The same unfamiliar images from earlier flashed before my eyes, and suddenly I recalled those beautiful blue eyes just before I woke up, sitting up in my bed. The fragrance of incense wafted through the air, mingling with the warm and suave melody of the Geomungo, its strings resonating with a soothing rhythm. Outside, birds joined in with their gentle tunes, creating a harmonious symphony that filled the morning air, beautifully complemented by the sun's soft rays streaming through the window on my right.
I found myself in an unfamiliar room, yet one that held a strange allure, drawing forth my innermost sentiments. The atmosphere shifted, transforming from mere tranquillity into something more nostalgic, evoking memories I could not quite grasp. It was both comforting and slightly unsettling, as if the room itself held secrets I was not yet ready to uncover.
As I swung my legs over the side of the bed, I realised my clothes had been changed. I wore lighter robes, the fabric soft against my skin, though part of my chest was exposed, stirring a curiosity within me. I rose, the floor cool beneath my feet, and followed the enchanting sound of the Geomungo, which seemed to beckon me from the balcony.
Upon opening the door and stepping outside, I was overwhelmed by the breathtaking sight of cherry blossoms cascading in the gentle breeze. I instinctively stretched out my right hand to catch a few petals as they fluttered down like delicate whispers of spring. These blossoms were unlike any I had ever seen before, infused with pure and divine energy. In that moment, I realised they were likely the reason I felt so revitalised, a sense of well-being washing over me.
Then, I noticed him—the stranger from earlier. I felt a surge of recognition as I took in his broad shoulders and the stern line of his jaw. His hair caught the light, framing his face in a way that was oddly comforting. He must have sensed my presence, for he paused, turning slightly to acknowledge me.
There was an undeniable aura surrounding him, a pressure that hinted at a cultivation level superior to my own. "You're awake?" he inquired, his voice steady yet layered with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.
"Yes," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. There was an odd clarity in his gaze that made me feel exposed, as if he could see through the façade I had built around myself. I took a cautious step forward, only to stumble slightly to his right. Reflexively, he reached out to steady me, and I found myself enveloped in his grip. The sensation was oddly familiar, as if I had been here before, with him.
For reasons I could not articulate, his aura resonated within me, a sense of déjà vu that tugged at the edges of my memory. Our eyes met, and the veil that usually hung over my face seemed to lift, revealing truths long buried. In that moment, he looked taken aback, his expression mingling surprise with something deeper—recognition, perhaps?
We stood there, suspended in time, grappling with the intensity of the moment, trying to process the inexplicable connection that pulsed between us. It was a fragile intimacy, one that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. But before we could delve deeper into this burgeoning understanding, Wiman appeared, interrupting our reverie.
"Hey! Are you two alright?" he called, breaking the spell that had momentarily bound us. Instantly, we pulled apart, the space between us suddenly charged with unspoken words and emotions left hanging in the air.
Wiman's presence shifted the dynamics, bringing with it the weight of reality. The warmth of the moment dissipated, replaced by the urgency of our situation. I could see the concern etched on Wiman's face as he assessed both of us, and in that instant, I felt a wave of vulnerability wash over me. What had just transpired felt significant, yet the world outside loomed large, demanding our attention.
"Where are we?" I asked, the question spilling from my lips, desperate for clarity amid the confusion.
"In a safe place," Wiman reassured me, though his eyes darted between the stranger and myself, as if gauging the implications of our shared moment. "We need to regroup and figure out our next move."
He was sweating profusely, worry etched across his face, his eyes red and teary. For the first time in my life, I noticed how he stood between us, gripping my shoulders with a mix of urgency and concern that shocked me.
"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" His voice trembled, breathless with panic.
"I am fine," I insisted, though a flicker of doubt lingered in my mind. His palm touched my face, and I felt a rush of conflicted emotions. For someone who had once rejected me, his concern felt almost overwhelming, yet undeniably sincere.
"I told you it's alright; he saved me," I murmured, glancing at the masked Eastern Guardian standing silently behind him.
Wiman turned, bowing his head in what I assumed was gratitude. In that fleeting moment, my saviour returned the gesture with a subtle nod, an exchange of respect that seemed to bridge the gap between them. Just then, the atmosphere shifted as Imperial Prince Yi San descended onto the balcony, accompanied by Haksu, his presence commanding immediate attention.
"Are you fine, Saya?" Yi San asked, his voice laced with concern, the first words out of his mouth striking me as unexpectedly tender.
