The night was trembling.
Smoke curled through the air, thick and bitter. The sound of boots crunching on gravel echoed around her — five men closing in, blades drawn, eyes glinting with cruel intent.
Zelene could barely move. Her wrists burned from the ropes, her body weak, trembling from exhaustion and loss. Her heart pounded so loudly she could almost hear it over their laughter.
"Look at her," one of them sneered. "The princess of Evandelle— reduced to this."
Zelene's breath hitched. Her throat was too dry to speak. She could only stare, wide-eyed, at the circle tightening around her.
Five against one.
And she wasn't even that one.
The man in front raised his sword, its blade catching the firelight. "Let's end this—"
He never finished.
A blur cut through the smoke — fast, brutal, precise. Steel met steel with a shriek, and the man staggered back, clutching his throat as blood sprayed into the dirt.
The others turned.
And there he was.
Ray.
His armor was scarred, his jaw clenched, his eyes burning with fury so sharp it made the world pause. He looked nothing like the calm, composed captain she remembered — this was a storm in human form.
He didn't waste words. The second man lunged; Ray met him mid-strike, twisting his blade and slamming his elbow into the man's temple. The body dropped.
Another came from behind — Ray kicked him hard in the ribs, spun, and drove his sword clean through his chest.
Three left.
Zelene stumbled backward, her legs barely obeying her. Her mind screamed to run, but her body stayed rooted — trapped between fear and disbelief.
Ray caught sight of her — and for one fleeting heartbeat, something shifted in his expression. Relief. Desperation. Something like home.
"Stay behind me!" he shouted, voice rough.
One of the men swung at his back. Zelene gasped — but Ray turned just in time, blocking the blade with his gauntlet. Sparks flew. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward, his arm curling behind him — shielding Zelene even as he fought.
He moved like a man with nothing left to lose.
A sword sliced across his side — shallow, but enough to make him stumble. Zelene cried out, reaching instinctively for him. "Ray!"
"I'm fine!" he snapped, breathless — but even as he said it, he reached back, grabbing her wrist and pulling her against him. "Stay close."
He fought like that — one arm swinging, the other anchoring her to him, their movements almost one.
A blade came too close; Zelene ducked under his arm, her hands clutching his armor as he twisted, deflecting another blow. His body shielded hers, every strike meant for her landing on his armor instead.
In that chaos — amidst fire, blood, and steel — she felt the steady beat of his heart against her back.
And for a split second, she thought — maybe she wasn't alone after all.
When the last man fell, Ray was gasping — his chest heaving, sword slick with blood. He looked down at her, eyes softening as the fury faded.
"Milady…"
Her lips trembled, voice barely there. "You're… alive…"
He didn't answer right away. He just exhaled — and then, without warning, pulled her into his arms.
"I could say the same to you."
It wasn't gentle. It was desperate.
His armor was cold and wet with blood, but his embrace was solid, real — grounding.
"I thought I lost you," he whispered against her hair.
For a moment, she let herself sink into that warmth — the only safe thing left in the ruins of her world.
But behind them, the manor still burned.
And the night wasn't done taking.