The sea was calm that morning, its silver surface catching the first blush of dawn. Fishermen's boats rocked gently in the tide, gulls shrieked overhead, and life in the coastal village unfolded as it always had. Yet beneath the surface calm, Elira felt unease prickling like nettles against her skin.
Kaelen had risen before her, though his body still bore the weight of injury. He stood by the doorway, the hood of her spare cloak drawn over his head. His gaze was fixed on the horizon where mist clung to the sea.
"You should be resting," Elira said, fastening her satchel of herbs.
His mouth curved faintly, but there was little humor in it. "And you should be wary. You hear the whispers in the market, do you not? A wrecked ship, a stranger ashore. Already tongues wag."
Elira stiffened. "You think they suspect you?"
"They will, soon enough." His jaw tightened, and he touched the hilt of the dagger she had cleaned and returned to him. "If they do not already."
She wanted to argue, to tell him paranoia was only fever's remnant—but in her heart, she knew he was right. For two nights now she had dreamt not only of fire, but of eyes watching her from the dark. And in the forest beyond the village, she swore she had heard voices not belonging to any villager.
"Elira." His tone drew her from her thoughts. His eyes, still shadowed from pain, held a fierce steadiness. "If danger comes, you must not hesitate. I will not drag you into the war that follows me."
Anger flared, sharp and unexpected. "And what do you think I should do? Pretend I never found you? That I never—" She stopped herself, heat rising in her cheeks.
Kaelen's gaze softened, but he did not look away. "I would spare you if I could."
The silence stretched, thick with what neither of them dared voice. Then Elira turned abruptly, busying herself with gathering roots and herbs from the shelves. "I have patients to tend. Life does not pause for princes or wars."
Yet even as she left the cottage, satchel slung across her shoulder, she felt the weight of his eyes on her back.
---
The market square bustled with morning trade. Women haggled over fish, children darted between stalls, and the smell of fried plantains mingled with sea salt. Normally, Elira found comfort in the familiarity of it, but today every laugh felt brittle, every glance too sharp.
She caught fragments of conversation as she passed:
"…wreckage near the southern shore…"
"…a survivor, they say. But no one knows who he is…"
"…strangers asking questions—armed men…"
Her heart sank.
"Elira!"
She turned to see Mira, a wide-eyed girl of twelve who often helped her gather herbs. The child's face was pale, her hands clutching her skirt.
"What is it, Mira?"
"There are men—three of them—at the well. They wear black cloaks, not from here. They ask about a wounded traveler."
Elira's breath caught. The shadows Kaelen had feared were no longer whispers. They had arrived.
---
By midday, Kaelen's strength had returned enough for him to pace the cottage. The wound still pulled at his side, but adrenaline gave him fuel. When Elira returned, her face pale and drawn, he knew before she spoke.
"They are here," she whispered, closing the door quickly behind her. "Strangers at the well. Asking about you."
Kaelen's hand instinctively went to his dagger. "Did they see you?"
"No. But it will not take long before someone speaks your name—before someone remembers the healer who rarely takes strangers."
Kaelen cursed under his breath, a harsh sound that made her flinch. He softened immediately, stepping closer. "Elira, you have done enough. More than I deserve. I should go—flee into the forest before I bring ruin to your door."
Her heart lurched. "You can barely stand, let alone outrun men trained to kill."
His jaw clenched. "Better me than you."
"Do not speak as if I am helpless," she snapped, surprising herself with the sharpness of her tone. "This is my home. My fight as much as yours now."
Kaelen studied her, something fierce and conflicted in his gaze. Then, slowly, he bowed his head. "You are braver than most soldiers I've known."
She swallowed hard, heat rising in her chest—not just from fear, but from the way he looked at her, as though she were more than she believed herself to be.
"We have little time," she said firmly, forcing her hands not to tremble. "If they search the village, they will find you. We must hide you where no one dares to look."
"Where?"
Her eyes lifted to the cliffs. "The caves by the shore. Few know of them, and fewer dare enter. The tide makes them treacherous."
Kaelen's lips curved in a wry smile. "Then it seems we are well-matched, Elira. Treacherous paths for dangerous secrets."
Despite herself, a small laugh escaped her—short, but real. Yet it died quickly as a sharp knock rattled the cottage door.
They froze.
"Elira of the Cape?" a man's voice called, low and commanding. "We have questions."
Kaelen's hand tightened on his dagger. Elira's pulse thundered in her ears. She met his eyes, and in that instant, the choice was made.
There would be no running—not yet. She squared her shoulders and moved toward the door.
---
The three men outside were unlike any she had seen in the village—tall, cloaked in black, their faces shadowed beneath hoods. One stepped forward, his eyes pale and sharp as ice.
"We seek a man. Wounded, dark-haired, of noble bearing. Word is he was seen near these cliffs."
Elira forced her voice to steady. "I tend many wounded. Fishermen, hunters, children who fall from trees. If you seek one man, I cannot help you."
The man's gaze lingered on her too long, as though peeling back her words to test their truth. Then his mouth curved in a thin smile. "Perhaps. Yet we will search, all the same. If he is here, hiding among you, those who harbor him will pay dearly."
A shiver raced down Elira's spine. She dipped her head, feigning calm, and closed the door when they turned away.
Inside, Kaelen gripped her arm gently, his voice low. "You risked much."
Her eyes burned as she looked at him. "So did you, telling me your name."
For a moment, the air between them held only that truth—the trust they had already placed in one another, fragile but unbreakable. Then Elira exhaled, forcing herself to move.
"They will return. Tonight, we go to the caves."
---
The sun sank beyond the sea, painting the water in fire. Elira and Kaelen moved quietly through the forest, shadows their only companions. Her satchel weighed heavy on her shoulder, filled with herbs, food, and water. His steps were slow but steady, every line of his body taut with alertness.
At last they reached the cliffs. The tide crashed below, foam spraying like white fire. The cave's mouth yawned dark and wide, hidden between jagged rocks.
Kaelen glanced at her, a faint smile curving his lips despite the danger. "A fine hiding place. You think like a soldier."
"I think like someone who refuses to see her village burned," she answered, though her cheeks warmed at his praise.
They slipped inside, the roar of the tide muffling all other sound. The cave was cool and damp, its walls glittering with faint mineral light. Elira set down her satchel, her breath steadying at last.
Yet as she turned, she found Kaelen watching her—not with the guarded distance of a prince, but with raw gratitude, something deeper shimmering beneath.
"Elira," he said quietly, "I do not know what fate binds us. But already I feel the cost you bear for me."
Her chest tightened. "And already you repay it with danger. Perhaps we are both fools."
"Perhaps." His smile was small, tired, but true. "Yet if I must be a fool, I am glad it is beside you."
Heat rose in her cheeks, and she turned quickly away, busying herself with laying out supplies. But inside, her heart blazed like the fire spirit's laughter, whispering of destiny.
Outside, unseen by either of them, the three cloaked men climbed the cliffs, their eyes set on the cave.
The hunt had only begun.