"I am alright," I replied, though the weight of their attention felt almost suffocating.
"You were out for an entire day! How can you be alright?" Yi San insisted, stepping closer, his protective instincts flaring. He shot a bitter look at the Eastern Guardian, as if challenging his very presence.
Wiman intervened, moving to shield me. "Step aside," Yi San demanded, his tone sharp.
"He is my junior; I have every right to be here," Wiman retorted, standing his ground.
"Guys…" I tried to interject, feeling caught in the middle of their escalating tension.
"He is my partner," Yi San declared, his voice firm, as if that alone should settle the matter.
"One would think you're more than that," Wiman shot back, eyebrows raised in disbelief.
"So?" Yi San's defiance hung in the air, thick with unresolved emotions.
"The Tournament is likely to be eliminated," Wiman pressed, his logic cutting through the chaos. "Many disciples of the Imperial Commune were injured in the first round. Some are still missing. Shouldn't you be more concerned about them than our junior here?" With that, he gently pulled me to his side, a protective gesture that made my heart race.
The atmosphere crackled with tension, the air thick with unspoken words and conflicting loyalties. I sensed the weight of their rivalry, both wanting to shield me but clashing in their methods. Wiman's steadfastness contrasted sharply with Yi San's fierce protectiveness, each displaying their care in ways I wasn't sure how to navigate.
As I stood there, caught between their fierce declarations.
"Listen," I finally said, my voice steadying as I sought to calm the storm. "I appreciate both of you, but right now, we need to focus on what's happening around us. The Tournament, the injuries… they matter more than our disagreements."
Both men paused, their expressions softening slightly as they took in my words. The tension didn't dissipate completely, but it shifted, allowing space for understanding.
"Fine," Yi San conceded, though a flicker of dissatisfaction remained in his eyes. "But I want to know you're safe first."
"And I will make sure of that," Wiman added, his resolve unwavering.
"We need to work together, not against each other."
With a collective breath, the atmosphere began to change. The urgency of our situation was undeniable, and as I looked at both of them, I realised that their strength combined could offer a way forward.
"Let's regroup and find out what happened during the Tournament. We can't lose sight of our goals," I urged, the words flowing with newfound conviction.
An uneasiness prevailed between the two, and it was clear they were exchanging daggers with their eyes. The tension was palpable, a silent battle brewing in the space between them was clearly not yet abandoned.
"Enough, both of you." I stepped in more seriously, concerned that their reactions were bordering on the irrational. I turned to Yi San, who looked at me with an eagerness that tugged at my heart.
"I appreciate that you care about me as your Cuff Partner," I reassured him. "But my Senior is right; you should focus on the disciples of the Imperial Commune. Don't worry, I am fine."
He hesitated, reluctance flickering across his features yet I was sure I zapped it with my gaze.
"Your Highness…" Haksu interjected, stepping forward to halt Yi San's impulse to protest. "We have more pressing matters to attend to." Yi San's displeasure was evident as he turned away, frustration evident in his stance.
"I'll see you later," he insisted, his voice strained as he took to the air, leaving me feeling unsettled.
I faced Wiman, who had placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, and together we turned to the Eastern Guardian, who had remained mostly silent throughout our exchange.
"Thank you for saving my Junior," Wiman said sincerely, prompting me to join him in expressing our gratitude.
"His body was a bit too weak, and he used a lot of power to break an ancient formation; it backfired to some degree. He will be better after having some rest," the Eastern Guardian murmured before turning to leave, his presence fading as he walked back into the room. Wiman then took my hand, and we soared into the sky.
We landed at a small residence surrounded by a serene compound, the view of the mountains breathtaking. As I spotted Chunho and other disciples of the Red Spear Commune, I realised this must be our accommodation hall.
Upon entering, I was struck by the sight of several of our comrades nursing serious injuries. Though they weren't fatal—thanks to the lingering Divine power that still pulsed within them—they were clearly in no condition to fight.
Wiman ushered me into a spacious room, its minimalistic nature revealing much about him. He had a habit of choosing the simplest and most spacious quarters wherever we went, a trait that seemed ingrained in him.
He sat me down on the bed, his expression turning serious. "How is your body weak?" he asked, concern etched in his features.
"It's a phantom body," I confessed, the truth spilling out. "I discussed it with the Commune Chief. It was the only way to keep my identity safe outside the Commune." I could see the understanding in his eyes, but it was clear he remained troubled.
