In the quiet of the library, a woman sat alone, engrossed in a book.
The book she held now was no ordinary novel, but the published diary of a man whose life had become legend.
Originally written as a single, hefty manuscript, it had been released to the public as five separate volumes. Its title was etched into her memory:
Penance of a Thief.
It told the tale of a wanderer named Ace—a former thief who roamed the world in search of redemption.
Each page chronicled his journey to atone for his sins, and each volume painted a deeper, more tragic picture of the man behind the legend.
But when she reached the fifth and final volume, she discovered something she hadn't expected: the author of those last words was not Ace himself, but his closest friend.
For in that final act, Ace and his team—Venganza—faced off against a shadowy organization known as Lunar Ascendance.
The climactic battle took place in a grand palace, where Ace confronted the organization's leader, a man known only as Death.
Though he triumphed over Death, his victory came at a cost. In the chaos of the fight, he stumbled, his body tumbling from the palace's towering heights.
And yet, even as he fell to his death, he was smiling—content and at peace, knowing he had saved others and destroyed the darkness he once helped create.
The diary, completed by his friend, had been published a year after that fateful night. All five volumes had been released at once.
In the country of Aelcrest, a statue of the hero Ace now stands, watching over the land of his birth.
Historians and wanderers alike have searched for proof of his tale, yet no trace of the people described in the book has ever been found.
The author, it seemed, had hidden every name behind a veil of disguise.
Even so, one discovery changed everything—the ruins of the Lunar Ascendance palace. From that moment, people began to believe the legend might truly be real.
But the ashen-haired woman reading those pages knew the truth of the story better than anyone.
After all, she herself was one of its characters.
She could still remember the tears that had stained her cheeks when she first finished reading them.
Now, with a quiet exhale, the woman closed the book and rose from her seat.
She slid the volume back into its place on the shelf, among others in the Adventure section.
For a moment, her fingers lingered on the spine.
And then she let it go.
The woman stepped out of the library and into the soft hum of the city streets.
She paused on the steps, her gaze sweeping over the bustling square.
Hm... where should I go? she wondered, her thoughts as aimless as her feet.
The woman began to walk, letting the rhythm of the city guide her.
But soon her steps slowed as she caught sight of a crowd gathering ahead.
"Oh?" she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "Is there a celebration today?"
The air was thick with chatter and laughter, bright flags fluttering above the throng.
She stood at the edge of the crowd, her curiosity piqued—until something, or rather someone, caught her eye.
Just beyond the shifting bodies, on the far side of the square, she caught a glimpse of a man.
"Huh..."
She blinked, as though to clear a trick of the light, her breath catching in her chest.
No... it wasn't a mistake.
That face—she knew it.
And then, as though drawn by the same invisible thread, he looked up.
Their eyes met just as the bell in the tower began to toll, its deep chimes echoing over the square.
He...
She...
But in the next instant, the crowd surged, voices and bodies pressing between them, and the fragile line of sight was broken.
The woman's heart leapt. Her eyes darted left, right—until she spotted an opening on the next street over.
Without hesitation, she darted to the right, weaving through the people.
At the same moment, the man turned and ran to the left, his steps quick and purposeful.
And both of them running—to find each other.
After the war, the members of the Venganza team drifted into their own quiet lives, each carving a new path in the world they'd fought to protect.
Lycaon chose solitude, retreating deep into the forest where the canopy of trees and the company of animals suited him far better than the noise of human cities.
He crouched by a mossy log as a small squirrel chattered at him, its tiny paws fidgeting with impatience.
"Hm?" Lycaon tilted his head, red eyes glinting in amusement. "The lion and the tiger are fighting again?"
The squirrel squeaked in confirmation, and Lycaon gave a low chuckle. "They never learn, do they?"
He stood, stretching his powerful frame, always clad in his werewolf form—muscles rippling, claws flexing, the faint scent of wild earth clinging to him.
"All right then, Squirrel. Let's go break it up."
