The following morning, the first pale light of dawn crept across the sky. Outside the shattered eaves, a faint breeze swept past, carrying dust and a lingering chill.
Inside, the group stirred one by one, their faces etched with an exhaustion that sleep could not wash away. No one spoke; it was as if the very act of breathing required a measure of caution.
Kain reached into his tunic and pulled out the last remaining piece of hardtack. He began to break it apart, bit by bit, dividing it into six portions. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if he were apportioning something of immeasurable value.
"Eat something first," he said, his voice low and steady as he handed the pieces out. "Even a single bite will give you enough strength to endure."
Elina looked at the small scrap of bread in her hand. After a moment of silence, she shook her head gently and pushed it back toward him. "I won't eat," she said, her voice soft but laced with a restrained resolve. "You men take it. If something happens, we'll need you to protect us."
Martha nodded in agreement, silently placing her portion back without a word.
Leo frowned, his gaze darkening with an unyielding intensity. "No. If we run into real danger, none of us are guaranteed to survive. You must have the strength to run."
Kain looked at him, then firmly pressed the scraps back into their hands. "He's right," Kain said calmly. "If a situation arises, Leo and I will hold back the enemy. You must take the children and flee. You cannot afford to collapse."
Elina's hand trembled slightly, but she didn't refuse again. She took the meager scrap, her eyes clouded with a rising, unspoken dread.
Kain forced a smile, as if trying to dispel the shadows looming over them. "It's only temporary. Once we clear this city, we'll hunt and fish in the woods. We'll make up for it then. Now, eat. The children are waking up—don't let them worry."
He leaned down, lifting Rena into his arms and pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.
Rena wrinkled her small nose, immediately covering her face with a look of mock-disgust. "Daddy's breath is stinky—!"
The sudden outburst caused the room to fall silent for a heartbeat before everyone let out a soft, stifled laugh. It was a faint sound, yet it acted like a tiny, flickering flame, warming the cold air for a brief moment.
Leo also leaned down, gently patting Milia's head. "Milia, time to get up. Eat your biscuit; we're getting ready to leave."
Milia rubbed her sleepy eyes, nodding quietly as she carefully took the scrap of bread.
At that exact moment, a low, blaring horn sounded from the distance, shattering the silence of the morning.
Everyone froze.
It was the military signal for assembly.
Soon, the rhythmic, heavy thud of marching boots echoed from the northern part of the city. The sound grew louder, then gradually faded as if an iron river were flowing through the ruins, eventually sinking into the morning mist.
Kain moved to the door, peering through the thin crack. He listened in silence for a long time before finally whispering, "...They've moved on."
He turned back to the group, his eyes sharp with renewed decisiveness. "We'll split up and scavenge for whatever supplies remain nearby. We wait until this afternoon—then we move out toward the forest."
The group nodded, beginning to pack their meager belongings.
Rena carried an old, battered bucket to the semi-collapsed well in the courtyard. With considerable effort, she hauled up the water and funneled it into their skins. She cupped her hands, splashing the icy water onto her face to wash away the grime and lingering fatigue; the sudden cold made her shiver.
When she looked up, her gaze fell upon Milia, who was standing a short distance away. Milia was cradling a small, tattered cloth doll in her arms.
"What a cute doll!" Rena's eyes lit up with a spark of genuine surprise and delight.
Milia gave a small, timid nod, clutching the doll a little tighter. "I found it in the house next door. It kept smiling at me... it felt so happy."
Rena stepped closer, her curiosity piqued. She reached out to tug on the doll's tiny hand, her tone half-playful, half-demanding. "I like it, too. Give it to me."
She pulled, but the doll didn't budge. The other hand was gripped firmly in Milia's white-knuckled grasp.
Milia lowered her head, her fingertips trembling. She knew she should let go—Rena was her best friend, the only one who showed her any tenderness in this cruel world. But she couldn't.
Throughout this harrowing flight, her mother's coldness and the wary avoidance of others had left her afraid to lean on anyone. Only this doll, with its unwavering stitched-on smile, sat with her in the silence. It didn't ask her to explain herself; it just kept her company so she wouldn't have to be afraid.
Milia kept her head down, silent. Her eyes brimmed with red, but she stubbornly held back the tears, refusing to let them fall.
Standing before her, Rena's initial flash of annoyance gradually thawed. She stared at Milia's downcast face and those eyes fighting a losing battle against tears. Suddenly, her mother's whispered words echoed in her mind: Milia has had it hard; you must take good care of her.
