The days had begun to blur into one another.

  The same path. The same misted mornings. The same fire at dusk.

  But this time, something small had changed.

  ?lyara could call out to him now.

  It was not exactly a name. More like a summons. A sound released into the air that returned and brushed against him.

  She had not expected to grow this accustomed to someone. She had never walked beside anyone for so long in her life. Sharing the same steps, keeping silence beneath the same sky… There was a strange excitement inside her, an unnamed closeness that only grew clearer the more she tried to ignore it.

  When she called him “Ar?n,” he had not objected.

  But he had not accepted it, either.

  He was still ahead.

  Walking with the same measured stride. Shoulders straight, head slightly inclined forward. His gaze scanned his surroundings but never lingered. His eyes did not know how to idle.

  ?lyara had fallen behind.

  The exhaustion had settled deep into her bones. Instead of lifting her feet, she dragged them lightly across the earth. With every step, dry soil stirred and clung in a thin layer around her ankles. The sun stood high overhead.

  Harsh. Unforgiving.

  ?lyara paused for a moment.

  In the distance, between the trees, she noticed an uneven line rising against the horizon. A shape that did not belong to nature.

  She raised her hand to her brow and narrowed her eyes.

  At first, she saw nothing clearly.

  Then she did.

  The sharp angles of rooftops.

  A thin chimney.

  Wooden silhouettes stacked one behind another.

  A town.

  For a brief second, the weariness slipped from her face. The corner of her mouth lifted faintly. It was the first real hope to break through the uncertainty that had been gathering inside her for days.

  Her heart quickened.

  She turned toward him.

  “A town…” she said, as if needing confirmation. “It’s a town, isn’t it?”

  The uniformed man nodded once.

  Without realizing it, ?lyara quickened her pace. She passed him. She walked as though a few more steps would return everything to normal.

  As they approached, her thoughts were simple. A warm bed. A bowl of steaming soup.

  And cold water she could drink until she was full.

  Perhaps a long bath. To wash away the scent of the forest that clung to her skin.

  But the closer they came, the thin thread of unease inside her began to tighten.

  Something… was not in its place.

  When the first houses came into view, it felt as though time bent slightly.

  The clothing was different.

  Women wore long dresses made of heavy fabric. Even little girls carried the same weight. Some of the men wore plain tunics, others were clad in gray armor. Swords hung at their sides.

  Just like his.

  ?lyara slowed her steps. She began observing more carefully.

  She saw a woman watering flowers.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  But, with her hands.

  Her palms traced slow circles in the air, and droplets of water streamed from her fingertips, falling over the plants like a delicate rain. The water shifted direction midair, obeying the movement of her wrists.

  ?lyara blinked.

  A little farther ahead, a man lifted a large stone from the road with his bare hand. He tossed it aside as if it weighed nothing. The ground trembled faintly.

  Her stomach dropped.

  At that moment, a small girl stretched her fingers toward a flame. The fire curved. It danced. It moved between her palms like a living thing that recognized its master.

  ?lyara’s breathing slowed.

  Her eyes moved across the crowd. The faces were calm. No one looked surprised. No one turned to stare.

  Where was this place?

  Her throat went dry.

  Was this…

  a dream?

  Just then, a shoulder struck her hard.

  For a split second, the world went dark.

  Something poured into her.

  Heavy. Sharp.

  Anger speared into her chest—an anger she did not recognize, yet one that burned through her. It was followed by something deeper. More destructive. A grief that collapsed inward, hollowing her from the inside.

  Her breath caught. The air was there, but it would not enter her lungs. Her knees gave way, and she sank where she stood.

  She clawed at her collar.

  The noise of the crowd receded.

  And then—

  all at once, everything vanished.

  The weight that had crushed her chest moments ago was simply gone. As if it had never existed.

  ?lyara lifted her head.

  The person who had bumped into her stood a few steps away. A long, dark cloak draped over their frame. The hood was pulled low; their face remained in shadow.

  But their head was turned slightly toward her.

  She could not see the face.

  Yet she knew she was being watched.

  The gaze lingered a second longer than it should have.

  Then the cloaked figure dissolved into the crowd.

  Her eyes searched for the uniformed man.

  “A–Ar?n?” she managed in a whisper.

