Chapter Thirteen
We Promise Because We Hope

The Literature Clubroom had a small room in the rear, which Ayame and Shin-ju had been using as a small pantry and kitchenette ever since they started working on the Visor together. This morning, Ayame was distractedly making tuna sandwiches and lemonade, her eyes going back and forth between Shin-ju sitting on the Clubroom sofa, the food she was preparing for him, and the stack of paperwork on the boy's desk across the Clubroom.

He's been working all this time? the worried girl thought, eyeing the layout drafts on Shin-ju's desk. Even while I was gone?

Ayame took the sandwiches and glass of lemonade in her hands, walking into the Clubroom proper just in time to see Shin-ju clasp his hands together in a praying gesture.

•••

Shin-ju knew he had regained very little spiritual energy the previous night, since the discomfort of fever kept him from sleeping well enough. Still, he decided to try casting a Heal spell on one of his wounds to see if he could spare himself even a small portion of grief before heading into the day's first period.

He channeled a little mana into his right palm, which emitted a faint green glow. He then pressed the palm onto his shoulder wound, torn open by one of Zeta Spires's battle darts in the previous day's encounter.

The wound sapped the Heal spell greedily as soon as Shin-ju placed his glowing palm on it—and immediately, Shin-ju felt a sharp pain stab him under the navel. He instinctively removed his palm prematurely, the Heal glow disappearing into thin air.

As the pain in his abdomen gradually faded, Shin-ju stared at his palm. He remembered one of the lessons about the Heal spell that his former Master, Mikieru Makimachi, had taught to him long before…

…the Heal spell involves the conversion of spiritual energy, "mana," into life energy, "anima." Used correctly, the new "anima" appears on this plane as a pale green glow, and can heal superficial wounds and illnesses. The Heal spell can only be used safely if the caster has enough mana to convert to anima, else it draws directly from the caster's existing life energy in order to complete the cycle of conversion. If this is not the case, a caster with no mana left may end up healing one part of his body while damaging another. Take heed if a pain from your navel issues while casting the Heal spell (or any other Holy Art)—when it happens, immediately revoke the casting, as it might lead to irreversible physical damage… and, most certainly for a careless caster, even death…

"Shin-ju, lie down! Take it easy on yourself!"

Ayame's sharp reprimand snapped Shin-ju out of his thoughts. Blinking, he stared up at her form, standing across the rectangular coffee table, sandwiches and lemonade in her hands.

"I'm okay, I'm just…" Shin-ju managed to mumble before bobbing his head inadvertently. Catching himself, he felt a cold sweat creep up his neck.

"…Okay," a woozy Shin-ju laughed, falling sideways into the sofa's cushions. "Don't mind if I do."

Pouting worriedly at his pitiful form, Ayame put the plate and glass on the table and helped Shin-ju into a more comfortable position. She took off her large gray jacket, the one she had been hiding in for the past several days, and placed it over Shin-ju's shivering form as a blanket. Then she helped Shin-ju take a sip of lemonade through a straw.

"Thanks," Shin-ju croaked.

Ayame nodded, her attention turned towards Shin-ju's work desk again.

"Shin-ju?"

"Hm?"

"Did you work on the Visor while I was gone?"

Shin-ju paused. "Yeah," he answered after a moment. "Why not?"

She turned to look at him in the eye. "Don't tell me you actually like this kind of work."

He smiled slightly. "No, but apparently, you do."

"It's not like that," Ayame laughed modestly, looking fondly around the Clubroom. "This whole thing… No one really cared about the Visor before I came around. It seemed like the perfect escape from reality, this little room… where it was just me and my work. It kept me from thinking about…"

She stopped short. Her face away from Shin-ju, she closed her mouth and dropped her smile. She bowed her head, fully expecting what the Nomad boy was going to say next.

"…about Kyle," he finished for her.

Without looking at him, she acquiesced. "I'm so sorry to have dragged you into this, Shin-ju," she apologized miserably. "I should've told you everything sooner."

