Kasaru didn’t realize he was smiling until his cheeks began to ache.

The canal was narrow and quiet, more irrigation trench than romantic waterway, its sandy banks tufted with stubborn grasses that had somehow survived at the edge of the desert. The little rowboat rocked gently beneath them as he dipped the oars again, the wood creaking in a rhythm that matched his heartbeat.

Suzuno’s hand was still warm in his.

He swallowed, his voice softer than he intended. “So that was your sister… Makia.”

Suzuno nodded, eyes bright from laughter. “Makia-nimi. She hated when I forgot the -nimi. Said it made her sound ancient.” She giggled again, then covered her mouth. “I was very dramatic as a child.”

“You?” Kasaru said, scandalized. “Dramatic?”

She bumped her shoulder lightly against his arm.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The image of little Suzuno swaddled like a blanket burrito lingered vividly in his mind. The way Makia had adored her—so openly, so fiercely. It made something warm and protective bloom in his chest.

“I see the resemblance,” he said quietly. “You love Sireni and Karumu the same way. Just… fewer accusations of being stinky.”

Suzuno gasped. “Excuse me! I have excellent restraint.”

“Oh?” Kasaru set the oars inside the boat and, very slowly, began to sing in an exaggerated falsetto:

“Stinky little desert girl— You need a shoowerrr— Stinky little desert girl— You smell like flouuurr—”

Suzuno stared at him in horror for a half second before dissolving into helpless laughter.

“Kasaru!” she squealed, swatting his shoulder. “That’s not even the right lyrics!”

He continued mercilessly, leaning back dramatically as the boat drifted.

“Stinky little baby, I row this boat for yoooou—”

She lunged forward to clamp a hand over his mouth, nearly tipping them sideways. The boat wobbled dangerously, and they both shrieked as water sloshed against the hull.

“Careful!” he laughed once she pulled her hand away.

“You started it!” she shot back, cheeks flushed pink.

They were close now. Very close.

Close enough that he could see the tiny golden flecks in her eyes.

Close enough that the necklace rested between them, swaying gently with the boat’s motion.

Kasaru cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how his pulse had shifted from playful to something deeper. “Your metal mine… it really holds that memory exactly as it was?”

She nodded, fingers brushing the pendant again. “Perfectly preserved. Not faded by time. Not altered by grief.” Her expression softened. “Some memories blur. Faces change. Voices fade. But in the metal… they remain true.”

He studied the necklace with quiet awe.

“And you’ve stored… the ribbons,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And the oasis.”

“Yes.”

“And… me comforting you.”

Her gaze flickered down, then back up. “Yes.”

The boat drifted in slow silence for a moment.

Kasaru’s voice dropped to something almost uncertain. “Why those?”

Suzuno tilted her head slightly, as if the answer were obvious. “Because they were moments when I felt safe.”

That word struck him harder than any grand confession could have.

Safe.

He, who slept wherever roofs didn’t leak too badly. He, who owned little more than a bedroll and a battered satchel. Safe.

He laughed softly under his breath. “You realize your necklace must contain far grander things. Festivals. Victories. Beautiful desert sunsets. Your sister singing about soap.”

She smiled gently at him. “It does.”

He waited.

“But the value of a memory,” she continued, “is not measured by spectacle.”

The wind nudged the boat slightly. Somewhere in the distance, a gull cried.

“Kasaru,” she said, voice steady but warm, “you gave me ribbons when you had nothing. You played in the sand with children who are not your own as if they were treasures. You sat with me in my grief and asked for nothing in return.”

Her fingers brushed his again, intentionally this time.

“That is rare.”

His throat tightened.

He looked down at their hands, then back up at her, unsure what to do with the fullness in his chest. The canal suddenly felt too small to contain it.

“If I had a metal mine,” he admitted quietly, “that night in the desert would fill most of it.”

Suzuno’s expression softened further.

“And this moment?” she asked gently.

He hesitated.

He could still feel the phantom echo of her memory—the warmth of Makia’s laughter, the weightless safety of being adored. And here Suzuno was, offering him that same warmth in her own way.

“This one,” he said, voice rougher than intended, “I’d carve into the walls.”

Her breath caught almost imperceptibly.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.

The air shifted.

Kasaru felt the familiar tug in his chest—the yearning that had followed him since that shared night in the desert. The urge to close the small distance between them. To kiss her. To see if her lips were as warm as her hands.

Instead, he smiled—soft, teasing again, because it was safer.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat and reaching for the oars once more, “if I ever acquire a magical memory mine, I’ll need lessons. I’d hate to accidentally store something embarrassing. Like you nearly tipping this boat.”

She narrowed her eyes playfully. “That was your singing.”

“My singing is art.”

“It is a crime.”

He resumed rowing, grinning.

The boat glided forward through the unimpressive canal, but the world around them felt anything but small. Suzuno rested her chin lightly in her palm, watching him with that open, earnest sweetness that kept undoing him.

He was hopelessly, dangerously smitten.

And somewhere beneath the humor and the gentle rowing and the desert wind, a quiet truth settled between them:

If she ever left, he would not need a metal mine to remember her.

Kasaru hadn’t slept deeply, but the little he did was haunted by the feeling of her breath in his neck, the warmth of her hair, the memory of her lashes fluttering against his skin. He woke early, berating himself. He should have kept her warmer. He should have kept his hands to himself. Touching her cheek like that—what had he been thinking? They were strangers bound by necessity, nothing more. Surely she must feel uncomfortable.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but Suzuno sat up first, her eyes squinting against the horizon. “There—do you see that? Something’s there,” she whispered, pointing toward the wavering shimmer of light.

Kasaru frowned. “It could be nothing. Mirage. Or worse.”

“I’ll check.” She gathered her things, her hair wild from sleep, but her movements confident.

“By yourself? Suzuno, wait—”

But she was already atop her camel, her lilac scarf fluttering as she spurred forward. Kasaru cursed under his breath, heart hammering. Had she ridden off to escape him? To shake off the awkwardness between them? Or was she just that stubborn? Either way, she was gone, and he couldn’t let her vanish into the desert alone.

He followed, urging his camel faster, Karumu and Sireni clutching onto his sides. In the distance, a sudden crackle of light burst across the pale sky. His gut clenched—then he realized it was flare magic. Suzuno’s signal.

They caught up and found her waving them down from between a cluster of rocks. “Here! Over here!”

Kasaru rounded the bend and nearly fell off his saddle. A pool of crystalline water stretched before them, shaded by palms. Fish shimmered in the shallows. Paradise in the wasteland.

And atop a boulder, framed by sunlight and desert sky, stood Suzuno—barefoot, her pale lilac undergarments clinging to her slim frame. She gave him the cheekiest smile he had ever seen. “Watch this!” she called, and dove into the pool with a graceful flip.

“Suzuno—!” Kasaru called, his voice cracking in disbelief. But it was too late—she broke the surface in a spray of diamonds, hair slicked back, cheeks flushed.

The children didn’t hesitate. Sireni and Karumu were laughing, already stripping down and splashing into the water, their joy infectious.

Kasaru stayed rooted to the spot, fists clenched. He scanned the pool for ripples, shapes, anything unnatural. “There could be water pests. Leeches. Serpents—”

“I checked!” Suzuno interrupted, grinning ear to ear as she floated lazily on her back. “It’s safe. Come on in, Kasaru! You need this more than anyone.”

Her laugh rang across the oasis. She dove again, and this time when she surfaced, she gathered a mouthful of water—then sent it arcing in a perfect spray right into his face.

Kasaru sputtered, utterly frozen. She had just—she dared—

That did it.

Boots half undone, tunic tossed aside, he charged toward the water with a determination that startled even him. “Oh, you’ll regret that!”

Suzuno squealed with delight and darted away through the pool, her laughter bubbling louder than the splashes.

The water was cool against Kasaru's legs, and he blinked against the glare of sunlight off the oasis. He had come expecting trouble, danger, maybe a trap or a sudden desert ambush. Instead… this. Crystal-clear water, palm shadows dancing across the surface, the laughter of children ringing like chimes, and Suzuno—Suzuno—diving, twirling, radiant and untethered, her caramel skin glistening in the sunlight. And in… that. His breath hitched. He scolded himself silently: focus, Kasaru. She and Sireni are lost. This isn’t a playground. Keep your head straight.

But even as he told himself that, she splashed water at him with a teasing grin, beckoning him with her hand. Her laughter was too light, too musical, to resist. And when her dark green eyes met his, sparkling like the pool itself, something inside him loosened. The tense, careful man he had been in the desert—the protector, the guide—was suddenly… free. Uncharacteristically free.

He lunged, splashing through the shallow water, and she darted ahead, laughing and spinning, agile and impossibly graceful. His mind tried to stay disciplined—remember the desert, the mission, the children—but every glance at her pulled him deeper into distraction. She was so alive, so present, so… herself, and it struck him how captivating that was. His pulse thumped painfully, betraying the absurdity of it.

She turned sharply, splashing water deliberately in his direction, and he barely caught her wrist in a sweep, spinning her around in a quick arc as she shrieked with delight. He laughed almost involuntarily, startled by the sound of his own voice mixing with hers. She splashed him again, ducking under his arms, teasing him. And in that instant, all his desert anxieties—the cold, the fear, the endless survival—slipped away.

Kasaru felt it keenly, the warmth of her against him, the playful trust in her gaze, the soft press of her body as they collided mid-spin. His mind reeled between the absurdity of the situation and the undeniable pull he felt toward her. She’s reckless. She’s brilliant. She’s… dazzling. He could feel his own grin matching hers, a warmth spreading from chest to fingers to toes that had nothing to do with the sun.

Even as he caught her again, arms circling her waist instinctively, heart hammering, he reminded himself—discipline. Protect. Survive. But the grin didn’t fade. He spun her once more, water flying around them in a sparkling arc, and for the first time in days, Kasaru felt the desert vanish around him. He was simply chasing Suzuno, laughing, entirely present, and yet painfully aware of how beautiful, how alive, how intoxicating she was.

How is a stranger—how is she—so completely… captivating?

The thought made him swallow hard, cheeks warming, but he didn’t let it stop him. He splashed again, and she squealed, ducked, twirled. He pursued, delighted, helpless, and entirely enchanted.

[Suzuno resurfaces with a splash, holding up a faintly glowing pebble between her fingers.] Suzuno: [breathless, grinning] “Alright! Game time. I’ll toss this pebble to the bottom, dive after it, and when the bubbles rise—keep your eyes sharp. The pebble will follow. Whoever catches it first wins.”

Sireni: [already bouncing excitedly] “And if we don’t?”

Suzuno: [playful grin] “Then you do whatever the winner says.”

Karumu: [snorts] “Hah. Easy. I’ll win every time.”

Kasaru: [arching a brow, crossing his arms, but a little smile tugs at his lips] “Big words. Careful you don’t swallow half the oasis in your rush.”

Karumu: “We’ll see about that!” [he and Sireni crouch eagerly at the water’s edge]

Suzuno: [turns, dripping, hair plastered down her freckled cheeks, water streaming over her caramel shoulders as she climbs back onto the rock] “Alright… everyone ready?”

Kasaru: [intended to focus on the water—really, he did—but his eyes betray him, following the shimmer down her thighs as droplets run, catching sunlight like jewels] (Oh, gods… what am I staring at?)

Suzuno: [glancing back, catching his gaze, and giving a small teasing tilt of her head before tossing the pebble] “And… go!”

[Everyone leans forward as bubbles begin to shimmer on the surface.]

Sireni: “There!” [leaps with a splash, arms out]

Karumu: “No, I saw it first!” [dives in beside her, both arms flailing]

[They both resurface moments later, empty-handed and wailing.] Sireni & Karumu (together): “No fairrr!”

Suzuno: [laughing, shoulder bumping Kasaru as she crouches at the edge] “Looks like it’s between us.”

Kasaru: [gruff, but can’t hide the grin] “Then don’t expect mercy, Suzuno.”

Suzuno: [eyes sparkling] “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

[The bubbles burst again, and in perfect sync, both leap—colliding midair with a loud splash.]

Kasaru: [underwater, wide-eyed as his hands instinctively find her waist and—oh gods—her chest. His thoughts tumble, panicked, mortified.] (No no no no no—)

[They both surface, Suzuno grinning, Kasaru red as the sun, sputtering words in a frantic rush.]

Kasaru: “I—I’m sorry! That wasn’t—! I didn’t—! Suzuno, forgive me, I—”

[Suzuno flicks her hair back, then sticks out her tongue—where the translucent pebble glistens smugly. She muffles through it with a lisp.]

Suzuno: “Now you guyth havth to do whath I thay!”

[Kasaru blinks… and then bursts out laughing, helplessly clutching his stomach.]

Kasaru: “Gods above—you look ridiculous!”

Sireni & Karumu: [screeching in outrage, splashing them both] “Rematch! Rematch!”

Suzuno: [winking at Kasaru, laughter dancing in her green eyes] “What’s the matter, Kasaru? You were so close to catching me.”

Kasaru: [groaning, still chuckling, though his gaze lingers on her longer than he intends] “Closer than I should have been…” [muttering under his breath, flustered] “By the heavens, you’re impossible.”

Suzuno: [softly, almost just for him, though mischief still in her voice] “And yet, you followed me in.”

[Before Kasaru can reply, the children splash water in their faces, shrieking demands for another round. Suzuno throws her head back in laughter, and even Kasaru, cheeks burning, finds himself laughing with them—so much lighter than he’s felt in years.]

Suzuno (grinning, holding the pebble up high): “Alright! Round two! This time, no mercy!”

Karumu (snorting): “You say that like you didn’t cheat last time.”

Suzuno (gasps dramatically, placing a hand on her chest): “Cheat? Excuse me! That was called strategy. Perhaps you should try it sometime.”

Sireni (poking her tongue out at Karumu): “Yeah, Karumu. Don’t be a sore loser.”

Karumu (rolling his eyes): “You were the one who missed first, Sireni!”

Sireni (shoving him): “Only because you splashed water in my eyes, you big oaf!”

Kasaru (groaning, pinching the bridge of his nose): “Children, please—”

Suzuno (teasing, bumping his shoulder): “Don’t act like you’re above this, Kasaru. You’re just as competitive as they are.”

Kasaru (arching a brow): “Am I?”

Suzuno: “You are. And you’re going down.”

Kasaru (snorts, trying to play serious but his mouth twitches into a grin): “We’ll see.”

Suzuno tosses the pebble dramatically into the water. Everyone leans forward, eyes scanning the surface.

Karumu (squinting): “There! By the bubbles!”

Kasaru (diving instantly): “Got it!”

Suzuno (laughing as he resurfaces empty-handed): “Ohh, not so fast, mighty warrior!” She dives in after him.

Sireni (chanting from the side): “Go, Suzuno! Get it! Get it!”

Karumu (grumbling): “She’s going to miss—just watch.”

Suzuno (bursts up, sputtering water): “I… I pushed it further!”

Kasaru (mock groan, shaking his head): “Brilliant strategy.”

Suzuno (giggling, flicking water at him): “Quiet, you.”

Now everyone’s splashing, diving, popping up again in chaotic turns.

Sireni (diving headfirst): “I see it—I see it—!” resurfaces with nothing but weeds in her hair “…Never mind.”

Karumu (laughing so hard he can’t breathe): “Pfft—what is that on your head?!”

Sireni (swats him with the weeds): “Shut up!”

Kasaru (dives, resurfaces gasping): “It’s like chasing smoke. Impossible.”

Suzuno (grinning with wild energy, hair plastered to her cheeks): “Not impossible. Just requires skill.”

Kasaru (smirking): “And yet… you missed.”

Suzuno (narrowing her eyes, splashing him full in the face): “Did not!”

Kasaru (splashes her back, finally laughing freely): “Did too!”

Karumu (suddenly pointing): “Wait! I see it!” dives so recklessly he belly-flops into the water.

Sireni: “Ha! You missed again!”

Karumu (emerging, coughing): “I was close! Closer than you, shrimp.”

Sireni (with hands on hips): “Am not!”

Suzuno (laughing so hard she doubles over): “This is… hopeless!”

Kasaru (finally giving in, laughter shaking his chest): “Chaos. Absolute chaos.”

Suzuno (beaming at him, cheeks flushed, water dripping down her jaw): “But fun, isn’t it?”

Kasaru (heart stuttering at the sight, quickly looking away): “…Yes. Very fun.”

Kasaru (eyes closed, hand skimming the water, voice low but amused): “…Marco.”

Children (in unison, giggling): “Polo!”

Kasaru (turning sharply toward the splash, grin tugging at his lips): “I heard that…”

Sireni (whispering frantically to Karumu): “Shhh! Don’t breathe so loud, he’s gonna—ahh!”

Kasaru (lunges, hands grazing the water where the kids are, their shrieks echoing): “…Got you—no, wait…”

Sireni (escaping just in time, laughing): “You missed! Too slow, Kasaru!”

Suzuno (from across the water, sing-song teasing): “Maybe the great warrior has gone soft in the desert sun~?”

Kasaru (freezes, the sound of her playful voice making his chest tighten): “…Marco.”

Suzuno (pausing, grinning, then answering coyly): “Polo…”

Kasaru (pretends to head toward the children, deliberately heavy splashes): “Ohhh, I hear you, little ones. Better hide before I catch you.”

Children (sputtering, half laughing, half panicked): “Stay away! Don’t lead him here, Suzuno!”

Suzuno (giggling, whispering under her breath as she tries to sneak away): “He’s not even close…”

Kasaru (sharp turn, striking fast toward her ripples, voice low and amused): “Got you.”

Suzuno (gasping, squealing as his arms catch around her waist underwater): “Ahh! No, no—!”

Kasaru (opening his mismatched eyes at last, face inches from hers, her wet hair clinging to her cheeks as she laughs breathlessly): “…Suzuno.”

Suzuno (still giggling, but slowing as she notices his gaze, cheeks flushed): “You—you tricked me… I thought you were chasing the children…”

Kasaru (soft chuckle, still holding her, voice lower than before): “Let them think they’re safe for once.”

Children (from the other side, still shrieking with laughter, totally oblivious): “Kasaru! You’re supposed to say Marco again! Don’t cheat!”

Kasaru (unable to tear his gaze from her, murmuring): “…Dangerous games, Suzuno.”

Suzuno (catching her breath, her smile softening as her hands rest against his chest): “Maybe the most fun ones are.”

Kasaru (closing his eyes again, smug grin tugging at his lips): “…Marco.”

Suzuno (darting around him, splashing quietly, her voice pitched sweet and taunting): “Polo~”

Kasaru (turning sharply at the ripple, nearly catching her): “Hm. Almost.”

Suzuno (ducking under with a squeak, then surfacing further away): “You’re too slow, Kasaru!”

Kasaru (snorting): “Too slow? You’re the one cornered already.”

Suzuno (puffing her cheeks, whispering fiercely to herself): “No… not this time… I’ll get you!”

She lunges. Misses. Splashes.

Suzuno (sputtering, frustrated but laughing): “Ughhh! Stand still, you big meanie!”

Kasaru (hearing her frantic approach, leaning in close, his voice brushing against her ear just before she can grab him): “…I’m right here, Suzuno.”

Suzuno (gasps, spins around, but he’s already slipped away, laughing under his breath): “You—you trickster! Don’t you dare run!”

Kasaru (chuckling, circling with effortless grace, keeping his distance): “I thought you liked the chase.”

Suzuno (throwing water at him wildly, her laughter ringing): “You’re insufferable! Hold still!”

Children (hooting from the other side of the pool): “Get him, Suzuno! Get him! Don’t let him win again!”

Suzuno (grinning, breathless, lunges one last desperate time—Kasaru’s slowed by his own laughter, and she finally grabs him around the waist): “Got you!”

Kasaru (surprised, tumbling down with her in a splash, surfacing with Suzuno still clinging to him, both laughing uncontrollably): “…Haha! You actually did it.”

Suzuno (beaming, water dripping from her hair, gasping between giggles): “I caught you finally! You sneaky, sneaky man!”

Kasaru (looking at her, joy softening into something warmer, voice low but playful): “Yes… you caught me, Suzuno. And it was so, so fun… teasing you the entire time.”

Suzuno (still holding onto him, cheeks flushed as she laughs): “Next time, I’ll catch you faster!”

Kasaru (quiet chuckle, mismatched eyes drinking in her smile): “…I almost hope not.”

The sun dipped low, painting the desert sky in rose and amber. The children had collapsed on the smooth, sun-warmed stones by the shore, damp hair plastered to their foreheads, their laughter softening into lazy giggles and half-hearted squabbles about who cheated the most during Marco Polo.

Suzuno crouched at the water’s edge, her caramel skin still gleaming with droplets, hair clinging to her back. Her hands darted through the current, and to Kasaru’s amazement, she emerged with a wriggling fish clutched tight.

He barked out a laugh, stabbing down with his sharpened stick to spear another. “You’re full of surprises, Suzuno. That’s the third one you’ve snatched bare-handed.”

“And you’ve caught five with your stick,” she countered warmly, slipping the fish into their shared basket. “It seems we make a good team.”

Her words made him pause for a heartbeat too long. A good team. The ease of her smile tugged at something in his chest, something unfamiliar and frightening in its comfort.

By the time the fire crackled to life, the children drowsing in its glow, Kasaru found his gaze drifting again—helplessly. The flickering light traced every line of the tattoos that marked her skin. Dark ink flowed in intricate designs from her nape down her back, the centerpiece a crescent moon encircling a radiant star. Lines curled outward across her shoulders, down her arms to her palms, mirrored again on her calves.

His throat tightened. They were beautiful. She was beautiful.

At last, curiosity pressed harder than his restraint. “…Suzuno. Forgive me if this is too forward, but—your markings. What do they mean?”

She tilted her head, surprised, then turned slightly so the firelight illuminated the star. Her voice softened, filled with a quiet pride. “They are the marks of a Gerudo sage. A woman who has dedicated her life to mastering our ways.”

Kasaru blinked, struggling to reconcile the playful girl from the water with the formidable title. “A sage?”

Suzuno nodded, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “I trained in our ancient martial art, Capoeira. To outsiders, it looks like a dance. But each movement holds power, grace, and defense. It is both rhythm and combat. Beyond that, I endured the tests of strength and spirit—trials meant to measure a Gerudo’s heart and mind. Passing them earns these tattoos, forever etched in ink.”

Kasaru stared, awe washing over him. A summoner… and a sage? Meanwhile, he was just a man scraping by, surviving one desert skirmish after another. He chuckled low, shaking his head. What am I compared to her? She outshines me a hundredfold.

Karumu’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Could we—maybe—see some Capoeira moves?” His eyes were wide, eager, like a boy begging for a story.

Kasaru turned on him sharply. “Karumu! She isn’t here to perform for our amusement. Show some respect.”

But Suzuno only laughed, the sound soft and forgiving. “I don’t mind.” She rose gracefully, the fire painting her silhouette in bronze light. “I can even teach you both, if you wish.”

Kasaru hesitated, jaw tight. “Suzuno… I fear I would insult your customs. I have no right to intrude.”

She shook her head, eyes gentle as they found his. “A man who has helped Sireni and I from the very beginning could never insult our ways. You’ve already earned my trust, Kasaru. Learning from me would honor, not offend.”

The sincerity in her gaze nearly undid him. Respect, admiration—even warmth. All aimed at him.

For a moment, he could only swallow hard, heart pounding like a war drum. What have I done to deserve such a woman’s faith?

Kasaru sat cross-legged by the fire, fish sizzling on the stones. He’d thought Suzuno meant a simple demonstration—perhaps a kick or two, a stance, something ceremonial. But what unfolded before him was something else entirely.

Suzuno stood barefoot on the smooth shore, Sireni beside her, both poised with a dancer’s grace.

“Capoeira begins not with fighting,” Suzuno said softly, her hair gleaming in the firelight, “but with rhythm. With harmony. We dance to know ourselves, to feel our balance. The power comes after.”

Sireni mirrored her posture perfectly—arms curved, knees bent, swaying like reeds in the desert wind. Suzuno nodded with approval.

“Very good, little love,” she praised. “Now—let us show them the ginga.”

They began to move in tandem: a flowing step back, swing forward, arms shifting defensively in front of their faces. It was mesmerizing, a constant pendulum, their feet whispering across the ground in a steady rhythm. Kasaru and Karumu exchanged baffled looks.

“That’s… fighting?” Karumu muttered, scratching his head. “Looks like they’re about to start singing.”

“Hush,” Kasaru said, though he couldn’t tear his eyes away either. The fluidity was… intoxicating.

Suzuno and Sireni’s steps grew sharper. They flowed into spins, into rising kicks that sliced the air with precision. Sireni, small but fierce, nearly knocked a pebble off the ground with a sweeping leg. Suzuno’s body arced with effortless control, spinning low, then flipping back to her feet like a ribbon caught in the wind.

Finally, the two rose together into a synchronized cartwheel. Suzuno carried hers into a soaring flip, her leg extending in a sharp, controlled kick that sent a gust of air across the fire. Both girls landed smoothly, bowing their heads as if nothing unusual had happened.

The boys sat in stunned silence. Karumu’s jaw actually hung open.

“…Those were the basics?” he blurted.

Sireni wiped sweat from her brow and grinned mischievously. “Yes! Do you think I could break your jaw now, Karumu?”

The younger boy recoiled dramatically. “Break it?! You looked like you could knock my head clean off!”

Kasaru ignored his brother’s theatrics, his gaze lingering on Suzuno—her calm, steady breaths, the faint gleam of sweat tracing her temple, the absolute pride glowing in her eyes. He bowed his head slightly without thinking.

“You honor us with this,” he murmured.

Suzuno blinked, then shook her head with a laugh. “Do not look at me so gravely, Kasaru. It is only our way.”

“Your way is…” he struggled, searching for the right word. “…terrifying. And beautiful.”

She smiled, and the firelight caught in her green eyes. “That is the Gerudo way: power without cruelty, grace without arrogance. Sireni will learn this, as I did. And one day, she will surpass even me.”

Sireni straightened her back proudly, though she giggled under the weight of such praise.

Kasaru exhaled slowly, shoulders sinking, his heart tightening in quiet awe. He’d thought Suzuno was merely gentle and sweet. But now, watching her spin strength and elegance into the same breath, he realized she was—utterly—beyond his measure.

And that thought both unsettled and enthralled him.

Kasaru was catching on quickly, his long frame flowing into the sweeping spins and cross-steps Suzuno demonstrated. She corrected his footing with the lightest touch at his ankle, adjusted his arm so the lines of his body were sharper, more balanced. He tried not to notice how warm her hand felt against his skin, but his pulse betrayed him, thundering in his ears.

Karumu, on the other hand, looked like he was fighting a swarm of bees. His arms flailed, his feet stomped out of rhythm, and he nearly toppled into Sireni more than once.

“You’re too stiff!” Sireni scolded, puffing her cheeks. She planted her hands on her hips like the little queen she was. “Relax your knees, let the music flow in your head.”

“What music?” Karumu muttered, tripping over himself again. “All I hear is the sound of me dying.”

Sireni giggled and demonstrated again, spinning neatly and sliding back into the basic stance. “See? Like this. Just imagine you’re—” she paused, then brightened, “—like sand in the wind! Always moving, never stuck!”

Kasaru and Suzuno both chuckled at the apt metaphor.

Karumu, red-faced, tried again—only to wobble and nearly topple over. He caught himself and groaned. “Sand in the wind? I’m more like… a sack of rocks.”

“That’s because you’re thinking too much,” Sireni said, tugging his sleeve to steady him. “I started when I was four. You can’t expect to move like me right away.”

Both brothers froze. “…I’m sorry, WHEN did you start?” Karumu demanded.

Sireni blinked innocently. “Four. Suzuno started even earlier.”

Kasaru pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been doing this nearly your whole life.”

Sireni huffed. “That’s not the point! The point is you have to feel it. Don’t stomp—glide!”

She clapped her hands sharply, cueing him like a teacher.

Meanwhile, Suzuno was guiding Kasaru closer, her palm pressed between his shoulder blades as she whispered corrections. “Here—shift your weight… bend lower, yes, like that.”

He obeyed, but the heat in his cheeks betrayed how her nearness disarmed him far more than any spin or kick. He dared a glance at her, and nearly lost the rhythm altogether when she gave him one of her radiant, encouraging smiles.

“You learn quickly,” she praised, her voice soft as falling water.

Kasaru swallowed hard. “Only because my teacher is patient.”

Suzuno tilted her head, clearly pleased by the answer, though she didn’t tease him for it. She stepped back gracefully, launching into a fluid cartwheel and snapping into another ready stance. “Again,” she called, her tattoos gleaming faintly in the firelight. “Both of you—together this time.”

Karumu groaned, but squared up beside his brother, muttering under his breath, “One of us is going to break something.”

“Hopefully not me,” Kasaru murmured, though his lips curved into a smile he couldn’t quite suppress.

Kasaru and Karumu squared up side by side, mimicking Suzuno’s stance. The problem was, Karumu kept edging half a step behind his brother like he was bracing for disaster.

“On my mark!” Sireni chirped, clapping once. “Step—spin—kick!”

Kasaru actually pulled it off—his leg swept up in a decent arc, foot cutting cleanly through the air.

Karumu… spun in the wrong direction, collided shoulder-first into Kasaru, and ended up flat on his back in the sand.

“Byakko’s mane—Karumu!” Kasaru snapped, stumbling to regain his balance.

“I was spinning!” Karumu groaned, flailing like an overturned beetle. “Just not your way!”

Suzuno covered her mouth with her hand to hide her laugh. Sireni did not bother. She doubled over, clutching her sides, wheezing, “You looked like—you looked like a—like a flopping fish!”

Karumu sat up, scowling, sand stuck in his hair. “I don’t see you teaching fish ballet, Your Highness.”

“Oh, but I could!” Sireni shot back, planting her fists on her hips. “Better than you, at least.”

Kasaru extended a hand to his brother, sighing. “Little love, I think perhaps we should—”

“No!” Karumu cut him off, slapping Kasaru’s hand away and stumbling to his feet on his own. “I’m not giving up. If he can do it, I can too.”

“Not with those feet,” Kasaru muttered.

Karumu glared. “What’s wrong with my feet?”

“They’re… loud.” Kasaru arched a brow. “Like boulders falling down a hill.”

“Oh, and suddenly you’re an expert?” Karumu snapped. “What are you now, a Gerudo master? Maybe I should bow and call you ‘sensei.’”

Suzuno giggled softly, cheeks pink at the thought. “He is doing very well…”

That, of course, only made Karumu’s jaw clench tighter. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Perfect.” He tried the spin again, over-exaggerating, arms flailing like sails in a storm.

This time, he managed to stay upright—but toppled straight into Sireni, who squeaked and shoved him back with surprising strength.

“Focus, Karumu!” she barked, wagging her finger at him. “Legs apart, knees bent, no floppy arms!”

“I don’t have floppy arms!” he protested, flapping them just to prove the opposite.

Kasaru pinched his nose again, muttering, “This is unbearable.”

“Unbearably fun!” Sireni corrected brightly, clapping. “Again! Both of you! Together this time, or I’ll make you play Marco Polo blindfolded!”

The brothers exchanged a glance—Kasaru’s exasperated, Karumu’s stubborn—and then squared up again.

The fire burned low, its last embers casting a soft glow across the tent. Sireni had curled up instantly, breathing in slow, even puffs, and Karumu’s restless energy had finally given way to sleep, one hand flopped dramatically above his head as if even in dreams he was still playing. Suzuno bent low, brushing Sireni’s hair back and pressing a kiss to her brow. Then, after a hesitation, she leaned over Karumu and gave his temple the lightest kiss too.

