Without warning, Anora turned and ran.
She didn't shout. She didn't cry. She just moved—suddenly, fiercely—her small form darting through the clearing like a dropped ember catching the wind. Her bare feet barely made a sound as they struck root and moss, disturbing nothing but the leaves in her wake.
Gasps erupted from the villagers. Someone shouted in confusion.
"Stop her!" the leader barked, voice sharper than a snapped branch. "Guards—block the path!"
Spears rattled as the soldiers scrambled into motion, stunned by the girl's speed and the sudden chaos.
Haaskin didn't hesitate.
"Anora!" he shouted, already breaking into a sprint. His boots struck hard against the forest floor as he wove through startled villagers, brushing aside woven baskets and ducking under hanging vines.
She was fast—but she was small. She couldn't run forever.
Up ahead, a guard stepped into her path, raising a spear—
"No you don't!" Haaskin growled. He lunged forward, grabbed Anora around the waist just as the spear was hurled. He twisted mid-stride, diving sideways into a tumble. The weapon whistled past his head and buried itself in the moss with a dull thump.
Anora gasped in his arms, clutching his cloak.
"Lead the way!" Haaskin barked as they landed hard, rolling behind a gnarled root.
"Right!" she wheezed. "Then left—past the stone pillar!"
He was on his feet again in seconds, her weight barely slowing him. She was light, like air and tension combined, but determination blazed in her small body. He carried her with practiced strength, legs pounding into the earth.
Behind them, another spear tore through the undergrowth. It grazed his shoulder—just enough to sting, to remind him how close this was.
But he didn't slow down.
Behind them, Oligar had already broken into pursuit. His dark cloak streamed behind him like a shadow's tail, boots thudding in rhythm with Haaskin's. His eyes burned with fury—not at Anora, not even at Haaskin—but at the situation. The rigidity. The stupidity of it all.
Two soldiers gave chase behind him, weapons drawn but unsure of what they were even supposed to be doing.
"This is madness," one of them hissed under his breath, barely loud enough for the other to hear.
"She orders and hides. Doesn't even lift a blade," the second muttered, voice filled with unease.
The first didn't answer. They ran, but doubt was creeping into their steps like cold air into a cracked door.
Branches snapped. Leaves whipped against Haaskin's face. The wind roared louder now, funneled between the tall, ancient trunks. This part of the forest was denser, older, wild with roots that arched like the spines of sleeping beasts.
"How much farther?" he panted.
"Stone pillar should be up ahead—there!" Anora pointed.
A gray monolith jutted from the moss like a half-forgotten memory. They veered left, just as she said.
Haaskin couldn't help but glance down at her. Her face was streaked with dirt, but her eyes shone with something pure and dangerous: defiance. She wasn't scared—she was resolute.
And that scared him more than anything.
He didn't say it aloud, but the thought hit hard in his chest: She's doing this alone. Because nobody stood up for her when it mattered. Because her home turned her away.
Ahead, the trees thinned slightly—a pathway, maybe an old track once used by scouts.
"Almost there," Anora whispered.
Behind them, Oligar was catching up. And behind him, the sounds of pursuit were fading.
Haaskin could hear their heavy breathing. Could feel the eyes of the forest pressing in.
They ran.
Not far—just enough to slip the guards, enough to feel the pull of freedom through the roots and brush. The forest closed around them like a curtain, swallowing the village's shouts.
Shafts of filtered light flickered through the leaves, casting dancing patterns across their path. Every step deeper into the forest muffled the sounds behind them. The cries of the guards faded into rustling leaves and the echo of strained breaths.
Haaskin carried Anora close, dodging low branches and weaving between moss-slick trunks. Oligar trailed behind, silent but fast, one hand on his belt, the other ready to draw if needed.
"I know the way," Anora said breathlessly. "Follow the stream—past the red stone."
They turned sharply, boots splashing through shallow water. Trees parted ahead, revealing a crooked trail littered with dry leaves and old memories. Haaskin didn't speak—he just followed her lead.
It was quieter now. The only sound was their breathing and the crunch of twigs underfoot. No more shouting behind them.
"Just a few minutes," Anora muttered. "Please let him still be awake…"
Within minutes, the trees gave way to familiar ground—an overgrown path leading to a hut tucked into the hillside. Smoke drifted lazily from the chimney. Lantern light flickered through the window.
The nurse was outside, rinsing cloths in a basin. Her eyes widened when she saw them. She stepped forward, confused. "Anora? You can't be—"
Anora didn't slow. She bolted from Haaskin's arms and rushed past the nurse, into the hut without a word.
The nurse made to follow, but Haaskin stepped forward and placed a steady hand on her shoulder. She froze.
He shook his head gently. "Let her have this."
The nurse hesitated, eyes flicking toward the doorway. Inside, muffled sobs had begun.
"She's not supposed to be—" the nurse whispered.
"She's supposed to be with her father," Haaskin said. "And right now, that's all that matters."
The nurse looked at him for a moment longer, then slowly stepped back. No protest. Just silence.
Inside, Anora knelt by the bed, her small hand clasped in her father's frail one. His chest rose and fell slowly, eyes fluttering open with effort.
"Dad… I came back," she whispered.
A weak smile curved his lips. "I knew you would."
Outside, Haaskin stood still, watching the door.
Oligar came up beside him, quiet. "We'll have to move soon."
"I know," Haaskin said.
But not yet.
Behind them, the forest was still. No guards. No leader. Just trees, wind, and breath.
Let them wait.
Let the girl have her moment.
The forest listened. But for now, it said nothing.