Aren woke up to silence.
Not the peaceful kind, the heavy one.The kind that settled after violence, after screams had faded and blood had dried.
For a moment, he didn't move.
His body catalogued itself slowly.Breathing: steady.Legs: sore, but responding.Chest: tight, but intact.
His right arm throbbed dully.
He frowned and lifted it slightly. Pain answered, sharp enough to remind him it existed, not sharp enough to stop him.
"…Tch."
He let it fall back down and exhaled.
The camp was still.
Broken branches. Scorched earth. The smell of burned flesh lingering stubbornly in the air.Bodies—most of them already lifeless—lay scattered where the fight had ended.
And near the remains of a half-collapsed tent—
Hassan.
Still unconscious.Breathing, thankfully. Slow, heavy breaths, but steady.
Aren pushed himself up with his left arm and stood, swaying briefly before regaining balance.
Then—
"Ugh…"
A weak sound.
He turned.
Stella's fingers twitched first. Then her brows furrowed. Slowly, like someone waking from a very deep sleep, she opened her eyes.
Aren crossed his arms and looked down at her.
"You're finally awake, sleepyhead."
Stella blinked once.
Twice.
Then she scowled.
"Don't mock me," she muttered. "I can't even stand."
Aren raised an eyebrow.
"That bad?"
She tried to sit up.
She failed.
Her legs refused to respond, trembling uselessly before she dropped back down with an annoyed grunt.
"…Mana depletion," she said flatly. "I used everything."
Aren snorted.
"So you burned half a forest and now you can't walk."
"Shut up," she snapped. "You try casting that much magic and see how you feel."
He smiled faintly.
"I'd die."
She huffed, then glanced around, her expression sobering as her eyes landed on Hassan.
"…He's still out."
Aren nodded.
"But alive."
That mattered.
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
The aftermath weighed on them both.
Eventually, Aren broke the silence.
"So," he said. "Do you want to continue the mission?"
Stella looked at him like he'd just asked something obvious.
"Of course," she replied immediately. "If we don't finish it, then all of this was for nothing."
Aren followed her gaze back to Hassan.
Then to the blood-soaked ground.
"…Yeah."
He stood and scanned the camp.
There was only one horse.
A sturdy one, well-fed. Clearly Azarat's.
Aren stared at it for a long moment.
Then at Hassan.
Then at Stella.
A problem presented itself.
"…Alright," Aren muttered.
He approached the horse first, calming it with practiced movements. Then he returned to Hassan, carefully lifting the veteran and settling him across the saddle.
The horse shifted, but held.
Stella watched quietly.
When Aren finished securing Hassan, he turned to her.
"Get on my back."
Her eyes widened.
"…What?"
"You can't walk," Aren said. "And I'm not dragging you."
Her cheeks flushed instantly.
"No way. Absolutely not."
Aren sighed.
"Either you get on my back, or I leave you here."
She stared at him.
"…You wouldn't."
He glanced around pointedly.
"Pretty sure monsters will show up eventually. There's a lot of blood. They have a good sense of smell."
He turned away and took one step.
"Alright. We're leaving."
"WAIT."
She grabbed his sleeve with surprising strength.
"…Don't leave me."
Aren looked back at her, smirking slightly.
"Oh? I thought it was 'absolutely not'?"
She glared, clearly torn between pride and fear.
"…Fine," she muttered. "But you never tell anyone. Ever."
He crouched in front of her.
"Or?"
"Or I kill you."
He chuckled.
"Deal."
She climbed onto his back carefully, arms wrapping around his shoulders.
"…You better not drop me."
"Try not to kick me."
"…I hate you."
"Love you too."
They moved.
The road to the village near Lake Ornelle was quiet.
Too quiet.
Aren carried Stella without complaint, his steps steady despite the exhaustion gnawing at his muscles. Hassan rode ahead, slumped but alive.
After several hours, the rooftops finally came into view.
The village was small. Wooden houses. Fishing nets drying near the shore. A few villagers froze when they saw the bloodied trio approaching.
Aren raised his voice.
"Is there a healer here?"
A man hesitated, then pointed.
"That house. Viron."
Aren didn't waste time.
Viron was older than he expected, with steady hands and sharp eyes. He took one look at Hassan and Stella and nodded.
"Put them down. Slowly."
Aren did as instructed.
Viron worked quickly, efficiently, and calmly.
"He'll live," the healer said after examining Hassan. "But he'll need rest."
He turned to Stella.
"Mana exhaustion. Severe, but not permanent. She'll sleep."
Aren exhaled.
"Thank you."
Aren looked at them one last time.
Hassan unconscious.
Stella asleep.
Guilt burned in his chest.
Not because they were hurt.
Because he hadn't been strong enough.
His jaw tightened.
He turned.
Rasilca's house stood near the lake, well-kept. Too well-kept.
Aren didn't knock.
The door slammed open.
A woman inside startled.
"Oh—! Welcome, you must be—"
"I don't want to hear your useless greetings," Aren cut in coldly.
Her words died instantly.
"Tell me what's in the crates," he said. "Or I'll open them myself."
She tried to smile.
"Please, calm down—"
His hand dropped to his sword.
"I'm already angry," he said quietly. "So either you tell me, or I open them and cut your head off."
Her breath caught.
"…Why didn't you open them earlier?"
Aren's eyes hardened.
"Because Hassan told me not to. Otherwise, I already would have."
He drew his blade and pointed it at her throat.
"Speak. Or die."
The room fell into absolute silence.
And the truth waited, just behind her trembling lips.