Archive of Our Own ^beta

When Alba’s eyes blink back open, there’s absolutely nothing around him save for a tanned man standing in front of them.  

“Alba Frühling,” says the man, “I’m afraid yer dead.”

Alba blinks up at him, the words not quite registering. “Is this a joke?”

“Sorry, but it ain’t,” the man looks a little apologetic. “Name’s Elf. I’m the… god, I guess, of yer world. Didn’t make it or nothin’, but I’ve been lookin’ after it and stuff.” He thrusts a thumb behind him, towards the white nothingness that continues as far as the eye could see. “This here’s my dimensional rift. It’s where I can redirect souls headed ta get reincarnated.”

“Okay...”

“D’ya not believe me?” asks the man, Elf. “Ya should remember the last moments of yer death. Dontcha think you’d be stuck in the hospital for weeks even if ya really did survive an accident like that?”

Alba flinches back, the memories returning to him. He had been stuck doing overtime at work- the last two days had been sleepless. Ros had sent him off to grab them snacks from the convenience store, but he had been tired, and he hadn’t looked where he was going…

He had walked straight into traffic, right into the path of a truck. 

“I can’t accept this,” Alba breathes. 

“Death is always hard ta accept, I get i-”

“Dying isn’t the problem here- dying via truck is!” sputters Alba, “You’re gonna try to send me to another world now, aren’t you!”

Elf coughs and averts his gaze. 

“How cliché can you get!”

“Well, y’know…” Elf hedges, “Clichés aren’t always so bad…”

“Well, I’m not going,” Alba says stubbornly. “I don’t want to go to another world and have some weird harem of girls, or live out some bizarre power fantasy, or suffer horribly.” He crosses his arms. “If you want to break the cliché, you should just send me back to my old world. If you’re a god, you should be able to do that, shouldn’t you?”

“No can do,” says Elf, shaking his head. “Yer old body’s crushed ta pieces, and throwing ya back down there with a new one would break the laws of that universe too much. Magic and mana ain’t a thing in yer home world.” 

“Can’t you like- I don’t know, turn back time, or erase the memories of everyone who saw me die?” pleads Alba, “Shouldn’t that be easier than throwing me into another world?”

“I really can’t. It really might break down your entire worldline if something that irregular occurs,” Elf says quietly. “I’m very sorry, Alba-san.”

Alba’s hands clench. 

“There’s just…” he says helplessly. “There’s someone I- that I don’t want to leave behind. Shouldn’t you transport someone without no regrets instead? Some shut-in with no friends, or an office lady who dedicated her life to work?” The misery is starting to set in now. “Why me?”

“I think ya still fit the bill.” Elf flashes him a grin. “An overworked salaryman so married to his work he had absolutely no life.”

“Ha ha…” Alba feels like he’s about to cry. “You’re right, huh?”

(He thought he had all the time in the world. He thought things could wait until later, when they weren’t so bogged down with work, when they weren’t still new hires with no idea what to do. He was happy just being by his side. 

He never thought he’d die so young in such an idiotic way.)

“Hey, perk up! Ya get a second chance!” Elf is still smiling brightly, but it does nothing to make Alba feel any better. 

“What’s the catch?” Alba says dully, “I need to defeat a demon lord? I’m being reincarnated as a villain? You’re going to make me suffer in endless tragedy for your own entertainment?”

“Geez, downer much?” Elf says with a snort. “None of that- this is a slice of life, Alba-san! You’ll be reincarnated into a world at peace, with whatever cheat powers you want.”

“Then why are you doing this?” 

“Reasonable question.” Elf shrugs. “Let’s just say I owe yer family one. So make the most of it, yeah? Whatcha want? Infinite money? Cheat skills?”

“I don’t care,” says Alba, “Do what you want.”

He knows he should get himself together, he knows that plenty of people would kill for an opportunity like this. But Alba, he never wanted and never asked to be transported to another world. 

(And he can’t bring himself to care about it when he’s being told he has to lose the person he cares for most for the opportunity.)

“Well, if yer sure,” Elf says doubtfully, “I’ll give ya the standard pack then? Immortality, reincarnation as an adult, a pre-built home with modern amenities in the rolling highlands. Cheat powers might be more trouble than they’re worth, but I can give you ‘em if you really want?”

“I don’t care,” Alba says again. 

“...Okay,” says Elf, “No cheat powers then.” He walks towards him, pats him on the shoulder. “It’ll be a good life, Alba-san. I promise. Chin up!”

“Whatever you say,” Alba says. He still feels miserable. 

Elf just flashes him a reassuring smile. “Off you go then.”

Then the white ground is opening up under Alba, and he screams as he starts free-falling through the air,

Alba lands with a thump on a soft bed. 

“What?” he mumbles, looking around him. 

Somewhere along the way he’d squeezed his eyes shut, so he’s a little confused how he went from falling in a blue sky to lying on a comfortable bed. He looks up, but there’s definitely a ceiling above him, wooden beams crisscrossing across its length. No telltale hole. So he hadn’t crashed through anything either…

He seems to be in a rustic-style bedroom. A large window on one wall, the glass warped and not quite clear. A wooden desk in a corner, end tables on either side of the bed, all painted a cheery cream. 

It’s all unfamiliar, and so he should really investigate where he is and what’s going on. 

But misery is still a dark cloud around him. He hadn’t asked for this. He’d never even dreamed of this either, no matter how many of those stupidly generic stories he read. It was fun reading about other people being transported to another world, sure. That didn’t mean he wanted to be transported himself. 

Alba presses his face into a pillow and grieves.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there. Not months, he’s pretty sure. But maybe weeks. Immortality apparently means he doesn’t need to eat, or drink, or even breathe. 

And so, Alba can’t bring himself to move. It wasn’t like he needed to.

He regrets everything. 

He regrets going outside when he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep for two days. He regrets being so stupid he walked straight into traffic. He regrets losing himself into sorrow so quickly he didn’t even stop to consider the consequences of coming to another world. He regrets not doing everything he could to turn down Elf’s offer. 

Because Elf had said that he redirected Alba’s soul from being reincarnated. That meant that he would’ve gone back into the cycle, that someday, somewhere, he might’ve met R- the people he cared for again. 

But this body is immortal. 

He can’t die- not that he’s tried to, because even in a state like this, Alba can’t bring himself to try and die. But from the fact that he can’t starve, he doubts he’d perish so easily in other ways. 

And even if he did die someday, he was in another world. Did souls even transmigrate between worlds normally? Had he lost his chance to meet the people he knew ever again by coming here?

With depressing thoughts like that swirling around his mind, Alba wallows in his misery. And he likely would’ve stayed that way for much longer than the days, weeks that he did...

If it weren’t for someone banging at the door.

It takes a few moments for Alba to register the noise. A muffled voice Alba can’t quite make out, interspaced by loud insistent banging. 

Alba considers leaving it be, but in the end, curiosity and propriety wins out. He slips himself out of bed - he wobbles a bit walking, but he soon recovers - and steps out of the bedroom for the very first time. 

