The sun rises late this morning, barely filtering through the thick mist that clings to the verdant landscape. Its rays are muted, as if the world itself holds its breath. Randia, already awake, resumes his journey with Viena nestled against him, her small form warm and soft in his arms. She remains deep in slumber, her breath steady and rhythmic, as they travel through the stillness of the post-rain world, the air heavy with the sweet scent of petrichor.
Yet beneath the peace of the morning, there is a dissonance. The coolness of the damp earth contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from Viena’s body. Her temperature rises, unsettlingly so, with each passing moment. Soft murmurs escape her lips as her sleep deepens, and Randia feels the unmistakable shift—the fever has taken hold of her. Her once smooth and steady breath becomes shallow, and the warmth that clings to her skin intensifies.
Anxiety knots in Randia’s chest, tightening around his ribs with each beat of his heart. He’s been through countless medical crises before, yet nothing seems to prepare him for the rising tide of fear. He knows what to do, how to treat the fever, but it’s something else—something deeper—that has taken root within him. This is different. The fear that coils around his heart isn’t the fear of failure; it’s the fear of losing something precious. It’s primal, something that stirs an ache deep in his soul, something he should’ve recognized sooner.
He gathers what little he has with shaky hands—herbs to bring down the fever, a crude mixture of clay and sap for a makeshift cast, and a board of wood and tendrils to make splints since he knew that couldn't use Velda on her as he did with her Yarna corruption.
If he was to do so, Viena's body would react in an aggressive way since her system immune is in an active stage. Randia might end up making it worse instead of curing her. Such is the limitation of magic.
"Ngh... Don't leave..." Viena murmurs in her sleep, her voice soft, fragile, a plea that tugs at Randia’s very being. A tear escapes her closed eye, rolling down her cheek and falling onto his cloak, seeping into the fabric like a silent sorrow.
Her grip on his cloak tightens, a shiver running through her small frame. He feels it—her vulnerability, her fragility—and his heart stutters in his chest. He curses himself for not having been more careful, for letting this happen. For a moment, he is overwhelmed by the urge to take her pain away, to heal her completely. But he knows he can’t. Not yet.
With his hand pressed gently to her forehead, feeling the fire of her fever against his skin, he whispers softly, his voice carrying the weight of every unspoken promise, every vow he’s made to protect her:
“I am here.”
The wind carries the words away, as if the world itself understands. And yet, in the deep corners of his heart, Randia knows this is not enough. Not yet.
Hours later, Viena stirred to the gentle murmur of streaming water and the smoky aroma of something grilling over open fire. Her eyelids fluttered weakly, the world coming back to her in slow fragments. Before she could shift, Randia was already aware.
"Are you awake, Viena?"
His voice was soft, a rare gentleness threading through it. His hand brushed through her hair, slow and measured. When her eyes fully opened, she found herself resting on Randia’s lap, a cool cloth pressed to her forehead.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling… lazy. Very… lazy,” she murmured, her small fingers lifting the damp cloth.
“Your fever was high. Lethargy is expected.” Calmly, Randia took the cloth from her hand, flipped it, and placed it back on her brow, his movements precise but careful.
Viena tried to sit up, but a sting shot through her left leg. She hissed under her breath.
“Don’t move,” Randia chided without looking at her. His tone was dry. “Your leg looks as ugly as your face.”
With an indignant puff, Viena bit at Randia’s hand, more a peevish nibble than an attack. Unfazed, he gently eased her back down and reached into his pack. From it, he retrieved a small, worn pillow—the same one she had coaxed him into buying a month ago when they’d worked the cotton fields.
“Rest a little longer. I’ll have the food ready soon.”
Randia set to work with quiet efficiency. He crumbled stale bread into a simmering pot of water, flaked the grilled fish, and seasoned it with whatever remnants of spice remained in their stores. Wild berries and foraged nuts joined the mix, alongside a pinch of mountain salt and pepper. With care, he tasted a spoonful, ensuring it was tender enough for her to eat.
“It smells much better than usual,” Viena remarked from her cocoon of blankets, her voice small but playful.
“Come on now. Sit up. It’s time to eat.”
She stretched her arms toward him with exaggerated neediness. Randia sighed, long-suffering, but indulged her nonetheless. Yet instead of sitting on her own, Viena dragged herself into his lap once again, nestling her back against his chest and pulling the blanket tighter around her.
“Aaah. I’m so tired. I don’t think I can even lift a spoon…”
“You’re really a bothersome kid, aren’t you?”
In the end, Randia fed her bite by bite like a pampered child, exactly as she wanted.
“Mmhm! Wow! It’s so good! Why haven’t you made this before?” she exclaimed between mouthfuls.
“Because we have to ration supplies,” he replied flatly.
“Mhm! But still, it’d be bett— Uhuk! Uhuk!”
“What did I say about talking with your mouth full?” Randia set the bowl down and rubbed her back until her coughing subsided, then handed her the waterskin.
By the time Viena finished her meal, color had returned to her cheeks and a languid contentment softened her features. She rubbed her tummy idly as Randia cleaned their camp.
