The morning sun filtered through the jagged edges of the cave's entrance, casting pale golden streaks across the moss-covered floor. It was the first time in five years that the light had touched Asari's face.
He stood still, barefoot, the oversized jacket Aicha had given him draped loosely over his shoulders. His long white hair shimmered under the light, wet ends brushing against his waist. His body was silent but overflowing with life—too much life. Power rolled off him like heat, dense and invisible, distorting the very air around him.
Aicha sat in her wheelchair, her hands tight on the wheels, still trying to process what she was seeing.
He was here.
Alive.
Changed beyond recognition, yet still… Asari.
"I thought I'd have to wait forever," she murmured, breaking the silence as she looked up at him.
He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Why did you wait?"
"I didn't know how to stop."
A breath of silence passed between them. Not awkward. Not painful. Just… real.
Asari stepped toward her. The sound of his footsteps echoed inside the cave like drumbeats. The weight behind each step was different now, heavier. Not physically, but in presence. Each movement carried the impression of someone who had endured more than time could count.
When he reached her side, he knelt down.
She blinked.
"What are you—"
"I'll carry you."
Her face turned bright red. "H-Huh?! No, I can still—!"
He was already slipping an arm beneath her knees, another behind her back. His movements were slow, careful. The jacket he wore shifted with the motion, revealing the marks across his back—clawed, slashed, brutal remnants of his transformation.
"You've waited long enough," he said. "Let me be the one to move now."
Before she could protest again, he lifted her into his arms.
Her breath hitched.
She could feel the strength in him—not just physical, but something deeper. Like he was forged from silence and flame. The Asari she once chased was back, but also… something far greater.
They left the cave like that.
Step by step, Asari carried Aicha through the thick brush and stone, his bare feet silent against the forest floor. The trees bowed subtly as he passed, as if nature itself remembered him.
The coastline soon came into view.
Waves crashed quietly against the shore, the salt-scented breeze brushing Aicha's hair. She looked out at the horizon—then back at Asari's profile.
"You're different," she said softly.
"I should be."
"I don't think I can catch up to you anymore."
"You don't have to."
His voice was quiet. Firm.
Aicha lowered her eyes. "But I want to."
Asari didn't respond.
Not because he didn't care—but because he didn't know how to answer. For five years, his world had been the stillness of blood and illusion. Now, the warmth of sunlight and the voice of the only person who had waited for him threatened to crack the shell he'd built.
They reached a flat ridge overlooking the sea. The wind blew stronger here.
Asari set her down gently onto a smooth stone, the jacket still covering most of his body. Aicha let her hands rest in her lap, eyes following the waves.
"Do you know what you'll do now?" she asked.
Asari gazed at the horizon. His expression remained unreadable. "The world's changed. I need to see it."
"Then I'll come with you."
He turned.
Her eyes were steady. There was no hesitation in them.
"I'm not strong like you. Not even close. But I don't want to stay behind again. I don't care if I have to crawl."
"You'll get hurt," he said.
"I already have."
He said nothing.
She smiled faintly. "You can pretend not to care. But I know you heard everything I said back in the cave."
He looked away. "You talk too much."
Her smile widened.
"I missed that."
A gull cried out in the sky above them, circling before vanishing toward the horizon.
Asari stood still for a moment longer before finally nodding.
"Fine."
Her eyes lit up.
"But I won't slow down."
"I'll keep up."
They stayed like that, side by side, staring into the distance.
The past was behind them.
The academy. The enforcers. The tribunal. Saelan. All of it—burned away in the silence of five years.
What remained now was a new path.
Uncertain.
Unwritten.
But not alone.