Outside of the bedroom is a wooden hallway, and at the end, a staircase. The ruckus gets louder as he heads down the stairs, and he soon realizes it’s coming from what seems to be the entranceway. Which makes sense, he supposes. 

He opens the door cautiously. 

“H-” his voice cracks, and he coughs, once, twice. “Hello?”

There’s a woman standing outside the door, wearing what looks like an odd cross between a lab coat and stereotypical wizard robes. There’s a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder- it looks rather heavy. 

She looks desperately worried at first, but her expression brightens as soon as she sees him. 

“Mr. Witch!” she exclaims in sheer excitement. “I knew there had to be one here! Please, you have to help me.”

Alba doesn’t know what’s going on, and he very much doubts he can help this woman. Given that well- he’s not a… witch?

But he’s never been really able to turn someone down. 

“I think you have the- wrong person,” Alba says, voice still a little halting and hoarse from disuse. “But still, come in.”

The woman, it seems, is a doctor from a nearby town, and she’s treating a young boy who’s ill from a deathly fever. 

“I came here for your help,” she explains, sitting herself down on a sofa. “I’ve little talent for magic myself, and I’m all out of enchanted herbs until the next caravan comes through. Alchemy is a talent of mine though- if you could just embue some mana into these herbs, I can make the cure this boy needs.”

Alba wants to help her, he really does, but-

“I can’t use magic either,” he says. His eyes squeeze shut. “I’m sorry.”

The doctor is quiet for a moment, two, then- “Oh my.”

Her voice is surprised, but not angry or disappointed. Cautiously, Alba cracks  his eyes back opens, and sees that she’s smiling for some reason. 

She must notice Alba’s confusion, because she laughs and continues, “Mr. Witch, I can assure you that you can use magic. Even if you don’t know how to just yet.”

“I’m… sorry?”

“This is a witch’s house,” the doctor says, “and you came from it, yes? I’ve never met a newborn witch before, but I do know that all witches can use at least some magic from the moment they materialize in the world.” She ruffles around in her duffel bag and takes out some herbs, spreads them across the coffee table in front of her. “Would you lay your hands down on the herbs?”

Alba still has no idea what’s going on. But he’s been transported to another world, one that apparently has mana and magic. He’s willing to suspend his disbelief for a bit. 

So Alba does as he’s asked, and lays his hands down on the herbs.

“One second,” says the doctor, searching through her bag once more. “I know I have the spell written down somewhere… used to practice it, though I never got it to work.” She straightens up. “Found it! Alright, Mr. Witch… repeat after me…”

It seems he is a witch, he can use magic, and he can imbue herbs with his mana. 

The doctor whips out a mortar and pestle and grinds together the herbs with remarkable efficiency. The mixture is slipped into a glass bottle, then she shoves everything back into her duffel bag. 

“Thank you so very much, Mr. Witch,” the doctor says. “Please come visit me in my clinic sometime- I’d be happy to give you some free potions. But right now, I really need to get this to Jonathan before it’s too late.” 

And with that, she rushes out the door. 

Alba is alone again now, and the house is dead silent. Grief and sorrow begin to creep back into his mind.

But then Alba shakes his head furiously, pushes everything he doesn’t want to think about out of his mind. 

He slams the door open. 

The doctor had mentioned a town nearby. 

Alba should go visit.

He learns to distract himself, and that’s easy enough in this odd fantasy world. There’s magic to research, history to learn, slimes to poke to death with a steak knife. 

(And there’s many, many slimes. The path from his house to the town of Flatta isn’t far, but it’s absolutely infested with slimes.)

It helps that Alba’s always been the positive sort, even if he’s always had a cynical streak. When he’s around people, when he’s chatting and laughing with others, it’s not hard to smile and forget. 

But he soon realizes that he shouldn’t get too close with the people of Flatta. 

It isn’t that they’re bad people- the exact opposite, really. The townspeople are all friendly and nice, and Alba greatly enjoys making small talk with them. 

The problem is that they’re human. 

It’s true that “witches” are classified as human too, even the ones that appear out of nowhere like Alba did. Physiologically, witches are apparently no different from humans- they’re just humans with an abundance of mana, and normal humans might be called “witches” too, if they manage to train hard enough. 

Alba, however, is a special case, as he learns when he goes to register at the Adventurer’s Guild. 

“You have the immortality skill at Level 1?” exclaims the receptionist. 

The immortality skill. To be more precise, an anti-aging, anti-dying skill. The one cheat skill that Elf had given him- aside from the whole “being a witch” thing, of course. 

It means that he would outlive everyone in the village by centuries, millennia. 

(And it means making friends would lead to a quick, grief-stricken farewell.)

Alba lives a slow life. 

He doesn’t need to eat or drink, but he soon finds he enjoys it, and that he doesn’t feel very good if he doesn’t. As a witch though, making money is easy. He kills slimes on the way to town, brings in their crystal cores to the Adventurer’s Guild for gold, and then he’s all set. Sometimes, he drops by clinics to help them out with enchanting - because he might as well - but there’s no need for him to take payment for that. 

Sometimes he thinks about leaving his little house on the highlands, of journeying to a country or region with longer-lived races. Because humans are by far the shortest-lived of races in this world- most other races have lifespans of centuries, and some even reach millennia. The Immortality skill is supposedly much more common among the longer-lived races as well. 

But he puts it off. 

I need to learn more spells- what if I run into dangerous monsters?

I need to learn more history- I don’t want to accidentally step on anyone’s toes. 

I need to learn more medicine- it’ll be important to heal myself and anyone else who needs it. 

They’re all flimsy, transparent excuses, but it isn’t as though there’s anyone around to call him out on it. The fact of the matter is that Alba is afraid to get close to someone again, and so his procrastination continues. 

A century passes, two, three-

And before he knows it, he’s over three hundred years old.

“Mr. Witch,” the guild receptionist asks, “How strong are you really?”

“Huh?”

Alba is at the Adventurer’s Guild to drop off his daily bag of slime crystal cores. It’s routine by now- say hello, drop off the crystals, get gold, leave. Occasionally, he might even make small talk about the weather. 

But his (lack of) strength was certainly not a typical topic. 

He laughs. “I’m not strong at all.”

“Really?” the receptionist sounds doubtful. “But- you’re the town’s saviour!”

Alba waves it off. “You don’t need physical strength to protect the town from natural disasters and epidemics.”

“Still!” the receptionist insists. She lugs out a large, crystal tablet and slams it onto the counter- then she looks up at him, eyes shining. “Aren’t you curious?”

The tablet is familiar, of course. It’s used whenever someone new registers at the guild- Alba had to scan his hand against it when he registered too, all those years ago. 

...Alba admits he’s a little curious. The middle-schooler inside of him adores the game-like magic system of this world, and wants desperately to know whether he’s at the very least above average. 

And it certainly doesn’t feel half-bad to have someone put him on such a pedestal. 

He coughs, blushing a little sheepishly. 

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” he says, and places his hand against the tablet. 

He really, really should’ve known better.

Max level. 

