A whole week had passed—heavy, stretched out like a year.
The sun rose and fell, and still he sat in the same place, wearing the same expression, swallowed by the same silence.
Every day Arian sat outside the small hut, eyes fixed on the forest though his mind wandered elsewhere.
The morning mist had become almost a companion—he drifted through it aimlessly, listening to the murmur of leaves and counting them like the beats of a heart that had lost its meaning.
He whispered to the emptiness before him:
> "A week… a whole week doing nothing. No training, no real sleep, not even the smallest spark of hope."
He lifted his hand and stared at it, as if surprised it still moved.
> "I thought pain was what breaks a man… but it's the silence that truly does."
The forest lay still. Even the birds had stopped singing near him, as though they understood and fell quiet out of respect for his sorrow.
The ground was damp, the air cold, and everything around him reminded him he was alone.
At first, he had tried to train, tried to fight the exhaustion inside him, but soon… he grew tired even of trying.
Every time he caught sight of his own shadow, it felt like a stranger was following him.
On the seventh morning, while he tried to coax a small fire to life beside the hut, footsteps drifted toward him from far off.
Quiet, steady, familiar.
He raised his head, peering through the mist…
Celia.
She was walking between the trees, her hair tied back simply, her face drawn with the look of someone who hadn't slept well.
But her eyes—the same eyes that once carried warmth—were unchanged.
He stood, startled, his voice low:
> "Celia?… You said you couldn't come."
She smiled faintly as she drew closer:
> "I had to see you before my own seclusion begins. Training starts today… and it will last for months."
She paused, looking around:
> "This place… still the same. Cold, quiet, strange."
He gave a short, bitter laugh:
> "Even the forest refused to change for me."
She replied softly as she sat beside him on a fallen trunk:
> "The forest doesn't change for anyone. But it listens to those who try."
He looked at her and said:
> "Are you trying to comfort me?"
She smiled gently:
> "Not comfort. Just a reminder: what falls can rise again."
They fell silent.
Only the sound of wind moving the branches spoke for them.
After a while, she said:
> "There's a tournament in seven months… a great test for all the academy's students. Whoever wins will learn the strongest soul technique known in the world. The headmaster announced it himself."
Arian looked at her quietly, as if weighing the meaning of her words.
– "And what exactly am I supposed to do with that?"
She answered with soft conviction:
– "Think about it. This is your chance, Arian. If you enter and win, no one will be able to ignore you again."
He shook his head, his voice hesitant but true:
– "Seven months?… In seven days I've forgotten who I even am."
– "Then you have seven months to remember."
She said it with a small smile as she rose, brushing dust from her clothes.
Standing before him, the gray light washed over her features.
– "I have to go now… my training starts today. I won't be able to visit for a long time."
He looked at her, trying to hide the crack in his voice:
– "You were the only one who made the days pass faster."
She was quiet for a moment, then said warmly:
– "Maybe when I come back… I'll find you stronger. Not for them—for yourself."
She turned to leave, the mist swallowing her step by step.
Arian remained standing, listening to the fading echo of her footsteps, as though she were taking with her the last thread stitching his heart to life.
He sat down on the ground, eyes on the weak fire the wind had begun to scatter, and murmured low:
"Seven months… All right, Celia. We'll see who forgets himself—and who begins again."