The sky above Gaia shimmered with artificial light—crystal domes glowing softly like captive stars, their luminescence bending to human will. The streets below buzzed with an almost festive energy, as if the people were gathered to honor one of the Avatars. Yet in the quiet solitude of her private chamber, Iris refused to ignite a single lantern.
Seated on the edge of her bed, she stared intently into the mirror. Her reflection revealed the great queen—the revered leader of Gaia—a living symbol of strength and purity. But behind the steady gaze of those eyes, there was an Iris unknown to anyone. Inside her, a fierce storm raged, like relentless waves battering jagged rocks. Every doubtful thought she tried to quell surged back with greater force. What could she hope to achieve when facing Fitran? Would she dare reveal her uncertainties, or must she remain the unshakable icon the kingdom depended on?
"I do not hate Rinoa. I understand why you chose her. She lives for you... and I only live for the kingdom." Her voice wavered, not with hatred but with a raw ache gnawing at her from within, as if even her own convictions trembled under the weight of those words. Each syllable was a heavy stone dragged across her chest; behind them, she felt her soul fracture in two. On one side burned a fierce, tender love; on the other, a somber sense of duty that threatened to snuff out every flicker of hope.
She stared longer into the mirror's cold reflection. Her nightgown, still unworn, hung untouched beside her. Slowly, almost reverently, she slipped into it—not as a lure, but as a shield to cloak her trembling heart. In the suffocating silence, she wondered if the delicate fabric could conceal the cutting edges of her vulnerability, if it would smother the restless anxiety gnawing at her spirit. Did the world see her as she wished—a queen of strength—or merely as a faint silhouette, an empty shadow masking the turmoil within?
"Do you know what it feels like to be the first to raise a sword, but the last in someone's heart?" The question burst forth involuntarily, shattering the fragile calm and echoing through the very depths of Iris's soul. She was trapped in a relentless cycle of sorrow, a prisoner of heartbreak and hope entwined. Though the sword rested firm in her hand, it was this same weapon that carved a lonely path between her and those she longed to reach.
Her hands trembled as she pushed open Fitran's bedroom door. Each step forward felt like walking barefoot over shattered glass—every fragment a sharp pang of pain, a whisper urging retreat, yet she moved on regardless. Beneath the storm inside her, tension thrummed—a fierce clash between boundless hope and the harsh sting of reality.
The room lay shrouded in darkness, its only illumination a pale sliver of moonlight spilling through the cracked window, casting ghostly patterns across the worn floorboards. In the far corner, Fitran stood motionless, a looming shadow blending seamlessly into the gloom. Without turning, as if already sensing her presence, he slowly faced her entrance. No greeting escaped his lips, nor did he offer rejection. In that suspended moment, Iris felt the world contract around her—every distant sound seemed to fade into a heavy silence, leaving only the two of them locked in a fragile stillness. She searched his eyes desperately for understanding, while dreading the cold possibility of indifference reflected back at her.
With hesitant steps, Iris moved forward, stopping just before him. She bore no titles, no crowns—only the raw essence of herself. Inside, a tempest brewed: a swirling mix of curiosity tangled with deep alienation, underlined by a fragile hope that beneath this oppressive silence lay a chance to exchange truths that both humbled and might liberate her. Fear and hope wove tightly together within her chest, neither willing to overshadow the other, as she prepared to face the shadow that was Fitran.
"If I die tomorrow in war, I don't want the only legacy left of my life to be law, politics, and blood."
Slowly, she unclasped the hook of her gown. The fabric slipped away like a quiet whisper, folding down her arms as if mourning the weight of the sadness that clung to her body. Inside, a tempest of emotions roared—a thousand buried feelings rising to the surface, waves of hope mingling with tides of regret. She lifted her eyes to meet Fitran's gaze, steady and unyielding. There was no plea for mercy, no silent request for pity. Though remembered as Queen Gaia, in this fragile moment she felt the strange lightness of a heavy burden lifting, even as the shattered fragments of her soul seemed to sink deeper. All she wished now was to be truly heard, to speak through the trembling of her body, for her heart had fallen silent.
"Tonight, I am not Queen Gaia. I am no one. I am just... someone who wants to feel loved, even if only for a moment."
In the heavy silence that enveloped the room, Iris sensed a taut tension weaving between them—an invisible electric current charged with unspoken emotions. Time seemed to dilate; each second stretched long and slow, while her heart thundered fiercely in her chest, fighting against the gnawing fear lurking just beneath the surface. She inched closer, drawn irresistibly to the lingering warmth of Fitran's body still reclining on the bed.
The scent of his skin enveloped her—a captivating blend of sweat mingling with the earthy, woody aroma that whispered of the forest's depths—searing itself into Iris's memory like an indelible mark. Slow and deliberate, Fitran's eyes fluttered open, those deep pools of his gaze piercing through to her very soul. It was as if the world around them had frozen in place, shrinking until only the two of them remained, bound within a fragile bubble of silent yearning. A tremor rippled through her, a deep, primal call she could no longer deny.