"What happened, though? You mentioned the Tournament being cancelled," I said, deciding to shift the focus away from my condition, though my curiosity was piqued.
"Someone tampered with the transmission tower, disrupting the entire Tournament. We weren't supposed to teleport to the forest; it's a Nephilim zone, off-limits even to other human forces," Wiman explained, his voice steady but tinged with urgency.
"But the Cuff Tokens told us to find the lanterns…" I pressed, confusion knitting my brow.
"It seems a powerful spell was cast, altering most communications and instructions. The Elders are investigating, but if things escalate, the Tournament could be cancelled entirely," he informed me, piecing together the puzzle of our predicament.
"No wonder we were never meant to find that place…" I mused, the weight of realisation settling heavily upon me.
"Discovering the Demonic Pillar has only intensified the situation. Rumour has it that high-ranking cultivators and martial practitioners were secretly studying the Pillar instead of destroying it and purging those possessed. There's already been a confrontation between the Sect Leaders and the Commune leaders participating in this Tournament. The latter believe the Cardinal Sects used their disciples for an unsuccessful crusade that resulted in the loss of an unidentified Demonic relic," Wiman reported, his voice grave. "While they attempt to relocate their forces, finding the missing victims is everyone's top priority."
"What about us?" I asked, curiosity tinged with apprehension.
"They have invited our Commune Chief, and in a couple of days, he will come to see us and decide whether we can continue participating in the Tournament or not," Wiman replied, his tone reassuring. I nodded, but a sense of unease settled in my stomach, a weight that refused to lift.
A couple of days later, we gathered in the Central Square as the survivors of the first hunt of the Tournament. Our ranks had thinned significantly; many practitioners and Sects had begun withdrawing, leaving us with fewer than a hundred. The atmosphere felt heavy as we stood among the remaining disciples, the weight of our losses palpable.
The Elders of the various Communes and the Four Cardinal Sects still participating assembled on a raised platform in front of us, perhaps waiting for their colleagues who were still en route. We had yet to see the Commune Chief, but Wiman assured me he was on his way.
I stood close to the disciples of the Imperial Commune, with Yi San on my left. The tension between us felt almost tangible, an undercurrent of worry and uncertainty. As the moments ticked by, I couldn't shake the feeling that something monumental was about to unfold.
Suddenly, the trumpets sounded loudly, announcing the arrival of even more senior figures among us. The atmosphere shifted, crackling with anticipation. An explosive popping sound echoed in the sky, followed by a brilliant shower of light that engulfed us all.
It heralded an intense presence, one that subdued our collective spirit. It was clear that it wasn't just a single individual but a number of high-ranking and powerful cultivators, each exuding an aura that demanded respect and attention.
The figure at the forefront of their formation was particularly alarming; it was unexpected and struck a chord of dread within me. The Commune Chief commanded a presence that seemed to encompass several other leaders, and in that moment, I realised this gathering was far from ordinary.
As they levitated past us, we bowed our heads in respect, feeling the weight of their authority wash over us. The uneasy reception was palpable; even the hosts appeared on edge, though some, including the Cardinal Guardians, maintained an air of indifference. Wiman, however, looked distinctly uncomfortable, his brows knitted in concern.
"It seems to be true indeed that the Demoted Prince looks younger and more capable these days," remarked the representative from the Imperial Commune, his voice dripping with insincerity.
"Given that the numbers are quite small, it must have indeed been a tough concern running the Tournament this year," he added, a mocking smile playing on his lips.
"We heard the news," chimed in other leaders behind him, their tones conspiratorial.
"Considering that a foreign influence has jeopardised the Tournament's operation this year, we wished to confirm for ourselves before concluding the participation of our disciples," another leader interjected, their voice steady but laced with underlying tension.
As they spoke, I felt a wave of apprehension wash over me. Their words felt like a prelude to something darker, a veiled threat wrapped in the guise of politeness. The implications of their concerns loomed large, casting a shadow over our already fragile situation.
"Do you think they're here to assess our strength?" I whispered to Wiman, who stood beside me, his expression unreadable.
"I fear it's more than that," he replied quietly. "They want to ensure that any potential threats are contained. We need to be cautious."
As the discussions continued above us, I felt a sense of urgency swell within me. The stakes were higher than ever, and the pressure of our circumstances bore down on my shoulders. I exchanged a glance with Yi San, who looked equally troubled, his brow furrowed in thought.
