[Realm: Álfheimr]

[Location: China Country]

[Outskirts]

Puck hovered in place for a long moment, watching the porcelain people below slowly regain their composure.

They moved stiffly at first, as if unsure their joints would obey them anymore. Some knelt beside shattered comrades, carefully gathering fragments of porcelain arms or cracked torsos, pressing the pieces together as though willing them whole again. Others stared at the scorched remains of the Deseruit Beasts, poking at them with spear tips, recoil etched plainly into their painted faces. The battlefield was quiet now and the absence of the beasts seemed to weigh heavier on them than the battle itself had.

The suddenness of it all still rang in Puck's ears.

One moment there had been screaming, porcelain clashing against monsters, and the next—light. Swift and powerful. She swallowed as the reality of it settled in.

Her gaze drifted back up to Grimm.

He still floated where he had been, unmoving, as though the violence below had required no exertion whatsoever. There was no tension in his posture, no sign of lingering aggression. The attack had been devastating, yes—but not careless. Not a single porcelain figure had been struck. Not even scorched.

Puck's brows knit together.

("He didn't even hit any of the porcelain people,") The thought pressed in on her. ("That level of control… that kind of ease…") Her eyes lingered on him longer. ("If it was that easy for him, then why hesitate at all? Why not help and move on the moment he saw them losing? Did he really need something like curiosity to anchor him to action?")

The question bothered her more than she liked.

"Let's go say hi," Grimm said suddenly.

Puck blinked, pulled sharply from her thoughts.

"…What?" she asked, staring at him as if she'd misheard.

But Grimm had already begun drifting downward, his descent unhurried.

"Wait—now?" Puck called after him, her form flying faster as she followed. "You're just—going down there? After that?"

Grimm did not respond. He did not even turn his head.

They descended together, the distance between sky and ground closing quickly. It did not take long for the porcelain people to notice.

A shout rang out.

"Someone's coming down!"

Weapons snapped up almost immediately. Spears were raised, short swords clutched in trembling porcelain hands. The soldiers spread out instinctively, forming a loose semicircle as Grimm's sabatons finally touched the ground with a dull thud against the earth.

"W-who is that?!" one porcelain soldier cried, voice thin and cracking.

"H-he looks dangerous!" another screamed, shuffling backward, nearly tripping over a fallen shard.

Grimm stood still, gaze sweeping across them.

He took them in with the same assessment he had given the beasts—their glossy, delicate bodies, the painted seams at their joints and the miniature armor molded to resemble steel but clearly brittle. Their weapons were little more than symbols of resistance, incapable of stopping anything truly determined.

He wondered, idly, what they hoped to accomplish if he chose to be hostile.

It would have been amusing.

If it weren't so terribly dull.

("They act normally despite being dolls,") The thought came without judgment. ("Nothing interesting there. They're sentient creatures, after all.")

A porcelain soldier suddenly gasped, pointing upward.

"No—he—he was responsible for the light!" the figure shouted, voice rising with realization.

"Yes, I saw it too!" another cried, lowering their spear halfway.

"That armor—he was in the sky!"

Murmurs rippled through the group.

"He is our savior?" one asked hesitantly, the word sounding fragile, as though it might shatter if spoken too loudly.

More weapons lowered, though it was difficult to tell how relaxed any of them truly were. Their stiff bodies made even relief look rigid.

Before Grimm could speak, Puck fluttered forward, hovering slightly ahead of him.

"That's right," she said quickly, voice light but earnest. "The man here—and I—mean you all no harm."

The porcelain people froze.

"A fairy?"

"Here?"

"In the country?"

Whispers overlapped, some incredulous, some reverent.

"Then… then it must be true," one porcelain soldier said, stepping forward despite the others' hesitation. The figure tilted its smooth, painted face upward toward Grimm. "Did… did you save us?"

"Yes," Grimm answered plainly. "Now show me your city."

Puck winced.

("Could he learn some tact?")

She resisted the urge to smack the side of his helmet.

The porcelain people exchanged glances, expressions frozen somewhere between shock and awe.

Then one of them straightened abruptly.

"As our savior," the soldier declared, voice suddenly bright, almost brittle with enthusiasm, "how could we not show you to our city!"

Several others nodded vigorously, porcelain heads bobbing.

"Yes! Follow us, sir!"

"Our walls will welcome you!"

Their small legs moved in unison as they turned toward the breached city walls, marching with renewed energy. The sound of porcelain feet striking the ground echoed out, a hollow sound that followed them as they went.

Grimm watched them for a moment, head tilting slightly.

