The morning air was unforgivingly harsh.
A black carriage carved its way through the thin mist, heading northwest. The wooden wheels clattered against the cobbled road, providing the sole rhythm to their arduous journey. Outside the window, rows of ancient pine trees still bore the remnants of last night’s snow.
Ethan Valen sat leaning against one side of the cabin.
His long-sleeved black shirt was immaculately neat. The young man stared straight out the window, his face as flat as marble, though his dark brown eyes moved with constant vigilance.
On the opposite seat, Miya sat curled up.
The petite Elven healer couldn’t hide her exhaustion. Her light purple eyes were listless, and her pointed ears drooped limply. She propped her head up with one hand to keep it from bumping against the cabin wall.
On the cushioned bench converted into an improvised bed, Elara lay peacefully beneath a thick stack of woolen blankets.
Her pale brown hair cascaded around her fragile face, and her blind eyes were tightly shut.
Toward mid-morning, the heap of blankets shifted slightly.
"Brother...?" Elara called out weakly, her voice nearly swallowed by the clatter of the wooden wheels. "Are we there yet?"
Ethan’s focus shifted instantly. His predatory gaze softened in a heartbeat as he turned to his sister.
"Not yet, El," Ethan answered gently, leaning forward slightly. "Our home is still far away. Go back to sleep."
However, the little girl shook her head faintly. "I don’t want to be asleep when we arrive..."
Elara’s tiny fingers fumbled with her blanket. "I want to be the first to hear the sounds of our village. The windmill... horse hooves on the dirt road... since I can’t see them anymore."
Hearing that heartbreakingly innocent request, Miya felt a tight pang in her chest. The petite healer forced a gentle smile and leaned forward.
"Sleep a little while longer, My Lady," Miya coaxed earnestly. "I promise I’ll wake you up myself the moment I catch the scent of our home’s soil."
Content with that promise, a faint smile curved onto Elara’s pale lips. She closed her eyes once more, even as her breathing remained somewhat uneven.
Silence reclaimed the cabin for a long moment.
"Umm... Master," Miya spoke softly, breaking the quiet. "How much farther do we have to go?"
Ethan didn’t turn right away. "About two days until we reach home," he replied flatly. "It could take longer if a blizzard hits and blocks the main road."
Miya nodded slowly. She shifted slightly, pressing the back of her hand against Elara’s forehead.
"Phew... thank goodness," Miya murmured in relief, finding no feverish heat, only the typical chill of travel.
The Elven girl gazed at Ethan for a moment. Hesitation flickered across her face before she gathered her courage.
"Master Ethan... why have you never spoken about the Valen territory or your home?"
The question hung in the air. Ethan locked his gaze on the passing pine trees outside.
"Tch. There’s nothing special to tell," Ethan answered hollowly.
"But Lady Elara brought it up so often while she was recovering," Miya chimed in politely. "She always talked about the giant oak tree in the front yard and the little garden behind the house where you two spent time."
Ethan turned his head. "Your expectations are far too high, Miya."
The young man’s voice dropped. "The Valen territory is nothing more than an impoverished, remote rural backwater. Our house is just a simple wooden structure. Its location and stature are nowhere near elite noble manors like Rosenberg."
Miya stared into those dark brown eyes with absolute earnestness.
"The building might be simple, Master. But to Lady Elara, that place means everything. Isn’t her hope rooted there?"
Ethan went silent. He stared back into Miya’s light purple eyes before finally turning away toward the snow-covered road.
"Yeah..." Ethan murmured, almost inaudible. "That’s where we grew up."
Miya chose to stay silent. As a sensitive Elf, she could feel too much darkness buried behind his words. She didn’t dare pry deeper into that wound.
As the sun dipped toward the west and the mist began to thicken once more, something strange occurred inside the cabin.
Elara, who should have been fast asleep, suddenly mumbled softly.
"Snow... melting... a blue flower..." the girl whispered, barely audible.
Miya snapped her head toward her. "Lady Elara?"
But Elara didn’t answer. The girl was still asleep, yet her lips continued to move faintly as if dreaming.
Miya leaned in closer, straining her ears.
"There’s a garden... behind the tree... and a woman’s voice... humming..."
Miya caught her breath. She looked at Ethan, seeking a clue.
"Does Lady Elara often have dreams like this, Master?"
Ethan didn’t answer right away. His expression hardened. "Never heard her have one before."
Miya swallowed hard. "Perhaps it’s just exhaustion... or the effect of the journey."
"Or perhaps not," Ethan cut in coldly.
No one spoke further. Silence reclaimed the cabin once more.
