Three weeks had passed since the night Cid cleaved the high dragon's head from its shoulders.
The desert had shifted in that time colder at night, winds sharper, dunes restless and unfamiliar. But more than the land, it was the space between him and Fenrona that had changed.
The words they both carried remained unspoken, yet they didn't need them. It was in the way she passed him water before drinking herself. In the way he slowed his pace when she lagged even slightly. In the way her ears twitched instinctively toward his voice, no matter what else was happening.
Their bond deepened in silence shared glances when the other wasn't looking, rare smiles cracked open like fragile doors. Neither dared step through.
That night, their fire was a modest flicker in the dark, struggling against a wind that dragged sand across the dunes in whispering sheets.
Fenrona shifted closer to the flames, cloak pulled tighter.
"Cid," she murmured, "are we close? I need a bath before I turn to dust."
"We're near the border," he replied, poking at the fire with a stick. "There should be a village not far from here."
She groaned softly. "The Golden Kingdom?"
"That's the plan."
Her voice softened, nearly lost to the wind. "I'm tired of running."
His eyes flicked to hers, catching the silver glow in the firelight. Something coiled tight in his chest, but he forced it back down.
"…Get some rest."
"Good night, Cid."
"Good night, Fen."
The silence didn't last.
A subtle shift in the air made the hairs on his neck rise. Cid's eyes snapped open to see a shadow crouched over Fenrona slender, cloaked in black, one gloved hand pressed across her mouth.
Clain was in his grip before thought caught up.
"Let her go," he growled.
The figure didn't flinch. Gold-and-silver armor gleamed faintly in the firelight, strange script curling along its plates.
"Golden Kingdom," Cid muttered.
A voice cut in from behind. "Camelot now."
Cid spun. A tall man stood in silver robes over gold-plated armor, his hood shadowing his face.
In a blink, Cid was moving grabbing Fenrona, pulling her against him, putting his body between her and the strangers.
"You alright?"
She nodded, though her breath trembled. "You always show up."
"I'll never let them take you," he said, steady and low.
"You promise?"
"I do."
The man in silver chuckled, pulling back his hood to reveal blond hair and emerald eyes. "Sweet. But I came for a fight, not a love story."
Steel flashed before the last word finished. Cid shoved Fenrona back and met the strike. Sparks hissed in the night.
"You're strong," the man said, grinning.
"I could say the same," Cid replied—and slammed a fist into his ribs.
Blood spotted the sand as the stranger staggered, then smiled wider. "Name?"
"Cidolfus Lynvern. From Moonlight."
The man's gaze sharpened. "That cursed place? I heard it burned."
"I'm what's left."
"You're cursed," the man said flatly. "I can feel it."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've been looking for you… the NT."
The fight escalated.
Arthur's style was honed tight footwork, precise strikes, every blow calculated. Cid's was sharper by instinct he read not the sword but the man's breath, the twitch of weight, the flicker of eyes before a strike.
They circled, collided, steel ringing and sand spraying. Arthur's heavy downward slash met Clain's black steel; Cid twisted, countering with a brutal elbow to the jaw. Arthur reeled, but swept low in the same breath. Cid leapt back, Arthur's blade grazing his thigh.
"You fight like a street brawler," Arthur panted.
"You fight like you've never been hit," Cid shot back.
Their blades locked Arthur's emerald eyes burning against Cid's unflinching brown. Arms trembled with strain until they shoved each other apart.
Arthur lunged high, feinted, spun low only for Cid to catch it on Clain's flat and hurl him sideways into the sand.
Arthur rolled to his feet, laughing. "Finally… someone worth my time."
It might have gone until one of them lay dead, but…
"Stop!" Fenrona's voice cut through the air.
"Enough!" shouted the cloaked woman, yanking her hood down. Long blond hair spilled out, one eye green, the other silver.
Both men froze, still glaring, still breathing hard.
Arthur lowered his blade first. "Arthur Ventvag. King of Camelot."
Cid sheathed Clain slowly. "Figures."
When they settled Arthur with the woman, Merly, at his side, Cid with Fenrona they finally spoke.
"There's a girl," Arthur began, voice cooling. "Ten years old. Name's Sith. She's… not from here."
Cid frowned. "Not from here as in…?"
"As in not from this time," Arthur said. "She's from the beginning. Daughter of Zeus the god of thunder."
Fenrona's breath caught. "The Zeus?"
Arthur nodded. "Yes. And Time itself wants her dead."