He felt no need to mingle with humans. Here, in the embrace of the forest, he belonged.
Elsewhere, Zack had settled in a quiet country town, turning his peculiar skills into an unexpected career: medicine.
As a former assassin who had spent years expertly mutilating his victims, his steady hands and unflinching precision translated seamlessly into the dissection and repair of the human body.
In the hospital, colleagues often marveled at his talent.
"Everything went so smoothly thanks to you, Doctor Zack," one of the nurses said with admiration as they stepped out of the operating room.
Zack ran a hand through his hair and chuckled modestly. "Ah, you're giving me too much credit. I'm really not that amazing."
"You're way too modest, Doc," another surgeon chimed in with a grin.
And then there was Theresia.
She'd become the assistant to one of the kingdom's most renowned detectives, Hans. With her uncanny ability to read minds, she could pierce through even the most practiced lies.
After a long interrogation, Hans finally leaned back in his chair and let out a breath. "Theresia, good work. Let's take a break."
Theresia slipped beside him, flashing a mischievous smile. "Hey! Buy me something to eat, will you? I blew all my money shopping—tehe."
Hans narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I don't have any money either."
"Liar!" she shot back instantly, her hands on her hips. "You've got exactly two gold coins in your pocket right now."
Hans groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in defeat. "This mind reader..." he muttered under his breath, already reaching for his coins.
Meanwhile, in a sun-bleached kingdom at the edge of the desert, Oris sat upon his throne, listening patiently as petitioners brought forth their grievances.
Since the war's end, he had devoted himself to rebuilding his realm, which had been left in ruins by the organization's relentless attacks.
To his surprise, the repairs were progressing faster than he could have imagined—and he knew exactly whom he had to thank for that.
"Oris! Are you done yet?"
A bright, teasing voice cut through the solemn air of the throne room.
Before he could answer, a girl appeared in a flash and perched herself squarely on his lap, ignoring the stares of the courtiers.
Oris didn't so much as flinch. He simply raised an eyebrow at her.
"Can't you see I'm working?" he said flatly. "And why are you in your child form, Valeria?"
The girl—Valeria—pouted for all of three seconds before shimmering, her petite figure shifting into the graceful form of a grown woman, her crimson eyes glimmered with mischief.
"Boring!" she complained, crossing her arms. "I'm lonely, and I don't know what to do with myself. Do you know how hard it is to kill time when you're me?"
Oris let out a quiet sigh. "Go to the city. Help the people there. Surely there's still work to be done."
Valeria rolled her eyes dramatically. "I just finished helping them. There's no one left who needs me right now."
Then, with a sudden shift in tone, she leaned closer, her lips curling into a sly smile.
"So, tell me, Oris—when are you going to marry me?"
Oris's gaze didn't waver. His voice remained as calm and even as ever.
"Our lives are long," he said. "And because of the blood you gave me back then, mine now stretches nearly as long as yours. There's no need to rush."
Valeria's lower lip jutted out in a sulk. "Oh, come on! Even Murphy and Cathy are married already. I want to wear a wedding dress too, you know."
"That's because they're ordinary humans," Oris replied tersely, his patience beginning to fray.
But as she clung to him with her usual stubborn charm, Oris could only sigh again, resigned. He was, after all, long used to the whims of this insistent, unpredictable vampire called Valeria.
Just as Valeria had teased, Murphy and Cathy were now happily married, living together in a quiet corner of the world they'd helped save.
"Here, I made you some coffee, dear," Cathy said softly, setting a steaming cup of coffee and a delicate porcelain teacup on the table before him.
"Thank you," Murphy replied, folding his newspaper and setting it aside.
After the war, Cathy had followed Murphy back to his homeland.
One of the very first things she'd done there was brew a potion—an ingenious concoction of her own making—that finally restored Murphy's sight.
She still remembered the tears that had blurred her own vision the moment he opened his eyes and looked at her properly for the first time.
