing Tonelico like that.

Grateful for Artoria’s compliance, Tonelico takes off towards the reptilian shadow beast of hatred, leaving Artoria to step back into the woods, out of sight and earshot. Frustrated about being a useless burden in such dire situations.

“… then you should’ve let me ring the bells, too,” Artoria mutters.

Tonelico charges at the beast, transforming her staff into a spear for both range and sharpness. She catches the calamity’s attention immediately and has to leap to the side to avoid getting stomped, but then pierces its stomach. Scaled animals tend to have softer scales and less protection on the bellies, after all.

Not that such logic would apply to a calamity.

The spear’s tip easily stabs the creature, meeting little resistance — but the calamity appears entirely unaffected. Tonelico pulls her spear back out, using a Water Mirror to change her position, spawning over the beast’s back. She turns her spear into a sword, gripping the hilt with both hands tightly.

Gravity pulls her down, adding more force to the swing when Tonelico cuts the calamity’s back. Yet again, there is little resistance to the attack, and no reaction. There’s no injury, nor does blood flow. Tonelico considers that this thing might not be able to feel pain.

In which case, it wouldn’t halt until it’s killed.

From the corner of her eye, she sees its tail coming at her — but in a split second, another Water Mirror brings her to the calamity’s nape. Right as she uses her magecraft to transform the sword back into the spear, the beast turns its head 180 degrees and looks straight at Tonelico. Its empty eyes seem to pierce her soul directly.

Tonelico feels as though she can hear its thoughts.

Kill. Kill them all. Sinners. Destroy. Kill. Punish. Destroy Kill Destroy Kill Kill Kill them all. KILL.

Tonelico shudders at the concentrated hatred that this calamity exudes. It won’t stop until it falls, or Britain does. The icy shiver that runs down Tonelico’s spine at this is enough of a distraction to break her concentration.

She only barely casts another Water Mirror in time to avoid her limbs getting caught in the calamity’s mouth, snapping shut with sharp teeth right where Tonelico used to be.

But with her imperfect focus, the Water Mirror isn’t as accurate as usual and drops her onto the ground at an unfortunate angle. After half a roll, Tonelico lands back on her feet, frantically running through all the options she can think of, in way over her head.

Are there any possible weak spots she didn’t try yet? Is it worth looking for them? Head, tail, and feet are lethal weapons. Getting too close to them is a high risk with no reward.

Does it have a heart? Would piercing that kill it immediately? With how there’s no blood running through its body, the absence of a heart wouldn’t be surprising. And Tonelico has no idea where it would be anyway.

The last option is to continuously strike it, accumulating so much damage that it cannot keep its body intact anymore. This works on any living organism, phantasmal beings, and objects. A straightforward and blunt course of action, but the most promising strategy.

‘But how can I inflict that much damage to it…?’

At most, Tonelico could create three clones of herself. They are as powerful as her original self, but she only has enough mana to keep them active for about five minutes. If that’s not enough, that would leave her wide open for retaliation. It’s a high risk. Too high.

There’s no saying that four Tonelicos could finish the job within five minutes. It’s not worth it.

Instead, Tonelico takes her spear and charges at the calamity’s left hind leg. If she can cut a leg off, that would limit its mobility. That’s the edge she needs. She transforms the spear back into a sword and cuts away at the leg.

If only Tonelico would’ve learned proper swordsmanship, she’d be more efficient. Luckily, technique isn’t as crucial as raw power in such a battle.

And yet, as easily as the sword’s blade slides through the calamity’s leg, no cut remains. Like this, it’s simply impossible to sever the limb.

Unwilling to give up on this approach this soon — it’s not like she could transform her staff into a gigantic axe, or wield one in the first place — Tonelico keeps cutting at it.

“Watch out—”

When Artoria’s cry reaches Tonelico’s ears, she sees a shadow in the corner of her eye. She casts Water Mirror, but it activates too late. The calamity’s tail slams into Tonelico’s side at full force, knocking the breath out of her as it throws her into the Water Mirror.

The momentum tosses Tonelico out of the delayed Water Mirror roughly, at a safe enough distance at least. Flung like a ragdoll, Tonelico tumbles over the rough ground, until she eventually catches her movement.

Standing up proves difficult. Tonelico struggles to get up on her knees, holding her right side. At least two of her ribs are definitely broken. The pain is almost numbing.

When Tonelico reaches up to wipe her nose, she sees blood. She casts the minor healing spell she knows on her nose while she holds it closed to stop the bleeding. Injuries can be taken care of later when she has the time; not bleeding out before the calamity is down is the highest priority.

When Tonelico looks back at the calamity, she can’t believe her eyes: Artoria is charging at the wretched thing.

‘This foolish girl…!!’

Tonelico immediately transforms her sword back to its original form, a staff. This isn’t Artoria’s battle. As the Fairy of Paradise, the one who rung the six bells and completed her pilgrimage, it’s Tonelico’s duty to protect Artoria.

Right when she wants to cast a Water Mirror to send Artoria away from this, she feels a piercing pain in her chest. Tonelico flinches, almost sinking to her knees. Maybe it’s not only two broken ribs. No, that can wait.

“Artoria, don—”

Once she tries to raise her voice, Tonelico feels an unbearable irritation in her throat, swallowing up her speech. She covers her mouth with her hand, and coughs up blood.