Merly's voice was quieter. "She'll need protectors who don't belong anywhere. People who can live outside the rules of fate."
Arthur's gaze fixed on Cid. "People like us."
The fire popped. Silence stretched.
Cid turned to Fenrona. Her silver eyes held his without flinching. "We help her. No child should carry that weight alone."
Cid nodded. "Then we help."
Arthur gave a single approving nod. "Good. Because once we cross that border, we're in Camelot's territory… and the Red Moon is almost here."
They broke camp before dawn.
Arthur led with long strides, Merly close at his side. Cid and Fenrona followed, steps falling nearly in rhythm.
She glanced at him, voice low. "You didn't have to agree so quickly."
"To helping Sith?"
She nodded. "You don't know her."
"I didn't know you either," he said, gaze on the path. "Didn't stop me."
She lowered her eyes. "…That's different."
"No," he said softly, "it's not."
Her pace drew closer.
By midday the land shifted dunes giving way to scattered stone, dry grass sprouting in patches. The air smelled faintly of woodsmoke.
"The border village is less than an hour," Arthur said. "Hoods up. Soldiers here would sell their own mothers for coin."
"And if they recognize you?" Fenrona asked.
Arthur smirked grimly. "Then we make sure they regret it."
The village rose ahead low walls, crooked streets, a leaning guard tower. It looked quiet, lifeless. But Cid's gut twisted.
"They're watching," he muttered.
Arthur's voice carried back. "Camelot's border towns are full of spies. Don't talk too much."
"Or fight too much?" Cid asked dryly.
Arthur chuckled. "That too… unless it's for me."
They passed through the gate without challenge, but stares followed. One man's eyes lingered on Fenrona's ears until Cid shifted in front of her.
"You don't have to do that," she murmured.
"I know," he replied. "But I will anyway."
Her lips curved faintly beneath her hood.
Arthur led them to a squat inn. Warm, stale air met them inside.
"Rooms?" the innkeeper asked.
Arthur slid coins across. "Two. Quiet."
As they waited, Fenrona leaned close. "Do you think this place is safe?"
"For tonight," Cid said. "That's enough."
Her eyes lingered on him, as if she wanted to say more, but the innkeeper returned with keys.
Upstairs, Arthur handed one to Merly. "You're with me."
She rolled her eyes but followed him in.
Cid opened the second door, scanning the small, clean room bed, table, a basin of water warmed by the afternoon sun.
Fenrona slipped inside, pulling down her hood. Silver hair spilled free.
"It's better than sleeping in the sand," she said softly.
She let her cloak fall, draping it over a chair. The tension in her frame finally eased.
Cid set Clain against the wall and tested the basin. Warm.
"You should wash first," he said.
She smiled faintly. "The first time you've offered me something before taking it yourself."
"I'm trying to be civil," he said, dry.
Her ears twitched. "Trying?"
He smirked. "You'd notice if I was trying too hard."
She brushed past him to the basin. "Don't think I haven't noticed already."
As she washed, he let himself look not at her body, but at the way her guard dropped here, in rare safety.
"You've been quieter since the dragon," she said.
"I've been thinking."
"That's dangerous."
"Not as dangerous as charging headfirst into something that could swallow you whole."
She laughed softly. "Worked for you, didn't it?"
"It nearly didn't." He leaned against the wall. "When I saw it coming for the village, I didn't think of them. I didn't even think of myself. I thought… if I die, she'll be alone."
Her hands stilled. She turned, meeting his gaze. "You thought about me first?"
"Always."
The silence carried the truth of it.
"You're making it very hard for me to keep pretending," she whispered.
"Pretending what?"
"That I don't…" She faltered, biting the words back.
He stepped closer, closing the space. "Say it."
Her silver eyes didn't waver. "That I don't love you."
He exhaled, chest tight. "Then stop pretending."
"I love you, Cid," she said fiercely. "Not because you saved me. Not because you fight for me. But because you see me. All of me."
His voice was reverent. "Fenrona… I love you too. And I'm not letting you go. Not in this life. Not in any other."
Their lips met not frantic, but steady, sure. A promise. His fingers threaded with hers as if they'd always belonged that way.
When they parted, the oil lamp was burning low.
"You should sleep," he said, brushing her hand with his thumb.
"You too."
She slipped into bed without hesitation, taking the side by the wall. A deliberate choice. If anything came through the door, it would meet him first.
The night passed without dreams.