The corridor was hushed, the faint echo of Meisha's footsteps carrying toward the east wing. She approached her door, basket tucked against her hip, the scent of herbs and marrow still clinging to her cloak.
Inside, Kaydence felt her presence before the latch even stirred. A subtle shift in the air, a rhythm he had learned to recognize.
He rose carefully, the journal still warm in his hands. With deliberate precision, he slid it back into its place on the shelf, aligning it so perfectly it looked untouched. The leather cover blended seamlessly among the other volumes, as though it had never been disturbed.
Kaydence moved quickly but quietly to the bed, lowering himself onto the edge. His posture was casual, his hands resting loosely on his knees, though his pulse betrayed the calm he tried to wear.
The flickering across the room, painting shadows on the stone walls. He kept his gaze steady on the door, waiting.
The latch clicked.
The door began to open.
And Meisha stepped inside.
Meisha descended the narrow stairs into the basement, the basket held tight in her hands, her cloak trailing lightly behind her. The firelight flickered against the stone walls, casting long shadows that seemed to breathe with her steps.
Kaydence sat upright on the bed, his posture too careful, his gaze fixed but uneasy. His hands rested on his knees, but his shoulders betrayed the tension he tried to mask.
Meisha paused at the bottom step, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice gentle but probing.
Kaydence opened his mouth, then closed it again. Words pressed against his throat, but fear held them back. Fear of breaking the fragile trust she had offered him. Fear of losing the kindness she had shown.
Meisha tilted her head, studying him. Then, with a sudden lightness, she smiled. "You little snoop," she said, her tone playful, though her eyes gleamed with knowing. "You've discovered some truths your heart wasn't ready for."
Kaydence's breath caught. He lowered his gaze, shame flickering across his face. "My sincerest apologies," he murmured, his voice low and earnest. "I had… a fragmented dream of a memory through the night. It pulled me toward the journal. I shouldn't have."
Meisha stepped closer, her smile softening into something more tender. "Dreams have a way of leading us where we're meant to go," she said. "Even if the truths waiting there are heavy."
The silence that followed was not sharp but layered. The trust was tested yet not broken.
Meisha stepped fully into the room, her presence grounding the space. She set the basket of items on the small table, the herbs and marrow bones shifting softly against the wood. With ease, she slipped off her cloak, draping it over the chair, then moved to the barrel of water.
She washed her hands, the coolness steadying her, and dried them on a folded cloth. Without hesitation, she crossed to Kaydence, her movements fluid, purposeful.
"Ok," she said, her tone gentle but direct, "what was the dream about?"
Kaydence blinked, startled by her closeness as she reached for his bandages. Her fingers brushed against his arm, careful but firm, checking the wrappings with a healer's attention.
He swallowed hard, his voice catching. "Oh! Uh…" His eyes darted to hers, then away. "It was a dream of my father and I… in a war tent. And him relaying to me not to trust Lord Varrick."
Meisha's hands stilled on the bandage, her gaze lifting to meet his.
"Your father," she repeated quietly, as if tasting the word. "And he warned you of Varrick, doesn't seem surprising."
Kaydence nodded, unease threading through his voice. "It felt… more than a dream. Fragmented, yes, but real."
Meisha's touch lingered, steadying him even as his pulse quickened. "Dreams carry messages," she said softly. "Sometimes they remind us of what we already know but are afraid to name."
Kaydence's breath caught. Her closeness, her steadiness—it was both shocking and helpful.
He couldn't help but feel safe around her. There was an aura about her that just made him feel at ease. A calm state of mind that he hadn't felt in a long time.
He watched her adjust the bandages, come back to a standing position and walks over to retrieve a mortar and pestle from the shelf.
She began to prepare an herbal antiseptic, her movements deliberate, focusing herself on the rhythm of the task. The mortar and pestle clicked softly as she crushed nettle and thyme, the sharp scent filling the room.
"So," she said, her voice calm but edged with quiet insistence, "what is this unknown that you are afraid to name?"
Kaydence blinked, startled. "I'm not following?"
"There's something stirring inside you," she continued, her back still turned, "something that knows the answer… but you're too afraid to come to terms with it."
Kaydence's heart skipped at the statement. His breath grew uneven; his gaze fixed on the floor as though the stone itself might steady him. Her words pressed against him, urging the truth forward.
"There is something," he admitted at last, his voice low, reluctant. "Something I've felt for years but struggle to come to terms with."