There was silence in the Literature Clubroom for a few moments, until Shin-ju reached out, with considerable effort, and laid his hand on her shoulder. Ayame glanced at his hand, then at his eyes, with a wondering gaze.

"I'm listening," was all Shin-ju needed to say.

•••

"My clan, the Kusanagis, is a family of warrior princes. My ancestors were among the Orient settlers who established Payon 250 years ago. Sometime between then and now, my family moved and settled in Prontera, establishing a swordfighting estate in the Fort City's wealthy east districts.

"I've lived in that estate for the first thirteen years of my life. I've watched the leaders of my clan make foot soldiers out of the Norman families who lived and worked at our estate. The leaders of my clan were loyal to the Kingdom, and often supplied its ranks with specially trained infantry—but few of those soldiers ever came from the clan itself. Most of them came from the families who served us.

"One of those Norman families were the Cromwells, a peasant family from Al de Baran. Many of the Cromwell family members were recruited into service during the Dune Wars—and most were killed in action, including… both of Kyle's parents.

"Kyle's mom and dad were Kusanagi-trained Knights who fought on the Morroc front. Kyle and I were only ten years old when news of their deaths came. Back then, we were being prepared to take non-military courses in the Training Grounds, but as the ranks of the Prontera Army dwindled, both Kyle and I were told that we'd undertake combat training when we turned fourteen.

"They were going to turn us into soldiers. We couldn't believe it.

"Kyle and I were best friends back then. When no one was watching, we'd often sneak out of the estate to play and talk about what we wanted to do with our lives. I've always wanted to be either an Architect or a Writer, and Kyle had dreams about owning his own farming estate, helping other peasant families like his make a living. But we both shared a distaste for swordfighting—both of us hoped that we'd never have to pick up a sword in our lifetimes.

"And, in the blink of an eye, the Dune Wars changed all of that for us.

"I entered the Academy when we turned thirteen. I took up Architecture while he continued working at our estate. We saw less of each other during the day, but I always made it a point to talk to him every night before I sneaked into our mansion.

"We both knew that me taking up Architecture was only to keep me busy. In one more year, our lives would be changed forever—and that's when we decided to take things into our own hands.

"A few months before our military training was to start, we made a promise to each other—that one night in July, when the moon was full, we'd sneak out of our estate and run away together. I'd take a small portion of the family fortune, and he'd take his parents' death gratuities, and we'd run away to Al de Baran to start our lives away from my family's chains. Kyle and I were so enthralled by the idea of living together that before we knew it, we had become sweethearts. We pledged our lives to that promise.

"But when that night came, when I promised to meet him at Prontera's North Gate so we could hitch a ride to Al de Baran, when all my things were packed, when everyone in the estate was asleep and I was ready to sneak out to freedom…

"I couldn't do it!

"It was raining. It was dark, and it was cold. I stood there, at our mansion's back porch, for the longest time. The outside world had never looked so scary before. In the end, I couldn't muster the courage to take one step off the porch.

"I ran back into our mansion, locked the door to my bedroom, and threw my farewell notes to the fire. Then I crept into the warmth of my bed, wishing for the most naïve things—that Kyle would still be in the estate the next morning, or that he went on ahead to Al de Baran and would just write her a letter when he got there.

"I never heard about Kyle again until a few months later. I realized that he had waited for me at the North Gate, under the cold rain, until several hours past midnight. When the City Guards tried to take him in for breaking curfew, he vehemently refused to move from our designated meeting point. That was when Kyle defended himself, putting two of the City Guards in the hospital before he was caught and arrested. He then spent several weeks languishing in juvenile hall.

"I never felt so guilty in my life. I ran away from our estate by myself later, just before my military training was about to start. But instead of going to Al de Baran, I decided to duck into a dorm here in the Training Grounds and continue studying Architecture in secret. Here, I could try to forget about everything.