  “Y–you… you’re alive!”

  The voice was unfamiliar. Trembling. Suspended somewhere between belief and fear.

  ?lyara turned.

  The uniformed man’s empty eyes were fixed ahead. He looked as though he might take a step forward—but a man had thrown his arms around his neck. His grip was tight, desperate, as if letting go meant losing him forever.

  Who was this?

  The man clung to him, arms locked around his neck as though afraid he would disappear.

  For a moment, the uniformed man did not move.

  Then he removed the man’s arms from around his neck.

  The motion was swift. Firm. Not angry.

  He simply pushed him away.

  Caught off guard, the man stumbled and fell.

  The crowd recoiled. A murmur rippled outward.

  “What are you doing?” the man shouted. “Is that how you treat a friend?”

  The uniformed man did not answer.

  His eyes were blank.

  “They said you were dead,” the man said as he struggled to his feet.

  ?lyara stepped closer.

  Dead?

  The anger on the man’s face faltered, replaced by fear.

  “Wait…” he said. “This… this can’t be.”

  He took a step back.

  “Mom, look… isn’t that a morhena?” a child whispered.

  The word spread like a wave.

  A low hum rose through the crowd. People began stepping back. Some hurried away. Others kept their distance, watching.

  ?lyara felt her shoulders tense.

  “Shh… Stay away from him,” a woman said, gripping her child’s hand and pulling them back into the crowd.

  Morhena.

  The stranger’s eyes widened. He took another step back.

  “How is that possible?” he said, his voice caught between belief and fear.

  His expression shifted. Shock gave way to disgust, and disgust settled into a heavy pity.

  “You should have stayed dead.”

  ?lyara’s chest tightened.

  She looked at the uniformed man.

  There was nothing on his face.

  No defense.

  No anger.

  No denial.

  As if the words had never reached him.

  Without taking his eyes off the uniformed man, the stranger spoke again.

  “You’re walking around with a morhena?”

  This time the gaze turned to ?lyara.

  It wasn’t a question.

  It was a verdict.

  Her throat went dry. She had no idea what to say.

  “Who are you?” the man demanded, now fixing his eyes directly on her.

  His stare was hard.

  ?lyara took a step back.

  “I—I don’t know what a morhena is,” she said. Her voice trembled.

  The man let out a short, sharp laugh.

  “Don’t you? You’re standing right beside one.”

  The murmurs in the crowd grew louder.

  The stares were no longer fixed only on the uniformed man.

  ?lyara stood in the center of them, too.

  Without realizing it, she folded her arms across her chest.

  The stranger’s face tightened.

  He spat on the ground.

  “Unless you’re…” he began, narrowing his eyes.

  A stir passed through the crowd.

  A woman drew in a sharp breath.

  “Veyra…” someone whispered, almost too softly to hear.

  The word landed heavily.

  The murmur shifted direction at once.

  Gray-armored men began to surround them.

  The stranger took a step toward ?lyara.

  She stiffened and reached out, touching the uniformed man.

  In an instant, he moved between her and the stranger. His body tensed. His hand slid to the hilt of his sword.

  ?lyara felt the tension spike and lunged forward.

  Before the blade could be drawn, she wrapped her hand around his wrist.

  “Don’t,” she said, looking straight into his eyes.

  The stranger stumbled back in fear. He held the uniformed man’s gaze for one more second, then melted into the crowd.

  The emptiness in the uniformed man’s eyes returned.

  ?lyara forced herself not to fall into that gaze. Her fingers were still around his wrist. His pulse was hard. Cold.

  For a split second, she wondered if she had been too late.

  Had she stopped him?

  Had she prevented something he needed to do?

  She slowly withdrew her hand.

  This time it wasn’t only fear that made her pull away.

  It felt as though she had no right to touch him. As if that distance was meant to be kept.

  His shoulders gradually relaxed.

  Without a word, he turned and began to walk. The crowd parted before him. People were careful not to brush against him; they stared, but did not come near.

  He did not go after the stranger.

  The gray-armored men began dispersing the crowd. The murmurs faded. The square slowly emptied.

  ?lyara remained where she was.

  And for the first time, she wasn’t sure whether the man walking beside her was truly human.