Unexpected Reunion

The moment Aria looked up, she knew this wasn’t just another fight.

The cloaked soldier stood at the far end of the chamber, half-shrouded in the dim, flickering light. He had been watching her—waiting—as if he had expected her to make it this far. His stance was eerily calm, no hint of tension in his frame, even as Aria tightened her grip around her weapon, breath still ragged from the battle she’d fought to get here.

Neon lay behind her, still unmoving. His chest rose and fell, steady but slow. Aria had barely had time to process the relief of knowing he was alive before the presence of this soldier had pulled her attention away.

The soldier stepped forward. No rush. No sound.

Aria’s pulse hammered.

“Move,” she growled.

The figure didn’t.

She didn’t wait for an answer. With a sharp inhale, she surged forward, her blade carving through the air, aiming for center mass. A clean, decisive strike—one that should’ve cut through flesh and bone in an instant.

It didn’t.

The soldier pivoted at the last second, side-stepping with a smoothness that sent warning bells through her mind. Aria twisted her stance, swinging again, aiming lower, higher—feints, counters, a flurry of movements meant to overwhelm her enemy in any way possible.

But he dodged every single one.

No wasted effort. No unnecessary movement. His form was precise, controlled, efficient. And worse—he wasn´t even fighting back yet. He just seemed to be dodging her blows.

Aria gritted her teeth. A scalding frustration bubbled in her chest as she pressed harder, faster. Her strikes came from every angle, her body moving on instinct, just as Neon had taught her. And still—the figure didn’t strike her back.

He were testing her. Playing with her.

Aria broke away, chest heaving, sweat sliding down the side of her face. “Fight me.” Her voice was raw, shaking with anger. “Or get out of my way.”The soldier tilted their head, as if considering her words. Then, at last, he moved.

Aria barely saw it coming.

A sharp displacement of air—then a force slammed into her side, sending her skidding back across the stone floor. The impact rattled her bones, but she caught herself before falling. That was the first hit he’d thrown, and even that—it hadn’t been meant to injure. Just to stop her.

The realization sent a cold thrill through her spine.

She tightened her grip. “Who are you?”

The figure said nothing. Instead, he lifted a hand, grasping the edge of their hood.

And then, the figure pulled it back.

Aria froze.

For a second, she forgot how to breathe. Her father stood before her.

The same dark hair, streaked with silver. The same sharp, defined features. His eyes—warmer than she remembered, but unmistakably his.

Aria’s vision blurred. Her body locked in place, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to do anything but stare at the face she had mourned for years.

“…Dad?” Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips—faint, but real. “You’ve become strong,” he said, almost in awe. “I should thank that Nyxian boy for that.”

Aria’s breath hitched. “What—”

He took a step forward, slow and measured.

“I always told you,” he murmured. “These hands of yours aren’t meant to hurt people. I still mean it.”

Aria felt something inside her snap.

She didn’t realize how close she had been to the edge until that moment—how blind, desperate rage had gripped her so tightly that she hadn’t noticed she was on the verge of killing the soldier who had lunged at her moments ago.

She looked down at her hands.

Her knuckles were white around the hilt of her weapon. Shaking.The rage in her chest collapsed inward. With a sharp breath, she threw her weapon aside. The blade clattered against the stone.

Silence stretched between them.

She clenched her jaw. “This isn’t real.” Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to meet his gaze, to search for the lie. “You—You died. I saw it happen.”

“You saw what you were meant to see,” her father said softly.

Aria shook her head, taking an unsteady step back. She felt like a child again, standing in the ruins, staring at the impossible. “No.”

“Yes,” he countered gently. “I *was* dying. But Sakura saved me.”

Aria’s breath stilled.

She stared at him, her thoughts tangling, unraveling, reforming into something she couldn’t comprehend. This was exactly the opposite of what she´d believed all this time.

“Sakura,” she echoed. “*Saved* you?”

He nodded.

Aria felt her world tilt beneath her feet. It didn’t make sense. It *couldn’t.*“She isn’t our enemy, Aria...” he said.

Her mind rebelled against the words. *Sakura*. The woman Neon had fought. The woman who had been a part of all of this. The same woman who lay unconscious beside Neon right now.

Her father looked at her, watching her struggle with the truth.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” he said, softer this time. “But not everything is as it seems.”

Aria swallowed hard. She didn’t know what to think.

Her father—the man who had been dead to her for so long—was standing in front of her, calm, composed, talking about Sakura as if she were on their side. It was too much. Too fast.

Her fists clenched at her sides. “Then what do we do?”

“When Neon and Sakura wake up,” he continued, “we finish this once and for all. Together.”

The weight of his words settled over her.

Aria glanced back at Neon—his still form, the slow rise and fall of his chest. He had fought so hard to make it this far. *She* had fought so hard.

And now… her father was standing in front of her, offering an alliance she never could’ve imagined.

For a long moment, she said nothing.

Then, at last, she let out a slow breath.

“Okay,” she said.

Her father smiled.