From behind the ethereal veil of mist that draped the shoreline of Lake Cerza, Rinoa stood motionless, her gaze intense and unwavering. Her garments, still dampened by the delicate spirit dew that clung lovingly to the fabric, cascaded around her, while her hair flowed in dark waves, merging seamlessly with the encroaching shadows of night. Yet, it was her eyes that captivated the most—they were luminous orbs, radiating a depth that suggested she was perceiving Fitran not merely as a lover, but as an ancient entity, transcending the very confines of time and space.
As she glided closer with ethereal grace, Rinoa moved past the remnants of a shattered dimension, her senses ignited by the haunting scent of divinely scorched weapons, consumed by Fitran's relentless will. The usually free-spirited wind hesitated, seemingly respectful of the profound gravity that hung in the air, as though it too recognized the monumental significance of this sacred encounter.
Fitran turned towards her, and in that heartbeat, his expression altered—what had once been cold and unyielding in battle morphed into a tranquil visage that radiated a rarely seen human tenderness. The atmosphere surrounding them felt charged with magic, enveloping them in a warm, soft glow.
"Rinoa…"
She halted, standing a few paces from him, her attention drawn to the Excalibur sword still held in Fitran's grip, its blade shimmering faintly as it mirrored the gentle light of the peace blossoming between them. Her voice emerged softly, almost reverently,
"So… this is why everyone is afraid of you."
Fitran remained silent, an unyielding statue in the fading light. At that moment, Rinoa's gaze swept over him, uncovering the invisible wounds etched upon his body. These scars were not merely the result of sharper edges or blades, but were instead the heavy marks left by difficult choices and burdens he had shouldered throughout his life.
"But you know what, Fitran?"
"I am not afraid."
With resolute confidence, she stepped forward, closing the distance until she could feel the faint warmth of Fitran's breath, which was almost snuffed out. Her hand reached out slowly, gently placing it against Fitran's chest, where his heart should still beat… as if life still clung to the mysterious body of the Voidwright.
"I fear… when you start to think you have to stand alone."
The lake lay calm, its surface stretching like a mirror that reflected the ethereal beauty of the sky. Yet above its placid waters, crimson and orange clouds seemed to weep, casting a melancholic blanket over the scene—an echo of the repressed feelings swelling within them both. Rinoa rested her weary head against Fitran's chest, her eyes fluttering shut as if binding herself to the rhythm of the wounded heartbeat that pulsed beneath her. In the distance, the horizon saw the sunset dimming gradually, painting a graceful farewell to a fleeting moment in the face of inevitable time.
"You know… you don't have to face all of this alone?" Her voice, tender but imbued with hope, hung in the air like a light breeze.
Fitran gazed attentively at the vast expanse of the sky, lost in deep contemplation of Rinoa's words, which flowed around him like a gentle breeze carrying whispers of hope. His slightly rough fingers rose tenderly to caress Rinoa's soft hair, an instinctive gesture meant to offer protection against the enveloping pain, much like a warm blanket wrapped around him on a frigid night.
"I know," he replied, his voice resonating with quiet conviction, even as shadows of sorrow clung to his every word.
They lingered amidst the ruins of their shattered world, where only a hush—a silence filled with warmth—remained between them, offering a comforting embrace against the turmoil. Moments later, the sky over Cerza gradually dimmed, its dwindling light cascading down like the final, sorrowful whisper of twilight, steeped in longing. Nearby, Shigure knelt close to the ground, his body trembling from the remnants of energy unleashed by the sacred swords during their terrifying clash. His breaths came heavy, not from a sense of defeat but from bearing a weight far more profound than mere conflict: a love left behind, intricately woven with cherished memories of Rinoa and Fitran.
Fitran approached slowly, Excalibur glowing faintly in his hand, casting an ethereal light that danced with the shadows of the surrounding night. His intent was not to kill; instead, his clear, sparkling gaze mirrored unspoken truths—a deep and meaningful reflection, like the surface of a tranquil lake revealing buried depths.
