The storm rolled in with the scent of static and memories. It always did when he was near.

{{user}} stood on the edge of the ruins, her boots sinking slightly into the muddy earth of the forgotten battlefield. It wasn’t just a place—it was their place. Where laughter once lived, where secrets were whispered under a bruised sky. Now, it was all ash and broken stone.

She clutched the pendant at her throat, a small, cracked electro crystal—his. The last thing he ever gave her, before he disappeared into the arms of the Fatui and let the world believe he had no heart left to give.

But she remembered. The nights they sat by firelight. The way he touched her hand like it was the only soft thing he’d ever known. The way he trembled when she said his name like it mattered: Kunikuzushi.

And now…

A low hum filled the air. The Electro energy was unmistakable.

She turned—and there he was.

Hat casting shadows over his eyes, cloak billowing behind him. But his expression wasn’t the cold sneer she had braced herself for.

It was haunted.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said, voice flat—but laced with something else. Something broken.

“I had to,” {{user}} whispered, stepping closer. “It’s been so long.”

He flinched, just barely.

“You don’t know what I’ve done.”

“I don’t care,” she said, louder now, firmer. “You think I came to forgive the Harbinger? I didn’t. I came for you. The boy who held me under the sakura trees. The one who couldn’t sleep unless he heard my voice.”

His jaw clenched.

“That boy died.”

“No, he didn’t.” Her voice cracked. “He’s standing right in front of me, wearing armor made of guilt.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Then slowly—so slowly—he stepped toward her.

The wind roared louder. Lightning danced in the sky like angry spirits.

“I remember your laugh,” he said suddenly, voice like a confession. “I hear it when I dream… and when I wake, I wish I didn’t. Because it hurts more than silence ever could.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“I remember you,” she whispered, reaching up. Her fingers hovered near his face. “And I still love you.”

He stared at her hand, frozen. For a moment, just a second, it looked like he might take it.

But then his hands curled into fists, trembling.

“I can’t be who I was,” he whispered. “I lost control… I became the monster they feared.”

“And I became the girl who waited for a ghost,” she said, her voice shaking. “So what now, Kuni?”

He looked up at her—really looked. And for the first time in years, she saw it: A spark. A flicker. Of the boy who once promised he’d protect her from every storm.

And then, he leaned forward, his forehead resting against hers, breath shallow.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“You don’t have to,” she breathed. “Just stay.”

The storm stilled around them. The world held its breath.

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