The days that followed were harsh.
The warrior and his companions pressed forward, their journey through war-ravaged lands unyielding. The battle against the demonkin had left the earth scarred, forests burned to their roots, rivers tainted with the blood of the fallen. Yet through it all, Valgrion carried the child.
She was small, too small to belong in a world as cruel as this. Wrapped in his cloak, she barely stirred, save for the occasional whimper when hunger gnawed at her belly. His comrades had little to offer—a few scraps of dried provisions softened with water, milk from surviving sheep, anything, just enough to sustain her. They did not question why Valgrion had taken responsibility for the child. Perhaps they already knew the answer.
Each night, as they gathered around their meager fires, Valgrion held her close. He did not speak to her, not in the way a father might whisper to a babe. He was a warrior, not a nurturer. But still, his presence was steady, his arms unwavering in their duty to protect her. And when the night was coldest, his shield—worn and battered—was placed beside her as if to ward off the darkness.
"She will not survive this war," one of his comrades murmured one evening. The man was Kato, a swordsman with old scars lining his face. "Not without a home. Not without a name."
Valgrion stared into the fire, his expression unreadable. The truth was evident. The child did not belong in the chaos of the battlefield. But where could she go? His homeland—the icy kingdom of Valdris—was weeks away. Their path was treacherous, their enemies relentless.
And yet, Valgrion did not let go.
"I will see her to safety," he said at last. His voice carried a finality that none dared challenge.
The wind howled beyond their camp, carrying with it the distant shrieks of demons that still prowled the night. The war was far from over, and the road ahead was stained with peril.
But for now, beneath the warrior's cloak, the child slept soundly—oblivious to the fate that had entwined her with a man forged in battle.