"Uneasy Recovery."
The days after the incident felt... wrong.
The wind in the fields carried no laughter. The children who used to chase the morning breeze now stayed closer to home, and the old women at the well lowered their voices when Kiyoshi passed.
He noticed everything — the half-stares, the sudden silence, the way even the air seemed to retreat from him.
His body healed faster than expected, but the ache inside didn't. The memory of his mana burning out of control haunted him in fragments: the blinding heat, Celosia's voice calling his name, and then nothing but darkness.
Now, sitting outside the small hut Ceng-tae had let him stay in, he watched the horizon fade into soft orange. The sunset painted the world in warmth — something he couldn't feel.
Celosia visited often, sometimes bringing herbs or food, sometimes just sitting nearby. She didn't speak much, and neither did he. But when their eyes met, Kiyoshi saw something there — worry, maybe guilt, maybe fear.
"You shouldn't blame yourself," she said one evening, her voice quiet, almost lost to the breeze. "People will forget soon."
He didn't answer. People never forget things they feared.
That night, whispers followed him home.
"That's him... the one who burned the field."
"They say his eyes turned gold."
"Not human. I saw it."
He closed the door behind him and let the noise fade into silence. The world outside had already made its judgment.
Inside, he stared at his reflection in the basin's water — tired eyes, rough bandages, a face that didn't feel like his own.
"Who am I really?" he whispered.
The water rippled — a breath of wind moving through the room, as if the world itself didn't know how to answer.
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"Rajieru's Return."
The next morning, the village was louder than it had been in weeks. Bells rang from the watchtower, echoing through the valley. Laughter spilled into the streets, carrying the kind of joy Kiyoshi hadn't heard since before the Mana Burn.
When he stepped outside, he saw why. A familiar figure was walking down the main road — tall, confident, armour scratched from travel, but his grin still untouched.
Rajieru.
The son of the hunt. The village's prodigy. The one everyone had been waiting for.
Children ran to him first, grabbing at his cloak. Elders clapped him on the back. Even the guards at the gate loosened their stance. Rajieru greeted them all like he never left, that easy charm flowing as naturally as breath.
Kiyoshi stood at a distance, watching. For a moment, he felt happy too — that kind of relief you get seeing something good come back into the world. But then Celosia appeared.
She didn't hesitate. She ran straight to Rajieru, her voice breaking into laughter as she called his name. The way her eyes lit up — Kiyoshi hadn't seen that in days.
They spoke fast, catching up, trading stories he couldn't hear. Rajieru's hand brushed hers once, and she didn't pull away.
And in that moment, the distance between Kiyoshi and the rest of the village stretched like a canyon.
Later that day, Rajieru found him near the training grounds, where Kiyoshi was repairing the field he'd scorched. The air between them was still, heavy with the scent of burnt earth.
"So, you're the one everyone's been talking about," Rajieru said, crossing his arms.
Kiyoshi didn't look up. "Guess so."
"They said it was an accident."
"It was."
"You hurt anyone?"
Kiyoshi finally met his gaze. "No."
"Then don't give them a reason to think you will."
Rajieru turned away, his voice calm but edged with warning.
The tone wasn't hostile — but it wasn't friendly either. It was the voice of someone who'd heard enough rumours to start drawing lines in the sand.
Kiyoshi set the rake down slowly, his hands still faintly trembling from the mana scars that hadn't fully healed.
"You think I wanted that to happen?" he asked quietly.
Rajieru's expression flickered — sympathy, then caution. "No. But I've seen what happens when people like you lose control."
That one hit deep. The space between them went still.
Before the tension could snap, Celosia's voice broke the silence, calling from the edge of the field. Both turned to look — her expression uncertain, caught between them.
For just a second, Kiyoshi thought he saw something in her eyes. Fear. Not of Rajieru. Of him.
He forced a small smile and turned away. "Welcome back, hero."
And he left Rajieru standing there in the quiet, watching the boy everyone whispered about walk off into the wind.
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"Jealousy & Doubt."
The days that followed carried a strange weight — like the air before a storm.
Rajieru's return had lit up the village again. He trained the younger hunters, sparred in the open field, and told stories from the border patrols. The people adored him. Even Ceng-tae praised his progress.
Kiyoshi watched from the edges, silent as ever. He didn't hate Rajieru — he respected him, maybe even envied him. But something inside twisted whenever he saw how easily Rajieru made everyone feel safe.
