The roar of the crowd was deafening, but John barely heard it. His focus was centered on the behemoth of a man standing across the arena, with muscles rippling beneath sweat-soaked clothes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're down to the final moments of this championship bout!" the announcer's voice boomed. "John 'The Windwalker' Tarvo faces off against Brandon 'The Bear' Kraggs!"

John's grip tightened on his massive greatsword. Brandon charged, each footfall shaking the ground.

'If only you had a way to actually hit me, huh?' John thought, smirking confidently.

At the last second he thrust his palm forward. A blast of air erupted, propelling him backward just as Brandon's massive axe cleaved the space where he'd stood.

"He flies away with a burst at the last possible moment! The Windwalker lives up to his name, folks!"

John's feet barely touched the ground before he was moving again, propelled by another burst of wind. He shot forward, carried by another gust of wind. His opponent, still recovering from his missed swing, couldn't react in time.

The massive blade sliced through the air as John aimed for Brandon's exposed side. But he wasn't the reigning champion for nothing. He twisted, avoiding the slash narrowly after deflecting the sword slightly with his thick bracer.

‘Damn, he avoided that?! Bastard!’

"A narrow miss! But wait—"

Before Brandon could counterattack, John released his sword with one hand. A concentrated burst of air shot from his free palm, slamming into Brandon's face. The giant staggered back, disoriented by the blast.

John pressed his advantage, leaping high up into the air. He brought his sword down in a devastating arc.

‘This is it!’

Brandon's axe came up to block, but John's strike shattered the weapon's handle. The crowd's roar reached a fever pitch as Brandon stumbled, defenseless.

In a fluid motion, John landed and swept his leg. Brandon crashed to the ground, and the impact resonated through the arena.

The massive blade moved again, stopping by Brandon’s neck and pinning him to the ground.

“I… I surrender!” the old champion yelled, loud enough for everyone to hear.

"It's over! John Tarvo has done it!" The announcer's voice cracked with excitement. "Ladies and gentlemen, history has been made today! At just twenty-one years old, John 'The Windwalker' Tarvo is now the youngest Royal Tournament champion in history!"

The arena erupted in cheers. John stood, chest heaving, offering a hand to his fallen opponent. Brandon took it with a rueful smile, pulling himself up.

"Well fought, lad," the giant rumbled. "You’re easily the most annoying opponent I’ve had the pleasure of fighting. You better be back next year, though; I’m taking that title back!"

John nodded, a grin spreading across his face as the reality of his victory sank in. He raised his massive sword high, basking in the adulation of the crowd.

‘Finally I can go back home… Hope Serah has cooled off a bit,’ he thought, both nervous and excited for his return.

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The roar faded, replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves and distant chirping of birds. John's eyes fluttered open, briefly wakened by the afternoon sun. He was home, napping on the porch of his family's house, the excitement of the tournament now a fading memory.

After falling back into the realm of dreams, something else stirred him awake. As light and tender as a falling snowflake, a pair of lips touched his forehead. Instead of cold, it spread warmth, gently rousing him further from his drowsiness.

‘The hell was that? I was having such a nice nap…’

The sensation lingered, but with no one around, John dismissed it as a remnant of his dream.

He felt at peace as he sat there on the porch of their house, looking out at the quaint village he grew up in. He wouldn’t trade it for anything, even after experiencing the thrill of the big city.

Only a few days had passed since the royal tournament in the capital of Aachen, but instead of celebrating his win with the rest of the city, he returned home as planned, joining a merchant on his carriage.

He had a promise to fulfill. Even if he wasn’t looking forward to it much. Or rather, he was nervous.

A voice, husky and aged, called from inside the house, “John, could you please help your old mother with the cooking?”

John sighed, but there was a smile playing on his lips. His mother had made herself sound much older than she was on purpose, and he was well aware. She was barely in her forties, after all.

“Mom, I’ve only been gone for five years. You can ask for help without trying to make me feel bad, you know!” John got out of the chair with a spring, ready to head inside. But just as he was about to turn around, he spotted a familiar face, making his heart jump.

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She was walking down the dirt road through the village, carrying her basket of eggs like any other day. And, like any other day, she looked like the most beautiful person on the planet—like an angel without wings. Her blonde hair and her white summer dress only reinforced that impression.

John felt his heart pounding in his chest as he took a deep breath and prepared himself.

‘God, I hope she’s in a good mood today.’

After another deep breath, he started walking towards her. His nerves were much more intense than during the tournament's final match, but he knew they would be. He had been thinking about this day during every training session and fight.

Serah had spotted him and stared, first with wide eyes, then with narrowed ones. She stood rooted to the spot, waiting for John to approach, crossing her arms.