He’s the max level. Level 99. The “strongest in the world”, apparently, which makes absolutely no sense- he barely did anything! All he did was kill slimes for a few centuries- surely someone else had done something along those lines before?

But that’s when he realizes Elf had given him one more cheat skill in addition to his immortality. 

Experience Multiplier. Significantly multiplies his experience gain when defeating monsters, significantly increases his stat gain upon leveling up, significantly increases rate at which skills are obtained. 

“No cheat powers, he said,” Alba grumbles to himself. “What a liar.”

Alba tries to keep it on the downlow, of course. He swears that receptionist to secrecy, and he thinks that’s the end of it. But he doesn’t realize another guild member had eavesdropped on the conversation, and by the time he does, it’s too late. The rumour that the Witch of the Highlands had reached the max level had spread far and wide by then. 

Gently dealing with the adventurer parties that come to challenge him also becomes part of his daily schedule- an annoying one. Alba isn’t interested in meaningless fighting, and he especially isn’t interested in fighting other humans. 

Some parties don’t even bother to knock! They just barge into his house and demand a fight. Those parties don’t get the blessing of a gentle treatment- Alba knocks them unconscious then sends them off far away on a gusting gale. 

After centuries of procrastination, he really starts to think about leaving. Sure, it isn’t as though anyone poses a challenge - and something inside of him is a little smug at that - but it’s still a bother dealing with it day in, day out. 

Alba is beginning to consider what country to move to when the dragon comes to visit.

The dragon comes first thing in the morning, which is already a mark against his favour. 

“Witch of the Highlands,” the dragon roars out. “I’ve come to talk.”

Alba doesn’t know it’s a dragon of course, not at first- he’s too busy smushing his face into his pillow. But he does know that today’s challenger has an obnoxiously loud voice, one he certainly won’t be able to drown out enough to go back to sleep. 

So he reluctantly rolls out of bed, slips into proper clothes with a quick spell and pulls his large hat over his head. 

(He hadn’t worn a witch’s hat for his first century or so of life here, but he had broken down eventually. The hat was comfortable, made for a great umbrella, and well- was even kind of cool, in his humble opinion.)

Then he opens the door to peek outside, and realizes there’s a giant red dragon towering over his house. 

“It’s way too early for this,” Alba mutters. 

“You finally decided to show up.” There’s a definite sneer to the dragon’s voice, though Alba can’t read a reptile’s expression. “Took you long enough.”

“I was asleep!” complains Alba. “Look, I’m tired. Can we just not?”

“I can pay you.”

Alba blinks in surprise, his inner evaluation of the dragon going up by a few notches. None of the other challengers had offered to pay him for the trouble they were causing him. The consideration is certainly appreciated at least. 

But regardless, he still doesn’t want to fight, especially with a dragon. And especially not first thing in the morning. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m still not interested,” Alba says pleadingly. “Please go away.”

He slams the door shut. 

Maybe he should’ve known better, but Alba was still tired, and this was the first time he had even met a dragon. He thinks he could be forgiven for a bad judgment call or two. 

Unfortunately, the fact that it was a bad judgment call remains, and the next thing he knows, the roof of his house is gone. 

A dragon’s head is peering in. 

“I don’t mind doing this the hard way, Mr. Witch,” he says. 

Alba’s inner evaluation of the dragon sinks into the gutter. 

“That’s my line,” he grumbles. 

Gathering his mana, gusts of wind begin whipping violently around him- his hat is ripped from his head, but Alba doesn’t mind. He’s never fought a dragon before, but he knows they're supposed to be tough. Holding back probably wouldn’t be the best idea. 

Alba looks up, and it’s clear as day that the dragon’s eyes are wide with shock. 

“Please go away,” Alba says again, and lets the spell loose.

Alba retrieves his hat from where it flew off to - up in a nearby tree - and heads down to Flatta. His house is a mess. He needs to see about hiring a contractor to fix it, and he needs to find a place to stay as well. 

To his surprise though, as soon as he enters the town he’s instead quickly ushered to the governor’s mansion. 

The governor greets him in his office with a cheery smile. 

“We saw your battle with the dragon from here,” the governor says, “Terrible situation, that. Thank you so much for protecting our town once more.”

“Ah no, it wasn’t-” Alba tries to explain, but the governor holds up a hand, cutting him off. 

“I understand you’re not one to brag,” the governor says knowingly. “If that’s what you prefer, who are we to argue? But please, feel more than welcome to stay in the mansion while your house is rebuilt.”

“I really can just find a inn-”

“I insist!” cries the governor, and well, Alba has never been the greatest at saying no. 

“Okay…” Alba mumbles. 

“Wonderful!” the governor smiles. “We would, of course, be glad to cover the costs of the repairs ourselves. But as it turns out, a traveller-” He pauses, then with no little excitement- “Or well, a celebrity, really - who saw your exploits offered to pay for everything.”

What?

“I can’t accept that,” objects Alba. 

“Naturally, I did warn him that the Witch of the Highlands is the humble sort who might not accept such a generous gift,” the governor says with a sigh. “But he insisted regardless, and well- you must understand, we aren’t in a position to refuse Hero Sion himself!” He smiles genially. “Of course, we’d hate to offend you, Mr. Witch- we had him sit in a waiting room in case you really would prefer to turn him down.”

Hero Sion. Alba has heard the name at least- ‘celebrity’ was the right term. A dragon who’s travelled the world twice over, saving entire countries from ruin. He doesn’t know how many of the rumours are truth and how many are exaggerated lies, but if even a tenth of what he’s heard is true…

He definitely doesn’t want to get on the man’s bad side. 

Maybe he could accept the gift if he had actually saved the town from a dangerous dragon. As it was though, the dragon had been there for Alba alone from the start- it feels far too slimy to accept money for chasing it away. 

“I’m definitely turning it down,” Alba says firmly. “Where’s this waiting room?”

A servant brings him to an ornate door, then bows and walks away. Taking a nervous breath - he really hopes it isn’t hard to convince the stranger to see his way - Alba opens the door and steps in. 

It’s on the smaller side as far as waiting rooms go- just two couches facing each other in the middle of the room, a coffee table dividing them. A black-haired man sits with his back facing Alba, short maroon horns curling up from his head. 

“Hi,” Alba says cautiously. His feet tap on the ground. “Are you Her-”

His voice cuts off, because the man’s face has just come into view. 

Alba has lived for over three hundred years. Logically speaking, the twenty-odd years he spent in his past life should be nothing but a blip on his radar at this point. 

But that isn’t the case. 

His memories of things that happened just a decade or two ago are much, much blurrier than say, his high school memories from centuries past. Alba may have spent over three hundred years in this life, but he honestly didn’t care much for it. He lived because he preferred it to dying- he wouldn’t say he was happy. 

And so, while it’s true that some of his memories may have still gone a little fuzzy over the years, he remembers quite a bit. 

The face of the person he cared for more than anything in the world isn’t something he’s forgotten. 

This can’t be ‘Hero Sion’, and if this dragon isn’t him-

“This isn’t funny.” Alba’s voice is ice cold. “Are you the dragon who just attacked me? What did you do? Read my memories? That face won’t stop me from beating you up.”

