The bandit's punch slammed into Rikuya's side.
Nothing.
No stagger. No wince. Not even a breath lost.
The knife before that? It had bent on impact — folded like paper against steel.
Rikuya slowly looked up — eyes shadowed, a grin creeping across his face.
"You hit like a spoiled brat."
A chill ran through the air.
Then, in the blink of an eye, he was already in front of them.
He caught the next strike mid-air, his right hand clamping down on the bandit's wrist with unnatural strength. A sharp twist — a wet crack — the joint popped loose as the bandit screamed.
Before the cry could finish, Rikuya's fist exploded in motion.
A storm of punches hammered the bandit's ribs, liver, chin, and sternum — one after another, so fast the air shook.
The final uppercut landed like thunder — straight into the solar plexus.
The bandit rose off the ground, body limp, eyes rolled back.
He crashed down a heartbeat later — twitching, silent, broken.
Rikuya stood tall, his breath steady, eyes scanning the last bandit.
His right arm dropped to his side again, calm and heavy —
like a weapon that hadn't even warmed up yet.
Rikuya's grin spread as he stared at the last bandit, the air thick with tension.
"You're dead."
The bandit charged, but Rikuya was already in motion. In a flash, his left leg swung up, landing a crushing crescent kick to the side of the bandit's head. The force of the strike sent the bandit spinning through the air, their body lifeless for a moment before crashing hard to the ground.
Before the bandit could even recover, Rikuya was on them, his left leg snapping down with a brutal sidekick to their ribs. The impact was thunderous, the sound of breaking bones cutting through the air as the bandit gasped for air, stumbling backward.
Rikuya didn't stop. In one fluid motion, he jumped, his left leg coming up like a battering ram into the bandit's stomach. The air was knocked out of them, and they flew backward, helpless.
The bandit tried to stand, but Rikuya was already there, delivering a savage kick to their knees. The joint snapped with a sickening crunch, and the bandit collapsed in agony.
Rikuya closed the distance, spinning and landing a brutal snap kick to their chin, jerking their head violently backward. The bandit staggered, barely able to stay on their feet.
With a final, merciless move, Rikuya raised his leg high and slammed it down with terrifying force onto the bandit's chest. The ribs shattered under the impact, and the bandit was left gasping for breath, unable to rise.
Rikuya took a step back, watching the broken figure on the ground. His expression was cold, calculating. The bandit lay still, their body wrecked from the merciless assault.
Rikuya glanced down at the fallen bandit, his expression unchanging, before letting out a soft sigh.
"So boring," he muttered under his breath as he turned away, his footsteps echoing in the silence.
With each step, the weight of the battle seemed to fade, as if it had been nothing more than a brief distraction. The world around him returned to its quiet chaos, but Rikuya was already moving on, indifferent to the wreckage he left behind.
Rikuya walked into the inn, his eyes scanning the familiar warmth of the room. Solamar, Myra, Lena, and Mara were all gathered around the table, having an easy conversation. They looked up when they heard the door open, and smiles spread across their faces as they saw Rikuya enter.
"You're back," Myra said softly, her voice warm. "How was it out there? You look exhausted."
Lena, with her usual gentle expression, added, "You've been gone all morning. I hope you didn't run into too much trouble."
Mara, always with a teasing smile, leaned back in her chair, her eyes twinkling. "I'm sure you could use a good rest, but you're not going to leave us hanging, are you?"
Rikuya gave them a tired smile, his usual quiet demeanor softening in the company of these familiar faces. "I'm just going to sleep for now," he said, stretching his arms and making his way to the small area they had set up for him to rest.
Solamar, with his fatherly tone, chuckled from across the room. "Don't let us stop you, Rikuya. You've earned it. But just know, we'll be here if you want to talk later."
The warmth of the room, their kindness, and the family-like atmosphere made Rikuya feel oddly comfortable despite the exhaustion of the day. He had grown used to their little banter, the teasing that came from a place of affection.
"You're always so serious," Lena added with a smile, her voice laced with understanding. "You've done enough today. You deserve a break."
Mara's playful tone softened, and she crossed her arms, leaning toward him. "Come on, we won't bite. If you ever need to talk, we're here. Just don't forget about us while you're off being all mysterious."
Rikuya chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I'll be fine," he said, his voice carrying a rare note of gratitude. "I just need to sleep for a bit."
He made his way to the corner of the room, where a small cot had been set up for him. The others continued their conversation, but their kindness and understanding lingered in the air. Rikuya could feel the comfort of their presence — it wasn't just an inn to him, it was a family. And right now, that felt like enough.
"Sleep well, Rikuya," Solamar called, a warm fatherly note in his voice.
