Erza couldn't sleep all night.
She was far too happy.
Lying awake beside Yuuta in the quiet church, she found herself imagining things—small, ordinary things—just like a normal human woman would. A future filled with mornings, meals, arguments, laughter… and responsibilities she had never once considered in her long life.
In her hands was a book she had brought using magic.
How to Be a Great Wife.
Erza read it seriously, turning each page with focus, occasionally lifting her eyes to look at Yuuta's sleeping face. His breathing was calm. Peaceful. Safe.
They were still inside the church.
Outside, Grandpa was busy erasing the memories of the crusaders—and the maid who had witnessed Erza's transformation—ensuring that nothing about tonight would ever spread beyond these walls. Yuuta and Erza would be allowed a quiet, ordinary happiness.
One by one, Grandpa and Father Nelson entered, tending to the crusaders who were still unconscious after being crushed by the pressure of Erza's presence. Grandpa gently erased their memories, his movements calm and precise.
Father Nelson watched in silence.
All his life, he had preached faith. He had read about miracles, angels, and divine power in scripture—but he had never seen anything like this. No holy light. No divine chant. Just… power. Calm, controlled, undeniable.
At last, unable to contain himself, he spoke.
"What… is magic, Great One?" Father Nelson asked quietly.
His voice carried no accusation—only desperation.
"To us, power belongs only to God and His followers," he continued. "Yet what I saw tonight… if it is not divine, then it must be heresy. A fallen angel. A devil. A witch."
He looked at Erza and Grandpa again.
"But neither of you feels like any of those."
Grandpa turned to him calmly.
"Tell me," he asked, "have humans ever seen life on another planet?"
Father Nelson shook his head.
"No. Humanity has neither discovered such life nor developed the means to reach other worlds."
Grandpa nodded.
"And when humans do discover another world," he said, "they will seek to understand it. To conquer it. To learn from it. Because that is what humans do—they adapt."
Father Nelson frowned, not fully understanding.
Grandpa continued, his voice slow and thoughtful.
"Once, I read something in one of Yuuta's books (Famous Novel). A story of evolution. Of a creature born in the ocean…"
Father Nelson felt a shift in Grandpa's voice.
It was no longer casual.
It was the voice of wisdom—of someone who wished his words would not disappear once spoken.
And so Grandpa spoke calmly.
"Long, long ago, when the oceans ruled the Earth and the land was nothing but dry emptiness, there lived a tiny creature—fragile, insignificant, and weak.
"The water gave it safety.
The tides gave it rhythm.
The ocean was its mother… and also its grave.
"But one day, that tiny creature looked toward the barren land—a place no life had ever touched.
"There was no food.
No shelter.
No promise.
"Only pain.
Only struggle.
Only certainty of death.
"And yet… it crawled.
"Dragging its fragile body over sharp rocks and burning sand.
"It became the first to defy nature.
The first to betray comfort.
The first to walk into the unknown.
"Not because it was certain of survival—but because it chose to move forward.
"That creature had no arms, no legs.
Yet it crawled.
"It made no excuses.
It did not fear.
It simply moved."
Father Nelson listened in silence, absorbing every word.
When Grandpa finally stopped, he asked gently—
"Do you know where that creature is now?"
Father Nelson hesitated.
"I… don't know. Perhaps it died while struggling."
Grandpa smiled.
"That creature," he said softly,
"is your Kind.
"It was the first to defy nature.
The first to adapt to barren land."
In that instant, Father Nelson understood.
The first fish that crawled onto land.
The beginning of all life that followed.
He had never believed such stories—his faith had taught him otherwise—but the wisdom within the tale was undeniable.
Grandpa continued calmly.
"Now tell me—if humans remained forever within Mother Earth's comfort, following only the rhythm of air and soil, would they ever understand what lies beyond their laws?
"Just as that tiny creature had no arms or legs—yet adapted—humans too will one day adapt to magic when they encounter it on another world.
"But to do so…"
His gaze sharpened.
"They must leave their mother.
"Just like that creature did.
"They must dare to take the first step—
only then will they truly understand."
Father Nelson felt regret settle deep in his chest.
From the medieval age to the modern era, whenever humanity encountered something it could not explain, it responded with fear. Those who used magic—who showed abilities beyond common understanding—were dragged into the light and burned in the name of righteousness.
No one asked how they did it.
No one tried to understand what it truly was.
They were called evil.
Demons.
Practitioners of sorcery.
But now, standing here, Father Nelson wondered if those people had simply been the first tiny creatures—the ones who dared to crawl out of comfort while the rest of humanity remained safely in the water.
Or perhaps… humanity had never truly tried to understand them at all.
The quiet was broken by approaching footsteps.
Allen walked toward them and stopped before Grandpa. Without hesitation, he knelt and lowered his head.
"Great One," Allen said respectfully. "All memories have been erased. The crusaders, the maid—none of them will remember what happened here."
Grandpa gave a small nod.
Allen straightened and turned his gaze toward Father Nelson. There was no warmth in his eyes—only duty.
"Only one remains," Allen said. "This human."
Father Nelson met his gaze and felt no fear.
He already knew what would happen next.
For the sake of peace.
For the safety of the world.
Everything he had seen would soon be gone.
The thought made his chest tighten.
Before anyone could act, Father Nelson spoke.
"Old man."
Grandpa turned to him, calm and patient as ever.
"Yes, human?"
Father Nelson took a slow breath, steadying himself.
"If I forget everything," he said quietly, "then this story will disappear."
He lifted his eyes.
"And humanity will continue to mistake fear for righteousness."
No one interrupted him.