Rena fell silent for a heartbeat. Slowly, her fingers loosened their grip.
"…Now that I look closer, it's actually not that pretty anyway," she huffed, her tone intentionally casual. "I don't want it anymore."
Without another look at Milia, she turned on her heel, waving a hand dismissively behind her. "I'm going to check elsewhere to see if there's anything actually useful."
She walked quickly, as if afraid that if she slowed down, she might change her mind. Soon, her silhouette vanished behind a crumbling wall.
Silence returned to the courtyard. Milia remained where she stood, hugging the only "smile" that truly belonged to her.
By mid-afternoon, the sun had grown a fraction warmer.
Kain stood outside the house, squinting at the hazy horizon. "It's time," he said softly. "The army has moved far enough away. We should leave."
Leo held up a makeshift bow he had cobbled together from scraps of wood and cord. He gave a dry, self-deprecating laugh. "Ruthless soldiers. I scavenged for hours and only found these splinters. I just hope this thing can actually take down some game."
Martha approached from the side, clutching a worn-out cloth sack. For once, a faint trace of relief touched her features. "It wasn't a total loss. Elina and I found a few sweet potatoes buried in a backyard. It should at least keep us going for a while."
Kain nodded, though his expression remained guarded. "The children are still growing; they can't survive on scraps forever. Once we're deeper in the forest, we have to find a way to get some meat."
As he spoke, he pulled a sharpened piece of iron from his belt. Its edges were rough, but it had been ground into a makeshift blade that caught the dim light. "I've worked it a bit," he whispered. "It'll serve as a knife. It should be of some use."
Without another word, the group nodded and finished securing their supplies. Then, following the winding, broken alleys, they stepped out of the city ruins.
The air in the forest was a world away from the city—damp, cool, and thick with the scent of earth and decaying leaves. Interlocking branches sliced the sunlight into jagged patches of gold across the forest floor.
They hadn't walked far when Leo suddenly froze. His gaze sharpened, locking onto something ahead. Between the foliage, a flash of mottled feathers stirred. A wild pheasant was pecking at the ground, oblivious to the encroaching danger.
Leo slowly raised his makeshift bow. He eased his breathing, as if afraid to disturb even the air itself. The string was drawn back, inch by agonizing inch. His focus was absolute, as if the entire world had been compressed into this single, fleeting moment.
Swish—
The arrow pierced the air. A heartbeat later, it struck true, driving through the pheasant's neck. The small creature fluttered once before collapsing into the fallen leaves, silent.
The clearing fell still for a second. Kain blinked in surprise before bursting into a hearty laugh. "Well, I'll be! I had no idea you had that in you, Leo!"
Leo himself looked stunned. He stared at the bow in his hands, then at the fallen prey, as if he couldn't quite believe it. After a moment, he gave a self-deprecating shake of his head. "Pure luck, most likely. I've practiced a thousand times before and couldn't hit a tree. To think I'd land this shot today."
"Just so we're clear," Elina said, stepping back with a crinkled nose and a faint smile, "I am not handling the cleaning and dressing. Count me out."
Martha had already stepped forward, rolling up her sleeves with brisk efficiency. "Leave it to me. The knife is poor, but it'll do."
"Mhm!" Milia's eyes lit up with a rare, buoyant spark. "Mama's cooking is the best—"
The words were cut short. Martha's cold, sharp gaze swept over her, filled with unmasked annoyance. She said nothing, only letting out a dismissive huff as she turned away to retrieve the pheasant lying in the blood-stained leaves.
The atmosphere grew heavy once again. Milia lowered her head, her fingers trembling slightly. She instinctively clutched her cloth doll tighter, as if it were the only anchor she had left.
Leo watched her, a pang of sympathy tightening his chest. He walked over and gently stroked her hair, his voice kept very low. "Don't be sad."
He paused, his tone becoming soft yet resolute. "Once we reach Lunaris and get settled... we'll go south together. We'll find your brothers and bring them home."
Milia lifted her head, her eyes still shimmering with unshed tears. "Can we... can we really?"
Leo stole a glance at Martha in the distance. A flicker of complex emotion crossed his face before he looked back at the girl and gave a slow, firm nod.
"We can."
His voice was barely a whisper, but it sounded like a vow made to his own soul. "...We definitely will."
