Night settled over the forest like a soft, heavy blanket.
After the attack in the Hollow Pass, Kaela and Aric had ridden until the mist thinned and the trees opened into a small clearing. A stream cut through the grass, its surface reflecting the pale shimmer of the twin moons. It was quiet here—too quiet, Kaela thought—but after the chaos of the day, she welcomed the stillness.
She knelt by the stream, washing the blood from her blade. The cold water stung her fingers, grounding her. She focused on the familiar rhythm: dip, wipe, polish. A ritual she'd done a thousand times. A ritual that kept her steady.
Behind her, she heard Aric tending to the horses. He moved with a calm efficiency that didn't match the image of a timid scholar. She didn't know what he was, but she knew what he wasn't.
And that unsettled her more than the Mistfangs ever could.
"You're hurt," Aric said quietly.
Kaela didn't look up. "It's nothing."
"You were limping."
"It's nothing," she repeated, sharper this time.
Silence followed. Not offended silence—thoughtful silence. She hated that she could tell the difference.
Aric approached, stopping a few steps behind her. She felt his presence before she heard him kneel. He didn't reach for her. Didn't crowd her. Just waited.
Kaela exhaled slowly. "A scratch on my thigh. The beast grazed me."
"May I see?"
She stiffened. "No."
"Kaela," he said gently, "if it's deeper than you think, it could fester. We're days from the nearest outpost."
She hated that he was right. Hated even more that his voice—steady, warm, patient—made her chest tighten in a way she didn't understand.
With a reluctant sigh, she shifted, pulling up the fabric of her trousers just enough to reveal the wound. A long, shallow gash, still oozing slightly.
Aric leaned closer, but not too close. "May I?"
She hesitated, then nodded.
His fingers brushed her skin—light, careful, almost reverent. Kaela's breath caught. She told herself it was because of the sting, not the warmth of his touch.
"You fought well today," he murmured.
"I always fight well."
"I know." His voice softened. "But today… you fought for me."
Kaela's jaw tightened. "I fought because I don't leave people behind."
"That's not what I meant."
She didn't answer. Couldn't.
Aric cleaned the wound with water from the stream, then tore a strip from his cloak to wrap it. His movements were precise, practiced. Not the hands of a scholar.
"You've done this before," she said quietly.
"A few times."
"For research?"
A faint smile touched his lips. "Something like that."
She wanted to press him. Wanted to demand the truth. But something in his expression—tired, guarded, almost fragile—stopped her.
Instead, she asked, "Why did the Mistfang listen to you?"
Aric paused, tying the bandage. "Some creatures respond to tone. To intent."
"That wasn't tone," she said. "You spoke a language."
He didn't deny it. "Old tongue."
"Where did you learn it?"
He hesitated. "My… mentor taught me."
Kaela studied him. His eyes were distant, shadowed by something she couldn't name. Loss, maybe. Or guilt. Or both.
"You lost someone," she said softly.
Aric's hands stilled. For a moment, he didn't breathe.
"Yes," he whispered. "I did."
She waited, giving him space. She didn't know why. She wasn't the kind of person who offered comfort. She wasn't the kind who asked for it either.
But tonight felt different.
Aric sat back, gaze drifting to the stream. "He was the closest thing I had to family. He taught me everything—how to read the old scripts, how to survive in the wild, how to… see the world with more than just my eyes."
Kaela listened, surprised by how easily he spoke. As if the words had been waiting for someone to hear them.
"He died protecting me," Aric continued. "And I couldn't save him."
His voice cracked on the last word. Barely. But Kaela heard it.
She swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."
He looked at her, and for the first time since they met, she saw the truth beneath his calm exterior. Not arrogance. Not mystery.
Loneliness.
"You don't have to be," he said. "Everyone loses someone."
Kaela's chest tightened. "Not everyone loses everything."
Aric's expression softened. "You did."
She didn't know how he knew. She didn't ask.
The fire crackled beside them, casting warm light across his face. He looked younger like this. Human. Breakable.
Kaela turned away, staring at the flames. "My village burned when I was sixteen. I was the only one who survived."
Aric's breath hitched. "Kaela…"
"Don't," she said, voice steady but brittle. "I don't need pity."
"I wasn't offering pity."
She looked at him then. Really looked.
His eyes held no pity. Only understanding. And something else—something she didn't want to name.
"Loss shapes us," he said quietly. "But it doesn't have to define us."
Kaela let out a bitter laugh. "Easy to say."
"Hard to believe," he agreed. "But still true."
They sat in silence, the fire crackling between them. The night air was cold, but Kaela felt strangely warm. Not from the flames.
From him.
Aric leaned back on his hands, gazing up at the sky. "The moons are bright tonight."
Kaela followed his gaze. The twin moons hung low, their light silvering the clearing.
"When I was a child," Aric said, "my mentor told me the moons were sisters. One carried light, the other carried memory. He said that when the world felt too heavy, you could look at them and remember that even in darkness, something still watches over you."
Kaela's throat tightened. "Do you believe that?"
"I want to."
She didn't know what to say. So she said nothing.
Instead, she lay back beside him, staring at the sky. Not close enough to touch. But close enough to feel the warmth of his presence.
For the first time in years, the silence didn't feel like a burden.
It felt like a beginning.