The night air was thick with the scent of charred wood and damp earth. Aiko sat at the edge of the ruined shrine, staring at the smoldering remnants of another failed attempt. The foxfire had flared too wildly, licking up the walls before she could pull it back. Mei had extinguished the flames with a flick of her wrist, but not before she had given Aiko that look—half amusement, half warning.

"Again," Mei had said before disappearing into the shrine, leaving Aiko alone with her frustration.

A rustle of movement came from behind her. She didn’t have to turn to know it was Ryou. He was always nearby, watching, waiting. A silent guardian—or perhaps a reluctant one. Or maybe, she thought bitterly, he was only here because Mei was.

“You’ll burn yourself out,” Ryou said, stepping into the moonlight. His voice was quiet, edged with something she couldn’t quite place.

Aiko exhaled sharply. “Maybe that’s what needs to happen.”

He lowered himself beside her, resting his arms on his knees. “You don’t believe that.”

She clenched her jaw. “I don’t know what I believe anymore.”

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant hoot of an owl and the crackling embers of the ruined training ground. Aiko felt Ryou’s presence—steady, unmoving, like a mountain beside her raging storm. It was both infuriating and grounding all at once.

“I see it in you,” he said at last. “You hold back, not because you’re weak, but because you’re afraid.”

Aiko tensed. “Afraid of what?”

Ryou turned to her then, his gaze piercing. “Of losing yourself.”

The words landed harder than she expected, threading through her ribs and tightening around her heart. She wanted to deny it, to scoff and tell him he didn’t know what he was talking about. But he did. He always did.

“I don’t have a choice,” she murmured. “If I can’t control this, people will get hurt.”

“You’re not alone in this, Aiko.” His voice was softer now, almost careful. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

She turned toward him, and for the first time, she let herself truly see him—not just as the warrior who had saved her life, not just as Mei’s skeptical companion, but as someone who understood the weight of things unspoken. Someone who carried his burdens in silence.

Their eyes met, and in that moment, something shifted. The air between them crackled—not with fire, but with something just as volatile, just as consuming. Aiko swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close they were. A single breath, a single moment, and everything could change.

But Ryou was the first to break away, exhaling as he pushed himself to his feet. “Get some rest,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. “Tomorrow will be just as unforgiving.”

Aiko watched him disappear into the shrine, her heart hammering against her ribs. The warmth in her chest wasn’t from her fire, but from something far more dangerous.

She glanced toward the entrance where Mei had gone, her fingers curling into her palms. Perhaps it didn’t matter. Ryou wasn’t hers to think about. He belonged to Mei. Didn’t he?

And yet, for the first time, she didn’t know if she wanted to put out the flames inside her.