Several days had passed since the desert tried to swallow her whole. Rize slept in a room that belonged to someone with money and good taste—thick blankets that didn’t itch, a mattress that didn’t punish her ribs, curtains that kept the morning sun from stabbing her eyes.

  The sheets smelled faintly of lavender and clean water, the kind of comfort you could only appreciate once you’d spent nights wrapped in sand and fear. Warm meals arrived three times a day without fail. Soup that still steamed. Bread that tore soft in her hands. Meat that tasted of herbs instead of desperation. The staff bowed too politely, never meeting her eyes for long, and never once asked for payment.

  Rize didn’t know whose arrangements these were. She only knew it made her uneasy. She did not know that, behind the scenes, Claval was quietly pulling strings, arranging her accommodations with the same casual indulgence one might grant a treasured guest or a possession.

  Today, she was in the market district of Avras, where the great city showed its true face. Stone buildings rose like cliffs on both sides of the street, balconies crowded with hanging plants and dyed cloth fluttering in the breeze. The air smelled of spices, sweat, smoke, and something sweet—fruit split open on stalls, honey drizzled over bread, roasting meat turning slowly above charcoal. Voices overlapped in a constant roar: merchants shouting prices, children laughing, carts rattling over cobblestones, boots and sandals and hooves weaving past each other in endless streams.

  “So many people.” Rize slowed, her hand hovering near the hilt at her waist. The words came out thin, swallowed by the noise. The crowd didn’t part for her. It flowed around her like water around a rock, indifferent and heavy.

  In the desert, she had been alone with the sky and death. Out here, surrounded by strangers, she felt even more alone. Naz wasn’t at her shoulder with that sharp, impatient grin. Roa wasn’t close enough to scold her for staring into space. Hanara wasn’t there to crack some stupid joke and break the tension. Rize had a room in Avras and a full stomach, and still her chest felt hollow.

  She pressed herself to the edge of the street so she wouldn’t be swallowed by the press of bodies. Her boots found uneven gaps in the stone. Somewhere a bell chimed. Somewhere a dog barked once, and the sound vanished. The noise kept coming anyway.

  “Yu…” Rize’s fingers curled into a small fist at her side. The name slipped out without permission, as natural as a breath. The moment it left her lips, her throat tightened, like the air itself had turned sharp.

  They had connected once in the desert—by that impossible pillar of light, by the way the sky had answered her when there should have been nothing but blue and heat. She had felt him then. Not just as a voice, not just as a memory, but as a presence that pushed back against death. And then the connection had been gone.

  No message. No warmth. No certainty. Only the echo of his promise and the fear that promises could break. When will I see you again? The thought sank deeper as the city pressed in from all sides. Rize stared at the crowd, at the endless faces that weren’t his, and felt the panic rise like a tide.

  Her fist tightened harder. I want to see you. That single thought was the only thing that held her upright. She stopped in the middle of the bustle, not moving, not breathing for a heartbeat. And in that heartbeat, the air trembled. It wasn’t a sound. It was a sensation—like the world caught on a snag and shivered. A faint prickle ran over her skin. The hairs along her arms lifted.

  Zzzzt.

  At the edge of her vision, in a narrow alley between two stone buildings, a seam of light appeared—thin as a knife cut, bright as blue lightning trapped in glass. The crowd didn’t react. People walked past the alley without looking, as if their eyes slid away from it.

  But Rize saw it. The seam widened, and something seeped out—an old, familiar wrongness, like the desert’s heat before an ambush, mixed with something impossible and domestic. Ozone. Soap. A scent that did not belong in Avras.

  “…Eh?” Rize’s eyes widened. The alley’s shadows rippled, and a figure stepped out of the light like someone exiting a doorway.

  A boy. Pale, as if he hadn’t seen sunlight for days. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. His shoulders were tense, his posture slightly hunched, like every breath cost him effort. He held a smartphone in one hand as if he had refused to let it go even while crossing worlds.

  His other sleeve was smeared red. He lifted it again and wiped at his nose with a grimace, as if the blood was an inconvenience, not a warning. And then he looked straight at her. He smiled.

