The wind began to settle, leaving behind scattered leaves and flower petals strewn across the muddy ground. Hana's flower field was no longer whole—half of it destroyed, torn apart by storm and dark magic. Yet amidst the ruins, two figures stood facing each other.
Mathien was still gasping, his clothes ripped in several places, a trickle of blood at the corner of his lips. But it wasn't the wounds that drained the color from his face.
"Hana…" he whispered, so faint it was almost lost.
The girl stood not far from him, her hair disheveled, her clothes smeared with dirt and dust—but her eyes still shone. Still alive with light. She gave a small smile, though her body trembled.
Mathien strode to her at once, his steps heavy but unyielding. Without asking, he grasped her shoulders, traced down her arms, touched her face and neck in a rush—as if making sure this girl was truly still here. Still whole.
"Hana…" his voice was louder this time. "Are you insane?! Why did you come back?!"
Hana parted her lips to answer, but she didn't get the chance.
Mathien had already pulled her into his arms.
Not like before—not distant, not proud, not guarded.
This embrace was sudden, tight, his warmth wrapping around Hana's cold and weary body.
"I saw you take that spell…" Mathien muttered, almost like a growl held back. "I saw you throw yourself toward me—and if you were just a normal human… you should've been—"
His voice broke. He bit down on his lip, then pulled back slightly, staring hard into Hana's face.
His large, warm hands cupped her cheeks, as if memorizing every line of her features.
"You're truly not hurt?"
Hana shook her head softly. "I'm fine."
Mathien kept staring, for a long while. His breath was still uneven, but his fingers brushed gently along her shoulders and arms, searching for injuries that weren't there. Just to be sure. Just to calm himself.
"You're immune…" he murmured, almost disbelieving. "But even so. That magic wasn't something trivial. If you had faltered even once…"
Hana chuckled lightly. "But I didn't falter."
Mathien looked at her with an expression that couldn't be pinned down—anger, relief, awe, and… fear of losing her.
Then, for some reason, he lowered his head, pressing his forehead against hers. Their voices dropped to a whisper.
"Don't ever do that again, Hana. I… I don't know what I'd do if you—"
"I don't know either," Hana whispered back. "But… in that moment there was only one thing on my mind."
"What?"
"I didn't want to lose you."
Mathien's chest tightened. The shattered world around them seemed to fade, replaced by something quieter… and warmer.
Amid the wreckage and chaos, Hana still smiled.
And Mathien could only pull her back into his arms—this time longer, calmer.
Magic was not always about spells.
Sometimes, the strongest magic was when two hearts chose to keep beating side by side, even when the world said they couldn't.
Mathien was still holding Hana when his chest suddenly stirred—not from emotion, but from something deeper. A subtle pull within his magic, like a distant whisper. A voice he knew all too well. Ancient magic. Royal magic.
His body stiffened.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze. The sky that had calmed moments before darkened once more. Thick clouds churned violently, as though something immense was descending. The wind picked up, sharper, colder.
Mathien stepped back, still gripping Hana's hand.
He didn't answer at first. His grasp on her tightened, as if afraid she might be swept away at any moment.
"That's… royal magic," he murmured, his blue eyes faintly glowing. "They're coming."
Hana's head snapped toward him. "Royal magic? You mean… from your homeland?" Her voice was full of surprise, but tinged with unease.
"People from my world," Mathien said quietly, as if the words were heavy on his tongue.
Hana fell silent. Her gaze lingered on him, trying to take in what he had just said, her heartbeat quickening. His world. The one Mathien had rarely spoken of. A world that felt distant and strange—and now, drawing near.
"I-I thought… I thought you'd never see them again…" Hana whispered. "I thought you wanted to stay here."
Mathien turned to her. Amid the rising gusts, he lifted her hand, clutching it tighter, even pressing it against his chest for a moment.
The wind grew stronger. The ground rumbled softly, and from beyond the storm clouds, a piercing silver light began to break through.
Mathien narrowed his eyes. "But why now?"
The magic was familiar, yet it bore a weight—heavy, like a judgment about to be cast.
Still holding Hana's hand, he bent slightly, shielding her from the raging wind.
"Hold on tight," he said. "I won't let this wind take you."
Hana looked at him for a moment, then nodded quickly. "Okay."
And right then, a beam of silver light struck down from the heavens, crashing into the earth not far from what remained of the field. The explosion sent dust and petals swirling, the wind roaring wild.
Mathien pulled Hana close, shielding her with his body, whispering, "Whatever comes out of this… I won't let go of you."
Hana shut her eyes, clutching him back.
And as the dust cleared, the light dimmed, and a figure emerged at the edge of the field—cloaked in silver, the crest of Valtherion emblazoned on his chest.
Mathien straightened, keeping Hana behind him.
"They truly came…"
"Our lives will never be the same after this…" Mathien thought to himself.
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