Kasaru, half-leaning against one of the tent poles, smiled faintly. Her tenderness had a way of softening the entire air.

When she straightened, he turned his gaze away to give her privacy as she reached for her robes, still in that lilac undergarment that had been tormenting his peripheral vision all day. But his voice, steady and warm, carried between them:

“You care for them beautifully. As if they were your own.”

Suzuno’s head peeked up from behind her curtain of red hair, eyes glowing. “I love children! They’re precious and cute and sweet and—oh Kasaru, you have no idea how cute I find Karumu!”

Kasaru huffed a quiet laugh, watching her tug her robe around her shoulders with an almost comical urgency as she continued gushing.

“He’s so cute and full of energy, and those eyes! They sparkle, Kasaru, they truly do! Like the sun on water!”

Kasaru raised a brow, smirking lightly. “You know I have the same eyes as Karumu, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.” Suzuno turned toward him fully, tugging her belt taut, her face open and earnest. “And I love your eyes too.”

His breath caught.

“They’re warm, comforting… kind. The eyes of the man who helped me when I was lost. From the moment I looked into them, I thought they were beautiful.”

For once, Kasaru had no immediate reply. He stood rooted, his chest tight, watching the unguarded honesty pour from her lips. No jest. No playful tease. Just truth.

He swallowed hard, lowering his voice as though afraid the children might wake and steal the fragile moment. “Suzuno… you and Sireni are a miracle to me. Everything you feel about me… I return. From the bottom of my heart.”

Her lips parted softly, green eyes shimmering in the half-light.

He shifted closer, not daring to touch her, but unable to remain distant. “We’ve only known each other a few days, but—” He exhaled, wrestling down something that threatened to burst free. “I would do anything to keep you safe. To see you both returned happily to your families.”

The words were true. And yet the last ones dragged like chains across his heart.

Her smile was small, touched with the same bittersweet weight. “You speak as if you won’t be there to see us off.”

He pressed his lips into a tight line. How could he explain? That the thought of parting already stung like loss? That this strange, shining girl from another world had become something he couldn’t name but couldn’t imagine living without?

Instead, he gave her the only vow he could manage. “So long as I draw breath, I will be there.”

Suzuno’s gaze lingered on him, tender and searching. Then, as if the moment itself grew too large to bear, she folded her hands and glanced back at the children.

But Kasaru… he was left breathless, his heart pounding in silence.

Suzuno tilted her head, green eyes sparkling in the dim firelight. “Kasaru… there’s another thing I find cute about both you and Karumu.”

Kasaru blinked, trying to keep his composure. “Oh? Another thing…?” He straightened, chest puffing a little, though his heart was thumping. “Uh… is it… our braid? Charm? Dashing good looks?”

Suzuno laughed outright at the last one, and Kasaru’s ears burned. Did I just say that out loud? He cringed, silently hoping she didn’t think he was a narcissist.

“No, silly!” she giggled, leaning a bit closer. “It’s your… cute little round ears!”

Kasaru froze. “…My ears?” He reached up hesitantly, feeling the familiar shape. “…Wait…how did I not notice your ears all this time?” His eyes widened as he realized hers were…long, delicate, and pointed. My word… she really is from another world.

Suzuno’s ears twitched with amusement at his stunned expression, and something in Kasaru’s chest tightened. Those little twitches… are probably one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen, he thought, and immediately flushed.

Emboldened by her recent honesty, he decided to be brave. “You think my ears are cute?” He edged closer, voice low. “…Yours… they’re easily cuter.”

“I beg your pardon?” Suzuno gasped, her face lighting up with playful indignation. “Mine?! Why, your ears are far superior! Round is balanced. Round is charming. Nothing like these long things, I fear." Suzuno flicked the ends of her ears gently with each point.

Kasaru chuckled, shaking his head, a blush still on his cheeks. “Perhaps, but yours are uniquely alluring. They’re elegant, delicate—perfect for a Gerudo lady.”

Suzuno scrunched her nose, leaning in closer, her voice teasing. “Charming? Elegant? I think you’re just trying to flatter me now!”

“Is that right?” He smirked, daringly. “Since you're so certain of the quality of my ears…Would you like to touch them?”

Her eyes went wide, and he immediately cursed himself internally. Kasaru, what are you doing?

For a heartbeat, she hesitated, shyly raising her hand. Then she gently reached up and rubbed his ear between two fingers, letting out a tiny squeak. “Kasaru—!! They’re so cute and round! Adorable!!”

Kasaru felt heat rush to his face. Her tiny squeaks, the soft pressure of her fingers… it was too much. “Y-you think that is cute?!”

“Yes!!” she beamed, not backing away at all. “I… I can’t help it… your ears! And you… you’re so sweet!”

He swallowed hard, still blushing, but now emboldened. “Well… your ears…” He reached gently toward her pointed tips, mimicking her touch, “—they’re perfect. And cute. And… irresistible.”

Suzuno froze for a moment, then laughed softly, a little squeak escaping as she leaned into his fingers. “You… you’re terrible, Kasaru! But… yes… you’re right… they are cute.”

And there, beneath the soft glow of the fire and the desert night, their tender, teasing game became a quiet, shared joy—a strange, heart-pounding intimacy born from ears, laughter, and trust.

Kasaru’s chest felt warm, as if the chill of the desert night had vanished. He looked at her, her face flushed softly in the firelight, her green eyes wide and sparkling with something between surprise and wonder.

“Suzuno,” he began carefully, “in the spirit of naming things we find… charming…” He paused, searching for the right words, “I would like to share that I find your eyes to be… a source of comfort too.”

Suzuno blinked, startled, a faint gasp escaping her lips. “Really?? No man has ever said that about me before…”

Kasaru froze for a moment, thinking, No man? Huh?? “…Are the men of your world blind?” He shook his head slowly, as if in disbelief, his voice low but steady. “We may have different ears… but I know a radiant young woman when I see one.”

Her cheeks flushed deeper now, the green of her eyes almost luminous in the firelight. She opened her mouth, then hesitated, and finally whispered, “The city I live in… it’s only women. We’re all Gerudo. Red hair, green eyes… I’ve never spoken to a man outside my family before.”

Kasaru’s gaze softened, and he felt an odd, thrilling sense of responsibility. She was utterly new to the world he came from, unpracticed in its intimacies, and yet… she shone with a quiet, natural grace that made him ache to keep her safe.

He leaned slightly closer, voice tender, but still formal, “Well… I am constantly learning new things about you, Suzuno. And for what it’s worth, I find everything about you… admirable. Your heart, your courage… the gentle way you care for Sireni… it is… extraordinary.”

Suzuno blinked, startled again, a quiet smile tugging at her lips. “C-courage…?”

“Yes,” Kasaru said, his tone softening further, almost reverent. “Even in the face of hardship, even in this desert, you remain gentle, thoughtful… and your very presence brings comfort. You are… remarkable, Suzuno.”

Her hand lifted almost instinctively, brushing a strand of red hair from her face, and she looked down shyly. “Kasaru… you… you really think so?”

“I do,” he said without hesitation, voice earnest. “I want you to know that, even if I am the first man to ever tell you. You are beautiful… in every way that matters. And I hope you feel that truth within yourself, as strongly as I feel it when I look at you.”

Her breath caught, and she looked up, their gazes locking. It was quiet for a long moment, the only sounds the crackling fire and the faint whisper of the desert wind.

“I… I think I’ve never heard anyone speak like that to me,” she admitted softly.

“And yet,” Kasaru said, his voice barely above a whisper, “you deserve to hear it. Always.”

Suzuno’s lips curved into a shy, warm smile, and though their hands weren’t touching, a quiet, unspoken understanding passed between them. In this strange, harsh desert, amid ruins and survival, they had found a tender, mutual recognition. A fragile beginning of something neither had a name for yet—but both felt in full.

Suzuno: softly, after a pause in their practice “Kasaru… when you reach Sairou, what do you plan to do?”

Kasaru: hesitates, his eyes drifting toward the desert horizon “…Truthfully? I’m not entirely sure. I never said before but… Karumu and I weren’t born in Sairou. Our home was a place called Sasu. A satellite state. Green, lush, filled with life. Until an earthquake and sandstorm destroyed it. Only Karumu and I survived.”

Suzuno: gasps, hands flying to her lips “Oh… Kasaru, I didn’t know…”

Kasaru: shakes his head gently, trying to steady his voice “There wasn’t much time to grieve. We just… kept moving. The desert hardened me. All I can think about now is giving Karumu a better life.” He reaches under his tunic and shows her a thin cord around his neck, strung with seeds. “These are from Sasu’s flora. I keep them with me, to plant wherever we settle. So Karumu can grow up surrounded by something alive. Something… of home.”

Suzuno: eyes misting, her voice tender “That’s… so beautiful, Kasaru. I understand, truly. My own devotion to others is why I became a sage… and a summoner.” She smiles faintly, embarrassed. “Well… an ex-summoner.”

Kasaru: brows raise with curiosity “Ex-summoner?”

Suzuno: nods, twiddling her fingers nervously “Yes… I was meant to serve an important role, but… I faltered. At the last moment, I lost my courage. I… I chickened out.” She laughs shyly, covering her mouth. “When I go home, I don’t know if I’ll be a summoner again. But I want to be many things. An architect. An art teacher. A botanist.”

Kasaru: studies her softly, sensing more unspoken pain, but not pressing “…Those dreams sound wonderful.”

Suzuno: suddenly brightening, eyes lighting up “Maybe… maybe we could co-found a greenhouse together, Kasaru! You’d plant your seeds, and I could design it. A place of beauty. Of peace.”

Kasaru: blinks, then slowly smiles—warm, almost boyish “…A greenhouse.” He chuckles under his breath, the thought settling in his chest. “That actually sounds really nice. A simpler life. With plants, with you building walls of glass and light. Karumu running between the rows.”

Suzuno: grins widely, cheeks pink, hugging herself with excitement “Yes! Exactly! Then no matter what storms may come… we’d have a little piece of Sasu. And maybe even a little piece of Gerudo, too.”

Kasaru: softly, watching her glow with that vision “…A little piece of you, Suzuno.”

Suzuno (hugging her knees, her eyes bright): "Voltfruit, hydromelons...they sound so normal to me, but when I say them out loud, they must sound strange to you."

Kasaru (chuckling softly): "Mm, perhaps. But I like the way you say them. Like they’re treasures worth guarding."

Suzuno (teasingly): "And your longans and mangosteens don’t sound strange at all? They sound like magical creatures."

Kasaru (grinning, leaning back on his hands): "Magical creatures that grow sweet and round, if you’re patient enough. You’d like them."

Suzuno (eyes lighting up): "I would! Especially if we grew them together. A greenhouse...with flowers, fruits, vines crawling along the walls—oh, Kasaru, can you imagine it? A place that’s ours, where life just keeps blooming."

Kasaru (gazes at her quietly for a beat, then with a soft sincerity): "I can. And I think...you’d make it beautiful. I’d only need to keep things green and alive. That’s easy when someone like you is around."

Suzuno (startling, a faint blush rising): "...You make it sound so simple."

Kasaru (voice lowering, earnest): "That’s because it is. You bring color and joy into every word you say. I just want to see that keep blooming."

(Silence lingers, warm and gentle. They both realize they’ve scooted closer without noticing. Their shoulders nearly brush.)

Suzuno (smiling softly, voice trembling with warmth): "Kasaru...thank you. Our situation isn’t ideal, but I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun. I have you to thank. I hope...we can be friends for a long time."

The ruins gave them little shelter, just crumbled walls and jagged stone outlines half-swallowed by sand. The desert wind whistled through the cracks, carrying a knife’s edge of cold that seeped through even their thickest cloaks. Breath puffed in pale clouds as Kasaru set the rugs down, his hands steady even though his own teeth threatened to chatter.

“Blankets first,” he said, firm but gentle. He draped one across his own shoulders, then over Suzuno’s slight frame, then Karumu’s, careful to tuck the edges around them so the wind had fewer gaps to bite through.

Suzuno watched him silently, her lips pressed together, trying not to show how badly she shivered.

Kasaru lowered himself against the flattest wall of stone, then lifted his arms, the blankets pooling wide. His voice softened as he nodded to Suzuno. “Come here. Between my legs—you’ll keep warmer this way.”

Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, but she obeyed without hesitation. She settled between his knees, back to his chest, her small hands clutching the blanket as she sank into the space he made for her. His arms lowered slowly, enclosing her fully, the bulk of his frame like a fortress shutting out the cold. She exhaled in a soft, trembling sigh as his warmth immediately enveloped her.

Kasaru nodded to Karumu then, his tone quiet but commanding. “The same for Sireni. Don’t leave any space—draw her close.”

Karumu, already red-faced from watching Suzuno tuck against Kasaru, nonetheless obeyed. He gathered Sireni against him as though she were something precious, pulling the blanket over them both. Sireni, half-asleep and shivering, burrowed into his chest without protest, her small hand clutching his tunic.

Kasaru’s eyes softened at the sight, but his voice carried calm authority as he gathered them all in, layering arms and shoulders until they formed a tightly wrapped knot of warmth. Suzuno leaned fully against him now, her head beneath his chin, her breath warm against his collarbone. Karumu and Sireni pressed into her from the other side, the group shaped into a cocoon of limbs and fabric, every inch of them depending on each other’s heat.

“Is everyone comfortable?” Kasaru’s voice was low, rumbling through Suzuno’s back. He squeezed his arms gently around her, testing for slack, then glanced to the side where Karumu cradled Sireni. “Karumu—make sure there’s no gaps. Hold her firm. She mustn’t lose heat.”

“I am,” Suzuno whispered, surprising herself with how steady her voice came out. The strength of his hold was something she could feel in every breath, unshakable, protective. It calmed her in ways she couldn’t put into words.

Karumu mumbled a faint, “We’re fine,” his face pressed into Sireni’s hair, though his tone carried the faintest note of shy pride.

Kasaru looked over them once more, adjusting a corner of blanket that had slipped, his hands lingering just long enough to make sure every fold sealed in warmth. Then, satisfied, he let his weight rest against the stone and tightened his embrace around the whole bundle of them.

The wind still howled through the ruins, but within the circle of Kasaru’s arms, they were warm. And safe.

Kasaru settled back against the cold stone, feeling its chill bite through even the rugs and blankets they’d managed to pile beneath them. His arms were full—one side holding Karumu and the little one he guarded so carefully, the other wrapped securely around Suzuno. He reminded himself this was survival, nothing more. A man didn’t waste thoughts on propriety when frost threatened his companions’ lives.

And yet… Suzuno fit against him with a startling naturalness, as though she had always been meant to occupy that space. Her slight frame pressed into his chest, her warmth seeping into him. He tried not to notice how her hair brushed against his chin when she shifted, or how a faint sweetness—flowers, herbs, something gentle—clung to her like a secret. It stirred something he couldn’t name, and he forced himself to breathe evenly, to keep his focus on the task at hand: keeping everyone warm.

Karumu was tucked close on the other side, his arms curled protectively around Sireni. Kasaru’s chest swelled with quiet pride at the sight. His little brother, no longer the child he once carried on his back, was growing into someone dependable—someone capable of keeping another safe. It was strange, and beautiful, and a little painful in its reminder of time’s passing.

Kasaru adjusted the blankets around them all, pulling Suzuno closer almost without realizing it, his arm tightening reflexively around her waist. Her breath ghosted against the side of his neck, soft and even. It had been years since he had held Karumu so near, years since anyone had leaned on him this way, as if his strength alone were enough to shield them.

And though the wind howled through the broken stones of the ruins, the weight of them against him—their warmth, their trust—did something to his soul. The cold felt less sharp. His burdens less heavy. He told himself again this was survival… but in truth, it felt like belonging.

Kasaru stirred before the others, instinct pulling him awake as pale light crept into the cracks of the ruined stone. The air was still sharp and frigid, his breath a pale mist in the dimness. He didn’t think about his own discomfort—he never did. His first thought was always the others. Carefully, he tilted his head, listening. No teeth chattering, no shivers. Karumu and Sireni were still bundled close, their breathing steady and soft. Relief loosened something in his chest.

Then he felt it—Suzuno shifting faintly, a tremor running through her against his side. She was shivering. He cursed himself silently. He was supposed to keep them warm, to shield them from this cold, and yet she had suffered while the others slept peacefully. Gently, he reached for her hand beneath the blanket, bringing it between his palms to rub warmth into her slender fingers. He bent close, his voice hushed.

“Are you all right? Does the cold still bite at you?”

Her lashes fluttered, and for a moment she only stirred like a child reluctant to wake. Then, with a soft exhale, she murmured, “Mm… good morning, Kasaru.” Her voice was drowsy, tender—far too sweet for someone half-frozen in his arms. The simple words pierced him deeper than any blade.

Guilt pressed hard in his chest. He should have done more. He should have—

But she whispered again, softer, her lips brushing near his throat, “It’s fine… the children are warm. That matters most.”

Before he could protest, she nestled closer still, burrowing as though she wanted to vanish into him entirely. Her face pressed into the crook of his neck, her breath brushing fire against his skin. Kasaru froze, a shiver racing through him at the sudden intimacy. They were strangers, weren’t they? He barely knew this girl, this priestess with her gentle smile and too-big heart… and yet she clung to him as if she had always been his.

Her warmth, her fragrance, her quiet resilience—it all disarmed him. In his long years, he had never been so close to a companion. Not truly. He had fought beside comrades, shielded his brother, carried others from danger—but this was different. This was someone choosing to rest against him, trusting him wholly.

His arms closed around her instinctively, protective and reverent at once. And in that quiet, as the others slumbered unaware, Kasaru made a silent vow to himself: if the gods saw fit to guide them out of this desert alive, he would find a way to repay Suzuno. Not with riches or deeds, but simply by honoring what she had given him—her presence, her grace, her unshakable sweetness in the harshest of nights.

The sun crept higher, warming the edge of the stone ruin, and for a time Suzuno drifted in and out of a fragile doze against him. The tremors in her body had faded once she tucked herself into his embrace, and Kasaru, though he had not slept another heartbeat, held her as though he were the last barrier between her and the world.

When her lashes finally stirred again, it was different. Her breathing deepened, steadied, and then those pale green eyes blinked open slowly. She was still pressed so close he could feel the flutter of her lashes against his throat. Her cheek warmed against him now, no longer chilled, but soft, flushed.

Kasaru shifted faintly, meaning to give her space—but she didn’t move. She seemed to lack even the strength to pull away, her lips parted faintly as she tried to rouse herself. In the end, her face remained impossibly close to his. Close enough that he could see each freckle scattered like starlight over her skin, the faint color blooming across her cheeks.

“Good morning,” he whispered, afraid any louder word might break this strange spell.

She blinked up at him, her voice a soft murmur. “You kept me warm.”

“Not well enough,” he said, guilt and awe twined in his tone. “Forgive me, Suzuno.”

Her hand stirred faintly beneath the blanket, brushing his chest, and he instinctively caught it in his. His thumb smoothed over her knuckles as if to reassure himself she truly was warm now. His other hand—without thought—rose to her cheek, cupping her face with reverence. He could not help himself. She was so near, so unguarded, sunlight touching her hair with fire.

Her lashes lowered shyly, then lifted again to meet his mismatched gaze. And for the first time, he saw wonder in her eyes—directed not at Byakko, not at the stars, but at him.

She thought of the strength etched in his jaw, the strange beauty of his uneven eyes: one icy blue, one soft lavender, both piercing her as though he could read every hidden corner of her heart. She thought of how steady he was, how safe he felt—how breathtaking.

And then… their eyes fell to each other’s lips.

Hers were parted, flushed from sleep, impossibly close. His breath caught, held, as though the very desert had stilled around them. For one electric heartbeat, the thought was there between them: to close the space, to taste what this fragile, forbidden closeness might mean.

Then lightning struck in another form: awareness. They both realized it at once. They were wide awake, hearts pounding as though they’d run miles. Too close. Too dangerous.

Kasaru’s breath hitched, and with sheer will he turned his head aside, though he did not loosen his hold around her. Suzuno, flustered, ducked her gaze, but she too remained where she was. They couldn’t move, not without disturbing the children nestled warmly in the circle of their arms.

So they lay there, tangled in a predicament that burned more fiercely than the desert sun—two near-strangers who had just tasted the edge of something deeper than companionship, yet dared not step further.

Kasaru swallowed hard, whispering into the stillness, “Rest a little longer. I’ll keep you warm.”

The sun was heavy that day—its light poured molten gold across the dunes, gleaming on the still pool where the camels drank in lazy silence. Karumu and Sireni laughed in the shallows, splashing each other with handfuls of cool water, their voices bright against the hush of the desert. Suzuno knelt at the edge, wringing out her damp scarf, her smile soft and serene.

Kasaru watched her from where he crouched beside their packs, a faint grin curving his lips. For a rare moment, he allowed himself the peace of it—the sound of the children, the shimmer of water, the image of Suzuno’s hair catching the light like spun fire. It almost felt like a home he’d once known.

Then the stillness cracked.

Five riders crested the ridge—a rough, sunburned band, their clothes tattered, their eyes hard. The leader spat into the sand as he reined in. “This pool’s ours now,” he said, voice low and cold.

Kasaru rose slowly, hand resting at his hip. “There’s enough water for everyone,” he answered, calm but firm. “No need for quarrel.”

The men exchanged looks, laughter harsh as gravel. “We don’t share,” the leader said. His gaze flicked to Suzuno—and then to Sireni. “Pretty girls. We’ll take the water... and them.”

Karumu froze mid-step. Sireni shrank back. Suzuno’s eyes widened—but only for a breath. Then she gathered the children behind the camels, her voice steady though her heart pounded in her chest.

Kasaru’s eyes darkened. “You’ll take nothing.”

The leader opened his mouth to jeer—but never finished. A flash of silver, a hiss through the air—Kasaru’s dagger buried itself in the man’s skull. He hit the sand before his horse even knew to startle.

“Kasaru!” Suzuno gasped, but he was already moving.

In a blur, he was among the horses, sword flashing. Two men lunged; two met steel. Dust rose around them, a storm of sand and blood.

Two riders broke away toward Suzuno and the children. Her fear vanished beneath instinct. She spun, her body flowing like wind over the dunes. One man reached her—only to find himself disarmed by a graceful sweep of her leg, his wrist caught and twisted until bone snapped like dry wood. Suzuno seized his knife and slashed upward, the motion swift, precise.

The second man charged—only to be cut down by Kasaru, his blade whistling clean through the air.

Then silence. The wind whispered over the dunes, carrying the smell of iron.

Suzuno’s breath shuddered in her chest as she looked around—the camels shifting nervously, the children wide-eyed but safe. And Kasaru, panting softly, his sword dripping crimson, scanning for any sign of danger.

Their eyes met.

Suzuno ran to him, sand scattering beneath her feet. He caught her against his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other gripping her back tight as though to confirm she was real, alive.

“Are you hurt?” they said together, voices shaking.

She pulled back, hands fluttering over his arms, his face. “Kasaru, your arm—”

“It’s nothing,” he said, brushing her hair from her face. “You—You fought beautifully.” His voice was thick with awe. “Remind me never to anger you.”

Her laugh trembled, half sob. “I was terrified.”

“I was, too,” he admitted softly, thumb brushing the blood spatter from her cheek. “But I’d rather be afraid than see them touch you.”

Her breath hitched.

He forced himself to look away, sheathing his sword. “Go see to Karumu and Sireni. Make sure they’re unharmed. I’ll… handle the rest.”

Suzuno nodded, still trembling. As she went to gather the children, Kasaru turned back to the fallen men. He searched their packs with steady hands, but his thoughts were elsewhere—on the woman who fought like wind and flame, who smiled like dawn and looked at him as if he were her anchor in this endless desert.

He didn’t dare say it aloud, but the feeling that took root in his chest that day was simple and unshakable: He would never let anything harm her.

Kasaru came back with a half-staggering step, sweat darkening his collar and hair. The blood down his arm had gone from red to an ugly violet sheen, and Sireni gasped.

“Kasaru—!” she cried, rushing forward, but Karumu caught her hand gently.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice steadier than she’d ever heard. “He’s strong. My brother always is. He’ll be fine.”

He smiled for her sake, but his own fingers trembled slightly at his sides.

Suzuno’s eyes flicked to the wound, and her calm steadiness reminded Karumu of his mother—measured, fearless, full of light. “Sit,” she instructed softly.

Kasaru obeyed without protest, though his brow furrowed with pain. When she reached for his tunic, his breath caught.

“I need to see the wound,” she said simply, and with careful hands, she tugged the fabric down from his shoulder. The motion bared half his chest, muscles tensing beneath her touch. A streak of darkened veins pulsed beneath the skin, spreading from the puncture like black roots.

Suzuno’s expression softened, sorrowed. “It’s poison,” she murmured, pressing her palm above the wound. “Hold still for me, please.”

Her voice dipped into a prayer—soft, lilting, the ancient words wrapping around them like silver threads. Light gathered at her fingertips, gold and gentle, pulsing into his skin. The purple receded little by little until only a faint mark remained.

Kasaru exhaled shakily. “You—how did you…”

Suzuno blinked, cheeks pink. “Summoners are required to study healing arts… it’s nothing divine.”

Karumu and Kasaru exchanged a look—they didn’t believe that for a moment.

Suzuno tested the arm afterward, sliding her fingers slowly down the length of his forearm, pressing lightly at the veins, the nerves, the tendons. “Can you feel this?” she asked.

He swallowed. “Yes.” His voice cracked. “All of it.”

Her touch was gentle but electric, a steady warmth that made his heart trip over itself.

When she finally pulled back, her hands were streaked faintly with blood. Kasaru reached for the canteen without thinking and poured water over her palms, letting the crimson run clear again. His calloused fingers brushed hers as he helped her rinse, his thumb sweeping over her wrist almost unconsciously.

For a moment, they both forgot the battle, the corpses, the night air heavy with smoke. It was only the hush of shared breath and the pulse of something unspoken—too fragile, too alive.

He smiled faintly, half-grin and half-reverence. “Thank you, Suzuno. You… saved me.”

She shook her head softly, avoiding his gaze. “You would have done the same.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone quiet, teasing but sincere. “But I wouldn’t have looked nearly as graceful doing it.”

That earned him the shyest laugh—a sound that would linger in his heart long after the pain was gone.

The quiet after the healing hung like a held breath. The night wind stirred, carrying the scent of blood. Suzuno rose slowly, the soft chime of her earrings catching the light.

Kasaru watched, his arm still tingling faintly where her magic had mended him. He expected her to rest. Instead, she turned toward the fallen men.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low but laced with unease.

“My duty,” she said softly.

As she stepped closer, faint light coalesced in her hand. It shimmered, lengthening, curving—until it took shape as a staff of intricate gold and metal. Patterns like constellations ran along its surface, and an orb floated at its head, pulsing gently with light.

Kasaru and Karumu both stared.

Suzuno knelt beside the first of the bodies. “Their spirits are still here,” she murmured. “They linger. I can feel the weight of their energy.”

Kasaru hesitated. “And you...mean to help them?”

She nodded once, “I’ll perform a sending. It will guide them to the Farplane— the other side. If their souls remain untethered, they could be twisted by malice, or magic. Become something worse than what they were in life.”

Karumu frowned, stepping closer. “Why should they be allowed to cross over at all? They murdered, they hunted. Shouldn’t they be punished for that?”

Suzuno’s eyes met his—kind, but infinitely sad. “Perhaps they already have been,” she said quietly. “The world is made of cycles, Karumu. Souls return, learn, falter, and rise again. I don’t decide their fate. I only send them where they belong.”

Her staff began to glow more brightly. “Like a shepherd, if you will.”

Then she began to move.

Her feet glided through the dust in smooth, deliberate arcs, her hands lifting in graceful circles. The air shimmered around her, her long hair swirling with the motion. The orb at her staff’s tip released a faint hum—like the sigh of wind through temple bells.

One by one, tiny lights—pyreflies—began to rise from the dead men’s bodies. They drifted upward, spinning lazily, filling the clearing with a soft blue luminescence.

The sight was spellbinding.

Karumu had gone still, mouth parted slightly. Even Sireni, frightened moments ago, was staring in quiet awe.

Kasaru couldn’t speak. The glow reflected in his eyes, tracing her silhouette as she danced—the sweep of her arms, the slow turn of her waist, the reverent precision in every step. She looked like something not meant for this world.

When the last pyrefly vanished into the night sky, Suzuno slowly stilled. The staff dissolved in her hand, the light fading to nothing but moonlight again.

She exhaled, quiet, serene.

Kasaru’s heart felt strangely full. “You…” His voice caught. He had to clear it. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

Suzuno turned, offering a small, tired smile. “Because I danced for the dead?”

“Because you pitied them,” he said softly. “Even after what they tried to do.”

Her smile deepened, faint but genuine. “Even the darkest souls deserve one last kindness.”

Kasaru swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on her as though she might vanish with the next breath. Who are you really, he thought, and what have I done to deserve standing this close to you?

When the last trace of light from the sending faded, Suzuno swayed on her feet. The staff had vanished into the ether, and her breath came shallow and slow.

Kasaru stepped forward without hesitation, shrugging off his cloak. “You’ll catch cold,” he murmured, draping it gently around her shoulders before she could protest.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, though her voice trembled as much as her hands.

“Of course you are,” he said, voice soft but teasing. “That’s why you’re swaying like a reed in the wind.”

Before she could reply, he bent down and lifted her easily into his arms. She gave a small gasp, clutching his tunic out of instinct.

“Kasaru! I can walk.”

“I’m sure you can,” he said, smiling faintly as he adjusted his grip. “But humor me. I’d rather not see you faint into the sand.”

The moonlight washed over them as he carried her back to the camels, his steps steady and careful despite the ache in his healing arm. Once everyone was mounted, they rode through the quiet night until the glow of torches was far behind them.

When Kasaru finally stopped, it was near the ruins of an old stone outpost half-buried in the dunes. “This will do,” he said, lowering Suzuno carefully from her camel. Her bare feet touched the cool sand, and she shivered, still half wrapped in his cloak.

He immediately busied himself—gathering kindling, lighting a small fire, unpacking the food he’d taken from the fallen men. Every motion was practical and precise, a rhythm of survival he knew by heart.

Suzuno tried to rise, brushing the sand from her knees. “Let me help.”

Kasaru turned sharply. “No. Sit.”

“But—”

He cut her a look that was more fond than stern. “After everything you did tonight? Absolutely not. I’ll handle it.”

She smiled faintly. “You fought four men alone, Kasaru. I only danced.”

He huffed a quiet laugh as he worked the pan over the fire. “That ‘dance’ sent the dead to rest. I only swung a sword. There’s no contest.”

“There is,” she said softly. “You keep saying it’s your duty to protect those younger than you… but who protects you?”

That stopped him. The fire crackled, filling the pause between them.

He turned halfway toward her, the light catching in his eyes. “No one needs to,” he said simply. “I’m used to this.”

She frowned, her voice barely a whisper. “Then you shouldn’t be.”

He blinked, the words lodging somewhere deep in his chest before he could stop them.

She took a small step closer, meaning to insist further—but the moment she did, her knees gave way. Kasaru was already moving, catching her before she hit the ground.

“See?” he murmured, half exasperated, half smiling as he lowered her against his chest. “You can’t even argue standing up.”

“I wasn’t finished arguing,” she muttered weakly, her head resting against his shoulder.

“Too bad,” he said with a quiet laugh, brushing a strand of red hair from her face. “I’m calling this my victory.”

The sound of her soft laughter blended with the whisper of desert wind.