Now, his ruby-red gaze never failed to make her heart skip a beat.
"Brother! Sister!"
A bright, cheerful voice rang from the doorway. It was Serpahy—Murphy's younger sister, and now Cathy's sister as well by marriage.
"Oh? Sorry, did I interrupt a tender little moment?" she asked playfully, her golden eyes sparkling with mischief.
"N-No, not at all!" Cathy stammered, her cheeks already turning pink.
Serpahy giggled, hands on her hips. "You're still as shy as ever, Sis Cathy! Sooo..." she leaned forward with a grin, "when am I getting a niece or nephew, huh?"
Murphy's eyes widened—and he promptly choked on his coffee, spraying some back into the cup. Cathy's face went crimson, hotter than the coffee itself.
Serpahy only laughed at their flustered reactions, clearly satisfied with her little jab. "Alright, alright! I'm heading to work now, okay?" she said breezily as she waved and slipped out the door.
"Be... be careful," Cathy mumbled, burying her burning face in her hands.
A moment later, she felt a gentle pat on her shoulder, and she flinched in surprise—only to find Murphy standing close, a warm smile playing on his lips.
He slipped an arm around her, pulling her into his embrace as she peeked up at him, still flustered.
"Heh... you're cute when you're embarrassed," he murmured, resting his chin lightly on her head.
"...Shut up," Cathy whispered, but her lips curved into a soft, happy smile as she leaned against him.
In another world, far removed from the one where battles had been fought and victories won, there lived a woman who had quietly given up on love.
Her name was Chronia.
With her soft blue hair pinned back and her apron dusted with pollen, she ran a modest little flower shop on a quiet corner street.
After the war, she had used the last of her power to open a portal and return to her own world—a world where no one knew her name, or her story.
She spent her days tending blooms and arranging bouquets, yet a faint melancholy clung to her like morning dew.
"Why are people buying flowers less and less?!" she grumbled under her breath, surveying the wilting blossoms in the display.
She tried not to think of the man she once loved, the one whose heart she could never claim.
He had been kind to her, in his way-but she knew he would never see her the way she saw him.
The little bell over her door chimed suddenly.
"Excuse me," a man's voice called—deep and warm, like a familiar song long forgotten.
Chronia turned sharply, her heart leaping at the sound.
Finally... a customer.
But the moment her eyes met his face, the air fled her lungs.
"You..."
Those eyes-green like polished emeralds. That black hair.
"It can't be…" she whispered under her breath.
He tilted his head slightly, a gentle smile on his lips, though a flicker of confusion lingered in his eyes. "Hmm? Have we met before?"
No… that's impossible. He's supposed to be dead, she thought.
"May I ask your name...?" she managed, barely above a whisper.
"Aeon," he replied with an easy confidence. "Nice to meet you."
The name struck her like a bell. She'd heard it before—from someone she once held dear in another world.
But this wasn't him.
Of course it wasn't. Hoping he'd somehow survived, somehow found her again... was foolish.
Swallowing the ache, Chronia steadied herself and cleared her throat.
"R-Right... Are you looking for flowers? Maybe for a partner or someone special?"
Aeon blinked, then gave a short laugh. "Ah? No, nothing like that. I'm still single. Just thought I'd buy some flowers to brighten up my place."
"...Still single, huh..." she repeated softly, more to herself than to him.
She gathered the flowers he asked for and wrapped them carefully. When she handed the bouquet to him, he gave her a warm smile.
"Thank you. These are beautiful," he said, turning to leave.
But before he could step through the door, Chronia's voice called out.
"Hey!"
He paused, glancing over his shoulder.
"Hm?"
Chronia's fingers tightened on her shirt as she hesitated—then finally found her courage.
"Are you... free this afternoon?" she asked, her voice almost shy. "I'd like to take you to a cafe and buy some sweets if you like?"
For a moment, Aeon looked surprised by the sudden invitation. Then his lips curved into a quiet smile.