"Stay close," he murmured, his voice low but firm. "We need to watch each other's backs."
I nodded, drawing strength from his presence.
"Except that the risk of harm is higher because, for the first time, the contestants are dealing with immensely powerful forces, we have decided to employ drastic measures to ensure that the previous accident doesn't happen again," the Spokesman for the Azure Dragon Sect insisted, his voice firm yet tinged with underlying anxiety.
"We are only asking to understand the gravity of the situation in which our disciples are participating," the Chief remarked, glancing pointedly at both Wiman and me, the weight of his gaze heavy with expectation. The Eastern Guardian, observing closely, seemed to sense the tension in the air.
"We are still investigating the cause," the Spokesman continued, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone. "It has been confirmed that someone altered the activity of the transmission hall along with the instructions for the first round. We have yet to find the culprit, but for the sake of the reputation of our Sects and the Four Seasons Tournament, we wish to carry on with the competition…"
"Did you just say for the sake of your reputation?" Our Chief demanded, his demeanor shifting to one of barely contained fury.
"Please don't take this the wrong way…" the Spokesman began, but the Chief cut him off.
"The culprit is still at large, and with hardly a trace of them, you are confident you can guarantee the safety of our disciples?" The Elders protested, their voices rising in unison, a chorus of concern echoing through the chamber.
"Is there even a guarantee that what happened before won't happen again?" another Elder added, agitation palpable in his tone.
"We heard that the area had been inhabited before, and the Nephilim seem to have been a secret you were aware of for hundreds of years," they continued, their frustration boiling over.
"We don't know what this Tournament means to you, but we know what it means to us," the Eastern Guardian pointed out, his voice steady yet commanding. "If you are that eager and insecure, then you are welcome to withdraw at any time." His composed demand cut through the tension, leaving a silence that hung heavily in the air.
As murmurs quieted, the Commune Chief retaliated with a piercing glance, asserting a passive control over the situation. "We are all cultivators, and we have a duty to mankind. Only the bravest and most capable among us are entitled to that honour, so one way or another, an attack was inevitable, especially if orchestrated by someone among us." His words ignited a spark of discussion, the embers of tension flaring once more.
"What do you mean?" one of the Elders asked, confusion mingling with curiosity.
"It's either too obvious for us to see or the perpetrator is a hidden enemy too great to notice. For the Tournament to have been corrupted, I believe it cannot possibly be just external influence; it must stem from within," the Commune Chief asserted, his voice unwavering as he laid bare his suspicions.
The Eastern Guardian shifted uneasily, a fleeting expression of recognition crossing his features, as if he too understood the implications of the Chief's words.
"Anyone could have known that there was going to be a Four Seasons Tournament, but apart from its prizes, the details themselves were kept a mystery from the outside world. Moreover, if the problem lay in the instructions and the transmission hall, then I have even more reason to believe that the only access to these particular features is limited to the organisers of the event and those within the Azure Dragon Sect's Sky Castle," he pressed on, his tone unyielding.
"We shall investigate this," the Eastern Guardian insisted, his authority ringing clear, while the other three Cardinal Guardians began murmuring amongst themselves, their expressions a mix of concern and intrigue.
Wiman stood beside me, his presence a steady anchor amid the storm of emotions swirling around us. I could sense his own turmoil, the unspoken fears mirrored in his eyes.
"The Red Spear Commune will remain in the Tournament," The Commune Chief finally announced, and it came as a surprise to us all.
"What!" Chunho exclaimed, taken aback, his eyes wide with disbelief. Judging from the shimmer in Wiman's gaze, I instantly realised he too had not expected to hear such news.
"I presume that the individual desperate enough to induce this kind of error in the Tournament's proceedings was eager to have it cancelled, which is precisely why I find my resolve to carry on instead," the Commune Chief declared, his conviction palpable.
"If you say so," one of the Elders seconded his thought, and the rest of the attendees murmured among themselves, eventually reaching a consensus to proceed in a similar manner.
Later that evening, Wiman and I were summoned to the Commune Chief's chamber, a place steeped in both authority and tradition. He sat quietly, having prepared tea, the steam curling upward like whispers of the past. The room was dim, and even though his aura seemed calm, it carried an intimidating weight that pressed upon us.
"Sit," he instructed, gesturing to two chairs opposite him. We complied, taking the offered cups, though Wiman merely held his, warming his hands against the porcelain rather than drinking.
