After the battle, the goblins had retreated, leaving behind whatever they had dropped in their haste.
The injured knight, along with Vaelira, was taken inside the caravan, laid down gently onto the benches to rest and recover.
The knights had completely forgotten their original task—to arrest Solas and Rowena. But after everything the pair had done, especially Solas, who had contributed exponentially to their survival, admiration quietly replaced duty.
Rowena remained inside, tending to Vaelira and the injured knight. Meanwhile, Solas stood outside with the other knights as they finally gathered around to introduce themselves.
One of them stepped forward, ears perked in excitement. She had pink cat ears with soft white furnishing, long pink hair streaked with strands of white, and a tail with a white tip. Her yellowish eyes shimmered with energy.
Her tail swayed side to side as she looked up at Solas. "My name is Lyssa, but you can call me Ly~," she said with a grin, slipping her arm around his. "That was so cool, what you did back there! We should hang out and work together!"
"Lyssa." A soft, but firm voice called her name.
"Nya~?" Lyssa turned her head toward the knight who'd spoken, curling her fingers like a cat paw and playfully pretending to claw at her. "Relaxxx, Elira," she teased before glancing back at Solas. "You don't mind, right?"
Solas gave a gentle smile and reached out, patting her head. "Not at all," he said in a calm, kind tone.
Lyssa froze—ears stiffening, tail suddenly alert. "Nya?!"
The other knights looked on, visibly surprised. But before any could speak, Lyssa let out a soft, content purr.
"Mmm~ So soft and warm…" she murmured as her ears drooped in bliss. Then, just as quickly, she pulled her head away and stood upright again, ears snapping back up as she tried to compose herself, returning focus to the matter at hand.
"Right!" Lyssa clapped a fist into her open palm, then spun around dramatically and pointed toward another knight. "Like you heard earlier—this is Elira!"
Elira had long, straight, deep violet hair tied into a high ponytail, and pale lavender eyes that glimmered like glass under moonlight. Her armor was flawlessly polished, every plate in perfect place, and beneath her left eye was a small, clean scar—proof of experience.
With arms crossed, she gave a soft wave. "Hello. You did good out there," she said with a calm, composed smile.
Solas nodded, returning it with a faint smile of his own. "Thank you."
Lyssa twirled back toward another girl and extended her hand again. "This is Nyra!"
Nyra's fiery red-orange bob-cut was messy, with even bangs and a few loose strands falling over her face. Her emerald green eyes were sharp, bright, and full of fire. Her armor bore the signs of her wild fighting style—scorch marks, dents, and a bandolier of knives slung across her chest, some of them clearly missing.
She waved with both hands, grinning from ear to ear. "You are so cool! We should really fight someday—it would be awesome!" She clenched her fists close to her face in excitement, practically vibrating with energy. Easily the loudest of the group.
"And finally—" Lyssa gestured to the last girl, "we have Mirell."
Mirell had sleek, silvery-white hair that hung to her shoulders, one side covering an eye. The other, visible eye was a piercing dark gold, feline in shape and always alert, always watching. Her armor was more streamlined than the others', with subtle engraved runes along her left shoulder plate—easy to miss if you weren't looking closely.
She said nothing. She just stared.
So she was the one pushing me constantly… Solas recognized her energy now that he was seeing her face.
Lyssa chuckled softly. "She doesn't talk much, but when she does, she always says something cool~!"
"With all that out of the way," Lyssa chimed, her tail swaying eagerly, "let's start cleaning up the bodies~!" She spun on her heel and led the way to the front of the Caravan.
Nyra lit up, fists pumping in the air. "I definitely can carry the most!" she shouted, racing after Lyssa with a grin.
Elira let out a soft sigh, shaking her head as she followed. Mirell, silent as ever, walked after them without a word.
As they walked, Lyssa slowed her pace until she was beside Solas. She looked up at him, her yellow eyes gleaming. "Later… please pat my head again~" Her voice dipped into a soft purr, her tail flicking slowly with anticipation. Then, just as quick, she scampered off to rejoin the others.