"I'm not a big fan of sweets," he said with a small shrug. "But I'll take it. I can always order something else later."
Chronia's heart fluttered. A bright, relieved smile bloomed on her face as she watched him leave, the doorbell chiming softly behind him.
She stood there for a long moment, still smiling to herself, and whispered under her breath as she stared at the flowers in her hands—
"They are.. totally different people."
Back in the main world, at the esteemed Feohtere Academy, a quiet conversation was unfolding in the principal's office.
Inside the faculty lounge, two teachers lingered over a quiet conversation: one, a man of chivalrous presence and golden-blonde hair, the other, a sharp-witted woman with crimson locks and eyes that held both mischief and melancholy.
"So, you're still single, Arthur?" asked the principal, Rufina, sipping from a porcelain cup.
Arthur raised an eyebrow, adjusting the collar of his neatly pressed coat. "Yes... Why do you ask, Rufina?"
A knowing smirk curved on Rufina's lips. "No reason. I just find it strange. With looks like yours, I'd expect you to have women lining up."
Arthur sighed, crossing his arms. "Well, I still want to stick with this career for now. I haven't been here that long, after all."
"You're still single too, right?" Arthur shot her a glance.
Rufina let out a dry chuckle, her eyes dropping for a moment. "I just can't seem to find anyone who really fits me, you know?"
"And you? Have you found the right one?" she asked.
Arthur smirked with a touch of arrogance. "Of course."
"A woman I met before I came to work here. I'm not sure if I'll ever see her again."
Rufina tilted her head. "Oh? Her name was... Anesia or something?"
Arthur's brows furrowed. He slammed a stack of books onto the table, startled. "Her name is Amnesia!"
Rufina grinned, unfazed. "Right, right. Amnesia."
Arthur rubbed the back of his neck and let out a soft sigh. "She's the girl I've liked all this time… I don't even know why," he chuckled.
"Well, my work here is done," he added, turning around. "See you later, Principal."
He reached for the door handle, but just as he was about to open it, Rufina called out again.
"Wait… before you go, there's something I want to ask you."
He paused, halfway through turning, a curious look on his face. "What is it?" he asked.
"How is he?" she said softly.
Arthur's brow furrowed faintly.
"Him? I'm not sure," he admitted. "We haven't been in contact for quite some time."
Then, after a beat, he allowed himself a small smile.
"But one thing's certain," Arthur added, his voice steady. "He's out there... still searching for his love."
With that, he gave Rufina one last look before stepping out, leaving her alone in the quiet room—her fingers lightly drumming against her teacup, and her thoughts far away.
Back to the witch again—the woman still chasing the man she longed to find.
She ran to the spot where she'd first glimpsed him, her cloak billowing behind her. But when she arrived, the street was empty. Not a trace of him.
Her breath quickened as she darted past rows of buildings, her boots striking the cobblestones.
Finally, she skidded to a stop, chest heaving.
"Did... did I imagine it?" she panted, her wide azure eyes scanning the alley ahead.
Then, out of the corner of her vision, she caught sight of movement—a figure disappearing around the back of a building.
"Huh?"
Her brows knitted in determination.
Did he... go that way?
She pressed on, her steps quicker now as she rounded the corner and found herself at a crossroads.
The streets here forked in three directions, each one shadowed by narrow buildings and twisting lanes.
"Where did he go..." she murmured, turning her head left and right, trying to catch even a glimpse of black hair or a familiar face.
Her fingers tightened around the handle of her broomstick. Without wasting another second, she mounted it in one graceful motion and rose into the air.
The city opened up beneath her as she soared higher, her sharp eyes scanning the labyrinthine streets below.
"Where could he have gone...?" she whispered to herself, her heart pounding harder with every passing second.
And then she saw him.
There, in the park below—a man with black hair stood alone, his posture uncertain, his gaze darting as if searching for something... or someone.
Her breath caught in her throat. Her heart skipped a beat.
