The cave had always been silent, but now it was something more—a hollow space soaked in forgotten time. Five years had passed since the world last heard from Asari. Five years since the academy's devil had vanished into the folds of myth.
Deep inside a forest near the eastern coast of the Dummer continent, there lay a cave hidden by gnarled roots and moss-laced stone. It was untouched by man, swallowed by nature. Within it, a pool of water sat at the center—small, yet impossibly deep. What was once clear had turned into something darker, still as glass, reflecting nothing.
It was there, at the center of the pool, that Asari remained seated—motionless.
His long white hair had grown and floated over the surface, his scars visible beneath water that no longer rippled. He hadn't moved in five years, not even once. He breathed, yes—but the breath was shallow, deeper than instinct, as if even the act of living had been reduced to a whisper.
But today—something shifted.
Aicha, still in her wheelchair, slowly rolled into the mouth of the cave, her breath catching in her throat.
She had changed little over the years. Her body remained weak, her growth slow, her spirit dulled but not extinguished. Even if others had forgotten Asari, she had never stopped waiting. She came to this cave often—drawn to the stillness, to the faint presence that made her heart ache in ways she didn't understand.
Today felt different.
Her gaze drifted toward the pool.
Then she froze.
The surface of the water trembled.
And from within it, a ripple.
Then another.
Then—as if something deep and ancient had stirred—the water churned into darkened red, like blood that had waited centuries to rise. It wasn't just colored. It reeked of old violence, thick and oppressive. Aicha's stomach turned, her hands trembling on her wheelchair's sides.
Then came the sound.
A breath.
A gasp.
And from the depths, a figure rose.
Asari.
His eyes opened as he emerged—his right eye, thick and black like ink, and the left, deep red like a burning ember. They were different. They were alive.
He stood tall—muscular, scarred from head to toe, every inch of his body marked with remnants of war. Old wounds had never faded, some still fresh like memories carved into skin. A black half-moon tattoo sat on the left side of his waist.
He was naked.
Aicha's eyes widened as her breath caught in her throat. Her face flushed a violent red.
"Asari…?" she whispered.
He turned toward her, slowly, calmly—as if time itself hadn't mattered.
She immediately pulled off her jacket and threw it toward him, flustered.
"C-Cover yourself!"
Asari blinked. A faint smirk crossed his lips—not mockery, but something… amused.
He took the jacket and draped it over his shoulders, saying nothing.
"You… you're alive," Aicha stammered, still red, unable to meet his eyes. "I've been coming here… for years. Just to make sure you hadn't… you know…"
He stepped from the pool, the dark liquid now calm again. Where his feet touched, the ground didn't ripple. It submitted.
She looked at him again.
"You haven't changed," she said softly.
He paused beside her, his voice quiet.
"You have."
Her hands gripped her wheelchair handles.
"Everyone forgot you. They moved on. But I… I couldn't. They mocked me for waiting. Said I was delusional. That you were gone forever."
Asari looked forward, toward the mouth of the cave.
"I'm back now."
Aicha smiled faintly. "Yeah. You are."
And for the first time in years, she didn't feel so alone.
Outside the cave, wind stirred. The world had changed while Asari slept.
But so had he.