Nightfall draped the forest in a quiet hush. One prince sat perched on a log, the other crouched nearby—grilling their unexpected dinner over a fire.
Octavio stretched his arms and said with a half-tired grin,
"What a day. It's only our first night, and here we are—roasting bunny meat we didn't even hunt. Looks like we won't be short on food in the future."
Fabale chuckled,
"Oi, Octavio. Don't get too comfortable. This was pure luck. From tomorrow on, food won't come hopping to our fire—we'll have to earn it."
Then he glanced over and raised a brow,
"But what are you scribbling there?"
Octavio held up the page with a smirk.
"Writing. About our journey. How could I not document the legendary courage of the Prince of Rala—who stood frozen with a sword in hand... as a bunny launched its deadly attack! Ha ha ha..."
Fabale narrowed his eyes and replied dryly,
"Oh really? Then make sure you also note the valiant Crown Prince of Obelion—who bravely slashed with his eyes shut and somehow didn't stab me instead."
The two burst into laughter, their teasing echoing lightly through the trees.
After the meal, they lay down beside the dying fire—backs on soft earth, eyes turned skyward. Through a lattice of branches, stars blinked softly. The wind whispered through the leaves, and the forest sang its night song—gentle rustles, distant hoots, and the chirp of crickets.
A quiet peace settled between the two princes, cloaked in warmth, mischief, and moonlight.
The two princes slowly drifted into quiet, a faint crunch of leaves stirred the air.
A shadow passed.
Silent. Swift.
Neither Octavio nor Fabale noticed it fully—just the faintest whisper of movement. A tall silhouette, blurred by the firelight, moved between the trees near their resting place.
For a fleeting moment, the flickering flames cast the figure's shadow across their faces—long and shifting—then it vanished into the forest.
The wind rustled again, as if nothing had happened.
But the forest had seen.
Something—or someone—was watching.
Morning light trickled through the trees, golden rays dancing over leaves and sleeping forms.
Fabale stirred, feeling something warm—and oddly sticky—on his cheek. Something soft brushed his face.
Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes.
Bang!
A silent scream escaped him.
A wild cat was perched beside him, casually licking his face like it owned the forest—and him. With Fabale's sudden jolt, the cat yelped and leapt back, clearly more frightened than he was.
"A wild cat...?!" Fabale blinked, stunned.
He turned to wake Octavio—only to pause mid-reach with another silent gasp.
"What the hell... What happened to your face, Octavio?!"
Octavio sat there miserably. His face and hands were covered in red marks—angry, swollen mosquito bites. The dark circles under his eyes told the rest of the story.
He hadn't slept a wink.
"How could you sleep through that?" Octavio grumbled. "Didn't the mosquitoes bite you?"
Fabale smirked, unbothered. "Mosquitoes must have fallen in love with you, Octavio. There's a saying—they only drink blood from people they adore."
Octavio narrowed his eyes. "Nonsense. It's you. You sent them to assassinate me in my sleep… You, the Mosquito King!"
Their laughter echoed through the trees, even the startled cat peeking from behind a bush as if to silently judge them both.
After the chaotic cat and mosquito morning, the two princes ate their leftover grilled bunny—now cold but still edible. With full stomachs and sore legs, they resumed their journey through the forest.
Three days passed.
Three long, muddy, mosquito-filled days.
They tried to hunt wild animals. Tried—being the keyword. Every creature seemed to escape with ease.
"They're smarter than me," Octavio muttered one evening, sitting empty-handed beside a smoldering fire. "Even the squirrels sense danger better than I do…"
One afternoon, Fabale slipped in a patch of thick mud. The look on his face—wide-eyed horror, complete disbelief, and immediate regret—was, according to Octavio, a masterpiece. It kept Octavio laughing for an hour straight.
Sometimes they were lucky and found edible fruits. And gradually, Octavio began to notice something: Fabale had a gift.
He could identify plants without hesitation. He'd know which leaves could be chewed, which berries to avoid, which bark soothed pain. He even created a paste from wild herbs that protected Octavio from mosquito bites. A miracle, considering Octavio still bore the trauma from that first night.
Their only problem now?
Their smell.
Days of sweat, mud, crushed herbs, and failed hunting made their combined body odor almost unbearable. Even standing a few feet apart, they groaned at each other's scent.
One evening, as they sat beneath a tree catching their breath, Octavio asked, "Do you love botany? You really seem to know a lot about plants."
Fabale paused, his eyes fixed on the canopy above. Then he smiled—gentle, but with something hidden in it.
"I learned from my mother," he said softly.
"Oh… she must've been a genius," Octavio replied with sincerity.
Fabale didn't say anything else.
And Octavio didn't press further. He knew. Fabale's mother—Queen Evelyne, the second queen of Rala—had died of illness when Fabale was just thirteen. Since then, Fabale had grown distant, quieter… almost hollow.
That was why King Raymond had sent him to Obelion under the guise of a diplomatic delegation. To give him space. A new start.
Now, in this silent forest, Fabale was slowly finding pieces of himself again—one herb, one bruise, one laugh at a time.
And Octavio was quietly witnessing it.