Is... is that really...?
Her grip tightened on the broomstick as she angled herself lower, gliding over the rooftops.
She descended into the park, landing softly a few meters away, her gaze fixed on him.
She stood still for a moment, her chest rising and falling, her azure eyes locked on the man in black.
"...Could it be?" she whispered under her breath, unable to look away.
The man turned—and his eyes found hers.
For a breathless moment, they simply stared at each other... before both broke into a run.
Their footsteps echoed on the stone path as they closed the distance between them.
With each stride, the woman's heart raced faster, the sight of him sharpening into certainty.
There was no mistake. It was him.
She quickened her pace, almost tripping over her own feet, until finally—finally—she stopped just inches away, standing before him.
Both of them gasped softly, as though the air between them had been stolen.
The woman's wide lapis-blue eyes drank him in—his black hair, parted in the middle, his emerald green eyes that still gleamed with that quiet warmth she remembered.
His features were a little older, a little sharper... but still, undeniably him.
And the man... the man saw her. The ashen-haired witch, her familiar blue eyes shimmering with so many emotions he couldn't even name them all.
For a long, fragile moment, they simply stood there, lost in each other's gaze—disbelief and wonder written across their faces.
The woman's heart thundered in her chest. Slowly, a smile broke through her trembling lips.
"...I knew it," she breathed, her voice breaking just slightly, full of longing and relief. "You're still alive... somewhere... Arche."
Arche's own lips curved into a soft, almost shy smile, his green eyes holding hers with equal emotion.
"And I'm truly glad to see you looking well, Elaina."
Her breath hitched as she nodded, her eyes shimmering with unspoken feelings.
"It's… already been three years, hasn't it?" he murmured, his voice tinged with longing.
Her smile turned faintly wistful as she shook her head, correcting him gently.
"Four years," she whispered. "It's almost been four."
Arche's brow furrowed in surprise before he chuckled softly, the sound warm and familiar.
"Really? Time really flies, huh?"
Elaina looked up at him again, her fingers twitching as though she wanted to reach for him but didn't quite dare yet.
"Yeah.." she said quietly, her lips curving into a tender smile. "Time really does fly."
And then, her gaze softened even more as she added, her voice no louder than a breath:
"But you're here now."
"Yes..." Arche said quietly, his gaze falling to the ground.
"My mother… she gave her life. With the teleportation gem I entrusted to her, she leapt from the palace and sent me to safety."
His voice trembled faintly. "It should be her who's still alive… not me."
Elaina's breath caught, her chest tightening at his words.
Her lapis-blue eyes widened; for a moment, she couldn't speak—her heart aching as the weight of his loss settled over her.
"Your mother…" she finally whispered, her voice soft with sympathy. "Please… accept my condolences."
Arche lifted his gaze to her, a faint, weary smile on his lips. "Thank you…"
Then, noticing the sorrow in her expression, he let out a small chuckle. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be bringing this up at a time like this, should I?"
Then his expression shifted—more hesitant now, but earnest.
"So, Elaina... there's something I've been waiting to tell you," he said.
She tilted her head at him, curiosity and something warmer flickering in her gaze.
"Something you want to tell me?" she repeated, her voice quiet but laced with a hint of anticipation.
Arche's emerald eyes met hers, and he took a slow breath before speaking, his words barely above a whisper.
"I really missed you."
Elaina froze, her heart skipping a beat as his confession washed over her like a gentle wave.
The raw sincerity in his voice made her cheeks heat up.
"...You kept me waiting far too long, Bakarche," she muttered, her voice flustered yet full of affection.
Arche let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and almost boyish.
"And thank you... for waiting, Witchie," he replied, his smile growing as he looked at her with quiet adoration.
She smiled faintly, though her chest was tight with a swirl of emotions she could barely name.
"Idiot..." she murmured under her breath, her voice shaky but fond. "You'd better not pretend to be dead again."
Arche laughed and replied, "Don't worry—I actually don't plan on dying before I get married," he said.
