Rick's eyes left the stars and fell on the princess. His eyes softened. "You are beautiful," he said softly, his voice speaking a truth he hadn't spoken in years, a truth that came from feeling it, and not with mere words. Ailith laughed, the sound light and sweet as it carried on the wind above the water, warming the cold sharp edges of his heart.
A brief silence passed before Rick could muster a breath, as determined resolve seemed to fall into his bones. "I won't follow their trail," he told everyone, voice a little low but steady in tone; those past selves were "strong. brutal, leaving a scar that I'm sure I can still touch," but this time Rick is going to create another different path, truly owned this time. He vowed never to be hesitant or lose like he did the very games he set up once:
Then he looked down, his face a mask of deep thought as he clenched his fist on these convictions. "No more wasted lives, no more hollow victories. It's time I learn what I've overlooked for lifetimes—true strength, real connections, feelings beyond ambition."
Ailith looked at him with a quiet face, the look on her face considering. He could tell that she grasped something in his soul—that she perhaps did not grasp the total scope of his journey but could feel the burden he aimed for and, in that aspect, his resolve to follow this path. It wasn't about wanting power, nor about being alive for very long; it was the thirst to learn, to become a man capable of being alive as such and exploring the dimensions that existed deep within, not only across, his age.
In that moment, as they both gazed up at the stars, a spark of clarity struck Rick. For the first time in countless lives, he was ready to move on, not to quest blindly for superiority but to reach for something with a purpose behind it.
As the night went by, Rick was interrupted by Ailith's laughter as she moved toward the shoreline. She had a fluid movement, as if her presence was the soothing music that calmed the restive sea. She let small seabirds perch on her outstretched hands and coaxed the vibrant fish closer, their scales shimmering like jewels under the moonlight.
Rick watched her in almost silent awe. She was an immersion, completely open to the beauty and simplicity of each transient moment. He could never remember a single lifetime he had felt anything remotely like this—a sense of ease and joy in the present and without purpose or ambition.
There was a strange feeling tugging at him, unsettling and unfamiliar. Jealousy? The realization stunned him. He felt an ache that went beyond envy of her joy—it was a hollow recognition of something he'd denied himself for eons, choosing instead the endless climb to power and control.
Once again, Ailith's innocence forced Rick to confront an uncomfortable truth. He had touched so many lives, done so much with dark arts and dragon energies and powers unfathomable, but did he ever really live? Ever feel unguarded happiness or see the world as more than a battlefield or conquest? His pursuits had blinded him to these simple wonders, stripped away his ability to connect and left him without those small joys that made life more than just survival.
He was given Ailith-a soul free from the weight of past lives and without even the shadow of power around her, forcing him to realize at last that he never grasped what it was or was not to be a human.
Ailith glanced over, saw Rick staring at her in quiet amazement, and her face softened into a knowing smile. No words were spoken, but she moves toward him, her steps light on the surface of the sea. She took his hand, touching him warmly against the cool night air, and then gave a soft, playful tug, urging him to follow.
"Come on," she laughs, her voice ringing out like chimes over the water.
They were running before he could react; Ailith's laughter was carried by the breeze, pulling him along across the glistening surface of the sea. Rick, normally so cool and guarded, had a spark at last, a freedom that he hadn't known in any life he could recall. Caught up in the spontaneity of the moment, he let himself be pulled along by her, his steps hesitantly matching hers until, slowly, as his walls lowered, he felt an authentic smile break across his face.
They ran abreast of one another, weaving in and out of swells that barely rolled. Ailith would dash ahead, beckoning him to catch her, then drop back and pull alongside a little more slowly, her smile alight with dancing lights. Soon, Rick was not just following but joining her in pretend play, splashing the water about, his laughter combining with hers, as if he forgot his previous weight.
It was a rare, unfettered moment for Rick to feel the warmth of comradeship and pure enjoyment. For the first time, he wasn't being driven by his past, his power, or his mission. He was simply there—alive, in that brief moment, feeling more human than he had in eons. He hadn't realized how much he missed this part of life, the part he'd always dismissed as inconsequential.
As they slowed and caught their breath, Rick saw Ailith from another end, his guard lowering along with the softening eyes. For some reason or other, the world saw things in different eyes—the quiet realization that maybe just perhaps there was a road which he hadn't taken or traveled, embracing simple living and the warmth of relationship.
Rick's voice was little more than a whisper as he spoke, "Thanks, Princess." He looked out into the stars, his eyes dreamy, as memories surged to the surface with a bitter, unwanted strength. Images filled his mind, images of long ago, in another life altogether—of someone else, someone darker.
