Oda Nobuzan's body felt limp in Fitran's embrace. The remnants of the spiral ritual still scorched the layers of meaning in her body and soul, but amidst the freezing exhaustion, the warmth of Fitran's arms swept away all remaining wounds. It felt like sinking—not into a sea of darkness, but into a tranquility that could only be born from undeniable love. Outside, the wind blew gently, carrying the fragrant scent of flowers beginning to wilt by the roadside. A yellowing leaf fell, and Oda felt as if that leaf was a part of her that had lost its way.
"Why did you come, Fitran?" Oda thought, in the space between consciousness and despair. She was ready to die. She had let go of her child—both of their blood—returning to the spiral of the world before having the chance to scream or cry in the whirlpool of human and deity vengeance. Fitran's gaze, full of warmth, reminded Oda of the bright days when that child was still alive—the smile that erased all darkness. She had made peace with the possibility of never seeing that child's face again, as long as this world, the world they had once fought for, could become more peaceful. Yet at this moment, when Fitran held her tightly, it felt as if time had stopped, and those memories haunted her again, making her soul tremble. She missed her child's cheerful voice, the little laughter that always made her smile in the darkest nights. But Fitran, as usual, always turned fate around. He always came just when Oda wanted to give up. Oda could feel the tension in Fitran's muscles, grasping the same despair, but in that embrace, there was a flickering hope, albeit faint.
Fitran held Oda in a way she had never felt from anyone else. The warmth of his body enveloped her, balancing the cold night air that emphasized the silence around them, as if signaling that the outside world had momentarily vanished. Not because Oda was weak, not merely because she was the mother of Fitran's child, nor because she was a general. In that embrace, there was a sincerity that pierced her soul, a moment where all fears and doubts were powerless against something greater than the two of them. Fitran embraced her because he truly saw Oda—completely—in her wounds, anger, foolishness, love, and regrets that she had never had the chance to write down for anyone. For a moment, flashes of the past crossed Oda's mind; memories of hopeful glances when she looked at the essence of her life's journey now seemed easier.
In her chest, amidst the dust and remnants of blood, Oda felt something she had hidden for so long beginning to grow, demanding acknowledgment: she loved Fitran Fate. With every heartbeat, that love surged forth, full of passion and certainty that was hard to explain. It was not merely admiration for a hero, not just a woman's instinct to possess the strongest man, not merely a desire to give birth to a new generation. In that night filled with the aroma of wet earth, Oda felt the cold night wind pushing her to fight against all the pretenses she had built up.
That love now consumed her entirely, in every second of time that spun endlessly. Even when she was about to sacrifice their child—not for the sake of her own greatness, but because she feared the world would hurt that child just as it had once hurt her—Oda realized that what she feared was not death, but losing Fitran. The expression of tension on her face revealed all the turmoil that lay hidden; doubt mingled with a sincere desire to protect them both. She wanted to live by Fitran's side, even if the world would laugh at her, even if history would only remember her as a woman who dared to love someone like Fitran. In the silence and the chaos intertwined in that embrace, she found the courage to embrace uncertainty and all the feelings that came with unexpected love.
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Fitran was not a perfect figure. He was stubborn, too often bearing everything alone, too harsh on himself and the world. Yet it was from that attitude that Oda learned the meaning of resilience. There she found home—not in the walls of a palace, not in military glory, but in Fitran's fingers that held her when she wanted to sink. At that moment, as the night wind blew gently and carried the scent of wet earth, Oda felt a deep emotional urge as she gazed at Fitran's face, longing for the tranquility that his strong presence always offered. Sweat trickled down her temples, signaling the high tension she felt, but longing caressed her heart.
As Oda thought about ending everything that night, when she was almost lost in the whirlpool of the ritual, the last thing that crossed her mind was not victory, not sacrifice, nor a name. The last thought was the desire to embrace Fitran once more. To hear Fitran whisper her name. To believe that even though the world had repeatedly shattered, she had never lost her place to return. The rain began to fall with gentle drops, adding to the sorrow of the atmosphere, awakening memories of when Oda and Fitran ran in the rain, their laughter mingling with the sounds of nature. In the steam of her breath visible in the cold air, Oda felt the struggle between hope and despair raging within her.
Fitran canceled his death. He chose Oda and their child above all logic of sacrifice. He chose love, even when the world only demanded victims. In his heart, the stirrings of guilt troubled him, but he tried to mask it with a sincere smile, his eyes radiating the courage Oda needed. Every passing second revived all the moments they had shared, moments that made them promise never to be separated, even as challenges came crashing down.
And for that, Oda swore: as long as she had breath, she wanted to spend the rest of her life loving Fitran unconditionally. She wanted to be a mother to their child, a friend and an enemy to Fitran, a reason for Fitran to endure, even if the whole world demanded them to give up. In her mind, she envisioned their child's tiny hands, and how she wanted to give all the love she had to ensure that child grew up feeling safe and loved. Goosebumps rose on her skin as she felt the weight of the task ahead of them, but her heart was filled with a slowly growing courage, as if all the pain of the past years had only served to strengthen their souls.
Fitran once said, hope always arises at the last moment. But Fitran forgot, love is the reason that hope endures longer than anything else in the world. Oda paused for a moment, recalling the first time they met, when her eyes found laughter in sorrow. Her heart raced, torn between moving on and leaning on hope. Suddenly, the warmth of Fitran embracing her returned to her memory, like the soft rays of morning sun breaking through the gaps in the clouds.
"Thank you, Fitran," Oda thought. For coming when she was about to disappear, for holding her when she wanted to vanish, for choosing her—not because of the world, but because of Fitran's own heart. Oda's eyes, which had once been empty, now sparkled in the darkness of the night. She felt the warmth of Fitran's body flowing, enveloping the chill that crept within her. His heavy yet steady breath provided a tranquility she had never anticipated. That night, under the dark starry sky, a small smile blossomed on her lips, as if the stars above wanted to share in the joy.
That night, in Fitran's embrace, Oda finally knew: she lived, not because she had survived the war, but because loving Fitran was the highest form of courage she had ever shown. Flashes of memories came rushing back; when peace still lingered in the corners of her mind, when they shared laughter beneath the great tree in the village, giving pure hope that love could transcend all obstacles. Now, this embrace felt like a shield that limited the cruel and frightening outside world. Oda closed her eyes, savoring every second, as if she did not want this feeling to end, longing for eternity in this perfect moment.