  “…Yu!” Rize shouted tore out of her like it had been waiting in her lungs for days. Her moved before she thought. The market blurred. Bodies and voices became background noise. She ran, boots scraping stone, elbowing through the crowd with desperate strength.

  Yu’s eyes widened in surprise. Rize didn’t slow. She slammed into him and threw her arms around his chest. For a second, Yu’s body went rigid—shock, pain, something flickering across his face. Then his arms wrapped around her, tight and real, pulling her in as if he needed the contact as much as she did. His shirt was warm from his body. His heartbeat thudded against her cheek.

  “Sorry… I’m late.” Yu’s voice was hoarse, scraped raw.

  “…You really… came for me.” Rize’s words broke apart as tears spilled, hot at first, then cooling against her skin as the wind touched them. They soaked into Yu’s shirt, darkening the fabric.

  “I wanted to see you, Rize.” Yu whispered, close enough that his breath warmed her ear. “Even if it hurts… I had to see you.” His hand lifted, fingers trembled slightly as he stroked her hair, slow and gentle, like he was confirming she wasn’t an illusion.

  The warmth in Rize’s chest spread so fast her knees nearly buckled. The market’s roar receded. The city’s weight lifted. Everything shrank down to this: his voice, his arms, the proof that he was here. Yu’s grip tightened once, then loosened just enough for him to glance around.

  “I can’t settle down… here.” Yu said, lowered further. “Too many eyes.” His eyes flicked over the crowd, wary, calculating.

  Reluctantly, Rize pulled back enough to look up at him. His skin was paler than she remembered. There was dried blood at the edge of his nostril. His smile was still there, but it didn’t hide exhaustion.

  “Somewhere… a place where we can be alone…” Rize’s voice shook. She didn’t like how much she needed this. She didn’t like how quickly loneliness returned the moment she wasn’t pressed against him.

  “Then,” Yu said quietly, “let’s go back together. To our city.” He swallowed, wincing as if even that hurt.

  “Our…” Rize repeated, and the word made something in her chest unclench. Yu took her hand. His fingers were cold at first, then warmed around hers as he squeezed. He lowered his gaze to his palm, concentrating. Rize felt it—a subtle pulse through his skin, like a second heartbeat, like mana moving beneath the surface of the world.

  Light ran from his fingertips. The air in front of them cracked, not with sound but with sensation, like brittle glass splitting under pressure. A frame of pale blue opened in the space between two stalls, perfectly vertical, perfectly wrong. Yu’s face tightened. His brow furrowed. Pain flashed behind his eyes. But he didn’t let go of her hand.

  “Yu…?” Rize’s grip tightened instinctively.

  “It’s okay.” Yu forced the words out. His voice shook once, then steadied as he focused on her. “With you… I can open the door.”

  The market stretched. The cobblestones warped. Rize felt her stomach drop as if the ground had vanished beneath her feet. [Bind.] Transfer. The world folded. They stepped forward.

  And when Rize’s boot met solid ground again, it wasn’t Avras. The air was cleaner, carrying the faint smell of damp earth and distant cooking fires instead of smoke and spice. Wind brushed her skin gently instead of scorching it. The light felt different, softer on the eyes.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Stone buildings. A familiar square. A fountain she recognized by the chipped edge where someone had carved a childish mark. That was Rize's town.

  “…We’re back.” Rize’s voice came out as a whisper, thick with disbelief. Her eyes stung again, but this time it wasn’t fear.

  Yu exhaled, shoulders sagging like he’d been holding up the sky. He looked at her hand still in his, and his mouth curved into something quieter than a smile. They looked at each other for a long breath, as if testing the reality of it. Then they started walking—hands joined, neither of them willing to be the one to let go.

  ?

  Two sets of footsteps found a rhythm in the market street. This market wasn’t Avras. It was smaller, older, woven with the familiar smell of wood smoke and baked grain. The stalls were rougher, the awnings patched, but the voices were warm in a way that made Rize’s shoulders loosen. Yu looked around like he’d never properly seen it before.

  “Wow…” Yu muttered, leaning slightly closer to a grill. “Everything they’re grilling is meat.” His gaze bounced from skewers of meat to piles of fruit to jars of spices.

