Dinner in the fairy castle was quiet—too quiet to be comfortable.
Reeve sat at the long table grown from pale crystalline wood, its surface reflecting soft light like moonlit water. Across from him sat the Fairy King, Branniel, composed and unreadable. Lunareth occupied the seat beside Reeve, relaxed in posture yet sharp in presence, as though she were dining with a threat rather than a monarch.
Branniel moved with measured grace, every gesture deliberate.
"So," the Fairy King finally spoke, his voice calm, smooth, "you are called Reeve."
Reeve nodded. "Yes."
"You come from a world without mana," Branniel continued, eyes steady. "Yet mana clings to you as though it recognizes you."
Reeve hesitated. "I don't understand it myself."
"That," Branniel replied mildly, "is often where calamity begins."
Lunareth folded her arms. "He's not your experiment."
Branniel's lips curved faintly. "Nor is he my enemy."
His gaze returned to Reeve. "You are… an anomaly. But not a hostile one."
The pressure in the air eased—slightly.
"You may remain in the fairy kingdom," Branniel concluded. "For now."
Dinner ended without ceremony.
Night draped itself over the fairy kingdom like a living veil.
Reeve stood alone on a balcony carved into the castle's outer wall. Below him stretched the dark jungle—dense, breathing, alive. Tiny lights drifted between branches, pulsing slowly, as though the forest itself possessed a heartbeat.
He stared into the darkness.
I don't belong here either.
After a long silence, he spoke softly.
"…System."
[Active.]
"Tell me about the Fairy King."
A pause.
[Searching.]
[Entity: Fairy King — designation incomplete.]
Reeve frowned. "What does that mean?"
[Name temporarily inaccessible.]
"…You forgot his name?"
[Correction: User failed to recall.]
[Reminder initiated.]
[Entity Name: Branniel.]
"…Right," Reeve muttered. "Branniel."
[Branniel: Fairy King. Authority-based entity. Mana regulation exceeds racial parameters.]
"So," Reeve said quietly, "is he dangerous?"
[Threat level: Undefined.]
"…Helpful."
[He is not hostile.]
"And?"
[He is not benevolent.]
Reeve leaned against the railing, exhaling slowly.
"So I should be careful."
[Correct.]
Footsteps approached.
Lunareth emerged from the shadows, arms folded.
"What are you doing out here?" she asked.
"Thinking," Reeve replied. "Bad habit, I know."
She glanced at the jungle. "The forest listens when you do that."
"…That's comforting."
"Go sleep," she said. "Tomorrow will be worse."
She turned away, leaving him with the darkness.
Morning arrived filtered through leaves and drifting light.
Lunareth dragged Reeve through rows of fairy merchants—stalls woven from living branches, fabrics shimmering faintly with mana. Clothes floated, folded themselves, changed texture when touched.
Reeve examined one piece after another. "None of these look… wearable."
"They're fine," Lunareth said flatly.
"That one looks like I'll be sacrificed."
She paused. "…That one is ceremonial."
"I'll wear anything."
She stopped walking.
Turned.
Smiled.
"No," she said sweetly. "You'll wear what I choose."
Hours passed.
Finally, she stopped before a single outfit.
It was dark. Sharp. Controlled.
A long black coat tailored close to the body, its edges layered and asymmetrical, the inner lining a deep crimson that moved like shadowed fire when it caught the light. The shoulders were reinforced, subtly armored, while silver-lined seams traced the spine and arms like restrained sigils.
Beneath it lay a high-collared black tunic, fastened with metal clasps, fitted enough to restrict nothing. Multiple belts crossed his waist and thighs—not decorative, but functional—each bearing hooks, chains, and fastenings meant for weapons or tools. Fingerless gloves hugged his hands, and black boots reinforced at the ankles suggested readiness for movement rather than comfort.
It wasn't noble.
It wasn't heroic.
It was… intentional.
Reeve stared at it.
"This makes me look dangerous," he said.
Lunareth smirked. "Good."
When he wore it, something settled.
Not power—but alignment.
"You look less useless," Lunareth added.
"High praise."
They returned to the castle as evening settled once more.
Branniel waited.
"I have a request," the Fairy King said, gaze fixed on Reeve.
"A matter that requires your involvement."
The air shifted.
Reeve felt it.
"What kind of request?" he asked.
Branniel's smile was calm—too calm.
"Tell me, Reeve," the Fairy King said softly,
"how far are you willing to go for a world that hasn't yet decided whether you belong in it?"