Since that day, Yu and Rize had spoken several more times.

  At first it had felt like a one-time miracle—something so unlikely that his mind kept trying to file it away as a dream he’d wanted too badly. But miracles, he’d learned, didn’t always arrive with trumpets. Sometimes they arrived like a habit: quiet, repeatable, and terrifying in the way they rewrote the rules of your life without asking permission.

  If one of them called, the other could answer. Rize would say his name into the air, as if testing whether the wind was real. Yu would respond, half expecting the screen to stay dark, half praying it wouldn’t. That alone was enough to open the connection.

  In the beginning, it lasted only a few seconds. A blink of an image. A fragment of her voice that made his stomach drop. Then a minute. Then three. Now the frame could remain stable for over ten minutes without shattering, without static chewing through the edges, without the EWS logo swallowing everything like a lid slamming shut.

  The way the time kept stretching out felt, to Yu, like proof that the “distance” between them was shrinking.

  They weren’t connected all the time. There were plenty of moments when Yu simply watched Rize through EWS like any other viewer, the way he had before anything had changed. He’d see her accept requests at the guild, read the job slips with that sharp, no-nonsense focus, and walk out into the streets with her hood half up against the wind. He’d see her beyond the town walls too—boots in mud, steel flashing, breath white in colder mornings—moving with the clean economy of someone who had learned to survive by refusing to waste motion.

  During those times, she never gave the slightest sign that she knew he was there. No stolen glances at the camera. No pauses that looked like listening. No shift in her stance as if someone had called her name.

  She fought and bargained and laughed with strangers and returned to the inn like she always had, while Yu sat in his room and watched, his thumb hovering uselessly near buttons that couldn’t reach her world.

  And yet… every now and then, she would stop.

  It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t the kind of moment EWS would clip and push as a highlight. It was small enough that if you blinked, you might miss it: a half-step that didn’t land, a shoulder that stiffened, a faint tilt of her head like she’d felt warmth at her back.

  Then she would look over her shoulder. Not the wary look of someone who realized she was being watched.

  More like someone reacting to a presence she couldn’t name—like sunlight through cloth, like a hand hovering just close enough to make the skin remember what touch felt like. Yu would hold his breath every time it happened. Does she know?

  But she never spoke. She never confirmed anything. She simply resumed walking, and Yu was left with the ache of uncertainty sitting under his ribs like a stone.

  Rize had fully recovered now. She’d spent several days easing her body back into motion, the same way you coax a stubborn door open without snapping the hinge. In the early days after the forest, she’d moved like every step had to be negotiated with her own muscles. She’d walked slowly, shoulders squared as if refusing to let anyone see how much it cost. But she hadn’t regressed. She hadn’t collapsed. She’d rested when her body demanded it, and then she’d stood again.

  Before long she’d started accepting outside requests again.

  Just like before, she stood in front of the guild board, scanning the posted jobs with a sharp, focused gaze. The injuries were no longer the first thing you saw. They were still there—bandages, faint stiffness in her side on colder mornings—but they didn’t define her movement anymore.

  Her life seemed more stable, too, in the way only a survivor’s life can be stable: not peaceful, but functional. Somewhere along the way, her weapon had changed.

  Yu had noticed it on a day he’d been watching without connecting, when she’d passed a window and the light caught her hip. She no longer carried the short blade that had once looked like an extension of her wrist. Now a longer sword hung there, the sheath angled with deliberate intent. It looked heavier. More final. The kind of weapon you chose after you learned that sometimes the world didn’t give you room for small answers.

  Yu was changing as well. The headaches and crushing fatigue that had once slammed into him every time they connected had faded. For a while, even ten seconds of mutual frame had left him with a throbbing temple and a nausea that sat deep, like his brain had tried to push against a wall it wasn’t built to touch. He’d had to lie down afterward, skin damp, heart beating too fast. Once, he’d stared at his own hands and felt like they weren’t quite his.

  Now those symptoms only lingered faintly at the edges of his awareness—like distant echoes rather than a direct hit.