As late afternoon approached, the carriage slowed down. They entered a small border village that served as a transit hub.
The village appeared dreary. There were no high stone walls or armed guards like Zenithar’s satellite towns. There were only rows of snow-covered, thatched-roof wooden houses, a communal stable, and an old tavern glowing dimly in the gloom.
The old driver hopped down, preparing to lead his exhausted horses toward the stable.
Ethan opened the cabin door. A gust of late-afternoon wind carrying icy flurries immediately whipped against his face.
"Stay inside," Ethan commanded strictly, glancing back at Miya. "Watch Elara."
Miya nodded firmly, accepting the order without hesitation.
The moment Ethan stepped down from the carriage, the villagers’ activities ground to a sudden halt.
Their eyes narrowed in suspicion at the young man clad entirely in black. However, as a cold, lethal aura oozed from Ethan’s imposing stance, not a single soul dared step forward or even offer a greeting. The locals instinctively backed away in unison.
A shabby local youth gathered enough courage to approach.
"Mister... where are you heading from? Strangers rarely travel the western road these days. Monsters have been roaming around those parts."
Ethan shot a brief glance at the youth. His gaze was flat, deep, and menacing.
"None of your business."
Those four words were enough to freeze the youth in place. He backed away steadily, pretending to resume his work. His eyes stole a brief glance toward the closed cabin, but he quickly averted his gaze.
Clang!
A rusted bell chimed as Ethan pushed his way into the inn. The rich scent of oat soup and burning firewood immediately hit him.
Ethan strode straight toward the long wooden counter, locking his gaze on the thin old man in a filthy apron tending the establishment.
"A room with a fireplace," Ethan said coldly. "And bring a warm meal upstairs."
The old man had just opened his mouth to ask for his guest’s identity as per village protocol, but the words choked dead in his throat.
Ethan’s hollow, oppressive gaze felt as though it were stripping his very soul bare. The innkeeper could only nod jerkily with trembling hands. He accepted the silver coins from Ethan without daring to utter a single question.
An hour later, the party of fugitives had settled into the second floor.
The room was cramped, and the wooden floor creaked softly beneath their feet. However, the stone hearth in the corner blazed fiercely, successfully driving away the winter chill.
Elara was laid down with extreme care onto the soft bed. The inn’s woolen blankets were stacked over the ones from the carriage, ensuring her fragile body stayed warm. The little girl’s breathing had grown smooth and rhythmic.
Near the hearth, Miya knelt beside a low wooden stool. She used the firelight to reorganize the potion vials inside her leather bag, making sure no glass was cracked.
Meanwhile, Ethan stood frozen near a small window overlooking the dark street. His hands rested firmly against the wooden frame.
"Tomorrow afternoon," Ethan’s baritone voice broke the crackle of burning logs, "we will reach the border of the Valen territory. From there, it’s another half-day journey to the main manor."
Miya paused her task and turned to him. "So we’ll be staying at your estate tomorrow night, Master?"
"Yes."
"How does it feel? Returning home after so long?"
Ethan didn’t answer. He kept staring out at the dark street beyond the glass.
Miya gathered her courage. "Was your home quiet back then, Master?"
A momentary silence fell, filled only by the popping of firewood.
"No," Ethan answered softly. "There used to be laughter."
Miya gazed at Ethan’s back. There was something profound and painful echoing behind his voice, but she didn’t dare dig any further.
"Were you happy there back then, Master?"
Ethan turned briefly before facing the window once more.
"That’s enough, Miya."
Miya bowed her head, recognizing the boundary. She returned to occupying herself with her potion vials.
A moment later, Miya glanced toward the bed. Elara was sound asleep, both hands clutching the edge of the blanket.
"Lady Elara will surely be so happy when she steps into the yard back home," Miya murmured under her breath.
Silence. Ethan did not respond—neither denying nor affirming her words.
Yet from behind, Miya could see the back of Ethan’s right hand gripping the window frame. The young man clenched the wood so tightly that his knuckles turned stark white—desperately holding back an unseen surge of emotion.
The night rolled on in silence.
There was no disturbance from downstairs; Ethan’s lethal aura seemed to have silenced every living soul in the inn. Inside the room, the only remaining noise was the symphony of wind battering the glass and the quiet snapping of burning pine.
On the bed, Elara slept deeply, lost in dreams of home and her beloved oak tree. Beside the hearth, Miya sat keeping her faithful vigil, her eyes darting between her patient and her master.
And before that freezing window, Ethan Valen stood unwavering. His dark brown eyes, now shifting into a deep crimson, stared straight into the northern night, preparing to reclaim the past he had left behind so long ago.
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