"You don't need to be overwhelmed," the Chief muttered, his voice steady. "Surviving the ordeal is good enough; I am proud of you both." His words wrapped around us like a blanket, soothing yet heavy with expectation. It didn't sound that sincere coming from him
"Thank you, Master," Wiman replied, gratitude evident in his tone ir perhaps trying to reassure him that he was particularly convinced.
"The phantom body will be even more difficult to maintain," he said, turning to me, his gaze piercing.
"I suppose I underestimated the competition," I admitted, a tinge of shame creeping into my voice. He read it instantly.
"Either way, there's no telling if they're equally interested in revealing your identity alongside their other hidden motives," he warned, referring to the individuals we suspected had tampered with the Tournament.
"Why, though, would they want to interfere with the Four Seasons Tournament?" Wiman asked, his brow furrowed in thought.
"It could be more than that," the Commune Chief replied, a hint of satisfaction in his tone as if he had uncovered a deeper truth.
"Why?" I pressed, eager for clarity.
"I travelled for two days. It turns out the Four Cardinal Sects are no longer as popular as they once were. For the last ten years, we have been sacrificing our own common people, sending them on crusades into the Outlands and the Dark Continent. Not a single Demonic Pillar has collapsed since, and their cultivators may no longer be as superhuman as they once were," he reasoned, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
"Is that why they made the Tournament open?" Wiman inquired, the pieces of the puzzle beginning to align in his mind.
"To revive a dying popularity," the Chief confirmed. "They may have become obsessed, but what victory do they truly hope for? The most outstanding talents could be absorbed into their Sects; all the top-notch treasures were merely bait to entice active participation. For the smaller communes, this Tournament represents a chance to prove their relevance."
"Are we any different?" I asked, curiosity piqued.
"For you, this Tournament is a glimpse of what you're up against," he replied, his gaze intense. "You will understand what is to be feared and find your reason to subdue. You'll grieve over your weaknesses, stemming from your inability to protect. But Wiman, you will learn what it means to survive, why you can not share everything, and what you must do to go the extra mile for those you care about."
We sipped our tea, the warmth grounding us amid the swirling uncertainties.
"Is there a way to make my phantom body stronger?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.
"Why?" he countered, his brow arching.
"To keep my identity concealed," I replied, the seriousness of the situation weighing heavily on me.
"Why?" he pressed again, his tone challenging.
"Won't it be risky? Won't it compromise my security?" I asked, the fear of exposure creeping into my thoughts.
"Then find a reason to become untouchable. Discover a way to make them contain themselves around you," he advised, his gaze unwavering. "I agreed with you using the phantom body because I hoped you would understand that the weak can only become a burden to others. Besides, how long do you plan on keeping your identity hidden?"
His words struck deep, resonating with a truth I could not ignore.
I was taken aback.
"You have a power that is beyond limits and comprehension, yet you are trying so hard to confine yourself to the standards of those around you. In the end, it makes you a liability. The world is cruel, and fate is even crueler; you can only appreciate the intensity of your power when you learn how it makes you unstoppable," he clarified, his words cutting through the air like a blade.
In that moment, I understood a bit of his reasoning, though it was accompanied by a wave of discomfort. For what felt like an eternity, I remained silent, grappling with the weight of his insight.
Once our conversation concluded, we departed from his chamber. I followed Wiman closely, sensing his desperate attempt to distance himself from me. His footsteps quickened, and before he could slip away entirely, I grasped his right sleeve. He halted momentarily but didn't turn to look at me, a wall of silence building between us.
I wondered if the Commune Chief's words had unsettled him. I briefly entertained the thought that perhaps I had done something wrong, but I dared not confront him directly. Instead, I remained quiet, allowing the tension to hang in the air.
"You need to get enough rest," he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. "It's not going to be easy from this point on, and you heard the Chief very well." His concern was sincere, and I felt a warmth spread through me, a reminder that I was not alone in this struggle.
"I see," I replied, my voice faint.
"Once you reveal your true body, there's no telling what could happen. But I hope you know that I will always be one of those people, ready to stand by you and protect you out of duty." His words hung in the air, a solemn promise that both comforted and burdened me.
"Yes," I whispered as he turned to leave, abandoning me to my solitude. I stood there for a few moments, lost in self-reflection, the silence grounding me in my thoughts.
Eventually, I began to walk, perhaps aimlessly, unaware that I had passed my residence and continued onward. It wasn't until I came to my senses that I realised I was approaching an isolated compound, enclosed by a fence standing about five metres high.
