POV: Nameless Narrator
Date: Fifteenth Day of Return
Location: Road to the Academy, Final Stretch
---
The wheels creaked gently on the dirt path.
The wind was soft — not cold, not warm.
Just… right.
No illusions.
No blood.
No screams in the dark.
Just a wagon.
Just a road.
Just eight students heading home.
They had lost things they couldn't name.
But they had found each other again.
---
Anna & Leander
She sat beside him, knees drawn up, head resting against the wood.
She laughed — quietly, but genuinely.
He made dumb jokes. Called every tree they passed "Sir Branch-a-lot."
She rolled her eyes, but didn't stop smiling.
Once, she looked at him and whispered:
> "Thanks for being stupid."
He grinned.
> "I specialize in that, m'lady."
They laughed again — and this time, it didn't hurt.
---
Riya
Riya leaned over the wagon edge, hair flying in the wind.
She shouted every time they saw a rabbit.
> "We're gonna be so late!"
No one answered — and that made her giggle harder.
She sat down beside Nitsuo once, handing him an apple.
> "Still feel real?"
He bit into it. Chewed. Swallowed.
> "More than ever."
She smiled like a sunrise.
---
Elric & Gideon
Elric talked about cooking.
> "Fried basil with sunroot. I swear, it's real. I'll cook it when we're back."
Gideon nodded, serious as always.
But then — a miracle.
He chuckled.
Not loud. Not long.
But enough for Elric to freeze and grin like a child.
> "Did you just—?"
"No."
> "You did. You totally did!"
Silence.
Then Elric laughed. Loud and bright.
Gideon let it happen.
---
Lily & Alice
Alice slept for once. Head tilted back, arms crossed — relaxed, not stiff.
Lily read a small book. One hand rested beside Nitsuo's, just close enough to feel the warmth.
Neither spoke.
But they didn't have to.
Lily looked at him once, eyes soft.
> "You came back," she said, without looking up from the page.
> "Took me long enough."
> "You always do things your way."
A pause.
> "And I always will," he said.
---
Nitsuo
He sat at the back of the wagon, journal resting on his knees.
The pages didn't cry this time.
No blood. No guilt.
Just a breeze.
Just ink.
Just the steady hand of someone still healing.
He looked at them — his team.
Not perfect.
Not untouched.
But here.
Alive.
---
> "Some journeys break you." "Some patch you together again." "And some remind you why you kept walking."
> — From the Journal of the Silent Tactician