The carriage wheel spun true on its axle once more. Artham—no, Arthanis now—wiped grease from his hands, studying the repair with satisfaction he didn't quite feel. Everything about this body's movements felt choreographed by someone else's memories, like dancing to music only half-remembered.
Nearby, Miyera knelt beside their injured horse, coaxing it to eat cixonberries with trembling fingers. The purple fruit glistened with juice, but her hands shook so badly she could barely hold them steady. She'd been quiet since they'd loaded Ofero into the carriage, lost in thoughts too heavy for someone her age.
"The wheel should hold," he said, settling beside her on the forest floor. "How's our friend here?"
She managed a weak smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Better, I think. The berries are helping with the arrow wound." Her voice carried the exhaustion of someone who'd aged years in a single afternoon.
He nodded, then let silence stretch between them. People filled silence, especially when they were hurting. Sure enough, Miyera's composure began to crack.
"It happened so fast," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "One moment Ciyera was laughing about finding the biggest cixonberry bush, and then..." She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. "Those arrows came from nowhere. Uncle Ofero tried to shield us, but there were so many of them."
"You did everything right," he said gently. "Getting to the carriage, helping Ciyera—"
"I was so scared." The words tumbled out of her like water breaking through a dam. "I've never been that scared in my life. When that goblin with the glowing symbols trapped us with those earth walls, I thought... I thought we were going to die."
Her breathing quickened, panic setting in as the memory overwhelmed her. Artham recognized the signs—delayed shock, trauma catching up now that the immediate danger had passed.
"Hey." He placed a careful hand on her shoulder. "Look at me. You're safe now. Ciyera's safe. Uncle Ofero is going to be fine."
Miyera's tear-filled eyes met his. "But what if they come back? What if there are more of them?" Her voice cracked. "I keep seeing that goblin's face when I close my eyes. The way he smiled when he trapped us."
"That won't happen again," he said, though he couldn't promise that. "We'll be more careful next time."
"Next time?" Miyera's voice rose with panic. "How can there be a next time? We can't come back to the forest—it's not safe anymore. But Mother needs her medicine, and the herbs we gather... they're the only thing keeping us fed some days."
The practical concerns of a girl forced to grow up too fast. Her family clearly depended on these forest trips for survival—medicine for their sick mother, herbs to trade or sell. The attack hadn't just traumatized her; it had potentially cut off a vital lifeline.
"We'll figure something out," he said, meaning it more than he expected to. "Maybe we can find safer areas, or go in larger groups."
Miyera wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Uncle Ofero always said the forest was dangerous, but I never really believed him. I thought he was just being overprotective." She let out a shaky laugh. "I feel so stupid now."
"You're not stupid. You're brave." The words came easier than they should have. "Taking care of Ciyera, helping with the escape, staying calm enough to think about the horse's wounds—that took real courage."
"I didn't feel brave." Her voice was small, childlike. "I just kept thinking about Mother waiting for us to come home. About how she'd blame herself if something happened to us."
Fresh tears started flowing, and without thinking, Artham pulled her into a gentle hug. The gesture felt natural, like something Arthanis would have done. Miyera melted against his shoulder, finally letting herself cry properly.
"She's going to be so worried when she sees Uncle Ofero hurt," Miyera sobbed. "And when we tell her what happened... she'll never let us leave the village again."
Maybe that would be safer, he thought, but didn't say it aloud. Instead, he let her cry, offering what comfort he could to a girl who'd been forced to face horrors no child should see.
After a few minutes, her sobs quieted to sniffles. She pulled back, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I'm supposed to be the responsible one."
"Everyone needs to cry sometimes," he said softly. "Even responsible big sisters."
She gave him a watery smile. "Thank you, Arthanis. For saving us. For... for everything."
The gratitude in her voice made something twist in his chest—guilt, perhaps, or maybe genuine affection. He was deceiving her, wearing her dead brother's face, but the comfort he offered felt real enough.
"Come on," he said, standing and offering her his hand. "Let's get everyone loaded up. The sooner we're back home, the sooner your mother can stop worrying."