He closed his eyes, and suddenly he could hear it:He was dual cultivator,the far-off, echoing cries of a woman, imploring, her voice full of despair and fear. She had once been a princess, gracious and strong, daughter to a powerful sect leader; she was Brutually raped by him and she was only tool of gaining strength and she suicide, all at his hand in a past that he had tried to forget.
He looked down at the hand grasping his still, still held by Ailith, but the weight of that touch suddenly became unbearable. He gently twisted free, his body shaking as he took one small step back. His breath hitched, as shame and remorse gushed in waves he hadn't thought he was alive enough to feel. This was a piece of his past he had never really looked at—one he had slopped beneath layers of power, conquest, and ambition. But here it was, naked and haunting.
It was in that stillness, deep within him, that he felt the full depth of what he had done; and with it came a crushing realization that he would never be able to erase this. His mind filled with remorse, but remorse can't rewrite what has been done. And as he looked at Ailith, standing there with light of purity so boldly shining in her eyes, he felt this suffocating, shattering guilt.
She tilted her head, seeing the trembling, and stepped closer. "Rick?" she murmured softly, with a warm voice, unaware of the storm raging inside him.
But Rick couldn't find himself to look at her eyes again; for he was haunted by what seemed like a past he could never go back to. For the first time in thousands of lives, he felt himself not only standing against the darkest part of his nature but questioning who he might yet be despite it. He knew that forgiveness was a far reach, but maybe redemption awaited him somewhere down the road in choices he still hadn't made, if he was strong enough to confront shadows of his past without submitting to them once again.
His voice trembled; he almost couldn't say it himself. "Sorry…forgive me," he breathed, feeling words spill out of his mouth-the depths of which he didn't know he felt. Seeing Ailith though, he could tell she got it, not completely. It was just that confused soft look in her eyes; her smile faltered as the weight of those words took hold in her.
Then something appeared to click in her, and a still look of awareness crossed her face. Her tension eased as if she felt that he apologized for something that was to do with whatever lay buried in the past—a past where both she and he in some form had survived in ways that both pained her and yet were forgotten. And maybe she knew on a deep level.
Still, she reached out for him with an unexpected gentleness, stepping closer to take hold of his hand. Held between both of hers was warmth and understanding as she held his gaze up at her with a steady, unruffled expression.
"You said you will make up for all these mistakes you have done," she said softly, a tender compassion in her voice piercing all the darkness in his chest. "Then perhaps it begins here."
Rick was both lost and anchored with what she said, what was within her words and voice-it was more than a man could ever hope to have, yet she simply stood there and offered this. It was a burden so heavy that he felt it was crushing him, yet it was she who would be relieving him with nothing but kindness and hope. He took an unsteady deep breath, and for the first time, slivers of possibility came alive in his heart.
"Thanks," he whispered, his voice thick. The shame still lingered, raw and aching, but her acceptance sparked something he couldn't name. And in that moment, he knew he would do anything to live up to the second chance she had silently granted him.
The princess took a shuddering breath, visibly shaken as memories from her past life flooded her mind, scenes that felt both strange and painfully familiar. Flashes of Rick's younger self—once full of ambitions, spiraling into cruelty, using his power and influence to exploit and manipulate people without remorse—passed by her eyes. She echoed her own suffering, heard her own cries for mercy that went unheard in the life she lived. Her eyes gazed into the emptiness as if comfort was found in the hardness and steadfastness of the star.
And then was silence. Her eyes had flatly, almost deadened over at the truth of it all.
Heavy with sorrow, Rick fell on his knees before her. His eyes were just as hopeless and full of hardly contained desperation. "You can forgive me now," he whispered the words broken into a pleading plea. He had known how she would probably respond to him, and yet within himself, part of him clung on to some fragile hope perhaps she might give him that chance at a new beginning.
She turned her eyes to him and a grave look set into the features on her face. "You have done things I cannot forgive," she said, her voice steady, each word a stone pressed down upon him. "But… I will give you a chance to remake your mistakes.".
Rick's eyes grew wide in incredulity as she let him have his shot, not to efface what had happened but make a new reality; and with a vision growing blurring and his eyes burning from the held-back tears that he looked frantically for some gap to see through to look up at her at any bit of leftover kindness.
She formed a faint, bittersweet curve at her lips as she watched, an intuition perhaps that he hadn't the courage to let fly himself. And though he found himself wanting to take hold of her, to cling to her and feel this warmth of forgiveness, it was something he restrained and did not know if indeed he deserved such closeness.
Slowly, he gets up, the weight of his sin remaining but now with a light at the end of a tunnel. "Thank you," he whispers in a soft tone, words heavy in sincerity. He would never let this chance go to waste. No longer would he run from his mistakes, hide from the shadows that clung to his back like a ghost. He would go through them one by one, as he carved out a new way that honored strength and resilience and the chance given him to redeem.