The rain had long since stopped, but the cold clung to my skin like a second layer. My breath was unsteady, my body screaming in protest with every step. The city's abandoned district stretched around us—silent, lifeless, forgotten.
And then, through the thick haze of exhaustion, I spotted it.
A small, run-down cottage. The wooden walls were weathered, the roof sagging in places, vines creeping over its surface as if nature itself had been trying to reclaim it. But it was still standing. Still intact.
It would do.
I pushed open the door, the rusted hinges groaning in protest. Dust filled the air, disturbed by our sudden arrival. There was nothing inside except an old fireplace and a few broken pieces of furniture.
I turned back to Ayane.
She was barely standing, her body swaying slightly, eyes unfocused. The fight, the escape—everything had taken its toll.
"Sit," I ordered, closing the door behind us.
She didn't argue. She sank onto the wooden floor, her back against the wall, her breath shallow. Even in the dim light, I could see the blood staining her torn clothes, the bruises darkening her skin.
I moved toward the fireplace, grabbing the old pieces of wood stacked beside it. My hands were shaking, but I forced myself to work, striking the broken flint nearby until sparks caught on the dried wood. A small flame flickered to life, the dim glow casting shadows against the walls.
Ayane shifted, watching me in silence.
Only when the fire burned steady did I finally sit down across from her.
We were a mess.
Bleeding, exhausted, barely holding on.
And yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, we weren't trying to kill each other.
I reached for the torn sleeve of my shirt, ripping it further to use as makeshift bandages. "Let me see your leg."
She hesitated but eventually extended it toward me. The wound had stopped bleeding, but it was still raw, the cut deep enough to slow her down.
I worked in silence, pressing the cloth against it to clean away the dried blood. She hissed at the contact but didn't pull away.
"You've gotten worse at this," she muttered.
I smirked faintly. "You're welcome to do it yourself."
She rolled her eyes but let me continue.
Once I finished tying the cloth around her leg, she shifted closer. "Your turn."
I let her push my torn shirt aside, her fingers brushing against the cut on my waist. The moment she pressed a damp cloth against it, pain flared through me, sharp and burning.
I clenched my jaw.
"Relax," she murmured, echoing my words from earlier.
I exhaled slowly, letting her work. Her touch was gentle, careful—too careful. As if some part of her still didn't want to hurt me.
The silence between us was heavy.
Then, finally, Ayane spoke.
"He found me two years ago."
I knew who she meant before she even said his name.
Satauro.
"I was lost back then," she continued, voice quiet. "After you left, I didn't know what to do. And then… he appeared."
My fingers curled into fists, but I forced myself to stay still.
"He told me everything," she said. "That you had used me. That I wasn't strong enough. That I would never be able to stand beside you the way I was." Her lips curled into a bitter smile. "And I believed him."
I swallowed hard. "So, you let him train you."
She let out a quiet laugh—empty, hollow. "No, Ken. I begged him to train me."
Her words struck deeper than they should have.
"I thought… if I became strong enough to defeat you, then maybe—" She stopped, shaking her head. "Maybe you'd believe in me again. Maybe we could be together again."
I felt something crack inside me.
She had spent all this time chasing after me, not because of hatred, but because she thought it was the only way.
She never wanted revenge. She just wanted me back.
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling shakily. "Ayane…"
She looked away, her expression unreadable. "It doesn't matter anymore."
"It does."
She scoffed. "Why? Because you suddenly care now?"
"I never stopped caring," I said, my voice firmer than I intended. "I left because I thought you'd be safer without me. I thought if I disappeared, you could live a normal life."
Ayane let out a bitter laugh. "Normal? You were my life, Ken."
Her words left me breathless.
I had spent years trying to disappear, trying to erase myself from her world.
But she never forgot.
She never stopped searching.
And in the end, all I did was hurt her more.
A long silence stretched between us.
Then, quietly, Ayane spoke. "Did you ever love me?"
I felt my throat tighten.
It was the one question I had spent years running from.
And yet, here, in the dim glow of the fire, I couldn't lie to her.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet her gaze. "I did." My voice was barely above a whisper. "I still do."
Ayane's breath hitched. For a moment, she just stared at me, like she wasn't sure whether to believe me or not.
Then, slowly, she reached out, her fingers brushing against my bruised cheek.
I didn't pull away.
For the first time in years, we weren't fighting. We weren't running.
We were just… us.
"You're an idiot," she murmured.
I almost smiled. "I know."
A long pause.
Then, she shifted closer, her forehead resting against mine.
I closed my eyes, exhaling shakily.
No war. No revenge. No lies.
Just us.
And for the first time in years, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, we could still find our way back to each other.
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