"I wish to remember," Father Nelson continued. "Not the magic. Not the power. But the meaning behind it."
His hands clenched.
"That comfort kills slowly… silently. And that only by crawling toward the unknown can one find a better future—a new way of living."
The wind stirred the air inside the church.
Grandpa studied him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, he stepped forward.
"You carry heavy words for a human," Grandpa said.
He raised his hand and placed it gently upon Father Nelson's head.
"If you choose to remember," Grandpa continued, "then you must also carry the weight that comes with it."
Father Nelson closed his eyes.
"I understand."
Magic stirred—soft, unseen, yet undeniable.
And Father Nelson accepted it.
Father Nelson's memories faded quietly with the night, leaving no trace behind. By the time dawn neared, the church was nothing more than stone, wood, and silence again.
Yuuta woke slowly.
At first, there was only discomfort. A dull ache in his legs. A tightness in his chest. His breathing felt heavier than it should have, as if his body was still remembering something his mind had not yet caught up to.
He opened his eyes.
Light filtered faintly from high windows, pale and colorless. Above him stretched a tall ceiling carved with worn scripture—figures frozen in stone, their expressions softened by age. He stared at them for several seconds, unmoving, waiting for the world to make sense.
It didn't.
He swallowed and shifted his weight, the cold floor pressing through his clothes.
"…Where am I?" he muttered.
The sound of his own voice felt strange in the quiet.
Something rustled beside him.
"Yuuta?"
The voice was soft, almost cautious, as if afraid to break the moment. He turned his head slowly, his neck stiff, and saw Erza sitting nearby. She had a book open in her hands, though she wasn't reading it anymore. Her eyes were fixed on him, wide with surprise.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Erza closed the book and set it aside. She moved closer and, without saying anything, wrapped her arms around him. The hug wasn't desperate, but it lingered longer than necessary, as if she was confirming that he was real.
"I'm glad you woke up," she said quietly.
Yuuta hesitated before returning the embrace. His thoughts were still tangled, memories surfacing in fragments—stone steps, burning muscles, refusing to stop even when his vision blurred.
"I remember climbing," he said slowly. "And then… nothing."
He pulled back slightly and looked at her.
"Erza, where are we?"
She met his gaze, her expression calm.
"Inside a church."
The words took a moment to sink in.
A church.
Yuuta's eyes widened, his breath catching just a little.
"So… I reached the top?"
"Yes."
He let out a shaky breath, half laugh, half disbelief. But even as that realization settled, something else felt off. Erza was still smiling.
Not the confident smile she wore when she was in control. Not the cold one she used to keep distance. This smile was softer, almost unfamiliar.
He studied her face.
"…Did something happen while I was asleep?" he asked.
Erza looked away, as if suddenly aware of herself.
"No," she said. "Nothing important."
She paused, then added more honestly,
"I was just thinking."
Yuuta waited.
"We're getting married," she said. "That's all."
His mind stalled.
"Wait," he said, sitting up straighter. "You mean Father Nelson agreed?"
She nodded.
"You fulfilled the condition. Everyone saw it."
After a brief pause, she added,
"They were celebrating. You didn't wake up."
Yuuta leaned back slightly, his hands resting on the floor behind him. The tension he hadn't noticed in his body slowly eased.
"So… that's it?" he said. "It's really happening?"
"Yes."
Her answer was simple, but there was certainty in it.
Yuuta smiled faintly and looked back at the ceiling, the carved figures no longer feeling as distant as before.
"…My life feels strangely complete," he said. "Like I finally reached something I've been chasing."
Erza watched him closely.
"It's not the end," she said. "It's just the beginning."
She spoke again, more quietly.
"Watching the children grow… while opening our own café."
Yuuta turned his head toward her, surprise flickering across his face.
"How do you know that?" he asked. "That was my secret wish."
Erza's lips curved upward, and a soft giggle escaped her.
"I read your diary," she said. "The one filled with your foolish thoughts."
Yuuta stared at her for a second, then sighed.
"Hey," he protested, "reading someone's diary isn't a good thing, you know."
Erza lifted her chin slightly and crossed her arms.
"I am not someone, idiot," she replied with a small hmph. "We are one body and one soul. Don't forget that."
She looked away.
"So I didn't break any rules."
Yuuta didn't argue.
There was no need to. The warmth in his chest was already too full for words.
Before he could say anything, a small hand suddenly wrapped around his finger.
Yuuta froze and looked down.
Elena was still asleep, her tiny fingers gripping him tightly as if afraid he might disappear. Her brow twitched, and in her sleep she murmured,
"My papa… is strong. So strong…"
Her grip loosened, and she fell back into a peaceful sleep.
Erza covered her mouth, trying—and failing—to hide her giggle.
Yuuta smiled softly, watching Elena's calm breathing. Old memories stirred quietly in his mind, mixing with the present in a way that felt gentle instead of painful.
He looked down at Elena, her small fingers still loosely wrapped around his, her breathing slow and steady. Watching her sleep like this made something stir in his chest—warm, heavy, and unfamiliar.
A thought surfaced.
Yuuta's eyes widened slightly.
He lifted his gaze and looked straight at Erza.
"Erza," he asked gently, "how did you feel… when Elena was born?"
The question hung in the air.
Erza didn't answer immediately.
She remained silent for several seconds, her eyes fixed on Elena. The playful warmth she had shown earlier faded, replaced by something deeper and harder to read. She drew in a slow breath, as if weighing the words before allowing them to exist.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet.
"It was like…"
She stopped.
The words refused to come.
Erza closed her eyes for a brief moment, as though reliving something only she could see.
And then—
To be continued.