"Later, I heard rumors that Balthesar Yeary, the Shadow Arts scholastic, found Kyle after he spent some time in juvenile hall. The scholar paid a large amount for Kyle's freedom and took him under his wing. Soon after, I also heard that he was studying somewhere in the Training Grounds—I didn't want to believe the rumors, but I was so scared that I shifted to a Literature course to be on the safe side. I wanted to hide, Shin-ju. I really did. I wanted so much to forget.

"Since that day I broke my promise, I haven't heard about Kyle or seen him until… until last week, when he met us in the woods."

Ayame stifled a sniff, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "He has every reason to hate me, I admit that," she whimpered. "After all, I broke my promise, making him go through all that shit in juvenile hall. But why is he picking on you? Shin-ju, I'm so sorry… maybe it would've been better if we never met. This is all my fault."

Ayame took a moment to muster the strength to face Shin-ju again. When she saw his face, his empty gray eyes looked straight into hers—the stare seemed to pierce her skin and peered into her soul. Ayame felt naked and exposed as she held the Nomad boy's searching gaze for what seemed to be an eternity.

"We promise because we hope," Shin-ju finally uttered. "We fail because we fear."

Ayame furrowed her eyebrows at him, her lips parted in deep attention.

Shin-ju turned his eyes to the ceiling and let loose a long, deep breath. "You and I are the same, Yami," the Nomad boy intoned finally. "The Dune Wars forced us to make difficult decisions. It wasn't your fault. And I don't care what anyone says—no one should be forced to make life-changing decisions at thirteen."

Ayame bit her lip, laughing a little as she turned away.

"You're one to speak, Shin-ju," she muttered. "If the stories you told us were true, you started wandering the Desert at ten."

A pause.

"That was different," Shin-ju answered dreamily. "I hadn't a choice to begin with."

Suddenly, Shin-ju painfully sat up on the sofa. "But now, I do."

Ayame looked on, stunned, as Shin-ju got to his feet and reached for his backpack on the coffee table.

"Wha… what are you doing?" she asked, alarmed.

"I'm getting to the bottom of this," he answered, taking the sandwich she had made for him. "I'm paying a visit to Kyle… and this Balthesar Yeary."

"What?" she yelped. "Right now?"

At that moment, the bell for the first period tolled over the halls.

Shin-ju shook his head, laughing a bit. "After class," he answered, raising a finger as though acknowledging the school bell. "And after we finish the drafts for the Visor. If you've forgotten, the presses are expecting the layouts by Monday."

Ayame stared at Shin-ju in disbelief. Then she turned to the unfinished drafts on his desk. He was right—in her weeklong absence, she had allowed their work on the Visor to fall behind schedule.

"I can't believe you, Shin-ju," Ayame sighed. "After all that shit you went through last night, you're still going to class?"

Shin-ju shrugged, slowly swallowing a mouthful of bread. "I can't skip classes on scholarship," he answered. "And it's not like they'll believe me if I told them three Assassins attacked me last night. I guess I haven't a choice in this matter, either."

"Tsk," Ayame expressed her disapproval. "Damn it, Shin-ju. I told you not to kill yourself by playing hero for me."

The Nomad boy looked at the girl's form, kneeling on the floor by the sofa, her face turned away from him. He smiled, thinking of a way to make her feel better. He sat back down on the sofa and placed two fingers under her chin.

"Hey," he said comfortingly. "If it makes you feel better, will you do something for me?"

Ayame turned to look at him, feeling the rough skin on his hand press against her smooth cheek. He looked terrible, but his gray eyes stared at hers without blinking, and his smile was as comforting as it ever was. She felt her resentment and weakness melting away in his touch—the same touch that did away with her weariness only one week ago, when she and he shared their first embrace amidst the quiet whispers of the pines.

She smiled at him in return, tenderly rubbing her cheek against his hand. "Sure," she replied. "Anything."

•••

The day moved very slowly for Shin-ju, who spent much of the schoolday at his desk with his face buried in his arms. His fever had not let up at all, and he couldn't wait until the final period was over. That was the reason why his head shot out from under his sleeves when the afternoon's final bell tolled over the Academy halls—that was the only time since the day's first bell that he had paid much attention to anything going on around him.