In this moment, Tonelico curses herself for not having delved deeper into healing magecraft. With the sharp pain in her chest, and the blood still lingering in her mouth, Tonelico is in too bad of a shape for close combat.

Artoria can tell. Seeing the speed at which the calamity’s tail crashed into Tonelico, she’s surprised Tonelico can even stand up anymore. It must be the boost from the bells. That was enough force to knock the wind out of anyone, if not outright kill them.

At that sight, Artoria couldn’t stand still and watch anymore.

‘As if I’d let you hurt Tonelico like that!!’

Pilgrimage or not, Fairy of Paradise or Child of Prophecy — none of that matters. Who cares about duty and role?

All that matters is saving Tonelico’s life; that’s what Artoria’s heart is screaming at the top of its lungs. This oversized lizard isn’t that scary to an Artoria filled with the anger and frustration of seeing Tonelico get injured while she motionlessly stands by.

Artoria tightens her grip on her simple wooden staff and casts one of the spells she’s learned in her magecraft studies with Tonelico in Orkney — boosting her physical capabilities. She leaps onto the calamity’s foot with ease.

Her jumping power is enough to even cover the distance to its shoulder, from where she charges towards its head.

Unlike Tonelico earlier, Artoria already knows now that the thing can turn its head by 180 degrees at least, if not full 360 degrees. It does, aiming to take a bite of Artoria, who jumps up in time to swiftly evade the fatal attack, then she uses all of her boosted strength to ram her staff into the calamity’s left eye.

Surprisingly, it lets out a low growl, as if wincing in pain. Before Artoria could even think to retrieve her staff — not that she planned anything about this attack in advance, she’s simply acted on nothing but intuition and instinct — she’s hit by the calamity shaking its head in a futile attempt to dislodge the staff stuck in its eye like a thorn.

Artoria casts a spell, boosting her durability just in time before she hits the ground. It still hurts like hell and knocks the breath out of her. Magecraft without a staff is weaker and less focused, but it’s better than nothing. Without the boost, this fall would’ve broken some bones at least.

The calamity raises to its hind legs, shaking its head left and right to remove the foreign object. To no avail.

This is the missing puzzle piece: attacks don’t leave any mark on it, but objects stuck in it permanently are a different matter. That’s the information Tonelico needed.

With Artoria still in the calamity’s proximity, Tonelico’s concern overshadows her pain.

She puts all of her concentration into this spell. One Tonelico has never used before, only theorized about conceptually. There has never been an instance in which this would’ve been necessary. But holding back is the wrong move against this calamity.

Dark clouds accumulate above the beast’s head, while Artoria scrambles onto her legs. A little wobbly from the fall still, but she can slowly get some distance between herself and the calamity, while the clouds above thicken.

Once Artoria is out of range, Tonelico takes a deep breath to steady her aim. The preparation is done, her strongest spell is ready.

“Clouds of Orkney!!”

Instead of the gentle rain one would expect hearing ‘Orkney’ in the spell’s name, lightning crashes down relentlessly. Artoria’s staff, stuck in the calamity’s eye, turns out to be a perfect lightning rod, drawing in every single of the countless surges of pure energy.

The calamity shakes at every lightning that hits it, each strike looks as though it pulls apart the shadow particles the beast is made of until they pull themselves together again.

Its movements slow down gradually.

Until eventually, it drops to the ground. Stray lightning keeps raining down on its lifeless body. Each strike of lightning now dissipates a chunk of its body. Eventually, nothing remains of the calamity. No trace of the creature consisting of hatred and an overwhelming desire to annihilate the land.

“It’s over…” Tonelico’s voice is a mutter.

She coughs up blood again, finally sinking down to her knees — but Artoria is there to catch Tonelico in her arms.

“Why did you—” Another coughing fit disrupts Tonelico.

“If I didn’t, you’d be dead by now, you idiot!” Artoria holds back her tears. “What were you planning there!?”

As that question leaves Artoria’s mouth, she remembers Tonelico asking her that exact question back in Orkney, in one of their sparring matches. It only frustrates her further.

How could Tonelico act so high and mighty and criticize Artoria in a mere Magi-Match, just to pull off the same foolishness in a serious situation!? When it really counts!?

Tonelico remembers the same instance, realizing her hypocrisy. It was easy to criticize and chastize when there were no stakes, when there was the thought to spare on such trivialities.

Now? Tonelico understands she’s lucky to be alive. No, she knows she has to thank Artoria for that.

“You’re right.” Admitting this hurts, Tonelico winces at the pain in her throat.

“H-hey! You shouldn’t talk. Wait, I’ll heal you—”

When Artoria looks around for her staff, she finds it gone. Decimated by lightning, same as the calamity. Without it, her healing magecraft would struggle against Tonelico’s injuries.

Artoria grits her teeth. It’s not like she has a choice; she’ll have to cast a healing spell anyway.

Right when she’s about to put her focus into it, there are voices in the distance. Tonelico startles immediately. Her gaze flicks between Artoria and the source of the voices. Fairies are heading towards them.

The panic in Tonelico’s eyes says enough; Artoria doesn’t have to ask. Not right now.

They’ll have to leave before they’re found.

For a lack of better options, Artoria heaves Tonelico onto her back, planning to carry her piggyback. At least until they reach the woods, where it’ll be easy to keep their presence concealed.

Tonelico is heavier than expected — in her mind, Artoria blames Tonelico’s stupidly more developed body and especially her boobs for it. Artoria casts another spell, enhancing her physical strength once more. Less potent than in her battle against the calamity, but it should be enough.

