Diaval soared over the land seamlessly as his golden eyes kept watch on everything below. His wings broke the streams of air, pushing him higher into the skies above. He would be their only defense if something were to happen by surprise, luckily his sheer size would provide a strong set back. Here and there he’d let out a slight shrill call or a deep grumble, Diaval was not one to be quiet. Of course the people below within the towns looked to the sky, some hid, some found a more open space to observe. Dragons had been gone for years, the only ones known alive were wildlings that lived out in the rocky mountain areas, unable to be tamed. Traders and merchants shared stories of their travels seeing them at the peaks. But for one to be…domesticated? It was completely unheard of. The beast for some time had even distracted the knights and soldiers, the men watching as the creature soared above, dipping in between clouds, his shadows casting to the ground below.
Meanwhile, Ilyana had found the way to the servants quarters. Many of the workers in the castle whispered and moved into rooms, out of the way of the witch. Ilyana paid no mind truly, until it came time to find the room she would be in. Everyone was so caught up in the gossip that Ilyana stood in the middle of the hall, her brows furrowing slightly as her patience waned.

“If someone would be so kind…” She said, a slight bitter tone lacing her voice as her hands clasped in front of her. Like rodents the women scattered back to their tasks, leaving one maid alone to show her the way. The maid kept her eyes averted, her fingers clenching one another tightly as she turned.

“This way ma’am” Her timid voice let out before leading Ilyana to the freshly made room. The maid was about to skitter off when Ilyana spoke, the bitter tone falling away. “Thank you”. It was quite a surprise, but the maid offered a small smile and nod. With a small sigh, Ilyana closed the wooden door behind her, the metal clasp clinking against itself. Ilyana stepped into the room and stood for a moment, her eyes looking around. It was not much, but it was more than she had. A true bed with bedding, one that seemed quite sturdy. There was a small desk and chair, a wash basin, and even some books sat on a shelf. The maids had left a meal for her on the desk and started a fire in the small hearth that heated the room.

Ilyana’s fingers grazed the soft bedding as she walked alongside the bed, her leather satchel she had brought with her had already been placed in her room. The aroma of cooked chicken and fresh bread began to waft in the air from the tin plate that sat on the desk, drawing her over. Carefully she picked up a piece of the chicken, hesitating for a moment before taking a bite. A warm wave rushed over her at the taste, it was astounding. She had plenty of food at home, but to have some cooked in a proper kitchen, it was so much better. Sitting down she quietly ate the food provided, her stomach grumbling after the first bite, Ilyana not realizing how hungry she had been.

The remainder of that evening was quiet. It was perfect. Everything outside had quieted down and the servants were all settling for the night. To some it was an eerie feeling, but to Ilyana it was peaceful. Ilyana had prepared herself to try and get some rest, washing off with the wash basin and slipping into a sleep gown. She knew it would be useless but why not try? It was a new place after all. As the embers of the hearth crackled and began to die, she slipped into the bed and under the covers. An instant relief rushed over her. To everyone the servants' beds must have been subpar, but compared to what she had at home, it felt fit for a king. The bedding as well was far better, her simple sheet and hand woven wool cover was horrid. It felt so strange to her, the comfort her body felt for once, even more strange when she had started to fall into a slumber.

Of course any true peace was ruined not long after, just as it had been for years. As her body finally fell into a deep enough sleep, the nightmares began. She had maybe an hour of true sleep before it was interrupted. The shadows of the room darkened as Ilyana began to toss and turn, beads of sweat forming on her brow. Her body shot awake after a few moments, catching her rapid breath as she propped herself up with her arms. She should have known better. Ilyana knew there was no use in trying again, so she did what she did most nights…stayed awake. Ilyna got up from the bed and slipped her cloak over her form as well as her shoes, she needed some air rather than being stuck in this room.

Finding her way outside once again, Ilyana walked quietly along the gravel paths. Her arms set against her torso, crossing over each other as she wandered, her mind awake and racing once again. It was a constant battle, especially now with an impending war. Her mind would not stop thinking of plans. Ilyana had honestly zoned out as her form moved through the gardens, her long ebony hair for once unbraided and cascading down her back, rippling against the cool night breeze. She had begun to mumble to herself as well, as if talking through what was going on in her mind, helping her decide if it would work. Though that stopped quite quickly when she heard a familiar voice, a chill running through her as she paused and turned.
There Ivan stood, arms crossed as he called out. It caused a quiet chuckle to escape her lips, shaking her head just a bit, “Do you truly think I’d let someone order me around?” She questioned as she began to walk towards him.

“I’m guessing you can’t sleep either?”

Ivan gave a short, humorless laugh, a puff of air visible in the cold night between them. "Sleep?" he echoed, uncrossing his arms and letting them fall to his sides. "That would require peace of mind."

He turned slightly to glance again at the ruined rose bushes, as if the broken stems could offer clarity. “I used to sleep like the dead. Through storms, through the trumpet calls for the nights to gather in the mornings, even through my tutors shouting at me when I was younger. But now?” He shook his head, sighing as his gaze returned to her. “I lie down and every shadow on the wall feels like an angry lurker. There’s no silence in my head anymore – just echoes of all the things I’ve done, or failed to do.”

His voice wasn’t accusatory, nor did it hold the usual sass or sharpness of his tongue. Tonight, it was quieter, a little rough around the edges. Something vulnerable glinted behind his gray-green eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

He gestured toward the fountain and stepped forward, the stone path crunching beneath his boots. “You looked comfortable enough earlier. Marching through the halls like you belonged there. Almost admirable, really. Most people flinch when I look at them too long. You? You call me a fool and walk away.”

There was no bite to the words. In fact, a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. A rare moment.

