The sun had begun its slow descent into the horizon, casting long shadows across the forest trail as Riku and Midori made their way back to the compound. The canopy above glowed a warm orange, filtering through the leaves like molten gold. It should've felt peaceful, serene even—but the air was thick with a kind of fragile quiet, like neither of them wanted to break the delicate moment they had shared by the lake.
Midori walked slightly ahead of him, her expression unreadable. She wasn't wearing her usual guarded scowl, nor the silent grief she normally wore like armor. Instead, her face held a kind of calm exhaustion, the kind that only came after an emotional storm had passed. Her arms were folded behind her back, her steps a bit slower than usual. Every now and then, her eyes would flick toward Riku as if to check if he was still there.
Riku, on the other hand, had never felt more unsure about what to say. The words he'd spoken to her—about her pain, about her strength—still echoed in his chest. His throat was dry, and for once, he didn't know how to fill the silence.
That is, until the front gate came into view.
"Yohooo~! Look what the lightning dragged in!" a loud voice called out.
Riku and Midori both looked up in time to see Hiroshi lounging on the front steps of the compound, grinning like a cat that had just found the cream.
"Oh, come on," Riku muttered under his breath.
Hiroshi cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted dramatically, "The young warrior returns with his beloved maiden! Tell me, Riku, did you conquer the wolves and her heart this time?"
Midori nearly tripped on her own foot.
"H-Hiroshi, you absolute idiot—!" she snapped, her cheeks instantly flaring red.
"Oh, so there was heart conquering!" Hiroshi leaned forward with mock curiosity, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Or was it Riku who got conquered this time?"
Riku let out a long-suffering sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. "Seriously? We were just talking."
"Talking under the moonlight, right?" Hiroshi waggled his eyebrows. "Very romantic. Should I start preparing for the wedding or...?"
Midori looked like she was about to erupt. "Say one more thing and I'll shove your teeth so far down your throat you'll be chewing with your stomach!"
"Oh nooo~! Don't kill me before the reception!" Hiroshi laughed as he dodged behind one of the porch columns like a coward.
Riku couldn't help it. Despite everything—the heaviness in his chest, the ache in his thoughts—he cracked a small, genuine smile. This... this kind of banter, this dumb energy—it was the only thing keeping their lives from collapsing under the weight of it all.
Eventually, Midori stormed past Hiroshi, muttering curses, and disappeared into the girls' quarters. Riku gave Hiroshi a half-hearted glare.
"You really don't have an off switch, do you?"
Hiroshi grinned, leaning against the column. "Nah. But I could see she wasn't crying when you came back. That's good enough for me." His voice lowered slightly, dropping the playful tone just enough for Riku to catch the sincerity behind it.
Riku nodded once. "She's strong. Stronger than I realized."
"Yeah... well," Hiroshi scratched the back of his head. "So are you. Just don't mess it up, alright? She's finally starting to open up. Don't give her a reason to regret it."
There was weight in that warning. More than Hiroshi let on.
Later that night – Riku's Room
The compound was quiet. The kind of quiet that didn't come often—no drills, no shouting, no footsteps pacing outside. Just the distant rustle of trees and the soft hum of insects. Moonlight spilled through the open window, casting pale streaks across the wooden floor.
Riku sat in the windowsill, one leg pulled up, his arm resting loosely on his knee. His other hand dangled beside him, fingers twitching faintly like they always did when he was deep in thought.
He stared out into the night sky, but his eyes weren't really seeing. Not the stars, not the silhouette of the trees, not even the flickering candlelight from one of the other buildings. What he saw were the tears in Midori's eyes. Her trembling hands. The moment her voice cracked when she said she hated her father—and then the moment it softened when she said she forgave him.
There was a rawness to it that kept playing in his head.
He had seen pain before—his own, Hiroshi's, even Ronin's—but Midori's pain had a weight to it. Like it had been buried so deep, even she didn't know where it started anymore. And still... she lived. She stood up. She fought. She even laughed.
"Strong," he whispered to himself, voice barely audible over the wind. "But how many times has she had to be?"
He wondered what it must've been like to grow up like that—torn away from her mother, carrying that pain alone for years, wondering why the people who should've protected her had failed. It was easy to see the rough edges, the walls she put up. But now that he'd seen past them... he wished he hadn't waited so long.
Riku closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the window frame.
His thoughts turned to Ronin. The man who'd saved them, trained them... and yet, in the same breath, had destroyed so many lives. Midori's mother. Innocents. He said he regretted it, but could regret ever be enough?
And what about himself? What would he do when the time came—when the Legion of Shadow stood before them, blood on their hands, flames rising behind them?
Could he be the kind of person Midori needed him to be? Someone who wouldn't run, who wouldn't hide from the hard choices?
He remembered her words by the lake:
"I hated him for so long... but it only ever hurt me."
Maybe that was the key.
Not power. Not vengeance. But learning to live, even after everything had been taken from you.
A quiet knock came at the door.
Riku opened one eye. "Yeah?"
It was Hiroshi. Shirtless, half-asleep, with a single rice cracker in his hand and one eyebrow raised. "You monologuing to the moon again?"
Riku sighed. "It's called thinking."
"Ah, right. Dangerous habit. You're not gonna start crying out your tragic backstory, are you?"
"Get lost," Riku muttered, but there was a smirk on his face now.