For a long while, he said nothing, just held her there, feeling her breathing slow and even out. When she finally drifted off to sleep, her cheek pressed against his chest, Kasaru found himself smiling into her hair.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But for tonight, he’d guard this peace—and the girl who had somehow become the heart of it—with everything he had.

The desert was hushed that night, the air warm but still. Sireni’s small body trembled as she tried to fall asleep, her hands clutching the edge of Suzuno’s cloak.

Suzuno smiled softly, lying beside her. “You’re frowning again,” she teased. “Your face will stay that way if you’re not careful.”

Sireni mumbled into her arm. “Can’t help it. My tummy hurts when I think about those men.”

Suzuno reached out and poked her side gently, making the girl squeak. “Maybe this will help.”

Sireni tried not to laugh. “Suzunoooo!”

Suzuno grinned, pretending to bite at the air near her arm. “Nom! Nom! A tasty little sister snack! I’ll eat you if you don’t smile~”

That earned a real laugh, a shrill, bright sound that cut through the heaviness of the night. Sireni squirmed, giggling uncontrollably until tears welled at the corners of her eyes.

From where they sat near the fire, Kasaru and Karumu looked up, both smiling faintly. The sound of Sireni’s laughter seemed to heal something in them too.

“She’s amazing,” Karumu murmured, voice low. “Even after everything…”

Kasaru nodded, eyes warm as they followed Suzuno. “She always finds light to give someone else, even when hers must be flickering.”

Within minutes, Sireni’s laughter faded into little hiccups, then quiet breaths. She was asleep, her head on Suzuno’s arm, face peaceful at last. Suzuno brushed a kiss against her forehead and murmured something too soft to hear.

Hours later, the camp was silent. Karumu was asleep beside the camels, the fire only embers now.

But Kasaru stirred. Something felt… off.

He rose soundlessly, the desert training in his muscles. Sure enough, he saw her—Suzuno, standing just beyond the ruins, bathed in moonlight. Her hair swayed gently in the dry wind, her arms wrapped around herself as she looked out over the endless dark horizon.

Kasaru approached carefully, making sure she heard his steps before he was close enough to startle her. “Can’t sleep?”

She turned, the moon catching the pale sadness in her eyes. “You too?”

“Habit,” he admitted with a faint smile. “And you?”

She looked down. “I thought I was fine earlier… but the quiet makes it harder to lie to myself.”

He stepped beside her, keeping a respectful distance. “You’re thinking about what happened.”

Suzuno nodded slowly. “About… him. Them.” Her voice was soft. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve killed. But it was the first time Sireni saw me do it.”

Kasaru’s brows furrowed. “You protected her.”

“She shouldn’t have had to see her sister slit a man’s throat,” Suzuno whispered. “Even if he was a monster.” She looked down at her hands, still faintly marked with blood even after washing. “I thought performing the sending would bring me peace, but… it didn’t. My soul feels heavier, not lighter.”

Kasaru folded his arms, his expression solemn but not judgmental. “It doesn’t get easier,” he said quietly. “I wish I could tell you otherwise. Every man I’ve cut down stays with me in some way. Some faces fade, but the feeling…” He exhaled. “That doesn’t.”

Suzuno turned her gaze toward him. “Then how do you bear it?”

He was silent for a moment, watching the dunes glint under the stars. “Because I know why I did it,” he finally said. “When I take a life, it’s never for glory. Never for vengeance. Only to protect what I love. My family, my home… and now, you and the others.”

His voice softened. “If I forget that, I become no better than the ones we fight.”

Suzuno’s throat tightened. “I think… I understand that.”

Kasaru looked at her, the wind shifting a strand of her hair into her face. Without thinking, he reached out and gently brushed it back. “You shouldn’t carry guilt for saving lives, Suzuno. What happened tonight doesn’t make you unclean. It makes you brave.”

Her eyes shimmered in the dim light, the corners softening. “You speak like an old man sometimes.”

He smiled faintly. “Comes from raising Karumu.”

Suzuno giggled weakly, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“I’d say the same for Sireni,” he said, voice low. “She’ll grow up safe and strong because of you. You’re everything a sister should be.”

That made her eyes glisten again. She looked away toward the moon, voice trembling. “Then… I suppose I’ll just have to become stronger still.”

Kasaru’s hand hovered, then rested gently on her shoulder. “You already are.”

They stood together in silence, the horizon stretching endless before them, the desert wind whispering between the dunes. For the first time that night, Suzuno let herself lean—just a little—against him.

And Kasaru, warm and steady as the earth itself, let her.

Suzuno knelt down in the sand, the hem of her robe pooling around her legs. The moonlight washed her in silver, softening the sadness in her eyes.

“When I lived in Toran,” she began quietly, “I was not allowed to kill.”

Kasaru blinked, surprised by the confession.

She ran her finger through the sand, drawing a long, graceful line. “Summoners swear an oath of pacifism when we come of age. We exist to heal, to guide, and to call upon gods. Not to harm.” Her voice dimmed, threaded with wistfulness. “But there are always monsters, and men who wish to interfere with a summoner’s mission. So… we are given guardians.”

She smiled faintly as she began sketching figures in the sand—tall, fluid, intricate strokes, each motion carrying deep affection. “My mother,” she said, pointing to the first shape. A tall woman with long hair cascading like ribbons. “She’s strong. Not just in body, but in spirit. And this—” she drew another line beside it, bold and broad “—my father. An enormous man. He’s the most gentle soul, though he looks frightening even when he smiles. He has this underbite that makes him look like a grumpy bear.”

Kasaru chuckled softly at her fond tone. “A grumpy bear sounds like a man worth trusting.”

Suzuno’s smile softened further. “He is. And these…” she drew smaller figures beside them, the sand becoming crowded with careful strokes, “are my elder siblings. Vaelin, my clever elder brother; Makia, who shines like a sun; Kiyu, my dearest protector; and Kaze…” Her voice faltered with warmth. “The most steadfast of them all. They’re all brilliant. All beautiful. All… willing to do anything to keep my hands clean.”

Kasaru’s expression grew thoughtful, eyes tracing the shapes she made. The tenderness in her voice was like a melody from another life.

“But sometimes,” Suzuno went on, voice trembling, “they couldn’t reach me in time. And I…” Her hand froze mid-line, the sand cool beneath her fingertips. “I had to do it myself. I broke my oath. Nights like this—” she swallowed, staring at the little sand family illuminated by starlight “—remind me how grateful I am for them. And how deeply I miss them now.”

Kasaru’s throat felt tight. Before he could think, he shrugged off his cloak and stepped closer, gently wrapping it around her shoulders. She startled a little, then looked up at him.

“You’ll get cold,” he murmured.

Her lips curved faintly. “And you?”

“I’ll manage.”

For a long while, they sat in silence, the sound of the desert wind whispering over the dunes.

“You have a big family,” Kasaru said eventually, his voice low and sincere. “And a devoted one. That’s not something many can claim.”

Suzuno pulled the cloak tighter around herself, her fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve. “I want to make them proud,” she whispered. “When we reach Sairou, I’ll find a way home. Somehow.”

The thought of her leaving struck him like a quiet blow—something sharp and buried deep beneath the ribs. But he swallowed it down, steadying his breath.

“You will,” he said. “You have the kind of determination that moves mountains.”

She gave a faint, shy laugh. “That’s kind of you.”

Kasaru shook his head. “Not kindness. Truth.”

He hesitated, then met her gaze with quiet resolve. “Until you find what you’re looking for… Karumu and I will be your family. We’ll protect each other, like kin.”

Suzuno blinked at him, eyes widening slightly. “You would… make that promise for a stranger?”

He gave a small, lopsided smile. “You’re not a stranger, Suzuno. Not anymore.”

Her lips parted as if to protest, but no words came. Instead, her hand drifted over the cloak he’d wrapped her in—his warmth still clinging to it.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve such loyalty,” she whispered.

Kasaru’s gaze softened, lingering on her sand-drawn family. “Maybe you remind me of home,” he said quietly. “Or maybe… I just can’t stand seeing someone carry the world alone.”

Suzuno’s chest tightened. She looked down again, tracing the outlines of her family one last time before the wind began to erase them.

“Then,” she said, her voice almost trembling, “until I find my way back to them… I’ll be honored to call you family too.”

Kasaru smiled faintly, heart blooming in quiet ache. “Good.”

The sand between them smoothed under the wind’s touch, their drawn family fading away—but something invisible, sacred, had just begun to take its place.

Suzuno sits in the glow of the small campfire, drawing more shapes in the sand with her finger — tiny marks for her family’s home, the summoning circle, the greenhouse that once filled the air with warmth and color. The air around them hums softly, quiet except for the crackling flame. When she looks up at Kasaru, her eyes are gentle and curious.

“Kasaru… did you have people you looked up to, growing up? Family or friends?”

He leans back on his palms, gazing up at the stars before answering. “I did. My parents and grandparents, mostly. I had plenty of relatives too — it’s hard to find a corner of Sasu without one of them living nearby.” He chuckles. “My mother was a florist. Steadfast woman, and a magnificent cook. I think she could coax life out of anything that looked dead. Probably where I got my green thumb from.”

Suzuno blinks, tilting her head. “You… like flowers?”

“Mm. Quite a bit, actually.”

Her smile softens, a touch of nostalgia drifting through her tone. “Few plants grow in Urtou. But my father engineered a greenhouse — he created an entire ecosystem of his own.” She sketches the shape of it in the sand, tracing an arched roof. “People thought him strange for it. Planting is considered… feminine, outside of Urtou.”

Kasaru scoffs lightly. “That’s a foolish thing to think. Taking care of plants is harder in a different way than wielding a sword or forging one. You need patience, gentleness, understanding. I’d say that takes more strength sometimes.”

Suzuno looks at him, a bit amazed by how easily he says such things. “In Urtou, we do not think much of what is ‘feminine’ or ‘masculine,’ only what is useful. But I’m glad you think like that.”

He smiles, eyes crinkling. “My father and grandfather were sword and forge masters. They taught me everything I know — how to temper a blade, how to hold it, how to kill if needed. I learned it like a natural. But…” He pauses, looking down at his hands. “If I could choose freely, I’d be a florist. I’d run a little shop and live quietly, maybe with someone who loves the smell of soil and the color of dawn.”

Suzuno’s expression softens further. “You remind me of my father,” she says quietly. “He, too, was gentle and wise, and found beauty where no one else thought to look. You would have gotten along with him, I think.”

Kasaru chuckles again, though his heart beats strangely at her words. “You sound like my mother and aunts,” he says, grinning. “‘You’ll get along with this girl! You’d make a fine son-in-law to her father!’ They never stopped matchmaking.”

Suzuno laughs softly, the sound bright and unguarded. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“I know,” he says gently, his grin easing into something warm. “But hearing it from you feels different.” He looks down at the sand where her family is drawn, at the tall figure of her father beside her mother. “If I ever met your family, I think I’d like them. Especially your father.”

Her voice turns quiet, tender. “And if… someone arranged something between us, hypothetically?”

Kasaru looks at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable at first — then it softens into a smile that could melt the night. “Then, for the first time, I think I wouldn’t mind.”

The fire crackles softly. Suzuno’s breath catches, and she looks away quickly — but not before he sees the flush on her cheeks.

Kasaru chuckles quietly, rubbing the back of his neck as Suzuno tilts her head at him, eyes wide with intrigue. The stars shimmer faintly overhead, and the fire paints her features in soft gold.

“So,” she begins, tone playful, “it sounds like you were a rather popular man in Sasu. All these aunts and mothers bringing girls to your doorstep…” she gestures with her hands like she’s arranging figurines in a line, “…like a conveyor belt of hopeful brides, and you rejecting them one by one! What was that about, Kasaru?”

His mouth opens, then shuts again, utterly thrown off by her teasing tone. “W–wait, no, that’s not— it wasn’t like that!” His ears go pink as he stammers. “I promise I’m not… some kind of Casanova playboy type, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Suzuno clasps her hands together and pretends to ponder it with great seriousness. “So it was the conveyor belt then.”

Kasaru groans into his hands. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“I might be,” she admits, smiling. “You make it so easy.”

He peeks at her between his fingers, half-laughing despite himself. “Arranged matches are just… normal in Sasu and Sairou. People marry young, build families early. It’s considered practical. But I—” he hesitates, looking down at the sand. “I never accepted any of them because… well, for a lot of reasons.”

“Like what?” Suzuno asks softly.

He looks up at her again, his expression thoughtful now, almost vulnerable. “I’m not the type to rush into something as important as a lifelong bond. I’d want my partner to be someone I connect with deeply. There’s more to marriage than an impressive family name or skillset. There should be… chemistry. Understanding. Mutual attraction. If none of that’s there, then it doesn’t matter if she’s the best cook in the kingdom or can bear ten children.”

Suzuno listens intently, her expression shifting from teasing to warm admiration. “You speak very sincerely,” she says. “I think I understand what you mean… Makia, Vaelin, and I used to read romance novels together.”

Kasaru raises an eyebrow, amused. “Romance novels?”

“Yes,” she says, nodding with great solemnity. “I only half understood them then, but I remember thinking… that it must be wonderful to love someone who makes your heart flutter every time they smile.”

Kasaru smiles faintly at that, but his ears turn pink again. “Well, I didn’t need books for that. I just… I suppose I’ve always thought about things a lot. Maybe I’m just—” he clears his throat awkwardly— “thoughtful. Or… perhaps a secret romantic, as my brother would tease.”

Suzuno beams, eyes bright. “I think that’s very sweet, Kasaru. You sound like you could teach me a thing or two about romance.”

Her words are so innocently meant, but the tone—soft, earnest, slightly breathy—lands right in his chest. Kasaru’s composure falters completely; his face turns crimson as he chokes out a half-laugh.

“Y-you’re teasing me again, aren’t you?”

Suzuno blinks, tilting her head. “No, I meant it sincerely.”

Which, somehow, makes it worse. He can’t look at her for a long moment, because the smile on her face and the quiet sincerity in her voice make his heart beat far too fast for comfort.

When he finally manages to glance her way, she’s still gazing at him, waiting for an answer with a soft, almost expectant curiosity.

“…You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmurs under his breath.

Suzuno blinks again. “Dangerous?”

“Yes,” he says, smiling helplessly. “But only to men who don’t expect the innocent ones to be the ones who disarm them most completely.”

Kasaru chuckles softly, the warmth of the fire reflecting in his eyes as Suzuno continues her gentle interrogation, legs tucked neatly beneath her, hair glowing like molten copper in the firelight.

“So tell me,” she says, tone bright with curiosity, “how would you have known if any of the girls your family brought you would make a good match, or have… chemistry, as you said, if you didn’t try getting to know them?”

Kasaru hums, smiling faintly. “I did try. With all of them, actually. I’m not rude, you know. We’d have tea or take walks through the gardens, and I’d ask them about their lives, their thoughts, their dreams. They were all fine women, truly—gracious, talented, intelligent.” His expression softens a little as he glances away. “I just didn’t feel… anything. Not that kind of spark. Not that pull that makes you think, ah, this is someone I could spend my life with. My heart stayed still.”

Suzuno tilts her head, intrigued. “What if,” she begins mischievously, “one of them decided to take you away and not let you go until she proved herself worthy of your love?”

Kasaru nearly chokes. “Take me away?”

She nods, expression so serious it’s almost comical. “That is what I’ve heard some Gerudo women do when they fall in love—they court very directly. I think. I’m not entirely certain; I was rather young when I overheard the older girls talking about it.”

Kasaru looks at her as though he’s unsure whether to laugh or flee. “That sounds… terrifying.”

Suzuno blinks, confused. “Terrifying?”

“I’m not a fan of forced courtship,” he says, half-smiling, rubbing his neck. “Being kidnapped by a determined suitor is not high on my list of romantic ideals.”

Suzuno giggles, trying not to laugh too loudly. “Fascinating. So for you, finding a partner is all trial and error?”

He nods. “I suppose so. Some find it quickly; others, it takes time. My parents and grandparents always told me, ‘You’ll know when you know.’ Which isn’t very helpful.”

“That’s what elders always say,” Suzuno sighs, poking at the sand with her fingertip. “But… I think I understand a little. Sometimes you feel things before you can name them.”

Kasaru looks at her quietly, the fire between them snapping and popping. She’s gazing into the flames, completely unaware of how her words and presence are stirring something new in him—something quiet, bright, and unbearably tender.

Maybe his grandparents weren’t so vague after all.

Suzuno looks up again, catching him staring. “Hm? What is it?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, perhaps too quickly. Then, to cover his fluster, he adds, “I was just thinking—perhaps spending so much time with my grandparents is why I sound like an old man sometimes.”

Suzuno’s laughter bursts forth like bells. “You do!”

“Oh? Look who’s talking,” he fires back with mock offense. “You speak like a hyper-formal diplomat.”

Suzuno straightens, smiling proudly. “But I am a diplomat!”

“Yes, but you sound like one even when you’re teasing me!”

She gasps dramatically. “Do I?!”

“Completely,” Kasaru says, grinning. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were addressing the emperor every time you said my name.”

Suzuno presses a hand to her chest, feigning scandal. “Then you’d better start addressing me with the proper respect, General Kasaru.”

He bows his head slightly, playing along. “Yes, Lady Suzuno. Shall I prepare your royal tea, or will you grace me with more lessons in courtly etiquette first?”

Suzuno giggles helplessly at that, her cheeks pink and eyes glimmering in the firelight. “I think I prefer you when you’re teasing,” she says softly.

And something in her tone—innocent as it sounds—makes Kasaru’s heart skip. He’s not sure when the air between them changed, but it has. The night feels softer, the laughter more intimate, every glance more charged.

He clears his throat lightly, trying to steady himself. “Then I’ll take that as permission to continue, my lady diplomat.”

She hides her smile behind her hand. “You may.”

Their laughter fades into a comfortable hush, both of them a little too aware now—of the silence, of each other, of something new and unspoken hanging delicately between them.

The first pale rays of dawn stretch across the sand, painting the dunes gold when Kasaru stirs awake. His body still hums faintly from last night’s adrenaline, but the world is calm again—the hush of morning, the steady breathing of the two sleeping children, and the soft rustle of fabric as Suzuno’s silhouette moves beyond the ruins.

She’s not where he left her.

He sits up quietly, reaching for his sword by instinct. But as his eyes adjust, he sees her crouched beside the camels, wrapped in his cloak from last night, her long red hair swaying as she strokes their necks and whispers softly to them.

Kasaru exhales through his nose, smile tugging at his lips. Of course. The camels.

He rises carefully, brushing the sand from his clothes and stepping closer—but slow enough that his boots crunch just enough to keep from startling her. She turns at the sound, already grinning.

“Oh! Good morning,” she chirps, voice gentle enough not to wake the others.

“Good morning,” Kasaru returns, still half-sleepy but amused. “You’re up before even the sun today. What are you and our steeds conspiring about so early?”

Suzuno giggles, giving one of the camels a final pat before straightening. “Conspiring? Nothing of the sort. I was only greeting them. They’re such noble creatures, aren’t they?”

Kasaru’s brow arches. “You’ve greeted them every morning since we met. I thought it was just habit.”

“It is habit,” she admits, clasping her hands behind her back. “But it’s also excitement. I can’t help it. They’re so gentle, and their eyes—look at those lashes! Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?”

Kasaru folds his arms, fighting a smile. “I’ve seen a few things.”

She doesn’t notice the warmth in his tone, too enchanted by the camel now nuzzling her shoulder. “Where I come from,” she continues, “we have a beast god—Naboris—said to be shaped like a colossal camel made of metal and sand. Seeing these creatures makes me feel as if I’ve met one of his descendants.”

Kasaru hums thoughtfully. “So that’s what they remind you of. You must have had quite the menagerie in Urtou.”

Suzuno laughs. “Not like this. Most creatures in my homeland are built for battle or survival. Scales, talons, horns, teeth! Even our sand wolves bite harder than steel.” She leans against the camel’s side, smiling dreamily. “But these ones… they seem to carry peace.”

Kasaru watches her in the soft light, hair catching fire with sunrise, eyes glimmering like wet jade. He’s supposed to be listening about gods and creatures and teeth, but the sight of her cooing to a beast twice her size makes something warm stir behind his ribs.

“So,” he says finally, voice low with amusement, “if these soft, long-lashed ones delight you this much… how are you going to fare when you meet an alpaca? Or a desert goat? Or—gods forbid—a ferret?”

Suzuno’s eyes light up instantly. “There are such things here?!”

“Mm-hm,” he says, chuckling at her gasp.

“You must show them to me,” she pleads, clasping her hands together with a childlike grin. “Promise you will, Kasaru?”

He huffs a quiet laugh and looks away, pretending to adjust the camel’s reins to hide his smile. “You make it difficult to say no when you ask like that.”

“Then you’ll show me?”

He glances at her again—bright, glowing with life in the dawn—and nods. “I’ll show you.”

Her delighted little clap makes his chest tighten. He finds himself suddenly looking forward to reaching Kumu—not for the supplies, not for rest, but because he wants to see that exact expression again. To see her marvel at the world the way she’s doing now.

The sun finally crests the dunes, lighting the edges of her hair like copper flame. She pats the camel one last time and turns to him, smiling softly.

“Thank you,” she says.

Kasaru’s heart trips. “For what?”

“For sharing your world with me.”

He swallows the lump in his throat, smiling faintly. “It’s my pleasure, Suzuno.”

And it truly is.

Kasaru finishes tightening the last strap on the camel’s pack when a quiet, happy sound draws his attention.

Suzuno has knelt down between the two children, who still lie tangled in their blankets. She’s gathered them both in her arms, stroking their hair with such motherly tenderness that Kasaru nearly forgets to breathe.

“Good morning, my little ones,” she murmurs, voice like silk. “Did you sleep well? No bad dreams?”

Sireni blinks sleepily, rubbing her eyes. “Mm-mm. No nightmares. I dreamt about the camels. They could fly.”

Suzuno giggles softly. “That’s a lovely dream. Maybe we’ll meet one that can someday.”

Karumu, on the other hand, makes a sound halfway between a grunt and a groan, his dark hair sticking up in all directions. Suzuno smooths it down, only for it to spring right back up like stubborn grass.

“Oh, look at this—what a ferocious warrior!” she teases gently. “His hair rises in battle even before he does.”

Karumu squints at her through the fuzz of sleep. “Please don’t make fun of me, Lady Suzuno…”

“I’m not making fun of you,” she insists, hugging him closer. “I’m admiring you! You’re so cute when you’re sleepy. If I had a son, I’d want him to look just like you, you sweet little boy.”

Karumu’s face goes pink instantly. “L-Lady Suzuno!”

Suzuno laughs softly, cooing again and giving him another squeeze, which only makes him puff up like an offended kitten. “Oh no, he’s angry now! Even cuter!”

Kasaru, watching from a short distance, presses a hand to his mouth to stifle the laugh rising in his throat. Gods help the boy, he thinks. He never stood a chance.

But then her words echo in his mind again—If I had a son, I’d want him to look just like you. And his laugh falters. Because Karumu does look exactly like him.

The image hits him before he can stop it: Suzuno smiling like that, holding a small child with his eyes, his hair, her soft grace—

Kasaru’s face heats immediately. He rubs the back of his neck, muttering a quiet curse to the desert wind. No. Don’t go there.

Suzuno looks up just then, catching his expression. “Kasaru, are you alright?”

He straightens quickly, trying to look casual as he shoulders one of the packs. “Fine. Just… morning air.”

Her smile softens. “You look warm.”

“I’m fine,” he repeats, a little too firmly. “You three should eat before we go.”

She nods and turns back to the children—thankfully unaware of the whirlwind in his chest.

As Karumu sulks through his breakfast and Sireni giggles, Kasaru can’t help himself. He passes behind them, ruffling his brother’s hair. “You heard the lady, little one. Better behave, or she might just adopt you.”

“Kasaru!” Karumu hisses, mortified.

Suzuno beams. “Oh, I’d love that.”

Kasaru laughs outright this time, unable to resist teasing both of them. “Well, you two already get along like family.”

Suzuno’s eyes flick to him, something tender and unspoken resting there for just a second—before she looks back at the children.

Kasaru had felt it first—the way the horizon darkened in a way no night ever would. A creeping wall of shadow. A shape he knew too well.

Sandstorm.

His stomach dropped, but he kept his face even, steady, the way he always did for Karumu. “We may have to push through the evening,” he murmured, adjusting the reins. “If we can find ruins—”

Karumu swallowed hard, eyes locked on the distant smear of darkness. “Kasaru… it’s big.”

“I know.” And he did. The kind of storm that could peel flesh, sandblast bone. The kind that had taken their whole world once. His fingers tightened on the reins, jaw tense. They’d been riding hard all day. Their canteens were halfway drained. Sireni was growing droopy in her saddle. Suzuno kept smiling, but he could see the fatigue in her shoulders.

“We keep going,” Kasaru decided. “We must.”

But then Suzuno quietly tugged her camel to a stop and pointed at the most pathetic shelter imaginable—just a chunk of sandstone jutting from the dunes.

Karumu stared at her as though she’d suggested they ride into the storm. “Lady Suzuno,” he whispered, horrified. “That won’t protect us from anything.”

“Nothing at all,” Kasaru agreed. “We need actual walls or—Suzuno? What are you doing?”

She hopped down from her camel with surprising energy for someone who’d traveled nonstop under the sun, brushing sand from her hands. “Sireni, sweetheart,” she said warmly, “watch closely, alright? This is a very important desert spell.”

Sireni perked up instantly and nodded, eyes bright. Suzuno rewarded her with a kiss to the forehead and a soft pat. The child practically melted, beaming.

Kasaru blinked. Karumu whispered, “What is she—”

Suzuno pressed her palms into the sand. A hum of magic pulsed through the ground.

The smooth desert floor hardened, flattening, expanding—and within seconds a solid, wide stone platform lay beneath them, sturdy enough to hold everyone and even the camels.

Kasaru’s mouth fell open.

“That’s… new,” he whispered.

But Suzuno wasn’t done. She walked the edge of the platform, trailing a ribbon of flame from her fingertips, carving ancient glyphs into the stone—each glowing faintly, pulsing with power. When she reached the end of the circle, the entire barrier shimmered to life around them, a transparent dome like solidified moonlight.

It hummed once. Then stilled.

Suzuno picked up a stone and tossed it. It smacked the barrier and bounced off harmlessly.

She turned back to them, cheeks pink with pride. “See? Nothing can get through. Not wind, not sand, not animals. We’ll be perfectly cozy.”

Kasaru and Karumu both stared like she’d just turned into a god herself.

“…Kasaru,” Karumu whispered, “she has to be the priestess.”

“She doesn’t even seem to know,” Kasaru whispered back, overwhelmed. “Byakko chose… her? This girl who makes tea like it’s diplomacy and tells camels they’re handsome?”

“…She is very sweet,” Karumu admitted.

“Astonishingly,” Kasaru muttered.

Meanwhile Suzuno cheerfully unloaded the camels, humming as she spread rugs, blankets, and tarps into a cozy nest. She lit a fire with a gentle flick of her hand, the flame blooming warm and steady against the cooling desert.

Sireni scampered over and Suzuno scooped her right up, snuggling her against her chest. “Did you learn a lot, my little star?”

Sireni nodded so hard her braids flopped. Suzuno giggled, hugging her tight.

Kasaru’s heart squeezed. Painfully.

Then Suzuno turned to the brothers with that luminous smile, holding out steaming cups. “Come sit with us, please. I made tea. You must be tired… and probably frightened. You’re safe now.”

Kasaru swallowed, his throat suddenly too full.

Frightened. Safe. Words he and Karumu had rarely felt in years—not since Sasu had been torn away by a storm just like the one growling toward them now.

But here, in a circle of carved light… with this gentle girl who made impossible things feel simple… they felt it.

Karumu curled into a blanket immediately, cradling his tea. “This is… really warm,” he murmured, surprised.

Kasaru sat more slowly, still watching Suzuno with a mixture of awe and something deeper, heavier. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “You may not realize it, but… you saved us.”

Suzuno blinked, flustered. “Oh—I just didn’t want anyone to suffer. Or be scared. Magic is meant to help, after all.”

Kasaru looked around the perfectly crafted shelter, at the camels snorting contentedly, at Sireni yawning in Suzuno’s lap.

“No,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re meant to help.”

Suzuno tilted her head, not understanding his meaning at all—just smiling sweetly and offering him another blanket.

And as the storm finally reached them, roaring like the end of the world, the barrier held without even a tremor.

The brothers exchanged a long, quiet look. Not fear. Not dread.

Just the slow, dawning certainty that—maybe for the first time since Sasu fell—

they were traveling with someone who could shelter all of them.

The storm was close enough now that the air outside the barrier had begun to writhe. Dark gold sand curling like smoke, tugged by the furious wind. The barrier held steady—but trauma didn’t listen to logic.

Karumu sat tight-shouldered, knees pulled close, trying to look like he was just… cold. Or bored. Anything except scared. Kasaru sat beside him with the kind of rigid calm only big brothers learned to fake.

Suzuno, pouring tea, caught the way Karumu’s fingers trembled just once.

She set the teapot down. “Karumu?” she called gently.

He snapped his head up as if caught doing something wrong. “Y-Yes?”

She smiled—warm as a sunbeam breaking through clouds. “Would you like to see something silly?”

Before he could refuse, she dipped a hand into the sand beside her, swirling it in a lazy circle. The grains rose, puffed, and suddenly compacted into a lumpy, adorable little duck.

The duck blinked. Then shuffled. Then—

She made it sway side to side dramatically.

“Bomp bomp bomp,” Suzuno intoned with absolute seriousness. “Bana-ma-nom.”

Karumu let out a startled laugh. “What—what is it doing—?”

Suzuno flicked her wrist, and a tiny sand “lemonade stand” popped up beside the duck.

“A duck walked up to a lemonade stand,” she narrated as the duck bobbled forward, “and he said to the man running the stand—hey! Bomp bomp bomp! Got any grapes?”

Karumu snorted—snorted—and slapped a hand over his mouth like he’d betrayed his own dignity.

Kasaru looked between them, bewildered. “What’s lemonade?”

“Not important,” Suzuno said cheerfully, already forming the next shape.

A raptor. Then another raptor. They chirped and chased each other around Karumu’s boots.

Karumu’s eyes went huge. “W-Wait—! Again! Again!”

Suzuno laughed softly and obliged. Horses galloped in a ring. A camel strutted regally with exaggerated eyelashes. A sand ferret popped out of an invisible tunnel, wiggled its rear, and dove back in.

Karumu leaned forward, grin wide, fear forgotten entirely.

When he was fully, delightfully himself again, Suzuno crawled closer on the soft rugs, the firelight glowing on her cheeks.

“Karumu,” she murmured.

He blinked up at her.

“The thing about you is…”

She pulled him gently into her arms.

“…you’re cute even when you’re scared.” She smoothed his hair with tender fingers. “But even cuter when you smile, my dear.”

Karumu froze.

Completely.

Then a blush exploded across his face. “I—I—I’m not cute! Or scared! I wasn’t—!”

He looked desperately to his big brother for backup.

Kasaru raised an eyebrow, utterly unhelpful. “It’s true, you are rather cute, brother of mine. Why don’t you let me hug you like that?”

Karumu made a betrayed noise.

Suzuno gasped softly. “He is cute! Like a baby camel! Or a tiny raptor! Or—”

“Please stop,” Karumu begged, mortified.

Suzuno just hugged him tighter, full of unfiltered affection. “You’re precious.”

