Lyria was nearly done setting up the room where they'd be spending the night when Kael finally came in to lend a hand.
"Hey," he said, his voice soft.
"Thought you were right behind me."
"Yeah, well…"
"It's fine. Just help me with the curtains and finish arranging the beds. That's all that's left."
"Alright. We best be quick—it's almost nightfall."
"You're one to talk. We could've been done ages ago if you'd come down here sooner."
"My apologies."
"Just raise the curtains."
They finished the remaining tasks in awkward silence, each movement deliberate, as if the air between them was fragile.
Moments later, Ms. Miller stepped into the freshly cleaned room holding two lanterns.
"Thought you two might need a little light," she said with a warm smile as she handed them over.
"Thanks," they both said in unison.
"It's nothing. Your supplies will be ready by morning."
"I'm really sorry if we're causing any inconvenience," Kael said, a bit sheepishly.
"Helping family is never an inconvenience. You and Garrik are family," she replied, her smile deepening, eyes kind.
Kael, fighting back a blush, gave her a quick hug. "Goodnight, Ms. Miller."
She left quietly, and the room settled again.
It was a surprisingly spacious space for such a modest house. Two beds stood with a window between them, a small table tucked just beneath the frame. To the left, a simple toilet; to the right, a sturdy wardrobe.
Lyria placed one of the lanterns on the table between the beds.
"Don't you think the wind might snuff it out?" Kael asked, eyeing the flickering flame.
"The wind's gentle tonight," she said, drawing the curtains more tightly. "Nothing to worry about."
Silence settled again. Lyria lay on her side, while Kael lay flat, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The tension thickened with each passing second, their unspoken thoughts loud in the quiet.
"Want me to come over there and warm you up?" she asked suddenly, voice light, a playful glint in her tone as she rolled to face him.
"Nah, I'm good," Kael replied, still staring upward.
"You sure about that?" she teased, fingers adjusting the soft grey cloth draped around her chest—subtle, but intentional.
"Yeah," he said again, unwavering.
She sighed dramatically. "Why won't you take your eyes off the ceiling, you insensitive fool?"
Kael stayed silent.
"What's going on in that little head of yours?" she asked, quieter now, her voice calm. She turned her gaze upward to match his.
The silence stretched… until Kael finally spoke.
"Back in the alley, when you held your sickle to my throat…" His voice was low. "I didn't know what to think. One moment, you were the girl I grew up with—next, you were someone who might actually kill me."
She paused before answering.
"I didn't want Dren suspecting anything. Had to make it look like I was just another servant of the Harbinger."
"To what end?"
"After your father handed me the Fractalis, I tried hiding its presence. But no matter what I did, assassins kept coming—like the damn thing wanted Harbinger to find it. After we parted ways, chasing our dreams, I ran into Dren. Back then, he wasn't a Hunter yet. Just an acquaintance. We were both assigned to gather intel from nobles in the East."
"I see," Kael said. "Sounds like you two had some time together. Must've been... fun."
"Fun's overrated. Besides, you and he have history too."
"Yeah, you could say that."
"Must be complicated?"
"You've no idea."
She smirked. "I've seen Dren fight. Did you really think you could take him without Omen of Slaughter—his sword?"
"I don't need Omen—what he calls that oversized blade—to beat him. Would've been a waste of talent."
"Are you insane? What did you think your boot knife was going to do against a Hunter's weapon?"
"All I needed was a window. A chance to disable him."
"Like that was working," she said with a sarcastic scoff.
Kael's gaze turned serious, his voice colder. "If the Guild comes after me again…" He clenched his jaw. "There'll be no holding back. My coat always did go well with a hint of crimson."
"Then we need to make sure Omen finds its way back to you—before that happens."
"There's no way. The Guild won't return it."
"I never said they would."
Every Hunter was blood-bound to a weapon matched to their fighting style. No Hunter could wield another's weapon as long as that bond existed. Seized weapons—like Omen—were locked away in Godsgrave, a mountain vault, until the bond broke. But the bond only ever broke in one way: with the death of the wielder.
"...Come to think of it," Kael muttered, "Godsgrave isn't far from the monks' temple."
"Are you even listening?" Lyria asked, noticing he'd drifted into thought again.
"I'm listening. Maybe we'll swing by Godsgrave after seeing Torin."
"What else is bugging you?"
Kael exhaled slowly. "Why did Dad ask you to bring me the Fractalis? Why not just do it himself—or keep it safe?"
She hesitated, then answered softly. "Because he trusted you. And he knew if anyone could find you, it'd be me." A trace of pride slipped into her voice. "Besides... you and I both know he was a better Hunter than he was a father. And when he gave it to me, he was tense. I think the Harbinger was already onto him. It was only a matter of time."
"Yeah... I guess so."
They both fell silent again, staring up at the ceiling.
Suddenly, Kael winced. A pulse of pain shot through his side, radiating from the burn he'd received from the Fallen. He gritted his teeth and pulled back the cloth covering it. Black veins were spreading out from the wound.
"Ah, shit," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Pretty sure it's not supposed to look like that."
"You okay?" Lyria asked, sitting up as she noticed him clutching the burn.
"Yeah, yeah. It's nothing."
"How's it healing?"
"Slow. But it'll be fine."
"Hmmm, why—"
"I'm fine, Lyria. Get some sleep. We've got an early start."
She hesitated, concern written all over her face.
"Okay. Goodnight," she said softly.
She lay down again, but sleep didn't come easily. Her eyes lingered on him in the dim lantern light, quietly hoping—praying—that he would be alright.