They hadn't gone far.
Maybe ten minutes.
Maybe less.
The air changed first.
Rhea felt it on her skin — the sudden chill crawling up her bare waist, the wind slipping under fabric like a warning. She looked up.
The sky had darkened unnaturally fast.
Thick clouds rolled over the hilltops, heavy and low, swallowing the light as if someone had dragged a curtain across the sun. The forest responded immediately — leaves thrashing, branches groaning, the calm replaced by restless noise.
Wind surged.
Hard.
Rhea staggered a step, boots skidding on loose soil.
Ling caught her wrist instantly.
Not dramatic.
Not gentle.
Firm. Anchoring.
"Careful," Ling said, voice raised over the wind.
Rhea yanked her hand back out of instinct, pride flaring — then froze when a stronger gust nearly knocked her sideways.
"What is this now," Rhea snapped, hair whipping around her face.
Ling scanned the ridge fast — eyes sharp, jaw tight.
"No shelter," Ling said. "No caves. No trees dense enough."
The wind howled louder, pushing against them like a living thing. The temperature dropped another degree, sudden and biting.
Thunder rolled in the distance.
Rhea's chest tightened.
"Don't say it," she warned.
Ling didn't need to.
Rain hit.
Not gently.
Hard, cold drops slamming into skin and fabric within seconds, soaking through Rhea's clothes almost immediately. Her jewellery felt icy now, waist chain clinging uncomfortably as the wind tore at it.
The ground beneath them turned slick.
"This is bad," Rhea said, breath uneven — not panic, but close.
Ling stepped in front of her without thinking, body angled against the wind, jacket shielding what it could.
"We keep moving," Ling said firmly. "Downhill. Less exposure."
Lightning flashed — white-hot — close enough to feel.
Rhea flinched despite herself.
Ling noticed.
Her voice dropped, steadier now. "Look at me."
Rhea did.
Ling's face was calm — not unbothered, but controlled. Focused.
"You're not alone," Ling said. "I've got you."
Rhea's lips parted, words caught somewhere between anger and relief.
Another gust hit, stronger than before.
Rhea lost her footing this time.
She fell into Ling — hard.
Ling's arms came around her instantly, bracing, holding her upright as rain soaked them both, wind tearing at their clothes.
For a second, neither moved.
Rhea's forehead pressed against Ling's chest. Her breath came fast now — not from fear alone, but from the closeness, the reality of being held when she hadn't asked for it.
Ling tightened her grip just enough to keep her steady.
"Stay with me," Ling said quietly, mouth near Rhea's ear. "Don't fight me right now."
Thunder cracked overhead.
And for the first time since the rivalry began, Rhea didn't pull away.
Because the storm didn't care about pride.
And neither did survival.
The rain eased suddenly.
Not stopped — eased.
Like the forest was holding its breath.
Then—
A shape moved ahead.
Ling stiffened instantly, shifting Rhea slightly behind her without asking.
From between the trees, a woman appeared.
Hunched.
Wrapped in torn, earth-colored cloth.
Hair wild and silvered, hanging around her face like vines.
She walked barefoot on the wet ground as if it didn't bite.
Rhea's breath caught.
Her first instinct was denial.
Her second — fear.
The woman stopped a few feet away, head tilted unnaturally to one side. Her eyes were dark, too alert, reflecting light wrong.
Ling didn't move.
"Who are you?" Ling asked, voice steady but low.
The woman smiled.
Not kindly.
Cruelly.
Knowingly.
"Two fire hearts," the woman rasped, voice uneven, like it scraped its way out of her chest.
"One pretending fire. One pretending steel."
Rhea's fingers curled into Ling's jacket before she realized she'd moved.
"Ling…" she whispered, unable to keep it steady.
The woman's gaze snapped to her.
Rhea flinched.
"Jewels don't protect in storms," the woman said, eyes lingering on Rhea's waist chain, her navel piercing glinting faintly.
"They call attention."
Rhea swallowed hard.
Ling stepped forward half a pace. "Enough. We're lost. Is there shelter?"
The woman laughed — short, sharp, unsettling.
"Lost?" she repeated. "No, child. You are exactly where the path breaks."
Lightning flickered behind her, silhouetting her thin frame.
She leaned closer, voice dropping into something like a chant.
"Left leads to teeth.
Right leads to hunger.
Forward leads to truth."
Rhea's heart hammered.
"What does that mean?" she demanded, fear bleeding through her anger now.
The woman's eyes softened — just slightly.
"That depends," she said, "on who stops running first."
Wind surged again.
The woman stepped back — and for a terrifying second, Rhea thought she might vanish entirely.
Instead, she pointed deeper into the trees.
"Do not sleep where the ground remembers blood," she warned.
"And when the dark asks you to choose—"
Her gaze cut between them sharply.
"—do not choose alone."
Then she turned.
And disappeared into the rain and trees as if the forest had swallowed her whole.
Silence returned — heavy, unnatural.
Rhea's grip on Ling tightened, breath shaking now despite her.
"What the hell was that?" she whispered.
Ling didn't answer immediately.
Her eyes stayed on the trees, jaw set, every instinct screaming caution.
"Someone who knows this place," Ling said finally. "And wanted to be heard."
Rhea swallowed, fear curling cold in her stomach. "I don't like riddles."
Ling glanced down at her — really looked this time.
"I know," she said quietly.
Thunder rolled again, closer.
Ling adjusted her stance, placing herself squarely in front of Rhea, blocking the forest's stare.
"Stay close," she said. "Whatever this is—we don't face it separately."
Rhea hesitated only a second.
Then she nodded.
Because the woman's words echoed too clearly in her head.
And because for once, Ling Kwong wasn't asking for control—
She was offering shelter.