They followed the river north, winding through frostbitten valleys and stubborn late-autumn wildflowers. The elven landscape is beautifully wild against the backdrop of the large Safor-Mountains.
Elara knows the land well. She has been working and living off it for years. Well, from the life she remembers…
Being an orphan in a small village is no joke. The villagers took pity on her and let her sleep wherever she could find a spot. And help with chores to earn food, clothes or coin.
Yeah, nothing close to any type of princess life.
Elara walked with the confident grace of someone trying not to limp, and Fig floated with the cocky indifference of someone who had never once stubbed a toe in their life.
By the third day, she was talking to him like a reluctant sidekick and not just a hallucination.
"Alright," Elara said, nudging a rock from her path. "Explain something."
"Thrilled to be your mentor," Fig said, buzzing just ahead. "Proceed."
"If I've been reincarnated, and you've been through this before with me—why can't I remember you?"
"Because," Fig said dramatically, "I'm a tragic figure. Cursed to be forgotten by the ones I tolerate the most."
Elara stopped walking.
"No really," she said, "explain."
Fig spun in place, tail swishing. "You died, your soul got bounced through the veil, and the universe hit 'reset.' I only got clearance to come back when you reawakened. New memories are stored on the new brain drive. And technically," he added, "you weren't supposed to remember anything."
Elara narrowed her eyes. "But I do."
"Because you're you. You're allergic to rules and probably made of chaos."
She gave him a long, suspicious look. "You're being deliberately vague."
Fig twirled upside down. "I'm a mysterious ancient spirit. Vague is my brand."
"You're avoiding the question."
"I am the question."
Elara sighed and dropped onto a log near the riverbank. Her stomach rumbled. Again. "Fine. Next question: Can you cook?"
"I could," he said, examining his tiny glowing paws, "but you'd need to shrink by about eighty percent and also agree to eat sunlight."
"Useless."
"You say that," Fig sniffed, "but I provide sparkling commentary and existential dread. Both are very on-trend."
By twilight, clouds bruised the sky into thunder-blue. The first drops hit her hood as they passed a crooked fence surrounding a pasture of drowsy sheep.
"We need shelter," Elara said.
Fig zipped higher. "Options: cave full of bats, a suspiciously lumpy haystack, or—ooh! An abandoned barn."
The barn stood crooked but intact, tucked beside a lonely dirt road. A dull lantern flickered in the farmhouse window nearby, which meant this wasn't abandoned so much as lightly owned.
Fig looks as if he is in the middle of a moral crisis.
"Soaked and cold," Elara offers up their options, "or dry and slightly smelly."
Fig snorts. "Slightly?"
"We'll just be discreet," Elara said, giving a shrug, already hopping the fence.
"I'm not judging," Fig whispered. "But this is technically trespassing."
"You're glowing in the dark," she whispered back. "You don't get to judge stealth."
"Touché."
Inside, the barn was warm and earthy, smelling like hay, horses, and the kind of quiet that only exists in places long used to listening. Elara climbed the ladder to the loft, shaking straw from her hood.
"I could sleep for a week," she muttered, collapsing onto a pile of hay with no dignity at all.
Fig landed beside her, curling his tiny body into the fluff. "You know, you used to be fussier. All noblesse and posture."
She cracked an eye open. "So I was a brat?"
"I said noble. The brat part came after."
Elara stared up at the rafters for a moment. "What was I like?"
Fig blinked. "You really want to know?"
She nodded.
"You were curious. Brave. Stubborn like a mule possessed by a thunder god. You questioned everything. Except him."
Elara turned her head toward him. "Kaden?"
He nodded once. "You followed your heart. It got you killed."
"Helpful."
"You asked."
They fell into silence. The rain intensified, drumming softly on the roof. Elara's muscles slowly uncoiled.
She cannot imagine herself being any type of brat, but two years is a long time and a lot probably happened. Just like a lot can happen in the next two years. No way she is dying again. Life is short, but damn, 21 years is a barely lived life. Fate has been cruel and crazy, all in one go!
Then—
Creak.
She froze.
Boots.
On wood.
Below.
Fig's ears perked. He held up a paw. "Shh!"
They crouched low as the barn door creaked open and a voice muttered, "Damn sheep, always knocking things over…"
Footsteps moved below them. Elara didn't breathe. A lantern flickered into view through the cracks in the loft floor.
Then: "Huh. Smells like something died up there."
Charming. So much for slightly smelly.
The farmer took two steps up the ladder—then paused. "Probably just a cat. Or raccoons again. I'm not climbing up there tonight."
Another creak. The ladder groaned. The boots retreated.
Elara and Fig didn't move until they heard the barn door shut again.
Then Fig whispered, "That's it. We're wanted fugitives. I hope you're happy."
Elara let out a shaky laugh. "First rule of hiding: don't inhale so much hay."
"You wheezed like a haunted bellows."
"I have hay in my lungs, Fig."
"Oh, I have glitter in my soul. We all suffer."
The next morning, they slipped out with the fog.
They didn't speak much until the barn was a speck behind them. Then Elara said, "Thanks. For not… disappearing or something. When it got risky."
Fig scoffed. "I've been watching you get into risky situations since your last species. I'm not bailing over one pitchfork-wielding farmer."
She smiled. "Still. Thanks."
He hovered a little closer than usual.
"You're welcome, Ashvine."
Elara looks at him a little nervously. "We will probably be doing that a lot."
Fig acts shocked. "What? Hiding from certain death?" He snorts. "I would expect nothing less."
Elara exhales.
Well, at least she won't be alone.