As his classmates lunged for the doors, excited at the prospect of having the entire weekend to themselves, Shin-ju painfully got up to his feet. He pulled the zipper up on Ayame's gray jacket, which the girl had lent him earlier, and slung his backpack over his shoulder with a heavy, relieved sigh. He waited till the last of his classmates filed through the door, then proceeded to walk down the center aisle, his eyes downcast.

"Holy hell, Shin-ju. What happened to you?"

Shin-ju looked up with a start. He didn't know what surprised him more—the person who accosted him, or the fact that the words "holy hell" actually came from the mouth of Lara Murakami.

"Lara?" Shin-ju stammered, shaking his head groggily. He thought he must have dozed all throughout the Priestess's Homeroom period. "Sorry, I, uh—I got wet while training in the Blessing Alignment yesterday."

He walked to the door, trying to avoid any further conversation about the cause of his condition, but Lara had already stepped off the instructor's platform and stood in his way.

"Hey, could you wait just a minute?" she complained, hands on hips. "It's been a good few weeks since the last time I took a good look at you. Aren't you the least bit glad to see me?"

Shin-ju shrugged, trying to smile. "Well, here I am," he answered. "Sorry I'm not much to look at, though."

Lara smiled—in the familiar, pouting way that Shin-ju had always found a bit too impish for a daughter of the Church—and placed her hands unexpectedly on the sides of Shin-ju's tan face.

"Here," she intoned, staring straight into his eyes. "Lemme try something."

Shin-ju stood rooted to the spot, held in place by Lara's tiny hands. His eyes moved in all directions, from one of Lara's hands to the other, before hesitantly returning her bespectacled, hazel-brown gaze.

Then, for no apparent reason, Lara bowed her head, auburn strands of hair covering her eyes from Shin-ju's view. She stood in this position for several moments, unmoving.

Shin-ju was mystified by the quaint Priestess's actions, but he remembered the first time he saw her do this. It was on the day they first met, about two months ago in the Constabulary HQ locker room. Back then, he had just greeted Lara, who immediately bowed her head and stood still for several moments.

•••

Shin-ju had also heard her utter three words at that time, though he didn't know what she meant by them. But Shin-ju had shrugged off the curiosity several times since then, convincing himself that there simply was too much about Lara Murakami that he didn't understand.

•••

Suddenly, Lara's hands emitted a pale green glow. Shin-ju couldn't help but close his eyes as a soothing coolness began coursing slowly through his body, starting from his head going down his back, through his limbs, and ultimately reaching his toes and fingertips. He was reveling in Lara's potent Heal spell for the first time, and for a fleeting moment, he tried to put the delightful sensation into words.

Lara beat him to it. "Minty fresh, isn't it?" she commented as she cut off her Heal spell.

Shin-ju was still feeling lightheaded from the effects of the spell. "I… I'm sorry?"

"People tell me my Heal spell is minty," Lara explained, staring at her hand. "I suppose it's a compliment, but actually I think it's more Lavender or Rose. Would be cool to be able to flavor your mana though, wouldn't it? I could use Orange for kids, Chamomile for the old folks… maybe even Vanilla to play it safe…"

Shin-ju shifted his shoulders, feeling much better. The fever was gone. "Unreal," he commented, stretching the muscles on his neck. "Thanks a lot, Lara…"

Suddenly, Lara's hand shot forward and shoved Shin-ju in the chest, knocking the surprised Nomad boy back a step.

"Don't you go thanking me just yet, young man," she deadpanned. "You're hiding something from me."

Shin-ju blinked. "Huh?" he stammered.

"I got wet while in the Blessing Alignment several times in the past, and I know the kinds of fever you can get from it. Yours was not just from training, Shin-ju. And besides…"

Lara's hand shot out again, this time squeezing Shin-ju's shoulder wound. The boy grimaced in pain.