He tried to wriggle away, but when Suzuno’s hand rubbed his back—gentle, warm, so mother-soft—he stilled. For a boy who’d lost everything, a boy who’d been brave for too long… being held felt like something inside him unclenched.

His breathing slowed. His shoulders eased.

He didn’t hug her back, too embarrassed— but he didn’t pull away either.

Kasaru watched, quiet, struck. This girl—this strange, magical, innocent girl—had known them for mere days. But she comforted Karumu like she’d loved him forever.

He felt something tighten in his chest. Not romantic, not yet… but gratitude so deep it almost hurt.

Suzuno glanced at Kasaru over Karumu’s head, smiling softly. “He’s safe,” she mouthed.

Kasaru nodded, voice low. “…Because you’re here.”

Outside, the storm howled like a monster. Inside the barrier, Karumu’s small, content sigh filled the quiet.

Warmth. Safety. A little light in all that darkness.

And Kasaru realized—utterly unaware Suzuno would one day hold him the same way—

she was slowly turning their journey into a home.

Kasaru had barely finished marveling at Suzuno cuddling his little brother when Sireni—half-asleep, half-angelic menace—noticed the scene.

She blinked once. Then crawled over on all fours like a tiny desert fox.

“Um,” she said softly, tugging at Suzuno’s sleeve, “may I have snuggles too?”

Karumu’s entire face went crimson at the sudden presence of two girls leaning into him. “W-Wait—hold on—this is—this is too—!”

Sireni stared at him. “Do you… not want to share?”

Karumu, flustered beyond language, made a noise like a dying bird.

Sireni sighed theatrically. “Fine. I’ll just go cuddle Kasaru instead.”

“Wha—HEY—!”

She toddled over to the older brother, who stiffened in pure confusion as she planted herself in front of him and looked up with doe-eyed sweetness.

“Kasaru,” she said with perfect politeness, “may I be held too? Please?”

Kasaru blinked. Twice. “…Uh. Yes? Of course.”

And she promptly climbed into his lap like she owned the place, curling into him with a little hum of satisfaction.

“It’s a snuggle contest,” she announced.

Kasaru mouthed silently to himself: A what?

Suzuno’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Oh, a contest? Then I must win.”

Before Karumu could decipher what she meant, Suzuno wrapped her legs around him—cradling him like an oversized kitten—and rolled them both sideways in a flailing, sandy tumble.

Karumu shrieked. “S-SUZUNO—STOP—THIS IS—AAAAAAAH—!!”

Sand flew everywhere. Her laughter echoed off the barrier. Karumu’s limbs pinwheeled helplessly as she smothered him in an affectionate death grip.

Sireni gasped. “OHHH! I want to roll too!”

She turned her face up sweetly. “Kasaru? Please?”

Kasaru hesitated, imagining replicating Suzuno’s chaos with the world’s tiniest princess. “…I’ll roll gently, alright?”

Sireni nodded eagerly.

He tipped over sideways with her tucked against him, slow and careful like rolling a sleepy kitten. Sireni giggled with absolute delight.

And that was it— chaos ignited.

Suzuno and Karumu went rolling again in a noisy tumble of limbs. Sireni begged Kasaru for faster. Karumu escaped only to get pounced on again. Kasaru tried to maintain dignity and failed miserably.

Within moments all four of them were sprawled in a heap on the rugs, breathless, hair full of sand, laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe. Eventually the kids wrestled free and scampered off, energy restored by sheer silliness.

Karumu pointed accusingly at Sireni. “YOU started something way too goofy!”

“I did not!” she protested with dramatic indignation. “It was you!” And then she tagged him. “You’re it!”

Karumu gasped. “I’M WHAT—oh—you’re in for it now—!”

They took off in frantic circles, ducking behind rugs, leaping over packs, shrieking with giddy laughter.

Against the storm-shadowed barrier—where sand clawed and snarled—two children played like the world wasn’t ending outside.

Kasaru watched them, breath catching in his throat. Suzuno watched them too, eyes soft with pride.

Then their gazes met.

And it was… electric.

Suzuno’s red hair was fanned over the intricately patterned rugs. Golden firelight danced over the sand dusting her cheeks. Her lips were parted slightly from laughter, her green eyes bright and alive.

Kasaru forgot how to breathe.

She grinned. “Well? Would you like to roll with me too?”

His brain short-circuited.

Her legs. Around him. Rolling.

That was— Deeply not safe for his sanity.

And also physically improbable given size differences.

But he swallowed the fluster, straightened, and declared with mock bravado:

“You’ll never catch me.”

Suzuno laughed like bells. “Oh? We’ll see about that.”

Kasaru bolted. Suzuno gave chase.

The kids saw movement and instantly redirected— “NEW GAME!! CHASE THEM!!”

And within seconds all four were sprinting and laughing, crashing into each other in a pile again, tangled up in joy and fabric and warm limbs.

The storm tore at the world outside.

But inside the barrier— there was laughter. There was warmth. There was something like a family forming by accident.

Kasaru took off running again—long legs, sand kicking up behind him, the picture of a man pretending very hard he was not being hunted by three small desert demons and one very determined priestess.

“GET HIM!” Karumu yelled, absolutely gleeful.

Sireni echoed, “YES! HE’S THE OLDEST, HE SHOULD BE EASY!!”

Kasaru barked a laugh at that. “Easy? Me? You wound me.”

He slowed his pace just enough to keep them from tripping over themselves, ducking left, dodging right, letting them believe they were this close to catching him. But Suzuno? Suzuno was a different story entirely.

She was right on his heels, feet swift, hair trailing behind her like a banner of red flame.

“Kasaru…” she warned playfully.

He shot her a sideways grin. “Yes?”

“Stop running!”

“Why? Afraid you can’t keep up?”

She laughed—bright, bubbling, effortless—and it hit him right in the chest. His stride faltered just a beat because that sound made something warm and stupid bloom behind his ribs.

“You'll be in my clutches soon, just you wait!” she teased him. Suzuno meant to sound more evil, but it was hard to tell behind the light hearted giggles that stirred more sweetness in Kasaru.

He smirked, slowing even further. “Tell me, Suzuno—what exactly are you planning to do if you catch me? Not that you will, of course.”

Her eyes widened just slightly—she clearly had no plan beyond catch Kasaru because fun—but she lifted her chin defiantly.

“I’ll… think of something!”

Her laugh was so infectious he nearly forgot to dodge Karumu’s attempted tackle. He stepped aside with a dramatic sidestep, and the boy toppled into a rug in a rolling heap.

Sireni tried to mirror the move—adorably failing and sliding across the rug in a fluffy heap.

Kasaru snorted. He hasn’t played like this in… how long?

Not since before the raids. Not since before grief swallowed whole pieces of him. This kind of joy… he thought it had died with the rest of his childhood.

But Suzuno was chasing him through a storm like joy was something that could be summoned from thin air.

Karumu and Sireni scrambled back to their feet—determined. They did a coordinated step toward him to create a little trap on the rug.

Kasaru grinned.

But they miscalculated the slick underlayer.

The rug jerked. Karumu slipped sideways. Sireni lost her balance. Suzuno moved to dodge the chaos—

And her foot caught the shifting fabric.

“Kasaru—!”

He barely had time to brace.

She collided into him, sending them both tumbling back onto the layered rugs in a quiet fwump.

Kasaru hit the ground flat on his back, air rushing out of him. Suzuno landed squarely on his chest. The world went still.

Her hair spilled forward, veiling his face like a curtain of fire. And all at once— her scent hit him.

Sweet. Warm. How did she still smell like blossoms after days of desert wind? How—

He swallowed.

She lifted her head, breath brushing his cheek.

Their eyes met.

His heart stopped.

Gods, she was— He had known she was lovely. He had eyes. But this close? Face framed by red hair, cheeks flushed from laughter, lips parted in surprise?

It knocked the breath out of him harder than the fall did.

Her own expression softened, as if she were seeing him in a new light too—the handsome lines of his face, the unexpected gentleness in his eyes.

Karumu and Sireni approached cautiously, fidgeting.

“S-sorry!” Sireni whispered.

“We didn’t mean for you to fall!” Karumu added, mortified.

That snapped Kasaru and Suzuno out of their trance.

They scrambled apart—both talking over each other.

“No harm done!” “I’m totally fine—really!” “You didn’t do anything wrong—” “It was the rugs—” “I tripped—no, I stumbled—”

They froze, realizing their flustered babble was perfectly synchronized.

Then— they both burst into laughter.

Full, messy, relieved laughter.

Because the whole thing was absurd. Because Kasaru hadn’t expected to find this in the desert. Because Suzuno hadn’t expected to feel so light. Because life—despite everything—still surprised them.

Kasaru wiped a tear of laughter from his eye, shaking his head.

“Honestly…” he murmured, still smiling, “I didn’t think the desert had any laughter left in it.”

Suzuno nudged his shoulder with hers. “It does now.”

He looked at her—really looked.

She was right. And he felt stupidly, impossibly, gratefully alive.

The storm outside raged like a living thing, a dark wall of sand clawing at the barrier Suzuno had cast. Inside the shelter, though, everything felt… strangely soft. Warm. Full of the exhausted little breaths of two children sleeping in a tangle of blankets and limbs.

Karumu had tried—really tried—to keep his dignity. But after ten minutes of Suzuno hugging Sireni, he’d started to inch closer. After twenty, he’d mumbled that he was “cold.” After thirty, he was asleep with his face pressed into her shoulder, her hand stroking the back of his head in slow, loving passes that would’ve melted steel.

Kasaru watched from a few paces away, trying not to smile too fondly at the scene. Eventually he convinced himself he could slip away without waking anyone and stepped outside the ring of rugs toward the edge of the barrier. He sat with crossed legs, watching the storm distort the world into shifting ochre currents.

He’d barely exhaled when a small rustle of blankets sounded behind him.

Suzuno emerged, soft-footed as a desert fox, her red hair tousled and one cheek still faintly stamped with Karumu’s sleeping face. She settled beside him without a word, knees pulled to her chest, her shoulder brushing his with gentle warmth.

For a while they just watched the storm move like an angry ocean.

Kasaru broke the silence first—quiet, like if he spoke any louder it might shatter the moment.

“…Thank you.”

Her head tipped, puzzled. “For what?”

“For being you,” he said simply. “For… all of this.”

That made her blink, then smile—the soft kind, like morning sunlight.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly self-conscious. “I knew this journey would be difficult. I prepared myself for that. But… it’s been better than I had any right to hope. Because of you. And Sireni. And—” he huffed a laugh “—your ridiculous sand ducks.”

Her cheeks warmed. “You liked those?”

“I adored them,” he admitted, gaze drifting out to the storm again. “You make everything lighter. Even the weight I thought I’d never set down.”

Suzuno’s expression shifted—tender, almost protective. “Kasaru…”

“The storm,” he murmured, nodding at it. “When I was younger, I didn’t understand how something so natural could destroy everything. I used to think—” he exhaled hard “—that if I were stronger, smarter, older… maybe I could’ve stopped it.”

Suzuno’s heart twisted. Quietly, she moved her hand just a little closer to his. Not touching—just there.

He continued, voice steady but edged with old hurt. “Seeing it from within your barrier… it’s strange. I can look at it without feeling like I’m back there. I can breathe. I can…” His throat bobbed. “I can forgive it. Maybe. One day.”

She swallowed, her voice small—like it hurt to speak. “Kasaru… I wish—I truly wish—I had met you sooner. Where I come from, our magic and our technology… they’re made to prevent storms like this from destroying homes. If I had known you then, or if I had been there…” She trailed off. “Maybe things could’ve been different.”

He looked at her fully then—eyes soft, warm, grounding. “Suzuno,” he murmured, “your heart is too generous.”

“No,” she whispered. “Just… full.”

“And beautiful,” he said before he could think better of it.

Her breath caught.

He cleared his throat—face pink but voice earnest. “I’m grateful I met you when I did. Truly. The gods must have wanted our paths to cross this way. And I’m glad, despite everything.”

The wind howled again, but inside the barrier Kasaru looked almost peaceful. Lighter. Like he’d finally taken a long breath he’d been holding for years.

Suzuno saw it—the shift in him—and her own heart swelled with something fierce and gentle all at once. She wanted to protect him. Comfort him. Hold him the way she held his brother. She wanted—

Kasaru’s hand lifted hesitantly, stopping just shy of hers.

“…Is this alright?” he asked, voice nearly lost to the storm.

She nodded, and their fingers interlaced—tentatively at first, then with a quiet, mutual certainty.

Warm. Grounding. Soft.

Suzuno whispered, “You’re not alone in this desert anymore.”

He smiled—small, real, unguarded. “No,” he said. “I’m not.”

The storm raged on. And the two of them sat hand-in-hand, wrapped in a stolen pocket of peace, growing closer without even trying.

The storm’s roar had softened into a steady, low thunder—like the desert itself humming.

Kasaru sat with Suzuno at his side, their shoulders just touching, their hands loosely joined. It should’ve felt awkward, maybe too intimate for two people who’d only known each other a short while. Instead it felt… right. Natural. As if this was exactly where he was meant to be, and exactly who he was meant to be beside.

He watched the storm for a long while… but after a time, his gaze wandered. Of its own accord.

Suzuno was watching the sand swirl like she was studying something beautiful, not monstrous. Her eyes reflected the shifting glow, green and bright. Her hair—gods, her hair—was a red curtain caught in the breeze of her own magic. And her face, soft and gentle, still carried traces of Karumu and Sireni’s tiny hands where they’d clung to her earlier.

She was beautiful. Not just in the face-turning, heart-thudding way—though that too. But in her softness. Her patience. Her boundless tenderness.

He had prepared himself to protect her. To be her support, knowing she was far from home and burdened with responsibility.

And yet…

He swallowed hard.

It was her holding him up. Her calming Karumu. Her sheltering them with magic that probably cost her more energy than she’d ever admit.

What had he given in return? A few jokes? Some polite conversation? It felt wildly, painfully inadequate.

He wanted to do something for her. Anything. But what could a man with no home, no possessions, nothing but his clothes and a goofy little brother offer someone like Suzuno? Someone spectacular?

One day, he thought desperately, heart beginning to race, when we reach Sairou… I’ll find something. I’ll work any job they give me. I’ll make enough to offer her…

A home. A small, quiet place she could come to whenever she wished.

A scarf—no, a necklace. Something pretty and warm and worthy of her.

Or a fluffy creature—she liked cute things. Maybe something soft that she could hug the way she hugged Karumu.

Gods, he realized suddenly, these are things you give a betrothed.

His heart hammered so loudly he almost didn’t hear her voice break the silence.

“Kasaru?”

He blinked, trying to look normal.

“Yes?”

She pointed at his braid. “Your hair… is it common for men to wear it this long?”

He huffed a little laugh, relieved she couldn’t read his thoughts. “In Sasu? Yes. Most men grow their hair into a long braid. We… honor nature by letting it grow. And honor women by keeping it neat and strong.” A touch of color warmed his cheeks. “At least, that’s what my mother said.”

Suzuno’s eyes lit with curiosity. “That’s beautiful. I like that tradition.” A pause. Then, hopeful and shy, “Kasaru… may I re-braid it for you?”

His brain short-circuited.

Her hands. In his hair. Her fingers running from the base of his neck all the way down.

He couldn’t breathe for a beat.

“Ah—yes,” he said, maybe too quickly. “If… if you wish.”

She smiled brightly—too brightly for his poor heart—and scooted behind him. He sat very still as her knees touched his back and her fingers gently found the tie in his braid.

When she unraveled it, his whole spine warmed. Her fingertips brushed his scalp, slow and careful, and he had to close his eyes. Because if she saw the way they widened…

She combed her fingers through the length of his hair, smoothing it like silk. Every stroke sent a warm shiver down his neck.

“Your hair is beautiful, Kasaru,” she murmured, more to herself than him.

He exhaled very, very carefully. If he spoke now his voice might break.

She divided his hair with soft precision, weaving the strands, her touch so tender it felt like something sacred. Like she was learning him. Memorizing him.

He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to melt or pray.

He could feel her breath near his ear when she leaned forward to cross the strands. And gods, gods, she smelled like desert blossoms.

When we reach Sairou, he thought, dizzy with affection, I’ll give her the entire world if I can.

He didn’t say a word—afraid he’d ruin the moment.

And Suzuno, blissfully unaware she was unraveling him as easily as she unraveled his braid, kept working with gentle focus… weaving him back together, one soft touch at a time.

Kasaru sat quietly for a moment longer, letting her fingers work, before he spoke—soft, thoughtful, like he didn’t want to disturb the spell she’d cast with nothing but gentleness.

“You’re… wonderful with children,” he said at last. “I’m glad you get along with Karumu so well.”

Suzuno’s hands paused for half a heartbeat, then resumed, even gentler than before.

“I remember you saying you always wanted children,” he continued, glancing toward the small bundle of blankets where Karumu and Sireni slept, curled together like kittens. “And I know my brother isn’t a baby anymore, but… you treat him like one. In the best way.” His voice warmed. “Seeing that kind of tenderness out here—where everything is so harsh—it means more than I can say.”

She let out a quiet, relieved breath.

“I was worried,” she admitted softly, “that I was overstepping. We’re still strangers, after all. I didn’t want you to think I was… taking liberties with your family.”

Kasaru smiled faintly. “If anything, you’ve made the journey easier. The desert feels less empty with you and Sireni here.” He hesitated, then added honestly, “You’re very good company, Suzuno.”

Her cheeks warmed at that, and she ducked her head a little, fingers still busy weaving his hair.

He cleared his throat, emboldened. “Do you… often style hair?” He tilted his head slightly, curious. “Yours is a color I’ve never seen before. In Sairou, most people have dark hair like mine, or very light. Nothing like this.”

The words landed wrong the moment they left his mouth.

“I—ah—” He winced. “I didn’t mean to make you sound strange. I find it beautiful, truly. I only meant that it’s rare.”

Now he sounded far too forward.

He straightened instinctively, trying to regain his usual polite composure. “Forgive me.”

Suzuno laughed—a soft, musical sound that instantly eased the tension.

“I understand,” she said warmly. “Even in my own world, my hair stands out.” She gave the braid a gentle tug to even it out. “As for styling… my elder sister used to braid my hair all the time.”

Kasaru’s ears perked slightly. “Your sister?”

“Mhm. Her name is Makia.” Suzuno smiled, fond and a little wistful. “She’s… very beautiful. And talented. And kind. People admire her a lot, but she’s humble about it. She taught me how to braid, how to be patient… how to love gently.” Her voice softened. “I think a lot of who I am comes from her.”

Kasaru listened closely, genuinely captivated. This was the first time she’d spoken of her family in any detail, and he treasured every word.

“I was always more shy than her,” Suzuno went on. “Growing up, I wanted to be just like Makia.” She giggled suddenly. “Though if she ever met Karumu… oh dear. I think her reaction to his cuteness would be immediate. Much worse than mine.”

Kasaru laughed under his breath, picturing it. “So my brother would be utterly spoiled.”

“Completely,” Suzuno agreed cheerfully. “And she’d probably braid your hair far better than I ever could.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “I find that hard to imagine.”

She paused. “Why?”

Kasaru smiled to himself, heart doing that strange, buoyant thing again. “Because you’ve set the bar rather high, Suzuno.”

She blinked, then laughed again, shy and bright, as she finished the braid and tied it neatly.

And as the storm howled uselessly beyond the barrier, Kasaru realized—with a quiet, steady certainty—that they were only days into knowing each other…

…and already, his heart was learning her shape.

Suzuno finished tying off the braid, then lingered there a moment, her hands still lightly resting against his back, as if she wasn’t quite ready to move away.

“…Kasaru,” she said gently, curiosity bright in her voice, “who taught you to braid hair? You said it has meaning in Sasu—about honoring nature and women. Was it… your family?”

He nodded. “Yes. I lived with my parents and my grandparents together.” His voice softened with memory. “They all taught me different things.”

Suzuno leaned forward slightly, clearly eager. “All of them?”

“My mother was a florist,” he said. “She worked with rare desert blooms—taught me how to care for fragile things. My father was a ceramicist. Clay, glazes, kilns… patience.” A small smile touched his lips. “My grandmother was a seamstress. And my grandfather…” He paused, reverent. “He was the most powerful sword master in Sasu.”

Suzuno stared at him, wide-eyed. “You learned all of that?”

“I did,” he replied simply.

She made a soft, incredulous sound. “Kasaru, that’s amazing.” Her praise was earnest, glowing. “You’re so skilled—and kind—and thoughtful. No wonder you carry yourself the way you do.”

Heat rushed to his cheeks immediately. He ducked his head, embarrassed. “You’re… very generous with your words.”

Her expression gentled when his tone shifted.

“When Karumu was very young,” Kasaru continued quietly, “our parents passed from illness. He doesn’t remember them as clearly as I do.”

The air grew still between them.

“But,” he added quickly, not wanting the sorrow to linger, “our grandparents made sure we were never lonely. Never idle, either.” A faint chuckle. “I trained constantly with my grandfather—sword practice, meditation, shogi. He had endless stories and wisdom.”

“And your grandmother?” Suzuno prompted.

Kasaru smiled fondly. “A gentle domestic tyrant.”

Suzuno laughed outright.

“She believed no man should have fewer skills than his future wife,” he explained. “A lazy man, in her eyes, was practically already crucified.”

“Oh,” Suzuno said, giggling, “I can just picture you being marched around with chores.”

“I was,” he admitted. “Relentlessly.”

She laughed again, then smiled warmly. “That’s not a bad thing. Those are important life skills.”

“My parents wanted me to be an eligible bachelor,” Kasaru said. “My grandparents were more concerned that I be… capable.”

Suzuno tilted her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Is that why you talk like an old man sometimes?”

The question hit him like an arrow.

“I—what?” he stammered, utterly blindsided.

From the blankets nearby came Karumu’s sleepy, too-perfect timing. “He does,” his brother muttered. “Looks like one sometimes too.”

Kasaru groaned softly. “Karumu…”

Suzuno blinked, then hurriedly added, “Oh! I don’t mean it in a bad way. I think it’s nice. Respectable.” She thought for a moment, then asked innocently, “Was it because your closest friends growing up were elderly?”

The words landed—gently meant, but devastating all the same.

Kasaru pressed a hand to his face, mortified. “I—please stop there.”

She gasped softly. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t teasing, I promise.”

He sighed, resigned, cheeks still warm. “I know. It’s just… a little embarrassing to hear from someone as—” He stopped himself. “Well.”

“As what?” she asked softly.

“…Pretty,” he admitted, barely above a whisper.

Suzuno’s teasing melted away entirely. Her voice turned sincere, steady. “I like the way you speak, Kasaru.”

He looked back at her, surprised.

“It’s comforting,” she continued. “Your voice makes me feel safe. Calm.” She hesitated, then added honestly, “I have to be strong a lot. With you… I don’t feel like I have to try so hard.”

Silence stretched—warm, fragile.

Kasaru felt his heart stumble, then steady itself around her words. Heat crept up his neck again, this time slower, deeper.

“…Thank you,” he said quietly.

And for once, it was his turn to look away, flustered, while the storm raged on—unable to touch the small, growing tenderness sheltered between them.

The storm churned beyond the barrier like a living thing—sand spiraling, lightning threading through the dark sky in brief, violent veins of light. Kasaru watched it in silence, hands folded loosely, the world reduced to wind and memory.

The shield held.

It always would, he realized. Not because of stone or clever planning—but because of her.

A barrier sprung forth by someone who might very well be the priestess of Byakko herself. And that priestess, impossibly, was a soft-spoken girl with red hair like embers and green eyes that gentled every time they met his. Eyes that made his chest feel… unsteady. Awake.

He thought of his family then—of his parents, his grandparents—and wondered if they could see this. If they were laughing softly somewhere beyond the storm at the absurdity of it all. A displaced man and his little brother, protected by two angels scarcely older than themselves. Angels who turned the cruelty of the desert into something that felt, somehow, survivable. Almost kind.

Life was unfair. It took his home with a storm… and then, weeks later, placed Suzuno in his path.

He didn’t want to elevate her into something unreachable. She was not a miracle meant to erase his grief. Her power was a gift, not a debt. And yet—behind the barrier, the storm looked beautiful. Terrible, yes. But beautiful.

His grandfather’s voice rose gently in his thoughts, as it often did.

You cannot command the world, boy. You can only choose how you bow to it.

Forgive yourself. Forgive nature. Let go. Grieve.

Not tonight, he decided quietly. Not while warmth sat beside him and the night felt… safe.

A sudden crack of thunder split the air, lightning illuminating the storm in a blinding flash.

Kasaru startled sharply, breath catching.

“S-sorry—” he began, embarrassed with himself.

Suzuno turned to him, calm as ever. “Are you alright?”

He stared at her, incredulous. “How are you alright?!”

She blinked, then smiled sheepishly. “Oh. In Toran, the desert is full of thunder storms. Lightning doesn’t frighten me. It powers our cities—our wards. It’s… familiar.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I see. Then I suppose I’ve just made myself look foolish.”

Before he could protest further, she slipped her cloak from her shoulders and draped it around him.

“Suzuno—no, I’m fine, really—”

“You startled,” she said gently, firm in that quiet way of hers. “And it’s cold.”

“I can’t possibly—”

“You’ve guided us all this way,” she insisted, tucking the cloak more securely around him. “Please let me take care of you. Even just a little.”

He faltered. Chivalry waged a losing battle against her sincerity.

She met his eyes, smiling softly. “You don’t have to fear any storms while I’m around, Kasaru. I promise to keep you and Karumu safe.” Then, lighter, playful: “Who knows? Maybe one day you’ll even find them beautiful. With the right guard rails in place, of course.”

She winked—winked—and his heart very nearly forgot how to beat.

Nothing could be more beautiful than you, his traitorous mind supplied.

He swallowed. Hard.

Travel companions. Just travel companions.

Her hand found his, warm and certain, and she guided him back toward the rugs where Karumu and Sireni slept in a tangled heap of blankets and soft breathing. She lay down beside him without hesitation, the barrier humming faintly above them.

“Goodnight, Kasaru,” she whispered, utterly sincere.

Her smile, just before her eyes closed, disarmed him completely.

He lay there, staring up at the unseen sky, cheeks burning beneath her cloak.

Yes. A very beautiful. Very kind. Very compassionate. Very soothing…

…travel companion indeed.

The pale gold of dawn filtered into the tent, brushing against closed eyelids and stirring the smallest sleepers first. Sireni stretched with a soft whimper, blinking drowsily. Her arms groped in the half-dark until they found Karumu’s sleeve, tugging herself against him.

“Mm… five more minutes…” she murmured, nuzzling into his chest like a kitten burrowing for warmth.

Karumu stiffened, his face heating. “S–Sireni, it’s hot,” he whispered, trying not to wriggle too much.

“It’s not hot, it’s cozy,” she argued groggily, voice muffled against him. “You’re just big.”

And she promptly snuggled even closer.

Karumu sighed, torn between mild suffocation and… well, this strange fluttering in his chest. His arms automatically settled around her, almost protectively. “Tch… you’re awfully clingy,” he muttered, though his blush betrayed him. Cute, though… way too cute.

The quiet shuffling woke the elders. Suzuno stirred first, her lashes fluttering as she turned her head to find herself nearly nose to nose with Kasaru. She gave him a drowsy, innocent smile.

“Good morning, Kasaru…” she whispered warmly.

Kasaru’s chest gave a confused jolt at the gentle greeting. “G–good morning, Suzuno.”

And then his brain caught up with his body—he realized just how close they were, their arms loosely draped over one another, effectively caging the children between them. It looked… intimate. Far, far too intimate.

Suzuno’s sleepy smile only widened when she realized how cozily they’d all huddled. “Ah… how sweet…”

Kasaru’s eyes shot wide open, and in perfect synchrony with her dawning awareness, they both gasped and scrambled apart. The sudden motion finally gave Karumu the room to take a desperate gulp of air.

“Finally!” Karumu panted, though Sireni was still curled in his arms, fast returning to her doze.

He gave a half-exasperated, half-helpless look between his brother and Suzuno—both of whom were now red-faced and avoiding each other’s gaze like guilty teenagers.

“…So, breakfast is heart attacks today, huh?” Karumu muttered under his breath, earning himself a sharp glare from Kasaru.

By the time the sun fully crested the horizon, Kasaru was crouched over the firepit, coaxing the embers back to life for breakfast. Karumu hovered nearby, sulky arms crossed as though defending himself from invisible accusations.

“You know,” Kasaru began lightly, tossing a glance over his shoulder, “for all your grumbling earlier, you looked awfully content this morning.”

Karumu’s head snapped up. “Wh–what?!”

Kasaru smirked as he stirred the pot, not looking at him. “All that rocking back and forth, cradling Sireni like she was spun glass. Quite the loving display. Marital training, you might call it.”

Karumu flushed crimson. “S–she! She was cold, that’s all! And we couldn’t move with you and Suzuno squishing us like bricks on both sides!”

“Mm,” Kasaru said dryly, “of course. That explains the sweet little smirk you had while giving her ‘a few more minutes.’ Very convincing, little brother.”

“I did not smirk!” Karumu snapped, voice breaking halfway.

Suzuno giggled softly nearby, folding blankets and shaking out a rug before neatly rolling it for the camels. She cast a quick, amused glance their way, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth.

Karumu groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. “I swear, you’re making things up—”

“Am I?” Kasaru countered smoothly, ladling water into the pot with deliberate calm. “Funny, because I distinctly recall a face that said, ‘I don’t actually mind this at all.’”

Karumu sputtered. “You—you—ugh! You’re impossible!”

“Quick-witted, actually,” Kasaru corrected, raising a brow in mock dignity.

Meanwhile, Sireni—still half-asleep—ambled at Karumu’s side, her tiny hands clinging to his sleeve as she leaned her head against him. Her eyes fluttered closed again, utterly unbothered by her brothers’ sparring.

Karumu stiffened, then softened immediately, lowering his arm so she could rest more comfortably.

Kasaru noticed, smirk tugging at his lips again. “See? Loving already. You’ll make a fine husband someday.”

Karumu groaned louder. “Stop saying that!”

Suzuno laughed quietly into her sleeve, hiding her smile as she packed the last of the bedding onto the camel. The whole scene was so ordinary, so warm—it made her chest ache with a strange, gentle joy.

The fire crackled softly as Kasaru stirred the pot, the warm scent of spiced grain porridge drifting through the cool desert air. Suzuno finished her careful packing and came to sit near the fire, smoothing her skirt beneath her. Her hair, still loose from sleep, caught the sunrise like copper threads.

Karumu plopped down across from Kasaru, arms still crossed, clearly intent on sulking through breakfast. Sireni simply curled against him, still dozing, head tucked into his shoulder.

Kasaru lifted a brow at the sight, amused. “Careful, Karumu. Hold her like that too long and she’ll expect it every morning.”

Karumu grumbled something unintelligible, cheeks coloring.

Suzuno covered her lips with her hand to hide her laughter, though her eyes sparkled. “You really are very sweet with her, Karumu. Like a little husband already.”

Karumu’s head shot up, scandalized. “Not you too, Lady Suzuno!”

Kasaru chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. But when Suzuno’s gaze drifted toward him, playful and soft, he felt something tighten in his chest. For once, he had no quick remark ready.

Instead, Suzuno tilted her head, voice still lilting with amusement. “Though…if we are counting husband-like gestures…” Her smile widened as she folded her hands in her lap. “I do recall waking up to Kasaru being quite close this morning.”

Kasaru froze, spoon mid-stir. “Ah—”

“Ohhh,” Karumu seized the opening with vicious glee, “now that’s interesting! Big brother, caught red-handed! Or should I say red-cheeked?”