“You’re a thousand years too early to be ‘beating me up’, Prez,” the man says with a snort, and it sounds like him, it sounds so much like him, but how is this possible?

Alba takes a staggered step forward, two. The man watches him draw near, a smug smile playing at his lips. 

“But you-” Alba bites his lip. “You can’t be-”

The man drags him down, pulls him into his arms- Alba’s hat falls off his head for what feels like the upteenth time that day, but he can’t bring himself to care. His face is smushed into the man’s shoulder, and breathing in is just automatic- the scent is unfamiliar, but it isn’t as though he really remembers what Ros smelled like-

“Did you think that you were the only one who could get transported to another world?” The man’s hand strokes through Alba’s hair, and Alba finds himself pressing closer into his grasp. The man continues, “I met that bastard Elf too.”

This doesn’t seem like it’s a trick. 

Alba’s voice cracks. “So you’re- you’re really…”

“Yes, yes, I’m your Ros.” the man sounds amused. 

Ros sounds amused. 

Alba leans back a little, enough to take in Ros’ face. Bright red eyes and shining smile, thin eyebrows and sharp features…

He finds one of his hands reaching out to trace over Ros’ face, to squish his cheeks and run a thumb over his eye. 

Ros’ smile twists down into a scowl. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I just- I can’t believe you’re really here,” Alba says quietly. 

His hand shifts to Ros’ hair, scrapes over the base of one of Ros’ horns. Horns. Ros has horns now, short and thick and a dark red that’s just bright enough to stand out against his hair. Alba had stayed human even after he came to this world, but it seems that wasn’t a guarantee. 

Glancing down, Alba can see there’s a red, scaled tail curling out from behind Ros. Both demons and dragons could have tails, but given how the tail looks-

“You’re really a dragon now?” Alba asks, reaching out a curious hand-

Only to get promptly slapped with a tail in the face. 

“Ow!” Alba yelps, hands drawing back to rub mournfully at his face. “That hurt…”

“I can’t believe my dearest club president has become such a pervert,” Ros says, voice pitched high in faux offense. “Trying to fondle my tail in public… how shameless.”

“Wha-” Alba turns bright red. “I didn’t- I was just curious! I didn’t know it was- that it was like, I mean…”

Alba starts babbling out excuses- but after a beat, Ros cuts him off with a snort. 

“I’m kidding,” says Ros, “I just wanted to see you panic.”

Alba chokes. “Hey!”

“Though well-” Ros leans in, brushes his mouth against Alba’s ear. “-my tail is very sensitive at its base.”

“Uh.” Alba’s eyes are blown wide. “Um.”

He hears Ros laugh happily. “I’m pleased to see you’re as terrible at responding to my flirting as ever.”

“...’As ever’?” Alba echoes, his face still feeling far too hot. “You’ve never- not before-”

“You do realize I’ve flirted with you since we were seventeen,” Ros says, amused. “But I suppose I’m not surprised you never noticed, you moron.”

“Ah- um.” Alba swallows, his expression twisting. He doesn’t know how to react to that. 

(He always thought that Ros liked him back too, but that was from drunken kisses, the occasional gentle touches far too intimate to be called platonic. 

Blatant flirting from Ros wasn’t ever something he had registered.)

There’s silence for a awkward moment, two- then Ros shoves Alba away out of nowhere. He yelps as his back slams into the couch’s armrest. 

“Hey,” Alba complains, straightening himself back up, “What was that for?”

Ros won’t look at him, his gaze fixed to the other side of the room. “I… recognize it was rather unseemly of me to throw myself at you out of nowhere, after all this time. Please forget everything I just said, Pr- Alba-san.” 

“But-” Alba objects, but then Ros shoots him a deathly glare. He hesitates for a moment before forcing himself to continue- “But I don’t want to forget what you said.”

“Excuse me?” Ros’ voice is sneering. “What, are you planning to use it as blackmail? Sorry, but I doubt that gossip from centuries back will be of much use to you.” 

“Blackmail?” says Alba, deathly confused, “Ros, what are you even talking about?” 

Ros is silent for a beat, two, then-

“...You didn’t seem very receptive to my flirting.” He shrugs, looking as nonchalant as can be. “And let me make it clear- that’s more than fine with me. I do realize things have changed- I’m not the kind of moron who’d still be in love with someone I hadn’t seen for centuries. I just lost myself for a bit when I... saw that you hadn’t forgotten me.” His hands twist in his lap. “So I would greatly appreciate it if you would forget what just happened. I can assure you it won’t happen again.”

Ros looks utterly carefree, as though they were just discussing the weather. Alba might even be tempted to believe him. 

(If it weren’t for the fact that he desperately doesn’t want to.)

So Alba swallows, feeling his face flush red. He doesn’t want to do what he’s about to do. He really, really doesn’t. But… this was a second chance. And he wasn’t about to let himself wallow in his regrets again. 

“I guess I’m a moron then,” he says. 

“That’s an established fact, yes, but what makes you bring it-” Ros cuts himself off, realization dawning on his face. He whips his face away in an obvious attempt to hide his expression. 

But Alba can still clearly see Ros’ ears darkening red. 

Smiling, Alba scooches himself over, presses himself back into Ros’ side.

Ros doesn’t stop him.  

“Ros,” says Alba, “I’ve always, um.” He feels his face burn harder, and his voice goes quiet. “I’ve always liked you.” He coughs, his voice rising back up to a normal pitch. “And I can’t imagine feeling any different about that, no matter how much you’ve changed.” 

Alba feels Ros’ arm reach out to press Alba tighter into his side. 

And then Ros is turning his face back to him. His cheeks are a little pink now- though Alba knows better than to mention it. Ros is smiling again, a bright, sunny smile that’s everything Alba’s ever wanted in life, and so Alba melts a little inside. 

“I get it, Prez,” says Ros, “You’re such a sap, honestly. How disgusting.” 

(The caustic words are rather offset by the fact that Ros looks like he’s about to burst into song.)

Ros continues, “I’m still me. I promise.”

“I’m still me too,” Alba says quietly. 

“Don’t worry.” Ros looks mocking. “It definitely shows.”

“Is that a bad thing?!”

In the end, Alba doesn’t take the governor up on his offer to stay in his mansion until his home is fixed. 

For one-

He can’t bring himself to rip himself away from Ros. If he had his way, he would superglue his hand to Ros, and he doesn’t care how much Ros teases him for it. 

Which is a lot, despite the fact that Alba is fairly certain that Ros would be just as dismayed at leaving Alba’s side. But in the end, it’s easy for him to forgive some playful teasing- Alba can tolerate all of Ros’ little idiosyncrasies, after all. 

(Even the more annoying ones. He guesses that’s love for you.)

But Alba isn’t about to explain to the governor why he suddenly wants ‘Hero Sion’ to sleep in the same room as him. So, staying in the mansion is no longer an option. 

And as for the second reason why he doesn’t take the governor up on his offer-

“I can fix the house myself,” Ros says with a shrug. “My plan was to intimidate you into hearing me out, then get back in your good graces by fixing everything up.”

