A Battle for Passion

The wooden cabin smelled of a mixture of dried herbs and blood. Through the small window, the morning light highlighted dust motes spinning lazily. Irea still lay unconscious, her breathing thin but steady. A thick woolen blanket covered her up to her chest, hiding wounds still in the process of regeneration.

Ayato stood by the bedside, his eyes fixed on Irea's face, which lacked its usual vigor. His hands clenched slowly.

"I will continue the search," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "For Ragna. For Cielle. For Lys."

Aurellia, leaning against the doorframe, nodded slowly. A map and several bottles of elixir were already prepared on the table. "Irea is safe with me. But you... are you sure you can face them alone?"

"There's no other choice," Ayato replied. He turned his face, looking at Aurellia. In his silver-black eyes was a newfound resolve, forged in the fires of Lunareth and Fenlareth. "I can feel them... through the chaotic resonance. Like a taut thread."

Aurellia approached. Without a word, she raised her hand and touched Ayato's cheek. Her cool skin contrasted with the warmth of his face. Then, with a surprisingly gentle movement, she leaned in and kissed Ayato's cheek. Her lips touched only for a moment, leaving a cool spot that quickly warmed.

"A charm," Aurellia uttered, her voice soft but clear. "Don't die meaninglessly."

Ayato was stunned for a moment, then nodded. "I owe you."

He turned, grabbed his bag, and stepped out of the cabin without looking back. The wooden door closed tightly, leaving Aurellia and Irea in guarded silence.

The journey towards the heart of Sanctuary was like walking through a painting of hell. The once-blue sky was now torn in shades of purple and dark orange, like a festering wound. The green trees had dried and twisted, as if screaming in eternal pain. The ground was cracked, emitting a pungent sulfurous smoke.

Ayato followed a destroyed path. In the distance, he saw the remains of a village. The wooden buildings were charred, their roofs collapsed. There were no screams, no weeping—only a silence more terrifying than any sound. Corpses were strewn about, some surrounded by small red-eyed monsters devouring the remnants of life. He saw a small child lying stiffly, still clutching a cloth doll blackened by soot.

Is this... because Sanctuary opened?

His chest tightened. The prosperity he had seen in the capital, the laughter of Faaja and the children of Lunareth, all could be annihilated like this.

He quickened his pace, his heart growing more restless. The thread of resonance pulled him more strongly, like an irresistible magnet. He felt a burning anger, a piercing emptiness, and... a profound despair.

He found Ragna in a barren valley. But this was not the Ragna he knew.

Ragna stood in the middle of a smoldering crater, but his posture was limp. His usually fiery hair looked dull. He wasn't laughing, he wasn't challenging anyone, there was no gleam of madness in his eyes. He just... existed.

"Finally," Ragna murmured, his voice flat and hollow, like an echo from an empty space. No greeting, no passionate smile. Just an acknowledgment of a presence.

And without pause, without the slightest change in expression, he moved.

It wasn't an attack full of spirit like usual. This was an efficient, cold, and lethal movement. A black fireball—mixed with the dark energy overflowing from his body—shot straight at Ayato's chest.

BRAKK!

Ayato was thrown backward, his ribs shattered. The world spun, unbearable pain assaulting him. Is this... the end? he thought, as darkness began to sweep over his vision.

But no.

Something pulsed within him. A foreign yet familiar energy smoldered, then blazed from the very core of his being.

Not merely magical power, but something more primal—like another consciousness forcing him to stay alive.

He heard the sound of cracks in his bones rapidly mending, as if invisible hands were reassembling his shattered body.

He rose, his breath returning, though his body was still bleeding. In an instant, a flash—not a dream, not a memory, but a sensation that "someone" was pulling him back from the darkest brink of death.

But the vision vanished as quickly as it came, leaving only a vague certainty that death was not the end for him.

Ragna raised an eyebrow slightly. "Interesting."

A second attack came. Faster, harder. Ayato tried to block with an ice sword, but the ice shattered to pieces. His arm broke. He fell again.

Death.

Life again.

Each time he "died," his power surged drastically. His mana, which usually flowed like a river, now raged like an ocean. The ice he created became colder and denser, his fire hotter and wilder. He began to match Ragna's attacks, even forcing him back a few steps.

But the victory felt hollow. Ragna still looked bored, like an adult being pestered by a whining child. That hollow expression pierced Ayato deeper than any sword. Profound disappointment and sadness enveloped him.

"Why, Ragna?" Ayato shouted, his voice ragged. "Where is the Ragna who enjoyed every fight?!"

In that desperation, he abandoned all defense. Instead of attacking, he spread his arms and focused all his remaining consciousness on Ragna. The world around him disappeared.

CLICK.

But this time, it was Ragna who saw.

Ragna saw a long, straight asphalt road, illuminated by pale neon lights. He felt Ayato's legs running endlessly, without purpose.

Just to forget. Forgetting the pile of never-ending bills, forgetting his mother's burdened, empty gaze, forgetting the loneliness amidst the uncaring crowds at school. It was a life that was... exhausting. Silent. A temporary escape without end.

Then, in that vision, he saw himself—as Ayato—being overtaken by a man with a cheerful smile.

Unacceptable! The thought urged. Ragna (in Ayato's body) pushed his legs harder, overtaking the man again.

What followed was a race. A ridiculous race, without prize, without audience, in the quiet of the night. They overtook each other, repeatedly swapping positions, breathless, sweating profusely. Finally, they both stopped, panting, leaning on their respective knees.

Ragna felt the pounding heartbeat, the heat in his lungs, and an exhaustion that was... enjoyable. The man—his face blurry—patted his shoulder and smiled.

"Fun, isn't it?"

Those words echoed, breaking the rigidity within Ragna.

CLICK.

The Projection's image vanished, swallowed by darkness.

Ayato saw Ragna blink. The flat expression cracked. A small smile appeared, then widened, showing white teeth. Light slowly returned to his red eyes.

"Heh..." Ragna hissed. "Hehehe... HAHAHAHA! YES! THAT WAS FUN!"

Ayato's next punch was no longer met with coldness. Ragna countered with a fiery fist full of spirit, with booming laughter.

THUD! THUMP! BRAK!

They traded blows, without magic, without weapons. Just fists and determination. Skin swelled, blood flowed, but smiles didn't leave their faces. Until finally, both bodies collapsed simultaneously, falling facing each other on the scorched earth.

"Hah... hah... you damn... strong kid," Ragna said, his breath ragged.

"Hah... you too... monster," Ayato retorted, a wry smile etched on his lips.

Night began to fall, the sickly sky turning a deep purple.

"I... have to find Cielle soon," Ayato said, trying to get up. His body ached terribly, but that strange energy remained, giving him the stamina to keep moving.

He had contacted Aurellia via the communication stone. "Wait here. Aurel and Irea will come for you."

Ragna, too tired to move even though his wounds weren't fatal, gave a thumbs-up. "Ou! Don't die, Ayato."

Ayato responded with a broad smile, something he rarely did. "Yeah. We still have to race again."

He stood up, his body unsteady but firm. He cast one last look at Ragna, then ran, disappearing into the shadows of the crumbling twilight, chasing the resonant thread that led him to Cielle.