The night air was cool and crisp as Ryuken and Ayame sat atop a small grassy hill overlooking the village. The stars above shimmered like scattered diamonds, and the full moon bathed the world in silvery light. The village below was quieter now, though the distant echoes of life—dogs barking, voices murmuring—still floated faintly up to where they rested.
It had been a long day.
The meeting with Elder Taro had ended hours ago, and preparations were already beginning. Guards patrolled the outer farms, and lanterns flickered along the borders of the village. But for now, Ryuken and Ayame had retreated to this peaceful spot, away from the noise and burdens of leadership.
Ayame lay on the grass beside Ryuken, her hands folded behind her head as she gazed at the night sky. Her ponytail was undone, and strands of light blue hair framed her face, softening her sharp features. “You really don’t know how to take a break, do you?” she said, her voice light but teasing.
Ryuken sat upright beside her, one knee propped up, his arms resting on it. He didn’t reply right away, his gaze fixed on the horizon as though watching for something no one else could see.
Ayame turned her head to look at him, her sapphire eyes searching his face. “You’re always so serious, Ryuken. It’s as if you carry the weight of the entire world on those shoulders of yours.”
“Someone has to,” he replied quietly.
Ayame sighed, sitting up beside him. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. You think everything is your responsibility.” Her voice softened. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
Ryuken glanced at her, his dark eyes calm. “I know. That’s why you’re here.”
Ayame blinked, surprised by the directness of his words. “Well,” she muttered, a faint blush touching her cheeks, “you’re lucky you have someone as extraordinary as me to carry you when you’re being stubborn.”
He smirked faintly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “I am lucky.”
Ayame stared at him, the unexpected sincerity of his words catching her off guard. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. She looked down at her lap, fiddling with the ends of her undone ponytail.
The silence stretched between them, comfortable yet charged with something unspoken.
After a moment, Ayame spoke softly. “You know… earlier, when I told you we should keep the bandit situation secret, I wasn’t just thinking about the village.”
Ryuken turned his head slightly, listening.
“I was thinking about us,” she admitted. “About what it would mean if we failed. How we’d be the ones blamed. How you’d take that guilt onto yourself.” She glanced at him, her sapphire eyes softer now. “It’s selfish, I know. I didn’t want to see you break under the weight of all of it.”
Ryuken’s expression didn’t change, but his gaze softened ever so slightly. “Ayame.”
“Hm?”
“You’re not selfish.” His voice was calm, steady as always, but there was warmth in it too. “You were trying to protect me. And I understand why.”
Ayame blinked, caught off guard again. “You do?”
“Yes,” Ryuken replied, looking back toward the moonlit horizon. “But leadership means making the hard choices, even when the outcome is uncertain. Hiding the truth might seem like the safest path, but it rarely solves anything. If I carry this burden, it’s because I know others might not be able to.”
Ayame was quiet, his words lingering in the air like the gentle breeze that brushed against them.
“Do you ever regret it?” she asked after a while. “Being the one to carry everything?”
Ryuken thought for a moment before answering. “No.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “I don’t regret it, because it’s my choice. I choose to protect others. If I let regret seep into my resolve, then my path would waver.”
Ayame studied him, the lines of his face outlined by the moonlight. He was calm, unwavering—just as he always was. And yet, beneath that stoicism, she could see something deeper. A quiet strength that refused to be broken.
“Your resolve is impressive,” she murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Even when I want to shake you for it.”
Ryuken finally turned to her, his eyes meeting hers. “And your cunning keeps me grounded.”
Ayame chuckled softly, leaning back on her hands as she tilted her face up toward the sky. “You always say the right thing, don’t you?”
“I say what I mean,” he replied simply.
The two of them fell into a companionable silence once more, the only sounds being the rustling of the grass and the distant chirping of crickets. Ayame closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself savor the stillness. In times like this, the chaos of the world felt far away.
“Ryuken,” she said after a while, her voice quieter, more thoughtful.
“Hm?”
“I think I understand what you meant earlier. About making the hard choices.”
He looked at her, waiting for her to continue.
“I’ve spent most of my life doing things my way—working in shadows, taking the easier path. But you… you’re different. You don’t shy away from the difficult decisions, even when they hurt.” She glanced at him, her eyes clear and steady. “It’s something I admire about you.”
Ryuken’s brow lifted slightly in surprise, but he didn’t interrupt her.
Ayame gave him a small smile, brushing her hair back from her face. “Don’t let that go to your head, though.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” Ryuken replied, smirking faintly.
The two of them shared a quiet laugh before lapsing into silence once more. Ayame turned her gaze to the stars, her expression peaceful.
“You’re right, though,” she said softly. “The truth is worth it, no matter the cost.”
Ryuken nodded, his gaze fixed on the moonlit village below. “The truth is what gives us strength.”
Ayame looked at him, her smile gentle. “You’re a good man, Ryuken. You remind me that there’s still honor in this world.”
“And you remind me that wisdom doesn’t always come from the shadows,” Ryuken replied, his voice steady but kind.
She stared at him for a moment longer before leaning her head on his shoulder, her expression content. Ryuken didn’t move or protest, letting her rest against him. The two of them sat there beneath the star-filled sky, bound together by a quiet understanding that went beyond words.
For now, the world could wait.