Kasaru shot him a warning glare, ears turning red. “It wasn’t—! We only drifted in our sleep.”

Suzuno lowered her eyes politely, though her voice was warm. “Still, it was very… cozy.”

Kasaru nearly fumbled the spoon into the fire. “Cozy?” he repeated, throat dry.

Karumu cackled. “Oh, cozy, was it? Well then, Brother, maybe you’re the one who should be calling this marital training.”

Suzuno pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle her laugh, her face pink with shy delight.

Kasaru groaned into his hand, muttering, “I regret everything.”

The next morning dawned bright, the desert air crisp before the sun truly awakened. Kasaru was already awake, methodically securing their provisions to the pack saddles of two strong camels. He worked with practiced ease, but his eyes kept flicking toward the sisters. Suzuno was brushing out her long red hair with the gentlest of motions, humming something soft under her breath, while Sireni clung to her side like a little shadow.

It was almost too much sweetness at once. Kasaru felt a warmth he didn’t quite know how to name coil in his chest. The Gerudo priestess and her younger sister—so delicate, so innocent—looked as though they’d never belonged to a world of calamity and gods. They looked like they belonged to peace. And somehow, they’d stumbled into his company.

When Suzuno and Sireni first noticed the camels, their reaction made him have to turn his head so they wouldn’t catch the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Kasaru…” Suzuno’s voice was hushed and reverent. Her green eyes widened, shimmering with awe. “What manner of beast is this? It’s so… cuuute!”

Sireni gasped beside her, clutching at her sister’s skirt as though she might be swept away otherwise.

The camel flicked its tail lazily, long lashes shading big brown eyes that regarded the sisters with stoic calm.

Kasaru swallowed back a laugh, his polite tone not quite masking his amusement. “A camel. They’ll carry us across the desert.”

Suzuno turned to him in shock, pressing her hand to her chest. “Ride?! Surely this creature is too respectable for such labor!”

He actually chuckled at that—low and genuine. “Respectable, perhaps, but they were bred for this. They are stronger than they look, and tireless.”

From her sister’s side, Sireni whispered, “It looks like the great Naboris… the giant deity that protects Urtou…”

Kasaru tilted his head at her, noting how her eyes sparkled with the same innocent wonder. “Would you like to greet it properly?” he asked.

Sireni’s hands twisted together nervously, but she gave the smallest of nods. “I…uh, um...yes, please...”

Without a word, Kasaru bent, his hands gentle as he lifted the little one by her waist and brought her close to the camel’s broad face. Suzuno hovered, her breath caught between worry and delight.

The camel, entirely unbothered, stretched out its long neck and gave Sireni’s cheek a sudden sloppy lick.

“Ah—!” Sireni squealed, her politeness dissolving into giggles as she squirmed in his hold.

The next moment, Suzuno had gathered her courage to step close as well. The camel, apparently charmed by Gerudo beauty, leaned forward again and left her with a similar lick across her jaw. Suzuno froze, then burst into laughter—a soft, musical sound Kasaru had never heard from her before.

“Kasaru, it loves us!” she exclaimed, utterly radiant.

Kasaru set Sireni gently back down, watching as both sisters pressed themselves to the camel’s broad neck in delighted cuddles, cooing praises as though it were some honored guest.

Behind him, Karumu nudged his side and muttered, “Brother, this trip just got a lot cuter.”

Kasaru allowed himself a small smile. “Indeed.”

But silently, as his gaze lingered on Suzuno’s bright face and Sireni’s laughter, he thought it was more than just cute. It was dangerous. Because every time he saw them like this—innocent and unguarded—it chipped away at his resolve to keep his heart disciplined.

The camel groaned softly as Kasaru held its reins steady, and Suzuno stared at it with wide green eyes. She placed her hand reverently against its shaggy neck.

“Kasaru… are you certain I should mount? It feels… improper. Look at those lashes, those gentle eyes… Surely this creature is far too noble for labor.”

Kasaru bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Her awe was so earnest, so sincere, that it almost felt like a crime to correct her. “I assure you, Lady Suzuno, they are well accustomed to bearing riders. He won’t be offended.”

Suzuno drew in a nervous breath and placed her foot in the stirrup. For a moment she managed to lift herself, but as soon as the camel shifted, her balance gave way. She gasped—then fell backward straight into Kasaru’s arms.

Kasaru caught her instinctively, his large hands gripping her waist. “Are you hurt? Forgive me, I should have steadied you sooner—”

Suzuno’s cheeks went red as she shook her head furiously. “No, no, it was my fault entirely! I must have startled your poor beast.”

“It wasn’t your fault at all. I should have—”

“No, please don’t blame yourself, I simply—”

They both paused, still tangled in apologies, realizing at the same time that his hands were still resting at her waist. Kasaru cleared his throat and gently let go, taking half a step back. Suzuno twisted her fingers in her skirt, trying to hide her blush.

From the other side, Karumu smirked like a fox who’d just found a henhouse. “Big brother, if you wanted to sweep her off her feet, you might’ve just asked.”

Kasaru shot him a look that promised a future bonk on the head, but Karumu only laughed and swung up onto his own camel with practiced ease. “See, Lady Suzuno? Nothing to fear. They’re quite gentle, really. You only have to trust them.”

Suzuno peeked shyly at Kasaru, who was already holding out his hand to her again. His voice softened, polite but undeniably warm. “Allow me. This time, I won’t let go until you’re steady.”

Tentatively, she placed her hand in his. Kasaru guided her carefully, his grip firm, his other hand brushing her waist as he lifted her onto the saddle. She wobbled, clutching at the pommel, but stayed upright.

“There,” he murmured. “You’ve done it.”

“Maybe you should’ve started with that, big brother!” Karumu called, grinning ear to ear. “Would’ve saved you the romantic tumble.”

Kasaru’s sigh was long and deliberate. Suzuno, however, couldn’t hide the little smile tugging at her lips, and Sireni giggled from the ground, clapping her hands.

For the first time since their journey began, Kasaru found himself thinking—perhaps this trip really did just become far more dangerous… for my heart.

The desert morning stretched wide, gold and still. Kasaru adjusted the packs on the camel, straight-backed and serious.

“Karumu,” he said, voice firm. “You must remember—the desert is cruel to the careless. Pace yourself, drink only when necessary, and never wander too far from the path. Even one misstep can—”

“Mmhm,” Karumu hummed lazily, arms folded. His amber eyes gleamed with mischief. “Should I really be listening to an old man like you? I mean, last I recall, you already have children of your own now.”

Kasaru’s brow knit. “Excuse me?”

Karumu smirked, jerking his chin toward Suzuno and Sireni, who were adjusting their veils in the morning sun. “You’ve already got your hands full, Father. First Sireni calls you ‘Daddy,’ and now Suzuno nearly fell into your arms. Face it—your life of freedom is already over.”

Kasaru’s jaw slackened. “Karumu!” His voice cracked halfway between outrage and embarrassment.

Suzuno, who had been listening with wide eyes, gasped softly. She pressed a hand to her lips before asking, completely earnest, “Oh! You are a married man, Kasaru? Are you crossing the desert to meet your wife?”

Kasaru nearly dropped the waterskin in his hands. “Wh–what?!” He straightened too fast, almost knocking into the camel’s neck. “No! Absolutely not! I am not married, nor—nor am I traveling to meet anyone of the sort!”

His words came out too quickly, sharper and higher than his usual composed cadence. Suzuno blinked, startled by the intensity.

Karumu chuckled under his breath. “My, my. You answer awfully fast for someone who doesn’t care what she thinks.”

Kasaru whipped his head around. “Karumu, silence.”

But Suzuno tilted her head, still curious. “I see… Forgive me, I only thought perhaps you were very devoted. You seemed so responsible.”

Kasaru opened his mouth, then shut it again, visibly at war with himself. Why did it matter what she thought? He cleared his throat, forcing his composure back. “No apology is needed, Lady Suzuno. But my brother should be scolded for spreading nonsense.”

Karumu leaned against the camel, grinning like a fox. “Oh, nonsense? I’m only reporting what I see. You can’t blame me if you’re the one catching maidens from the sky and holding them like treasures.”

“Karumu! Enough!” Kasaru’s ears burned red beneath his hair.

Suzuno, utterly oblivious, turned to Karumu with a small smile. “You are very good at making jokes. I think it’s sweet, the way you tease one another. It shows you love each other deeply.”

Kasaru froze. Love? He chanced a glance at her—those bright green eyes, her soft sincerity—and felt his carefully built composure sway again.

Karumu caught the look instantly and bit back a laugh. Oh yes. Traveling with these two sisters was going to be delightful.

Kasaru cleared his throat, stiffening his posture as if discipline alone could erase the heat in his face. “As I was saying before my brother’s childish interruptions—survival in the desert requires vigilance. The sun shows no mercy. Always wear your veils, ration your strength, and—”

Karumu stretched his arms over his head, yawning loudly. “Mm. Yes, yes, all very impressive. Tell me, Father, will there be a bedtime story tonight too? Perhaps one about the noble camel dance?”

Kasaru stopped mid-sentence. “The—what?”

Karumu smirked, lowering his voice into an exaggerated mimic of his brother’s. “Step one: secure the supplies. Step two: lose all dignity in front of the ladies while trying to mount a camel—”

“Wh—Karumu, what has gotten into you!” Kasaru snapped, mortified.

Suzuno gasped, her hands clasping together, not out of alarm but delight. “Oh! That was very funny! He does sound just like you, Kasaru!”

Her soft, bell-like laughter spilled into the dry air, carrying farther than it had any right to. Even Sireni cracked a smile, glancing between the brothers like she’d stumbled into a play.

Kasaru’s ears turned scarlet. “Lady Suzuno, please, do not encourage him—”

“But it was endearing,” Suzuno said innocently. “I did not know you could laugh at yourself.”

Kasaru rubbed his temple, muttering, “That is because I am not laughing.”

Karumu, meanwhile, grinned ear to ear. “Oh, but she’s right. You’re much easier to travel with when you’re flustered, Brother. Perhaps I should keep a record of these moments for posterity.”

Kasaru gave him a sharp look that promised later vengeance, but Suzuno’s laughter hadn’t faded yet. The sound tugged at his composure, softening it despite himself. Against his will, he found his lips curve into the smallest, most reluctant smile.

Karumu caught it instantly. “Aha. And there it is. My serious brother, smiling in the desert. Mark the day, Suzuno—it’s a rare sight.”

Suzuno beamed warmly. “I will remember it.”

Kasaru turned away, hiding his face under the guise of adjusting the camel’s reins. “Enough. We depart.” But his voice had lost its iron edge, and Karumu knew he’d won this round.

The ruined temple creaked faintly in the cold wind, bits of sand whispering through its cracked stone pillars. The statue of Menshen loomed over them, faceless but steadfast, its surface worn smooth from centuries of desert storms.

After prayers, the makeshift bedding was laid out, and before long, the children piled into the shared covers. Sireni was the first to press close to Karumu, her small hands clutching his sleeve.

Karumu stiffened. “Wh—what is it, Sireni? You’re not scared already, are you? Didn’t we just ask Menshen to watch over us?”

She shook her head, voice muffled against his arm. “Not scared. You’re warm. I want to be close to you. But also…” She peeked toward Suzuno and Kasaru, eyes wide with childish seriousness. “You should snuggle too. You’re bigger, so you can keep us safe.”

Suzuno’s face lit up, as though she’d just been given a gift. “Oh, what a wonderful idea! Of course.” She tucked herself under the blankets with the children, gently draping an arm across them. “See? Now we are all protected.”

Karumu’s ears turned crimson. “W-wah—! Hey, this is a little closer than I thought… I mean, it’s cold, sure, but—!”

Suzuno giggled at his stammering. “Karumu, you’re very cute when you get flustered.”

“C-cute?!” Karumu sputtered, looking desperately at his brother. “Kasaru! Help me out here!”

Kasaru only smirked softly as he slid in on the other side, his blanket spreading over them all. He tucked it in with calm practicality, though his broad shoulders brushed Suzuno’s as he leaned closer. “It’s a cold night in the desert. Best to stay close than freeze, wouldn’t you say?”

Karumu groaned, muffling his face against his sleeve. “You really are acting like a dad!”

Suzuno’s smile softened with something almost dreamy. “Is that so bad? I’ve always wanted children. You’re like my little baby for the night, Karumu~”

The younger boy practically convulsed in embarrassment, his muffled protests earning a laugh from Kasaru. Suzuno’s laughter followed, lighter, kinder—like bells in the night air.

For just a moment, Kasaru’s eyes caught hers across the children’s wriggling forms. Her hair brushed his arm beneath the blankets, her hand resting not far from his own as they formed an unspoken barrier of warmth around the youngsters.

Kasaru felt the heat creeping up his neck, though he told himself firmly it was just the close air beneath the covers. This is survival. Nothing more. Practicality.

And yet… her words lingered. I’ve always wanted children.

That struck somewhere deep, stirring memories he hadn’t touched in years—home, kin, laughter. The sensation of belonging, of being relied on.

He closed his eyes with a quiet exhale. “Sleep well, little ones. We’ll keep you warm.”

But as Sireni snuggled down, Karumu continued to grumble, and Suzuno smiled softly beside him, Kasaru knew full well this warmth had already gone far beyond survival.

The ruined temple was silent save for the crackle of cooling embers and the faint whistle of desert wind slipping through broken stone. The children breathed unevenly in their sleep, their small bodies shifting restlessly under the heavy blankets.

Sireni stirred first, curling up with a soft whimper, her tiny hands gripping Karumu’s sleeve. A moment later Karumu flinched, his brow tightening, breath catching in a shallow gasp. Tears escaped both of their shut eyes, and they twitched as though fighting shadows only they could see.

Suzuno’s eyes fluttered open instantly. She leaned forward without hesitation, green gaze tender and alert. “Sireni… Karumu…” she whispered, her voice breaking with concern. She sat up on her elbows and reached out to them, brushing tears from their faces with her thumbs, protective as though they truly were her own.

Kasaru had been half-awake already—his warrior instincts attuned to every sound—and now he pulled the edge of the blanket higher to shield her from the desert chill. He leaned closer, shoulder brushing hers as he too looked down on the two. His presence was grounding, steady, a silent wall of protection.

“They’re frightened,” Suzuno murmured, smoothing Sireni’s hair back, then Karumu’s. “There, there… it’s okay. You’re not alone.”

She began to hum softly, almost too soft for Kasaru to hear—but he caught it, every trembling, delicate note. A lullaby, half-remembered, half-improvised, something from her homeland perhaps. It wrapped around the children like a second blanket, coaxing their gasps into gentler breaths, their twitching into stillness. Slowly, the furrows in their brows eased.

Kasaru stared. He had seen Suzuno awkward and shy, tearful, and summon courage where there should have been fear—but this was something else entirely. The care in her touch, the sweetness in her voice, the way she soothed not only her sister but his brother… it made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected.

Suzuno sighed with relief when both little ones finally settled back into peace. She glanced up and noticed Kasaru’s gaze lingering, her cheeks coloring faintly. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Kasaru,” she whispered, brushing a tear track from Sireni’s cheek. “They’re just… so cute. Even when they’re dreaming like this.”

It was an odd thing to say about children mid-nightmare, yet the warmth in her eyes made it true. He almost laughed at the sweetness of it. Instead, he thought—unfairly—that she herself looked radiant even in exhaustion, her long hair tousled, her face gentle in the dim firelight.

“…You are remarkable,” Kasaru muttered before he could stop himself. He reached up almost absently, fingers brushing her temple to move a stray lock of red hair from her face. He froze halfway through the motion, suddenly aware of what he was doing, and cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I only thought—you might be more comfortable if you scooted closer. It will… keep in the warmth.”

Suzuno blinked, startled at first, then nodded shyly. She inched closer, and Kasaru instinctively shifted too, so that they and the children were cocooned together beneath the layers of blanket. His arm draped over hers, their hands almost brushing as they both encircled the sleeping pair protectively. The heat of his body seeped into her back and shoulders, and though both of them were blushing, neither made a move to withdraw.

“…Goodnight, Kasaru,” Suzuno murmured, her voice barely audible.

“…Goodnight, Suzuno,” he replied, his voice rougher than he intended.

He closed his eyes, but the weight of her presence, the lingering echo of her lullaby, the fact that she had just whispered that she always wanted children—all of it kept his thoughts restless. She was only inches away, breathing steadily, warm against him.

The desert stretched for miles—an endless sweep of sunburned dunes under a blistering sky. Karumu trudged ahead, kicking at sand and muttering about how everything smelled like lizards.

Kasaru followed more quietly, sword slung over his back, eyes ever watchful. They were returning from a hunt when something strange pulled at the air—like the breeze itself had taken a sharp breath.

That’s when they saw it.

Two figures, crumpled against a shallow dune where the sand had been disturbed—freshly disturbed. Above them hung an unusual cluster of what appeared to be...storm clouds? In a desert? Lightning rumbled in the swirling, slightly green darkness, but no rain fell.

Karumu gasped. “Kasaru, look!”

Kasaru was already sprinting forward.

Lying in the sand were two girls—one older, the other younger. Their hair glinted in the sun like strands of fire and pearl. The older girl’s crimson hair spilled across the sand in waves, and the younger one’s coral curls clung to her face, sweat dotting her brow. Both were unconscious, but breathing.

“Gods…” Karumu breathed. “They’re like—like paintings. Or stars.”

Kasaru knelt beside the older one, brushing windblown sand from her freckled cheeks. Her face was soft, peaceful despite whatever had brought her here. Her hands were blistered but strong.

He hesitated, then lifted her gently. She was light—but somehow, in his arms, she felt like the turning point of something immense.

“They’re not from here,” he said quietly.

“No kidding,” Karumu muttered, lifting the smaller girl with effort. “This one’s a little heavier than she looks—Hey! She just drooled on me!”

Kasaru gave him a sharp look, but couldn’t suppress a breath of amusement.

They carried the girls to the ruins nearby—a crumbled old temple tucked in stone and shadow. There, under the broken pillars, they made beds of cloth, waiting for the girls to wake.

Kasaru stole glances at the older girl often, each time more captivated. There was something unearthly about her—like she didn’t belong to the dust and ruin but had been plucked from the stars and accidentally dropped.

Karumu, sitting nearby and staring at the younger girl, blurted, “Is it weird I kinda wanna protect her forever?”

“No,” Kasaru said softly, eyes fixed on the woman beside him. “I think I understand exactly what you mean.”

And though they didn’t know it yet, in that sunlit ruin, two great stories had just begun.

The ruins were cold stone and shadow, shelter against the chill of the desert night. Kasaru knelt with the small girl curled against his chest, her coral hair spilling across his arm like silk. She stirred with a fright, waking from a dream of some sort and springing up into Kasaru's chest. His arms came around her instinctively.

“Daddy!” she cried, reaching up with trembling hands. Her voice breaking, the dream still clinging to her.

Kasaru froze. The word pierced him strangely, and before he could respond, the girl blinked, confusion flickering across her face. Then she tilted her head back, and the illusion shattered. Green eyes met a stranger’s startled ones. One blue and one lavender. She squinted, thinking "he's beautiful...!"

Though the words that escaped her were innocent, and far from admiring, “Daddy… your face sure looks different.”

His lavender-blue eyes widened. “I— ah— I believe you are mistaken, little one. I am not your father.” His normally composed tone cracked with embarrassment.

Karumu, lounging nearby, burst into laughter. “She called you Daddy! That means you’re getting old, Kasaru!” He slapped his knee and grinned wide. “Maybe the desert sun is finally showing on your face!”

Kasaru gave his younger brother a sharp look, “Mockery does not suit you, Karumu. Control your tongue.” His voice was a touch flustered, though still composed. He adjusted his hold on the girl, the fragile way she clung to him demanded gentleness.

But the bickering melted when Sireni’s gaze darted sideways — and she saw Suzuno lying still beside her. “Big sister!” she cried, wriggling from Kasaru’s arms to bury herself against Suzuno’s shoulder. She clung tightly, trembling, until she felt the faint rhythm of Suzuno’s breath. Only then did she sigh in shaky relief, nuzzling close.

The brothers exchanged a glance. Two girls. Alone in the Desert of Death.

Kasaru lowered himself, resting a knee on the stone floor. His eyes softened. “Those bandits put you both through quite the ordeal,” he said, his tone kind but steady, "Both of you would have died out there had we not saved you. I'm Kasaru Raotsue. And this is my younger brother, Karumu"

"We're lucky these ruins were nearby!” Karumu said with a cheer nod, crouching near her.

Sireni’s little hands curled into Suzuno’s robes, her green eyes wide but darting away. She bowed her head shyly, cheeks pink, "I-I'm sorry. Please pardon my...rudeness? I should have thanked you sooner."

She releases her sister just enough to rise to her knees and bow low to the ground, head touching the temple grounds, "I'll never forget my debt to you! Um, I'm Sireni. Sireni Al Sorna."

Both brother's mouths twitch upward in amusement. So formal for a child, they both thought.

"Heh, Sireni? That's your name? Are you hungry, Sireni?" Karumu waves him arm with a flourish to a grand haul of various boxes and treasures, rugs neatly rolled and bound beside satchels of grain and food.

"We managed to salvage a few things from the caravan! Can't let it go to waste! This is ten days worth of food!" He says like a salesman, raising a pristine carafe of what appears to be wine to his face.

Sireni gapes in awe, which quickly turns to dismay, "You're stealing...stolen food?!"

Karumu lowers the carafe and repeats the obvious, "Well...yeah." "Stealing is wrong!" Sireni's small fists raise in opposition.

Kasaru observes to the side with a serene smile, watching the children bicker with easygoing mirth.

Karumu lets out a sharp sigh and begins slicing bread, searing meat, and preparing a plate that immediately fills the room with warmth and an aroma that was impossible to ignore.

"That must mean...you don't want any. Well then! Shall we eat Kasaru?" He sits with a finality beside his elder brother, who cast a sympathetic look to the girl who now cowered beside her unconscious sister.

"But...stealing is bad..."

Kasaru huffs with a gentle smile, "Where are you and your sister from, Sireni? Your clothes do not appear to be the common dress of Sairou or Sasu. Are you perhaps from one of the other satellite states?"

Where...are we from? It was a loaded question for an eight year-old child. Memories of chaos, fire, her beloved sister's desperate cries. A burst of light and a terrible monster all flocked across her mind.

Sireni mutters, "Urtou...Torania..." almost uncertain of where she came from herself.

Kasaru's brow furrows, "Tor—Ania...?"

Karumu's chewing stills as he glances towards the younger girl, then to his elder brother, "Ur—Tou? I've never heard of such a place, have you?"

Kasaru asked further, though he had a feeling the answer may be more complicated, even coming from a child. "Are you both by yourself? Where is your family? How did you get here?"

Sireni swallowed hard, her eyes wide with memory, but then forced a slow smile. “My..My d-daddy sent me."

The brothers listened patiently, careful not to emote in a way that might worry Sireni, but her words stirred a puzzling realization in their hearts.

"We… we were on a trip with our parents. Daddy always said we should go on a trip when my big sister returned...But we got separated somehow. Big sister and I walked and walked…I didn’t know we came so far.”

Sireni's fists curl into her dress, but her smile is bright, "I'm sure they're looking for us right now! Mommy, daddy, and my other brothers and sister too! They're out there somewhere, I know it."

Karumu tilted his head, frowning faintly. Kasaru studied her longer, noting the subtle tremor in her fingers. He did not press her. Instead, he spoke softly.

"I see." He gives a small smile, eyes sympathetic as he reaches out and gently pets Sireni's soft coral hair.

"You must have been raised by a very loving family...Alright! When dawn breaks and it's warmer, let's search together."

Sireni blinks, her lashes trembling in confusion. "Huh?"

"But this land is vast, we may not find them right away. Do you think you can stay strong a little longer? Until you are reunited with them, Karumu and I will stay by your side. That much I promise.”

Sireni eyes closed, clinging to his words and the warmth of his hand like a lifeline. She reaches for his large palm and presses it to her soft round cheek, "Yes! I can, thank you!"

“Good,” Karumu chimed in, ever eager to lift the mood. “Then tonight, you’ll be under our protection. Come on, Sireni, I’ll show you the ruins! There’s an old courtyard here, and even carvings on the walls. Want to see?”

Sireni blinked at him, then hesitantly smiled. “Yes… I want to.”

As Karumu took her hand, guiding her toward the flickering torchlight of the ruins, Kasaru stayed behind. His eyes lingered on the still form of Suzuno — wavy red hair spilling like fire across the soft rug he laid out for her, pale face serene in sleep. So similar to the younger one, yet… different. There was an aura about her.

He found himself leaning closer without realizing, studying the sweep of her lashes, the curve of her hand resting against her chest. Unusual, striking — beautiful. He caught himself, frowning faintly at the unfamiliar tug in his chest. She was still only a girl, innocent and vulnerable. And yet… he could not look away.

Kasaru folded his arms, forcing his gaze back to the fire. “Rest well,” he murmured quietly, words meant for Suzuno alone. “I will watch over you until you wake.”

And though he did not yet know it, that vow — simple and unspoken — was the first of many he would make to her.

The fire crackled softly, throwing long shadows against the broken walls of the ruin. Kasaru sat in silence, sharpening his blade with deliberate strokes, the desert wind whistling through the gaps. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a faint stir.

Her breathing shifted.

He turned at once, setting aside the blade. “Ah! You’re starting to wake. I’m glad.”

Suzuno’s lashes fluttered before her eyes opened — green as spring leaves — only to be met with the striking sight of a stranger. A tall man with tan skin, long dark hair bound in a braid, and eyes of mismatched colors — one blue, the other lavender. Her heart gave a startled leap.

“Who are… you?” she whispered hoarsely.

Kasaru’s voice was gentle, measured. “My name is Kasaru Raotsue. My younger brother and I found you and the little one lying unconscious in the sands. Karumu has taken her to explore the ruins nearby. She is safe.”

At once, Suzuno jolted, the name Sireni stirring her like a bell. She tried to rise — only for the world to tilt violently. A wave of vertigo forced her back down, breathless.

“Easy,” Kasaru said, lifting a steadying hand. “Do not strain yourself. You’ve wandered far — your strength must return before anything else. Rest. Eat. Drink.” He gestured to a small pack by the fire, producing a strip of dried meat and half a loaf of bread.

Suzuno blinked at the offering, her face flushing. She pushed it back with a soft shake of her head. “Thank you so much, but it is unbecoming of a summoner to take from a civilian’s resources.”

Kasaru frowned, confused. “A… summoner?”

Suzuno’s voice trembled, but she steadied it. “Please, if you have a spare sand seal, I must ride back to Urtou at once. The city burns as we speak.”

“Sand… seal?” Kasaru repeated slowly, his heterochromatic eyes narrowing in puzzlement. “And Urtou?” Just as Sireni mentioned earlier...

“Yes,” she insisted. “This is the Gerudo Desert, is it not?”

“No.” Kasaru’s voice was firm, though still calm. “This is the Desert of Death. And beyond it lies the empire of Sairou.” He reached for a folded map from his satchel, smoothing it on a flat stone between them. With a gloved finger, he traced the names: Sairou. Konan. Hokan. Kutou.

Suzuno leaned over the parchment — her breath catching. She scanned the lines once, twice, desperately searching for Urtou. For the dunes, the canyons, the mountains she knew. There was nothing.

Her lips parted, soundless. “How… how can this be?” she murmured, her eyes wide and unblinking. “No Urtou…”

The truth pierced her all at once. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest. Teleported — that had to be the only explanation. After facing the blight, there was an overwhelming light, and now... Somewhere, far away, her city was burning… and she was here, stranded in ruins with strangers while her family fought for their lives.

Her composure crumbled slowly but surely. She pressed her hands to her face, the first hot tears slipping through her shaking fingers. “Forgive me—! I don’t mean to trouble you with my tears, I…” her voice broke as she took a shuddering breath, “it appears I am… why, we are terribly lost…”

Kasaru’s heart ached as he cast the map aside. Suzuno desperately tried and failed to school her sobs into polite silence. They escaped her in sharp gasps and squeaks.

Without hesitation, he leaned forward and gathered her gently into his arms. Suzuno stiffened, stunned at the sudden intimacy, but his embrace was steady, unyielding.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his tone low and sincere. “You’ve suffered much. To be lost in the desert is cruel. To face it alone, crueler still.” His voice softened further. “But you are not alone. My brother and I gave our word to your sister — and to you as well. Until you are reunited with your family, we will remain with you. That I vow.”

Suzuno clung weakly to his sleeve, swallowing back sobs. She wanted to be strong, but the weight of it all pressed too heavily on her chest. Kasaru drew back slightly, lifting a hand to gently brush away her tears with the back of his fingers.

“If you need to cry, then please do,” he said. “But promise me this: afterward, you will eat, drink, and regain your strength. That is the only way you may have hope of reaching your home again.”

Her eyes widened. Such kindness — offered so freely by a stranger. Her heart ached with guilt. “I… I am unworthy…”

But Kasaru only shook his head, the faintest of smiles softening his severe features. “Strength does not come from never faltering. It comes from standing again when you do. You’ve shown restraint and courage already. That deserves praise.”

Suzuno quickly wiped her cheeks, bowing her head. Hesitantly, she reached for the bread he had offered before. One bite, and her stomach betrayed her with a low growl. She flushed deeply. “Tasty!” she admitted, her voice small but honest. "Ah—forgive me once more. My name is Suzuno."

Kasaru let out a quiet breath — half a sigh, half a laugh — the tension easing from his shoulders. A smile tugged at his lips, one of both relief and admiration. "It's a pleasure to meet you Suzuno."

Inwardly, he marveled at her. Despite the tears, the fear, the loss — she still had that quiet spark of strength. And something about it drew his gaze to her again and again.

Kasaru sat very still, his long fingers curled loosely around the parchment map. Across the fire, Suzuno nibbled meekly at the bread, her lashes lowered, her green eyes shining faintly with the reflection of flame.

Could she be what she claims?

He recalled the sight that had greeted him and Karumu hours earlier — the wreckage of a royal caravan, smashed and splintered under what appeared to be claw and blade. Blood staining the sand. Bodies torn apart, their limbs scattered like broken dolls. And that cage — iron, sealed in talismans, its door ripped wide open. The memory of the glyphs burned in his mind.

He had taken some of those talismans, folded now inside his robe. If the girls were not what they seemed, if they were fuin — tiger beast folk who wander the realm said to take human form — he had to be ready. For Sireni, with her innocent cry of “Daddy,” and Suzuno, with her too-bright eyes and otherworldly hair… could they be hiding a danger deeper than what he’d already seen?

His gaze lingered on Suzuno as she lifted her face. Freckles dusted her warm cheeks. Her red waves of hair caught the firelight like smoldering embers. Her lips parted, soft and sincere:

“Thank you so much for sharing your rations. You have my gratitude. If there is anything I can give you in return, please name it. I do not have much, but I could part with my jewels if it would please you.”

Kasaru blinked. He had expected manipulation, sly words, perhaps trickery — not this gentle candor. Not those eyes, unguarded, piercing into him. For the first time that night, his grip slackened on the concealed talismans.

“I have no need for your jewels,” he replied, his voice low but even. “But tell me — how did you and Sireni survive in the desert? We found you among the wreckage of a caravan. It seemed a beast had ravaged it. If such a thing roams still, it must be dealt with.”

Suzuno’s faint smile faltered, and a solemn shadow crossed her face. She lowered the bread, resting it in her lap with careful hands.

“I know not the people who were harmed,” she said quietly, her voice heavy with guilt. “But I blame myself all the same.”