  “It’s strange,” Rize said, “how putting it on a skewer makes everything look delicious, isn’t it?” She smiled beside him, surprised by the lightness in her own chest.

  Yu snorted softly, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. They bought two skewers—meat glazed in something sweet and smoky. The vendor’s hands were scarred, quick, and he tossed the skewers at them with a grin like he’d seen countless couples and didn’t care which world they belonged to.

  “Mmm…!” Rize took a bite, heat burned her tongue instantly. “It’s hot, but… delicious!” She flinched and inhaled sharply, but the flavor flooded in—salt, fat, spice, smoke. Too good to waste.

  “Haha, you have a cat’s tongue but you eat too fast.” Yu laughed, the sound surprising in its ease. He took a bite of his own skewer and immediately froze, eyes widening. His lips parted like he wanted to shout, but he held it back, cheeks flushing.

  “See?” Rize managed between laughs. “You can’t laugh at me.” She stared for half a heartbeat—then burst into laughter, shoulders shaking.

  “…Maybe being laughed at by you isn’t so bad,” Yu said, voice muffled by embarrassment. He fanned his mouth with his hand, looking both offended and guilty.

  Rize’s cheeks warmed. She looked away quickly, pretending to be very interested in the next stall. The crowd nudged them closer without asking. Their shoulders brushed. Their sleeves touched. Rize felt each contact like a spark. Not painful—just bright.

  At a fruit stall, her eyes caught on a pile of glossy red fruit, the skins shining as if polished.

  “Here, Yu,” Rize said, holding it out. “Try this too.” She picked one up and turned it in her fingers, feeling its weight.

  “Are you going to feed me?” Yu’s eyebrows lifted.

  “W-What’s with that phrasing…!” Rize’s heart lurched. Her voice pitched too high, and she hated it. She shoved the fruit toward him like she could force the moment to behave. “…H-Here. Say aah.” Then, quieter, as if the word itself embarrassed her.

  Yu stared at her hand, then at her face. A smile tugged at his mouth, the kind that looked like he was trying not to make it worse. He leaned in. He took the fruit from her fingers with a careful bite, lips brushing her skin so lightly she nearly dropped it.

  “…Sweet,” Yu said softly.

  “I-Is it? …That’s good.” Rize’s throat tightened. She nodded too quickly.

  At that exact moment, a child came running from behind—fast, careless, laughing at something no one else could hear. The child slipped between them with the speed of a dart.

  Rize stepped back instinctively to avoid colliding, her heel catching on uneven stone. Her balance went. Yu’s hand shot out immediately. He caught her wrist, then her hand, steadying her in a single motion so smooth it felt like it had always been there. Their fingers threaded together. Palm to palm.

  “…Ah.” The sound left Rize without thought.

  “…”Yu’s breath hitched.

  The market noise didn’t stop. Merchants still shouted. Meat still sizzled. People still moved. But for Rize, the world went quiet at the edges.

  All she could feel was heat—his hand fitting perfectly into hers, like a missing piece returned. Yu’s thumb brushed once over the side of her finger, as if confirming it was real. Rize didn’t pull away. Neither did he. They walked on like that, and neither of them mentioned the child again.

  ?

  The forest swallowed the last traces of the city. The path narrowed into dirt and roots, damp beneath their boots. Leaves whispered overhead. The air smelled of moss and cold bark. The farther they walked, the more the world seemed to shrink into green and shadow and the steady rhythm of their breathing.

  The hut stood quietly where it always had—half hidden by trees, its wooden walls darkened by time and rain. The secret base. Rize’s chest tightened as Yu pushed the door open.

  Inside, the air held the faint scent of old wood and dried herbs. Dust floated in thin beams of light cutting through cracks in the wall. The floor creaked under their weight, protesting their return.

  Yu stepped in first, then turned back to her. Rize followed, and the moment the door closed, the outside world vanished. No crowd. No eyes. No noise. Only them.

  “Here…” Rize’s voice came out small, trembling in a way she couldn’t hide. “No one will disturb us.”

  Yu nodded, and the movement looked heavier than it should have—like even simple gestures cost him effort. But his gaze stayed on her, steady. He reached out. His arms wrapped around her carefully at first, as if he was afraid she might break. Rize pressed into him anyway.

