Eiran didn't answer Violet immediately.
She wiped her hands on a cloth, narrowed her eyes toward the door, and jerked her chin. "Come in, boy."
The door opened.
A tall silhouette squeezed through—and then the light caught his face.
Eivor.
Fourteen. Maybe fifteen if you counted the way he tried to stand taller than he was. Broad shoulders for his age. Messy dark-brown hair. A thin scar across his right cheek that he clearly thought looked cool. Leather straps crossed his chest, holding a wooden training sword and a worn satchel.
His eyes—bright grey, restless—flicked between his mother and Violet.
"Ma, food? You said—"
Eiran thumped a plate into his chest hard enough that he let out a small grunt.
"This is Violet," Eiran said. "She needs an escort."
"What?" Eivor blinked. "…No."
Violet stiffened. "I didn't ask for a partner."
"And I didn't ask for your opinion," Eiran replied without missing a beat. "You said you're going to the Valley of Winds, girl? Three days by foot."
"Yes."
"Eivor's been there before. Knows the safe paths."
"I said no," Eivor repeated, hugging the plate like a shield. "I'm not babysitting."
Violet opened her mouth to refuse again—
—but Eiran casually smacked the back of Eivor's head so hard the boy almost dropped the plate.
"Ma—!"
"Be quiet."
"I'm not taking some kid—"
Another smack. "You are."
"You can't just—"
A third smack. "I can."
Eivor glared at Violet as if this was somehow her fault. "I'm a trainee adventurer. Not—whatever this is."
"You're a child with a wooden sword," Eiran said. "And she's going where armies will march. You escort her."
"I refuse."
Eiran used the plate like a hammer and bonked him on the head so sharply that he stumbled forward and hit the table with a soft thud.
He froze.
Wobbled.
Then… fell face-first into the chair.
Unconscious.
Violet stared.
Eiran handed her the plate he dropped. "Good experience for him."
For a moment Violet said nothing. The world felt oddly light. Strange. Almost… funny.
And then—just a tiny sound escaped her.
A giggle.
Eiran raised an eyebrow. "Something amusing?"
"No," Violet said quickly. "Just… thank you. Really."
"For knocking my son out?"
"For helping me at all."
Eiran crossed her arms. "Why apologize earlier?"
Violet hesitated. Then answered with the lie she'd prepared. "David is my father's friend. He told me your shop was trustworthy."
Eiran's eyes sharpened.
"That's a lie," she said simply. "Not a good habit."
Violet tensed.
But Eiran didn't press. Instead she looked at her long, quiet. As if reading something Violet wasn't saying.
"You have will in your eyes," Eiran said. "A young warrior's will. Hard to find these days."
"…Warrior?" Violet's mouth twisted. "Not yet."
"You will be." Eiran's hand landed on her shoulder with surprising gentleness. "If you're going to the Valley now, it's not for sightseeing. Someone you care about is there?"
Violet paused.
Images flashed—Vael's grin, the tribe's fires, their pride, their downfall.
She forced a smile. "A dear friend."
Eiran nodded once. "Then my son will get you there. Before the army even reaches the pass."
Violet's throat tightened. "Thank you."
"Go to bed," Eiran said. "We leave at dawn."
***
Violet lay on the small cot Eiran provided.
She stared at the ceiling, listening to Eiran drag her unconscious son to his room with no ceremony whatsoever. A thump. A muffled groan. Eiran's muttering. A door slam.
Despite everything, Violet's lips curved.
But the smile didn't last.
Three days.
The army would move within months. The first Princess Conquest. The destruction of Vael's home. The slaughter.
Not again.
She curled onto her side, pressing her hand to the pocket where the white feathers rested.
I'll stop it.
Sleep took her slowly, unevenly.
---
Dawn came cold and sharp.
Eiran was already up, packing food into two small cloth bundles. Dried meat. Hard bread. A jar of something pickled. And a handful of sturdy arrows—shorter than usual, perfect for Violet's bow.
"For you," Eiran said, handing the arrows over. "They suit your size."
Violet ran her fingers along the shaft. "Thank you."
"Pay me back next time you come through," Eiran said. "Assuming you survive."
"I will." Violet spoke...
Eiran gave her a sideways look. "Good."
Eivor stumbled out of his room, hair a mess, still rubbing the sore spot on his head. The moment he saw Violet, he scowled.
"You."
"It wasn't my fault," Violet said.
"You still made her hit me."
"She hit you because you argued."
Eivor opened his mouth, closed it, then grabbed his pack with the dramatics only a teenager could manage.
"Let's get this over with."
Eiran cuffed him lightly again. "Be polite."
"Ma!"
"Go." Eiran stood there waving her hand slightly.
***
They left Greyhollow in a small rented carriage.
Eivor held the reins. Violet sat beside him, cloak tight around her. The morning air bit hard, but the sky was clear.
The road wound between frost-coated trees. Birds scattered as the wheels creaked past. The village shrank behind them.
They traveled quietly at first.
The first hour passed in silence.
The second, too.
By the third, Eivor finally spoke.
"So… who are you really?"
"A traveler." Violet didn't meet his gaze,
"You're lying." Eivor sighed,
"Probably." Violet smiled...
"…Okay then." Eivor smiled back.
They passed families fleeing toward safer towns—faces pale, carts loaded with whatever they could grab.
But there were no tribes near the valley, they were different.
They were in the valley preparing for the war probably, they won't flee...
Violet thoughts about them, how Vael told them.
The ribs knew about the moving army but they decided to fight, instead of moving their people to safety they motivated them to fight...
Violet remembered the anecdote, with her fists tight.
"Pride won't save you." She uttered...
Eivor followed her gaze. "Beastkin don't flee." Eivor realised what Violet was looking at..
"They should." Violet furrowed her brows...
"They won't." Eivor sighed...
"I know," she whispered.
Three days passed like that.
Short breaks. Campfire meals. Eivor complaining about the cold.
Violet hiding the weight in her chest. The closer they came, the heavier the air felt. Even the wind felt like it held its breath.
Finally—
The cliffs rose before them.
Sharp. Tall. Silent.
The border of the Valley of Winds.
But the usual entrance—the carved stone archway Vael once led her through—was deserted.
Not a guard.
Not a torch.
Not a footprint.
Eivor hopped off the carriage and scanned the rocks. "This is bad. If they blocked the entry, nobody's allowed in. We should go."
Violet stepped forward.
"Wait."
"Kid—"
She ignored him.
The wind raked across her face. Icy. Thin. Razor-clean.
She inhaled deeply.
Then yelled—
"In the name of winds from the breath of the ancient Beast-Lord! I seek audience with Da'ar!"
Her voice cracked across the cliffs.
Silence.
Eivor stared at her. "…What was that?"
Violet didn't answer.
The air shifted.
A shadow passed overhead.
Then—
BOOM.
A massive figure slammed into the earth before them, snow exploding outward in a shockwave.
A Beastkin—taller than Garrett, fur dark as storm clouds, fangs glinting.
Eivor stumbled back, hand flying to his sword. "W-wait—!"
The creature crouched low, golden eyes fixed on Violet.
"Who are you," he growled, voice rumbling like rolling thunder,
"…little girl?"