[Joshua's POV]
One month. It had been exactly thirty days since I walked into the lion's den—otherwise known as the Obsidian estate courtyard.
I stood in front of the mirror in my bedroom, flexing my arm. The bruises that had painted my skin yellow and purple a few weeks ago were fading, replaced by the faint, hard lines of developing muscle. My body, once screaming in protest every morning, had gone silent. It was adapting. The Sarkaz blood gave me resilience; the Vouivre blood gave me endurance.
"Not bad," I muttered, rotating my shoulder. "I might actually survive this."
As I turned to grab a shirt, my reflection caught something else in the mirror—the calendar hanging on the wall. A specific date was circled in red ink, looming closer.
April 23rd.
I froze.
Saria's birthday.
In the game, Saria's profile listed her birthday, but it never mentioned how she celebrated it. But after spending a month under the iron gaze of Instructor William, I had a sinking suspicion.
Every day at training, it was strictly business. Saria never mentioned a party. She never mentioned cake. Her father treated every day as just another rotation of the planet to be utilized for efficiency.
She's never celebrated it, I realized, a heavy feeling settling in my chest. To William, a birthday is probably just a reminder that she's aging and should be stronger than the year before.
I looked at the calendar again. It was three days away.
"Unacceptable," I whispered.
I pulled on my shirt and bolted out of the room, sliding down the hallway in my socks.
"Mom!" I yelled, skidding into the kitchen where a woman with kind eyes and small, curved horns was tinkering with a toaster. "Mom, we have a Code Red! I need flour, I need orange balloons, and I need you to teach me how to embroider. Now!"
Latina Obsidian blinked, setting down her screwdriver. "Joshua? What on earth—"
"Saria's birthday," I said, breathless. "We're throwing her a party."
[Saria's POV]
The last month had been... the hardest, and yet the best month of my life.
Training under Father was grueling. My muscles ached, my lungs burned, and his criticisms were sharp enough to cut glass. But every time I felt like collapsing, I would look to my side.
Joshua was there.
He was sweating, grimacing, and sometimes barely standing, but he was there. He made faces behind Father's back to make me laugh. He groaned loudly when we had to do extra laps, just to let me know I wasn't the only one suffering. He made the unbearable bearable.
But for the last week... something had changed.
"Training dismissed," Father announced, his voice echoing in the courtyard.
"Yes, sir!" we shouted in unison.
Usually, this was the part where Joshua would flop onto the grass, complain about his legs falling off, and we would talk for an hour.
"Bye, Saria! See you tomorrow!"
Before I could even wipe the sweat from my brow, Joshua was already sprinting toward the gate. He didn't look back. He didn't wave. He just... left.
I stood alone in the center of the courtyard, the silence rushing back in to fill the space he left behind.
"Oh," I whispered. "Bye."
It happened the next day. And the day after that.
Doubt, cold and insidious, began to creep into my mind.
Did I do something wrong?
I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling. The shadows in the room looked like monsters.
Maybe he's tired of this. The thought made my chest tighten. Father is too strict. Joshua isn't like us. He likes to laugh. He likes freedom. Maybe he realized that being friends with me isn't worth the pain.
Is he going to quit?
The thought terrified me. The idea of returning to a life where I trained alone, ate alone, and existed alone was unbearable. I tossed and turned, tangling myself in the sheets, the question haunting me until the sun rose.
Please don't leave me.
[The Day of the Event]
The training session felt longer than usual. My limbs felt heavy, weighed down by a week of sleepless nights. When Father finally dismissed us, I didn't move. I just stared at my boots, terrified to look up and see Joshua's retreating back again.
"Saria."
I flinched. It wasn't Father. It was Joshua.
I looked up. He hadn't run away. He was standing right in front of me, shifting his weight from foot to foot, looking surprisingly nervous.
"I..."
"I..."
We spoke at the same time. The silence that followed was thick with awkward tension.
"You go first," Saria said quickly, her heart hammering against her ribs. Here it comes. He's going to say he quits.
Joshua took a deep breath. He rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to meet her eyes.
"So," he started, his voice unusually high. "Are you... busy tonight? After this?"
I blinked. "No?"
"Great," he exhaled, as if dodging a bullet. "Come to my house. Right now. Mom wants to see you."
"Your... house?"
"Yes. Just come."
I nodded, too relieved to ask questions. He's not quitting.
The walk to Joshua's house was quiet. Joshua walked a few paces ahead, seemingly in a rush. When we arrived, the house was strange. Usually, the lights were warm and inviting, but today, the windows were dark.