  Their first kiss was only a touch—soft, brief, uncertain. Like a question asked without words. They parted. Rize’s breath shook. Yu’s eyes searched her face, and something in his expression cracked open—relief, hunger, fear all tangled together. Their lips met again. This time, longer. Deeper. Not rough, but urgent, like they were trying to erase the days of distance with one breath.

  “Yu…” Rize whispered against his mouth.

  “Rize…” He answered her name like it was an anchor.

  Each time they spoke the other’s name, the feeling grew—heat gathering under skin, breath turning uneven, hands tightening as if letting go might invite the world back in.

  Their movements were slow at first, awkward with nerves. Then steadier, guided by need rather than thought. Fabric shifted. A layer fell away. Then another. Every time bare skin met bare skin, their heartbeats jumped into the same rhythm. Warmth spread, melting the last of the desert’s fear, the last of Avras’s loneliness.

  Their mouths found each other again and again, as if the kiss itself proved they were alive. As if every touch was a vow: I’m here. You’re here. We made it.

  “I won’t…” Yu breathed, forehead pressing to hers, voice breaking on the edge of desperation. “…let go anymore.”

  “I don’t want to leave…” Rize whispered back, fingers gripping him as if she could hold him in place by sheer will.

  The hut filled with the sound of their breathing and the pounding of their hearts. The world outside might have been burning. It wouldn’t have mattered. Inside this small space, nothing existed except their warmth.

  ?

  Light through the hut’s window shifted slowly, tilting toward orange. Time returned in fragments—the creak of wood cooling, the faint sound of wind brushing leaves, the way shadows stretched long across the floorboards. Outside, it was already dusk.

  Rize lay with her cheek against Yu’s shoulder, wrapped in the quiet aftermath. Heat still clung to her skin. Her fingers traced his back absentmindedly, as if her body refused to believe he was real unless she kept touching him.

  Yu’s breathing was calmer now, but his exhaustion hadn’t vanished. Even resting, his face looked strained around the edges, like his body carried bruises no one could see.

  “…Yu, are you going back again?” Rize swallowed, and the question rose like a thorn she couldn’t ignore. The words came out softer than she intended. Lonely.

  “I still have things to do,” Yu said, fingers sliding into her hair. He stroked gently, as if he could soothe the fear out of her. “I have to deal with the aftermath of what I did. But I’ll definitely come again.” He let out a small breath that sounded almost like a laugh, but it carried no humor.

  “…Promise?” Rize’s grip tightened around him.

  “Promise.” Yu said it without hesitation.

  They kissed again, slower this time. Not hungry. Not frantic. Deep. Solemn. A vow sealed with warmth instead of words.

  Yu finally pulled away, each movement careful. Rize watched him, her chest tightening with every moment that looked like preparation to leave. The hut suddenly felt too small, as if it couldn’t hold both their warmth and the threat of separation.

  Yu stood near the door. He flexed his hand once, then turned his palm forward. The air in front of him brightened. A pale blue frame opened—clean edges, quiet light. The same wrongness as before, the same taste of ozone that didn’t belong in this forest.

  “…!” Rize’s breath caught. She surged forward and grabbed his hand, fingers latching onto him as if he might vanish if she blinked.

  Yu looked back at her and smiled—tired, but real. He squeezed her hand hard enough to leave certainty behind.

  “Rize,” he whispered, voice low and warm. “Wait for me.”

  “…I’ll wait.” Rize’s throat tightened, but she forced the words out, steady as she could make them. The light flared.

  For an instant, the hut’s shadows bent. The air shivered. The warmth of his hand disappeared like a candle snuffed out. Transfer complete. Yu was gone. Rize stood alone in the quiet hut, hand still lifted as if it remembered his grip.

  The loneliness tried to rush back in. But it didn’t crush her the way it used to. Warmth remained—carved into her chest, into her skin, into the place where fear had lived.

  I’m not alone anymore. He would return. He had promised. Rize lowered her hand slowly and closed her eyes, listening to the wind outside. It sounded like breathing. Like waiting. Like something that would, inevitably, come back.