The wind rustled through the park, carrying the scent of wet earth and distant rain. The sky, once bright and clear, now carried the colours of an impending storm — soft greys mixing into the golden hues of the setting sun. He sat on the same bench, as he always did, his fingers loosely intertwined, his gaze lost in the world beyond the tangible.

She was late today.

It wasn’t like her. For the past few weeks, she had been as constant as the setting sun, her presence an unshaken force despite his indifference. But now, the place felt… oddly empty.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips. It was none of his concern. He wasn’t attached to her — at least, that’s what he told himself. But an unfamiliar weight pressed against his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

And then, just as he convinced himself that he didn’t care, a voice broke through his thoughts.

“Sorry, sorry! I got caught up in something!”

He turned slightly, just enough to catch her in his peripheral vision. She was breathless, her hair a little messier than usual, and she held a small paper bag in her hands. She plopped down beside him, her usual carefree energy unwavering.

“I brought food this time. Since you always ignore the ice cream,” she declared, pulling out two neatly wrapped sandwiches. “You can’t refuse this one. It’s warm, and I bet you haven’t eaten anything all day.”

He didn’t respond. He never did, not in ways she wanted. But today was different. Today, she had been missing, and for the first time in a long time, he had noticed the absence of someone.

She unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite. “Mmm… worth running all the way here for.”

He glanced at the sandwich she had placed beside him. For a moment, he considered pushing it away. But instead, he let it sit there. He wouldn’t eat it, but he wouldn’t reject it either.

She didn’t seem to mind his silence. She never did. But this time, after a few minutes of peaceful chewing, she tilted her head at him with a curious expression.

“You know… you never ask me anything,” she mused. “Not about my name, my job, or why I keep coming back to annoy you.”

He remained still.

“Don’t you ever wonder?”

“No”, he answered simply.

She huffed. “Cold as ever.”

Silence settled between them again, but it was never awkward with her. It was a strange kind of comfort, something he hadn’t experienced in centuries.

Then, she sighed dramatically. “Fine. Since you’re never going to ask, I’ll just tell you.” She turned slightly to face him. “My name is — ”

But before she could finish, something snapped within him.

The world around him blurred, the colours fading into something colder, something older. His breath hitched; his fingers clenched.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

A past life. A forgotten memory.

Flames roared around him, smoke curling into the night sky as screams of the dying filled the air. His hands were stained with blood — some of it his, most of it not. Bodies lay scattered across the battlefield, their eyes empty, their lives taken by his sword.

And there she was.

Her hair was wild, her clothes torn, but she stood tall, unwavering. In her grasp was a dagger, gleaming under the fire’s light. Her eyes — those damn eyes — bore into him with rage and sorrow, hatred and something else. Something unspoken.

“You killed them all,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “My people, my family… You killed them all.”

He remained silent. There was nothing to say.

She took a step closer, the dagger trembling in her grip. “Do you feel nothing?”

He did. He felt everything. The weight of every life taken; every scream silenced. But he had long since stopped showing it. There was no point.

She let out a hollow laugh. “You and I… we were supposed to be — ”

She never finished.

He never let her.

His sword moved before she could strike, piercing through her as effortlessly as slicing through the wind. Her body jolted, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. She stared at him — wide-eyed, betrayed, broken.

He caught her before she fell, his arms wrapping around her as the warmth of her blood seeped into his skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Not in this life.”

Her lips parted, as if to say something, but no words came. And then, the light faded from her eyes.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

He gasped, the memory yanking him back into the present. His body was rigid, his breath unsteady.

The girl beside him — her — was still speaking, oblivious to the war raging inside him.

“…so, yeah. That’s my name,” she finished with a small smile. “Now you can’t say you don’t know anything about me.”

He turned to her fully for the first time.

She looked the same. She sounded the same. But she couldn’t be, could she? Not after what he had done. Not after he had taken her life in a past long buried.

Yet, here she was.

Smiling at him.

Alive.

And completely unaware that once, in a life now lost to time, he had been the reason for her death.

For the first time in his 17 lives, he felt something close to fear.