Flame Rekindled

The training hall on Akarihoshi rang with the clash of metal. Akihiko swung his sword with precise technique, yet without soul. Each movement was perfect—but hollow—guided only by habit, devoid of heart, devoid of the fire that once burned within him. Every strike, every turn, echoed through the hall, yet it lacked the spark that had once made him unstoppable—his inner flame. Now, each metallic clash sounded like the hollow echo of the void within him.

Naoru stepped forward, his sword gleaming sharply in his hands.

“Akihiko… this won’t do. If you fight without heart, you’re already defeated.”

Akihiko said nothing. Strike, block, twist—his movements were flawless, yet lifeless. No will, no fire, no spark in his eyes.

Mika pressed her lips together and stepped forward. “Something is missing in you, Akihiko. Something that used to be your greatest strength.”

Naoru roared, striking with all his strength. Their blades sparked violently.

“For whom did you swear to live? For whom did you vow to protect?”

Akihiko’s gaze was empty, but his hand clenched instinctively around his ring. Naoru pressed harder, voice sharper than the blade:

“Have you forgotten? What you lost—the thing that drove you forward?”

Mika cried out, her voice cutting through the silence:

“Your love! Her name was Aiko!”

Akihiko’s sword faltered. His eyes shifted, a hazy memory slicing through the emptiness. The image—her smile, her touch, the tears when they parted. And then—darkness.

The princess’s whisper lingered in his mind: “With me, you will be free… with me, you will remember…”

Naoru pressed the blade against him, all his force behind it.

“If you truly love her, Akihiko—then fight! That is what she would want! Do not give up!”

As their blades clashed one final time, an image flared before his eyes. First mist. Then a silhouette. And then—her.

Her reddish hair blazed like fire, her eyes alive with the hope only she carried. She smiled—gentle, yet strong—as if to say, “Do not give up.”

Akihiko’s breath caught.

“Aiko…” he whispered.

Naoru pressed harder, the effort visible in the glow of his blade.

“Yes, Prince! Remember who you were—who you were when you had this power!”

The vision of Aiko moved closer, touching his hand. She wasn’t real, yet he felt her heartbeat as if she stood beside him.

Tsukina’s whisper in his mind faded, distant: “Stay with me… here you will forget…”

But the voice no longer held power. It was drowned out by her gaze—the reason he fought.

Akihiko shouted, and the hall seemed to tremble:

“My heart is hers! It will always be hers!”

A surge of blue-white energy erupted, pushing Naoru and Mika back a step. When the light faded, sparks of life shimmered in his eyes for the first time in ages.

Mika trembled, voice barely steady. “He… he sees her…”

Naoru let his sword drop and smiled. “Finally, he remembers who his heart beats for.”

The two exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment of success. For a fleeting moment, Mika’s shoulder brushed against Naoru’s—a subtle warmth that eased the tension and brought a quiet smile to her lips.

Then a whisper returned, like icy wind threading through his mind—soft, sweet, almost intoxicating:

“Akihiko… you are mine alone.”

Akihiko froze. His grip slackened, eyes flickering with emptiness.

Naoru paled. “No… not again…” he muttered, heart sinking, as if all their progress had been erased.

Mika let out a soft, trembling sigh. “No… don’t let it happen…”

Then Akihiko slowly raised his hand, stopping them both. His gaze was calm, yet piercing, as if an indestructible fire burned within him.

He closed his eyes. His lips moved gently, words slicing through the tension, making Mika and Naoru’s blood run cold:

“Princess… I am yours alone.”

Silence.

Mika gasped, and Naoru had already stepped forward—but then…

Akihiko’s eyes opened. Deep blue, ablaze with the flame they hadn’t seen in so long. He smiled—quietly, confidently, almost dangerously.

Mika and Naoru froze, realizing: he was in control again, playing the game on his own terms.

Relief washed over their faces. Mika smiled through tears. “Cautious… but he’s back.”

Naoru smiled widely, for the first time in ages with genuine warmth. “Finally… he’s himself again.”

Akihiko clenched his fist around the ring, the echo of the red-haired princess stirring in his heart.

“No, Tsukina…” he murmured. “My heart has already chosen.”

Mika and Naoru reached out, embracing him. Mika inhaled deeply, heart leaping at the gentleness. Naoru exhaled softly, relief radiating through him.

Akihiko gently squeezed both their hands and spoke with quiet authority:

“Thank you… thank you for reminding me. Now… Princess Tsukina, I will play your game—my way.”

His voice was unwavering, firm, resolute.

The night was still. The sky above Akarihoshi glittered with stars, like thousands of silent promises. Akihiko stood on the balcony, wind teasing his hair. In his hand, the necklace with the star-shaped pendant—Aiko’s necklace—glimmered, the one he had clutched in moments of weakness countless times before.

This time, something shifted. The pendant glowed softly—first faint, then brighter—until a gentle golden-red light enveloped it, reminiscent of Aiko’s energy.

Akihiko’s eyes widened. His heart raced; a long-suppressed feeling stirred—hope.

“Aiko…?” he whispered, almost afraid, as if voicing doubt could break the magic.

Meanwhile, on Tsukinara, Aiko sat by the window of her chamber, far away in the cold, shadowed space where Tsukio suffocated her true self. Her eyes searched the night sky, filled with unfamiliar stars, yet… she felt something.

Her hand moved instinctively toward her neck—but the necklace was gone. Her heart ached, painfully remembering it.

“My… necklace,” she whispered.

A spark awakened within her—small, potent. Her heart trembled, energy bursting unconsciously.

As Aiko stretched her hand toward the empty space, the pendant in Akihiko’s hands flared brighter. The golden-red light swirled around him, sending a quiet, insistent message—like a heartbeat reaching across the universe.

Akihiko pressed the pendant to his chest, eyes brimming with tears. “Aiko…” he whispered, voice shaking with relief and pain.

For a moment, it was clear—this was not memory or illusion. This was her. Her heart still out there… calling him, gentle yet insistent, like a wave he could not ignore.

Yet doubt lingered. Was she truly alive? Or merely an echo, a phantom conjured by his longing? His heart burned, but a cold shadow gnawed at his certainty.

Determination surged, flames stronger than ever, yet each spark of hope was tangled with fear. Every heartbeat was a drum, under it smoldered uncertainty: what if he had truly lost her?

“Perhaps… perhaps she is still alive,” he whispered, voice trembling, as if calling the stars to confirm it. “Even if…” his eyes blurred, “even if only a thread of hope remains, I will not stop.”

The wind brushed his face. The pendant glimmered, as if carrying a fragment of her being back to him—but Akihiko felt the thread connecting him to Aiko was fragile, incomplete. He didn’t know where she was, or if she was safe.

He gritted his teeth, clutching the pendant. Determination surged, mixed with haunting doubts.

“Aiko…” he murmured, “if you are alive… I promise… I will come. I will not let you be lost.”

His heart pounded wildly, doubt creeping along the flame. The pendant flickered, a mysterious signal—promise or warning. Akihiko did not know if it was enough. One thing was clear: the battle for Aiko had only just begun, and he would follow that thread until he uncovered the truth.