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Noelle struggled against her bonds. What had gone so wrong? They had won, hadn’t they? They had kept their end of the deal, hadn’t they? Yes, but they were dealing with the Queen of Witches. They should have known. They should have been more careful.
Everything was red. The sun had turned crimson. The air had grown thick. The high trees surrounding the blood-flooded clearing had grown taller, and they seemed to edge closer, walking in time with the red eyes that glowed in the dark. Slowly, far too slowly. As if to postpone the inevitable.
Inevitable? Noelle wasn’t going to let it happen. She shook her arms, her legs… but it was pointless. The Witch Queen’s magic coiled around her wrists and ankles, holding her still. Who knew blood was far more constricting than iron chains?
Noelle watched in horror at Asta’s glazed-over eyes, the lively, hopeful green had long disappeared. It wasn’t him. But it was.
Noelle couldn’t speak. Couldn’t scream. Desperation clawed at her throat as she strained against the restraints. She felt trapped. Caught. Cornered. She knew the feeling all too well. But there were no snakes this time. There were no attack spells, no water, no sneering. Solid wouldn’t strike this time. Asta would. And that was a far greater blow. Noelle couldn’t bear the thought of Asta, her first and best friend, striking her down.
Asta’s heavy footsteps echoed in the clearing, reverberating against the high trees. Slow. Unsteady. Contrasting with how frantically Noelle’s heart was beating.
Asta’s light had saved her even more times. His laughter, his smiles, his eyes, his loud strength, and a mental fortitude she could only applaud. They had fought alongside since day one. One look was enough for her to know what his stupid brain was thinking, even if, often, she wasn’t fast enough to stop him.
Noelle cared for Asta. He was her best friend. He was her comrade and he meant so much to her. And yet she feared him right now. It was the first time she was scared of him, instead of for him, and she didn’t like it better. The bonds tightened, bruising her skin.
Was this how it ended? Killed by the comrade who had saved her? And how would it feel for him, who valued his comrades so much, to be the reason they wouldn’t fight again?
Asta’s eyes were empty. Hollow. His sword gleamed in the red light, sinister and dangerous, a sword that had saved her so many times. He raised it, and Noelle’s world stopped. She was conscious of the forest floor, damp with blood, the soft ruffle of the tree leaves. It was unbelievably quiet. Noelle never thought her death would be this quiet.
She closed her eyes and a scream echoed in the emptiness.
Noelle woke up. Her pajamas clung to her skin, and her breaths came in ragged gasps. The room was dim, the moon gleaming through the thin curtains. Noelle curled into herself, trembling.
Asta’s puppet face haunted her even in her dreams now. She had survived. They had all made it out by an unexpected light through the darkness. Fate sided with them and they all went home relatively unharmed, and in true Black Bull fashion, they celebrated, partied, and moved on to the next mission. But Noelle was still stuck there at times. On silent nights, she would get those visions.
Glancing outside, Noelle realized it was still the middle of the night. The base was quiet, as it only was at night.
Noelle untangled herself from her sheets and set off to the kitchen, walking as quietly as she could. Henry hadn’t rearranged the rooms yet, so she found what she was looking for fairly easily… and nearly shrieked when she stepped inside, turn the lights on, and caught sight of Asta. A very half-naked Asta.
“Asta, put on a shirt!”
“But it’s hot…” Asta said, pouting.
…yes. Yes, it was; even if it shouldn’t be because it was only still the beginning of Spring. Noelle sighed and dropped on a stool, trying to calm down. There was no changing Asta, was there? It was comforting in a way. He was still good old Asta, even after losing his arms, getting them back, and having his force turned against him.
There was something to admire in that.
“Why didn’t you turn on the lights?” Noelle asked.
Asta shrugged. “It’s late?”
“That’s not going to wake anyone. Our rooms are upstairs.”
He shrugged again, dismissively. Asta never turned the lights on at night. He always said he was used to it because he never wanted to wake the kids he shared a room with at the church.
“Can’t sleep?” Asta asked.
“No. You?”
“No.”
Asta fetched her a glass of water and Noelle watched him, his tousled hair, his easy smile, his calloused hands. The coolness of the glass helped Noelle calm down. Barely. Because then, Asta leaned over the counter far too close for comfort.
“Nightmare?” Asta asked.
Noelle felt herself burn up. “H-How did you..?”
“Your ki’s a bit… I don’t know. Tangled.”
Her ki was probably a mess right now for a hundred different reasons— the nightmare only being one of them. She gripped the glass, hoping to also get a grip on her emotions.
“It was nothing,” Noelle said. “I’m just mad it woke me up. I have a mission tomorrow! I need my rest.”
Asta chuckled and backed away a little, giving her enough space to breathe. The silence wrapped around them, comforting and strangely warm. Noelle relaxed, sip after sip. When she dared look up at Asta again, she noticed his tired eyes. His gaze was lost in the kitchen counter, and she couldn’t help but look down at his arms. They were fine now— he always made sure to prove it to everyone by heavy lifting or doing push-ups.
“Are your arms okay now?” Noelle asked.
“Yeah! I told you: my arms are even stronger!” Asta said, holding his arms up and flexing with a satisfied, nearly smug expression.
“Stop doing that!”
Asta laughed and Noelle couldn’t help but join him. She glanced over at Asta, at his unapologetic joy and fullness. No, Asta wasn’t the devil from her nightmare. He wasn’t the puppet who had swung that sword. That was Asta: sunny and stupid; and Noelle didn’t want any other than him.
For moments, the kitchen was quiet. There was something about unexpected meetings in the Black Bull kitchen at night. Like finding an ear and a shoulder, even if no word was said.
When Asta put down his empty glass, his face was more somber.
“But I keep thinking… Back in the Forest… There was nothing I could do.”
“She was controlling you,” Noelle said. “Vanessa said it herself: it’s impossible to fight your own blood.”
“Yeah…” Asta said, scratching his cheek. “I just think… Maybe if I had been stronger.”
Noelle looked down at her hands. She kept thinking the same. It didn’t matter that blood magic couldn’t be countered. It didn’t matter that the Witch Queen’s spell was flawless. For Noelle, the problem would always come from her side. No matter what.
“Do you remember what happened?” Noelle asked.
Asta shrugged. “It’s fuzzy. I know I almost… I know I swung my sword at you.”
“You stopped in time.”
“Thanks to Rouge.”
“No, before that. Before Vanessa even got Rouge. You stopped right before getting to me.”
Asta glanced at Noelle and she couldn’t take that hopeful glint in his eyes, so she looked down.
“You fought it,” Noelle stated. “Even when you were being controlled you… tried not to hurt me.”
He smiled at her, a different smile. A kind, thankful smile. And Noelle didn’t know what to think of it. For a second, she thought about why Asta was here in the middle of the night. She thought that maybe he was still haunted by what had happened in the Witches’ Forest. Asta wasn’t one to linger on the past— it was his greatest strength in Noelle’s eyes since she dwelled on it too much— but even he must have been shaken. Noelle knew how helpless she had felt, struggling against the bonds. How could it have felt for him, to struggle against his own mind? A hundred times worse, for sure.
“Thank you.”
Noelle blinked, confused. “Why?”
“It’s nice to know I put up a fight! And I would never hurt you, Noelle. Not if I can help it.”
Noelle blushed and promptly huffed. “Of course you wouldn’t. I’m royalty. I could have you executed for that.”
Asta chuckled, clearly dismissing the threat.
Well, he knew it was empty.