The wind on the rooftop was soft, but constant—cooling the warm light of late afternoon. From this height, the sprawling city looked quiet, peaceful. A strange contrast to the chaos that had filled its streets just weeks ago.
Shina Mariposa stood near the edge of the rooftop of the Imperial Military Hospital. The pale blue gown she wore—standard-issue for recovering patients—fluttered gently in the breeze. Her long dark Purple hair was tied back loosely, though several strands danced freely around her tired face. Her feet were bare on the cold concrete, but she didn't seem to notice. Her crimson eyes were locked on the horizon, expression unreadable.
Not sad. Not angry. Just... complicated.
Behind her, a door creaked open.
She heard it, of course. Her senses had always been sharp—razor honed by years of war and command. But she didn't turn.
The footsteps approached slowly. Measured. Familiar.
A presence she'd felt long before the door had even opened.
Canis Majoris.
He stopped a few paces behind her, not saying a word.
He leaned casually against the waist-high barrier that framed the rooftop, but positioned himself facing the opposite direction. Away from her. Toward the mountains in the far-off east, where the clouds hung low and heavy like secrets.
With a flick of his fingers, a spark lit the cigarette pressed between his lips. The flame briefly illuminated the contours of his face—calm, unreadable, distant.
Silence stretched between them.
Long and heavy.
Shina was the first to break it, her voice quiet but firm, eyes still fixed on the skyline.
"What are you doing here?"
It wasn't a question laced with emotion. No curiosity. No anger. Just a flat inquiry, like she was checking weather conditions or reading a report.
"You're not supposed to stay."
Canis took a slow drag, letting the smoke curl out between his lips like a sigh.
"I'm not here to watch you," he said after a beat. "Lucy can't be here all the time. She's a high-ranking officer. Got too much weight on her shoulders now."
Another pause.
"I'm here to help her."
Shina's lips twitched, a dry sound leaving her throat that might've been a laugh, though there was no humor in it.
"I don't need someone to watch over me."
"I know."
He didn't argue. Didn't defend Lucy. Didn't push back. Just that calm, simple acknowledgment.
"I'm not a Child."
"I know."
A silence followed—different from the first. Not awkward. Not cold. Just… familiar.
They didn't move. Didn't look at each other. One stared at the city, the other at the clouds.
For anyone watching, it might've seemed like two strangers standing on opposite ends of a quiet rooftop. But there was something else here. A weight. A presence.
Though their words were few, the air between them was dense with history.
They hadn't used each other's names once. Hadn't needed to.
This wasn't the first time they'd shared a moment like this. Distant. Guarded. Laced with unsaid truths.
Shina closed her eyes briefly. The wind tugged at her sleeves.
"You always show up when things are quiet," she said. "Not when I'm bleeding. Not when the fight's on. Only when the noise is gone."
"I don't like noise," Canis replied, deadpan.
Another puff of smoke vanished into the wind.
"I know you don't," Shina said. "You hide in quiet places. Like ash after the fire."
He smirked slightly but didn't reply.
More silence.
But even in that silence, something warm flickered beneath the surface. Something unspoken. Concern disguised as indifference. Care dressed up as coldness.
They were too proud to admit it.
Too scarred to name it.
But it was there.
In the way Shina didn't ask him to leave.
In the way Canis didn't offer advice or apologies.
In the way they simply existed side by side—like shadows leaning on each other in the fading light.
Then, for the first time in the conversation, Canis spoke again—his voice lower, touched with something thoughtful.
"Are you still planning to wipe out the Bloodminers?"
Shina didn't respond right away. But after a moment, her eyes shifted—finally glancing toward Canis.
Canis caught the look and took it as a cue to continue.
"When you were fighting Cerberus," he said, flicking away the last of his cigarette, "I was fighting the one who summoned it. He was one of them. A Bloodminer."
Shina turned toward him more fully now, intrigued.
Canis met her gaze, calm but searching.
"I've been trying to remember him," he said. "His face felt familiar. Like I'd seen him before. A long time ago."
Shina's brows drew together slightly. "You recognized him?"
"Not exactly," Canis replied. "He wore a cloak. Hooded. Couldn't see his face fully. But even so... something in me was reacting. Like I should know who he was."
Shina exhaled through her nose, thinking. "I fought one of them too, back then. Couldn't see their face either. It's like they're ghosts sometimes."
She narrowed her eyes. "What are you really trying to say, Majoris?"
Canis didn't flinch at the coldness in her voice. He returned her stare evenly.
"I'm saying that as much as we get under each other's skin, working at cross purposes when we have the same enemy is just plain stupid. Do you Agree, Mariposa?"
Shina didn't speak. So he added:
"I'm suggesting a temporary cooperation. Just to track them. To learn who they are. Where they're hiding."
Shina tilted her head. "And once we find them?"
Canis smiled—thin, crooked, sharp-edged.
"We'll figure that part out later."
That earned a dry chuckle from Shina. She lowered her gaze, shaking her head slightly.
"You're even more of a bastard than I thought."
Still smiling, Canis replied, "We both are."
The air between them cracked a little—less cold now. Less rigid.
Shina's smile faded as quickly as it came. She stepped back from him, turned toward the rooftop door. She looked ready to leave.
But just before she opened it, she paused.
"I'll think about it," she said flatly.
Then she walked through the door, letting it close softly behind her.
And Canis was alone again—with only the wind and the silent city stretching out before him.
{Chapter 51 end}