Shigure let out a small laugh, yet it was laced with bitterness, each note tinged with the weight of a realization that clung to him like an unwelcome shroud. The reality of his situation enveloped him tightly, its grip firm and unyielding.
"So this is the person..." his voice trembled, fragile yet resonant, as emotions surged forth—old wounds finally breaking the surface, unable to be contained any longer.
He gazed up at Fitran, his eyes glistening with unspent tears, then slowly closed his eyes, as if in that moment, he was relinquishing the burdens etched in his heart, allowing the memories—both sweet and painful—to fade away like mist under the morning sun.
"The one who made Oda cancel our engagement, without a word, without an explanation, only... a different smile when your name is mentioned." The words spilled from his lips, heavy and raw, like a bucket of water toppling over to flood the ground beneath him.
Fitran remained silent, the gentle breeze from the lake whispering through the air, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh water, as if nature itself held its breath, waiting for a response from the wounded soul before him. Yet Fitran stayed quiet, lost in profound contemplation, his mind racing through the implications of their shared history.
Shigure continued with a calmer voice, almost like a whisper that barely stirred the air:
"I have crossed seven mountains and three lands, not for revenge; I came... to know."
He straightened his body with great effort, each movement a testament to his struggle against the pain that wrapped around him like a serpent, constricting yet familiar.
"To know if the person she chose… is truly someone she can entrust everything to, someone worthy of her heart," Shigure pondered, the weight of his thoughts almost palpable in the cool air. In a deliberate motion, Fitran slowly lowered his sword, each inch descending signifying a crucial decision in an unseen, deeper battle waging within him.
"And now you know?" His question hung in the air, tinged with a flicker of hope that seemed to dance among the shadows of uncertainty.
Shigure offered a faint smile, one that contrasted starkly with the crimson stain of blood trickling from his lips, adding a tragic aura to his otherwise weary expression. "Now I know. And I think... I also understand why I couldn't stop it," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with heavy realization.
Meanwhile, Fitran watched him intently, calm on the surface, yet a storm of thousands of swirling thoughts churned restlessly within him. Behind him, Rinoa stepped forward hesitantly, curiosity flickering in her eyes. Though she did not know Shigure, her instincts revealed hints of the unseen wounds he bore. It was as if the mist cloaking the lake began to dissipate, finally unveiling the truths carefully hidden within his heart. Their eyes met in a fleeting moment; Shigure's gaze held a depth of understanding before he shifted his focus back to Fitran.
"She is a strong woman," Shigure said, his tone rich with respect and admiration. "But Oda's heart always leans toward those who bring both storms and calm... Fitran, I have only one request."
Fitran nodded slowly, the significance of that request sinking deep into his consciousness, igniting a resolve within. "Do not waste her determination," Shigure implored, the urgency in his voice breaking through the stillness of the moment.
With that, Shigure turned away, dragging his feet slowly as he moved further into the enveloping mist. The weight of his thoughts lingered in the air as he sheathed his sword, the metallic sound echoing softly. His footsteps faded into the thick fog surrounding the lake, leaving only a faint trace that stirred a complex swirl of emotions in the hearts of Fitran and Rinoa.
After Shigure's departure, Rinoa, her eyes reflecting both concern and contemplation, turned to Fitran and spoke:
"I don't know which is heavier...
Being courted by many women...
Or being hated by the men they left behind."
Fitran turned to her with a slight, knowing smile, the weight of the world they inhabited evident in his gaze.
"Perhaps... both."
Meanwhile, the teleportation fog shimmered softly at Shigure's feet, spreading like delicate petals drifting from another realm. As the magical dust dissolved into the air, he found himself standing in the midst of a tranquil stone garden, illuminated by the warm embrace of the crimson sunset. Towering pine trees stood sentinel around him, their silhouettes stark against the glowing horizon, while the fragrant incense wafted through the air, whispering a serene yet charged atmosphere.