The forest isn’t that far away, but with the additional weight on her back, despite the strength boost, Artoria trips every few steps and almost loses her balance. She feels Tonelico hold on to her more tightly, allowing Artoria to focus more on running, worrying less about not losing Tonelico.

Just barely, they manage to cross the bushes, getting further into the thickening woods. From behind, they can faintly make out fairies wondering if there wasn’t just someone here, and what happened to the monster they saw.

It doesn’t matter. Nobody seems to follow them.

Artoria lets Tonelico down against a tree, sitting cross-legged in front of her to catch her breath. The adrenaline pumping through her veins only helped as long as the threat was immediate; now that she’s calmed down and both Tonelico and herself are safe, the fatigue catches up.

This isn’t the right spot to make camp, but Artoria holds her hand over Tonelico’s ribs and casts a healing spell. If Tonelico can at least walk on her own without a risk of worsening her injuries, that would make the trip back to the lake a lot easier.

But staying focused is difficult. Artoria starts to feel a little light-headed after a moment, signaling that she’s already running low on mana. Unlike Tonelico, her reserves are much smaller and don’t recharge as quickly either. Ringing the bells is such an unfair cheat for a Fairy of Paradise.

“Ugh…” Artoria breaks off the spell and holds her head. She feels a mild headache approaching.

“Artoria?”

“Sorry, I’m— I’m just running low on mana. Give me a moment…”

Tonelico’s pain is somewhat numbed by now. Ignorable, as long as she stays mostly still. But getting up and walking to the lake in this state would overexert her, that much is clear.

There’s something that could be done to get back to the lake earlier, without having to wait here in the middle of the forest for Artoria to recharge.

“Kiss me.”

Artoria turns to Tonelico with an utterly confused look. Scandalized even.

‘How can she think of that at such a time!?’

Chapter Text

If it weren’t for most movements causing discomfort at the very least, Tonelico would roll her eyes. This oblivious fool… Artoria would know that mana is found in bodily fluids and can be transferred that way between two individuals if she’d read more books.

Too often did she find Artoria spaced out, or even asleep on top of a tome. Drooling on the precious pages. At least the sight was cute.

“It’s not what you think. Nngh—” Tonelico groans lowly at the pain she feels when she readjusts her position. “You can have some of my mana that way.”

“Really?” Artoria’s face lights up at this easy fix. “Right! Your spit contains mana, so if I… drink it…”

As the realization sinks in, Artoria’s face flushes. Kissing is one thing. Still embarrassing, but something she’s growing comfortable with. But actively drinking another’s saliva? That’s… too lewd. No way Artoria would do that!

… but is there a choice?

Artoria tells herself it’s for Tonelico’s sake. Only so they can get back to the lakeside faster, and rest properly. That’s all. She’s not at all curious about this. Having made her decision quicker than she’d like — a total 180 from her initial reaction — Artoria clears her throat.

“Well, that— that sounds like the most sensible solution. So, if I may…”

Artoria leans in to brush her lips over Tonelico’s. She’s trembling. Nervosity, anticipation, or a mix of the two takes hold of her; but Artoria manages to push them aside.

The little spark generated by the brief touch of their lips provides easily enough motivation for Artoria to keep going.

She tries to ignore that sensation in an attempt to convince herself that this isn’t an intimate gesture for the sake of it, but merely something done for practical reasons. As though believing that would make it easier to pull through.

Artoria shuts her eyes tightly; the last thing she wants to see while she does this is Tonelico’s eyes, in which she can imagine the amusement. The familiar glint saying ‘You’re way too cute’ all too clearly.

‘It’s for Tonelico… Just for Tonelico…’

When Tonelico parts her lips, Artoria’s tongue reluctantly enters her mouth. Artoria cups Tonelico’s face to steady herself — emotionally more than physically — as her tongue tentatively explores Tonelico’s mouth. Rubbing her tongue over Tonelico’s, Artoria finds herself surprised at how rough a texture a tongue turns out to have.

Even more surprisingly, the contact feels awfully good.

Each brush of her tongue against Tonelico’s sends a warm shiver down Artoria’s spine, delicately and slowly. A faint tingle, barely noticeable, appears to spread throughout her body, encompassing every single nerve ending, whenever this pleasant shiver makes its way downwards.

It becomes addictive quickly.

Artoria feels her entire being grow warmer by the second; like the comfort of a campfire that risks turning into an all-consuming blaze if careless.

These embers, fueled by each almost-leak of Tonelico’s voice that catches in Artoria’s throat, flush any second guesses out of her mind, along with other thoughts she may have been able to form if not for the feeling of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Until Tonelico’s tug at her sleeve reminds Artoria why she’s doing this. Her face grows steaming hot at the realization of how quickly she’s lost herself to those pleasurable sensations and forgotten the important part. The whole reason they’re doing this.

More composed — and ashamed — than before, Artoria now focuses on recharging her mana rather than on Tonelico’s addictive being.

Any bit of saliva Artoria finds in Tonelico’s mouth, she laps up. The subtle taste of iron doesn’t go unnoticed. It reminds Artoria of the blood Tonelico has coughed up. As if to soothe wounds that aren’t found here, Artoria tenderly runs her tongue over every centimeter in Tonelico’s mouth.

She’ll clean up all the blood and its remainders from the inside of Tonelico’s mouth.