"…You don't get wounds like this training by yourself."

The Priestess released Shin-ju's shoulder, then waited for his explanation. It took the boy a few moments to come up with it.

"All right," Shin-ju confessed, sighing dejectedly. "I was attacked. I defended myself against three thugs while in the rain yesterday."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner, Shin-ju," Lara asked, her voice not in the tone of a question.

Shin-ju glanced at her with a serious look. "You'll hate me for saying this, Lara, but it doesn't concern you," he said. "I can't tell you any more about it."

He made a move for the door, but was stopped by the Priestess's hand yet again.

"And what makes you think I'm gonna let it go at that?"

Exasperated, Shin-ju faced her again. "Lara, I promised someone important that I wouldn't make it any more complicated than it already is," he answered anxiously. "I can't tell you. I keep my promises no matter what the cost. What in the world do you want me to say?"

Lara stared at him blankly for a moment. "Only two months into your scholarship, and you're already keeping secrets from me?"

Shin-ju shrugged and shook his head, trying to find the right words to say.

"Ah, never mind. Forget I asked," the Priestess said, waving her hand. "I'll let this slide, but on one condition."

The boy eyed her curiously. "One condition?"

She nodded. "I'll see you first thing tomorrow morning, you hear me?" she stated sharply, raising a finger. "I saw your name on the Tournament Qualifiers list this morning. Well, gee whiz, Shin-ju, if three thugs managed to beat you up this badly, then you'll be geography in your very first fight."

Shin-ju swallowed goofily. "Uh… don't you mean history?"

"Don't change the subject!" Lara snapped. "Football fields, 8 a.m. sharp. Got that?"

"Yes, Sister!" Shin-ju replied, biting back the urge to grin.

Then, seemingly satisfied, Lara stepped aside, her eyes turned away from him. Shin-ju hurriedly walked past her, exiting the room and leaving the door to swing shut on its own.

Left alone in the classroom, Lara glanced over her shoulder at the closed door. A smile crept onto the Priestess's lips as she thought of a particular line that Shin-ju had said only moments earlier.

"Promises should be kept no matter what the cost, huh?" she muttered dreamily. "Just like you to say something like that…"

•••

Ayame rolled her eyes.

She followed Shin-ju down a beaten path through a densely wooded area in the Training Grounds, feeling the extra weight of her backpack on her shoulders. It was filled with the Visor's drafts and layouts, as well as some powdered coffee, chestnuts, and some food that Shin-ju asked her to buy earlier that day.

"Y'know, Shin-ju," she piped up in feigned enthusiasm, "When you asked me to do something for you, I was sorta expecting something more romantic."

Shin-ju glanced at her. "Gimme a chance, will you, Yami?" he asked, laughing. "Besides, we're already here."

They stopped walking. Ayame raised her eyebrows as Shin-ju pushed open a creaky wrought-iron gate that led to the front steps of a large, weedy two-story building.

"Oh-kaaay," Ayame said, her lips barely moving as she surveyed the crumbling house and the unkempt grounds around it. "What the hell is that?"

"This is my dormitory," Shin-ju explained proudly, hands on hips. "This is where the scholars stay."

"Should've known," she replied disinterestedly, her attention turned instead to a tarnished bronze plaque on one of the gate's pillow blocks. It read:

Dormitory B-7

Curfew: 10:00 p.m.

No ladies allowed inside the building.

Visitors are limited to the porch.

"So we're gonna pull an all-nighter finishing the drafts on the porch?" Ayame deadpanned, eyeing Shin-ju with a hint of dismay. "I don't see how that's supposed to make me feel better."

Shin-ju smiled, as though he fully expected her reaction.

"Tell me, Yami," he began. "What do you think about rules?"

Ayame raised an eyebrow again. "What do I think about rules?" she repeated, unsure what the question meant.

"Yeah," Shin-ju continued. "Do you love 'em, or hate 'em?"

She made a face. "I hate 'em," she replied matter-of-factly, shrugging.