A playful glint sparkled in his eyes. "I heard my father changed completely after marriage… it made me wonder what it's really like."
Then, leaning in with a teasing smile, he added, "I'll make sure you're invited."
His voice dropped, almost like a secret meant just for her. "So, tell me… would you rather be the bride, or just a guest?"
In the past, she would have brushed it off as just another playful tease from Arche. But after reading his story, seeing the depth of his feelings for her…
She felt her chest tighten, heart beating faster than she wanted to admit.
"You really haven't changed at all, have you… Arche?" she murmured, trying to curve her lips into a small smile to mask her embarrassment.
"Of course I've changed," he said with a soft chuckle. "Now I only tease you."
"After you know how I really feel… it just feels wrong to flirt with anyone else," he added, smiling.
A quiet pause lingered between them, the kind that spoke more than words ever could.
Finally, her voice softened, almost vulnerable. "My heart… it really melted," she confessed, words hesitant but sincere.
"When I read what you wrote… I never imagined a man would go through all that just for me."
She quickly averted her gaze, clutching the brim of her hat as if it could shield her flustered expression.
Her voice dropped even lower, almost lost in the whispering breeze. "But right now… I'm not ready for that kind of relationship with anyone."
She inclined her head slightly, a quiet apology lingering in her tone. "I'm sorry."
Arche just chuckled softly, the sound warm and unbothered.
When she lifted her head again, his gaze was still steady, his smile still calm.
"Then," he said, his tone light but full of quiet conviction, "I'll wait. Until you are."
Her eyes widened, and somehow, she had expected him to answer that way.
"You'd... really wait for me?" she asked, her voice no more than a whisper, her eyes wide.
"I will," Arche replied, his words sincere and unwavering. "I'll wait, until the end of my life, if I have to."
Her chest ached at his honesty, the sheer devotion in his voice making her want to cry and smile all at once.
"You're really stubborn," she muttered, turning her face away as her lips curved into a faint, wry smile. "You know that?"
Arche's eyes caught a glint of emerald at her ear, and he couldn't help but smile.
"Oh? You're wearing the earrings I gave you?" he asked, his tone warm and teasing.
Elaina blinked, caught off guard by the observation, then instinctively tucked her hair behind her ear, fingers grazing the little gem.
"Yeah," she admitted, a soft, shy note in her voice. "I haven't taken them off since I read your book."
Her eyes fell gently, and she whispered, "It's… my way of honoring you. For everything you've done."
Arche let out a quiet chuckle, his emerald eyes soft. "You look good with them," he said sincerely.
A shy smile curved her lips at that, and she inclined her head slightly. "Thank you."
After a pause, he tilted his head, his smile turning a little more playful.
"I'm sure you still have a lot of questions, don't you?" he said. "How about we find a café and talk things over?"
Elaina nodded, her smile growing just a touch more genuine. "Sure," she replied. "A café sounds good."
They began walking side by side down the quiet street, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. Then, without a word, Arche's hand reached over and gently took hers.
Elaina froze for half a second, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. Protests hovered at the edge of her lips—but then she felt the warmth of his fingers around hers, steady and sure.
Instead of pulling away... she found herself gripping his hand a little tighter, her heart fluttering madly at the simple, unexpected gesture.
After a few moments, Arche glanced at her, a quiet determination in his eyes.
"After this," he said, his voice low but sure, "I want to wander with you. Until I'm satisfied."
Elaina stole a sideways glance at him, her smile returning as she nodded.
"Fine by me," she said softly. Then, with a faint, curious tilt of her head, she added, "And... what will you do after you've had your fill of wandering with me?"
Arche's lips curved into that familiar, easy grin of his.
"I'll go to Robetta," he said casually, as though it was the simplest thing in the world, "and open a restaurant there."
"Huh? Robetta?"
Elaina stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide in surprise as his words sank in.