"Iris..." Fitran's voice broke the silence—soft, yet thick with charged tension. His hand reached out, fingers brushing gently against her arm. The touch ignited a fire within her, a fierce flame that burned away every lingering doubt nestled in her heart. Waves of raw energy surged through her veins, drowning out the outside world's noise and distractions. Her head bowed low, and she fought to hold back the tears threatening to spill free.
The mingling of Fitran's unspoken pain and the fierce love blossoming in Iris erupted like a tempest—a tumultuous storm neither had anticipated nor wished to calm.
"I don't want to lose you," Iris whispered, her voice trembling vulnerably, though Fitran averted his gaze as if to pretend he hadn't heard.
Every word she breathed felt like a fragile confession, one weighted with the power to shatter the fragile bond resting between them. Pulling her closer, Fitran's heartbeat thrummed violently beneath her touch, merging and matching the frantic rhythm of her own.
"You won't lose me," Fitran replied, his voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of uncertainty that Iris recognized all too well.
He pulled her into a tight embrace, and for a moment, the weight of all their fears seemed to melt away. She pressed her face against his chest, feeling the comforting warmth radiate from him, the steady thrum of his heartbeat syncing with her own. In that protective hold, Iris found a fragile sanctuary where the chaos of the world ceased to exist.
Yet, buried beneath the comfort, a restless doubt clawed at her heart. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to meet Fitran's deep, searching eyes. "But I'm afraid... that this might only be temporary," she whispered, her voice fragile and quivering like the last leaf clinging to a branch before autumn's final breath. Fitran's fingers traced a gentle line along her cheek, a touch both tender and reassuring, like a balm soothing unseen wounds. "Every second with you feels eternal," he murmured, his words both promise and plea, sending a shiver through her very soul.
An overwhelming urge swelled within Iris, drawing her closer to Fitran. She reached up, fingers trembling slightly, and brushed her hand against his cheek. Without a moment's hesitation, she leaned in and pressed her lips softly to his. The kiss was gentle, yet beneath its quiet tenderness stirred a profound, unspoken longing—a silent conversation between their souls. Around them, the world seemed to dissolve into a haze of muted colors and distant sounds; there was only the warmth shared between them, an island of connection in a vast sea of uncertainty. Time lost meaning as every second stretched into eternity, and Iris ached to hold onto this fragile beat of closeness forever.
Fitran's lips responded with equal tenderness, his kiss conveying a deep understanding of the moment's preciousness. They melted into each other's embrace, hearts beating in a synchronized rhythm that seemed to erase all surrounding worries. The gentle rise and fall of their chests, the steady warmth radiating between them—they were wrapped in an invisible cocoon where pain and doubt slowly dissolved, replaced by the pure, unshakable force of love. In that shared silence, the outside world with its burdens and expectations vanished, leaving only the essence of two souls intertwined and fully present.
When they finally parted, Iris gazed deeply into Fitran's eyes, still sensing the taut thread of tension lingering between them. "I don't want this to end," she whispered, her voice trembling with a fragile hope. Fitran nodded slowly, a silent promise passing between them. Despite the challenges that awaited beyond their shared sanctuary, Iris knew they would forever carry this moment—a memory etched in time that would bind their souls.
What they sought was not a distant peak to conquer, but silence—a sacred place where the burdens and roles imposed by the world dissolved into nothingness. Yet within that very silence, Iris found herself ensnared in a cruel reflection, haunted by the fleeting sparks of happiness that slipped relentlessly through her fingers.
"I'm afraid this is just a one-time thing. I'm afraid tomorrow morning you'll leave, retreating back to loving the world in a way I cannot follow."
She awoke first, the soft amber light of dawn filtering gently through the curtains, casting delicate patterns across the room. But inside, her heart waged a storm. Fitran still lay beside her, his breath deep and even, a serene contrast to the tumult swirling within her. Quietly, she lifted herself up, sitting on the edge of the bed as she stared at the man before her—one who could topple empires with a single command, yet who had never truly understood the quiet power of being loved by a queen who had waited in silence for years. In her eyes, every line and shadow of his face became a striking paradox—both a distant hope that called to her and an aching memory that refused to fade.
"I don't regret anything. But I also don't know... whether I mean anything to you, or if I'm merely a brief pause in your pain."
She dressed slowly, each layer of fabric seeming to anchor her deeper in the weight of her decision. No tears fell—only a profound silence that pressed heavily against the walls of the room, as though an unbearable burden had settled upon her soul. How could she walk away from someone who had once filled the hollow spaces in her heart with fragile hope? Her eyes lingered on Fitran, her thoughts tangled with aching pain and reluctant hope, wondering if she would be the one to quietly close the chapter of their shared story.
Before stepping away, he leaned in and kissed Fitran's forehead—a tender yet heart-wrenching gesture that cleaved his own heart anew. In that instant, a cascade of memories surged through him: the echo of their laughter in brighter days, the quiet sorrow that had gathered like shadows between them. "If I must die to prove my feelings, then let tonight be my most honest legacy," he vowed in silence, as if those words were ordained by the stars themselves. Every hesitant pause between them carved a chasm, separating two worlds—one where love was endless, and another where he was forced to retreat to shield his fragile heart. His inner turmoil raged like wildfire; loving Fitran was like reaching for flames—knowing each moment together could consume them both, yet unable to resist the radiant heat that drew him in.