During dinner, Lianzu paused to look at him.

  The dying sun was reflected in his gray eyes, dense like mist over water. His brown hair, tousled by the wind, fell across his forehead, and his chiseled profile—like that of a warrior—stood out against the golden sunset. The muscles in his arms shifted beneath the light tunic.

  Lianzu felt something stir inside, a tilt of the heart.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, with a half-smile, still holding his bowl.

  “Because you’re beautiful,” she replied, without hesitation. “And I like looking at you.”

  Aurelian lowered his gaze for a moment, then looked back at her. He smiled. “You’re beautiful too, Lianzu Shin-Yue. And I like every time your eyes fall on me.”

  She dipped her head slightly, accepting the compliment with grace, though a flicker sparked in her eyes. “Then I’ll keep looking.”

  Silence settled between them, but it was dense, charged, alive. Not awkward. The fire burned softly. Argaroth slept, his fur shimmering in the firelight. Shadows stretched long, while the world around them hushed, leaving only the two of them, that moment — and time that, at st, seemed to pause.

  Night fell slowly, dyeing the sky velvet blue speckled with stars.

  The fire crackled gently among the stacked logs, casting flickering shadows on the stone wall behind them. Argaroth slept curled up not far away, his broad chest rising and falling in a steady, reassuring rhythm.

  Lianzu pulled her cloak tighter around herself, seated beside Aurelian, legs tucked beneath her. The silence that wrapped them was calm, not strained. Now and then they exchanged a gnce, then returned to watching the fmes, as if each spark told a story still unspoken.

  “You know,” she began in a low, almost confidential voice, “I didn’t think this journey would have this… fvor.”

  Aurelian gnced sideways at her, his sculpted profile, gray eyes reflecting the firelight. “And what does it taste like to you?”

  Lianzu smiled, without turning. “Like a secret. Like something I shouldn’t savor, but I do anyway.”

  He ughed quietly, a deep, soft sound. “I was afraid you’d say ‘like poorly reheated soup.’”

  “That too. But only because we made it together.”

  Aurelian turned fully toward her. “Then next time I’ll try harder. Maybe with some Xianth spices.”

  “Only if you promise not to burn it.”

  Their ughter overpped, low and warm. Then silence again. But this time it was different. Thicker. The fmes dimmed a little, letting the dark creep in between their bodies, seated close.

  Lianzu turned toward him. Looked at him.

  Aurelian’s face was lit by the embers, shadows shifting along his strong cheeks, his sharp jawline. He had the body of a man hardened by life, by struggle. His arms were bare to the elbows, knotted and solid. But there was something else in his features: a hesitant tenderness that showed only in fshes, like a sunbeam on a cloudy day.

  Lianzu leaned slightly forward, resting her chin on her hand. Her narrow eyes gleamed like burnished gss. “You’re different from how I imagined you.”

  “Better or worse?” he asked softly.

  She shrugged, then smiled. “Better. Your heart is bigger than you let on.”

  Aurelian scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed, then tried to hide it with a half-smile. “Best not to spread that around. It’d ruin my reputation.”

  “Ah yes. The fearsome Var Ceshen.”

  Another silence.

  Then Aurelian turned to her again. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you afraid? Of all this. Of me. Of what’s coming.”

  Lianzu looked at him for a long moment, then moved just close enough that their knees brushed. “No. But I’m wary. Of how quickly I’m getting used to you.” Her words hung in the air, suspended, heavy with meaning neither dared fully name.

  Aurelian slowly reached out, his hand grazing her fingers without taking them. “If you want, I can stay quiet. Or talk to you until dawn. Just say the word.”

  Lianzu ced her fingers with his. “Just stay. Here. Beside me.”

  They leaned a little closer, shoulders just touching, the fire burning low like a tired but living heart. There was no need for kisses. Nor for hurried words. There was desire, yes. But above all, there was something holding them there, still, in an intimacy that built slowly, like stone upon stone.

  That night, under the sky of Arhon, two strangers became something more. Perhaps allies. Perhaps lovers. Perhaps, simply, two souls no longer alone.

  Dawn woke them with a golden caress. The newly risen sun filtered through the rocks and brushed the treetops like slow, light fingers. Lianzu stretched in her cloak, yawning slightly. Aurelian was already awake, tending the fire to heat some water. The morning air, though clear, still carried the bite of night.

  “Good morning,” she murmured, her voice still heavy with sleep.

  “Sleep well?” he asked, not turning.

  “Well enough. You?”

  Aurelian finally turned, a quiet smile on his lips. “Can’t remember the st time I slept with so much peace nearby.”

  Lianzu lowered her gaze, smiling as she moved closer to the fire.

  After a modest breakfast—hard bread, a few pieces of aged cheese, and warmed water in a metal cup—they set off again, Argaroth’s steady, slow pace guiding them down the worn path.

  The ndscape changed slowly around them. The valleys grew gentler, the fields more orderly—a sign they were nearing cultivated nds, and thus, the city. Around midday, through beeches and willows lining the Sen River, a pale-walled inn with a ste roof appeared in the distance. A hand-painted sign creaked in the wind from a beam overhead: The Cy Owl.

  “Still open?” Lianzu asked.

  “Yes, and the food’s good. Plus they’ve got a giant bowl for Argaroth.”

  “Then it’s an excellent inn.”

  They climbed down from the cart. Aurelian left Argaroth in the stables, where the enormous wolf curled beside a manger full of salted meat. They entered the common room—spacious and warm, with solid wood tables, smoke-darkened beams, and the unmistakable scent of stew and freshly baked bread.

  The inn wasn’t crowded—just a few travelers eating in quiet. The innkeeper greeted them with a warm, respectful smile, recognizing Aurelian at once.

  “Mr. Var Ceshen… welcome back.”

  “Two meals, please. Something hot.”

  “The Owl’s stew alright?”

  Aurelian looked at Lianzu, who nodded.

  “Perfect.”

  They sat near the window, the light snting across their hands. Soon the innkeeper returned with two steaming bowls, bread, and a pitcher of water with mint leaves.

  “You don’t look like someone returning home with a prize,” said Lianzu, breaking off a piece of bread.

  Aurelian held her gaze for a moment. “And you don’t look like a prize.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’re alive, brilliant, dangerous. Trophies don’t look at you with that fire in their eyes.”

  Lianzu smiled, taking a spoonful of soup. “You’re good with words.”

  “I wasn’t. But with you… it feels natural.”

  She lowered her eyes to the bowl, but the smile lingered.

  “And you? What do you expect to find in Sirentia?” he asked after a moment.

  Lianzu took a few seconds before answering. “Questions. Stares. Judgments. But also a bit of curiosity. My mother will want to know whether you truly won me… or just an illusion.”

  “And what do you think?”

  She looked him straight in the eyes. “I think you won the hardest part: my trust.”

  They went back to eating in silence, time slowing within the warm walls of the inn. Now and then, a soft word, a comment about the food’s fvor, a gnce stolen. They seemed like lovers already worn into routine—and yet freshly born.When they stepped outside again, the sun was high, the sky clear. Sirentia was not far now.

  Aurelian climbed onto the cart, helping Lianzu as always. Argaroth stretched, yawned, then resumed his pce, ready to lead.

  The wheels turned. The path widened. And the silhouette of Sirentia—amid golden hills and ivory towers—began to grow clearer and clearer.