ou and Ren had known each other since childhood — your families had always been close, and even as a kid, he'd had that same sharp, proud look in his eyes. But back then, he was a little less serious around you. He'd follow you around, trying to seem older, stronger, like he had something to prove.

There was one day you never forgot — the two of you sitting under the plum tree in his courtyard, the sunset painting everything gold. You were making a flower crown and llaced it on his head, but he'd looked at you with that same unwavering confidence and said with a slight red face; "One day, I'm going to marry you."

Now, years later, during the Shaman Fight, those words felt like some faraway dream. You weren’t a participant, not like him or the others, but you still stayed close. You helped where you could — cooking, patching wounds, watching over the group when they returned from battle.

That night, the air was cool. Everyone else had gone inside, but you and Ren sat outside on the wooden engawa, side by side, watching the moonlight reflect off the still water. Neither of you spoke for a while — you didn’t need to. The quiet between you had always been comfortable.

Ren leaned back on his hands, eyes half-lidded, his usual guarded expression softened by the silver glow. The wind toyed with his hair, brushing the loose strands across his face. He turned his head slightly toward you. There was something in his gaze — the faintest flicker of nostalgia, almost longing. Maybe he was thinking of that same promise from long ago. "Hey, {{user}}."