It doesn’t take much for Artoria to feel her mana levels rise, once she pays attention to it. With how much Tonelico appears to have to spare — thanks to the bells she’s rung — this method is more than efficient, despite the concurrent distraction of building arousal.

An all too delicious drawback to the practicality.

Artoria’s hand finds its way back to Tonelico’s side, casting a healing spell sustained by the mana she drains directly from the spell’s target. It takes an incredible amount of concentration to simultaneously heal injuries as severe as those Tonelico suffered from the battle against the calamity while recharging in this manner. But Artoria manages.

Some flicks of her tongue against Tonelico’s seem to work like a charm; making Tonelico involuntarily salivate. More fuel for Artoria.

Artoria soon finds a rhythm that comes to her easily, leaving her in a trance as she occasionally sucks on Tonelico’s tongue, continuously lapping up the mana-filled liquid that’s long since lost the taste of iron. Cleansed by Artoria’s meticulous efforts; not that they are entirely altruistic.

Eventually, after a moment in which time has lost all meaning, Artoria pulls away. Her breath is hot and labored, and so is Tonelico’s, whose cheeks have taken on a rosy-red color.

Half-closed eyes with the faintest hint of a tear at the corner, the crystal blue pupils focused intently on Artoria, yet not fully present in the current moment. Lost in the all-consuming distraction of primal desire.

The mere sight gives Artoria the urge to crash her lips down against Tonelico’s once more — to ravage her right here, right now.

Thankfully, a moment of clarity allows her to reconsider. Artoria clears her throat before losing herself to primal instincts she hasn’t even been fully aware she possesses. Especially not to this degree. She’ll blame this corruption of herself on Morgan.

“Thanks.” Tonelico’s voice is raspy. She clears her throat, allowing her mind to find its way back to their present situation.

“Sure. Anytime.”

‘Stupid… Idiot… Why did I say that!?’

“We should get moving.”

Artoria helps Tonelico up, despite her own legs being a bit wobbly by now. It takes a few steps, the clear air of the forest, and a moment of silence penetrated only by the soft rustling of leaves on their way, to recover mentally and allow the strength to come back to their limbs fully.

Not that the stoked embers inside of the two fairies would cool down any soon, though. Merely smolder, waiting for the next spark to reignite the fire.

Once the lakeside comes into view, Tonelico and Artoria relax. This is their safe haven — for now — where other fairies wouldn’t find them. Not with Tonelico casting a barrier around the area, making sure to keep every living being outside and grant the two a much needed and well-deserved breather.

Tonelico looks at Artoria, only to avert her gaze quickly once she recounts the all too passionate kiss they’ve shared mere moments ago at the sight of Artoria’s lips, smudged blood clinging to them. She feels as though she can still taste them on hers.

It was a surprise to see Artoria so forward, so lost in whatever came over her — but a very welcome one. Stirring feelings in Tonelico that make her wish to see more of this side of Artoria that she’s never noticed. While she still has the chance.

Though with how Artoria very intently avoids meeting Tonelico’s eyes, fiddling around with her hair, this assertiveness is gone by now. Perhaps it requires the right push. Back in Orkney, in the bath, it was similar, after all.

But that’s nothing to dwell on right now. That’s a matter for later.

“These really need to be cleaned,” Tonelico says to herself after a quick look at her clothes.

It doesn’t take much of an assessment for that conclusion. Dried blood seeped into the white fabric, dyeing it dark red in multiple places. A grim reminder of injuries sustained, of a battle that may have gone awry with fatal consequences had things gone differently. Had Artoria not stepped in.

“Same here.”

Not as sullied by blood — mostly Tonelico’s — but Artoria’s clothes are in a similar state. With that and the accumulated sweat of travel, the lake provides too convenient an opportunity for washing their clothes to pass it up. It doesn’t require any further consideration.

Tonelico removes her garments, one by one. The glances Artoria tries to steal aren’t as sneaky as she hopes. It brings a smile to Tonelico’s face.

Artoria is plain adorable, trying to hide what Fairy Eyes would see through easily. Not that Tonelico blames her. Wanting to look at the body of the one you love is only natural, after all. Wishing to touch it even more so.

“What are you waiting for?”

The amused smile carries into Tonelico’s voice, a light chime that reaches Artoria’s ears. Her face flushes upon being clearly caught in the act of ogling the undressing Tonelico. If only Tonelico were less observant, or at the very least didn’t let the endearment show. It’s absolutely on purpose, Artoria is sure of that. Only to fluster her further.

“N-nothing.”

Artoria follows suit and undresses, almost tripping over her own feet when she removes the black leggings. Together with Tonelico, Artoria places the garments into the lake. Instinctively, Artoria covers her chest with her arm, the other shielding her privates from view. Not that anyone but herself or Tonelico is here, so she knows it shouldn’t bother her, but…

‘How can she be so calm and unabashed? Must be nice, having such a body…’

That sulky pout isn’t new. Tonelico can tell what goes through her silly companion’s head, but she won’t comment on the envy sparked by the apparent inferiority complex. Instead, she takes her staff and casts a spell that would use the lake’s water to thoroughly clean the fabric of all that should not be there — blood, dirt, and sweat, among other particles.

While Tonelico uses magecraft to wash their clothes, Artoria retrieves a blanket from their shared frugal luggage and sits down on it near the shore, hugging her legs to her chest. There’s nothing for her to do after all.