They’re making their way through rolling hills of grass now, heading back to Alba’s house. It’s a path that Alba’s traipsed countless times before- and yet now, everything feels unreal. Alba leads the way, of course, but he can’t help but steal little glances back at Ros, just to take him in. To make sure he’s still there. 

(Sometimes when he glances back, Ros meets his eyes with an all-too-knowing smirk, and Alba ends up whipping his face back forwards in embarrassment.)

“Oh yeah,” says Alba, “What were you there for anyways?”

“I heard the Witch of the Highlands had reached the max level,” Ros explains, “I thought that someone that knowledgeable might know a way to help me track you down.”

“Eh heh.”

“To clarify, Prez, I thought that the Witch of the Highlands would be knowledgeable,” Ros says flatly. “Then I found out that he was you.”

“Hey, I’m still knowledgeable,” complains Alba. 

“Sure you are.” Ros snorts. “I doubt you gained even a single level through studying.”

Alba pauses. “You can… gain levels through studying?”

“You do realize you’re proving my point here?”

“Urgh.” Alba kicks at the ground as he walks. “I mean! I did study a lot by my standards, you know! I even have a library card for the provincial library!”

“You? A library card?” Ros sounds completely stunned, which Alba takes offense to. 

“How are you that shocked?” Alba whines. 

“Think of it from my perspective, Prez,” says Ros, “I had to spend a good seven years of my life bullying you into studying enough to graduate.”

“You didn’t-” Alba pauses, vague memories rising up within him. “Okay, maybe you did, but this is a fantasy world, y’know! Studying was actually interesting here. And...” he goes a little quiet. “It was a good distraction.”

“Distraction?”

“...From remembering you were gone.”

Ros falls silent for a moment. Then, the next thing Alba knows, there’s a hand squeezing Alba’s tight. He stops walking at the pressure and glances towards Ros- only to immediately flush. 

The expression on Ros’ face, so filled with sheer adoration… it makes Alba’s heart beat fast, but it’s also terribly embarrassing. 

“You missed me that much, Prez?” Ros says affectionately. 

“Every day,” says Alba, voice quiet. 

“Well,” says Ros, voice still drenched in affection, “You won’t have to miss me any longer.”

Alba feels himself smile a little. 

“Yeah,” he says, “Yeah.”

When they reach Alba’s house, he has to look up in dismay at the sheer damage. The roof has been completely ripped off, of course, but some walls seem to have caved in as well- he hopes his stuff is alright. 

“You really better fix this, Ros,” he grumbles. 

“Don’t worry,” Ros says brightly. “I’d cut corners if it was just for you, but I’m going to be living here too- I’ll do my best!”

“What do you mean you’d cut corne-” Alba cuts his retort off midway through, the latter half of Ros’ sentence finally registering. “You’re moving in?”

“I won’t be accepting no for an answer,” Ros informs him, “and I won’t be paying rent either.”

“That’s fine. That’s more than fine.” Smiling broadly, Alba presses himself into Ros, arms squeezing him in a tight embrace.

Alba murmurs, “I’m really happy.”

“Yes, yes.” Ros’ hand pats his back. “Has anyone told you that you’re very easy to manipula- I mean, satisfy, Prez?”

“You. On multiple occasions.”

“Ah, yes.” Ros hums. He sounds vaguely smug. “I suppose that’s true.”

They fall into a comfortable silence after that. 

(It takes a while for either of them to be willing to pull back.)

Ros turns into his dragon form to fetch the building supplies he needs. 

“You can’t make something out of nothing,” he says with a shrug. “We’re right by a forest, I should be able to fetch enough logs to fix everything up. I can probably find some sand for the windows too.” 

His voice is lower and deeper as a dragon- Alba doesn’t recognize it in the slightest. Staring up at Ros, Alba is really reminded that things have changed. That they’ve both spent centuries in a fantasy world, that Ros is a literal dragon now, the size of a house. 

Alba runs a hand across the red scales on one of Ros’ legs. They don’t feel as smooth as Alba would’ve imagined- they’re tough, and rough like sandpaper. 

“Hey, Ros…” he says quietly. 

“Yes, Prez?” 

“Did you… know you’d have to be a dragon?” asks Alba, “If you came here, I mean.”

“I didn’t,” says Ros, “But that bastard Elf told me I could find you if I came to this world, so I wouldn’t have cared either way.”

“...You know, I’ve been wondering,” Alba says, “but why have you been calling Elf a, um…”

“Bastard? Because he is one.” Ros’ voice is sour. “Do you know what he told me when he sent me here?”

“No?”

“He said he could transport me directly to you,” says Ros, “But he wouldn’t, because that wouldn’t be interesting. He said it would probably take me centuries to find you. Complete bastard. I hope I never meet him again.”

Alba feels a flash of anger. 

“I knew he had to have an ulterior motive,” he mutters. “I guess ‘entertainment’ is the cliché for a god.”

“I suppose it is,” Ros says. “Though well- I suppose I’m still grateful to him.” His body shifts up and down- Alba thinks it might be a shrug. “I never believed in an afterlife, so when I died, I didn’t have any hopes of seeing you again. He gave me that hope, at least. A chance.” 

“...Hey, Ros?” Alba says again. 

“Yes?”

“How… exactly did you die?” asks Alba. 

He leans his head against Ros’ rough scales, his face hidden away from view. 

Alba had been treating Ros as though he was the Ros he remembered, just with some extra time in this fantasy world. But Ros hadn’t died at the same time as Alba. He might’ve spent decades more in their modern world. 

Maybe he even lived out a normal life and died of old age. Maybe he found himself a nice wife, had cute children and a happy marriage. 

That would be for the best. Alba shouldn’t want Ros to have lived a sad, lonely life after his death. Alba should want Ros to have moved on, especially when they hadn’t actually started dating in the first place. 

(But the idea of anyone else touching Ros like he was theirs makes his teeth grit.)

“My, my, Prez,” Ros rumbles, “You can’t just ask someone how they died.”

“If you don’t want to say, that’s fine too!” Alba says quickly. 

“No, it’s fine.” Ros shifts his body again. “It isn’t a long story- I died around a week after you did.”

“Wait, what?” Alba says, dismayed. 

He may dislike the idea of Ros finding happiness with anyone else, but the idea of Ros dying young and unfulfilled like Alba… he hates that even more. 

“I got very, very drunk the day after your funeral, you see.” Ros sounds carefully nonchalant. “And I found myself wandering up onto the rooftop of our apartment building. Then I tripped over the edge and died. The end.”

“Wha-” says Alba, hands clenching into fists. “That’s just unfair! Why did we both have to die from such stupid accidents?”

“...Well, what’s done is done.” Ros spreads his wings wide. “Anyways, Prez, I really do need to go cut down some trees before it gets dark.” His mouth curls up in what Alba thinks is a smile. “Don’t cry while I’m gone.”

“You’ll be right back.” Alba rolls his eyes. “Of course I won’t.”

Ros laughs, and then he’s taking off flying.

