The walk back was a procession of the broken. The students left the 13th floor trembling, their spirits crushed by the sight of two souls pushed to the brink—one by the violence of the fight, the other by the agony of watching it.
Among them, Lysandria was the most startled. She moved like a ghost. I went near her, my voice cracking as I fought back my own tears. "Are you alright?"
She only nodded blankly.
We were taken to the wards. The day passed in a smooth, sterile blur for the others, but for me, it was an empty void. I couldn't speak. I couldn't eat. At night, I went to the same bench where I used to sit with him.
A group approached, led by Lysandria and the survivors of the accident. Instructor Ashford Lucas was with them, leaning on a nurse. He sat beside me, his red eyes tired.
"Is he... is he okay?" the Instructor asked.
A single tear fell from my eye, and the tension in the group spiked. "He isn't replying," I whispered. "It's like he's fallen into an eternal sleep."
The Instructor looked at the ground. "What is your relationship with him? You don't have to answer if it's too painful."
I looked at my hands—the hands he had used to swing a sword with such god-like precision. "At my birth, I was empty. He came out of nowhere to find a vessel... he just wants to go home."
The students went silent. The Instructor spoke, his voice heavy with emotion. "I see. A double-soul wielder. I don't know where he came from, but today, I saw kindness in its pure form. He could have stayed safe. He could have returned to his 'home' using your body as a shield. Instead, he put his existence on the line to save us all."
Everyone began to cry, except for the Instructor and Lysandria. I realized then that he had been trying to make me strong so I could live without him. I made a silent vow: I will never let him go all out again. I will protect him next time.
As they left, the Instructor squeezed my shoulder. "We will personally thank him when he wakes. We've reported the truth to the Academy—don't worry about the consequences."
I curled up on the bench, my mind screaming at the void: Why? Why do you always throw yourself into danger for me? ---
In the girl's dormitory, the air was thick with unspoken questions. Lysandria sat on her bed, her mind a chaotic storm. Her roommate, Luna Solaris, watched her. Luna was a striking figure—5'8", with a curvy frame and long, flowing blue hair that matched her calm, azure eyes.
She patted Lysandria's shoulder. "It wasn't your fault, Lyra."
"Can you just... let me talk? For one hour? Don't judge me," Lysandria pleaded. Luna nodded silently.
"I overheard him," Lysandria confessed, her voice trembling. "I heard him tell the Principal he would kill me if he had to. He was cold. He was rude. He only cared about Aeldir and Seraphine. But today... I don't understand. He fought until he was sweating blood. He tore through an S-rank barrier just to save us. If he truly wanted me dead... why did he take that lethal blow for me?"
Lysandria fell silent, her head dropping onto Luna's lap. Luna didn't have the answers, but she began to overthink as well. Who was this "Wanderer" who could command the gravity of a room and then sacrifice himself for a girl he claimed to despise?
In the high tower, the Guardian finished his report. The Principal stood by the window, looking out at the darkened training grounds.
"It is a tragedy," the Principal said, his voice devoid of true sadness. "But there is a high chance he will return. We cannot lose a Candidate of his caliber."
He turned to the Guardian. "Mend the vessel. Use every resource we have. I want that body ready as fast as possible. Convey the message to the workers: failure is not an option."