It’s not that she’d prefer to keep Tonelico in her view, or so Artoria tells herself.

“Don’t you think you abuse your magecraft sometimes?”

‘Must be nice being able to do everything with a quick spell instead of by hand.’

Tonelico chuckles.

“I’m a witch after all. Isn’t that to be expected?”

Artoria rolls her eyes. She has no words for this fairy sometimes.

“Hm? What’s this?”

From a pocket in Artoria’s dress, Tonelico pulls out an object she hadn’t expected to ever see again: her glasses. The lenses are smudged, but otherwise they’re in perfect condition. Tonelico holds the glasses in her hand.

The nostalgia of familiarity washes over her; for a moment she feels as though she’s back in Orkney. When her life knew less pain and her days were spent in her study, more recently most of them with Artoria.

“… you kept them?”

“Ah… Yeah.” Artoria pulls her knees close. “You threw them away, but I— I couldn’t leave them behind like that.”

“Why?” Tonelico’s thumb brushes over the cold, flat surface of the lens.

“They’re a part of you. Of the old you.” Artoria nervously chews on her lip. “I thought— Well, when you threw them away, I was afraid that you’d be gone. You were different after… after that happened.”

“I see.”

With a swing of her staff, Tonelico materializes a magical string between the branches of two trees and swings it again to let the clothes find their way onto it to dry. It would be faster to dry them with a different spell instantly, but they aren’t short on time.

Rather, Tonelico wants to make the most of the time she has with Artoria while she can. This is better done without clothes.

“I missed the old you,” Artoria mutters.

Tonelico takes a cloth, soaks it in the lake’s clear water, and then warms it. When she joins Artoria on the blanket, she gently wipes off her own blood from Artoria’s lips and hands. A more proper bath can wait for later.

Artoria returns the gesture, careful to not put too much pressure on places that might still be sore. With Tonelico’s magecraft, even using a lake to wash up isn’t accompanied by cold discomfort.

Once they’re cleaned up, the cloth is discarded to the side. Washing it can be done tomorrow, it’s not that important. Not as important as what Artoria said just a moment ago.

Tonelico retrieves a handkerchief from their small luggage and wipes the glasses properly clean, with no smudges that would impair her vision left, before she puts on her glasses again — for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

“You sure are careless, aren’t you?” Tonelico’s smile is warm and gentle as her crystal blue eyes look at Artoria’s emerald green through the lenses. “All those smudges. I’d see better without the glasses at that point.”

“I tried my best! How do you even get them so perfectly clean just like that? Must’ve been a spell, too.”

Artoria pouts. But the relief and happiness at seeing the Tonelico she originally fell in love with again, just the same as back then, makes her heart melt.

Tonelico is Tonelico, no matter what. But those round glasses simply make her even more Tonelico. A feeling that cannot make sense by logic, but Artoria’s heart understands this as irrefutable truth.

“It only takes practice.” Tonelico leans against Artoria, then rests her head on Artoria’s shoulder. “Although I really don’t need them anymore.”

“Isn’t it better to wear glasses if your eyesight is bad? Or did you correct them with some spell?”

“No, nothing like that. I’m only a little farsighted. It’s straining to look at very near things for long periods, so I needed glasses to read without a headache. That’s all.”

Artoria already knew that Tonelico’s eyesight isn’t that bad. But hearing it from Tonelico herself is a confirmation that stings. Tonelico doesn’t have to add that reading is a pleasure not granted to her anymore.

She hardly has the time to delve into books, and by the looks of Orkney’s castle on that fateful day, the entire library must’ve burned down to ashes anyway, so she has no books left to read either.

Artoria wishes that someday, Tonelico can lose herself in countless words written on pages once more. Truly be who she is, not what she needs to be.

“I see.”

Artoria leans her head on Tonelico’s. There is a faint breeze, though it doesn’t feel cold, even as exposed as the two of them sit there at the lake. A moment of true peace, tranquility. Shared quiet proximity between the two Fairies of Paradise who take in each other’s company.

Until the sun starts to set, and they realize they have yet to make camp.

Although neither wants to separate just yet, instead bask in the warmth of each other’s body heat for what could be an eternity, they know this shouldn’t be put off further.

With coordinated teamwork, they get their modest tent set, and a small campfire started within no time. The blanket finds its place on the ground inside the tent that shields them from the weather, and another blanket is added to disappear under for the night later.

“It took way too long to get this stuff,” Artoria laments with a sigh. The fact that they originally started the pilgrimage with nothing but the clothes they’ve worn at the time fills her with dread.

“I miss sleeping under the stars sometimes, though.”

“You can always just leave the tent to me. I wouldn’t complain about more space.”

Artoria sticks out her tongue, though it doesn’t take long for her to eat her words and regret the cocky suggestion.

“Wouldn’t you get lonely all alone at night?” Tonelico leans closer, until her breath tickles Artoria’s ear. “I, for one, can’t wait to hold you in my arms tonight, but if you’d prefer to sleep alone…”

“N-no, that’s— I mean—”

Artoria’s head is spinning at the insinuation. Clearly, clearly, Tonelico is implying something here. It doesn’t take more than this to stoke the embers from their earlier passionate kiss, starting the fire inside of Artoria’s core back up.

She can tell Tonelico feels the same.

“Now, what will it be?” Tonelico asks, standing at the tent’s entrance.