Meisha combined the crushed herbs with honey and a touch of vinegar, her back still turned, giving him the sense that he could take as long as he needed. Yet her presence wrapped around him like a tether, steady and not letting go.
Kaydence's hands tightened against his knees. He exhaled sharply, then confessed: "And it's that… I am struggling to come to terms with someone close to me is wanting to take my life."
The words hung in the air, stark and unyielding.
He lifted his eyes to her, the memory of steel and shadows flashing behind them. "The ambush in the night—it wasn't random. Whoever orchestrated it knew where I'd be. Knew how to strike. And they meant to finish me."
Meisha turned then, her gaze steady, her hands pausing with the cloth. "And you believe it ties back to Varrick?"
Kaydence swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. "I don't know if it was him directly… but the dream, my father's warning—it all feels connected. Too many threads pulling toward the same hand."
Meisha resumed to smoothing the salve onto the gauze, her hands steady despite the weight of her words. "Well," she said, her tone calm but edged with certainty, "after the information I just received today in the town market… it would definitely make sense."
Kaydence's eyes sharpened, his pulse quickening. "What did you hear?"
Meisha pressed the cloth gently against his wound, her touch careful, grounding. "Lord Varrick has been restless. The soldiers spoke of riders sent out before dawn. And then… whispers of a message from his father, Duke Noren Hennis, and Varrick's brother Warren Hennis. Whatever was in that message unsettled him. Enough that he hasn't called for me all day."
Kaydence's breath caught. "The Duke… and Warren."
Meisha nodded, her gaze steady. "If they are moving pieces, then the ambush may not have been a lone strike. It may have been part of something larger. Something orchestrated."
The silence between them deepened, heavy with the weight of names and shadows.
Kaydence clenched his jaw, his voice low. "Then my father's warning wasn't just a dream. It was a memory. And it's beginning to unfold."
"That makes it imperative that you recover and get back to your squadron to report your discovery."
"You're definitely right with that statement."
Meisha finished pressing the herbal salve into the gauze, her hands steady as she pulled back the bandages and carefully set the cloth against his wound. Kaydence watched her with a faint smile, struck by how focused she was, how every movement carried intention.
"Thank you," he said softly, his voice carrying more than gratitude.
She adjusted the bandages back into place, smoothing them with care, then rose to her feet. "You're welcome," she replied, her tone calm, almost matter-of-fact, though her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than usual.
As she turned, Kaydence's hand reached out, gentle but firm, closing around her wrist. She froze, her breath catching as his gaze locked onto hers.
His eyes were steady, filled with something deeper than fear or gratitude—an empathic stare that seemed to strip away the walls between them.
"Come with me," he said, his voice low but unwavering. "When I'm fully recovered."
Meisha's lips parted, her expression shifting—surprise, hesitation, and something softer flickering beneath. She searched his face, the sincerity in his eyes undeniable. She smiled as she placed her hand over Kaydence's. "You've read my journal, correct?"
"Yes, but only a few pages in search of answers." Kaydence confessed.
"Then you know from reading those few pages, that I can't abandon my father."
Kaydence's hand slipped from her wrist, his shoulders lowering as though the weight of his own words pressed him down. "My apologies," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret.
Meisha's smile lingered, soft but steady. "It's fine," she replied, her tone carrying no anger, only truth. She adjusted the gauze firmly against his wound one last time, ensuring it held, then straightened. "But tomorrow I will be heading back to the Nykon forest to see if I received a reply to the broken message I left on the trees."
Kaydence's brow furrowed, his eyes searching hers. "The forest… you risk much by returning."
Meisha's gaze held his, unwavering. "I risk more by staying silent. If the message reached its mark, then there are allies waiting. If not…" She paused, her voice lowering. "Then I must know that too."
The firelight flickered across the stone walls, shadows stretching long between them. Kaydence leaned back against the bed, his chest tight, torn between the longing to keep her safe and the knowledge that her resolve was unshakable.
"You carry more than anyone should," he said quietly. "And yet you walk into danger as if it's the only path left."
Meisha's eyes softened, though her tone remained firm. "Because it is. My father's fate, your survival, even the truth about Varrick—they're all tied to what waits in that forest."
Kaydence leaned forward, urgency in his voice. "Then let me come with you. Even if I'm not fully recovered, I won't let you walk into that alone."
Meisha turned sharply, her eyes steady, her tone firm. "Absolutely not. If the riders are still patrolling, you risk being seen. Your presence would raise suspicion immediately."
