The journey began in silence.
Elythya followed Tiberon at a wary distance, her hand never straying far from the hilt of her dagger. Every so often, her pale blue eyes flicked toward him, her sharp instincts searching for any sign of betrayal. He moved ahead, unbothered by her suspicion, as though he expected it. His armor clinked softly with each step, the green cloak draped over his broad shoulders shifting with the faint breeze. The blackened metal of his chest plate gleamed faintly, etched with scratches and scars that hinted at countless battles.
She hated how calm he seemed. It was unnatural.
The forest had grown darker as they walked, the smoke from her village retreating behind them, but the memories lingered. The sight of her people broken, burned, and butchered was seared into her mind. Her hands clenched tightly, the leather of her dagger sheath creaking under the strain. She had lost everything. And now, she was following a human—the very kind that had brought her world to ruin.
Her grip on the dagger tightened. "You've been quiet," she said, her voice cutting through the stillness.
Tiberon glanced back at her but didn't stop walking. His green eyes, piercing and calm, flicked to her for a moment before returning to the path. "Do you prefer conversation?"
Elythya bristled at his composed tone. "No. But I prefer to know the intentions of the one leading me."
This time, he stopped. Turning fully, he faced her, his expression unreadable. In the dim light filtering through the canopy, the edges of his features—the sharp line of his jaw, the unruly black hair that framed his face—seemed softer. But his eyes glowed faintly, filled with a quiet intensity that made her stomach twist.
"I already told you my intentions," he said. "To keep you safe."
"For what?" she shot back. "To trade me? To use me like your kind used my people?" Her voice cracked, but she held her ground, her dagger now fully drawn.
Tiberon's jaw tightened. For the first time, a flicker of something sharp crossed his face. "I don't trade lives," he said, his voice low but firm. "I've taken too many already."
The weight of his words gave her pause, though she didn't lower the blade. "Then why?" she demanded. "Why bother with me? You don't know me. You don't owe me anything."
"No," he admitted, his voice softening. "I don't." He took a measured step toward her, and though her body screamed at her to retreat, she stood her ground. His presence was like a storm contained—powerful, but calm.
"But I've seen what happens when good people do nothing," he continued, his green eyes locking with hers. "And I won't stand by and watch again."
The sincerity in his voice was unsettling. It didn't match the image of the ruthless human she had grown up fearing. She wanted to believe it was a trick, some calculated ploy, but something in his tone cut through her doubt.
Elythya let out a shaky breath and looked away. "Don't think saving me earns you my trust."
"I don't expect it to," Tiberon replied. He turned and started walking again, leaving her to catch up if she wanted.
The silence stretched between them as they continued their journey, broken only by the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures. Elythya's mind churned with questions, her wariness clashing with a growing curiosity. Who was this man? He hadn't shown much of his power since the battle, and yet, his movements carried a weight—like someone used to holding back.
She began to notice things. The way his steps were deliberate, as if he calculated every move. The faint tension in his shoulders, as though he bore a burden she couldn't see. And every so often, his hand rested lightly on the pommel of his sword, as if seeking reassurance from its presence.
"You don't talk much about yourself," she said cautiously, breaking the quiet.
"There's not much to tell," he replied, his gaze distant.
She didn't believe that for a second. "You're not from here," she said, more a statement than a question. "You didn't know about the raiders, or what they've been doing to my people. You just… appeared."
Tiberon's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"Who are you, really?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
He met her gaze, his green eyes unreadable. "A traveler," he said again, but this time, the words carried a weight that made her chest tighten. "Nothing more."
Elythya didn't press further. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer, not yet.
The forest began to thin as they walked, the trees giving way to rocky outcrops and rolling hills. The distant sound of running water reached her ears, a welcome reprieve from the oppressive silence. The moonlight bathed the landscape in silver, casting long shadows that danced with their movements.
Tiberon stopped suddenly, his posture tensing. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword.
"What is it?" Elythya asked, instinctively lowering her voice.
"Stay here," he said, his tone low and commanding.
Before she could argue, he stepped forward, his form melding with the shadows ahead. Elythya gritted her teeth, hating how easily he took control. She crept after him, her steps light and careful, despite his warning.
She found him near a small stream, his sword partially drawn. Across the water, a figure lay slumped against a rock, motionless. It was a man, his clothes torn and bloodied. His chest rose and fell in shallow, labored breaths.
"Another one of your kind?" Elythya whispered harshly, her voice trembling with anger. "What now? Are you going to save him too?"
Tiberon glanced back at her, his expression unreadable. "He's dying."
"Good," she spat, her hands clenching into fists. "Let him."
Tiberon didn't move. He stood there, staring at the wounded man, his eyes dark with thought.
"Why do you care?" Elythya demanded, her voice rising. "Why do you keep helping people who don't deserve it?"
Tiberon's gaze shifted to her, calm but piercing. "Because someone has to."
The words struck her harder than she expected. She wanted to hate him for them, to hate him for being human. But as she looked at him, standing there like a shadow caught between the past and the present, she couldn't bring herself to turn away.