---
Elen tried to mimic him, clumsy but eager, always rushing first. He tripped over roots, stuffed things in his pouch too quickly, stomped too loud. Still… Elias noticed how his hands lingered on certain herbs, how his eyes darted curiously at the colors of mushrooms, how he sniffed leaves before tossing them away. A natural caution buried beneath the recklessness.
Leya walked quietly at his side, never rushing, never straying far. She asked precise questions: Why that plant, not this one? Why build the trap there, not closer to water? Her gaze sharpened whenever he explained, weighing his answers like coins in her palm.
Lucien, meanwhile, didn't ask much—he simply observed. When Elias laid a trap, Lucien didn't copy, he adjusted. When Elias pointed out signs of an animal, Lucien not only saw it—he guessed where the beast would go next. His eyes traced patterns, movements, flows.
Elias said little, but inwardly, he was pleased.
When the sun climbed higher, he finally turned to them. "That's enough. You've shown me what I needed."
Elen frowned. "What do you mean, shown? We barely did anything!"
Elias's lips quirked faintly. "You did everything."
Lucien narrowed his eyes, catching the undertone. "You were… testing us."
"Always," Elias admitted calmly.
Elen puffed his cheeks, glaring. "That's unfair!"
"Life is unfair," Elias said simply, crouching to pack away the gathered herbs. "Better you learn that early."
From her branch, the spy nearly slipped off, grinning wide.
From her branch, the spy nearly slipped off, grinning wide. "Hahh… so cruel, yet so gentle. Testing them without them knowing—how very Elias." She hugged her knees. "Tch. Brats don't know how precious that is."
The spy chewed her stolen bread with an odd tightness in her chest. He's… building them. Piece by piece. Not just protecting, but shaping them.
Her lips curved before she could stop it. That's the Elias I know. Dangerous, beautiful, infuriating… and impossible not to watch.
---
Afternoon by the Lake:-
Elen sat near the water, finally calm for once, skipping stones across the surface. His other hand never left the little pouch at his belt, clutching it like a shield.
Leya, quiet until now, dipped her hands in the lake and spoke softly without looking at him.
"Elias… can I ask you something?"
He lifted an eyebrow. "You just did."
She frowned, cheeks puffing slightly, but pressed on. "We've been with you all this time, and—you never… talk about yourself. Where you came from. Who you are."
---
Elen and Lucien both turned at that, suddenly very interested.
Elias leaned back on the rock beside him.
For a moment, silence threatened to stretch too long. Then—he smiled faintly.
"Maybe there's nothing worth telling."
Leya shook her head, stubborn. "That's not true. You… you always know things. You act like someone who's seen everything already. But you're not that old."
She hesitated, voice dropping.
"Elias… you always take care of us, but… we don't know anything about you. Where were you before all this? Why do you… know so much?"
Even Lucien straightened, one hand gripping the strap of his pack like he expected answers could be taken from him.
Elias leaned back on the rock beside him letting the silence engulf them.
Then, Elias's calm, half-teasing voice broke it.
"Why ask now? You've had days of silence."
Leya (earnest, almost whispering):
"Because now I feel… safe. Like you'll stay."
Elias just smiled softly, his eyes showing numerous emotions hidden under the blindfold.
"I've been through a war. I've seen children lose everything. That's why I won't let you three walk the same road," Elias replied.
He let the words hang, not explaining further. The kids exchanged glances, sensing this was the most he'd share for now. Elen's grip tightened on his satchel. Leya inched closer, her shoulder almost brushing Elias's arm. Lucien's gaze stayed sharp, measuring, as though afraid the moment might vanish.
Leya pressed softly, her eyes locked on him.
"And the one who watches us? I have seen you looking there a lot..?" She asked.
Elias chuckled quietly, like she caught more than she should.
Elias replied, his voice low and firm:
"Sharp girl. She's someone I once pulled out of the fire. That's enough for now."
He ruffled her hair, breaking the tension, and the boys splashed them both, forcing laughter back into the moment.
"Hey, hey, hey, stop it—you need to sleep," Elias said, stopping them.
---
At night:-
Elias sat beside Lucien, his movements practiced, almost ordinary now. He placed a hand over the boy's chest, letting his own core stir. A soft pulse spread from him, threads of pure mana seeping into Lucien's body.
Lucien's lips parted slightly, his lashes trembling as if caught between sleep and waking. He didn't fight it. He never did. The mana entered him smoothly, steadying his weak flow like medicine meant only for him.
The forest was quiet but the children noticed. They always noticed. Their gazes lingered, watchful, heavy with something unspoken. It was no longer surprise. It was something deeper.
Elias's mana was pure—so pure it felt like life itself. And he gave it without hesitation. Every day. To them, it was no longer just healing. It was proof. Proof that he belonged here, with them, to them.
They didn't voice it. They only clutched their blankets tighter, eyes following the faint glow as if guarding it from the world.
Elias exhaled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Lucien's damp forehead. To him, it was routine. To the children, it was possession—quiet, growing, unshakable.
---
The next day:-
They packed everything and went inside the carriage.
"Now, it's time to return," Elias said in a hushed tone, not wanting to wake the kids sleeping in his embrace.
He picked the three of them up and settled them in the carriage without waiting until they woke, knowing they were going to complain.
Lucien didn't even stir. Hours—that was the longest time he stayed awake lately. Elen clutched Elias's sleeve even in sleep, refusing to let go, and Leya had curled into the side of his robe like it was hers alone.
---
The carriage wheels rattled softly against the stone road. Noon light filtered down through the capital's tall arches and banners, painting the streets in gold. Crowds moved like a living river, voices of merchants and customers rising in a dozen pitches.
Inside, Lucien still slumbered heavily against Elias's side, his breaths shallow but steady. Elias adjusted him with quiet care, shifting the boy's weight so his head rested securely. Elen's small fist clutched the pouch of coins Elias had given him the day before, even in sleep, as if he expected a thief might creep into his dreams.
Leya, wide awake, pushed aside the curtain. Her eyes lit with the glitter of fountains, statues, and painted shop signs.
"Finally…" she whispered, almost reverently.
Elen stirred, blinking blearily. "It's… loud."
Elias smiled faintly. "That's what happens when too many people believe their words are worth selling."