Kasaru’s brow furrowed, his heart twisting at the anguish lacing her tone.

“My home — Urtou — was attacked by a terrible blight. The city was seized, and my people scrambled to arms…” Her voice broke for a moment before she steadied herself. “The walls of our home began to fall apart as the beast came crashing through. A maniacal, violent thing it was...Sireni and I were trapped. I fought the creature to protect her. Then there was… a light. And suddenly we were falling. We landed among that caravan, already beset by bandits. And the blight somehow followed. It was...utter chaos. Slaughtered them all before I could… before I could act.”

Her green eyes glistened, but her voice did not waver. “With the last of my strength, I called my aeon. My strongest. It struck the creature down. After that, I could not hold on. Darkness took me… and when I opened my eyes again—”

Her gaze flickered shyly toward him, and her lips curved in the faintest smile. “It was you at my side. For that, I am grateful.”

Kasaru’s breath caught. Her words rang too wild to be lies — too improbable, yet too raw to be fabricated. She had summoned something? A spirit? One strong enough to kill the beast that had reduced armed men to nothing? And yet here she sat, demure and gentle, with a voice like water and tears she fought to hide.

His eyes narrowed, studying her again. Could one so sweet harbor such power? Could fragility and strength dwell together in this way?

Unbidden, another thought stirred — one that chilled and awed him alike.

The Priestess of Byakko… the one said to appear in Sairou’s darkest hour.

His hand slipped from the talismans entirely, the paper wards forgotten. For the first time, instead of suspicion, he felt something else stir within him — wonder.

Kasaru sat with his thoughts long after Suzuno’s words faded into the crackle of the fire. Her tale replayed in his mind — a girl from a lost city, wielding strange powers, suddenly appearing in his world. Her unusual clothes, her jeweled adornments unlike anything in Sairou, her green eyes shining in a way he had never seen before.

It all fell into place too neatly.

He drew a slow breath. “Suzuno,” he began carefully, his voice steady but weighted. “There is… a legend in this land. Of a priestess who descends from another world when Sairou’s hour grows dark. She appears with seven destined warriors at her side, and together they summon the divine beast, Byakko. With him, they bring salvation.”

Suzuno tilted her head, her red waves brushing her cheek. “A priestess?” she echoed softly, her tone almost dreamy. Then her lips curved in a faint, bemused smile. “She sounds lovely… A young lady who travels with seven destined warriors? It reminds me of my role as summoner in Toran.”

Kasaru blinked, the unfamiliar word tugging at him. “Toran? Sireni mentioned it earlier. Is that the world you are from, Suzuno?”

“Why yes,” she said without hesitation, as though the truth was simple and natural. “Though there can be more than one summoner. And every summoner may travel with any number of guardians.” Her smile widened a little, warm and unassuming. “Sounds similar, huh?”

Kasaru’s chest tightened. Similar — almost identical. He turned, his gaze flickering toward the ruined wall behind them. Carved into stone half-buried by sand was a mural: a goddess-like figure, her arms outstretched, seven stars circling her form. In her breast, a single star shone brightest. Jewels adorned her brow, her wrists, her ankles.

Suzuno followed his gaze, her green eyes widening with awe. “Is that her there? The Priestess?”

Kasaru’s breath caught. He looked from the mural to the girl beside him. Suzuno’s hair spilled red like the carved goddess’s crown. Her body gleamed faintly with unfamiliar metal ornaments — earrings, chain necklace, bracers, anklets. Not one piece was of Sairou’s fashion. And in her eyes… the same quiet light as that star carved into the mural’s chest.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. The words left him almost against his will. “Suzuno… could it be that you are… the Priestess of Byakko?”

She blinked at him, then at the mural. And to his utter bewilderment—she laughed. A soft, incredulous laugh, full of gentle mirth.

“Me?” she said, still smiling. “I’m not anyone important. There are other summoners in my world. That doesn’t mean I am the legend of this realm.”

Kasaru’s brows drew together. “But your coming — your powers — your very presence! You match the tale as if it were written of you—”

She shook her head firmly, though her smile remained. “I’ve just woken from a world-ending nightmare. My home is in ruins, my family missing, my sister clinging to me. And now you tell me I am to save your world?” She chuckled again, though her voice quivered faintly. “Hahaha… yes, right. Good one, Kasaru.”

Kasaru’s lips pressed into a line. He wanted to argue — to insist. The weight of his people’s prophecy was too great to ignore. Yet looking at her, small and fragile beside the fire, cheeks still flushed from weeping, he felt his conviction soften.

Perhaps it was too soon to ask her to carry such a burden.

Still… the thought gnawed at him.

If not her, then who?

The mural glowed faintly in the torchlight, casting jeweled light across the cracked stone. Kasaru’s throat was dry, his hand clenching around the hilt of his sword as he stared between the goddess-like figure in the artwork and Suzuno’s delicate, unfamiliar jewelry.

“Kasaru, look! Today is our lucky day!” Karumu’s cheerful voice shattered the stillness. He bounded into the chamber, Sireni close behind, his grin wide as he held out a squirming, puffy white creature. Its tiny paws wriggled, and it squeaked indignantly. “We found moru moru!”

The boy lifted it proudly for all to see. “These little guys keep to land, that means we’re getting closer to Sairou if we’re seeing them here.”

His eyes fell on Suzuno, who had just stirred fully upright. His grin grew softer, more polite. “Oh—Miss Suzuno, you’re awake!”

Suzuno’s green eyes brightened instantly at the sight of the moru moru. She reached out with delicate fingers, laughing when the creature sniffed her hand. “How darling…! I’ve never seen such a thing.”

“Suzuno!” Sireni squealed and barreled into her, clutching her waist tightly. Suzuno wrapped her arms around her little sister, smoothing her coral hair as if they’d never been apart.

But Sireni’s next words made Suzuno pause. “Suzuno…Karumu thinks I’m the priestess of Byakko…Tell him it’s not true, I think he wants my charm.”

Karumu’s face went red. “I asked if you were! I didn’t say I wanted your charm. You’re just—wearing jewelry like the priestess in the mural, that’s all!”

Kasaru stiffened. His brother’s words struck him like an arrow. He thought the same thing, but to hear Karumu voice it aloud… His gaze snapped to Sireni. The girl clung to Suzuno, and the firelight caught on the star-shaped pendant resting above her heart. A glint sparkled in her hair as Suzuno’s hand passed over it, a simple clip made of some shining metal foreign to their land.

The mural behind them blazed in his mind’s eye—the Priestess, radiant, holding a star to her heart, crowned in jewels and light. Suzuno and Sireni together mirrored that image so perfectly that Kasaru’s pulse pounded in his ears.

“One of them,” he thought, gripping his fist tighter, “one of them is definitely the Priestess.”

But Suzuno only chuckled, stroking Sireni’s head as though none of this mattered. “Don’t worry, Sireni,” she said gently. “It’s just a fun tale the people of this world believe in. Nothing more.”

Her innocence disarmed him. The denial seemed genuine, and her laughter—too light, too carefree to carry the burden of prophecy. For a heartbeat, he almost believed her.

Kasaru let out a long breath through his nose. “Highly unlikely,” he told himself, “but…look at them. Look at how sweet they are together.” His chest ached. Why burden such tender souls with the weight of legend?

“Sireni,” he said at last, forcing a smile as he crouched to her height. “Are you hungry? Would you like a snack?”

Her big eyes lit up. “Yes please!”

Karumu elbowed her with a mischievous grin. “You mean, ‘yes, please, daddy?’”

“OW—HEY!” Karumu yelped as Kasaru’s fist bonked him squarely on the head.

Suzuno laughed—a bright, chiming laugh that rang through the ruin like a blessing. Even the moru moru squeaked, wriggling in approval.

Toran – Late Spring, Age 12

The wind in Toran always felt gentler in spring—soft breezes that carried the perfume of blooming sky lilies and dusted the grass with golden pollen. The farmhouse sat quiet in the lull of afternoon, except for the gentle clack of wooden practice swords tapping together in the field.

“Again,” Kaze said softly.

“Again,” Kiyu echoed.

Their blades met, then parted.

Kiyu, age 8, had a naturally graceful way of moving—elegant and deliberate, much like his speech. He wore a calm expression, his long lashes casting shadows beneath thoughtful eyes, always too still for a child.

“You’re not putting weight in your left foot,” Kaze murmured. “That’ll trip you on uneven terrain.”

“You noticed?” Kiyu blinked. “I was testing you.”

Kaze raised a brow. “Testing me?”

“Mmhm,” Kiyu said, lowering his sword and walking to a nearby rock. He plopped down, brushing off his simple princely tunic. “I wanted to see if you were still paying attention, or if you were distracted.”

“Distracted?” Kaze asked, loosening his stance but staying alert. “By what?”

Kiyu tilted his head, all innocent inquiry. “By my sister.”

Kaze froze mid-step.

Kiyu smiled, very softly, and picked up a stalk of clover to twirl between his fingers.

“She’s cute, right?” he asked conversationally, like he were asking about the weather. “Adorable even. You were looking at her earlier when she did that weird little dance she always makes up.”

Kaze stared at him. “That’s not...I wasn’t...”

“She does it for you, you know.” Kiyu looked at him now, all solemn wonder. “Only for you. Because she loves you.”

“I—” Kaze’s ears were red. “She’s just a child. And so are you. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I do,” Kiyu hummed. “I’m eight, but I’ve read a lot of romance books. I’ve seen the signs.”

“You read what—?”

Kaze strode over and, without effort, placed a palm on Kiyu’s face and pushed his head back gently but firmly. Kiyu’s heels scraped against the dirt as he leaned away from the force, unmoving and unimpressed.

“This again,” Kaze muttered, “Your sister is kind to me. That’s all.”

“Your ears are red.”

“No, they’re not.”

“They’re very red,” Kiyu said from behind Kaze’s palm. “Like a tomato. Or Makia’s favorite ribbon.”

Kaze pulled his hand back, staring at the boy with an expression that was half-stern, half-utterly bewildered. “You’re like a spirit come to torment me.”

“I like to think of myself as a ghost of honesty,” Kiyu replied. “One who reveals hidden truths.”

Kaze exhaled. “You need a psychological evaluation.”

“I was thinking the same about you,” Kiyu said with a dazzling smile. “But it’s okay. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

Kaze turned away to pick up the practice swords again—his movements a little more rushed than before. He didn’t see Kiyu watching him closely, twirling that clover stalk like a sage-in-training, humming a tune that suspiciously sounded like the one Makia danced to.

At sixteen, Kaze thought he knew discipline. Wake with the sun. Train with blades. Meditate before meals. Protect your elders. Maintain your poise.

Then Makia and Kiyu came into his life.

They were twelve now—both brilliant, both strange, both mischievous in ways that defied natural law—and both somehow more dangerous than the fiends prowling Toran’s forests.

Kaze stood at the threshold of the open-air study hall, arms crossed, watching as Kiyu soared ten feet off the ground.

“I’M SOARING, KAZE!” he shouted, arms flailing with delight. “Just like your heart is when you see Makia, right?”

From beneath him, Makia, small hands held in a magical seal, blinked in confusion. “Wait, what do you mean by that—?”

“Focus, Makia!” Kaze called, storming in.

Too late.

Her concentration shattered with a squeak, and Kiyu plummeted.

“Kiyu—!”

There was a puff of smoke midair. A hollow thud.

A log clattered to the ground.

Kaze froze. Then inhaled slowly.

From behind a bookshelf, Kiyu reappeared, upside down and hanging by his ankles from the rafters with his arms crossed like he was just enjoying the show. “I told you I was studying ninja tactics last night.”

Kaze pinched the bridge of his nose. “You used a substitution technique... in the middle of levitation practice?”

“It was thematic!” Kiyu offered, wiggling slightly.

“And what if you hadn’t pulled it off?” Kaze asked.

“Well,” Makia said, brushing hair from her face, “I would’ve caught him. Probably.”

“Definitely,” Kiyu agreed. “Maybe.”

Kaze looked to the heavens for strength.

That’s when he noticed the smoldering, faintly charred ends of several ornate staves leaning by the garden wall—his grandfather’s prized magical relics.

His voice dropped. “What did you do?”

Makia winced. “We were testing elemental runes.”

“On ancient heirlooms?”

“They were...conveniently lined up like targets,” Kiyu explained.

“We said we’re sorry!” Makia quickly added.

“We bowed and everything!”

“You set off three anti-curse wards.”

“I was very polite about it!”

Kaze dropped to one knee and began picking up the burnt ends of the staff remnants, holding them like fallen comrades.

“These were hundreds of years old,” he muttered.

Makia and Kiyu shuffled guiltily to his side. She tugged his sleeve. “Kaze...?”

He didn’t look at them.

“I’ll fix them,” she said, more quietly. “One day. I swear.”

He glanced over.

Her face—sincere. Her brow furrowed in remorse.

Kiyu, still upside-down, chimed in: “We do learn lessons... just very slowly.”

Kaze sighed. Deeply. Eternally.

And still...

He reached over and ruffled Makia’s hair, then looked up at Kiyu. “Get down from there before I replace that log with you.”

Kiyu grinned. “Acknowledged.”

Even then, Kaze knew they would outgrow him. Their magic, their minds—they sparkled like stars too wild to stay grounded. But as long as they ran ahead, he'd chase after.

Their shadow. Their shield. Their silent, steady heart.

Toran – The Hilltop Villa, “Operation: Embarrass Big Brother”

Kaze had returned to his quiet home after a long day of training.

He stepped inside, removed his sandals, and—

Thunk.

The trap was simple: a slip of paper tied to a falling leaf, rigged to the doorframe with string. He caught it midair with two fingers.

A note. Scrawled in an elegant, overly flourishy hand:

“The wind rustles… like her hair in the morning. Signed, The Ghost of Your Future Wife.”

Kaze exhaled slowly. Crumpled the paper. Tucked it into his sleeve.

“...Kiyu.”

His sharp eyes scanned the rafters. The silence was suspicious. Too silent.

He turned toward the teapot, only to find a cherry blossom folded from paper floating in it. Tucked inside the blossom?

A miniature sketch of Kaze and Makia holding hands in ceremonial garb under a Toranese moon. Makia’s smile glowed like a festival lantern. Kaze’s eyes were drawn as little hearts.

He squinted. "...That little gremlin."

Suddenly, from the walls: a faint puff of smoke.

Kiyu appeared upside down, clinging to the ceiling beam like a cheerful specter.

“Sensei,” he whispered in a dramatic hush, “you must admit my stealth has improved.”

“You left muddy footprints on the ceiling.”

“Symbolic muddy footprints,” Kiyu corrected, flipping gracefully and landing beside him. “Each step represents how deeply Makia has left her mark on your—”

“Enough.”

“You didn’t say I was wrong.”

Kaze didn’t answer.

“Also, I slipped another note in your pillowcase,” Kiyu added brightly. “And left an origami wedding kimono under your rice bowl.”

Kaze pinched the bridge of his nose. “You realize you're using sacred ninja training... for romance-based harassment.”

Kiyu blinked innocently. “I’m just testing infiltration and observational response. Also: poetic provocation.”

“You tore out a scene from Love in the Moonlight and put it under my sword rack.”

“It was chapter twelve!” Kiyu said proudly. “That’s when the princess confesses! Thought you could relate.”

“You’re twelve. Why are you like this?”

“I observe the world deeply.”

“You’re going to be a menace.”

“I am a menace.”

Kaze sighed. Deeply. Again. Eternally.

But truthfully, he couldn’t hate it.

Kiyu wasn’t just studying ninjutsu—he was studying him. Watching the way Kaze softened around Makia. How he lingered in the places she’d passed through. How he sharpened at the thought of danger near her.

Even at twelve, Kiyu knew.

Kaze loved her.

And Kaze… maybe he was starting to realize that too.

Kaze stirred the pot of soup slowly, eyes narrowed as Kiyu lounged—upside down, again—from the veranda’s trellis like a smug bat.

He’d finally had enough.

“Kiyu.”

“Yes, my beloved future brother-in-law?”

“Why are you so persistent about my love life?”

Kiyu didn’t miss a beat. “Because it’s the most obvious slow-burn I’ve ever seen. Also, I love love.”

Kaze blinked. “...That’s it?”

“I adore it,” Kiyu said cheerfully, flipping upright and dusting off his sleeves. “Love makes people do the strangest, most beautiful things. Write poems. Train harder. Travel worlds.”

“You read too many novels.”

“I live in a novel,” Kiyu countered, hands on his hips. “And besides—”

He paused.

A faint pink colored his cheeks.

Kaze narrowed his eyes like a hawk on a trembling leaf. “Besides?”

Kiyu looked up at the sky, pretending to study the clouds. “I just… get it. You know?”

Kaze raised an eyebrow. “Get what?”

With a breath, Kiyu turned to him and said, “What it’s like to love someone and not know when or how to say it. But still feel it every second.”

Kaze froze.

Kiyu glanced away, rubbing his neck. “I’ve never told Makia. I haven’t even told him yet.”

“Him?”

A long pause.

Then Kiyu gave a small, dreamy smile. “Prince Vaelin.”

Kaze nearly dropped the ladle.

“Prince Vaelin? Of Nohr?!”

“Shhh!” Kiyu hissed, slapping his hands over Kaze’s mouth. “Yes! Him! He’s—he’s brilliant and radiant and, yes, he's Nohrian, but he's also the most noble-hearted bookworm I’ve ever met. He reads poetry under waterfalls, Kaze. Under waterfalls.”

Kaze peeled Kiyu’s hands off his face. “He’s also the second prince of our enemy nation.”

“Well, was,” Kiyu corrected primly. “Now he’s just another exile of Toran. Like us.”

Kaze stared.

“He has long blond hair,” Kiyu added, eyes shimmering. “And bronze skin like he's kissed by a sun god. And eyes like sapphire comets. And when he laughs he does this—this breathy wheeze thing because he’s always trying not to laugh too loud—ugh!”

Kaze had officially died. This was it. Death by adolescent poetry gush.

“And you’ve… told him this?”

“Not yet,” Kiyu admitted. “But I think he knows. Maybe. I don’t know. He let me braid his hair once.”

“...And that means something?”

“It’s the intimacy of it, Kaze!”

Kaze rested his forehead against the wall.

Kiyu leaned beside him, his tone softening. “It’s funner when you’re not alone in love, you know?”

Kaze gave him a tired glance.

“And besides,” Kiyu grinned, “wouldn’t it be nice if we had a joint wedding?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You and Makia, me and Vaelin... We could choreograph a duet. Everyone will cry.”

Kaze sighed, rubbing his temples.

Kiyu leaned on his shoulder and said with a fond sigh, “Ah… young love.”

Kaze chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

“Gods help Prince Vaelin.”

Timeskip, Kiyu is 16

The air was crisp and golden, and Kaze was seated beneath the sakura tree that had bloomed out of season—a rare magical occurrence Makia once said was a sign of a blessed home. He was shelling chestnuts into a small wooden bowl, the quiet rhythm of it grounding after so many long days in the field.

A shadow approached.

“Brother.”

Kaze looked up.

Kiyu was taller now, sixteen and lithe, shoulders still boyish but posture royal. His robes were deep teal, casually draped, and his hair had grown long like Kaze’s, loosely tied behind him. His expression? Fox-like. As always.

“I heard you came back from the academy in one piece,” Kiyu said as he sat cross-legged beside him, his tone just the right amount of deadpan.

Kaze gave a faint grunt of affirmation and offered him a chestnut.

Kiyu popped it into his mouth and chewed with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “I also heard the parent-teacher gathering was... eventful.”

Kaze’s hand paused over the next shell.

“Jealous upperclassmen. A challenge by a fiery underclassman. A heartfelt meal shared beneath the moonlight. Oh—and let’s not forget the standing ovation at a musical performance.” Kiyu counted the events off on his fingers. “Sounds like a romantic drama. You must have suffered.”

Kaze said nothing. The tiniest twitch graced his brow.

Kiyu smirked.

“You should write to that Rock Lee fellow. I imagine he’d have excellent tips on being direct with your affections.”

Kaze didn’t take the bait.

“Ah, I see,” Kiyu continued innocently. “He’s bold, passionate, and straightforward. Good qualities. Admirable, even. Imagine if someone like that ended up with Makia—”

Kaze’s hand stopped, the pressure of the nut cracking too soon.

There it was.

Kiyu grinned.

“Ah,” he said, pointing. “There it is. That twitch. That tension in your shoulders. The slightest narrowing of your eyes. You’re like a hawk.”

“She is not someone to be swept away so easily,” Kaze finally said, quietly but firmly.

“No,” Kiyu agreed. “But she is incredibly loving. And curious. And her heart is very... open. If someone older caught her attention at the Sorcery College... say, a handsome, emotionally intelligent alchemist...” He tilted his head dramatically. “What then?”

Kaze’s stare sharpened.

“I would find him.”

Kiyu beamed. “That’s the spirit!”

Kaze sighed, adjusting his gloves. “You do this just to see if you can get a reaction.”

“I do,” Kiyu said cheerfully. “But also because I support you. I know how you look at her, Kaze. I’ve known since we were small. And she’s always looked at you like you held her stars in your hands.”

Kaze’s gaze faltered for a moment. That struck too close.

Kiyu’s smile softened. “I just don’t want you to lose her because you’re being... noble.”

“She’s still young,” Kaze murmured.

“So were you when she first made you smile.”

Kaze didn’t respond, but his silence was full of memory.

Kiyu clapped him on the back. “I expect an invitation when you propose.”

Kaze gave him a long, patient look. “You’ll be the ring bearer.”

“Perfect. I’ll write my speech now.”

Kiyu stood and wandered off, humming Makia’s silly childhood dance tune under his breath.

Kaze allowed himself a rare laugh—quiet, fond, helpless.

Scene: Garden Courtyard of Castle Shirasagi – A Cloudy Evening

The clouds drifted like slow-moving ghosts across the sky. The hush of night had settled over Castle Shirasagi. Most of the palace slept, save for one lone figure strolling through the moonlit gardens, bare feet padding silently across the stone.

Makia.

She moved with the quiet curiosity of someone who had been somewhere too long and was now somewhere entirely new. Her long hair shimmered silver-blue in the dim light, catching the occasional lantern’s flicker as she leaned closer to admire a blossom here, a koi pond there.

Saizo, watching from the shadows of the covered walkway, narrowed his eyes.

She came alone. Again. No guards. No fuss. No magic tricks.

Just quiet... and that persistent sense of soft wonder.

He didn’t trust it.

She was too kind. Too poised. Too openly interested in the world. And most people who acted like that were hiding something. That’s what his years had taught him.

He told himself he was here on duty. Observation. But his gaze lingered too long on the way her fingers hovered delicately above a lily, or the way she tilted her head at the songs of night birds.

Then—

She gasped. Loud and sudden.

Saizo’s form blurred into movement instantly, hand on his blade, stepping into the courtyard with barely a sound. His voice, low and cool:

“What is it?”

Makia spun toward him, eyes wide—not with fear, but rapture.

“Is that the moon?!”

Saizo blinked. Followed her gaze.

There it was. The clouds had parted, unveiling a full white moon, high above the peaks of the Hoshidan skyline. A perfect silver coin against the navy sky.

He blinked again. “…Yes?”

Her mouth dropped open in stunned joy. She took a few paces forward, robes whispering around her. “It’s so beautiful. It’s peaceful. And so clear, and silver, and—” she turned to him, eyes almost wet, “it’s not red.”

Saizo’s frown deepened. “Red?”

She nodded, smile faltering just slightly.

“In Toran… the full moon turns the sky bloodred. The land glows crimson, like it’s been painted in blood and fire. It marks the rise of fiends—dead monsters pulled back to life. The ‘Blood Moon.’ Every full moon is a battle for survival. No one rests.”

He was quiet now.

She turned back to the sky. Her voice quieter. “But here… this moon is just… a moon. Just light. Peace. It’s the first time I’ve seen it like this.”

Saizo watched her long after she went still.

There was something in her expression— a kind of homesick awe, a fragile reverence that came only from someone who had never known peace before. Not really. Someone who still flinched at beauty because it felt like a trick.

And just for a moment, something in his own chest ached.

He didn’t speak. Just stood beside her a while, quietly, as she continued gazing at the sky.

Later that night – Saizo’s Private Quarters

The paper was blank for a long while before Saizo finally dipped his brush in ink.

Journal Entry – Moonlit Garden Observation

The air was thick with the scent of mist and honeysuckle. Deep in the bamboo forests, the Hidden Blade clan compound stood carved into the mountainside like a secret too proud to hide. Kaze stood near the entrance in his standard Hoshidan gear, the wind brushing against his shoulders. Beside him stood Rock Lee, now nineteen—taller, broader, and still bursting with the energy of ten men compressed into one green blur.

Lee adjusted the Hoshidan-styled headband wrapped across his forehead and stared wide-eyed at the entrance like a pilgrim reaching a sacred shrine.

“I can feel the weight of silent warriors here… it smells of ancient discipline!” Lee exclaimed with reverence. “Truly, this is the origin of my beloved senpai’s strength!”

Kaze rubbed his temple. “Lee. Please remember: speak with caution. My brother—”

Before he could finish, the shadows stirred like a gust of wind—and he emerged.

Saizo stepped into view, expression as flat and sharp as a blade. His crimson scarf curled behind him like smoke. His gaze zeroed in on Lee with the intensity of a drawn kunai. The weight of his presence was suffocating.

“You’re the outsider,” Saizo said flatly, eyes narrowing. “The one Kaze speaks of.”

Lee’s hands immediately clasped into fists as he trembled—not in fear, but anticipation. “So this is the legendary Saizo! Brother to my beloved senpai! The embodiment of discipline, power, and icy resolve!”

Kaze exhaled.

Saizo raised one unimpressed eyebrow. “...Does he always speak like this?”

“Always,” Kaze murmured. “Since he was fifteen.”

Saizo’s arms folded across his chest, unimpressed. “You’ve trained in Hoshido’s schools. I’m told you’ve been a consistent... shadow to my brother.”

Lee straightened proudly. “Indeed! Kaze-senpai is my guiding light! I strive to match his grace, power, and patience every day—though I fear I often exceed him in spirit!”

He struck a dramatic pose, sparkles practically emitting from nowhere. Saizo blinked once.

“You want something,” Saizo said coldly.

Lee’s eyes practically sparkled.

“A SPAR!” he shouted, pointing. “Please, Saizo-sama, grant me the honor of facing you in battle! Test me! Temper me! If I am to follow in Kaze-senpai’s footsteps, I must surpass his kin!”

Kaze groaned quietly. “Lee…”

But Saizo's expression didn’t shift. In fact, he looked bored.

“And what makes you think you're worth my time?”

Lee inhaled deeply, settling into a familiar stance. Calmly now, voice lower. Steady. Older.

“Because I’m no longer the boy who ran after Kaze-senpai in the school courtyard. I’ve studied Hoshidan ninjutsu. I’ve trained under two of your nation’s best,” he said, glancing at Kaze with a quiet nod. “I am Rock Lee. I do not possess talent by birth. But I have cultivated my body and mind with relentless effort. And I would be honored to measure that growth against the Saizo.”

Something in the way he said it—earnest, respectful, but completely undaunted—caught Saizo’s attention. He stared for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he stepped down into the courtyard. “Then prove it.”

Kaze’s mouth parted. “Wait, you're actually—?”

But it was too late. Lee had already moved into position, fists raised.

The courtyard filled with wind and motion.

Lee was fast—blindingly fast now. His footwork tore dust from the earth, his strikes sharp as steel. Saizo dodged with practiced grace, blades flashing, a perfect contrast to Lee’s explosive force. Where Lee struck like a hurricane, Saizo moved like smoke—slipping through gaps, punishing openings, calculating with surgical detachment.

But Lee smiled.

Even bloodied lip, even scuffed cheek—he smiled.

“Your movements… are magnificent,” Lee whispered between blows. “I can see now—this is the foundation of Kaze-senpai’s beauty in battle!”

Saizo narrowed his eyes. “You talk too much.”

“And you respect too little!”

That earned Lee a well-placed knee to the gut. But he laughed through it.

When it was finally over, both stood breathing heavily—Saizo untouched but alert, and Lee panting, clearly outmatched but thrilled.

Saizo stared for a long moment. Then, at last, he spoke.

“You’re loud, reckless, and you’ve no sense of subtlety.”

Lee beamed.

“But,” Saizo continued, “...your devotion is real.”

He turned to walk away, but paused.

“Kaze,” he added, “you’ve chosen an unusually spirited disciple.”

Kaze bowed slightly. “He tends to… choose himself.”

Saizo almost smirked. Almost. “Hn. I’ll allow him to observe my training. So long as he shuts up during stealth drills.”

Lee gasped like he’d just been granted a sacred scroll from the heavens. “I SHALL NOT FAIL YOU, SAIZO-SAMA!”

“Too loud,” Saizo muttered, already vanishing into the trees.

Lee collapsed dramatically on the ground beside Kaze, beaming and bleeding.

“I have met my next mountain, Senpai,” he sighed happily. “What a powerful family you have…”

Kaze shook his head with the smallest smile. “You’ll never rest, will you?”

“Not until I become a worthy shinobi,” Lee declared with stars in his eyes, “and a worthy man for Lady Makia!”

Kaze gave a long-suffering sigh. “One step at a time, Lee.”

Scene: Bamboo Courtyard, Hidden Blade Compound – Late Afternoon

The shadows were long as the sun dipped low, casting golden stripes through the tall bamboo stalks. In the center of the courtyard, the steady sound of fists meeting flesh, sandals striking stone, and breath drawn with discipline echoed like a drumbeat.

Saizo and Lee were sparring again.

Only this time—it was different.

Lee had grown sharper since their first match. His form was refined, his instincts less wild. He’d learned to read Saizo’s subtle feints, to anticipate the flash of steel and the disappearing steps. His green tunic was torn at the shoulder, a bruise blooming near his collarbone—but he was holding his own.

Then—he landed a hit.

A clean blow to Saizo’s ribs—a twisting kick that broke past his guard and forced the older ninja back a full step.

Saizo’s eyes narrowed.

“…You’ve improved,” he admitted, voice cool.

Lee, panting, allowed himself a wild grin. “You were the wind—untouchable! But now I have learned to flow with the wind, not against it!”

Saizo gave no verbal reply—but his stance lowered. Sharpened. This time, he was going to fight seriously.

And then—

“Ooh! Go Lee! Go Saizo!”

A cheerful voice drifted in from behind the garden path.

Both men stopped.

Makia stood just a few paces away, smiling as she passed by carrying a basket of herbs and linens from the nearby healer’s cottage. Her cloak caught the sunlight, her braid tucked loosely over one shoulder. Though pale, she looked serene.

“I didn’t expect to see such passion this late in the day,” she teased lightly.

Lee immediately beamed, posture shifting into proud formality. “Lady Makia! You honor me with your presence!”

But Saizo—Saizo stiffened. Just slightly.

Lee didn’t miss it.

His brow rose. His eyes flicked between the two—and then widened.

“W-wait… wait a second!” he blurted. “That reaction—those stoic eyes—your warrior’s stillness—You have a soft spot for Lady Makia, don’t you?!”

Saizo’s gaze turned glacial. “You’re imagining things.”

But Lee was already spiraling into an emotional frenzy, pointing a shaking finger like he’d uncovered a grand betrayal.

“Not another rival in love! First Kaze-senpai, and now you?! I’ve loved Lady Makia since I was fifteen—I won’t lose to anyone!”

Makia blinked. “Um…”

“I’m right here,” Saizo growled.