  Sometimes after a longer call, there was still a thin pressure behind his eyes, a reminder that whatever rule they were bending wasn’t meant to bend without cost. But he could stand. He could walk. He could go to school the next day without feeling like gravity had doubled.

  His thoughts were clearer. His body felt lighter during the day, as if his lungs had finally remembered how to take a full breath.

  At school, he found himself laughing at small things again. The first time Harukawa tossed out some dumb joke—something about their teacher’s terrifying “smile” being a system warning—and Yu actually snorted, just a little, the sound surprised him most of all.

  “Whoa,” Harukawa had said, grinning. “You’re alive.” It escaped before he could stop it, an unguarded burst of air that felt almost foreign. Harukawa had stared at him like he’d witnessed a rare phenomenon.

  Yu had forced a shrug and looked away, but heat had crept up his ears. It felt, in a way, like his everyday life had come back. But that wasn’t quite right. It hadn’t returned. His life had simply… shifted.

  And his body—and heart—were finally starting to get used to the new shape of it.

  ?

  The sun was still high over the city square in Rize’s world, bright enough to make the stone streets shimmer and to throw hard shadows beneath the awnings. The guild’s heavy doors stood open, and the sound spilled out—voices, the scrape of chairs, the metal clink of gear being adjusted. It smelled like oil, sweat, and stale ale that had soaked into the wood years ago and never left.

  Rize tugged her sword sheath a little higher on her belt as she approached the three figures waiting in front of the guild.

  The movement was practiced, but not casual. The leather strap pressed against her side, and for a split second she felt the ghost of soreness there—a reminder of black smoke, scorched air, and the helpless burn in her lungs.

  I’m fine, she told herself, not as a lie, but as a decision.

  Naz spotted her first and lifted an arm like a flag. Even among adventurers, he stood out: tall, broad, built like someone who could pick up a wagon and complain about the splinters. When he waved, the motion looked almost comically large.

  “Yo!” he called. “Perfect timing. We were this close to leaving without you.”

  Rize came to a stop in front of them. She could feel eyes flick in her direction—not just theirs, but passersby too. People remembered. The town had a way of storing stories in its corners like dust. A girl who’d been carried out of a burning forest didn’t vanish from memory overnight.

  “So…” Rize said quietly, “It’s today,” Her voice came out lower than usual, but steady.

  “Guild’s orders. We’re handling a settlement up past the northern ridge. Just the three of us.” Naz jerked his thumb northward.

  Hanara rolled one shoulder with a loose, exaggerated sigh, as if the weight of responsibility was a coat she refused to wear properly. Her grin was easy, but Yu had seen enough to know it was armor. She always looked like she was joking. It was how she kept the world from seeing where it could hurt her.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “Well,” Hanara said, stretching as if the sun itself was a nuisance, “as long as it doesn’t turn into a full-blown mess, I’m fine with it.”

  Roa adjusted her pack straps, then gave Rize a brief, assessing glance.

  “Recovery: satisfactory. Mobility: confirmed.” Her gaze was calm and unreadable, the way a quiet lake can be calm right up until it drowns you. When she spoke, her voice was clinical, almost like a report.

  “The way you say things, honestly,” Hanara muttered, elbowing her lightly. “You sound like you’re grading her.”

  “Facts.”Roa only shrugged.

  Rize’s eyes moved across the three of them. Naz was already half turned toward the street, restless to move. Hanara was bouncing on her heels, energy coiled behind her grin. Roa stood still, centered, the kind of person who didn’t waste motion because she didn’t waste thought.

  The three of them—so different—had been the difference between Rize waking up again and not waking up at all.

  Her throat tightened. For a moment words gathered behind her tongue and wouldn’t cross the gap. Gratitude, she realized, was its own kind of fear. It asked you to be vulnerable. It asked you to admit that you had needed someone. She forced the words out anyway.

  “…Thank you,” Rize said. “For the other day. For saving me.”

  Naz snorted, looking away as if the sentiment made him itchy.