Rikuya gave a small nod, sinking into the cot with a sigh of relief. The sounds of laughter and friendly chatter filled the room as he closed his eyes. He didn't need to say more; they understood him without words. In this family, he didn't have to explain everything. For once, it was enough to just be.
Rikuya slowly stirred, the warmth of the sun in the afternoon seeping through the window. He felt Tsuki's cold nose nudge his cheek, the familiar feeling of the dog licking him bringing a smile to his lips. Tsuki was practically wagging with joy, as though the separation had been far too long.
"Good to see you too," Rikuya mumbled, his eyes still closed, enjoying the simple comfort of the moment.
He opened his eyes, blinking against the brightness, and that's when he felt a weight on his chest. As his vision cleared, he saw Seline, her bare clothing pressed closely against him. Her face was still, but a hint of vulnerability crossed her features.
Her eyes were closed in a peaceful sleep, her body relaxed in a way that suggested trust. For a moment, Rikuya's heart skipped a beat. He hadn't expected this level of closeness, but then again, after everything they had gone through, it felt natural. He carefully shifted, trying not to disturb her, as he gently pushed Tsuki off his lap.
"Seems like you've found yourself a new spot to rest," Rikuya said quietly, a chuckle escaping his lips. He didn't want to wake Seline, but the tension in his chest from the proximity was undeniable. He cleared his throat softly, trying to steady himself.
He looked down once more—Seline was still resting peacefully, her breath soft against his chest, her body curled in trust.
He exhaled quietly.
With slow, careful movements, Rikuya shifted his arm from around her and gently lifted the blanket to cover her better. She stirred a little but didn't wake, only turning her head slightly, her expression calm, lips parting with a soft breath.
Rikuya sat up at the edge of the bed, ran a hand through his wild hair, and stood. His shirt was half-hanging off his shoulder, wrinkled and loose from sleep and battle alike. Tsuki gave a faint grunt, then went back to sleep.
He cast one last look at the sleeping girl before stepping out of the room, barefoot and quiet.
Downstairs, the scent of something warm and freshly cooked pulled him in.
Solamar was behind the counter, humming an old tune as he stirred a pot. Myra and Mara sat at a nearby table, and Lena was setting out bowls.
"There he is," Myra grinned as she spotted him. "Our mysterious sleeper returns."
"Took you long enough," Mara added, half-teasing.
Rikuya scratched the back of his head and yawned. "Smelled food. That's a good enough reason to come back to life."
"Is that all it takes?" Lena raised an eyebrow, smirking as she handed him a plate. "We were starting to wonder if you died upstairs."
Rikuya took the food with a small nod. "Still alive. Barely."
Solamar chuckled. "Well, breakfast cures most things. Sit, lad. You've earned it."
As he slid into a chair, Rikuya couldn't help but glance out the window, the sunlight spilling in like a promise.
For now… this was peace.
The clatter of spoons and quiet sips filled the inn as everyone dug into breakfast. The warmth of the food, the peaceful light, and the rare silence made it feel like a rare kind of morning.
Solamar wiped his hands on a cloth and leaned back against the counter, his eyes settling on Rikuya.
"You ever heard the tale of the Broken Hawk?" he asked, voice low but clear.
Rikuya glanced up mid-bite. "Can't say I have."
The others paused, curious.
Solamar folded his arms, eyes growing distant as if watching the memory take shape.
"There was once a hawk," he began, "born with wings too thin to fly. While the others soared, he stumbled, fell, got mocked by his own kind. But he never gave up. Instead of brooding, he watched the wind, studied the sky, and trained in silence while others boasted of heights they didn't earn."
"One day, a storm came. A cruel one. Stronger hawks were flung from the skies, helpless. But the broken hawk… he flew. He had learned not to fight the wind, but to dance with it. His weakness had become his wisdom."
Everyone was quiet.
Solamar's gaze lingered on Rikuya, steady.
"Life doesn't care how you're born—it only listens to how far you're willing to go."
He let the words hang for a moment before offering a final line:
"The ones who fall early often rise the highest—because they've learned how to stand when it hurts."
Rikuya didn't say anything right away, but his eyes reflected a subtle shift—like the tale had landed somewhere deeper than just his mind.
Solamar's final words echoed in the still room:
"The ones who fall early often rise the highest—because they've learned how to stand when it hurts."
Rikuya stared into his half-finished plate for a beat. Then, slowly, he looked up at Solamar, eyes sharper than before.
"Yeah..." he said quietly. "And sometimes, the ones who learned to stand... end up carrying others who never had to fall."
There was weight in his voice—not pride, but something earned, shaped by scars and silence.
Solamar nodded once, a small, knowing smile curling beneath his beard.
"Well said, boy."
The others looked between them, unsure what had just passed, but feeling it all the same—like they'd witnessed something rare.