Shortly after, Leo and Kain resumed their search along the forest's edge. They discovered a few scattered eggs hidden in the tall grass and an abandoned coop, but no further signs of game. Resigned, they gathered what edible wild greens and roots they could find and brought them back to their makeshift camp.
That meal was, by far, the best they had seen in days.
The pheasant was set to simmer over a small, controlled fire, its fat rendering into the broth as the savory aroma began to drift through the air. Sweet potatoes were buried deep within the embers, their skins charring and splitting to release a warm, rustic sweetness.
The group sat huddled around the fire. No one said much. But within that silence, a long-lost sense of stability finally took root. For a fleeting moment, the terror of exile was kept at bay.
The food was distributed with surgical precision. Any leftovers were quickly cured, wrapped, and stowed away. Nothing was wasted; no one dared. As the shadows of night began to crawl closer, they extinguished the fire, meticulously masking their tracks before setting out once more.
The forest grew dim. Kain and Leo remained at the vanguard, warily clearing the path; Elina and Martha brought up the rear, casting frequent glances behind them.
Rena and Milia walked in the middle, their small hands tightly entwined. The children's steps were light, creating a delicate rustle against the fallen leaves. They whispered and giggled, seemingly forgetting—if only for a moment—the cruelty of the world outside.
Their laughter was soft, yet it carried with startling clarity through the woods.
Martha's gaze drifted toward Milia's back. That small silhouette, stretched thin by the fading light, looked painfully fragile. A sudden, chaotic tide of emotion rose within her.
Jack. Thomas.
The two names sat like lead weights in her heart. She didn't know if they were still breathing. She didn't know where they were. Once the thought surfaced, it pierced her like a thorn, impossible to ignore. She let out a sharp, involuntary click of her tongue and a heavy sigh.
Elina noticed. She moved closer, quietly reaching out to squeeze Martha's hand.
"Jack and Thomas will be fine," Elina said, her voice a soothing balm. "Stop torturing yourself like this." She paused, then added in a softer tone: "...And stop blaming Milia. She is your daughter, too."
Martha's expression darkened instantly. She didn't look at Elina. Instead, she spoke in a voice so faint it nearly scattered into the wind.
"I know she's my daughter..."
She stopped, her tone suddenly tightening with a sharp, jagged edge.
"But if she hadn't been so willful—if she hadn't run off to chase that butterfly—we wouldn't have lost the main army. And we wouldn't... we wouldn't be like this."
Elina let out a weary sigh, her tone remaining as gentle as ever.
"She's only nine, Martha. After being dragged along with the army for so long, seeing something beautiful and chasing after it... isn't that the most natural thing in the world?" She offered a small smile, as if drifting back to a far-off memory. "When we were small, didn't we also run wild through the fields, chasing flowers or deer?"
Martha didn't respond. Her gaze remained hollow, fixed on the path ahead as if staring at something—or perhaps, at nothing at all.
Elina's voice dropped, becoming even softer, even more tender. "But they are not us. They have lived in the shadow of war since the day they were born. When the Empire fell three years ago, they were only six." She paused, a trace of irrepressible heartache seeping into her voice. "At six, they had to learn how to flee, how to starve, and how to watch the people around them die. They should have grown up without a care in the world, but now..."
She let the sentence trail off. The words settled heavily in the stagnant air.
It was a long time before Martha finally spoke, her voice raspy, sounding as though she were talking to herself as much as anyone else. "I understand all that... but I just can't let it go."
Elina didn't press her further. She simply gave Martha's back a comforting pat and stepped away, giving her a moment of silence.
Suddenly, a sharp, jarring thud shattered the quiet of the woods.
"Ow—!"
The group froze and looked back. Milia was crumpled on the ground, clutching her ankle, tears already streaming down her face. "My foot..." she sobbed, "it hurts so much... I can't walk anymore..."
Leo looked at her and gave a small, sympathetic sigh. He stepped forward, his voice warm. "Come here. Daddy will carry you."
He was just about to bend down when Elina reached out and stopped him.
"No." She shook her head, her tone serious and composed. "We are in the middle of a flight. If danger strikes, you and Kain must be ready to fight instantly. You can't be encumbered by carrying her." She glanced at Milia, then back at Leo, her voice softening. "I'll do it."
Leo hesitated for a second before nodding. "...Alright, thank you. If it gets too heavy, we'll stop and rest."