  “Forget it,” he said, and his voice tried for gruff but couldn’t quite hide the relief under it. “You being alive is thanks enough.”

  “But just so you know—if you collapse on us again, you’re so not getting a second rescue. Naz’ll scream his head off the whole time.” Hanara wagged a finger at her with a teasing smile.

  “Shut it!” Naz barked, though he was already laughing, the sound loud enough to make a nearby merchant glance over.

  “We’re off.” Roa didn’t add anything. She shifted her pack as if settling the weight into the right place and took the first step. With that, the three of them turned to go.

  “Hey,” Naz said, voice lower. “We’ll see you around soon enough. Don’t make that grim face, alright?” he was the last to look back. He paused just long enough to catch Rize’s eyes, his grin fading into something steadier.

  Rize didn’t answer with words. She simply nodded once, tight and controlled. She watched their backs until they disappeared into the bustle of the streets, swallowed by the movement of daily life like a river closing over stones.

  Only then did she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It wasn’t relief exactly. It was something closer to a quiet prayer. Let them come back, she thought, and the thought surprised her with its tenderness.

  ?

  Evening arrived with a softer hand. Wind swept across the stone rooftop where Rize often went when she wanted distance from the noise below.

  The air carried the faint smells of the city—warm bread from a bakery closing up, smoke from cooking fires, the metallic tang of the forge district, and the faint sweetness of spilled fruit at a market stall someone hadn’t cleaned properly.

  The sky was painted in layers of gold and orange, deepening toward red at the edges like ink spreading in water. Far below, rooftops caught the dying light in different ways—some bright, some dull, some already shadowed.

  Rize stood there for a while, letting the wind move her hair and cool her skin. Then she slowly sat down near the edge, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them. The stone beneath her was still warm from the sun. It felt solid. It felt real.

  “…Yu.” She looked up at the sky and spoke into the open air. His name left her mouth softly, almost like an offering. She didn’t shout. She didn’t demand. She simply placed the word into the world and waited to see if it would return.

  For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the space in front of her trembled, as if the air had become thin fabric and someone had brushed a hand across it. Within the fading sunlight, a thin shimmer appeared—a window of light opening like a page being turned.

  And in that window, the familiar face came into view.

  “Rize…!” Yu’s voice reached her directly now, clean and immediate. Behind Yu was a metal fence—like something from a school rooftop. Beyond that, buildings stacked against a sky that held a different texture of dusk. The light in his world was cooler, less golden. His air looked clearer. Different world, different sunset.

  But Yu himself was right there, close enough that her fingers tingled with the urge to reach out.

  “Good…” Yu exhaled, “It actually connected,” relief visible in the way his shoulders dropped.

  “I feel like… it’ll last longer today.” Rize nodded.

  The border of the frame held steady. No static crawled along the edges. No jitter in the image. It was as if whatever invisible tension had been pulling at their connection had loosened—just a little.

  “Yu,” Rize said, resting her chin on her knees. “I’ve been thinking about Kaya’s birthday.”

  “Oh.” Yu blinked, startled by how ordinary the subject was. His face softened.

  “I don’t know what to give her,” Rize admitted. “I’m not… good at those kinds of things.” There was a faint embarrassment in her voice.

  “Uh… doesn’t she love sweets? Candy? Cakes? Something like that?” Yu leaned closer to the frame, squinting like he could see the whole city behind her if he tried hard enough.

  “She bought a mountain of sweets for herself last week,” Rize said, deadpan.

  “Okay. Then, uh… stuffed animals?” Yu winced.

  “She has those too,” Rize said.

  “Yeah, alright,” he muttered. “She’s hopelessly complete.” He stared at the ceiling of his rooftop as if searching for divine inspiration. The words were silly. The problem was small. And yet, laughter slipped between them like warm air.

  Rize’s shoulders loosened. Yu’s expression turned lighter, the tension that often clung to him during their calls easing off. They talked anyway.