Lee didn’t care. “That look when she called your name—I saw it! You like her, don’t you?!”

“…You talk too much,” Saizo muttered, slipping back into stance.

Lee grinned and mirrored him. “Then prove me wrong in battle!!”

And just like that—their spar reignited with twice the intensity.

Fists flew like lightning, blades flashed as Saizo pushed harder than before, but Lee—invigorated by love and righteous rivalry—met each strike with the passion of ten warriors.

From behind her basket, Makia blinked at the whirlwind of motion and heartfelt shouting.

“Do… I get a say in any of this?” she asked softly.

No one heard her.

Lee was already shouting declarations of undying love and defiance while ducking Saizo’s flying kunai. Saizo’s eye twitched once—only once—as Lee declared,

“MY YOUTHFUL FLAMES SHALL NOT BE DIMMED, EVEN IN THE FACE OF YOUR GLACIAL HEART, SAIZO-SAMA!”

Kaze, passing by on his way to the main house, paused at the edge of the courtyard.

“…Do I want to know?” he asked Makia.

She offered a helpless smile. “Lee thinks Saizo might like me now.”

Kaze sighed, long and tired. “Ah.”

Then he watched as Saizo nearly swept Lee’s legs from under him with a perfectly timed feint—only for Lee to recover and counter with a soaring flip-kick.

“…He has gotten better,” Kaze murmured.

Makia nodded. “He said he’d grow stronger for me.”

“…Then he’s doing exactly that.”

Lee, mid-flurry, shouted toward Makia without even looking:

“WATCH CLOSELY, MY LADY—FOR I SHALL DEFEAT EVEN YOUR MOST FEARSOME ADMIRER!”

Saizo’s eyes narrowed. “You are infuriating.”

“You inspire me!”

And as the sun sank behind the bamboo, their battle raged on: one man stoic and cold, the other burning with unyielding devotion—and somewhere in the middle of it all, a very amused girl carrying a basket full of tea herbs.

The moon hung low over Hoshido, veiled in wisps of cloud. From atop the tiled roof of the compound, the wind carried the distant hum of insects and the rustle of bamboo. Kaze sat with a cup of tea cooling beside him, gazing down at the dim lights of the courtyard below.

Footsteps approached.

He didn’t need to look up to know it was Saizo.

“You’re up late,” Kaze said.

“Tch. Could say the same to you.”

Saizo lowered himself to sit beside him, arms crossed, silence lingering as they watched the shadows sway in the wind.

“…Your little protégé is insufferable,” Saizo muttered after a while.

Kaze smiled softly. “Lee?”

“Loud. Overly dramatic. Obsessed with fighting. Talks like he’s performing in a festival play.”

“And yet you sparred with him three times this week.”

“Hmph.”

Another pause.

“…He’s talented,” Saizo admitted, though it sounded like he had to pry the words from somewhere deep in his throat. “His form is unconventional. Sloppy, even. But he’s fast. Precise when it counts. Reads his opponents well.”

“He learns quickly,” Kaze nodded.

“…Still won’t shut up about loving Makia.”

Kaze glanced sidelong at his brother, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“That bothers you?”

Saizo didn’t respond.

Kaze turned fully toward him. “He’s sincere, you know.”

Saizo scoffed. “He’s a fool.”

“Maybe. But he’s a passionate fool.”

Another beat.

Kaze’s voice softened. “He loves her with everything in him. That’s what drives him. His strength… his fire. It’s all born from the moment she showed him kindness.”

Saizo frowned, his brows tight. “That’s not sustainable. It’s naïve. Foolish to devote yourself to someone who won’t return your feelings.”

“But he doesn’t care,” Kaze replied. “That’s the point. He doesn’t need her to love him back to fight for her. To want to be better. That’s what makes him admirable. Don’t you think?”

“…No.” But Saizo didn’t sound entirely convinced.

Kaze looked back out toward the courtyard. “You’re older than him. Wiser, some would say. More disciplined. But you were caught off guard by him today. Not just his skill. His spirit.”

Saizo’s lips pressed into a tight line.

Kaze continued, gentle but firm. “You fight for honor, for our clan, for duty. But Lee fights for something intangible. He trains with his whole heart because it means something. Even if it hurts.”

“…He’s reckless.”

“He’s powerful,” Kaze corrected. “Strong enough to make you work for a victory.”

Saizo didn’t respond immediately. He traced the edge of a roof tile with a gloved hand.

“…Why her?” he finally asked, low and almost to himself. “Of all people, why is he so taken with her?”

Kaze’s eyes softened. “You’ve met Makia. That’s answer enough.”

Saizo tensed.

“She’s kind,” Kaze said. “Gentle in ways most people never are. She sees people. Even the loud ones. The strange ones. The angry ones.”

“She’s sickly.”

“She’s stronger than both of us.”

Another long pause. Wind stirred their hair and robes.

Saizo muttered, “So now I have to compete with a lovesick puppy?”

Kaze actually chuckled. “You already are.”

Saizo’s eyes narrowed, sharp and unreadable. But behind the stoic mask was a flicker of something else—conflict.

He didn’t say it aloud, but Kaze knew what churned behind his brother’s silence.

Lee fought because he loved. Saizo fought because he couldn’t afford to.

And suddenly, the younger boy’s idiotic declarations, his persistent smile, his endless drive… didn’t seem so foolish after all.

They sat quietly for a while after that, watching the stars blink into view.

And somewhere deep within, Saizo felt unsettled. Not because of Lee’s skill or his passion—but because he saw something in Lee that he could not understand.

Hope.

Absolutely—this is a compelling and layered character study moment between Saizo and Kaze, both observant and introspective in their own quiet ways. Here's how their conversation might unfold:

Scene: Rooftop of the Hidden Blade Compound – Late Night

The moon hung low over Hoshido, veiled in wisps of cloud. From atop the tiled roof of the compound, the wind carried the distant hum of insects and the rustle of bamboo. Kaze sat with a cup of tea cooling beside him, gazing down at the dim lights of the courtyard below.

Footsteps approached.

He didn’t need to look up to know it was Saizo.

“You’re up late,” Kaze said.

“Tch. Could say the same to you.”

Saizo lowered himself to sit beside him, arms crossed, silence lingering as they watched the shadows sway in the wind.

“…Your little protégé is insufferable,” Saizo muttered after a while.

Kaze smiled softly. “Lee?”

“Loud. Overly dramatic. Obsessed with fighting. Talks like he’s performing in a festival play.”

“And yet you sparred with him three times this week.”

“Hmph.”

Another pause.

“…He’s talented,” Saizo admitted, though it sounded like he had to pry the words from somewhere deep in his throat. “His form is unconventional. Sloppy, even. But he’s fast. Precise when it counts. Reads his opponents well.”

“He learns quickly,” Kaze nodded.

“…Still won’t shut up about loving Makia.”

Kaze glanced sidelong at his brother, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“That bothers you?”

Saizo didn’t respond.

Kaze turned fully toward him. “He’s sincere, you know.”

Saizo scoffed. “He’s a fool.”

“Maybe. But he’s a passionate fool.”

Another beat.

Kaze’s voice softened. “He loves her with everything in him. That’s what drives him. His strength… his fire. It’s all born from the moment she showed him kindness.”

Saizo frowned, his brows tight. “That’s not sustainable. It’s naïve. Foolish to devote yourself to someone who won’t return your feelings.”

“But he doesn’t care,” Kaze replied. “That’s the point. He doesn’t need her to love him back to fight for her. To want to be better. That’s what makes him admirable. Don’t you think?”

“…No.” But Saizo didn’t sound entirely convinced.

Kaze looked back out toward the courtyard. “You’re older than him. Wiser, some would say. More disciplined. But you were caught off guard by him today. Not just his skill. His spirit.”

Saizo’s lips pressed into a tight line.

Kaze continued, gentle but firm. “You fight for honor, for our clan, for duty. But Lee fights for something intangible. He trains with his whole heart because it means something. Even if it hurts.”

“…He’s reckless.”

“He’s powerful,” Kaze corrected. “Strong enough to make you work for a victory.”

Saizo didn’t respond immediately. He traced the edge of a roof tile with a gloved hand.

“…Why her?” he finally asked, low and almost to himself. “Of all people, why is he so taken with her?”

Kaze’s eyes softened. “You’ve met Makia. That’s answer enough.”

Saizo tensed.

“She’s kind,” Kaze said. “Gentle in ways most people never are. She sees people. Even the loud ones. The strange ones. The angry ones.”

“She’s sickly.”

“She’s stronger than both of us.”

Another long pause. Wind stirred their hair and robes.

Saizo muttered, “So now I have to compete with a lovesick puppy?”

Kaze actually chuckled. “You already are.”

Saizo’s eyes narrowed, sharp and unreadable. But behind the stoic mask was a flicker of something else—conflict.

He didn’t say it aloud, but Kaze knew what churned behind his brother’s silence.

Lee fought because he loved. Saizo fought because he couldn’t afford to.

And suddenly, the younger boy’s idiotic declarations, his persistent smile, his endless drive… didn’t seem so foolish after all.

They sat quietly for a while after that, watching the stars blink into view.

And somewhere deep within, Saizo felt unsettled. Not because of Lee’s skill or his passion—but because he saw something in Lee that he could not understand.

Hope.

Would you like to follow up with a scene where Lee and Saizo interact again, maybe with Lee picking up on Saizo’s conflict in his own chaotic but sincere way?

Scene: Early Morning Training Ground – The Fourth Spar

The mist was still thick across the ground when Saizo arrived.

He didn’t expect Lee to already be there.

And yet, there he was—mid-handstand on a single finger, perfectly balanced, the other hand holding a small dumbbell for no clear reason.

“Ohayo, Saizo-senpai!!” Lee beamed, flipping down in one smooth motion. “Ready to be humbled by the blazing passion of youth?!”

“…Tch. You never stop talking.”

“Only because my soul burns too bright for silence!”

Saizo sighed through his nose, but his weapons were already drawn.

This time, Lee was faster.

Every feint came with a readjustment. Every missed blow became a setup. His technique was wild but deliberate, and Saizo found himself parrying harder, dodging faster, calculating deeper than before. They exchanged thirty hits, and for the first time, Lee landed a strike clean across Saizo’s shoulder.

They both paused.

Saizo’s eyes flicked down to the small nick in his sleeve.

“…Hn. Not bad.”

Lee beamed like the sun. “Your praise means more to me than victory itself!”

Saizo rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the ghost of a smirk.

As they caught their breath, Lee stretched, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s all thanks to my motivation,” he said cheerfully. “Training alone would never make me this strong.”

“Oh?” Saizo replied dryly. “Let me guess. Love?”

“Exactly!” Lee pointed at him, exuberant as ever. “My love for Lady Makia burns with the power of a thousand comets!”

Saizo twitched.

Again with this?

“She is my eternal muse. Her kindness, her mind, her grace! Her radiant voice that makes even scolding sound divine!”

“Enough,” Saizo snapped, stepping back and sheathing his blade with more force than necessary. “She isn’t yours. And you speak of her as though she were a reward.”

Lee blinked, taken aback for a moment. Then, softly—shockingly so—he tilted his head.

“Do you… think I expect her to love me back?”

Saizo froze. “Isn’t that the point?”

“No.” Lee’s voice steadied, his gaze clearer than Saizo had ever seen. “I love her because I do. Not because I want something from her. That wouldn’t be love—it would be a transaction. A contract.”

Saizo stared at him.

Lee folded his arms behind his head and looked up at the brightening sky. “Makia is… extraordinary. She has a whole kingdom in her head, and stars in her eyes. She doesn’t belong to anyone. She’s not the type who could devote all her love to just one man, and I’d never want her to.”

Saizo said nothing, his throat suddenly dry.

“I love her,” Lee said again, “not for what she could give me, but for what she is. Even if she never loves me. Even if she forgets me.” He smiled, almost wistfully. “The act of loving her makes me stronger. That’s enough.”

There was silence between them.

The kind of silence that settles like snowfall, light but heavy all at once.

Saizo didn’t speak. Couldn’t, really.

Because this idiot—this loud, dramatic, reckless boy—had seen straight through him.

Had answered questions Saizo hadn’t admitted to asking.

Eventually, Lee gave him a warm pat on the back and picked up his gear.

“Let’s spar again soon, Saizo-senpai. I’m gonna surpass you.”

“…We’ll see about that.”

Lee turned and bounded away, humming a song under his breath.

Saizo stood still for a long time.

Later that night, back in the quiet of his quarters, he opened his weathered journal. The ink was already drying on an entry half-finished about duty, purpose, and control. He turned the page.

Entry: On Rock Lee

He is a fool. But I begin to understand the shape of his heart. And I am not sure which of us is more foolish.

Yes—this is a perfect moment to show Saizo’s shift from suspicion to awe, filtered through the quiet intimacy of observation. Let’s explore this scene with rich detail and quiet emotional layering:

Scene: Garden Courtyard of Castle Shirasagi – A Cloudy Evening

The clouds drifted like slow-moving ghosts across the sky. The hush of night had settled over Castle Shirasagi. Most of the palace slept, save for one lone figure strolling through the moonlit gardens, bare feet padding silently across the stone.

Makia.

She moved with the quiet curiosity of someone who had been somewhere too long and was now somewhere entirely new. Her long hair shimmered silver-blue in the dim light, catching the occasional lantern’s flicker as she leaned closer to admire a blossom here, a koi pond there.

Saizo, watching from the shadows of the covered walkway, narrowed his eyes.

She came alone. Again. No guards. No fuss. No magic tricks.

Just quiet... and that persistent sense of soft wonder.

He didn’t trust it.

She was too kind. Too poised. Too openly interested in the world. And most people who acted like that were hiding something. That’s what his years had taught him.

He told himself he was here on duty. Observation. But his gaze lingered too long on the way her fingers hovered delicately above a lily, or the way she tilted her head at the songs of night birds.

Then—

She gasped. Loud and sudden.

Saizo’s form blurred into movement instantly, hand on his blade, stepping into the courtyard with barely a sound. His voice, low and cool:

“What is it?”

Makia spun toward him, eyes wide—not with fear, but rapture.

“Is that the moon?!”

Saizo blinked. Followed her gaze.

There it was. The clouds had parted, unveiling a full white moon, high above the peaks of the Hoshidan skyline. A perfect silver coin against the navy sky.

He blinked again. “…Yes?”

Her mouth dropped open in stunned joy. She took a few paces forward, robes whispering around her. “It’s so beautiful. It’s peaceful. And so clear, and silver, and—” she turned to him, eyes almost wet, “it’s not red.”

Saizo’s frown deepened. “Red?”

She nodded, smile faltering just slightly.

“In Toran… the full moon turns the sky bloodred. The land glows crimson, like it’s been painted in blood and fire. It marks the rise of fiends—dead monsters pulled back to life. The ‘Blood Moon.’ Every full moon is a battle for survival. No one rests.”

He was quiet now.

She turned back to the sky. Her voice quieter. “But here… this moon is just… a moon. Just light. Peace. It’s the first time I’ve seen it like this.”

Saizo watched her long after she went still.

There was something in her expression— a kind of homesick awe, a fragile reverence that came only from someone who had never known peace before. Not really. Someone who still flinched at beauty because it felt like a trick.

And just for a moment, something in his own chest ached.

He didn’t speak. Just stood beside her a while, quietly, as she continued gazing at the sky.

Later that night – Saizo’s Private Quarters

The paper was blank for a long while before Saizo finally dipped his brush in ink.

Journal Entry – Moonlit Garden Observation

Orochi was mid-chant, beads in hand and brow furrowed in concentration when—

“Lady Orochi.”

She screamed.

Scrolls flew. A charm ball burst in a puff of green smoke. The tiny shrine fox she’d been reading omens for zipped away in terror. Orochi whirled around, eyes blazing.

“Kaze! By the gods! What did I tell you about doing that?!”

The ever-stoic ninja blinked once, unphased by the chaos.

“You told me to wear a bell.”

“Exactly! That was the deal! That bell better be on you right now—”

Kaze reached into his sleeve and produced the small silver bell, innocently quiet.

“I removed the clapper,” he said simply. “It made noise.”

Orochi twitched. “That’s what it’s for, you walking shadow!”

Later, after cleaning up the fox scat and half-repairing her warded papers, Orochi caught sight of Kaze again—but this time, something was different.

He wasn’t vanishing through walls or materializing from smoke.

He was walking with quiet intention toward the princess’s private garden chamber. Not fast. Not stealthy. Deliberate.

Orochi squinted and snuck closer behind a pillar. She saw Makia in the garden, inspecting a cluster of blooming sage. As Kaze approached, he purposely rustled a branch just softly enough to alert her.

Makia turned.

“Oh—!” She brightened, catching sight of him. “I heard you that time!”

Kaze inclined his head with a rare, fond smile. “It must be so, milady.”

Orochi stared, jaw ajar.

When Kaze turned around, she was already on him like a hawk.

“I saw that.”

Kaze looked appropriately unreadable. “Saw what?”

“You slowed down. On purpose. You deliberately let her detect you.”

“It is part of her training,” he said flatly.

“Liar!” she hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You startled me so badly I nearly hexed a chicken—but with her, you’re all sugar and bells!”

Kaze blinked slowly, then relented with a faint sigh. “It’s true.”

Orochi staggered back like she'd been cursed.

“I do go easier on Lady Makia,” he said. “She finds joy in catching me, and I would not take that from her.”

“You—you’re letting her win?!”

“If that is what you believe, then yes.”

Orochi looked ready to combust. “You’re infuriating.”

“I have heard that before.”

“You go around giving everyone else in this army a heart attack, but you treat her like she’s made of glass!”

Kaze’s gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. “No. I treat her like someone I want to smile.”

Orochi went silent. For a long moment, she studied him, mouth opening and closing.

“…You’re hopeless,” she finally declared.

He offered no defense.

She rubbed her temples. “Ugh. The great Kaze, letting himself be caught like a clumsy kitten because his princess smiles when she wins. How completely, thoroughly un-ninja-like.”

Kaze gave a quiet, almost amused exhale. “Then I suppose I will continue being un-ninja-like.”

The sun had barely cleared the hilltops when Kaze arrived at the familiar farmhouse. He knew something was wrong the moment he saw Makia on the front steps, cradling her knees, her face buried in her arms.

His heart sank like a stone.

“Makia?”

She looked up—and it hit him like thunder. Tear-streaked cheeks. Red-rimmed eyes. His chest clenched.

He dropped to a knee before her without hesitation. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

She sniffled and shook her head. “Some of the animals are gone… Last night, the pen was left open—I don’t know how—and this morning the goats and one of the cows were just gone. I looked all through the forest… maybe they didn’t like it here.”

“...They ran away?” His voice sounded absurd even to himself.

She nodded, voice wobbling. “Maybe I’m not taking good care of them. Or… maybe something took them. I should’ve protected them, I should’ve—”

“No.”

His tone cut through her panic like a blade through fog. He stood, fists clenched.

“No, Makia. They didn’t run away because they were unhappy. I’ll find them.” His eyes sharpened. “Even if I have to tear through every shadow in Toran to do it.”

And with that, he vanished into the forest like a ghost.

By late evening, Kaze had found signs. Disguised prints. Bent twigs. A single green strand of hair caught on bramble. Someone had deliberately hidden the trail, but not well enough for him.

The path led him deeper, until the trees opened into a small hollow.

There, by firelight, sat a goblin. Short, mossy-haired, with long ears and too many teeth. And surrounding him like an adoring audience? Makia’s barn animals. All lounging. The cow even had a flower crown.

Kaze blinked.

The goblin turned—and screamed.

“GRAK’TOK SHARRA?!”

Kaze, quick on his feet, responded instinctively in the guttural goblin-tongue he had learned years ago for a mission.

“No stabby! Me talky! Why goat cow here?”

The goblin paused, suspicious.

“Goat cow like Grib. Grib tell stories. Grib feed snacks. Grib nice!”

Kaze narrowed his eyes. “Grib steal from kind girl. Girl cry flood. Heart break. Fix now.”

Grib blinked, ears drooping. “Grib… borrow. Grib lonely. Grib no hurt.”

“Grib return. Or Grib feel ninja pain.”

The goblin wailed and rolled onto his back dramatically. “Okay okay! Take animals! No ninja pain! Grib sorry!”

With a few more exchanges—and some traded jerky to sweeten the deal—Kaze herded the animals back under cover of night.

By dawn, Makia stood barefoot in the dew-soaked grass, blinking in disbelief as Kaze led the cow and goats home.

“You—how—!?”

Kaze looked mildly dusty and windblown but otherwise composed. “They were… with a goblin.”

She gasped, clutching her mouth. “What?!”

“He was lonely. Wanted company. He gave the cow a flower crown.”

Makia ran forward, flinging her arms around the cow—then around Kaze, peppering his cheek in grateful kisses. “You found them! Oh gods, Kaze, I was—I was so scared—!”

“I know,” he murmured, arms wrapping tight around her. “That’s why I had to bring them home.”

Her forehead pressed to his, and her smile trembled through new tears. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that?”

And though he said nothing in return, Kaze smiled.

Some things—like stolen barn animals, goblin diplomacy, and the girl he loved—were worth losing sleep over.

The First Return Visit

It happened two weeks later.

Kaze was patrolling near the barn when he caught sight of a familiar lumpy shape skulking just beyond the tree line. Grib. Again. And once more, the goblin had a goat under one arm like a wiggling handbag.

Kaze blurred across the field in a flash, landing directly in Grib’s path with a sharp glare. “Grib.”

The goblin froze. “Goat visit Grib! Not steal! Honest!”

Kaze stepped forward, arms crossed, unimpressed. “You were told not to come back.”

Grib raised his hands, panicking. “Grib leave trinket! Make nice! No touch mate!”

“…Mate?” Kaze’s ears turned red.

Grib nodded solemnly. “Shiny girl. Very fierce. Yours, yes? Mate. Grib not stupid.”

“I—she’s not—” Kaze coughed. “...She is under my protection. Stay away from her.”

Grib nodded again, almost reverently. “Ahh. Kaze strong. Very stealth. Alpha ninja. Makes sense.”

Kaze’s glare faltered for a blink. He took the goat back.

“Leave your trinket and go.”

Grib placed something small and glowing on the ground—a pebble that shimmered faintly with low-grade enchantment. Then he scuttled off with a dramatic hiss and a backwards somersault.

A Pattern Forms

Over the next month, it became routine.

Every time an animal wandered off (and they always did—those little monsters had no loyalty), Grib was the culprit-slash-host. And every time, Kaze tracked them down and returned them. Grib was always apologetic. Always brought gifts. Sometimes odd enchanted stones, other times wild herbs, once a tiny hand-carved figure of Kaze with a very buff chest.

Kaze did not comment on it. He buried it in the barn wall.

Dialogue Snippets

Grib: “Grib like ninja. Good style. Very quiet. Like lurking wolf.”

Kaze: “Thank you. Stop stealing goats.”

Grib: “Grib not steal! Goat visit! Goat say: ‘Baa, we go to party.’”

Kaze: “You can’t believe everything a goat says.”

Grib, clutching a sparkly rock: “Gift for mate! Tell her Grib say ‘thank.’”

Kaze, exasperated: “She has a name.”

Grib: “Makia, yes. Fancy name. But ‘mate’ easier to remember. Shiny princess. Likes bunnies.”

Kaze blinked. “How do you—?”

Grib grinned with too many teeth. “Grib observant.”

Slow Mutual Tolerance

Eventually, Kaze stopped threatening Grib at first sight.

He still kept a watchful eye on him. But he no longer brandished a kunai the moment Grib appeared. In fact, he occasionally offered Grib herbs from the farm if the goblin showed signs of being injured. In return, Grib made a surprisingly effective animal herder, whispering strange chants that lured chickens off rooftops and sheep out of the woods.

Once, Kaze caught him humming and herding with a baby goat perched on his head.

Final Scene: Night Watch, Side-by-Side

One crisp evening, Grib sat on a stump chewing moss while Kaze stood nearby, arms folded as he watched the moonlight across the fields.

“You love mate very much,” Grib said suddenly.

Kaze turned his head slightly. “That’s not your business.”

“It very obvious. Grib knows.”

Silence.

Then, softly: “Yes. I do.”

Grib nodded sagely. “She is good. You are good. Grib not steal anymore.”

Kaze almost smiled.

“Good. Because if you do… you’ll find yourself sleeping in a trap pit.”

Grib cackled. “Fair.”

A Mysterious Gift

Makia strolled up to Kaze after her morning rounds, a shy smile playing on her lips. In her hand, she held…a leaf?

“Kaze,” she said, gently teasing, “you never told me you were an artist.”

“…Pardon?”

He blinked as she held it out to him: a broad green leaf, carefully dried and inked with what could loosely be described as a drawing. Two figures—one tall with spiky hair and ninja gear, and one with wild curls, a flowing cape, and an enormous smile—stood under a blazing sun with a very lumpy heart hovering above their heads.

At the bottom, in crooked handwriting:

“To Makia, with love – Kaze 💚”

His jaw dropped. “I… didn’t… draw this.”

“But you signed it,” Makia said with mock gravity, trying very hard not to laugh.

“I most certainly did not—!” he paused, then narrowed his eyes. “…Grib.”

Later That Day – Grib’s Tree Stump Hangout

Kaze found him chewing on pine bark like a very smug squirrel.

“Grib,” Kaze said darkly, “you forged my name.”

Grib beamed, bark stuck in his teeth. “Ah! She like, yes? Grib saw smile. Good leaf art, hmm? Captured essence of romance.”

“You made me look like I have three arms.”

“Extra arms for extra hugging! Bonus strength of love!” Grib waved his stubby fingers like streamers. “You welcome.”

Kaze pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaled deeply, and said with forced calm, “I appreciate the gesture, truly, but stay out of my love life. This is not your place.”

Grib blinked, then leaned forward solemnly. “Grib help. Grib accelerate courtship! You take too long. She pretty. She strong. You make doe eyes but never pounce!”

“I am not a pouncing type,” Kaze hissed.

“That your problem!” Grib pointed dramatically. “You wait too long, lose mate, regret forever, die sad and single. Grib care. Grib invested.”

“…Invested?”

Grib slapped a tiny goblin hand on his heart. “Yes! When you marry, Grib come too. Live in barn. Babysit animals. Maybe babysit babies!”

“What?”

Grib nodded sagely. “Goblin tradition. Matchmaker becomes honorary uncle. Grib already thinking of wedding snacks. Do you prefer roasted beetles or honeyed frogs?”

Kaze stared at him.

“…We are not having goblin snacks at the wedding.”

Grib shrugged. “We see. Grib good negotiator.”

Later, with Makia

That evening, Kaze sat beside Makia on the porch, still pink in the ears.

She nudged him gently. “So… any more leaf art coming my way?”

He groaned into his hands. “I promise you, I am not behind any of those drawings.”

“Oh, I know.” She grinned. “But I think it’s cute that he thinks we’re already a married couple.”

Kaze sighed. “…He’s trying to book himself into the honeymoon suite. With the barn animals.”

Makia burst out laughing.

“Oh no,” she wheezed, “we’re never getting rid of him, are we?”

“…Apparently not.”

It was early evening, the sun casting warm gold across the training field. After an intense spar, both Kaze and Lee sat in the grass, sweat clinging to their brows, their breath slowly returning to rhythm. Lee, still buzzing with energy, leaned forward and clasped his knees.

“Senpai,” he said, serious now, eyes wide and sincere, “I want to ask you something very important.”

Kaze tilted his head slightly, a hand braced on one knee. “Go ahead.”

Lee hesitated for once, the moment weighing on him. “It’s about Lady Makia. What sort of man do you think she’d want to be with? Would she… ever be interested in someone like me?”

Kaze blinked. The irony didn’t escape him — being asked by his self-appointed mentee about the very girl who filled his own heart with unspoken love. But he didn’t let that show. He answered in the same even tone he always did when mentoring.

“Makia has never spoken of anyone she likes,” Kaze said gently, gaze drifting to the horizon. “But if I had to guess… she would need someone reliable. Someone she can trust without question. Her heart is large, but her burdens are many. She’s brilliant, curious, and kind—but she also grows ill easily, and she’s had to carry more than most.”

Lee took that in, then asked plainly, “And what about you? You’ve known her for years, haven’t you? Are you going to pursue her too, Senpai? That would make us rivals in love.”

Kaze’s eyes narrowed faintly in thought before answering. “We met when we were both children, displaced by war, separated from our families. I’ve protected her ever since. She’s…” He paused, words nearly catching in his throat, but he forced the truth out honestly. “She is my purpose. My reason for walking this path. If she needed me to cross the world, I would. But what I feel isn’t something I act on lightly.”

There was silence between them for a long moment, until Kaze asked in return, “And what about you, Lee? Why do you love her?”

Lee’s eyes lit with a memory. “I saw her once during the Moon Festival,” he said softly. “She was dressed in white and gold, her hair glowing like moonlight. I dropped something—my calligraphy brush—and people laughed. But she didn’t. She picked it up, handed it to me with the sweetest smile, and said I had strong hands. No one’s ever said something like that to me before.” He looked down at his fingers, curling them into his palm. “Since then, I trained harder. Not just for her… but because I wanted to be proud of myself too. She was the first person to see something good in me. Of course I fell in love.”

Kaze watched him for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “That’s admirable. Many people confuse love with possession or envy. Yours is… pure. Idealistic, maybe, but sincere. I wish you luck, Lee.”

Lee blinked, clearly moved by the sincerity in Kaze’s voice.

“You mean that, Senpai?”

“I do. You’re not my rival. Not really. But if you keep training, keep growing… maybe someday you’ll stand as someone she can depend on. And someone you can be proud of too.”

Lee’s eyes welled with tears and he gave a proud, trembling smile. “Then I will train even harder! Thank you, Kaze-senpai!”

Kaze smiled faintly, the ache in his chest bittersweet, knowing that Lee might never fully understand just how deep his own feelings for Makia ran. But it didn’t matter. In that moment, they were simply two young men, carrying their own versions of devotion — bonded by it, not broken.

The student kitchens were warm with evening light and the gentle clatter of utensils. Kaze moved efficiently through his tasks—slicing ginger, skimming the broth, adjusting the flame beneath a clay pot. Beside him, Po leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching with an amused glint in his eye.

“You’re too focused,” Po said, sniffing the air. “I can always tell when you’re cooking for Makia. You even stand straighter.”

Kaze didn’t look up. “She’s particular about flavor when she’s sick. This needs to be gentle on the stomach.”

Po chuckled, lifting a spoon to taste the broth. “You know, one day she’s going to find out just how many hours you’ve spent learning to cook for her.”

From the hallway came a blur of motion. “Kaze-senpai! I have arrived!”

Lee burst in with the full force of a thunderclap, wide-eyed and breathless. “Did I hear right? You’re training to be a master of the culinary arts… for Lady Makia?!”

Po barely stifled his laughter as Kaze sighed.

“I’m learning to cook,” Kaze said simply. “That’s all.”

“No, no, no!” Lee pointed dramatically. “This is training for love! I must join you! I will also become a culinary master!”

Po leaned over, grinning at Kaze. “Looks like you’ve got a new rival in the kitchen now too. Lucky you.”

“I’m not entertaining that,” Kaze replied flatly, though a hint of amusement touched his lips.

Still, within minutes Lee had an apron on and was furiously chopping vegetables—too furiously. A few pieces flew dramatically across the counter, one narrowly missing Po’s face.

“We’ll make soup,” Po declared. “And I’ll be the judge. Whoever wins… earns the honor of Makia’s hypothetical love and her hypothetical taste buds.”

