The sun was high when they reached the edge of the woods — too bright, too ordinary for a world that had just ended.
Zelene's steps were heavy. The hem of her robe dragged through mud and wildgrass, once-white fabric now a dull gray. Each movement was a quiet effort to stay standing, her body trembling under the weight of sleeplessness and grief.
Ray walked a few paces ahead, scanning the path. His hand never strayed far from his sword.
The distant hum of a village reached them — the faint clatter of buckets, children laughing, a hammer striking wood. Civilization. Safety, maybe.
But Zelene barely lifted her head.
She could still see her mother's pale hand on the floorboards.
Still hear her father's last word echoing in her skull.
"Run."
She had — and now she didn't even know to where.
Ray stopped suddenly, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes flicked down to her robe, the deep blue embroidered with Evandelle's crest — gold threads that caught the light like betrayal.
He exhaled sharply. "We can't walk through there like this."
Zelene blinked at him, slow and distant. "…Like what?"
He gestured to her clothes. "That robe screams nobility. One look at you and someone's going to start asking questions. And questions will get us killed."
She looked down, realizing he was right. The silk shimmered faintly under the sun — out of place among dirt paths and wooden fences.
Before she could respond, Ray's gaze shifted past her — toward a cottage across the field.
A line of laundry swayed in the breeze.
Plain linen dresses, patched but clean, drying in the sunlight.
"Wait here," he muttered.
Zelene frowned. "Ray—what are you doing?"
He didn't answer, only strode across the field with the silence of someone who'd done far worse than stealing laundry.
Zelene's heartbeat quickened. "Ray! That's stealing!" she hissed, her voice cracking through the quiet.
He turned slightly, a dry smile ghosting his lips. "We can always bring it back. Let's call it borrowing." He lifted the dress — a simple brown one, tied at the waist. "And this is better than you walking around dressed like a noble, right?"
Zelene opened her mouth to argue but stopped.
He was right. Again.
Ray tossed the dress toward her. "Behind the bushes. Quick."
Her fingers brushed the coarse fabric — so ordinary it almost hurt. She hesitated for a moment, then disappeared behind the hedges.
A minute passed.
Two.
Ray kept watch, his eyes never leaving the village road.
He could hear her faint movements — fabric rustling, the soft sound of her sigh.
When she finally stepped out, he turned.
The transformation was startling.
Gone was the noble heir of Evandelle — in her place stood a girl who could vanish into any crowd.
Her hair was loose, tangled, the sunlight catching strands of silver in the lilac. The dress hung slightly too big on her frame, but somehow, it fit the moment — fragile, lost, human.
Ray's breath hitched — just for a second.
Zelene avoided his gaze. "There. Happy?"
He looked away, clearing his throat. "Better." A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "You look almost… normal."
She gave him a glare so faint it barely counted, but for the first time since the manor — she almost smiled.
They moved again, keeping to the shadows of trees that lined the dirt path.
Crows cawed overhead, and the smell of smoke from a distant hearth drifted through the air.
Zelene's hands brushed the pendant on her neck — the only thing she'd saved.
She didn't know if it was luck or cruelty that she was still breathing.
After some time, her voice broke the silence, quiet and thin.
"If we keep walking, how long… to Dravenhart?"
Ray looked at her, weighing the truth before answering. "A week. Maybe more, if we rest."
She nodded faintly, the horizon reflecting in her eyes.
A week.
A week between her and what was left of safety — if there was any.
They walked until the sun began to sink, painting the trees in dying gold.
And somewhere in that long silence, Zelene whispered — not for Ray, but for herself:
"We'll make it."
Ray heard, but he didn't respond.
He only tightened his grip on the sword hilt and matched her pace.
Because promises like that — they were all they had left.