Kaydence's jaw tightened, his frustration evident. "And what will you do if you're seen in the forest?"
Meisha returned to the table, gathering the gauze and salve with deliberate calm. "I'll tell them the truth," she replied evenly. "That I'm foraging for herbs. It's believable, and it keeps their eyes from looking deeper."
Kaydence studied her, torn between admiration and fear. "You make it sound simple."
Meisha glanced back at him, her expression softening just slightly. "Because it has to be. If I hesitate, they'll see through me. If I move with purpose, they'll dismiss me."
The embers crackled in the background, illuminating the quiet strength in her eyes. Kaydence exhaled, his shoulders lowering, though the tension in his chest remained.
"You walk into danger with such certainty," he said quietly. "And I… I can only watch."
Meisha glanced back at him, her expression softening just slightly. "I'll be ok. The townspeople and the soldiers are indebted to my mother," she assured him, her voice steady.
Kaydence's voice was steady, though his movements betrayed the strain of rising too soon. "You are a wise woman. And since there is no changing your mind…" He pushed himself upright, his breath uneven but determined.
Meisha's eyes widened, her protest immediate but subtle. "What are you doing? You need to rest."
"I've been resting all day," he replied, ignoring her concern as he made his way toward the corner where his armor lay in a careful pile. Each step was deliberate, his body reminding him of its wounds, but his resolve carrying him forward.
He knelt slowly, the weight of the breastplate shifting as he shuffled through it. His fingers found what he sought—a medallion tucked beneath the steel.
Meisha shook her head, watching his stubbornness with a mix of frustration and reluctant admiration.
Kaydence rose again, slower this time, and crossed back to her. Standing before her, he took her hand gently, pressing the medallion into her palm.
"If you must go," he said, his voice low but unwavering, "take this. In case you happen to make contact with anyone from my squadron."
Meisha's gaze dropped to the medallion. Platinum-plated, its surface gleamed faintly in the light. A crest was etched into the center—sharp lines, proud and unmistakable.
"I can't take this," she whispered, her fingers curling hesitantly around it.
"You must," Kaydence insisted, his hand closing gently over hers, steadying her grip. "It will be the proof you have to show that I'm alive and safe."
Meisha lifted her eyes to him, her breath catching at the intensity of his stare. His gaze was deep, empathic, unyielding—stripping away the distance between them.
Meisha's fingers curled around the medallion, its cool weight pressing into her palm. "Ok, I'll take it with me," she said softly, her eyes lingering on the crest as though it carried more than proof—it carried history.
Kaydence eased himself back toward the bed, each movement careful, deliberate. Once fully situated, he noticed Meisha still standing in the same spot, her gaze fixed on the medallion, lost in thought.
"What's wrong, Meisha?" he asked, his voice steady but curious.
She turned slowly, her eyes meeting his. "You don't want me to show this to just anyone of the demon race, right?"
Kaydence raised an eyebrow, his arms crossing as he considered her words.
Meisha continued, her tone calm but edged with insight. "What you stated earlier about when you were attacked… you feel that the attempt came from someone close to you."
Kaydence's jaw tightened, his silence heavy before he muttered, "Damn, you're right."
Meisha moved closer, sitting on the side of the bed beside him. Her presence was calming, her voice steady. "Is there anyone you can think of—someone you trust—for me to show this to?" She lifted the medallion, holding it in the air before him, its crest gleaming faintly in the afternoon sun.
Kaydence thought for a brief moment, his brow furrowed, then snapped his fingers as clarity struck. "Yes. My lieutenant. She'll be the one you could give it to, if you happen to cross paths with her."
Meisha studied him, her thumb brushing lightly across the crest. "Your lieutenant," she repeated, her tone thoughtful. "Then this medallion is not just proof—it's a bond. A thread that ties you back to those who still believe in you."
Kaydence's gaze softened, his voice low. "Exactly. And if you find her… she'll know what it means. She'll know I'm alive."
Meisha held the medallion up once more, the little amount of sunlight glinting off its platinum surface. Her voice was steady, though curiosity edged her tone. "If I were to run into her in the forest…, what should I look for?"
Kaydence leaned back against the bed, his arms folding across his chest as he thought. His gaze drifted briefly toward the ceiling before returning to her. "She carries dual swords," he said firmly, his voice carrying the certainty of memory. "Always at her sides. And there's a scar—on the left side of her jaw. You'll know her by that."
