NAMAE ISAMU
My heart raced even before he reached the house. The memory of the arena—the fire, wind, water, earth, and the terrifying purple petals of unmade life—still clung to my mind like smoke. I tried to steady my breathing, but every instinct screamed at me that something was wrong. I had watched him fight, had seen his body take hits he shouldn't have survived, had seen the power he could summon, and yet… he had come back. He had survived.
The door creaked open, and I saw him step inside. His posture was weary, each movement deliberate, but there was an unshakable weight of purpose in his gaze. I could hardly bear to look directly at him; the power he wielded, the lives he had ended, even if necessary, pressed down like a physical force in the room.
"Sai…" My voice trembled, barely more than a whisper. I wanted to run into his arms, to ask him endless questions, but fear held me frozen in place. "Are you… okay?"
He looked at me then, his eyes softened, but there was still that familiar intensity that made my chest tighten. "I'm fine," he said quietly. "Tired, but fine. Don't worry."
I wanted to believe him. I wanted to imagine that the battle had ended and that the storm of destruction was behind us. But the shadow of those petals, the screams, the sound of wind and water and fire colliding—it all haunted me still. I stepped closer, finally letting myself reach for him, to touch the armor still clinging to his body, the faint warmth beneath the red veil.
"I… I was so scared," I admitted, my voice breaking. "When they came out, the triplets… I didn't think you could…" My words faltered, and I let the silence speak the rest.
He shook his head slightly, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You don't have to worry. I can handle them." But even in his words, I could hear the exhaustion, the weight of what he had endured.
I swallowed hard, then asked the question that had been clawing at my mind since the fight began: "The Crimson Rift… the petals… those you… unmade… all of them… how do you feel?"
For a moment, he didn't answer. His gaze dropped, tracing the floor as if measuring the space between us, as if the weight of his own power pressed him down. "I felt… nothing at first. Nothing but the necessity to survive, to protect, to end the fight before it got worse. But now…" His eyes lifted, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of vulnerability, a crack in the godslayer façade he always carried. "…I feel the weight of it. Every life. Every strike. Every choice. It's heavy, Namae. Heavier than you can imagine."
I stepped closer, putting my hand on his arm, feeling the tremor beneath the armor, the subtle pulse of energy still lingering. "You don't have to bear it alone," I whispered. "You shouldn't. I… I want to help you carry it."
He let out a short, almost bitter laugh. "Help? You can't. Not like this. The burden… it's mine. And it will stay mine. Always." His voice was firm, but I saw the struggle behind it.
I didn't let go. "Sai… please. Don't shut me out. Not now, not after everything. I can't fix the world, I can't stop what's been done, but I can be here. I can be here with you."
His eyes met mine then, and something in them softened, just enough to let me see the man behind the power, behind the godslayer. "Namae…" he breathed, a mix of exhaustion and gratitude. "I… I can't promise peace. I can't promise safety. But I… I promise I'll keep going. For you. For the child. For everyone I swore to protect."
I nodded, tears threatening to spill, but instead I smiled through them. "That's enough, Sai. That's more than enough."
The silence that followed wasn't empty—it was heavy with understanding. We didn't need to speak of the deaths, the battles, or the Crimson Rift anymore. It was there, always, but now it didn't feel like a wall between us. It was a shared weight, something that bound us tighter than fear or pain ever could.
And for the first time in days, I felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, we could survive this world together.
The night was quiet, almost painfully still. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying faint echoes of the village settling into sleep. Inside, the house felt smaller somehow, the shadows stretching long and thin across the walls, yet it was the first time in days I had felt a sense of calm—fragile, but present.
Sai had returned from his rest, moving quietly into the room. I could hear the faint shuffle of his armor being removed, the soft sigh that escaped him as he finally sat on the edge of the bed. The weight of the day, the colosseum, and the battles lingered in him like a shadow, and I wanted to reach out, to ease it somehow, but I didn't know where to start.
"You okay?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, but enough to make him glance at me.
He gave a faint nod, though his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. "I will be," he said, and I heard the unspoken: "Eventually."
I moved closer, careful not to disturb him too much, and sat beside him. For a long moment, we just sat in silence, letting the quiet of the night wrap around us. The soft light of a single lantern painted his face in shades of amber, highlighting the sharp lines, the weariness in his eyes, the faint bruises and scratches I had barely noticed before.
"You don't have to hide it from me," I said finally. "The fight, the pain… I can see it. You don't have to carry it alone tonight."
He looked at me then, his gaze lingering, as if weighing whether to trust me with the truth behind those eyes. "It's… a lot," he admitted quietly. "All of it. Every strike, every life, every choice. It piles up, Namae. I don't always know how to… let it go."
I reached for his hand, letting my fingers brush against his. "You don't have to. You just have to let me share it. That's enough."
For a moment, his usual calm, controlled demeanor faltered. His hand tightened slightly around mine, not in anger, not in pain, but in the faintest sign of relief. "You… you really mean that?"
I nodded, giving a small smile. "I do. You've done so much already… and you've carried it alone for too long."
He leaned back slightly, closing his eyes as if to release a weight I couldn't see but could feel. "I thought… after everything… I thought I'd be… empty inside. But being here, with you… it's… different. Somehow lighter."
I moved closer, letting my head rest lightly against his shoulder. The warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing, reassured me. "We'll face everything together," I whispered. "Every battle, every fight, every shadow. You're not alone anymore."
Sai didn't respond at first, just let the words sink in. Then, slowly, he shifted, turning slightly to look at me. His gaze softened, the sharp intensity replaced with something gentler, something I rarely saw. "Thank you, Namae," he said quietly, and for the first time that day, I felt the weight in him ease, if only a little.
We stayed like that for hours, letting the night carry away the chaos of the day, letting the quiet fill the spaces that had been heavy with blood and battle. And though the world outside remained as dangerous and uncertain as ever, in that room, in that moment, it felt like we had a small piece of peace we could call our own.