"They're awfully trusting," he remarked.

Puck drifted closer to his side as they followed. "Well, you did save them," she said. "A little trust is kind of warranted." She glanced at him sidelong. "And you know… you could sound a bit happier about having saved so many lives."

Grimm did not respond.

He simply continued walking forward, following the porcelain figures toward the city, his interest fixed not on gratitude or praise, but on whatever lay waiting beyond those pale walls.

Grimm and Puck followed in the wake of porcelain feet, the sound of them moving ringing out—hard, hollow taps that echoed. As they passed through the breach torn into the city's outer ring, several porcelain soldiers who hadn't been present at the battle turned stiffly toward them, weapons half-raised, faces frozen in molded expressions of confusion.

"Why are the guards allowing someone in?" one murmured, craning his neck.

"Who is that man?" another whispered, eyes lingering on the red spill of Grimm's hair and the dark color of his armor.

The leading soldiers didn't break stride. "Make way," one of them called, voice sharp with a confidence that hadn't been there before. "This is the savior who vanquished all the Deseruit Beasts."

The word savior passed outward in an instance, passed from mouth to mouth immediately.

Inside the walls, the city opened up.

It was all porcelain—buildings glazed in whites and blues, roofs curved like teacups, windows filled with gold filigree—but it was not pristine. Long cracks spiderwebbed across streets and environment as a whole. Entire sections had collapsed inward, leaving piles of shattered limbs, torsos, and faces carefully stacked beside the road. Porcelain people knelt in small groups, fitting pieces back together with a patience that felt natural to them. Some moved with visible fractures still mended by rough seams, others supported companions whose legs had yet to be reattached.

A pair of children—small, their glaze dulled by ash—rolled a broken arm between them, arguing quietly about where it belonged.

Others, astonishingly, continued on with their routines. A vendor straightened a toppled stall and began arranging porcelain cups as if the street hadn't been partially ruined. A clockmaker swept shards from his doorway, pausing only to stare openly at Grimm as he passed.

"Is that a human?" someone asked.

"That one has red-haired," another replied. "Look at the armor."

"And the fairy," a voice added, awed. "A real one."

Puck slowed slightly, hovering closer to Grimm's shoulder as the attention mounted. "They're going to start circling us if this keeps up," she muttered. "Seems you have a way of drawing eyes."

Grimm didn't look away from the city. His gaze moved slowly, tracking the lines of construction, the way streets curved to distribute weight, how thicker supports had been built beneath taller structures. "Their material distribution is intelligent," he said. "Reinforced at stress points. They anticipated collapse."

Puck blinked. "You're critiquing their city."

"I am merely observing," he replied evenly.

They passed a plaza where a fountain lay shattered, its basin split cleanly in two. Several porcelain people stood around it, silent.

"Sir," A porcelain soldier to his side said carefully, "we… we not not know how to thank you."

Grimm stopped. The soldiers escorting them halted as well, forming a loose semicircle that did little to keep the growing crowd back.

"You don't," Grimm said.

The porcelain soldier hesitated. "But you saved us."

"I removed a variable," Grimm replied. "Your survival was incidental."

A murmur spread, confusion with most. Puck winced and drifted forward, smiling quickly. "What he means," she cut in, "is that he helped because he could. And because the beasts were a problem. That still counts."

The porcelain soldier nodded slowly, as if filing that away. "Then… welcome," he said. "To our city."

As they moved on, the crowd thickened. Fingers pointed. Voices rose and overlapped.

"His hair—look how wild it is."

"Those gauntlets—are they black iron?"

"No, too polished."

"Is he human?"

"Can humans float like that fairy?"

Grimm felt it all like static at the edge of his awareness. What held his attention instead were the repairs—how broken bodies were catalogued, how no piece seemed discarded, only waiting for something. Even the shattered were treated with care.

"Interesting," he said quietly.

Puck glanced at him. "You mean that sincerely, don't you."

"Yes."

She studied his helmeted face, searching for something she couldn't see. "You really don't feel anything about this," she said. Not accusing him. She herself was just curious.

Grimm paused again, this time turning his head toward her. "Define feel."

She sighed. "Never mind."

They reached a broader avenue leading deeper into the city, buildings rising taller here, their porcelain surfaces catching the light. Grimm's eyes traced the seams where different glazes met, where repairs had been layered atop older repairs.

"They rebuild," he said. "They know they can not erase the damage. Seems they merely want to continue despite it."

Puck smiled faintly. "That's called living."

Grimm considered that as the porcelain people continued to gather, their fear slowly giving way to something else. Expectation.

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