Kaze raised a brow. “That’s not the point of cooking.”

“It is today!” Lee declared proudly. “I will channel the fires of my heart into this dish!”

They all got to work. Kaze’s style was methodical, thoughtful—each herb measured for balance, his broth clear and comforting. Lee’s approach, on the other hand, was… ambitious. He poured in spice with bold declarations, chopped without mercy, and even struck a pose over the boiling pot.

Finally, they presented their dishes to Po.

Po sipped Lee’s soup first. His eyes widened. “Wow. That’s… a lot of flavor. My tongue is fighting for its life.”

Lee beamed. “That is the fire of youth!”

Then Po turned to Kaze’s, and after one taste, closed his eyes. “Okay, this is what you feed someone you love. Not a sparring partner.”

Lee frowned, deflating a little. “So… I lost?”

Kaze placed his ladle down and turned to him calmly. “Lee, it’s not about winning.”

“Huh?”

“It’s about making something with care. Something that suits the person you’re cooking for. When Makia’s ill, she needs warmth, not excitement. When she’s tired, she prefers simple, clear flavors. When you know someone… you cook to meet their needs.”

Lee blinked. “So… cooking is like ninja work. You study your mission, understand your target, and act with precision and heart.”

Po looked impressed. “That might be the smartest thing you’ve ever said.”

Lee saluted. “Understood! I will study Makia’s favorite foods and eating habits immediately! I will become the kind of chef—and man—who knows how to make her smile!”

Kaze gave a soft hum of acknowledgment and quietly stirred the pot again.

Po grinned between them both. “Well. This is going to be the best dinner hour of my life.”

Kaze’s Room, Late Evening

The room was still, lit by a single lantern. Kaze sat at his desk, hair slightly damp from a recent spar, fingers ink-stained from writing. Before him lay the spanread scroll, glowing faintly with magical light. He pressed the quill to it gently.

“Makia, School continues to surprise me. I’ve acquired a new shadow—his name is Lee. He insists on being my pupil, though he learns as much through chaos as through instruction. Po says I’ve somehow adopted a small army of misfits, though I suspect he means that fondly. Lee challenges me to spar every day. He also believes we are rivals in love.”

Kaze paused.

“Your name is on everyone’s lips. Some with admiration. Some with longing. Lee confessed to you in the middle of our duel. I don’t know what stunned me more—his timing, or his conviction. I find myself learning from him despite everything.”

He exhaled quietly and continued.

“Po is teaching me to cook with better technique. He told me I stand straighter when I cook for you. Maybe I do.”

Kaze hesitated, then wrote slowly:

“I hope to serve you something warm soon. Something that will help your strength return.”

Just as the ink dried, the scroll shimmered. Words appeared in a softer hand—Makia’s.

“Kaze~ That sounds like a circus. Please be kind to Lee, even if he’s a bit much. You were once that small too, remember? I would love to taste your soup. You must be getting very good. Father says I’m to return home for a while. My fever came back earlier than usual. I’ll be fine, promise. I’ve been through this before.”

Kaze's eyes lingered on the last few lines.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get better before your next break. I always do.”

He didn’t respond right away. He simply rested his head on his folded arms, letting the silence settle.

The Next Day — Cooking Room

Po glanced at Kaze as he sliced vegetables. The usually fluid movements of his hands were slow, almost distracted. Kaze’s gaze remained on the boiling pot too long, steam clouding his face.

Po put down his ladle. “You’re staring at that broth like it personally offended you.”

Kaze didn’t respond.

Lee entered like a whirlwind. “Kaze-senpai! Today I have two new moves and a meditation technique I learned in my sleep! Let’s spar right after this—”

He stopped mid-sentence, blinking at Kaze.

“...Are you okay, senpai?”

Po crossed his arms. “He’s not. But he’s trying to pretend he is. Which is, you know, his signature move.”

Kaze wiped his hands. “I’m fine.”

Lee frowned, unconvinced. “You don’t look fine. You burned the ginger and didn’t even flinch. Are you sick?! Is someone hurt?!”

Po leaned in. “That’s the face of someone who just read bad news.”

Kaze was silent for a moment longer. Then finally, he said, “Makia’s fallen ill again. She’s gone home to recover.”

Po’s expression softened. “That early in the year?”

Kaze nodded. “It’s never happened like this. Usually… I’m there. By the time her illness returns, I’m already home.”

Lee’s energetic posture slowly softened, a rare calm coming over him. “Is she… very sick?”

“She says not to worry.” Kaze stared at the cutting board. “But I do.”

There was a long pause.

Then, without a word, Po reached over and set a cup of hot tea in front of him.

Lee sat down cross-legged on the floor, serious as ever. “You’re allowed to worry, Kaze-senpai. You care about her. It’s not weakness to feel it.”

Kaze gave a faint smile at that—small, but sincere. “Thank you.”

Lee brightened. “And when she’s well again, we’ll both cook for her. And I’ll make sure my soup doesn’t fight her tongue.”

Po snorted.

Kaze exhaled slowly, a sound nearly like a laugh.

This strange, unexpected circle—rowdy, awkward, sincere—became a quiet balm he hadn’t realized he needed.

An Envelope at His Door

The morning sun had barely breached the treetops when Kaze returned from his run, only to find a small envelope on the floor of his dorm. Unmarked except for his name in crisp, familiar penmanship. He opened it without hesitation.

Inside lay a letter from Makia’s father:

“Kaze, I hope this reaches you in good health. I know you have duties, and Makia would never ask this of you herself, but I’m afraid her illness has grown severe. The healers are watching her closely. If you find time this weekend, please visit. I believe she’d be delighted—and strengthened—to see you. Enclosed is a teleportation stone calibrated for the outer path to our cottage. Use it wisely. —Elder Thalen”

Kaze didn’t wait. He clutched the stone and concentrated, already gripping his satchel. The moment it activated, the sensation of being pulled across space tugged at his body—and he vanished.

Outside Makia’s Cottage

Kaze landed softly in the clearing outside her home, boots crunching on pebbles. The air smelled of pine and late-summer dusk. Sir Florian stood waiting on the porch, arms folded, his expression somber.

“Kaze,” he greeted. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Kaze bowed. “How is she?”

Thalen stepped forward, voice hushed. “She’s stable now, but the episodes are worsening. Coughing blood, nosebleeds. Her strength comes and goes like waves, but her fever hasn’t broken in days. She’s been asking about you.”

Kaze’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t realized how bad it had become.

“Go gently,” Thalen advised. “She’s asleep, but she’ll sense you the moment you’re near.”

Kaze gave a respectful nod before slipping inside.

Inside Makia’s Room

The light was dimmed behind drawn curtains. A basin of cool water sat beside her bed, stained cloths folded beside it. Makia lay curled under light blankets, a cloth pressed to her mouth, blood already blooming faintly across the fabric. She stirred, a soft breath catching.

“Kaze…?”

His name, even said weakly, filled the entire room.

He knelt beside her immediately. “I’m here.”

Her smile was feeble, but radiant. “You came.”

She tried to sit up and immediately fell into a violent coughing fit, curling forward, blood flicking into the cloth again. Kaze instinctively braced her with one arm behind her shoulders, his other hand smoothing her hair away from her fevered brow.

“Don’t move too fast,” he said softly. His voice was tight. He didn’t let her see the panic behind his eyes.

When the coughing subsided, she leaned into him, exhausted.

“You’re really here,” she whispered, “and taller than I remember.”

“I had to grow stronger,” he murmured, “to protect you better.”

Later That Evening — Kitchen Hearth

While Makia rested, Kaze pulled out Po’s recipe journal and set to work. He stoked the hearth, chopped ginger, simmered herbs, and diced vegetables with delicate care. Every motion was silent, swift, precise.

He poured the finished broth into a small porcelain bowl and brought it to her bedside. She stirred again, the smell rousing her with a flutter of lashes.

“You cooked?” she rasped.

“I’ve been learning,” he said, kneeling and helping her sit up carefully against the pillows.

She sipped, slowly. Then again. Then again.

Her eyes widened.

“Kaze—this is…” she swallowed, her voice thick, “...the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He exhaled with deep relief, a quiet smile curving his lips. “You’re not just saying that?”

“I’m not just saying that,” she whispered, still sipping. “You made this for me?”

“Of course,” he said, looking at her flushed cheeks and trembling hands. “There’s not a single thing I’ve done this year that wasn’t for you.”

She paused, bowl in hand, gaze softening on his face.

Even sick and frail, her beauty pierced him—the starlight in her eyes, the gentle warmth of her presence, the way her smile ignited something sacred in his chest.

“Kaze,” she said softly, “I missed you.”

His throat tightened. He reached for her hand and held it with gentle fingers.

“I missed you too.”

Later That Night — Quiet Between the Storms

Makia had managed to finish half the bowl of soup before her arms grew too tired to lift it again. Kaze gently set it aside, wiped her mouth with a warm cloth, and tucked the blanket up to her chin.

But her eyes remained open—soft, tired, gleaming in the lamplight.

“Tell me something,” she murmured.

Kaze tilted his head. “What would you like to hear?”

“A story.”

He considered it for a moment, then said, “There’s someone you should know about. A boy named Rock Lee.”

Her brows lifted. “Lee?”

He nodded solemnly. “He’s a freshman. Energetic. Relentless. Dramatic. He declares his feelings at full volume—sparks fly whenever he opens his mouth.”

“Oh dear,” she giggled softly.

“And he’s attached himself to me,” Kaze added dryly. “At the hip. He waits outside my classes. He nearly followed me into the bathhouse. He challenges me to spar at lunch. And last week he turned a cooking lesson into a competition for your heart.”

She blinked. “He what?”

Kaze chuckled—actually chuckled. “He made soup. It was… passionate. Over-seasoned. I won. Barely.”

“Oh no,” she wheezed, giggling even as she coughed into her hand again.

He sobered and leaned closer, gently dabbing the corners of her lips. “He’s asked a lot about you. What kind of person you’d love. If I intend to pursue you. He even said we’re rivals in love if I do.”

Kaze meant it as a lighthearted aside, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. But Makia’s sleepy eyes glittered mischievously.

“Well, with how delicious your soup is,” she said slyly, “there may not be any competition left.”

His ears flushed. He coughed, once, trying not to visibly short-circuit. “I—it’s… only broth—”

“It’s the best broth I’ve ever had.”

Her voice grew quieter, a softer kind of vulnerable now. She turned her face slightly to the side, the gentle humor fading.

“I missed you, Kaze.”

He looked at her quickly. She hadn’t said it like that before—so plain and open. Her hand, pale and trembling, reached for his.

“I… was scared,” she admitted. “When I started coughing blood, I thought… what if it’s worse this time? What if no one figures it out? What if…”

She couldn’t finish. Kaze’s hand tightened around hers.

“Stop,” he said, voice trembling despite himself. “Don’t say that.”

Her eyes widened faintly, startled by the sudden emotion in his voice.

He looked down, biting the inside of his cheek, trying to hide how much his own hands were shaking now.

“I can’t bear the thought of you dying while I’m gone,” he said, barely above a whisper. “While I’m at school. On a mission. Away. I can’t—”

Makia gently leaned her forehead to his.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

But she could see it—really see it now. Not just worry. Not just duty.

Kaze was afraid.

“I’ll survive,” she promised gently. “I always do. But… could you… stay tonight?”

His answer wasn’t verbal. He simply moved, slow and careful, helping her shift over with his arms beneath her shoulders. Then he settled down beside her, cloak removed, boots undone, laying atop the blankets so he wouldn’t disturb her further.

Her arms wrapped around him anyway, weak but warm. Her breath was soft against his chest.

He cradled her there.

The bloodstained cloth rested in the basin nearby, an awful reminder—but she was here. Breathing. Warm. Holding him back.

Kaze remained awake for a long time, watching the rise and fall of her breathing. Memorizing it. Matching his to hers.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled at him too. He curled his arm protectively around her waist, burying his face into her hair.

Even in this uncertainty, wrapped in her arms, he found peace.

The Gate Opens

The morning sun shimmered on the polished stone of Toran’s elite Shinobi Academy. It was Kaze’s final year.

He stood taller now, broader in the shoulder, lean muscle honed from rigorous training and missions. His quiet grace had evolved into something commanding—one glance and most people stood straighter.

So when the great iron gates opened for guests, no one expected her.

Makia.

A glint of sunlight caught her long, honey-dark hair as it spilled down her back in luscious waves. She wore a soft white dress with ruffled straps and a tasteful slit revealing just a hint of her thigh when she walked. Her skin practically glowed in the late summer light. The gentle curve of her neck, her full figure beneath the soft cotton—it was dangerous.

At sixteen, she had transformed. No longer the curious, mischievous girl hiding in curtains—she moved like a young woman in bloom.

And the school noticed.

“Who is that girl?”

“Wait… is that Makia? Kaze’s little friend from a few years ago?!”

“Are you sure?!”

“No way—look at her—that’s her?”

“She’s a goddess now—how the hell did Kaze keep her hidden all this time?”

“Kaze’s what now?”

—

Kaze, for his part, had already sensed them coming. His intuition was sharp, yes—but maybe he’d just felt her in the air somehow. She always carried summer with her.

He rounded the corner from the courtyard—and froze.

There she was, standing with Grandpa, who waved warmly the moment he saw him. But Kaze’s eyes were on her.

Her dress caught the breeze just right, and for a second, the fabric clung to her hips.

His heart stopped.

Not just from the sight of her, but because—this was the moment it became public. Every student, teacher, and bystander stared as Makia broke into a smile and called out,

“Kaaaze!”

She skipped toward him without hesitation, eyes sparkling.

The Walk Through Campus

Kaze was a little stiff. Calm on the outside, but stiff.

He was used to people whispering about him. But today, the eyes followed them.

And the whispers weren’t subtle:

“That’s Kaze’s childhood friend?! No way he’s just her friend…”

“How is she so pretty and also so… sweet? Did you see how she smiled at those juniors?”

“He’s gotta be in love with her. Look at the way he keeps glancing at her shoulders.”

“I would be in love with her. Gods, that collarbone—”

“No way. They can’t be dating, can they? No way I have a chance against Kaze…”

“Wait, does that make her my rival?!”

He walked beside her in silence, hands folded behind his back like always. But the tips of his ears were scarlet.

Makia was entirely oblivious.

“Oh! This used to be the courtyard where we practiced dodging drills, right?” she beamed up at him, unaware of the storm she left in her wake. “And that hallway over there leads to the sparring wing where you fought Tai Lung?”

Kaze nodded, stealing another glance. Her hair shone like polished mahogany, catching sunlight like gold threads. Her profile—her neck, her—

He looked away. Hard.

Lunch with Grandpa

They sat beneath the plum trees, a quiet space Kaze had chosen away from the crowd. Not that it helped.

A group of girls approached, timid but excited. “Makia? I—I mean, Lady Makia, do you remember us from the library two years ago?”

Makia blinked. “Yes! You lent me that one book about elemental harmonics, right?”

They melted.

Soon, more students came to see her. Not just boys—everyone.

She gave out hugs, laughed with students, complimented their hair, asked them about their studies. She was sunshine incarnate.

And through it all, Kaze sat beside her, quiet and protective. If someone stepped too close, his brow subtly furrowed. If anyone stared too long, he stared back.

Even Grandpa noticed.

“You’ve gotten taller,” the old man said as they shared tea. “But still as smitten, I see.”

Kaze nearly choked.

The Plum Tree Clears

After a lovely meal beneath the boughs, some girls tugged Makia away, begging to show her the new spells and staff maneuvers they’d picked up over summer.

She laughed brightly, delighted, and shot a little glance back at Kaze. “I’ll be right back!” Her smile lingered—warm, radiant, meant only for him.

Kaze gave a small nod.

Then she vanished behind the courtyard walls in a flurry of excited voices.

He turned back to the tea he was quietly sipping with Grandpa.

That’s when the shadow fell across the table.

“Yo, Kaze.”

Three boys stood there. Upperclassmen, two of them taller, one with bandages over his fingers from their last bout of weapons training. Kaze knew them: mid-rank, decent fighters. Loud, too, when Makia had been around.

“Didn’t expect to see her again,” said the first, arms crossed. His tone wasn’t friendly. “She grew up real nice, huh?”

“Real sweet, too,” added another. “Said she remembered my name from the scroll signing last visit. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

The third one chuckled. “Bet she’s got a thing for shinobi—any shinobi. Shame she got swept up by you before anyone else had a fair shot.”

That did it.

Kaze set his cup down slowly.

Then stood.

No raised voice. No clenching fists.

Just a long, steady look.

“...If you think kindness is an invitation,” Kaze said, “you’re not ready for her attention. And if you think I’d tolerate disrespect toward someone I care for—”

He took a single step forward. Not threatening. Just...final.

“—then you haven’t been paying attention to anything in this school.”

The air grew cold.

It wasn’t magic.

Just Kaze.

The lead boy instinctively stepped back. His friends tensed, suddenly uncertain.

“W-we didn’t mean disrespect,” one stammered, eyes flicking to Grandpa—who only raised an eyebrow.

Kaze didn’t look away. His voice dropped to a murmur now, but it cut.

“If your pride is hurt because she smiled at you, take it to the training yard. Don’t bring it to her name.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Even the plum blossoms seemed to pause mid-drift.

The three boys exchanged glances, muttered some excuse, and made a hasty retreat—without turning their backs on him.

Grandpa let out a low, impressed whistle as he refilled his cup.

“You always were a quiet one,” he said, “but you sure know how to silence a room.”

Kaze exhaled and sat again, gaze drifting toward the courtyard walls where Makia’s laughter rang out in the distance.

“I’m used to fighting with my hands,” he murmured. “But I’ll destroy anyone who treats her like something to compete for.”

The Youthful Challenge

The courtyard had calmed.

Kaze sipped the last of his tea. Grandpa stretched out a lazy arm, leaning back with a satisfied sigh, when the flurry of voices came skipping back.

“There she is,” Grandpa muttered with a smirk, “and not a moment too soon.”

Makia reappeared, flushed from laughter, strands of her long hair caught in a warm breeze. Her dress fluttered around her legs, the slit on the side making more than one passerby do a double-take as she slowed to rejoin them.

Kaze rose slightly to greet her, but before a single word could pass his lips—

“I challenge you!”

The shout rang like a temple bell across the courtyard.

Heads turned. Students paused.

Even a pigeon looked down from the roof.

A boy in a brilliant green tracksuit stood just a few feet away. His posture was perfect, back straight, fists clenched, one foot raised in a ready stance. His hair was black and bowl-cut, and his brows—dear gods—could be seen from halfway across campus.

Kaze blinked.

“…What?”

“You are Kaze, yes?” The boy’s voice was clear, earnest, and unwavering. “I am Rock Lee! I have heard tales of your talent, your power, your stoicism! I would be honored to face you in a duel of strength, speed, and spirit this very afternoon!”

Kaze just stared.

Lee wasn’t done.

“And you—” he turned, dramatically and without shame, “—must be the Lady Makia. Word of your beauty, intelligence, and grace has reached even the lowest underclassmen! It is my greatest privilege to bask in your presence!”

Makia blinked, then offered a little wave. “Oh! That’s… very sweet of you. Thank you, it’s nice to meet you too!”

Lee blushed furiously, stars in his eyes. “Your voice is like the wind on a still lake at dawn…”

Kaze raised an eyebrow.

Lee turned back sharply. “Kaze! I’ll be waiting in the northern sparring ring after class. And bring Lady Makia! She deserves to witness our fiery youth in action!”

Then—with a salute and a whoosh—he dashed off, leaving petals and bewilderment in his wake.

Silence.

“…Who was that?” Makia asked, utterly baffled.

“I have no idea,” Kaze replied flatly.

Grandpa wheezed with laughter.

“Oh, this is good,” he cackled. “Boy’s got more guts than you ever did at fifteen, that’s for sure.”

Kaze ignored him, eyes following the direction Lee had vanished. His brows were drawn tight, but not in irritation—more like confusion… with the faintest undercurrent of curiosity.

Makia hummed thoughtfully beside him. “He seemed sweet. Really passionate.”

Kaze crossed his arms. “He challenged me to a fight.”

“…Yes, but he said please.”

Grandpa howled harder.

Kaze exhaled and shook his head, a dry sort of smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fine. I’ll meet him after class.”

Makia clapped her hands together. “Great! I’ll bring snacks.”

Grandpa elbowed Kaze lightly. “Better step it up. Fresh blood’s getting bold.”

Kaze didn’t reply.

But he did glance at Makia again as she twirled a bit of her hair around her finger, chatting happily beside him, entirely oblivious to the storm of hearts she was stirring.

He did have a lot to say to her.

Eventually.

The Challenge: Youth vs. Composure

The northern sparring ring shimmered under the golden hue of the afternoon sun. A large crowd had gathered—students, instructors, even a few visiting scholars curious to see the school’s top student in action.

At the center stood Kaze, calm and poised, one hand resting on the hilt of his blade, the other at his side.

Across from him: Rock Lee, vibrating with pure determination, his brows furrowed with unshakable resolve.

The bell sounded.

Lee launched forward in a blur of green.

Kaze moved smoothly, parrying the flurry of blows with ease—at first. But then Lee began to pick up speed. His movements, wild yet precise, forced Kaze to shift into more calculated dodges. For a fifteen-year-old, Lee’s power was unnatural.

Kaze's eyes narrowed.

He swept under a kick, delivered a palm to Lee’s ribs, and spun back. Lee rebounded with staggering agility, landing on his feet mid-air. The crowd gasped.

“You’re fast,” Kaze admitted, flicking sweat from his brow. “And strong.”

Lee grinned. “Because my heart burns with purpose!”

Kaze tilted his head slightly. “And why did you come to me? There are others you could have challenged.”

Lee froze mid-stride, then turned toward the sidelines, right where Makia and Grandpa sat beneath a shaded canopy.

“To test myself,” he declared, “against the best this school has to offer—but more than that…”

He dropped into a bow.

“…Lady Makia, I am in love with you!”

The ring exploded in gasps. Someone dropped a teacup. A scholar nearby choked on his drink.

Grandpa’s jaw nearly hit the floor. His eyes snapped to Kaze, who stood stock still, his mouth parted, his expression unreadable save for one clear fact:

He hadn’t seen that coming.

Makia froze, wide-eyed, clutching the edge of her seat.

“Wh-what?!”

But Lee was already on the move again. With a roar of passion, he unleashed another assault—spinning kicks, rapid strikes, a blur of green and gold. Kaze blocked them all, though now with a flare of impatience in every deflection.

Lee vaulted back and landed right in front of Makia, suddenly kneeling and producing a bouquet of vividly wrapped wildflowers.

“Please be my girlfriend!” he cried. “I will protect and love you with all my might!”

Makia blinked, her mouth hanging open in absolute shock. She slowly took the flowers, stunned into silence.

“I—uh—that’s very flattering—but—!”

Lee held up a finger. “I shall give you time to think. A delicate heart should not be rushed!”

And with that, he pivoted, finger pointing back to the sparring ring. “Now… time to embarrass Kaze in front of my love!”

Kaze was already there, unsheathing his blade with a practiced motion, his stance lower now, sharper.

He wasn’t angry.

Not exactly.

But something twisted in his chest—hot, unsettled, not good.

Lee dove again.

The spar exploded into a blur.

Even Grandpa leaned forward, watching closely now. This was no longer a lighthearted test. Lee had pushed Kaze—physically and emotionally. Every strike clashed like thunder, wind and fire colliding. Makia’s eyes darted between them, speechless.

Finally, Kaze surged forward in a sudden gust of speed, too fast for the eye.

In a flash of silver and green, Lee was disarmed, airborne, and planted into the dirt. The ground cracked beneath him.

Silence.

Then—Lee popped up, rubbing his head with a sheepish grin. “What a worthy opponent…!”

Kaze exhaled slowly, sheathing his blade. He extended a hand. “You’re not bad.”

Lee took it, shaking firmly. “You’re amazing! I hope we can spar every week! And Lady Makia, my love…”

He spun dramatically, winking. “I’ll be dreaming of you tonight!”

With a final wave and a kiss blown into the air, Lee disappeared into the crowd, leaving behind a stunned campus, a proud Grandpa…

…and two shell-shocked teens sitting shoulder to shoulder.

Makia stared at the flowers in her lap. “…What… just happened?”

Kaze rubbed his temple. “…I’m not sure.”

“But he said he loved me. Like. In the middle of a fight.”

“He did,” Kaze muttered, then under his breath, “loudly.”

Makia turned to him. “Was that… how bold people are now?”

Kaze didn’t respond immediately. He was still watching the path Lee had vanished down, brows low, expression unreadable.

Grandpa leaned in with a smirk. “So, Kaze. Any thoughts on declaring your feelings in the middle of your next match?”

Kaze didn’t answer.

But his grip on the edge of his scabbard was just a little tighter.

The late afternoon air was warm and golden as Kaze and Makia walked side by side beneath the swaying trees beyond the training grounds. The campus was quieter now, though the weight of the day lingered in the distant murmurs behind them—whispers of Makia’s radiant beauty, jealous glances, and that utterly outrageous underclassman who’d hijacked the entire sparring ring with a confession of love.

Makia held the bouquet gently in her arms, its bright colors a soft contrast to her thoughtful expression.

“I still can’t believe that happened,” she murmured, her voice half-laugh, half-sigh. “Did today feel kind of… unreal to you too?”

Kaze nodded, his hands tucked into his sleeves. “Whispers. Stares. Random boys trying to fight me. And then…” He side-eyed her. “An underclassman with the heart of a war drum declaring his love mid-combat.”

Makia giggled. “He was so intense! Like he’d been waiting his whole life for that exact moment.”

Kaze's mouth curved faintly, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’ve only been back a day and now you’ve got a fanclub. I don’t know what to make of that boy, but his strength was real. His resolve too.” He paused, brows furrowing slightly. “What do you plan to do with the flowers?”

“Hm?” She looked down at them as though only just remembering they were there. “Oh—put them in a vase. I mean, they’re lovely. It was sweet of him to bring them, even if the timing was...a little dramatic.”

Kaze let out a quiet breath, nodding once. “And… Lee himself?”

Makia tilted her head. “He’s cute! But not in a way that makes my heart flutter. More like…” She scrunched her nose adorably. “Like a puppy who thinks he can leap over mountains if he tries hard enough. Or a really hyper little brother who wants to protect you from the rain with a paper umbrella.”

Kaze looked at her then, and something loosened quietly in his chest.

“So you’ll be his friend.”

“Of course,” she said warmly. “His love is… admirable. It takes courage to say what he did. But I couldn’t return his feelings. That kind of love… I don’t think it’s something you give just because someone asks.”

Her voice had softened at the end. She glanced up at Kaze without quite meeting his eyes, as though she almost sensed the storm behind them.

They walked in silence a moment longer.

Then Kaze said quietly, “He said the words I’ve… never managed to.”

Makia looked over at him, lips parting slightly.

Kaze kept walking, his gaze distant. “He saw you for five minutes and spoke from his heart. Loudly, recklessly, without shame. And I…” He trailed off.

Makia’s heart beat faster.

“…I’ve had years,” he finished. “And I still don’t know how to say what I feel without stumbling.”

She smiled softly. “Well. Maybe you don’t need to say it yet. I think some feelings are like… tea.”

He blinked. “Tea?”

Makia nodded. “You have to let them steep. The longer they sit, the richer they get.”

A small laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “You and your metaphors.”

“They work, don’t they?”

Kaze looked at her again—really looked at her. Her eyes were bright with mischief and kindness, the flowers cradled in her arms like a symbol of her gentleness, not her desire.

He murmured, “You’re too patient with the world, Makia.”

She tilted her head, stepping closer. “Someone has to be.”

For a moment, nothing stirred but the wind. He thought about how easily she laughed, how willingly she forgave, how deeply she cared.

Yes, Lee was brave.

But it was Kaze who had been watching her from the shadows for years. Watching her become someone who could create world-changing things just to bring people closer. Watching her grow into someone stronger than she ever realized.

And one day, when the time was right, when the tea had steeped long enough… he’d say it too.

But not today.

Today, he simply walked beside her as the sun set, their shadows stretching long and close across the earth.

The afternoon sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the stone paths of the academy. Kaze stood beside Makia and Grandpa at the edge of the courtyard, her cloak fastened neatly, the return crystal glowing softly between her fingers. It was time. The day had been nothing short of chaotic, and for once, Kaze was looking forward to some quiet—

“Lady Makia!!”

A loud voice rang out like a declaration of war, echoing through the courtyard. Kaze’s shoulders sank half an inch.

Of course.

Rock Lee was sprinting toward them, limbs pumping like a man possessed, his bowl-cut hair bouncing with each step, tears already shining in his large eyes. Kaze turned slowly, already regretting this moment.

Makia, mid-sentence to Grandpa, blinked and turned. “Oh! Hello again, Lee!”

He skidded to a halt inches from her, his green jumpsuit catching the light in a somehow offensive manner. Without hesitation, he grasped both her hands in his and dropped to one knee like a knight before his queen.

“You are departing, my radiant flower?! The world shall dim in your absence! I wish you the fairest of farewells, the strongest of health, and the swiftness of return so I may one day prove myself worthy by defeating your gallant guardian! That is, Senior Kaze!”

The courtyard fell into stunned silence.

Makia flushed with a mixture of secondhand embarrassment and heartfelt amusement. “Thank you, Lee. That’s very kind. I hope you take care too—and don’t forget to rest, okay?”

That did it.

Lee’s face turned crimson, eyes sparkling with emotion, lips trembling with the sheer power of her words.

“Oh—how fortunate I am to have fallen for a goddess!!” He turned to the sky like he was offering a prayer. “Kindness! Grace! The soothing tone of the wind carried upon gentle blossoms! Your voice—your spirit—it nourishes my soul like fresh water in the heat of the desert!”

Makia opened her mouth to gently calm him—

“Lee,” Kaze said sharply, his voice slicing through the air like a drawn blade. “If you truly intend to be a worthy rival to me—”

Lee snapped to attention, posture straight as a lance. “Yes, Senpai!”

“Then you need to learn the timing of a proper farewell. Makia and her grandfather must leave.”

Lee’s entire face contorted in horrified realization. “I—I have intruded!! Like a wild boar charging into sacred gardens! Forgive me!!” He immediately bowed at the waist and—blessedly—released Makia’s hands.

Grandpa just chuckled behind his beard. “Well, you are popular, my dear.”

Makia grinned helplessly. “Apparently.”

She gave Kaze one last look—quiet and soft beneath the chaos. There was affection in it. A wish to stay longer. A promise in her smile.

“I’ll write you,” she said simply. “Or… spanread you, I guess.”

Kaze nodded, something warm under his skin. “I’ll look forward to it.”

With a shimmer of magic and a bright flash, she and Grandpa vanished.

And then—

“Senpai!!” Lee turned with the energy of a thunderclap, eyes ablaze. “Tell me everything! How do you keep your cool under pressure? How did you move like lightning during that final strike? When did you first awaken your chakra reserves? How do you get your hair to flow like that when you leap from the wall?! And also—did you always know Lady Makia was an angel sent to inspire men to greatness?!”

Kaze closed his eyes for a long, steadying breath.

This was going to be a long year.

“…You’re persistent,” he muttered.

Lee beamed. “My persistence is second only to my admiration for you and my boundless love for—!”

“Don’t.”

“…Yes, Senpai.”

And so, with his final year of ninja school on the horizon and one lovestruck underclassman clinging to every word, Kaze walked back to the dorms—his thoughts drifting not to the chaos behind him, but to the softness of Makia’s goodbye.

Her hand in his.

The promise of more spanreads to come.