The village market bustled beneath a cloudless sky. Linen canopies stretched over wooden stalls, shading goods of every kind—spices, soaps, baked goods, carved trinkets. The air smelled of sun-warmed fruit and dried herbs.
Veila moved calmly between the stalls, a small satchel slung over one shoulder. She paused at a familiar vendor—an older woman with gray-threaded hair and a voice full of warmth.
Vendor:
"Morning, Veila. Just in—dried silver mint. Your brother likes this one, right?"
Veila (softly):
"He'll finish it in two days, like always."
They shared a quiet smile. Veila reached for a pouch of herbs, examining it.
She lingered longer than usual. Not because of uncertainty—but because it was one of the few places that didn't ask questions, didn't expect answers.
Not far away, a young man stood alone at a cluttered table—browsing through hand-carved instruments and dog-eared books. Dressed in a simple tunic, boots dusted from travel, he looked like any other passerby. No guards, no crest. No name offered.
Prince Altherion had left the palace early, wrapped in plain clothes and curiosity.
Then—a sudden shout.
Child (off-panel):
"Hey—wait!"
A tethered goat, startled by something, broke loose. It skittered wildly, a blur of hooves and noise. Veila stepped to the side with unhurried ease.
Before it reached her, Altherion moved in, placing a firm hand against the goat's shoulder and turning it calmly back toward its stall. A small moment. Quick, quiet.
Veila looked up at him. Her tone was neutral.
Veila:
"Thanks."
Altherion (with a slight smile):
"Seems even goats have a flair for drama."
She didn't laugh. But she didn't frown, either. She turned back to her herbs, paying no more mind.
But Altherion didn't move just yet. Something about the way she didn't look twice—didn't ask who he was—struck a chord.
Altherion stood still for a moment, watching her move on. He said nothing. But his gaze lingered—just for a breath.
---------------
The stream beyond the village trickled gently over smooth stones, its banks shaded by pale-blossomed trees. Veila sat with her feet in the water, ankles rippling the surface. Beside her, Kael leaned back on his elbows, boots discarded nearby.
There was peace in the silence
.
Kael (lighter than usual):
"Still think I'm gonna vanish on you?"
Veila (smirking slightly):
"You've done it before."
She flicked a bit of water at him with her foot. He leaned away, not annoyed—more amused.
Kael glanced toward the stream's flow, then back at her. A brief smile ghosted across his lips—one of the rare ones that stayed just long enough to be real.
Footsteps approached, casual and unhurried.
Altherion appeared from the edge of the path, two clay cups in hand.
Altherion:
"Didn't expect to find the stream this early. Lucky me."
Veila raised an eyebrow. Kael sat upright, glancing his way.
Veila:
"You're from the market."
Altherion (offering a cup):
"Figured tea was safer than another goat incident."
Veila took one cup without question, sipping slowly. Kael accepted his with a simple nod, still watching his face.
Veila:
"You don't talk like someone from here."
Altherion (smiling):
"Not from here. But I like the pace."
The three sat in easy stillness. No posturing. No tension.
A breeze moved through the trees, lifting a few pale blossoms into the stream. They floated past like idle thoughts.
Veila let her hand skim the stream's surface. Kael leaned forward slightly, letting the cool air stir his hair. Altherion sat with them like he belonged there—quiet, calm, listening more than he spoke.
Kael's eyes flicked toward him again. Just once. Not guarded—just... attentive.
Kael's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer... then softened.
------------
Evening settled over the valley. The sky blazed with orange and violet, clouds scattered like inkblots against fire.
Altherion stood alone on the high ridge behind the village. No palace in sight. Just fields, trees, and the faint hush of crickets waking.
The wind tugged at his sleeves. He didn't move.
No words spoken aloud—only thought.
She didn't care who I was. And somehow… that made her impossible to ignore.
She won't be won with titles. And she shouldn't be.
A pause. Then, quietly certain:
If I want to be near her… I need to be someone Kael trusts.
And that meant more than words. It meant stepping where others hesitated. Holding still when others flinched.
He exhaled slowly, gaze still fixed on the horizon.
Then he turned and walked back down the path toward the sleeping village.
---------------
The quiet had settled deep into the bones of the house. Outside, the night moved softly—trees breathing, crickets murmuring at the edges of thought. Inside, not a single floorboard creaked.
Kael lay flat on his back, one arm resting loosely across his chest, the other at his side. His eyes were open, steady, fixed on the ceiling above.
Nothing stirred.
His breathing stayed level.
Kael (internal):
"The cover holds."
A loose thread in the wooden beams drew his attention—not for meaning, but for rhythm. His gaze followed it.
"No cross-trails. Not yet."
His fingers flexed once, a quiet recalibration.
"Three pieces in motion. Each still separated."
Another breath. Quiet, measured. Almost forgettable.
"They've seen only the outer layer. Let it thicken."
The shadows shifted slightly with the breeze pushing against the window. His eyes remained still.
"I have time. But not excess."
Silence again.
Then, as if his mind turned a corner
"If they press, I redirect."
"If they pursue, I reshape."
His jaw remained relaxed. Thought was motionless under skin.
"The center stays buried. The path stays crooked."
"No one steps close unless I place them there."
He blinked slowly.
"And the one who matters most… stays behind the second gate."
A single breath. Not deep. Not hesitant. Just the sound of certainty turning inward.
The room gave nothing away. Neither did he.
Just above the hum of the wind, the old beams creaked once.
Kael blinked again—once.
"Secure enough for now."
To anyone watching, he might seem still, resting. But in truth, even when he seemed still… Kael's mind was already ten steps out.
And no one—not even the sky above—would know where he truly stood.