Seeing her imposing posture filled John with an extra bit of dread. ‘Calm down, my beating heart. We’ve practiced this so many times. Stay with me.’

Finally, he stood before her, making a gracious bow before speaking. “Greetings, Serah! I don’t know if you heard, but I won the royal tournament a few days ago.”

He looked at her as he stood up, trying to show a confident smirk. “As you probably remember, I promised to ask you out after winning. So…”

She only kept staring at him with a cold expression, remaining silent. He took one last deep breath. “Would you like to join me on a date tomorrow?”

‘Not even a change of expression! She sure knows how to hold a grudge!’ he thought, thinking back to the time he made that promise. She had been furious.

In his mind it had been a romantic gesture, and one he had to work up a lot of courage for. He had no idea what made her so mad.

But she was mad then, and obviously, little had changed. Her voice cut through the silence, but the words only made him more nervous.

“Why am I mad, John?”

“... Because… I put a lot of pressure on you by making that promise?” he tried, hoping it was at least close to the real reason.

Serah shook her head, continuing to stare at him.

“Uhh… because I put myself in danger by joining the military and fighting?”

Another shake, but less forceful this time. He might have gotten closer. He would have kept going, but his only remaining answer, the one he had thought of first, required a bit of bravery.

‘Aw, let’s take some chances!’

“Because… you missed me?” he asked, trying to make a cute face.

Serah's expression softened slightly, and mixed emotions flickered across her face. "John, do you really think that's why I'm upset?"

John hesitated, suddenly unsure. "I... Well…"

He had missed her, but this didn’t seem like the time to tell her that.

"Five years, John. Five years have passed us by." She paused, seeming to struggle with her words. "And for what? To prove something?"

John's brow furrowed. "I wanted to be worthy—"

"Worthy?" Serah shook her head with a sad smile on her lips. "You never needed to prove anything to me. You never needed to be a champion for me to—" She stopped abruptly, looking away.

John stood there, stunned by her words and the weight of what was left unsaid.

‘I… Why did I feel so sure about this promise back then?’

Serah took a deep breath, and as she exhaled, her posture seemed to relax. "It doesn't matter now. You're back now, and that's what's important."

John blinked, surprised by the sudden shift. "Really?"

"Really," Serah nodded, her smile becoming a bit more genuine. "So, about that date you mentioned..."

Elation and confusion mixed in John's head. "Yeah? I mean—you'll go?"

"I'll join you tomorrow," Serah confirmed. Her tone had turned a lot lighter, like her anger never existed in the first place. "It'll be nice to catch up properly."

She turned to leave, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "I should get going now, but... I'm glad you're back, John."

As she walked away, John couldn't help but feel there was still something unspoken hanging in the air. But the prospect of their upcoming date filled him with hope. Maybe, just maybe, they could bridge the gap that five years had created between them. That he had created.

With a confused smile, he turned back to his house, hoping they could go back to the way things had been before he left. They had known each other better than anyone.

‘Well, maybe it was just her knowing me better than I did? Looking back, I feel like she got harder to read as we grew…’

He walked up the three wooden steps to the balcony, almost reaching the door before a voice called out from inside, “What’s taking you so long, boy? Come help with the dinner!”

John let out a light-hearted laugh. His mother’s urgency seemed too trivial to faze him. “I’ll be right there, Mom. There was just something I had to say to someone first...” He opened the door, sensing the aroma of fresh cooking.

His mother stood in the kitchen, stirring the cauldron with practiced motions. “Oh, you finally asked Serah out? About damn time!”

John stopped in his tracks. He had kept the cards close to his chest for years, or at least he thought he had. “You knew about it?”

“Of course I knew; you’ve been staring at her since you were half as tall. And I knew that ramble about leaving to get stronger was all bull from the moment you told me.”

John felt his cheeks heating up. His mother was annoyingly observant, so it made sense she had noticed by now.

She mumbled while stirring the stew, “Ridiculous to make her wait so long, I say, but you never did have much between your ears. Just like your father. Now, come help me, will you?”

Hiding a smile, John sighed and walked towards the kitchen as she had asked. “You’re mixing up experience with brains; I’ve got plenty between my…” A sudden chill ran down his spine. “... my…”

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hit him like a speeding caravan, sending him crashing to the floor. The last thing he heard was his mother’s anxious voice calling his name before it slowly faded away.

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The sobering smell of metal greeted him as he awoke. An intense headache followed closely behind, forcing a grimace onto his face. As his mind adjusted to consciousness, he realized nothing was as it should be.

He was sitting in a large metal room, with bright lights shining from every direction—annoyingly bright lights.

‘What the hell is this? Aaah, damn headache! What is going on?’