She knows the answer. Tonelico is acutely aware of Artoria’s eyes wandering over her naked form; the envy that usually flares up upon the sight having no chance against the desire that’s already burning Artoria up inside.

If seeing the one you love longing for your body is arousing, then Fairy Eyes can only amplify this effect.

Artoria’s mouth won’t cooperate, so she simply disappears into the tent and pulls Tonelico after her. Tonelico lands on top of the two blankets, surprised by the sudden action, and by Artoria on top of her, leaning down until their noses nearly touch.

“You don’t need to ask,” Artoria mutters. She’d never choose to sleep alone if having Tonelico with her is an option.

“I know.”

Tonelico smiles, before crossing the distance to meet Artoria’s lips in a sweet, gentle kiss. Her arms wrap around Artoria to hold her close.

The lack of clothes is convenient and appreciated; Tonelico loses no time before letting her hands roam over Artoria’s back. The smooth surface is almost hot to the touch, a clear indication of the fairy’s state. Not that Tonelico fares any better.

“It’s been too long,” Tonelico mutters against Artoria’s lips as she pulls away for a moment.

“Yeah…”

Way too long, in fact. So much time has passed since the downfall of Orkney, since the time they’ve gotten intimate with each other in the bath. Tonelico hadn’t asked for permission then, though Artoria didn’t mind.

Only by now does Artoria know why: She’s loved Tonelico ever since then.

At the time, the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind, but once it became clear over the course of the pilgrimage, all the pieces fell into place. A life without Tonelico feels utterly wrong. Empty.

Artoria wants Tonelico — all of her. A feeling akin to hunger wells up inside of Artoria, and she closes their distance once more.

In no time at all, Artoria grows uncharacteristically bold. As though there’s no room for thought, consideration, or patience in her mind; Artoria only follows the overwhelming intuitive feeling Tonelico stirs inside of her.

If there be shame and regret, that’s of no concern now.

This carelessly passionate desire is a flavor of pleasure Tonelico has yet to taste. She feels Artoria’s sharp canine drag across her lip, making her wonder how it would feel to be bitten.

The sweet pain mixing with the heat is what Tonelico can only imagine enhancing this encounter further.

If only because it would feel perfectly like Artoria to do so.

“Nnnh—”

Tonelico’s startled voice leaks out when the small canine comes dangerously close to breaking skin. The sudden reaction makes Artoria pause and pull away, glad to see no wound. She brushes her thumb over Tonelico’s bottom lip, assessing the invisible damage and expressing a gentle apology.

“Sorry,” Artoria mumbles. “Does it hurt?”

The tender worry with which Artoria gazes at her makes Tonelico’s heart swell; it feels as though it could choke her with guilt.

A feeling that threatens to overcome Tonelico any moment should she not try her hardest to swallow it whole; unable to fully erase it from existence. Artoria cares so much about her in the smallest ways, and here Tonelico lies, keeping secrets still.

Artoria deserves better. She, at the very least, deserves to know. There’s a limit to how much time you can buy.

At this moment, Tonelico makes up her mind. Tomorrow, she will tell Artoria everything. What it means to be a Fairy of Paradise, and what fate awaits them and Britain.

Ignorance may be bliss, and it would be so much easier not to share the harsh truth. But Tonelico doesn't want to lie to Artoria any longer. She’s promised to share her plans with Artoria once she’s certain.

This feeling of guilt shall no longer separate their hearts like a barrier that can only be shattered from one side, yet felt by both.

The determination alone allows this unwanted, regretful feeling to dissipate, if only for this moment. It would return should Tonelico go against her own decision, but she won’t.

There’s no way Tonelico would go back on her word. She will face this tomorrow, properly, as the Fairy of Paradise. As Artoria’s lover.

And for tonight, she will indulge herself; letting go of all things burdening her, sharing this special moment with Artoria. This time, truly, it would be the last chance.

It shall make up for all the encounters they will not have in the future, and for those they didn’t have in the past.

“I'm fine.” Tonelico caresses Artoria's cheek, who swallows. The soft, smooth skin feels hot to the touch. “Don't stop.”

‘Let me truly forget everything for just one night, please. Nothing but us should matter until sunrise.’

When Artoria still seems unsure still — her assertiveness is too fickle — Tonelico lowers her voice to a sensual whisper. She lazily runs a finger down Artoria's spine; leaving a tingle in its wake that's so much more potent than any shiver traveling the same path ever could be.

“I'm yours, Artoria. All yours.”

Something about this — Tonelico offering herself up, using this wanton voice, the genuineness of it all, maybe the combination of them all — flips a switch in Artoria.

Self-restraint goes from active to nonexistent in one second flat.

Artoria sees the desire in Tonelico’s glazed eyes, and feels her own overwhelming any remainder of rationality with ease. Whatever seemed to bother Tonelico just a moment ago is nothing but an afterthought now.

Artoria can’t be bothered to worry about that anymore either.

She dips down, sinking her teeth into the delicate spot where Tonelico’s shoulder meets her neck. A soft bite that communicates possession and desire, the willingness to consume whole, unabashedly so. If Tonelico is hers, then Artoria will claim her love all too willingly.

Tonelico bites back a whine, which only motivates Artoria to try harder. To make Tonelico unable to keep her reactions in check; to see this raw side she’d never show, too concerned about being this perfect Fairy of Paradise.

Artoria sucks on the sensitive skin; the salty taste mixes with the faintly sweet scent that's purely Tonelico, intoxicating Artoria further.