The fence was adorned with a beautiful floral relief, and the aura emanating from within felt alive and vibrant, sparking a sense of familiarity within me. Though I was certain I had never seen this place before, it felt oddly known. A deep, inexplicable connection tugged at my heart, drawing me closer.
As I approached the gate, it creaked open slightly. I couldn't tell if it was something I had done or if it was simply loose, but it allowed me a glimpse into the serene compound. My curiosity, insatiable and reckless, urged me to step inside.
A thin mist settled on the ground, creating the illusion that I was walking on clouds. The concrete path beneath my feet was wet with dew, glistening like a meadow of glass leading up to the stairs that led to the entrance of the house within. The setting was luxurious, yet a profound sadness lingered in the air.
Strangely, not a single flower adorned the space, save for the lush grass and a solitary red Phoenix flower tree standing sentinel beside a fountain. Its vibrant petals seemed to cry out for attention, but the rest of the place felt particularly desolate, an echo of beauty hidden beneath a veil of melancholy.
I wandered deeper into the compound, drawn by an unseen force. The air was thick with a poignant energy, as if the very ground beneath my feet held stories waiting to be told. Each step felt like a brush with the past, a whisper of lives once lived within these walls.
As I approached the fountain, I noticed the water dancing elegantly, its surface reflecting the soft light filtering through the trees. I reached out to touch it, and in that moment, a vision flickered in my mind—fragments of memories intertwined with the essence of the place. A sense of loss washed over me, mingled with hope, as if I were meant to uncover something profound.
The beauty of the Phoenix flower, resilient and vibrant, contrasted sharply with the sadness that permeated the compound.
"What am I even doing here?" I thought, a wave of uncertainty crashing over me as I realised I was standing outside the East Guardian's residence. The sheer magnitude of the situation threatened to overwhelm me, and just as I turned to leave, I heard soft, painful moans emanating from within. The sound was haunting, laden with anguish that seeped into my very bones. A reflexive urge compelled me to step closer, and as I approached the door, I hesitated, wrestling with the decision to enter.
"Forget it," I muttered to myself, determined to leave before things grew more complicated. But then the sound of whips echoed through the air, and worry surged within me, erasing any rational thought. Without a second thought, I stepped inside.
The dark room greeted me with an oppressive silence, and I scanned the surroundings for signs of intrusion. My heart stopped when I caught sight of him kneeling on the floor. His lower half was obscured, but the rest of his torso was exposed, marred by wide, deep cuts that bled profusely. The sight was harrowing; there seemed to be thousands of wounds, each one a testament to his suffering. My heart broke at the sight, and I gathered the strength to approach him.
He noticed my presence, and for a moment, he resisted, a flicker of energy surging within him. But as our eyes met, he suppressed it, confusion and pain flickering across his face.
"Rangi?" he whispered, before coughing up blood, his body collapsing under the weight of his injuries.
I rushed to him, catching him as he leaned his head against my chest. His body radiated heat, and a deep sense of worry gripped me. "Let me call a physician," I proposed, my voice trembling.
But he held onto me tightly, his grip desperate. That warmth and position felt strikingly familiar, sending a shiver through my heart. "Don't leave me," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I beg you." The vulnerability in his tone shattered me, and I felt tears welling in my own eyes, a mix of pity and compassion flooding my senses.
For the first time, he looked fragile, an unexpected contrast to the formidable presence I had known and grown used to over the past couple of days. It struck me like a lightning bolt; his open wounds began to diminish, slowly closing, but they left behind a tapestry of fresh, wet scars.
I recognised it as a curse, a burden he bore alone. A part of me longed to ease his pain, even though I had no idea how to do so. With determination, I summoned the strength to carry him to his bed. But as we reached our destination, I stumbled, and he fell on top of me, not moving to get up.
I struggled to free myself, but either I was too weak, or he was simply too heavy. In those brief moments, I felt the warmth of his tears seeping through my clothes, landing softly on my chest. I could only imagine the torment of his dreams, the shadows of his suffering haunting him even in sleep.
Something within me shifted, and I found myself holding him close, as if to calm my racing heart which was already a bit too out of control. The connection between us deepened, an unspoken bond forged in the fires of our perhaps shared pain. Time slipped away; it felt like not just minutes but hours passed as I stared at the ceiling, lost in thought, before I slowly began to drift into slumber.