And then there was Celosia.
She tried to keep the peace — dividing her time between them, acting like nothing had changed. But even she could feel it: two flames burning in opposite directions, both reaching for the same light.
That evening, the three met by cliffs overlooking the valley. The sunset painted the sky in blood-orange streaks, and the wind carried the faint cry of distant birds. For a long moment, no one spoke.
"You've been quiet since I came back," Rajieru said, his tone light, but his gaze searching.
Kiyoshi's reply was simple. "I've had nothing to say."
"Really?" Rajieru stepped closer, the fading light catching on his eyes. "Or are you just waiting for people to forget?"
Kiyoshi's eyes flicked up, calm but sharp. "You think I'm dangerous."
The words landed like sparks in dry grass.
Celosia stepped between them. "Stop it. Both of you."
But Rajieru's pride wouldn't let go. He wasn't angry out of hatred — it was protection. "You could've killed her, Kiyoshi. Do you even understand what you did?"
Kiyoshi flinched, guilt flashing across his face. "You weren't there. You didn't see what—"
Rajieru swung.
It wasn't meant to hurt, just to snap him out of it — but instinct took over. Kiyoshi's hand shot up, grabbing Rajieru's wrist mid-strike. In one smooth motion, he twisted, stepping past him and pressing him to the ground.
The world seemed to pause. The wind went still. Celosia gasped.
Kiyoshi's eyes glimmered faintly — that same eerie gold that haunted the village's whispers.
He realized it, froze, then stepped back immediately, hands shaking.
"I didn't mean—"
Rajieru rose slowly, rubbing his wrist. His expression had softened — a mix of shock and reluctant respect.
"Fast reflexes," he muttered, almost impressed.
Kiyoshi's eyes lowered. "Bad habit."
For a heartbeat, the wind carried nothing but silence. Then Celosia let out a weary sigh, tension melting from her voice. "You two are impossible."
They didn't answer — but in that quiet stood something unspoken. Rajieru saw the fear Kiyoshi lived with every day. And Kiyoshi saw that Rajieru wasn't just a rival — he was someone willing to stand up to him when no one else would.
It wasn't peace, not yet. But it was understanding.
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"The Chief's Announcement."
The tension between the three had quieted by the next sunrise. Not gone — just buried under the routines of village life.
Kiyoshi went back to helping repair the eastern fence line, Celosia resumed her healer duties, and Rajieru spent most of his time training with the guards. The balance was fragile, but it held.
That evening, a horn sounded from the heart of the village. The summons of the chief.
Everyone gathered in the central square — elders, farmers, hunters, and guards. Torches flickered around the great stone platform where Chief Hokuto, Celosia's father, stood. His voice carried over the crowd like rolling thunder.
"People of Faelinor, the world beyond our valley stirs once more. The south villages have reached out — not for war, but for unity. The time has come for us to rebuild what the Great War once shattered."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. Some hopeful. Some doubtful.
"To ensure this alliance stands," Hokuto continued, "we will hold a diplomatic summit within the coming weeks. And to bind this peace in faith..."
He paused — the kind of pause that hangs heavy, deliberate.
"...my daughter, Celosia of Faelinor, shall be betrothed to the son of Chief Auren of Southwind."
The square fell silent.
Celosia's breath hitched. Her hands went cold.
Kiyoshi, standing at the edge of the crowd, felt the air leave his lungs.
Rajieru's jaw tightened — not in shock, but in knowing. He'd heard whispers before, but never thought the chief would truly go through with it.
The chief went on, speaking of unity, prosperity, rebuilding trust between clans — but no one really heard.
Celosia's gaze darted toward Kiyoshi through the crowd, searching for his eyes. When they met, there was confusion — and hurt — like the world she'd been trying to build between them was suddenly cracking apart.
He didn't say a word. Didn't move. But something in the wind shifted — that quiet, unseen pressure that always came before something broke.
Hokuto raised his hand.
"Let it be known: Faelinor's peace begins anew tonight."
Cheers erupted around them. Celebration. Music. Wine.
But Celosia stood frozen.
Rajieru's fists were clenched.
And Kiyoshi — he turned and walked away before the first drumbeat hit the air.
The night wind caught his cloak, whispering through the torches as he disappeared into the dark.
"Peace," he muttered. "For everyone but me."
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