Five years had passed, but time, for Aicha, felt both endless and fleeting. She had waited for Asari, enduring the gnawing emptiness left by his absence. The academy's walls were still cold, the corridors filled with the whispers of the students who once laughed at her, who now avoided her gaze as though she were some sort of curse.
Her wheelchair, once a symbol of dependency, had become a silent companion. Its wheels had spun countless times through the academy's hallways, echoing in the silence of her isolation. Yet, despite her strength, despite her will to push forward, she was still bound by the chains of her past—a past that had kept her captive for far too long.
Aicha had grown stronger, yes. Her body had grown with it, the sword training that once felt like a far-off dream now a bitter reality. Every swing, every parry, every strike—each one brought her closer to the warrior she longed to be. But despite her physical progress, there was a hollow ache in her heart that no training could soothe.
The students still whispered. The men still avoided her. It was the same cycle that had followed her for years. She had become an outcast in the very place that should have been her refuge.
And yet, something inside her refused to break.
Her training with the sword had accelerated over the years, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to quiet the whispers, the jeers that echoed in her mind. They called her "the crippled princess" behind her back, a cruel reminder of her past and her helplessness. But the sword—oh, the sword had been her salvation. It had become her obsession.
The academy's sword master, an elderly man with a lifetime of scars etched into his face, had seen something in her. A fire. A hunger. And while the others had seen only a fragile girl in a wheelchair, he had seen a warrior.
He had guided her, trained her in the old ways, the brutal ways. Every day, without fail, he pushed her to her limits. And slowly, she began to feel the change.
Her movements were sharper now, more precise. Her muscles, once weak from years of neglect, had firmed into something strong, something unyielding. The sword felt natural in her hand—more than that, it felt like an extension of her will. It was as though the blade and she had become one.
But despite her growing strength, Aicha knew she was still a far cry from where she wanted to be. She needed more. She needed something to fill the void that gnawed at her heart, the loneliness that clung to her like a second skin. Her dreams had always been tied to Asari, but now… now, they felt distant. Faint. Almost like a memory of something she used to care about.
She had heard the rumors. Whispers of a boy—no, a man—who had gone to the farthest reaches of the Dummer continent, who had descended into isolation, into madness even. The name "Asari" had come up only once, in hushed tones, as though saying it aloud would summon him back.
But Aicha never let herself believe the rumors. She told herself he was out there, somewhere, becoming stronger. Becoming the man she had always known he could be. And so, she waited.
One day, she decided to leave the academy.
She packed what little she had, took her sword, and silently rolled out of the courtyard for the last time. She couldn't stay any longer. The academy had become a cage, a reminder of everything she was not. And as much as it hurt, as much as it burned to walk away, she knew it was time.
Aicha didn't know where she was going, only that she needed to leave. Her body ached from the long days of training, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her chest, the constant gnawing loneliness that had been her companion for so long. She needed to find herself. She needed to forge her own path, without the shadow of the academy looming over her.
Her journey took her through towns and forests, across rivers and mountains. She didn't speak much to others—too afraid of the pity in their eyes, the soft voices that would ask about her past. No one understood. No one but Asari.
Then, one evening, as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, she felt it. That familiar, suffocating pressure.
Her heart leaped. She knew, without a doubt, that Asari had returned.
The air seemed to hum with his presence. Her heart pounded in her chest, and a fire ignited in her gut. She had always known, deep down, that she couldn't live without him. He was the only one who had ever seen her for who she truly was, the only one who had ever understood her pain.
And so, she turned.
She began her journey back, back to the Dummer continent, back to where it all began. Back to Asari.
The path was long, but this time, Aicha didn't hesitate. She had no fear, no doubt. She had no intention of being left behind again.
For five years, she had fought to become stronger. For five years, she had endured the isolation, the pain, the struggle. But now, she was ready.
Ready to fight by his side.
Ready to face whatever darkness lay ahead.
Ready to be his.