In the heart of this tranquil garden, Oda Nobuzan awaited with an unflappable demeanor. Firmly positioned in front of an intricately carved wooden pavilion in eastern style, his hair cascaded like tame flames, glowing with a golden light under the touch of the sunset. His gaze pierced through the fading light, sharp yet burdened, hinting at the weight of the secrets he harbored.
Shigure sat in profound silence, the atmosphere around him thick with unspoken tension. His face was a mask of composure, void of any smile or greeting as he fixed his gaze intently on Oda.
Finally, it was Oda who disrupted the stillness, his soft voice slicing through the quiet like a gentle breeze. "You met him," he stated, his tone flat yet underscored by an undeniable urgency.
Shigure nodded slowly, each movement deliberate and laden with thought, as if carefully weighing the impact of his response.
"You did not make the wrong choice," Oda continued, though the subtle yearning in his voice hinted at deeper emotions beneath the surface.
Shigure's voice emerged steady, yet each word quivered with layers of unexpressed emotion, akin to a faint tremor rippling through the earth. In response, Oda fell silent, his gaze drifting toward the tranquil lake shimmering nearby in the garden. Its surface appeared placid, yet the depths of his eyes betrayed a tumultuous unrest.
"You know, Shigure…"
"I still honor your promise. However, I cannot love the shadow of the past," Shigure replied firmly, his voice steady as he stepped forward, asserting his courage while intentionally maintaining a distance that marked his resolve. Silence wrapped around the garden like a thick veil, the fog hovering as if it too awaited the perfect moment to dissipate.
"And I cannot hate someone you love," Oda added, his voice flowing gently yet imbued with heavy significance, resonating like a soft breeze that carries the echo of unspoken truths.
For a moment, the two figures stood in stillness, surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves whispering against one another, as if trying to dismiss the weight of the unarticulated feelings hanging in the air.
"I didn't come to reclaim you. I just want to know… is what I let go truly worth fighting for?" Shigure revealed, his eyes locked onto Oda's, challenging him to delve deeper into the labyrinth of their shared past.
Oda met his gaze; his dark eyes were pools of honesty, reflecting an array of emotions, as if he were peeling away the layers of tension that saturated their air.
"And?" he asked, his voice barely breaking the silence, yet charged with anticipation, yearning for an answer that could unravel the threads of their fate.
Shigure inhaled deeply, drawing fresh air into his lungs that felt rejuvenating, like the first drops of rain after an oppressive drought. Though his body still felt burdened, a sense of lightness blossomed in his chest, as if dark clouds were finally surrendering their precious rain after a prolonged standoff. The atmosphere enveloping them ebbed and flowed with a gentle tension, radiating an inexplicable sense of peace that clashed with the turmoil within.
"He doesn't need a reason to be liked. He is just… like the truth itself," he said, his voice rich with wisdom, as if he were uncovering a long-buried secret. For a fleeting moment, Oda's expression softened, the flickers of understanding glimmering in his eyes before his thoughts once more enveloped him like a thick fog. He remained silent, allowing the gentle rustle of the evening breeze to weave around their conversation, mending the seemingly eternal wounds that no magic could truly illustrate.
After a profound silence settled between them, they felt a deep, almost palpable connection—as if a wordless exchange flowed effortlessly through the air. Shigure finally bowed deeply, his gesture so sincere it seemed to honor every precious moment of their intertwined lives. When he straightened, tranquility radiated from his being, as if he had shed all burdens, following the trail of soft mist that began to dissolve into the twilight, surrendering to the encroaching darkness.
"Goodbye, Nobuzan," he whispered, his voice imbued with a multitude of unspoken emotions. Then, without awaiting a response, he became enveloped in the ethereal white mist of teleportation, and this time—he truly departed. In an instant, his presence vanished, like a fleeting shadow that signified their lives were on the brink of a new chapter, one overflowing with change.