Kain gave Leo a reassuring pat on the shoulder, a faint grin on his face. "Don't worry too much. She can handle Milia's weight. Once we find a safe spot, we'll rest for the night."
Elina knelt and gently hoisted Milia onto her back. Milia's arms circled her neck, her head resting tiredly on Elina's shoulder. The group prepared to move out again.
However—Rena had come to a complete halt.
She puffed out her cheeks, her small face tense, her eyes blazing with indignation. "That's not fair!" she blurted out. "I want Mama to carry me, too!"
Elina froze and looked back at her daughter, her voice kept very low and soothing. "Rena, Milia's ankle is hurt. Once we stop to rest, Mama will hold you, okay?"
"No!"
Rena stomped her foot, her voice suddenly spiking into a sharp, piercing cry. "It's always her! Milia, Milia, and always Milia—!" Her eyes flushed crimson, and her voice trembled with a resentment she could no longer suppress. "She has her own mother! Why do you have to carry her?!"
Kain's face darkened instantly. "Rena!"
He barked her name with a harshness that sliced through the air like a blade, shattering the fragile peace they had struggled to maintain.
The air froze.
Rena stood paralyzed. That single roar seemed to crush the last of her defenses. Her eyes widened, and a heartbeat later, the tears she had fought so hard to hold back came flooding out. She spun around, her voice fractured and shrill.
"I hate you! I hate all of you! You and Mama... you don't love me at all!"
Before the words had even fully landed, she turned and stumbled blindly into the depths of the forest.
"Rena—!" Kain's expression shifted to sheer terror. Without a second thought, he bolted after her. Leo followed close behind, his face tight with dread. Martha stood for a moment, her gaze flickering over Milia with a dark, unreadable emotion before letting out a sharp huff and joining the pursuit.
Soon, the forest was filled only with the frantic thud of footsteps and the receding rustle of leaves.
Milia clung to Elina's back, her entire body shaking. Her voice was thin and choked with sobs. "I... I didn't mean to... I'm sorry... it's all my fault..."
Elina patted her back, her touch firm and steady, as if trying to anchor a soul that was about to drift away. "Don't cry, Milia. This isn't your fault." Her pace didn't slow; if anything, she moved faster. "Rena is just exhausted, and she's scared. We'll catch up to her, and she'll calm down soon."
The forest grew darker. The wind whistled through the branches, carrying an uneasy, low-pitched moan.
Before long, a faint, rhythmic sound drifted from ahead. It wasn't loud, but in the absolute stillness of the woods, it sounded jarringly out of place. Elina's heart hammered against her ribs. She quickened her stride, pushing through a dense thicket of brambles.
Then, she saw Kain.
He was leaning against a massive tree trunk, clutching Rena tightly to his chest, one hand clamped firmly over her mouth. His usually composed face was etched with a gravity she had never seen before. Leo and Martha were crouched behind separate trees, bodies coiled like springs, ready to snap.
The air was so tense it felt as though it might shatter at the slightest breath.
Elina's stomach dropped. She didn't make a sound, only knelt down swiftly to set Milia on the ground. She leaned close to the girl's ear, her voice a ghost of a whisper. "Don't make a sound. Follow me, slowly."
Milia bit her lip hard, nodding with frantic intensity, even forcing her breathing to become shallow. The two of them crept forward, their fingers brushing against fallen leaves with a faint scritch-scratch. Every inch felt like a mile.
Suddenly, Kain's eyes snapped toward them. He raised a hand, signaling a sharp "Stop." Then, he gave a slow, minute shake of his head.
Do not come any closer.
Elina's movements froze. She held her breath and slowly turned her head, following the direction of their terrified gazes.
There, in a small clearing within the woods, a massive silhouette was pacing slowly.
It was a tiger—but no ordinary beast. Its body was a ghostly ash-white, as if coated in frost and snow. The beast moved like a phantom through the forest shadows, its powerful muscles rippling beneath the fur with a suffocating sense of lethal power. Its gait was light and silent, possessing the natural grace of a feline, yet radiating an otherworldly majesty.
But the most heart-stopping feature was the pair of wings upon its back.
Pale membranes extended from its spine, the primary feathers twitching slightly and glinting with a cold, metallic sheen in the dim light. The wings would occasionally unfurl, then slowly fold back against its ribs. It looked as though with a single beat, it could summon a gale to tear the world asunder.
In the forest, no one dared to move.