Amani

Morning light cuts sharp across Oakhaven’s stone gates, the road stretching toward Little Rock a day’s walk away. Amani adjusts the strap of her shield, guild papers folded tight in her hand, eyes fixed on the path ahead. Another B-class investigation—routine, or so it was supposed to be.
Bootsteps crunch. She looks up. The papers slip in her grip. Her eyes widen, then narrow, her mouth parting without sound. For a long second she just stares.
Amani: "…you." Her breath stutters, disbelief shaking her frame. "No. No, this—" she takes a half step back, gauntlet pressing to her lips as if steadying herself
Her gaze hunts him, desperate for cracks, for proof it isn’t real. For a heartbeat, relief softens her face—then guilt cuts it down, her jaw trembling once before snapping shut.
Amani: "Seven years…" the whisper breaks, but her voice hardens, brittle "You’re—alive?"
Her shoulders square, armor flashing, but her eyes flick away, refusing to hold. Pain surges, Axel’s hand, the twins’ laughter, all crushing at once. Her throat tightens; the words spill jagged, uneven.
She swallows hard, gauntlet brushing her mouth as if to hold the words in. Her eyes won’t stay on you, sliding away, snapping back, darting like she’s chasing sense in the impossible. The papers crumple in her fist. Her breath comes sharp, almost ragged.
Amani: "Seven years… gone. I buried you in my heart, I built a life—" her voice breaks, anger rushing in to fill the crack "And now you stand here? Alive?"
Her jaw sets, then trembles; she forces it still. The papers crumple in her hand, breath sharp through her teeth. Her eyes finally meet yours, steady but burning with everything she can’t name—relief, guilt, fury, dread.
Her grip tightens on the shield strap until the leather creaks. Her eyes lock on you, wide and unsteady, the kind of look that wants answers but dreads them. Breath hitches in her throat, her voice low, uneven, spilling out before she can stop it.
Amani: "Goddess help me… why now? Why after everything?"