Hiroshi chuckled and tossed the cracker at him. "Sleep, dumbass. You're gonna need it. We've got weapons training tomorrow, and I plan on kicking your ass for real this time."
"You say that every time."
"One day, it'll be true."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Riku looked down at the rice cracker in his hand, then out the window once more. The stars hadn't moved, but somehow the night didn't feel quite so heavy anymore.
He took a deep breath, slid off the windowsill, and lay back in his bed. The sheets were cool, the air still, the world quiet.
His last thoughts before sleep took him were of Midori's smile—small, rare, but real.
And he promised himself something in that moment.
He would protect it. No matter what.
The morning sunlight filtered through the paper screen windows of the compound, casting golden rectangles across the wooden floor. A gentle breeze stirred the scent of dew and pine through the corridors. Birds chirped faintly in the distance, a quiet rhythm that harmonized with the soft footfalls of the early risers.
Riku stirred awake beneath his blanket, blinking groggily as the warmth of the sun kissed his face. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling as the haze of sleep slowly melted away. His body ached from the previous day—not just the sparring or running, but the emotional exhaustion of the night before.
Still, he pushed himself up with a small grunt, ran a hand through his mess of dark hair, and swung his legs over the edge of the futon.
Another day.
He moved through the motions with practiced familiarity: dressed in his training uniform, tied his headband, strapped the boken across his back, and stepped out into the corridor. The compound had already begun to buzz with activity—footsteps in the courtyard, the distant crack of practice swords colliding, and the sharp barks of Ronin's commands echoing from one of the side buildings.
When he walked into the dining hall, he immediately spotted her.
Midori sat at one of the wooden tables near the window, her food already halfway finished. She had her elbow on the table, chopsticks in one hand, idly flipping a piece of pickled radish over in her bowl like she wasn't particularly hungry. Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail, a few strands falling lazily across her face.
She looked up when Riku entered.
For a moment, their eyes met.
Then... a smile.
It was faint, barely more than a curve at the corner of her lips—but it was real.
"Morning," Riku said softly, walking past her to grab a tray.
Midori didn't respond. She just gave a small nod and looked back down at her food, letting the smile fade as if it had never been there.
Back to her usual self, huh?
Not cold. Not angry. Just... guarded again. Like last night never happened.
He didn't press her. He sat across the room, ate in silence, and kept stealing glances when he thought she wouldn't notice.
Once breakfast was done, the real day began.
Ronin's voice cut through the courtyard like a blade. "Pair off! Boken only! Weapons drills until I say stop!"
Riku stretched his arms, the boken in his grip smooth and familiar. He barely had time to look around before Hiroshi appeared at his side, spinning his wooden katana in his fingers with a cocky grin.
"Fate strikes again," Hiroshi said. "Guess you're my punching bag for the day."
"You say that every day," Riku replied, stepping into the center of the open dirt circle.
"Yeah, well—this time I had extra miso soup. I'm powered up."
Riku rolled his shoulders. "Right. I'll make sure the medics have extra bandages for you."
Their swords met in the air with a crack—a sharp clash that sent small vibrations up both their arms. The group gathered around immediately gave them space. Everyone knew that when Riku and Hiroshi sparred, it was more than just training—it was a clash of storms and steel.
The two circled each other like predators, eyes locked, feet steady.
Hiroshi moved first, darting forward with a low slash toward Riku's legs. Riku deflected and countered, twisting his wrist and slamming down hard from above. Hiroshi caught it, teeth gritted, then ducked and spun around for a backhanded strike.
Riku vanished.
A spark of static burst from the air behind Hiroshi, and in an instant, Riku reappeared mid-swing.
CRACK!
Hiroshi barely managed to twist in time to deflect, but the force of the impact staggered him. Dirt kicked up from his sandals. Riku didn't give him time to recover—he pressed the advantage, delivering a series of fast, precise strikes, forcing Hiroshi onto the defensive.
Left, right, thrust—each move flowed like lightning. Unpredictable. Sharp. Unrelenting.
Riku pivoted on his heel, teleporting again in a flash of static and wind. He reappeared to Hiroshi's right and landed a clean hit on his shoulder.
"Point," Ronin called from across the courtyard.
Riku stepped back, breathing a little heavier, but not winded. Hiroshi stood in place, his head lowered slightly, wooden sword at his side. The grin he always wore after a fight was missing.
Riku furrowed his brows. "You didn't use your powers," he said, voice low.
Hiroshi didn't answer.
"You could've blocked that last strike easy with a flame burst or a shockwave. Why didn't you?"
There was a silence.
Then Hiroshi slowly looked up. His eyes weren't angry. They weren't frustrated or annoyed. They were... haunted.
"I don't wanna hurt anyone again."
His voice was quiet. Too quiet.
Riku took a step forward, but Hiroshi turned away.
"I'm done," he muttered.
He didn't wait for permission. He didn't even glance back. Hiroshi walked away from the training circle without a word, his boken hanging loose in his hand.
Riku watched him go, heart suddenly heavy.
There it was again—that darkness. The shadow that had been clinging to Hiroshi for months, maybe longer. He'd always masked it with jokes and sarcasm, but it was real. A wound deeper than anything a sword could leave.
Ronin watched in silence from the edge of the courtyard, arms crossed.
Riku stood alone in the ring now, the morning wind blowing faint dust around his feet.
Whatever haunted Hiroshi—it wasn't going away.
And Riku was starting to understand just how heavy that burden was.