The sky had turned a soft amber as dusk bled slowly into twilight, casting a molten shimmer over the ocean.
The ship cut through calm waters, its sails swollen with steady wind—two days away now from the jagged silhouette of the Isle of Mirai, where Alexis would disembark.
Alexis leaned against the railing, watching seabirds dive into the waves, his hair tousled by the salt-laced breeze.
He could already feel it—the weight of something ending.
Behind him, footsteps approached—steady, measured.
He didn't need to turn.
Hiral.
He stopped a short distance away, his voice composed, clear, but lacking the usual warmth they had grown into over the past weeks.
"We'll reach the drop point in two days," Hiral said. "You should start preparing."
Alexis stayed silent.
"Your men have been waiting," Hiral added, more gently this time. "They're anxious to see you. They'll be stationed near the northern reef. Once you're ashore, they'll escort you back to Ro."
Alexis closed his eyes briefly, his fingers tightening around the railing.
"That's all you had to say?" he asked softly, not looking back.
Hiral didn't answer immediately.
When Alexis did glance over his shoulder, Hiral was simply watching him with that faint, unreadable smile—the kind Alexis had grown to loathe and crave in equal measure.
That smile said everything and nothing.
So Alexis gave a crooked, helpless smile of his own—an echo of the one he wore when he tried to laugh off a wound.
"Right," he murmured. "Understood."
He pushed away from the rail, turning toward the cabin. Every step felt heavier than the sea pressing against the hull.
Once inside, he leaned against the door after it clicked shut behind him. For a moment, he didn't move.
The walls swayed around him with the rhythm of the ship, but it was the silence that struck hardest.
He should've known.
A month. That was all they had.
Thirty days of shared meals, sparring under starlight, laughter over split duties, silent watches spent back-to-back beneath constellations.
Alexis had convinced himself—hoped—that something had shifted between them. That the distance Hiral had once held so tightly had cracked.
But here they were again.
Hiral was back to being the composed commander, the elusive specter with duty etched into his bones. And Alexis?
He'd let himself believe.
He sighed, sinking onto the edge of the bunk, staring at the worn floorboards.
Of course it couldn't last.
Of course it was limited.
Their closeness had been born of circumstance. Of stolen time at sea, away from kingdoms, politics, and expectation.
But now… the shore was near. And with it, reality.
Hiral had drawn the line again—subtly, cleanly, without fanfare.
And Alexis?
Alexis would carry the weight of what could've been back with him.
Still, despite the sting, he didn't resent Hiral. He couldn't.
Because part of him always knew this was borrowed time.
And yet—he couldn't help but hope, even now, that Hiral would prove him wrong.
But no knock came at the door.
No voice followed.
Only the creak of wood, and the hush of sea, and the slow, careful gathering of armor and resolve.
Alexis stood, jaw set.
He would leave with dignity.
But gods help him—he wasn't sure how long it would take to stop wishing for more.
****
The sand crunched crisply beneath Alexis's boots as he disembarked, cloak sweeping behind him like a banner in the sea breeze.
The shore welcomed him with familiar weight—the scent of pine and salt, the press of duty heavy on his shoulders once more.
Up ahead, a small group of armored figures stood waiting. His men.
Their stance straight and tense, eyes locked onto him the moment he set foot on land. Relief bloomed across their faces like sunlight after storm clouds.
One of them took a half step forward, a hand pressed over his heart.
"General!"
Alexis raised a hand in easy salute, expression calm, unreadable, almost amused.
"You all look like you've seen a ghost," he said smoothly, voice laced with that familiar edge of charm. "What, did you think I wouldn't come back?"
A ripple of nervous laughter broke through the group. They straightened further, a few exchanging glances—like they couldn't believe he was really here.
Alexis took a few more steps forward.
And then—he heard it.
The slow, inevitable pull of the ship's sails catching wind. The ropes creaking. The hull sighed as it surrendered to the current.
His steps faltered.
His eyes snapped back toward the pier.
The ship was already drifting away, sleek and silent against the sea. The banner on its mast fluttered, but the deck was empty.
No figure stood at the stern.
No silhouette lingered by the rail.
No farewell wave.
No glance.
Nothing.
Alexis stared. A hollow beat echoed in his chest.
He'd told himself not to expect anything. Told himself Hiral would keep his distance, hold to his choices.
But some stubborn, naïve part of him still hoped. That Hiral would be there—just once more. Looking back. Holding on, even for a breath longer.
But he wasn't.
The ship grew smaller, vanishing into mist and memory.
Alexis let out a sharp breath. A sound caught between a laugh and a sob.
