In the quiet of the morning, Arwik said his farewell to his disciple and the girl.
"Thank you for everything,"
The young man said, his voice thick with emotion. Tears welled in his eyes.
Arwik gave a soft, nostalgic smile.
"You are the reason I'm out... I should be thanking you."
His voice was warm but tinged with sorrow, a mix of gratitude and regret. He unstrapped his sword from his belt and handed it to his disciple.
"Take it... I'll have to learn swordsmanship from the beginning now. Since I lost my right arm, I no longer need such a fine blade."
The young man hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say. He accepted the weapon with a deep sense of respect and loss in his eyes, silently honoring the bond they shared.
"I'll come back one day,"
He promised, his voice cracking with hope and longing.
"I promise!"
Arwik chuckled softly, his gaze distant, yet fond.
"If I'm still alive."
With that, the young man and the girl left the city. Their first stop was the young man's old village. But now that the rift to Windswept had closed, they were forced to travel on foot. The journey was long, but there was something comforting in it, something right. The vast azure sky above and the beauty of the land around them fueled their spirits, making each step feel like part of their destiny.
When they arrived at the village, not much remained. The ruins stood as a reminder of what had once been. Where he had once found his wooden sword in the last loop, only decayed remnants remained, a symbol of the past. But now, he no longer needed it.
They pressed on, continuing their travels north through the land of snow. The mountains stood tall, the lakes frozen solid, and time seemed to stretch out slowly with each step they took. The cold was biting, but their shared warmth kept the journey bearable.
After seven years of traveling, they found a place to settle—a house built in the wild, near Windswept. And with time, they had a child, whom they named Arlash.
One summer day, the trio made their way to the Capital. The girl, now in control of her powers, soared through the air with her black wings, carrying young Arlash on her back. The young man followed close behind, flying on his sword.
In the Capital, they met an old man with a long white beard and a missing arm. He was telling stories of his time on this earth, the lines of age etched into his face.
"Uncle Wik!"
Arlash cried, his face lighting up with a wide smile.
The old man looked up, his eyes twinkling with recognition and affection. He smiled, his expression both wistful and warm, as the child rushed into his arms.
For the first time in too many years, there was nothing left to run from.
Just old friends, and a world that, for once, simply let them be.