  They drifted from gifts to the way Kaya complained about the landlady’s cooking one day and praised it the next. Yu offered suggestions that were more guesses than advice. Rize responded with short, honest answers, and every now and then she made a face that looked almost like a smile trying not to be noticed.

  The connection didn’t wobble. No static. No warning messages. The frame had already held for more than twenty minutes.

  “…When we talk like this,” Rize murmured, gaze turning distant as she watched the clouds shift, “it feels like you’re right here.”

  Yu leaned closer on his side, resting his chin on his hand. His eyes were tired in a way that didn’t look like sleepiness—more like someone who’d spent too long holding his breath and had forgotten how to stop.

  “If I really were there,” he said quietly, “face-to-face… think we’d talk better than this?”

  “I don’t know.” Rize’s lips curved.

  The wind tugged at her hair, and she let it. The city below hummed with evening life, unaware of the impossible conversation happening above it.

  “But…” she continued, “this right now…” voice softening, she looked directly into the mutual frame, meeting Yu’s eyes without flinching. “I like it.”

  For a moment, the distance between worlds felt like an illusion. Two rooftops. Two skies. Two sunsets. And yet their eyes held the same light. Rize rose to her feet and stepped closer to the rooftop’s edge, gazing out toward the horizon.

  “It’s quiet today,” she said, and the words weren’t meant for anyone in particular.

  “Yeah,” he said. “It looks peaceful over there.”Inside the frame, Yu nodded slowly.

  Then the quiet broke.

  From beneath the city—from deep under stone and soil—a low, heavy thump rolled through the air. It wasn’t wind. It wasn’t thunder. It was the kind of sound you felt in your bones first, the kind that made dust shift in cracks and made birds startle into flight.

  Another thump followed, slightly closer. Rize’s body went still. Her skin tightened as if the air had turned colder.

  “What was that?”Yu straightened in the frame, his hand leaving his face.

  Rize didn’t answer. She lifted her face, eyes narrowing as she searched the horizon. Far in the distance, the color of the sky looked… wrong. Not just darker. Wrong, as if someone had smeared ash across the light. A dull, unnatural glow spread along the edge of the world.

  That feeling returned with vicious clarity.

  The crushing pressure in the forest. The way sound had disappeared like someone had shut a door on the world. The shadow that moved like smoke and refused shape. The scream of fire tearing the air open.

  No way. She didn’t have time to finish the thought.

  A roar split the air—a raw, ferocious bellow that seemed to peel the sky open.

  GOAAAAR!

  The entire city trembled. Somewhere in the western district, a sharp explosion cracked through the air. A heartbeat later, a thick, murky column of smoke surged upward, blotting out the fading light. Voices rose in the plaza below, uncertain at first, then growing louder as panic spread from street to street. Doors slammed. People shouted names. Footsteps became a stampede.

  And then bells began to ring. Not the usual market chimes. Not the gentle evening signal. These were heavy, resonant peals that rolled through stone and bone alike—an alarm the city never wanted to hear.

  Rize walked to the very edge of the rooftop, bracing a hand on the stone as she squinted toward the smoke. The wind shifted, carrying the smell of something sharp and bitter—burnt, but not wood. Something fouler.

  Beyond the rising haze—Something moved. A shadow. Black. Swirling. Its outline unstable, refusing to settle into a single form. It didn’t walk so much as seep, like a stain spreading across reality.

  And still—there was no doubt. It was there.

  “…Again…?” Rize breathed, and the word came out thin. “It came back?”

  “Rize—!!” Yu reached toward her from inside the frame, his hand lifting instinctively as if he could cross the border by sheer will.

  But the mutual frame shuddered violently. Static crawled along the edges like cracks racing through glass. The image jittered. Colors bled. The connection—stretched to its limit—groaned as if under too much weight.

  “Wait—!” Yu’s voice warped, “don’t cut out yet—!” Skipping like a damaged recording.

  Rize’s hand closed around the hilt at her hip. Her sword was already half drawn when the frame buckled one last time, the mutual window fractured.

  And then it was vanished.