Alba is somewhat shocked to find that Ros is an excellent carpenter. Tree logs are stripped of their bark with a practiced hand, then swiftly cut into even lumber. 

“Houses are always getting broken back in Originia,” Ros says, “Somebody lets their temper loose and whoops, a wall’s crumbling down, a house has burnt to ashes. Everyone learns how to build things back up from a pretty young age.”

(Ros sounds terribly nostalgic as he speaks, and Alba can’t help but feel a pang of guilt.)

The house seems to be coming back together at a remarkable speed- it looks like Ros might even finish before it gets dark, but then Alba notices an issue. 

“Ros,” Alba says flatly, “Why are you making another house?”

“It’ll be connected to the original one through a hallway, don’t worry,” Ros says brightly. 

“That wasn’t the question!” sputters Alba. 

The new house - or at least its wooden frame - looks to be twice as big as the old one. Why would they need so much room? It would just be more to keep clean. 

“It’s always best to have more room just in case, don’t you think?” says Ros. 

“Urgh…” Alba rubs his forehead. “Where are we gonna sleep tonight?”

The old house’s roof still isn’t completely repaired, and even besides that, there’s still rubble and debris littering the second floor. Alba has been slowly cleaning it up, but he isn’t so sure about trying to sleep in there.  

“We can sleep outside, can’t we?” Ros is unperturbed. “It’s summer, and we can set up a barrier to keep out any dew.”

“Ah, fine,” grumbles Alba. 

(As long as he’s with Ros, he supposes it doesn’t matter.)

In the end, Ros finishes everything up by the next afternoon, and it’s impressive to an almost infuriating degree. The new house is large and welcoming, with large windows bringing in sunlight and warm lights shining down from every room. The window glass is barely even warped- Ros, it seems, is skilled at glass-making as well. 

The only issue is, well…

“Why are there fireplaces burning in every room?” Alba asks imploringly, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “It’s the middle of summer!”

“Technically, they aren’t burning,” says Ros, “They’re mana-powered, so they produce no smoke.”

“You know that’s not the point…”

Ros just lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I suppose if you so insist, I can lower the temperature a little… humans, so finicky.”

‘Humans’. Alba bites his lip.  

“...Is this a normal temperature for you?” Alba asks. 

“More or less.” Ros shrugs. “I am a fire dragon.”

Urgh. It was really hot in here- it was probably well into the 30s at least. But if this would make Ros more comfortable, Alba supposes he could tolerate it. Maybe there were localized temperature modulation spells out there that he could look into. 

“I guess it’s fine then,” Alba says reluctantly. 

Ros stares at him with an indecipherable expression for a beat, two, then with a sigh, snaps his fingers. The temperature in the room immediately drops back to tolerable levels. 

“Honestly, Prez,” he says, smile amused, “I see you’ve gotten much more indulgent in your old age.”

“Hey- were you just messing around again?” Alba complains, “I really believed you, y’know!”

“I mean, I wasn’t lying.” Ros shrugs again. “That was more or less a normal temperature for me. But I haven’t lived among fire dragons for centuries, Prez. I’m fine with normal human temperatures. I can always bundle up if I get cold.”

Dismay clenches Alba’s throat tight.

“It’s fine then,” insists Alba. “You can turn the temperature back up.”

Ros scowls. “Don’t be silly-” 

“-You’re already throwing away so much to be here, aren’t you?” Alba cuts in. “You- you didn’t spend the last centuries doing nothing like I did. You grew up with an actual family as a dragon, and now I’m asking you to stay with me and stick to your human form and-”

A tail whips into Alba’s face at a breakneck speed, and he whimpers in pain. 

“First of all,” says Ros, sounding immensely annoyed. “I was the one to decide to stay here. You have no say in this, Prez.”

Ros’ tail slowly flicks back and forth behind him- Alba may not be familiar with tail body language, but even he can tell that Ros means to show his irritation. 

He continues, “Second of all, ‘stick to my human form’? It seems you aren’t aware, but my human form is my natural form, you idiot. I couldn’t even turn into a dragon until I was ten.”

“...Really?”

“The whole reason why we have horns even in human form is because without them, we would never be able to crack open our eggs,” Ros says. “Did you think it was just ‘aesthetics’? This is a real world, Prez, with its own real logic.”

“Right…” Alba shrinks into himself a little. 

“Finally-” Ros shoots Alba a withering look. “Yes, I have a family here, one I want to introduce you to someday soon. A very big one- dragon families are like that. But-” His voice sounds uncharacteristically vulnerable. “-that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you more than anything else.” 

Ros immediately pulls himself back together to let out a prim “Hmph.” 

...Alba can sense that bringing up what Ros had just said would just lead to insistent denials.  

But well, that was fine. Ros had still said it, and Alba had still heard it. 

He gives Ros a small smile. 

“I get it,” he says, “Sorry, Ros.”

“As long as you understand,” says Ros, and well, that’s that.

The rumour mill grinds its way along, and people in the province whisper in awe that Hero Sion has settled down with the Witch of the Highlands. To the average human, Hero Sion is far too intimidating to challenge- and so, they’re given a bit of peace and quiet. No more adventurers come over to try their luck against the Witch. 

Alba’s slow life continues, but it’s a deliriously happy one now. 

They rushed into things a little, Alba can admit that much. There’s so much he’s learnt about Ros’ life here, and still so much left to discover. Ros is still Ros at his core, but Alba does find he’s changed a bit from the Ros of his memories. There’s a little less violence and a little more doting, a few more gentle kisses and a few less insults. 

None of it is unwelcome though, so Alba doesn’t mind. 

Ros starts cooking for them again, and Alba is overjoyed, even when Ros slips mushrooms of questionable safety into the soup. He’s always loved Ros’ cooking, and it seems he’s just as skilled in this world as he was in the last. 

If he sniffles a little when he tastes Ros’ homecooked food for the first time in this world, well- he’s more than used to ignoring Ros’ teasing anyways.

It really does feel like he’s gone back in time.

(Though, Alba will say that he much prefers their current accommodations to that crappy two-bedroom apartment they had shared since they started university. 

Even if cleaning the whole place is a lot more of a pain now.)

They don’t really have anything they need to do, no goals to accomplish or jobs to complete. It’s a relaxing life that Alba can now fully enjoy, and enjoy he does. 

Months pass almost too quickly, summer turning into fall. It rains almost daily now, but the house stays as dry and toasty warm as ever. 

It’s just another rainy morning when there’s a soft knock on the door during breakfast.

When Alba opens the door, he doesn’t see anyone at first. Then he looks down. There’s a small boy on his doorstop, hair a shocking shade of green. 

“Hello,” Alba says, crouching down to meet the boy’s eyes. “Are you lost?”

“I wanted to meet you, Papa!”

Alba freezes solid, confusion whirling through his mind. 

“Prez? What’s the matter?” 

“Mister, help!” exclaims the boy. “Papa’s stopped moving!” 

“Papa?” echoes Ros, voice stone cold. 

That’s enough to shake Alba out of his fugue. 

“Wait wait wait,” he sputters, straightening back up. “I don’t have any kids! This kid’s misunderstanding something!”