Meisha nodded slowly, committing the details to memory.
Kaydence's expression softened, though his tone remained resolute. "She also carries a crest. Like mine, though marked differently. If you see it, you'll know she's my lieutenant. And you'll know she can be trusted."
Meisha lowered the medallion, her thumb brushing over its etched lines. "Dual swords. A scar. A crest," she repeated quietly, as though weaving the description into her thoughts.
Kaydence's eyes lingered on her, his voice dropping lower. "She's loyal. Fierce. And if you find her, she'll protect you as if you were me."
Meisha turned her gaze back to him, the medallion gleaming faintly in her hand. "Then I'll know who to trust," she said softly.
Kaydence's gaze lingered on the medallion in her hand, then lifted back to her face. "And what will you do if it's a demon other than my lieutenant?"
Meisha's lips curved into a smile, her tone light but edged with certainty. "I'd run away screaming to alert any nearby patrolling soldiers—just as Lord Varrick instructed."
Kaydence blinked, then let out a low chuckle, the tension in his chest easing for a moment. "Well, it seems you have it pretty much figured out." His smile softened, though his eyes betrayed the weight he still carried. "It doesn't mean I'm not going to worry, still."
Meisha tilted her head, studying him with quiet amusement. "Worry if you must," she said gently, closing her fingers around the medallion. "But trust that I know how to survive."
Kaydence exhaled, his chuckle fading into a sigh. "That's exactly why I worry. You walk into danger with more certainty than I've ever seen."
Meisha's smile lingered, though her eyes held steady resolve. "Certainty is the only shield I have. And tomorrow, it will have to be enough."
Kaydence let out a slow breath, his voice softer now, almost resigned. "Well, I leave it to you then."
Meisha glanced back at him with a faint smile, her tone firm but playful. "You have no choice but to leave it to me."
She walked over to her satchel, the leather worn but sturdy, and carefully tucked the medallion into a hidden compartment among the herbs she collected. Her hands lingered for a moment, ensuring it was secure, before she turned back toward him. The tension that had hung thick between them seemed to ease, replaced by something quieter, gentler.
"Well," she said, her voice carrying a lighter cadence, "you must be hungry and parched after revealing all of that heavy truth. I know I sure am."
Kaydence chuckled faintly, the sound breaking through the heaviness of their earlier exchange. "You're right. My throat feels dry from all that confessing."
Meisha crossed the room, her steps unhurried, and began to gather what little provisions she had set aside—dried fruit, a flask of water, and a small loaf of bread wrapped in cloth. She placed them on the table, her movements second nature, as though the simple act of preparing food was its own kind of sanctuary.
Kaydence watched her, his smile lingering. "You always know how to shift the air, Meisha. One moment you're pressing me to face truths I'd rather bury, and the next… you're reminding me that I'm a being that still need nourishment."
Meisha's lips curved, her eyes softening as she poured water into a cup. "That's because both are necessary. Truth and sustenance. Without one, the other falters."
She handed him the cup, her fingers brushing his as he took it.
Kaydence held her gaze for a moment, the bond between them deepening in the quiet exchange. "Then I'll take both—from you."
Hours slipped quietly by, the heavy truths of their earlier exchange giving way to a gentler silence. The fire crackled low, casting warm light across the stone walls.
Meisha moved with calm precision, gathering the vegetables and herbs she had purchased in the town market. She set the chicken bones into the pot, the marrow releasing its richness as the stew began to simmer. The fragrant blend of thyme, garlic, and root vegetables filled the room, weaving comfort into the air.
Kaydence, still savoring the light meal and drink she had offered him earlier, leaned back against the bed. His eyes followed her movements, softened by the domestic ease she carried even in the midst of danger.
"You make it look effortless," he said quietly, his voice carrying both admiration and fatigue.
Meisha stirred the pot, her lips curving faintly. "Effortless is the illusion. It takes patience, timing… and a little faith that the flavors will come together."
Kaydence chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Faith, patience, timing… you speak of stew as if it were strategy."
She glanced at him, her smile deepening. "Perhaps it is. Strategy for survival. For comfort. For reminding us that we're still human, even when shadows press close."
The aroma thickened, filling the room with warmth. Kaydence closed his eyes briefly, breathing it in, the heaviness in his chest easing.
"After everything today," he murmured, "this feels like… sanctuary."
Meisha's gaze softened, her hand steady on the wooden spoon. "That's what I made it to be."