"Why."

Ayame took a deep breath, rolling her eyes to the treetops for a moment. "Because they're no fun?" she answered, her voice in the tone of a question.

At that, Shin-ju glanced at his right forearm and shook it, allowing the sleeve of Ayame's jacket to fall back slightly and reveal the Acolyte's Rosary on his wrist.

"I know exactly how you feel," Shin-ju answered, his eyes on the wooden beads.

Ayame furrowed her brows, wondering if he meant what she thought he meant.

"Follow me," Shin-ju beckoned, heading off towards one side of the house. "I'll show you why I told you to put all that stuff in your backpack."

•••

Off the side of the dormitory, where grass and weeds grew waist-high and trees threw shade over much of the ground, Shin-ju pointed to a second-floor window.

"That's my room," he told Ayame. "I never lock the window."

Ayame watched Shin-ju as the Nomad boy walked towards a nearby tree and climbed onto a low branch. Looking at the tree's other branches, she realized that it was possible for someone to reach Shin-ju's window by climbing the tree.

"You do this all the time?" Ayame asked, walking over to the tree.

"Well, I can't attend class, work on the Visor, and train for the Tournament… and not get back before midnight," Shin-ju explained, his feet on one branch and his hands on another above it. "I learned that the hard way after spending a night on the porch. So that's when I thought about going in this way, instead."

With a smile, Shin-ju offered his hand.

Ayame stared at his hand, then back at his tan face. She furrowed her brows again and tried not to smile.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Shin-ju Yang?" she asked.

"I didn't say anything," Shin-ju shrugged, not missing a beat. "I just said I'd make you feel better."

Ayame glanced between his eyes and his hand a few more times, the smile she was trying to hide slowly emerging. She hesitated for a moment, knowing that she'd be crossing a lot of lines—rules, as Shin-ju had called them—if she decided to take his hand.

But, with a grin, she did anyway.

•••

Shin-ju and Ayame spent the next several hours in the boy's dorm room, furiously proofing articles and laying out the next Visor issue. They pasted the layouts on the wall, marking it vigorously with the articles that were supposed to go in them. Coffee and determination helped them through, and they progressed rapidly.

They divided the articles to be proofed between them. Some of the articles were quite well-written by the contributors, and the two friends took the opportunity to discuss the "finer points" of article writing.

Other articles were really awful, but these were the articles that helped the two friends last the night. They laughed out loud at the bad grammar and punctuation, crossed out redundant sentences with sadistic fervor, and turned the rejects into paper spitballs and playfully threw them at each other and into the small fireplace. In the end, they were forced to reduce the Visor's page count by four due to all the bad articles.

It was almost six in the morning when they finished. They ended up one page short. Both of them sighed heavily as they roasted chestnuts over the fire, the drafts and layouts stacked neatly off to one side of the floor. Two cardboard boxes of food and steaming mugs of hot chocolate sat by their feet.

"One page short," Ayame muttered, yawning. "Saturday today, so we've got 48 hours to fill it somehow, otherwise the presses won't print it… and all our efforts go down the toilet."

Shin-ju nodded, using a knife to slice X's on chestnuts to be roasted. "I'm stumped," he said sleepily. "What do you propose we do?"

"I dunno… I gotta think of something."

There was silence for a few moments. Both of them were sitting on the floor, their backs leaning on Shin-ju's bed. Ayame stared blankly into the fire, where the first batch of chestnuts was roasting in a pan, while Shin-ju readied the second batch.

Her gaze drifted off to the left, towards Shin-ju's bookshelf that stood beside the fireplace. Deciding to do something to keep from falling asleep, she got up and walked towards it.

Shin-ju's eyes followed her, but he didn't stop working on the chestnuts.

"Hm," Ayame muttered as her fingers moved over the spines of several Norse Mythology books on the shelf. "I didn't know were a reader."

A sound of amusement escaped Shin-ju's lips. "It's the reason I joined the Lit Club," the boy replied. "I expected more reading and less proofreading, though."

