Amukelo drifted back into the manor as he made his way through the halls, trying to stay out of sight. He didn't want to interact with others. All he wanted was to find his bed, lie down, and let himself sink into whatever slumber would come to take him. But after wandering through a few unfamiliar corridors, he realized that he had no idea which room was his.
With a quiet sigh of frustration, he looked around, finally spotting a maid arranging linens on a table. He approached her reluctantly, keeping his voice low, almost embarrassed. "Excuse me," he murmured. "Could you… point me toward my room?"
The maid looked up, her expression polite but curious. She nodded quickly, giving him simple directions, and he thanked her with a slight nod, turning to follow her instructions. Not long after, he found himself in his room. He closed the door behind him.
Then Amukelo walked over to the bed and lowered himself onto it slowly, his entire body aching from the hours he had spent in the cold. But despite the weariness, despite the pain, sleep refused to come. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts circling endlessly back to the night he'd just endured.
The memory of Pao refusing to let go. He thought about her laugh, the way it had lit up his every day. He could see her face, hear her voice, feel the warmth of her presence. She was so vivid in his memory, so real, and yet… she was gone.
He knew that he would never see her again, never hold her hand, never share a quiet moment with her as they watched the sunset after a long day. Those memories, once a source of joy, now felt like open wounds. He could still picture the plans they had made, the promises they had whispered to each other late at night. They had dreamed of a future filled with peace, with love, with the simple joy of being together.
But now, all of that was gone. He would never live those moments again, never share that life with her. Those dreams had died with her, leaving only a hollow ache in their place, a void that he could barely comprehend. And the worst part was the realization that, for all the anger and vengeance he had chased after, nothing had filled that void. The revenge he had sought, the hatred that had driven him—it had taken everything from him, leaving him with nothing but emptiness and regret.
Yet, as he lay there, Roland's words surfaced in his mind. *After every storm, there is a rainbow.* The words sounded so simple, so idealistic, and yet… they stayed with him. Roland had spoken of finding strength in faith, of allowing others to help, of believing that there were better days to come. Amukelo didn't truly believe it. But as he lay there, exhausted and broken, he realized that he had nothing left to lose. And if there was even a chance, even the faintest possibility of finding some kind of healing, perhaps it was worth trying.
If he could find a way to live through the pain, to find something worth holding onto… perhaps the path Roland spoke of wasn't as empty as it seemed. He didn't know if he would ever truly be healed if he would ever find a life that felt meaningful again. But he knew one thing. If he didn't do anything, there would be no chance for him to heal.
The thought was enough to loosen the tension in his chest, to soften the ache just enough for him to close his eyes. His body sank into the bed, his mind finally succumbing to the weariness that had been clawing at him since the night before. Slowly, the heaviness of sleep overtook him into empty slumber.
He woke up hours later. The sleep had been deep but unsettling, leaving him groggy and disoriented as he blinked into the quiet of the room. For a moment, he lay there, his mind drifting back to the thoughts that had plagued him before he fell asleep.
But then his gaze shifted, catching sight of his sword leaning against the wall. The sword had been with him through it all. And yet… something about it felt wrong, as though it were a stranger, something he couldn't fully recognize.
He tried to remember where he had first found the sword, tried to recall what had made it so precious to him. But the memories seemed shrouded, hidden behind a strange fog that his memories couldn't reach. He felt a faint, nagging sense of familiarity, as though the answer were just out of reach. And as he reached for it, as he tried to remember, a sharp, searing pain tore through his mind.
The pain was instant. He gripped his head, gasping, as the agony spread, sharp and unrelenting. It was as though something were blocking his memories, something he couldn't see or understand. The harder he tried to remember, the sharper the pain became, until it was unbearable, a white-hot agony that left him breathless.
With a strangled groan, he let go, releasing the thoughts, letting them slip back into the fog. And as soon as he did, the pain began to fade, leaving him weak, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His body trembled as he lay there, his skin damp with sweat, his heart pounding as though he had just fought a battle.
He lay there for several minutes. He had been through countless battles, had faced pain and injury, but this… this was different. It was a pain that felt rooted in his mind, something he couldn't explain.
