It began with a shimmer in the air.
Ryuuji was tending to a row of herb sprigs along the stone garden path, Kiko beside him poking at beetles and humming a song about sunshine and dragons, when the breeze shifted. A subtle change, but enough to make Ryuuji pause.
The wind carried a strange scent—old parchment and burned wax. He turned just in time to see a glowing wisp flicker into existence above the herb bed.
"Message magic," Ryuuji muttered. "Haven't seen that in years."
The wisp pulsed, releasing a scroll wrapped in red thread and marked with a wax seal bearing a symbol he knew by heart: a simple tankard and crossed ladles.
Ryuuji's eyes widened.
Kiko looked up. "What's that, Papa?"
He held the scroll like it was made of glass. "An old friend. Someone I never thought I'd hear from again."
The Letter from Jarred Lennon
Back on the porch, with Kiko seated beside Elysia, Ryuuji carefully unsealed the scroll. The scent of warm tavern wood and smoked meat clung to the parchment, as if the letter had been carried across memories rather than miles.
Ryuuji.If this reached you, then the wind still remembers us.
It's been… a long time, hasn't it? You probably thought I disappeared like everyone else. I would have too, in your place.
I opened a little tavern in Southmark—a quiet border town far from war, demons, or nobles. It's small, smells like hops, and I've come to love the creaky chairs more than I ever loved the sword.
I married her, Ryuuji. Merra. You remember her? She used to bring us bread while we rebuilt the town well. We laughed so much then.
She's with child now. Or she was… before she was taken.
One week ago, some masked men broke into our tavern in the dead of night. They left no trace—no ransom, no clue—except a torn sleeve that bore the mark of Count Valenrood.
I didn't want to ask for help. I still don't. You know me—I fix my own roof, patch my own boots. But I've knocked on every door, talked to every guard, bribed every rat. I've got one lead and no power to follow it.
You're the only one I trust not to bring fire where it isn't needed. Please. If you can… come.
Jarred Lennon
Ryuuji read the letter again. And again. By the third reading, his hands were still and his jaw tight.
He handed it silently to Elysia.
She read it in a breath, her silver eyes sharpening like drawn steel. "He wouldn't ask if it wasn't real."
"No," Ryuuji murmured. "He wouldn't."
Remembering Jarred
Jarred Lennon was the first person Ryuuji had met when he was thrown into this world—a young man just older than Ryuuji was back then, covered in soot, with a crooked smile and a heart too big for his own good.
When Ryuuji couldn't speak the language, Jarred taught him with bread and pictures. When Ryuuji didn't understand magic, Jarred introduced him to the village mage. When Ryuuji cried behind a stable, thinking he'd never go home again, Jarred sat beside him, handed him a bottle, and said, "If this is your world now, then let's make it one you can live in."
He never asked for anything in return.
Not even when Ryuuji became the Hero and left him behind to chase a destiny written in prophecies and blood.
Now Jarred's message was clear: I'm drowning, and I can't swim anymore.
Preparing to Leave
"I'll go alone," Ryuuji said as he tied up his travel pack with a slow, measured pace. "It's a simple rescue. I don't want to drag you or the dragons into this."
Elysia raised an eyebrow. "You think I'll let you leave without protection?"
"I think you know me well enough to trust I won't rush into flames."
"I also know you tend to walk through them if it means saving someone."
He sighed. "Kiko needs you here. And the dragons need their queen."
Kiko ran into the room, arms flailing. "Noooo! You're going somewhere?! Without me?"
Ryuuji knelt, arms open. She barreled into his chest.
"It's just a short trip, little candle," he said gently. "A friend is in trouble. I have to help him."
Her small hands gripped his shirt. "You'll come back?"
"I'll always come back."
She sniffled but nodded. Then looked up. "Can I give you something?"
He smiled. "Anything."
Kiko ran to her room and returned with her crudely made Ryuuji doll. It looked more like a turnip with eyes than a man, but he took it like it was a royal relic.
"For courage," she whispered.
He pressed it to his heart. "Then I can't lose."
Departure at Dusk
Ryuuji chose an old enchanted cloak that shimmered like waves and a blade forged from sunsteel—not his original hero sword, but something quieter. Humble. Honest.
The dragons gathered near the edge of the forest to see him off, their human forms respectful and silent. Elysia kissed his cheek with a sigh heavy with unspoken words.
"I know," he whispered.
"Don't come back alone," she whispered back.
Then, with one last look at the place he'd built with peace and hope, Ryuuji stepped into the forest path—and vanished.
Far to the West
In a quiet tavern where the fires had long since gone cold, a man sat alone by an empty hearth, holding a locket in one hand and a broken mug in the other.
His name was Jarred Lennon, and he was praying—not to a god, but to a friend.
And the wind, for the first time in a week, shifted toward the east.