“You sweated a lot earlier. You’ll need a wipe.”
He rinsed the cloth in the river, then warmed it with a flicker of magic. Viena patted herself clean, her motions steady now. Though her fever had broken, Randia refused to let her exert herself. He carried her as they continued their journey, ignoring every protest. Only when she insisted on stretching her legs did he relent—but she had scarcely taken five steps before he scooped her back up, ignoring her indignant squeaks.
“Duh! Seriously, you’re such a worrywart!”
“Nothing you say will change my mind. Out here, you’re basically walking breakfast for half the forest.” His gaze flicked to the trees. “Though, frankly, that doesn’t change much whether you’re injured or not.”
"Hey! Aren't you looking down on me a little bit too much?"
“My point is—I’d rather not waste half a day digging a grave in this root-riddled soil.”
“Dig a what?!”
Their bickering echoed through the thinning forest. At the edge of the trees, a small cluster of squirrels tossed nuts in their direction, as if telling them both to hush.
Randia sighed. “You’re so much easier to deal with when you’re asleep.”
“Oh yeah? Well too bad for you, there’s no better version of you! You’re annoying in every form!”
“Enough.” His voice softened. “Notice how your breath’s growing ragged? You won’t recover if you keep acting up.”
Viena blinked, surprised—and as if on cue, a light dizziness swept over her. She wobbled slightly.
Randia’s hand found her hair again, smoothing it down. She breathed easier under his touch, her shoulders slackening as she leaned her head against him. The air turned still, heavy with quiet.
Then, without warning, Viena wrapped her arms around Randia’s shoulders in a trembling embrace.
He froze.
“I was so scared,” she whispered.
Her words cracked. Again and again, she repeated them, voice fragile and breaking, until tears spilled freely down her cheeks.
“I thought I’d never see you again. I thought I was going to be alone again.”
Randia looked away, his jaw tightening. “Save your tears. It wasn’t me who rescued you. The town guards did.”
“No. It was you.” Her grip didn’t falter. “No one holds me like you do.”
“…You must’ve been hallucinating badly. Maybe I should re-examine you.”
Before he could say more, Viena tilted her head and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
The world hushed.
Randia’s breath caught. His eyes widened, shoulders slackening as an unspoken, unfathomable emotion softened his entire frame for the briefest heartbeat. Viena felt it—the armor around him yielding, if only for a flicker of time.
“You really suck, you know that?” she murmured, smiling through the remnants of her tears. “But I don’t dislike it.”
Her words seemed to snap Randia back into himself. He inhaled sharply and composed his usual impassive mask.
“This is how you repay me? By smearing all that snot on me?”
Viena laughed then—bright, unrestrained, and sweeter than nectar. The kind of laughter that warmed the air and lightened the heart. It echoed through the clearing, more radiant than the late morning sun breaking through the mist.
The days rolled on, their journey slow and unhurried by necessity. Viena’s recovery set the pace; each step measured, every mile stretched thin with caution. What distance Randia could have crossed in two days alone, took them four instead. He bore the delay without complaint, and she, wrapped in her blanket and occasional stubbornness, bore it with quiet resolve.
By the end of that week, they reached the land’s edge.
The wind rose first — not a mere breeze but a hollow, whirling howl, as though the world itself exhaled beyond the final veil of trees. Viena could feel it before she saw it: the currents gathering, bristling just past the thinning beech branches. Then the sunlight broke through, a spear of gold so sharp it forced her to lift her hand to shield her eyes. The last shadows of the forest fell behind her.
It took three blinks.
The first, too harsh to see.
The second, a shimmer of shapes and color.
The third—clarity.
Her breath caught. Her pupils widened, drinking in a sight few could behold without their hearts stirring.
Fleurein lay before them.
The famed capital of roses and beauty unfurled in full splendor. A broad, ancient road stretched ahead, its stones meticulously laid and edged with orderly ranks of dark green cypress, their scent crisp and sharp in the morning air. To the left, expansive flower fields painted the earth in bold strokes of crimson, violet, and gold. Among them, young swordsmen trained with steel that flashed like glass under the sun, their laughter and shouts distant but clear.
Beyond, the city rose — a marvel sculpted between cliff and lake. Towering hexagonal basalt columns guarded the land like petrified titans, sheer cliffs falling to the endless, shimmering expanse of an inland sea. Bright harbors bustled at the lake’s edge, ships tilting in the wind with sails white as ivory. High atop the cliffs, sentry towers crowned the landscape like candles on a grand confection, slender and pale against the sky.
And above even those heights, knights wheeled through the firmament astride colossal winged beasts — creatures whose shadows rippled over rock and water alike. Their glinting armor marked them as Fleurein’s skyward wardens, silent and vigilant, ready to cast down any fool who dared threaten this god-blessed realm.
Marvelous.
It was the only word that came close, and even that felt too small.
"I-Is this the capital?" Viena’s voice was a thin whisper, as if louder words might fracture the scene.
"Yes," Randia answered simply, his gaze steady. But even his tone, cool and measured, carried a quiet undercurrent — not awe exactly, but the recognition of something rare and untouched by time.