“I’m not misunderstanding anything.” the boy looks unhappy. “You’re my papa, Papa. Alba Frühling, the Witch of the Highlands.”

“Wait, no-”

“I see.” Ros looks and sounds utterly disgusted. “I suppose we were apart for three centuries… so I can’t blame you for finding… comfort… in someone else… but…” 

Ros pushes past Alba to crouch in front of the boy, ruffling his hair. He shoots an utterly derisive look back at Alba. “How could you abandon this poor boy, you deadbeat!”

“I’m telling you, he isn’t mine!”

“He has your eyes, you liar!” 

“Agh-”

It is true that the boy in front of him has eyes identical to his own. If he squints, he thinks that the boy might even look a little like Alba when he was young. 

“But he really isn’t mine!” pleads Alba. “I’ve never even kissed anyone but you, let alone...” He eyes the innocent-looking boy in front of them, and coughs. “Let alone anything else.”

“Sure he isn’t,” Ros says with a sneer, then turns back to the boy. “What’s your name, little one?”

“Pillow,” the boy chirps. 

“Oh my.” Ros looks sympathetic. “Did your papa name you?”

Pillow shakes his head. “No, I named myself!”

“He got his father’s naming sense, poor thing…” Ros lets out a loud sigh. 

“Are you listening to me…?” tries Alba. 

“No,” Ros says curtly, then to Pillow- “Do you not have a mama then, Pillow?”

Pillow shakes his head again. 

“You should live here,” Ros smiles. “Do you want to come in for some cookies?”

Pillow’s eyes brighten, and he nods furiously. 

“Wait, Ros, we can’t take in some random person’s child-”

But they’re already pushing past him to walk inside. 

“If Alba-san is ‘Papa’, then you can call me ‘Daddy’, okay?”

“Okay!”

Alba buries his face in his hands.

Ros sits Pillow down in the living room while he heads to the kitchen to fetch the cookies and milk. That’s where Alba corners him. 

“Ros, I’m telling you, it’s really impossible that he’s mine,” Alba hisses. “We need to get him back to whoever his parents are.”

“I’m fairly sure he’s yours, Prez,” Ros says mildly, pouring milk into a cup. 

“Do you not trust me that much?” Alba says, helpless. “Ros, you have to believe me, I had no eyes for anyone but you. Even when I thought I’d never see you again, that didn’t matter. I lov-”

“-I get it,” Ros cuts in, his cheeks flushed. “And I do trust in that, Prez. But that boy… he isn’t human.”

“Huh?”

“He’s a spirit. Water spirit, I think- didn’t you notice? He was absorbing the rain into his skin,” says Ros, “Spirits are born when inanimate objects or non-sapient creatures feel strong enough emotions to condense into a sapient being. I’m guessing that you were the one to cause the emotions that triggered that boy’s birth.”

“Oh,” says Alba. 

“So, what did you do?” Ros’ voice is derisive. “Go to the washroom in a lake? Pollute a clean spring with garbage?”

“Hey, why are you assuming I did something bad?”

“Are you saying you didn’t?” asks Ros, voice full of faux surprise. 

“Yes, I didn’t!” Alba whines. “I can’t think of anything that would’ve made a lake or something feel something towards me.”

Ros just hums. 

“Well,” he says, picking up the plate of cookies and cup of milk. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out eventually.”

Ros, it seems, adores parenting, though Alba isn’t sure how much of it is just him enjoying watching Alba squirm. They both know that Alba isn’t a deadbeat, and certainly wasn’t unfaithful to him, but Ros just won’t stop making snide remarks. Honestly. 

But even Alba does have to admit his heart is melting a little. He doesn’t know how old Pillow is actually, but he looks and acts like a precocious ten year-old child, and it’s utterly precious. 

How was he supposed to not give in when Pillow runs up to him with a book and asks sweetly, “Papa, will you read me a bedtime story?”

(...The book being Elenore’s Fundamental Treatise on Magic and Laws Thereof is a bit off-putting, but Alba can roll with it.)

Pillow even manages to embarrass Ros sometimes, which is a feat Alba certainly appreciates. 

“Daddy,” he asks one evening, eyes filled with childish curiosity, “Why do you call Papa ‘Prez’?”

“Well,” Ros says with a cough, “Your papa and I used to be in the same club at school together, a long long time ago. He was the club president, and the name stuck.”

“But you aren’t in the same club anymore, right?” Pillow’s head tilts to the side. “Is it a way to brag about your shared history?”

And Ros flushes a beautiful pink that has Alba breaking out into a wide grin. 

Even besides all that though, Alba finds he adores watching Ros act paternal. Ros just acts so unabashedly soft when he’s interacting with Pillow, and it makes his heart beat fast.  

Though admittedly, it does also make Alba feel a bit inadequate at times.

“I didn’t know you were so good with kids,” he says in bed, soon after they’ve put Pillow to sleep. 

“I wasn’t before,” Ros says with a hum. “But well- I have a lot of little siblings now, Prez.” He pauses. “And by ‘little’, I mean decades to centuries younger than me.” He laughs a little. “They always swarm me whenever I go back to visit.”

Alba chokes. “That’s a huge time span.”

“Well, it’s just the way it is with dragons.” he shrugs. “To me, my only real sibling is Lake- we were born in the same clutch, you see. Everyone else is more like- a cousin, I suppose.” 

“Dragons really are different, huh…” Alba says quietly. 

“They are.” Ros presses a light kiss against Alba’s nose, then with an awkward cough- “But that doesn’t mean I can't still want a family with a human.” 

Alba flushes a deep red, and hopes the darkness of the room hides it.

Mornings become dedicated to lessons. 

“This boy has a talent, Prez!” Ros declares, ruffling Pillow’s hair. “We need to nurture it, or he’ll end up just like his papa.”

Pillow laughs. “He isn’t so bad, Daddy.”

“Don’t be fooled, Pillow,” Ros says solemnly. “Your papa hasn’t opened a book in decades.”

“Okay, now you’re just lying,” complains Alba. 

Unfortunately though, the fact remains that Alba isn’t very well-versed in the theoretical side of things. He can cast a spell, but he isn’t really able to explain how or why it works. So it’s Ros who leads the lessons, magic and history and math and more, and to his embarrassment, Alba becomes as much a student as Pillow. 

But well, Ros has always liked lording his knowledge over Alba. Ros tutored Alba quite often back in high school and university, for the cost of a drink or a meal or two. 

He always looked happy while teaching, and it seems like that’s still the case now. 

(It seems it's also just as distracting as ever, much to Alba's dismay.)

They start baking a lot more. 

Even as a child, Alba has never had much of a sweet tooth. But Ros would die for sweets, and it seems Pillow is the same. It’s immensely cute, though Alba knows better to say that to Ros’ face.

In a twist of fate though, it turns out that Alba has a talent for baking sweets, despite his lack of interest in actually eating them. He can easily measure out ingredients to precision by eye, and he quickly learns how to slice and dice fruits into beautiful decorations. 