When she sees Tonelico covering her mouth with one hand, Artoria pouts. She grabs Tonelico’s hand and pins it down beside her head. Her gaze meets Tonelico’s head-on — no doubt or shame in her eyes. Not a shred of reluctance.

This is the Artoria whose mind is set; any debate is futile.

“Don't keep your voice down.”

Tonelico nods, filled with anticipation. She gasps when Artoria cups her breasts. Her hand twitches, instinctively almost reaching to cover her mouth again before reminding herself to follow Artoria’s whim.

Finally, for what must be the first time in her life, embracing the freedom to openly express herself with no regard for how it would reflect on the Fairy of Paradise. Allowed to be just Tonelico. Her hand clenches into a fist, as if to hold on to a sliver of rationality as the pleasure surges higher steadily.

“Hahh…”

A sigh of bliss escapes Tonelico between hot breaths. Artoria’s small hands are gentle, contrasting with the rough texture of the countless calluses. Feeling them is nice, sending a surge of heat straight to Tonelico’s core, and from there directly to her head, slowly turning her brain to mush.

Thoughts and the capacity to formulate them are gradually replaced by a pleasant warmth.

The way Artoria caresses the soft mounds carries a deep devotion she’d fail to express in words if she tried, and a simple, if somewhat amazed, enjoyment of feeling the soft breasts yield beneath her touch.

Every light squeeze is a foreign experience for Artoria, who’s less blessed in this regard but finds not a single care for such inferiority in this moment.

If anything, her blessing is Tonelico having these supple breasts, just for Artoria to love.

Like a magnetic pull, Artoria’s lips find their way to Tonelico’s breast. Tonelico tenses when Artoria’s breath faintly tickles her skin in between quick kisses. There’s not much time to build anticipation until Artoria lightly bites the nipple, already stiffened by the previous nearby attention.

“Aahh! S-so sudden— Nnmmh…”

Artoria’s lips curl into a smile as Tonelico’s voice reaches her ears, caught off-guard and clearly feeling good. Her teeth graze the sensitive flesh as she suckles on the hardened peak, drawing a long moan out of Tonelico, followed by careless leaks of that sexy voice mixing into the quickening breath.

Tonelico’s right hand moves to the back of Artoria’s head, keeping her in place to continue the stimulation Artoria isn’t planning to stop any soon. Her left hand tries to find purchase on Artoria’s back, unsuccessfully on the smooth skin.

Feeling Tonelico’s nails almost desperately cling to her spurs on Artoria further.

She lets her tongue flick over the tip in between suckling on it; the alternation and partial mix between the two sensations drives Tonelico crazy. Tonelico’s hand grips Artoria’s hair, pulling to signal the need for a break.

But Artoria isn’t deterred.

Contrary to what Tonelico’s overstimulated nervous system begs for, Artoria instead squeezes the neglected breast, rubbing the palm of her hand against the hardened nipple in the process.

“Hyaahh— Wait! Just a— a second, nnhh… Please!”

The desperate, overwhelmed whine is music to Artoria’s ears. Tonelico curses those damn calluses; their rough skin scrapes against her nipple when she least expects it, only to be met with a soft patch of skin where no callus lies the next moment.

Never before has Tonelico felt stimulation so intensely, much less when it comes to her breasts. Artoria’s hands are a force to be reckoned with, drawing a pitch out of Tonelico she hasn’t known she is capable of.

Artoria lets go of Tonelico’s nipple, not before giving it another playful lick. Tonelico shudders at the new sensation. The unexpected but much-needed respite leaves her breathing heavily.

An annoyingly persistent feeling of missing Artoria’s ministrations soon washes over her.

But it’s not as though Artoria is giving Tonelico a break. Slowly but sloppily, she kisses her way down over Tonelico’s stomach — each brushing of Artoria’s soft lips is like a butterfly’s flutter, matching those in Tonelico’s stomach.

She holds her breath in anticipation without noticing, involuntarily spreading her legs as a silent but clear invitation.

Artoria loses no time — her mouth finds Tonelico’s folds with ease, making Tonelico jump at the sudden contact. Forward as ever, though in this situation it’s a first for Artoria. It’s really been too long. Patience has no place here.

‘You’re wet.’

The observation brings a smile to Artoria’s lips, proving how right she’s doing this. But it’s not nearly enough; she needs more. Her tongue darts out to give a slow lick up the slick folds, lapping up the juices for a first proper taste.

A taste that Artoria quickly finds she won’t get enough of. Much better than the experimental little sample she got in the bath back in Orkney.

She grabs Tonelico’s hips to hold her in place before letting her tongue run across Tonelico’s sex. Exploring with great curiosity, taking note of which spots make Tonelico tense up, jump, or even leak out more of her sweet juices for Artoria to lap up.

Mapping out Tonelico’s petals with each stroke of her tongue.

“Hahhh… Mnnh~”

Both of Tonelico’s hands hold onto Artoria’s head, but Artoria pays it no mind. Tonelico may be feeling good already, but Artoria will make her feel even better.

Almost playfully, Artoria licks over Tonelico’s clit. A long, slow lick from bottom to top draws a whine out of Tonelico, and makes her arch her back, pushing her hips up to meet Artoria’s mouth in a desperate plea for more.

Quick flicks with the tip of her tongue from left to right, right to left, make Tonelico’s hips shiver, and her breath catches in her throat, before hot moans leak out of her mouth.