After a while, his breathing slowed, his heart settling back into a steady rhythm. He wiped the sweat from his brow, his gaze shifting back to the sword with a wary, almost fearful glance. He didn't understand it, couldn't explain it, but he knew one thing—there was something about that sword, something hidden in his memories, that he couldn't access.
Just as he was beginning to steady himself, a quiet knock sounded at the door, breaking the silence of the room. He froze, his body tense, his mind still reeling from the strange pain. The knock came again, soft but insistent, followed by a voice from the other side. "Can I come in?"
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. After a brief pause, he cleared his throat, his voice rough and hesitant as he called out, "Yes."
And then Eliss came in. He couldn't help but wonder why she was here; they had barely spoken since he'd woken up, and he wasn't entirely sure what she could possibly want from him.
"Amukelo," she began, her voice steady but a little hesitant, "I have a request."
Before she could continue, a memory of his conversation with her father drifted through his mind, and he found himself saying, almost automatically, "You want to join me on my travels, don't you?"
Eliss blinked, visibly taken aback. Her mouth opened, then closed, before she managed to say, "How… how did you know?"
Amukelo gave her a faint smirk, a hint of amusement flickering in his otherwise weary eyes. "You asked me about this in the past, didn't you?"
Eliss's eyes widened again, her surprise deepening. "You… you thought about that?"
He held up a hand, his tone flattening with a hint of irony. "Not really," he replied. "Your father told me about it."
Her expression shifted once more, surprise giving way to a hint of irritation as she crossed her arms, her brow furrowing. "When did you speak to him?"
Amukelo shrugged, trying to remember the exact timing, though the hours had blurred together in his mind. "Today… I guess."
Eliss looked at him, her brows lifting in faint exasperation. "You guess?"
He offered her a small, slightly sarcastic smile, which only seemed to add to her annoyance. She muttered to herself, "I guess…"
Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. "Never mind," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She took a breath, steadying herself, before looking at him directly. "So… what do you think about that?"
He was quiet for a moment. Finally, he nodded. "Yeah, I agreed."
Eliss's eyes lit up, her face breaking into a wide, enthusiastic smile. "Really?" she asked, the word laced with a surprised joy that he hadn't quite expected.
"Yes," he replied, feeling a faint warmth in her reaction. "You should thank your father for that. But… honestly, I still don't understand why you'd want to join me. I'm no better than the scum I killed, yet you still… you still want to follow me."
Her smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet thoughtfulness. She looked down, as though searching for the right words. "I want to get stronger," she said softly. "I want to… see the world. I want to…" She trailed off, her gaze distant, the words hanging in the air.
Amukelo squinted, picking up on her hesitation. "If you don't want to say it, just say that," he said with a slight shrug. "I already agreed, didn't I?"
Eliss blinked, her cheeks flushing faintly as she realized he wasn't pressing her for answers. She looked at him for a moment, her expression a mixture of gratitude and relief, before giving a small, silent nod.
"Thank you," she murmured, almost inaudibly, before turning and slipping out of the room.
As she closed the door behind her, Amukelo let out a deep sigh, shaking his head slightly. "Why can't girls ever just be honest?" he muttered to himself.
The words he had spoken to himself echoed back. *Girls…* he thought, the single word laced with regret. And as he thought of that word, he couldn't help but think of Pao, of her warmth, her laughter, her unwavering honesty.
His gaze drifted to his backpack, worn and weathered from all it had been through. He reached for it, his hands trembling slightly as he pulled it closer, undoing the frayed clasp with a familiar, careful motion. Inside, amid the few belongings he still carried, were Pao's things.
And then his fingers brushed against the familiar fabric of something he had all but forgotten: the blue, elegant clothes he had worn on their dates. He froze, his heart skipping a beat as he pulled them out, the fabric worn and frayed, torn in several places from the countless battles he had fought since then.
He stared at it, his hands shaking as he took in the damage, the tears and stains that marred the once-pristine cloth. The sight of it felt like a fresh wound, a reminder of everything he had lost, everything he could never get back.
"Why…" he whispered. He clenched the fabric in his hands, feeling the roughness of the worn material against his skin, the tears and frays from all the battles he had been through. "It's all because of that stupid vengeance..."
He bowed his head, his shoulders trembling as he held the fabric tightly.