They stepped past several fallen goblins before arriving at the front of the Caravan—where the driver still sat, her hands covering her face, trembling from the trauma.
Nearby, the lifeless orange-haired girl lay on the ground, her body mangled from being flung into the Caravan. The sight made Lyssa's ears droop, her tail stilling. "So sad…"
The knights stood in silence, some somber, others unreadable—accustomed to the ugliness of death.
Solas stared down at the girl, his face unreadable. He didn't flinch or frown, simply looked, as if trying to feel something but coming up empty. He had seen too much to be shocked… or maybe he was just used to not feeling anything at all.
Nyra broke the moment with a shrug. "Welp." She bent down, closed the girl's eyes, and hoisted the body up without much ceremony.
"W-What are you doing?!" Lyssa snapped, her tail bristling.
"What? I'm gonna bury her."
"You can't just do that!!"
"Enough, you two," Elira said firmly, her voice calm but commanding. "Take her over there, gently. We'll lay the others down properly too." She gestured to a quiet area just off the road.
Mirell glanced at Solas as she turned. "Come on."
But before he could move, a familiar voice called out to him—soft and hesitant.
"S-Solas… um, Miss Vaelira wants you…"
He turned to Rowena standing there, visibly nervous, her voice barely above a whisper. She clearly didn't enjoy raising it.
Solas gave a nod, glancing once toward Mirell—already gone—before making his way back toward the Caravan.
Rowena stood near the entrance to inside of the Caravan, fidgeting her fingers some, "S-She want's to speak to you one-on-one."
"Very well." Solas then stepped inside of the Caravan.
Stepping into the Caravan, he was greeted the the smell of blood, the sound of soft breathing. To his right the wounded knight laid down still, her breathing steady with her eyes closed.
Her armor had been taken off and wrapped with bandages where she had taken blows at with some of her blood smearing through it.
To his left Vaelira was sitting up leaning against the wall of the Caravan looking down before turning her head towards Solas.
"Close the door some," Vaelira called out, the door soon moved slowly behind Solas until leaving a crack to where just enough light could shine through into the room.
There was no point in really closing the door for it was broken when the goblins had broken into it when Solas and Rowena were still held captive in it.
If it wasn't for Solas quick thinking and movement, they would have been dead when the two goblins had entered the room, they had charged at Solas but he had made quick work of them.
Solas glanced at Vaelira, already calculating the reason for her request. Praise? Gratitude? A political overture? He doubted it was out of sentiment, but it was a possibility. People in power didn't move without purpose—and neither did he. Whatever this was, he'd listen. And if it offered him leverage, he'd use it.
She patted down on the bench indicating for him to sit down next to her to which he did. He slowly lowered himself down before turning his direction back towards Vaelira.
Vaelira took a quiet breath, gathering her thoughts before speaking in a clear tone. "I'd like to thank you for what you did back there." She paused, glancing down, then met his gaze again. "And… I have a few questions for you. If you wouldn't mind answering them."
Solas offered a soft smile, his tone calm but unreadable. "You may."
"I'd like to know who taught you those swordsmanship skills."
"Myself," he replied flatly.
Vaelira blinked. She looked genuinely taken aback. His fighting style was unlike anything she'd seen—and the fact he'd taught himself was, frankly, absurd.
But it was true. Back on Earth, he had practiced many things—fencing among them. He'd excelled easily in nearly everything he attempted. And perhaps that was the problem. Mastery came too quickly. The world became dull. Meaningless.
"It doesn't add up…" she murmured. "Rowena said you told her you were a fashion designer, but then there's your combat ability." Her ears drooped slightly, her mind working to piece the contradictions together—until Solas spoke again, breaking her train of thought.
"I am a very ambitious man," he said, voice smooth. "I strive to excel at everything I do."
"I have a question for you as well."
Vaelira's ears perked slightly. "What is it?"
He studied her face with unreadable calm. "Are your ears sensitive to touch?"