"Wait here," Joshua commanded, pointing to the doormat.
He slipped inside, leaving the door slightly ajar. I stood on the porch, clutching the strap of my training bag. The evening wind was cool, biting at my heated skin.
Minutes passed. The sky turned a deep indigo.
"Saria?" Joshua's voice floated out from the darkness. "You can come in now. Be careful; the hallway is dark."
I stepped inside. The air smelled sweet—like vanilla and burnt sugar.
"Joshua?" I called out, my voice trembling slightly. "I can't see anything."
"Just follow my voice. Straight ahead."
I walked slowly, my hand trailing along the wall for guidance. I reached the end of the corridor, where the living room should be.
Click.
Light exploded into the room.
"SURPRISE!"
I gasped, stumbling back.
The room was transformed. Orange and white streamers—the colors of the setting sun—were hung haphazardly from the ceiling. A banner, painted in crooked, bold letters, spanned the wall: HAPPY BIRTHDAY SARIA!
In the center of the room, standing behind a table, was a woman with kind eyes and Joshua. On the table sat a cake. It was slightly lopsided, the frosting a bit messy, but it had candles burning brightly.
"Happy Birthday!" Joshua grinned, his arms spread wide.
My brain stopped working. "Birthday?"
"Today is April 23rd," Joshua said, stepping forward. "It's your birthday, right?"
I stared at the banner. I stared at the cake. I stared at Joshua's smiling face.
He remembered?
He didn't hate me. He wasn't quitting. He was... doing this?
The relief hit me like a physical blow. The fear, the sleepless nights, the loneliness—it all shattered.
I felt a hot sting in my eyes.
"Saria?" Joshua's smile faltered. "Hey, do you not like cake? Is it the streamers? I told Mom orange was too much—"
"No," I choked out.
The first tear fell. Then the second. I tried to wipe them away, rubbing my eyes furiously with my palms, but they wouldn't stop. I was crying. I was standing in his living room, sobbing like a baby.
"I thought..." I hiccuped. "I thought you were going to leave me."
"Oh, honey." Joshua's mom, Latina, hurried over, wrapping her warm arms around me. She smelled like oil and cookies.
Joshua looked panicked. "Leave you? Why would I—oh. The rushing off?" He scratched his head, looking guilty. "I was just... trying to finish your present. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper.
"Here," he said softly. "To make up for the tears."
I sniffled, wiping my face on my sleeve. I took the package. My hands were shaking as I tore the paper.
Inside was a sweatband. It was a bright, vibrant orange—my favorite color. But it wasn't store-bought. The fabric was hand-stitched, slightly uneven, and in the center, embroidered in thick, clumsy black thread, were two words:
STAY STRONG
"It's for training," Joshua mumbled, looking away, his ears turning red. "Since you sweat a lot. And... you know. So you remember to keep going."
"He pricked his fingers about fifty times making that," Latina whispered loudly, winking at me. "I told him to just buy one, but he insisted on knitting the words himself. He spent all week hiding in his room doing it."
"Mom!" Joshua groaned, covering his face. "You're ruining my cool image!"
I ran my thumb over the crooked stitching. I could feel the effort in every loop. I could feel the care.
"I love it," I whispered. I looked at Joshua, clutching the band to my chest. "Thank you, Joshua."
Joshua peeked through his fingers, seeing my smile. He relaxed, grinning back. "Put it on later. Now, come on! The candles are melting!"
They sang to me. It wasn't a choir; Joshua was slightly off-key, and Latina was too loud, but to me, it was the most beautiful song in the world.
"Make a wish, Saria," Latina said softly. "Close your eyes and wish for what your heart wants most."
I closed my eyes. The darkness wasn't scary anymore. I thought about the cold estate, the empty courtyard, and the strict father. Then I thought about the crooked stitching, the lopsided cake, and the warm hand that had pulled me up from the dirt.
I don't want to be strong alone.
I wish...
I wish for Joshua to be by my side. Forever.
I opened my eyes and blew out the candles.
The smoke curled up into the air, carrying my first, true wish with it.
The years that followed were a blur of seasons and sweat.
Training became harder. The bruises multiplied. William's expectations grew heavier with every passing year. But I was never alone. Through the rain, the snow, and the scorching heat, Joshua was there.
We grew taller. My clumsiness faded into lethal precision. Joshua's lanky frame filled out into powerful, compact muscle. The orange sweatband became frayed and faded, but I never stopped wearing it.
And just like that, five years flew by.