Oda Nobuzan stood solitary at the edge of the garden, the last place where Shigure had bid farewell, surrounded by the remnants of an emotional farewell. The mist of teleportation that enveloped him moments ago had evaporated, leaving a lingering trace of wandering incense and vivid memories that felt indelibly etched in his mind. The evening breeze danced gently through his hair, breathing life into the fire that flickered in his always-glimmering eyes, as if beckoning a new moment, even as dusk approached.
His hand rested cautiously on his still-flat stomach. Although the pregnancy was not yet visibly matured, its presence felt undeniably real. Within him, a tiny heartbeat—the first stirrings of new life—had begun to flicker with promise. Yet, in Oda Nobuzan's heart, that rhythm was far from miraculous. It was devoid of love and stripped of hope.
"You are merely a path," he whispered softly, his words infused with profound meaning, resolute and unwavering. It was as if he were imparting wisdom to his first pupil, illustrating the true essence of power. At the same moment, he felt the oppressive weight of hope and responsibility settle heavily on his shoulders.
"The nobility of Gaia, the guardians of the ancient order, the architects of political upheaval—they will all bow down in recognition of who I carry within me."
Fueled by an unyielding determination, she stepped deliberately toward her pavilion, each footfall resonating with a chilling resolve that rivaled death itself. Moments later, she sensed a hidden energy swirling around her, a reminder of the immense power burgeoning within her.
"The child of Fitran Fate... is no ordinary human. It is a descendant of the reality eraser and the guardian of the world's magic, an entity with power that cannot be ignored. It will rise to become an undeniable symbol, a cornerstone of a new destiny that will reshape the very fabric of the future."
In the dimly lit room, Oda ignited a solitary red lantern, its flickering flame casting dancing shadows against the walls, crafting the silhouette of a woman bold enough to carve the world anew with her own hands. There, in the gentle glow of the lantern, her identity seemed intricately woven into a far greater legacy, emanating an aura of strength with roots that delved deep into history.
"I do not need love. I do not need approval," she declared resolutely, her voice challenging the very essence of reality.
He sat cross-legged in front of a small altar, a sacred space adorned with ancient symbols of his clan—the graceful golden dragon spiraling through the clouds, the sun veiled in mist, and the sacred inscriptions that were legible only to those who truly led. Amidst these majestic emblems, the promises once spoken harmonized, instilling a profound sense of conviction in his heart about the clear purpose that lay before him.
"I need a tool. And if this child is the price of the world I conquer—then I shall bear it all," he declared, determination radiating from his voice as it echoed in the quiet space, binding his fate inexorably to those powerful words.
Meanwhile, just as his heart began to drift away from the cherished memory, Oda's gaze softened, reflecting a deeper contemplation. In his mind's eye, the vivid image of Fitran's face by the shimmering lakeshore resurfaced; there, they had exchanged glances with Rinoa amidst a scene that seemed to suspend time, as a gentle breeze rustled through the trees and caressed the water's surface, creating a delicate dance of ripples. The warmth of that moment enveloped him, wrapping him in a cocoon of light, existing in a blend of time that felt untouched by the outside world. In such ephemeral moments, Oda grasped an undeniable truth—that this was not an ordinary love, but a deep-seated destiny that intertwined their fates, transcending mere mutual advantage.
After a brief pause, Oda turned away, struggling to shake off the sweet memories that lingered like whispers in his mind. Yet suddenly, a voice from the depths of his heart shattered the fragile silence, echoing, "I can't love her like Rinoa..." The words felt like a cold wind seeping into his very soul, gently yet sharply piercing his thoughts with an unsettling clarity.
"...but I can create a world where Rinoa must call me Your Majesty," he resolved, his thoughts solidifying into a fierce declaration, affirming his unwavering commitment to the destiny that awaited him. An unquenchable spirit surged within him, refusing to wane even as relentless waves of doubt crashed against the shores of his conviction.