As much as Tonelico tries to gyrate her hips — seeking more friction than Artoria is providing to chase after the pleasure, or desperately trying to escape the stimulation for a break — Artoria’s grip holds her hips perfectly in place.

Defenseless against Artoria’s ministrations, who’s enjoying her buffet of desire at her own pace.

For another change, Artoria lets her tongue circle the hardened, throbbing nub with her tongue. Once, twice. Slowing her pace, increasing Tonelico’s thirst for more.

“Nnnh… Please, just—”

Until she sucks on Tonelico’s clit. The suction and Artoria’s warm mouth feel incredible enough, but Artoria additionally lets her tongue flick over the defenseless nub again. Her jaw is getting sore, but Artoria has no mind to pay such details.

Not when she has Tonelico practically melting for her.

“Hahhh! Wait! N-not there. Not like— not like this! Ahhhnn..!!”

Tonelico’s thighs are shaking. She’s so unbelievably close. Tonelico can feel the pressure in her lower abdomen, all her muscles starting to tense. Every bit of lava that seems to pool inside of her flows to that one point of contact, just waiting to erupt and spread through her entire being.

Her grip on Artoria’s hair tightens, and she pushes her closer against her crotch. This level of stimulation, feeling that sharp canine drag against her skin occasionally, is driving Tonelico crazy; her only chance of not fully losing her sanity is finally reaching the climax that will surely bring her to new heights.

“Hahh, please— Artoria, I’m—”

Luckily for Tonelico, Artoria isn’t in the mood for little games. With fervent ardor previously unknown even to herself, Artoria loses herself entirely in this act of consumption.

“Hyaaaahhhh…!!”

It only takes a few more flicks of her tongue, and Tonelico comes with a beautifully arched back; the hot pleasure pooled in her abdomen spreads through her body in warm, tingly waves.

She absentmindedly thrusts her hips towards Artoria to the best of her limited abilities — riding out this high as Artoria finally slows down.

Artoria pulls away and licks her lips, tasting Tonelico on them. She almost wants to dive back in once more, but when she finally meets Tonelico’s gaze again, the glazed blue eyes magically draw Artoria in. She moves back up to meet Tonelico’s lips in a passionate kiss.

Although initially surprised by the taste of herself on her lips, Tonelico quickly melts into the kiss. It prolongs this blissful, fuzzy feeling in her head, as the waves of warm tingles slowly abate. Nothing could compare to the bliss of this moment that shouldn’t end just yet.

Artoria jumps when Tonelico slightly raises her leg, pushing her thigh against Artoria’s neglected, sopping wet crotch.

“Someone’s got all hot and bothered.”

Even between hot, breathless gasps, Tonelico’s voice manages to carry this amusedly teasing tone. Artoria hates Tonelico for this, and how it always straight up sends butterflies to her stomach. Tonelico is plain unfair.

“Like you’re one to ta—aaahhnn!”

As if waiting for a retort, Tonelico shifts her leg for sweet friction at just the right moment to let Artoria interject her own rebuttal with a shameful moan. This voice is music to Tonelico’s ears; something she can’t get enough of. Artoria is too cute.

“Y-you’re cheati—nnngggh…”

Yet again, even unprompted, Artoria falls into this trap. Like in heat, Artoria can’t help but grind herself against Tonelico’s thigh. Now that Tonelico has started this, Artoria can’t help but chase her own pleasure.

“Quite eager, aren’t y—nnnhh… W-wait, that’s…!”

Two can play this game — so Artoria reaches her hand down between Tonelico’s legs to caress the slick folds with her fingers.

Not that she can manage accuracy, not while shamelessly riding Tonelico’s leg like this; but it seems to work well enough, if Tonelico’s quivers and whimpers are anything to go by.

Maybe if Tonelico hadn’t been such a bully, Artoria would’ve let her rest a bit more to recover from post-orgasm sensitivity. But apparently this isn’t a night for consideration, but one for unabashedly losing oneself in pleasing one’s lover.

Perfectly fine with Artoria.

The night is long; they have all the time to test the limits of their endurance, then go beyond.

Neither of them remembers how long they’d been going at it until they finally fell asleep, fully exhausted and perfectly content. Covered in sweat, zero distance between the two fairies. The blanket only haphazardly thrown over the two of them with half a mind to spare at best; not like either of them remembers who did so.

When Tonelico wakes up, Artoria’s soft breath tickles her nape. Artoria’s arms are wrapped around her waist, holding Tonelico tight. As though if there’s just any chance Tonelico could disappear, Artoria won’t let her go; not even in her sleep.

Tonelico’s heart swells at how much Artoria cherishes her, yet…

“Mmnh…?” Behind Tonelico, Artoria stirs. “C’mon, a few more minutes won’t hurt…”

Her speech is slurred. She’s never been a morning person, even if it’s probably much closer to noon, if not afternoon.

Tonelico fondly thinks back to every single morning they’ve shared. Maybe Tonelico hadn’t appreciated these simple moments enough, not until now. But regret isn’t something she can allow herself to feel at this moment.

“Tonelico?”

Artoria raises an eyebrow. Drowsiness doesn’t dull the unfair Fairy Eyes that will reliably see through any lie, through every wall one tries to build around the truth their heart cries out. There’s no hiding it anymore. Tonelico takes a deep breath.

“We need to talk.”