A wave of shock and confusion flickered across her face—of all the places Arche could have mentioned, she never expected that.
"Why... Robetta?" she finally managed to ask, her voice caught somewhere between disbelief and curiosity.
"Why not just open your restaurant in Aelcrest?"
Arche glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his usual faint smile playing on his lips.
"Zack... he couldn't stop my mother from saving me that night."
"He stayed behind in Aelcrest after it all, living in my family's house. Watching over my parents' graves."
His green eyes softened, the faintest shadow of sorrow there. "He's... too loyal for his own good sometimes."
Then his tone lightened, a teasing lilt sneaking in. "And why Robetta?" he repeated, quirking a brow at her.
"Well… it's where you were born, isn't it? I've never been there myself, so I'm curious."
He grinned then, his teasing voice dropping lower, playful.
"And besides... I could finally meet your parents. Introduce myself properly."
The words barely left his lips before Elaina's eyes flew open in horror.
"What—?!" she gasped, and without thinking she tightened her grip on his hand, her fingers digging into his knuckles hard enough to make him wince.
"Don't say anything weird to my parents, Arche," she hissed, her lapis-blue eyes flashing dangerously. "Or you will suffer the consequences."
Her tone was low. Deadly serious.
"Ouch, ouch—okay, okay! I get it!" he chuckled through gritted teeth. "Geez, I'm not the same idiot from four years ago..."
Elaina gave his hand one final squeeze before finally loosening her hold, a sharp little huff escaping her lips.
"You better," she muttered, her cheeks faintly pink though her glare still held.
But Arche, being Arche, couldn't help himself. He shook his freed hand dramatically, flexing his fingers as though she'd crushed them.
"Yikes... remind me never to hold hands with you if you're this scary," he teased, winking.
Elaina blinked at him, clearly caught off-guard by his audacity.
"Oh? Would you rather I let go entirely?" she shot back, folding her arms, her lips curving into the faintest smirk.
Arche leaned closer, a lopsided grin on his face. "Oh no, no... hold on as long as you want. Just... maybe don't break my fingers in the process?"
This time, it was Elaina's turn to laugh—soft, and just a little flustered.
"You're impossible," she said under her breath, shaking her head.
But she didn't pull away when he gently took her hand again, this time lacing their fingers together as though daring her to squeeze.
Arche grinned wider at her silence, emerald eyes sparkling with mischief.
"See? You don't actually mind. You just like keeping me on my toes," he murmured.
Elaina tried to hide her growing smile, but the faint pink on her cheeks betrayed her anyway.
"Oh shut up..." she whispered back, eyes glancing away.
And Arche, satisfied, chuckled to himself.
"Well, four years later and I still think you're worth the bruises."
The two of them walked side by side, fingers still intertwined, their pace unhurried as they searched for a quiet café nestled somewhere in the city's winding streets.
Elaina's hand tightened around Arche's without her realizing it—just a little more firmly, as if her heart feared that if she let go now... he might disappear again.
Arche felt it. Of course he did.
But he didn't say anything.
He only held her hand just as gently, letting her be the one to decide how close was close enough.
The silence between them was comfortable now, filled not with awkwardness, but with the soft echoes of everything that didn't need to be said aloud.
Still, there was one truth Elaina kept buried deep in her chest-one she hadn't found the courage to speak.
That to her, Arche wasn't just someone she missed...
He was a hero.
Her hero.
The one who stood in the way when her country teetered on the edge of destruction.
The one who fought, and bled, and smiled even as the world seemed to crumble around him.
In her heart, he had always been her favorite hero.
Elaina had never been good with men—except for his father. She never let any of them get close.
But somehow… this one had managed to slip past every wall she'd built.
And as they walked together toward the little café at the corner of the square, the evening breeze carrying the faint scent of flowers, Elaina found herself smiling softly to herself.
Her hand still in his.
And this time, she promised herself, she wouldn't let go.
Heroes really are heart-stealers, aren't they?
— True Ending —