The girl laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you, Shin-ju," she casually apologized.

"Who said I was disappointed?"

Ayame was about to pull out a book when she heard this, and slowly turned to look over her shoulder. Shin-ju's eyes were turned to hers, and the Nomad boy was smiling. She couldn't help but smile back, then quickly turn back to the bookshelf.

It took a moment for the butterflies in her stomach to settle down. Then she took one of the books from the shelf and opened it to page 1.

"So you're into Mythology, huh?" she ventured as she flipped through a chapter about the Norse god-king, Odin.

"Nah, just Norse," Shin-ju said, dumping a handful of chestnuts into a pan.

"Don't you find Norse Mythology a bit weird though?" Ayame asked as she reached a chapter about the three Norns. "I mean… weirder than the other World Myths, that is."

Shin-ju smiled as he set the pan over the fire. "On the contrary," he answered. "I like Norse Mythology better for two reasons. One, I like the happy ending. And two…"

"Happy ending? Are you kidding me?" Ayame scoffed as she read through a page that Shin-ju appeared to have dog-eared some time in the past. "Haven't you heard of the One Who Waits?"

Shin-ju got up and easily started walking towards her. "…and two," he continued, "it's cool being part of the story."

Ayame furrowed her brow. She turned around and faced Shin-ju with a look that said 'What the hell are you talking about?'

Shin-ju took the book from her hands. "Tell me," he said, eyeing the chapter head. "What do you know about the One Who Waits?"

Ayame took a moment to give Shin-ju a quizzical look. Then she decided to humor him.

"Not too much," she said, stepping closer to read the book with Shin-ju. "Just that it's a mythical being meant to either save or destroy the world at the end of time. Norse Mythology doesn't have a happy ending… it still depends on what the One Who Waits does at the end of everything."

Shin-ju nodded. "Pretty good," he said. "But do you know what it looks like?"

She looked up at him with another searching gaze, but couldn't answer.

"Here's the thing," Shin-ju explained. "The Old Norse writers were really particular about appearances. They'd go through chapters and chapters about what their heroes looked like, of what they were wearing, of how their great halls shone like the sun… but when it comes to the One Who Waits, they never mention any physical description of it. It's just a being. Nothing more."

Ayame listened for a few moments, then shrugged. "So?"

"So I'm thinking," the boy continued, "that the One Who Waits is someone that the world has never seen before, some… some anomaly or freak of nature, or… or an outcast. Something like that."

A smile crept over an edge of her lips. "And… you… think that it's you," she concluded.

"It's a theory," Shin-ju jested, leaning in. "I mean, how can a Nomad have blue hair? Or maybe, how can a Norman have perpetually tan skin? Or where've you seen gray eyes before?"

At that, Ayame's hand slowly reached up and touched his cheek

"Gray eyes," Ayame repeated, smiling as she turned his face for a better look at his eyes. "I just realized I've never taken a good look at them before now. They're… strange. They're not even gray, they're almost white. And they're… they're all iris, no pupil."

Ayame sighed heavily, suddenly feeling the fatigue of the sleepless night set in.

"What the hell are you, Shin-ju Yang," she whispered dreamily, setting her hand on his shoulder.

Shin-ju shrugged, smiling.

"I'm a creature of myth," he answered, running his fingers along her upper arm.

Ayame laughed softly. "The One Who Waits," she whispered. "And I'm in his piece-o'-crap dorm room."

He laughed with her. "You don't believe me, do you," he ventured.

"Not really," she answered very quietly, her hand sliding from his shoulder to his chest. "It's just that if you were the One Who Waits… then what the hell are you waiting for."

•••

Shin-ju returned her smile. Doing his best to keep from trembling, he leaned in, moving his face closer to hers, his eyes narrowing with the distance between them.

Ayame wanted nothing more than this. She went up on her tiptoes, closing her eyes as she sweetly met his lips with her own.

•••

End of Chapter Thirteen