He raised an arm and covered his eyes, tilting his face skyward as if to dry the tears that broke free, unbidden, without permission.
"Damn you, Hiral," he murmured, voice thick. "You didn't even look back."
He laughed again—sharp, bitter, beautiful—and let it carry out to sea.
Then, just as quickly, he reeled it in.
He stood tall.
The pain tucked itself neatly behind his eyes.
The smile that curved his lips was a general's smile—steady, reassuring, unshakable.
He turned back to his men, who were still watching him, some with confusion, others with subtle concern.
"Thank you," Alexis said, voice level. "For waiting. For holding the line. And for still believing in me."
He clasped forearms with the closest one, a veteran captain whose eyes had gone wet with emotion.
"Let's go home."
With that, he strode toward their waiting vessel, boarding with effortless grace. He took one last look at the shoreline—the sea stretched wide, unbroken.
No figure in black.
No fleeting silhouette.
Still, he scanned the mist as the sails unfurled. His heart, foolish and aching, begged for an impossible glimpse of Hiral—standing at the edge of the world.
But the sea offered nothing back.
Alexis clenched his jaw.
"Get a grip," he whispered under his breath, eyes narrowing. "You're not some lovesick cadet."
He drew himself to full height, cape snapping in the wind, as he faced the horizon—Ro awaited.
The burdens he had momentarily set down awaited.
He was the general again.
But as the waves rocked the ship forward, leaving the last traces of borrowed peace behind…
A quiet voice inside him whispered:
"I'd give anything for one more month."
And still, he stood tall.
Because that's what Hiral would expect of him.
And Alexis… wasn't ready to let him down.
****
The sea was calm that night, though the wind whispered through the rigging like it carried secrets too heavy to hold.
Alexis stood alone on the deck, his cloak drawn close, head tilted toward the waning moon as it cast a faint silver arc across the dark water.
It wasn't as bright as the full moon had been a week ago—when he and Hiral had stood together in silence—but it still pulled at something deep in his chest.
He hadn't slept.
Couldn't sleep.
His body was back on his own ship, surrounded by his own men, the colors of Ro raised proudly on the mast.
But his soul—it lagged behind somewhere over that endless stretch of sea.
And in his hands… was the satchel.
Small. Modest. Worn leather tied with a crimson cord.
Hiral had given it to him the night before they made landfall. He remembered the moment so clearly—the casual way Hiral had handed it over like it was nothing.
No grand speech. Just a simple murmur:
"Don't open it yet. Wait until you're on your ship."
And then he'd turned and walked away, as if he had just handed Alexis some rations.
It was—so unlike him.
Too impulsive. Too... open.
Of course, Alexis had been tempted to tear it open the moment he'd reached his quarters.
But something in Hiral's voice—something in the rare vulnerability behind that composed facade—had held him back.
He didn't want to let him down.
So he'd tucked it away, forced himself to forget about it.
Until now.
The moon above, thin and fading, bore silent witness as Alexis slowly pulled the cord loose.
His fingers trembled, breath uneven.
Part of him didn't want to look. He told himself not to expect anything.
It's probably just a token of duty. A farewell from one diplomat to another. You're not special. Don't be a fool.
But another voice—quieter, but deeper—urged his imagination to run wild.
What if it is? What if he meant something more?
The leather gave way, and inside…
A pendant.
A necklace of finely worked silver, glinting in the moonlight.
Two koi—one dark as ink, the other pale like frost—swam in a perfect circle around each other, their tails nearly touching, their mouths reaching.
An eternal dance of opposites. Yin and yang.
Alexis swallowed hard, lifting it delicately in both hands.
It was stunning. Not ostentatious. Thoughtful. Balanced.
And when he looked closer—heart now pounding against his ribs—he saw it.
His name.
Etched on the pale koi.
Hiral's name. On the darker one.
Alexis nearly dropped it.
His breath caught.
He sat down heavily on a coil of rope, hunched forward as if the weight of the necklace had tripled in his palms.
For a long moment, he could only stare.
His throat tightened with emotion he couldn't voice—shouldn't voice.
He pressed the necklace against his chest, right over his heart, and closed his eyes.
The silver was still cool from the night air, but it radiated something warm.
Something alive.
"Hiral…" he whispered.
Softly. Tenderly.
Longingly.
He tilted his face toward the moon, eyes wet, his lips parting again in that fragile invocation.
"Hiral."
The name floated on the wind, unheard by any soul save the sea.
Alexis sat there in silence, curled protectively over the token, the tide rocking the ship gently beneath him.
It didn't matter if no one else ever saw it. He would keep it close—hidden—but close.
And somehow, just holding it…
He didn't feel so alone.