Ophelia walked slowly through the stone corridors, each step echoing against the silence—and the silence within her clashing even louder.
Oliver's offer had been pure… painfully simple. Not betrayal. Not manipulation. Just a sincere request from a man who saw something in her no one else did.
But he wasn't Damian…
She told herself that, then hesitated.
What if Damian never returned?
Silence.
And if he came too late? Should she remain trapped between an endless wait… and a man standing before her with an open heart?
She sat by the old fountain in the town square, lost between two hearts, two timelines.
Back in Stormhold, nothing slipped past Commander Rin.
He'd noticed Ophelia's frequent absences, her moments of silence, and the way her eyes sometimes lingered too long on the sky.
One night, he found her training alone, slicing through the air with her sword—no real target in sight.
He walked up quietly and said,
"When you fight a ghost, you'll never win."
She answered without looking at him,
"I'm not fighting a ghost… I'm fighting a feeling."
Rin sat beside her, the way a father might sit beside a daughter carrying pain too heavy.
She asked him—softly, for the first time since she joined them,
"Have you ever felt like you belonged to two different places at once?"
He replied,
"My whole life… But in the end, I realized belonging isn't a decision. It's a feeling. And if it doesn't come… don't force it."
At the imperial palace, Oliver stood on his high balcony, watching the city.
He knew her answer wouldn't come easily, but he didn't regret asking.
Maybe she'd return… maybe she wouldn't.
But for the first time, his heart had spoken truthfully.
And as for Ophelia… she had entered a new phase of her life.
She wasn't searching for identity anymore—she was trying to discover what remained of her.
She sat atop a rocky mountain, far from the stronghold. She wasn't thinking of anything specific, but something about the silence felt different that night… as if the air itself pressed against her chest, urging her to listen.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by the soft sound of approaching footsteps.
She turned and found Rin, holding an old paper scroll, his face more serious than usual.
"Ophelia…" he said, handing her the message,
"We received a report from our unit in the Eastern mountains. They've detected an unfamiliar energy… strong. A mix of spirit energy. Not evil… but it doesn't quite belong to any world."
Ophelia's gaze froze. Something in Rin's words stirred something deep within her.
"Are they still tracking it?" she asked calmly—though inside, she was trembling.
Rin nodded.
"Yes. They said the energy… it feels like the one you used to emit in your early days."
Ophelia stood—slowly, steadily… as if the entire mountain was bracing itself for her next steps.
She whispered,
"He's coming back…"
"We'll be ready by dawn," Rin said softly. "we'll find him."
He still didn't know who "he" was—but in Ophelia's eyes, he saw something new: not a desperate hope, but the certainty of a woman ready to fight for the one who had once promised to return.
As dawn broke, a small unit of Storm Mercenaries set out toward the eastern mountains. The path was far from easy—narrow trails, scattered rocks, and thick mist coiling around the peaks as if trying to hide something sacred.
Rin led the group in silence, with Ophelia walking just beside him, her gaze always a step ahead. Behind them, the rest of the unit moved with quiet purpose, aware this journey was far from ordinary.
They set up the first camp near an abandoned waterfall. The water flowed in hushed whispers… as if it was trying to speak of something lost.
Outside her tent, Ophelia sat alone, staring into the rising steam of the warm tea handed to her by one of the soldiers. She heard footsteps approaching, then Rin sat beside her quietly.
"I don't think I've ever seen you this quiet before," he said with a faint smile.
She replied without looking at him,
"Because I don't want to be wrong. I don't want to believe… only to find nothing."
"But your heart already chose to believe, didn't it?" Rin's voice was more that of a friend than a commander.
Ophelia nodded silently.
"Damien wasn't just a contracted spirit to me," she whispered. "He was… the one who helped me see myself differently. No one else knows how deep the void he left is."
A moment passed before Rin stood and said,
"Then let's fill that void by finding him. We move at first light."
The next day, as they crossed a narrow mountain pass, the unit came to an abrupt halt. One of the soldiers pointed upward:
"Commander! That light… up there it's not natural!"
Atop a rocky ridge, a faint blue glow flickered—briefly—then vanished.
Ophelia moved first. Her heart raced, and every fiber in her being screamed: Damian.
She ran across the rocks, as if the earth parted for her, as if it too had been waiting for this moment. Behind her, Rin and the rest followed, but their voices faded behind the thunder of her heart—a heart that hadn't beat like this since that night.
She reached the summit.
And there, in the stillness… it stood.
A small point of light, slowly forming in the air, weaving itself together from fragments unseen. The color? Blue—cold, familiar, aching.
Ophelia stepped closer. Her breathing was uneven, her hands trembling.
"Damian?"
The light shimmered, stretched… as if answering her voice. And slowly, a pale figure began to take shape. Not fully formed—but the eyes… his eyes.
"I told you I'd return…"
His voice was soft, as if whispered by the wind.
Ophelia gasped, eyes filling with tears that didn't yet fall. She moved closer, reached out her hand—but her fingers passed through the light. He wasn't solid. Not yet.
"You're still…" she said, steadying her voice, "You're still in the process of returning, aren't you?"
Damian nodded slowly.
"A part of me is here… the rest is still trapped."
His voice echoed in her mind, warm… despite the distance.
Rin stepped forward quietly, saying nothing. He stood beside her, observing in silence, then gave a subtle nod to the soldiers behind—signaling them to pull back—and left her alone with the moment.
"Wait for me…" Damien's voice echoed, softer now. "I'm coming back…"
Ophelia whispered, her voice trembling:
"I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."
The light began to fade.
Damian's eyes were the last thing to disappear.