Baking time tends to be in the afternoon, after lessons and lunch, and it’s a great way to gain back a bit of confidence after the failures of the morning. Ros may sometimes look at him mockingly, and Pillow may sometimes gaze at him with pity, but in the afternoons, he has them both hooked onto his every word. 

Alba has always adored watching Ros happily eat sweets, but he finds it’s twice as enjoyable watching him eat sweets that Alba baked himself. Pillow doesn’t tend to show his emotions as openly, but sometimes, a small smile will sneak onto his face. And that's just as adorable as anything else.

All in all, it’s wonderful motivation- Alba is perfectly happy baking away with his two assistants.

It would be so very easy to forget that Pillow is a spirit born out of nowhere. That he isn’t just a normal human child, their normal human child. 

And as the weeks pass by, Alba finds himself actually forgetting. 

In retrospect, that’s probably why Pillow struck when he did.

Alba isn’t awake for the attack. The first thing he remembers is Ros suddenly shaking him awake in the middle of the night, blearily sitting up in bed-

-and spotting Pillow lying captured in the middle of the room, cuffs of light keeping his arms and legs pinned down tight. 

That’s enough to jolt even Alba awake. 

“What?” Alba moves to go to Pillow, but Ros stops him with an outstretched arm. 

“Pillow,” Ros says quietly, “Why did you do it?”

“Do…?” echoes Alba in confusion. 

And then his eyes land on the butcher’s knife on the ground, the rip in the blanket next to him. 

His confusion rises. “Wha-?”

“-I have a duty, Witch of the Highlands, Hero Sion,” Pillow says. His voice is cold, emotionless- completely unrecognizable. 

Ros just looks disappointed. “You were born from a grudge towards Prez.”

“I was,” says Pillow, “And I need to kill the Witch of the Highlands for it.”

And the puzzle pieces click. That chat with Ros, all those weeks ago, about how Alba had probably caused Pillow’s birth. About how Alba must’ve done something to anger a body of water. 

“What did I do to you?” Alba asks, voice filled with dismay. 

“...You killed me,” answers Pillow. “Again and again. Again and again and again.” His expression twists. “Every day and every night.”

“But you’re- you’re alive, here, how could I have…”

“He doesn’t mean that you literally killed him,” Ros says, “He means you killed what created him.”

Alba’s brows furrow. “But the only thing I’ve really killed is…”

He stares down at Pillow, at his bright green hair. 

“...slimes…”

“I’m a slime spirit,” Pillow says. “I was born from the grudge of millions.”

He still looks as emotionless as ever. As though everything was a lie, as though nothing mattered. 

“Pillow, is this really what you want?” asks Ros, “You may have been born from slimes, but you have your own consciousness now. You have to realize that slimes are monsters that attack people- no one goes out of their way to ki-”

“-Do you really think you can appease my grudge so easily?” demands Pillow. 

Ros just looks wretched. 

Alba stands up. 

“Pa- Witch of the Highlands?” 

With a flick of his hand, Alba dissipates the restraints. 

“Prez!” Ros says sharply, jumping up, but Alba ignores him. 

Taking a firm step fowards, Alba presses Pillow into his chest. 

“There’s no need to appease your grudge, is there?” Alba says, “Because you already know it isn’t right.”

Pillow stiffens in his arms, face peeking back up at Alba. “No- I don’t-”

“If you still held a grudge,” says Alba, “then why would you come at me with a butcher knife?” He strokes Pillow’s back in a gentle motion. “Why would you miss? Why wouldn’t you slip poison into my meals instead? Why wouldn’t you use one of those spells you’re so good at?”

“...I…”

“I’m very used to the people I care about not saying what they mean,” continues Alba. He snorts. “Usually violently. Don’t think I won’t see through things like this so easily.”

(He gets the feeling that if he looked around right now, Ros would be scowling at him.)

“Papa,” Pillow says quietly, barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah?”

“Is it really okay that I don’t wanna kill you?” asks Pillow, wavering. 

“Of course,” Alba says with a laugh. 

With a thump, Pillow shoves his face into his chest. 

“Then I don’t wanna kill you, Papa,” he says, voice muffled. “I wanna stay with you and Daddy.”

“And that’s perfectly fine,” says Alba. He ruffles Pillow’s hair. “Just um, promise not to try and kill me again, okay?”

“I promise,” Pillow says firmly, and well, this was just a kid they were talking about. 

Their kid. 

The promise is more than enough for him.

Alba sleeps in the next day. He likes sleep- if left to his own devices, he would sleep in until noon every day. But normally, Ros - and lately, Pillow - come to wake him up first thing in the morning. 

That day though, no one comes to wake up, so he’s a little worried when he wakes up alone in a cold bed. He slips outside and down the stairs, then pauses when he hears voices coming from the kitchen. 

“Hero Sion, are you uncomfortable with me here?”

It’s Pillow’s voice. 

Alba knows he shouldn’t eavesdrop, but- something stops him from coming out. 

(He’s worried too, that Ros might not forgive someone for attacking Alba as easily as Alba himself.)

But Ros betrays both of their expectations. 

“You don’t need to call me that,” Ros says in amusement. “I quit being a hero the moment I found Prez anyway.”

“...Ros-san.”

“You can still call me Dad.” 

Alba hears a rustle - Ros must be ruffling Pillow’s hair. 

“Are you… sure?” Pillow says quietly. 

“Listen, Pillow,” Ros says, voice gentle. “I’ve always wanted to have kids with Prez. Even back when it was biologically speaking - or well, magically speaking - impossible for us.” More sounds of ruffling. “So it doesn’t matter to me that you’re not related to me by blood or mana, okay? In my mind, you’re already my firstborn. And I’ve always known that kids can act up.” A laugh. “How old are you, fifty? About time for some teenage rebellion, hm?”

“I’m forty-one,” Pillow mumbles, and Alba chokes. 

He knows logically that longer-lived races mature much more slowly, but it’s still hard to let go of his human sensibilities. 

“I guess it’s still a little early for that then.” Ros doesn’t sound surprised. “It doesn’t matter though. You’re allowed to mess up at any age, Pillow. I won’t abandon you for it.”

A soft thump. Alba peeks into the kitchen and sees Pillow’s pressed tightly against Ros’ stomach, small arms squeezing around Ros. 

Ros meets Alba’s eyes, and Alba jumps, looking guilty. But Ros just smiles. 

“It looks like your papa has finally decided to join us,” says Ros. “Go prep the table, Prez, brunch is almost ready.”

“I can help too, Papa!” Pillow says, pulling himself off of Ros. 

Alba laughs a little. “Thanks, Pillow.” 

Taking Pillow’s hand in his own, he starts heading to the dining room. But he finds himself glancing back, just for a bit. 

The sun shines bright through the window, lighting the whole counter bright as Ros cooks away. Smile on his face and tail high in the air, he’s carefully frying up the last of the pancake batter. 

It makes Alba’s chest feel impossibly warm. A thought crosses his mind- he wouldn’t mind living like this forever. 

But wait, ah- 

Smiling wide, Pillow’s small hand warm in his own, Alba starts walking again. 

-he will be, huh?