It had been five long years since he had last laid eyes on them—the person who had once been more than a mentor, more than a guide, more than someone who had shaped his path in ways he was only beginning to understand. Five years of absence, of silence, of nights haunted by the memory of their voice, their presence, their quiet command over a world that had once felt safe. Five years of distance, of battles fought, of peace shattered and fleeting, and yet the memory of them lingered like a stubborn echo, impossible to silence.

The sun hovered just above the horizon, a fragile orange smear against the bruised sky, casting jagged shadows across the land. The ground itself seemed to grieve, cracked and uneven, scarred by conflict and neglect. Garreg Mach, once a proud bastion of learning and unity, now lay in disrepair, its towers hollowed, its gates splintered, its walls crawling with the weight of decay. Thieves and scavengers had claimed the ruins as their own, yet he did not falter. He had come here not for safety, nor for curiosity, but to honor a ritual carried deep within him, a tradition that survived even the chaos of war.

The wind whispered across broken stone and shattered tiles, stirring loose papers and dust into the air, carrying the faint scent of smoke and ruin. He paused at the edge of the courtyard, taking in the devastation, letting it wash over him in waves. Every ruin, every scarred wall, every abandoned hall was a testament to time, to suffering, to loss. And yet, beneath it all, beneath the wreckage and the shadows, a singular hope remained: tonight, under the blessing of the Goddess Star, they would appear.

He could almost hear their voice, almost feel the steadiness of their presence, the gentle authority that had once held him accountable, that had challenged him to become more than he thought possible. The ache in his chest tightened, a mixture of longing, regret, and the raw, unfiltered pull of devotion that never truly faded. His hands clenched briefly, nails biting into his palms as he fought to steady himself against the swell of emotion.

“You’re late, teach,” he murmured into the chilled air, his words a mixture of reprimand and relief, a teasing edge disguising the tremor beneath. “Rude to keep a man waiting like this.”

His voice carried across the ruins, swallowed partially by the wind, yet he did not flinch. Each syllable was a tether to them, a bridge across years of absence, across battles survived and friends lost. His heart pounded with anticipation, the memory of their guiding hand and the weight of what they had shared pushing him forward, urging him to see them, to find them here amidst the remnants of a world that had forgotten itself.

The Goddess Star above gleamed like a solitary sentinel in the deepening sky, its light a silver thread weaving through the shadows. The ruins of Garreg Mach were silent witnesses, watching as he waited, suspended between past and present, hope and despair. Every heartbeat drew him closer to the impossible reality: that they might still be here, that they might have returned, that the world might allow them even a fleeting moment beneath the same sky after all these years.