As they prepared to leave, Ciyera wandered back from the edge of the clearing, her steps slower than usual. She'd been unusually quiet since the attack, staying close but not saying much.
"Ready to go home, little one?" he asked gently.
She nodded, then looked up at him with wide, serious eyes. "Will the bad goblins follow us home?"
The innocent question, asked with such genuine worry, made his chest tighten. "No," he said firmly, crouching down to her level. "They won't follow us. I promise."
"Good," she whispered, then surprised him by stepping forward and hugging his leg tightly. "I was scared you were gonna get hurt like Uncle Ofero."
Home. He still didn't even know the name of their village. Another gap in his knowledge that he'd need to fill carefully.
"Ciyera, how far is it back? I'm trying to figure out if we'll make it before dark." It was a reasonable question—any concerned brother would want to know.
"Maybe an hour?" Ciyera looked to Miyera for confirmation. "We came pretty deep into the forest today. Deeper than Uncle Ofero usually lets us go."
"We were looking for the really good cixonberry patches," Miyera added, wiping her eyes. "The ones closer to the village are picked over. But the deeper you go toward the old ruins, the better the berries grow."
Old ruins. That was useful information. "The ruins make the soil better for berries?"
"That's what the village herbalist says," Ciyera nodded. "Something about old magic in the stones making plants grow stronger. But Uncle Ofero says we shouldn't go past the standing stones. That's goblin territory."
Standing stones. Ruins with old magic. Goblin territories. He was building a mental map of the local area, piece by piece.
"Smart of him to set boundaries," Artham said. "Though today proves even the 'safe' areas aren't always safe."
Miyera's face darkened. "We thought we were being careful. We stayed on the main path, didn't go near any caves or dens..." She shook her head. "I don't understand how they found us."
"Goblins have scouts," he said, remembering his previous world's knowledge of similar creatures. "They probably spotted you on your way in and set up an ambush."
"That's what Uncle Ofero said during the attack," Ciyera said with a shudder. "He kept yelling about 'ambush positions' and 'tactical movement' or something."
They loaded into the carriage, Miyera taking the reins with hands that still trembled slightly. He settled in the back beside Ofero and Ciyera, watching the forest roll by as they began their journey home.
Ofero stirred occasionally, mumbling fragments that might have been words or fevered nonsense. Most of it was unintelligible, but Artham caught enough to understand the man was reliving the attack—tactical assessments mixed with worry for his nieces.
"Uncle's been restless since it happened," Ciyera whispered, curled up against Artham's side. "He keeps making those soldier faces, like when he's thinking about the war."
"He's a protector," Artham said quietly. "He's probably upset that he couldn't keep you completely safe."
"But he did keep us safe. He fought so hard..." Ciyera's voice trailed off. "I was so scared he was going to die."
The trust in her voice, the way she leaned against him seeking comfort—it stirred emotions he wasn't sure belonged to him or to Arthanis's lingering presence. Either way, the feeling was becoming harder to dismiss as mere borrowed sentiment.
[Interesting,] Mire observed quietly. [Your emotional responses to these children continue to intensify. The distinction between genuine feeling and adopted memory patterns is becoming unclear.]
Is that a problem?
[Unknown. Previous data suggests emotional attachment compromises survival efficiency. However, these responses appear necessary for maintaining your cover identity.]
The carriage wheels turned steadily beneath them, carrying him toward a village full of people who would expect him to be someone he'd never been. But now, with Ciyera's small form pressed against his side and Miyera's grateful smile fresh in his memory, he found himself wondering if pretending to be Arthanis might be easier than he'd thought.
After all, caring for others—even if those feelings weren't entirely his own—was starting to feel surprisingly natural.
The forest gradually gave way to farmland as they approached Terabis. Soon, he would face his next test: convincing an entire village that their missing son and brother had returned home safely.
But for now, he was content to sit in the back of a creaking carriage, offering what comfort he could to two traumatized girls who trusted him completely.
It wasn't much of a life, perhaps. But it was a start.