“But I suppose witches don’t scare easily,” he added, then tilted his head slightly. “Do you?”

He studied her face, not as a prince assessing a witch, but as a man trying to decipher a puzzle he hadn’t realized he cared about solving. “Something tells me it’s not just the air that brought you out here. Nightmares?” he asked. “I’ve had a few of those myself lately.”

A gust of wind passed between them, fluttering the edges of Ilyana’s cloak and pulling a few stray strands of hair into her face. Ivan awkwardly shifted to offer her a break from the breeze by standing upwind, as if that small gesture might help.

He looked up at the sky, stars peeking out between the scattered clouds. “Do you think it’s always like this before my father? The world holding its breath, waiting for something to shatter?” He let the question linger, rhetorical perhaps, though there was weight behind it.

Silence fell again, this one softer—less haunted. The fountain babbled behind them, unbothered by dreams or dragons or dread.

Finally, Ivan’s voice returned, low and a bit wry. “If you ask anyone, they’ll tell you I’m supposed to be leading. Inspiring confidence. Ordering people into neat lines so they can die for a cause that even I can't properly put into words. But truth be told? Most days I feel like I’m stumbling forward in the dark, hoping no one lights a torch and sees how unsure I really am.”

His shoulders lifted in a half-hearted shrug. “It’s exhausting. Pretending.”

He turned back to her then, fully this time, expression caught somewhere between defiance and something softer. “You don’t pretend, do you? That’s what makes people afraid of you. Not the magic, not Diablo– I mean, the dragon. It’s the honesty. You walk in, uninvited and unbothered, and speak truths no one else will dare touch.”

He paused, waiting a moment in a debate over whether or not he should keep rambling, but logic did not win.

“I think that’s what keeps me from fully believing you killed my father, no matter how much I consider it. No offense.”

His eyes searched hers again, but this time without challenge—just a kind of quiet exhaustion. “Or maybe I’m just tired.”

Ivan glanced away, lips pressing into a line as though he regretted saying too much. “Anyway,” he muttered, “if you’re going to wander around like a ghost, at least take a cloak that’s heavier. You’ll catch a cold and then all of Caler will blame me for letting the saving grace of the kingdom freeze.”

And just like that, the walls began to creep back up.

Ilyana offered a small sliver of a smile as he mentioned peace of mind, if only he knew. She kept her arms crossed over her chest as she stopped her steps a few feet away, her blue eyes still seeming to hold a shine in the darkness. She did keep her gaze away from him though, her eyes looking for anything to focus on, hiding the vulnerability that lingered within. His words seemed so familiar, as if her own mind was speaking through him. His voice was calm, there was no sharp sass or unwavering doubt, it was pure. Her eyes clung to the bushes that laid crushed in front of them, their wilting petals fluttering in the breeze. She was quiet for a moment before she finally spoke.

“There are times of silence, but it seems even more deafening than true noise.” She began, her eyes falling to the stone path below them, her foot shifting a larger stone. “Though silence is rare for me too, there is always something pulling at my mind. Past, Present and Future.” She added. Ilyana was still guarded, her wall protecting herself, keeping her answers simple and to the point. He did not need to know her, she did not need any pity. She had dealt with this long enough. But in the foundation a crack began, snaking through the seams, trying to find any possible way in.
Her fingers played with the skin of her arm beneath her cloak as she stood, an uncomfortable tightness forming in her chest. She was not used to conversations at just a personal level, hell before their first encounter she had not spoken to anyone in years, she had become so used to silence or just talking to herself. She thought Ivan was done, but he spoke again, beginning to speak of her entrance earlier, how she looked as if she belonged here. How she does not scare easily. This resulted in a small scoff to leave her lips, slipping out by accident. She shook her head a bit as her brows furrowed.
“I do not belong there.” She stated simply, the seams fighting to and fro to mend themselves.

“And I am terrified at every moment”

She turned away a bit, her arms slightly flexing and tightening across her chest as she took slow, small steps around the fountain. The moon rippled in the water that spewed down and bubbled in the pool. The moonlight casting a slight glow on her face as she continued to move around. “When you have lived a life like mine, you learn that you cannot show weakness, even if you are scared. The second you show an ounce of fear or doubt, you are done for.” She began, her lips turning downwards in the corners. “I have had no one to show me kindness in my life, from day one it has been fight or die. Everything and everyone wants me dead.” She added. She sighed softly, knowing she was letting too much escape, but there Ivan was again, knowing exactly what was on her mind. The nightmares.

“Not even nightmares anymore, just normal dreams.” She said, her defensive tone slightly faltering and fading. “Tonight was the first night I’ve had at least an hour of sleep without them. I can’t even recall the last time I’ve truly slept.” She said. It was true, there was no such thing as sleep, just a quick rest of her eyes, but the energy that coursed through her veins kept her going. “I don’t even think my mind or body would even let me at this point” Ilyana finally shook her head once again, pulling herself back once more from oversharing. Why was she being so vulnerable, why was she letting this all just spill out? Her wandering led her back to standing just a few feet away from him again, her eyes still keeping from his.

The wind began to strengthen just a bit, her cloak twisting and flicking in the stream of air, strands of her long ebony hair twirling and falling over her face. For the first time since their conversation started did she finally look at Ivan, her brows just barely furrowing, her blue eyes holding a gaze that was soft but also confused as he shifted his form, his body blocking the wind. The silence that sat between them was much different before…it was quiet. There was no tension ripping at the peace. She had fallen silent once again, words were quite hard for her, especially with someone opening up so much. Her mind began to twist and turn as he opened up more and more, his walls crumbling like that of the castle.

“I pretend every moment, and it is exhausting. Sometimes you just have to pretend so you can live.”

“Even though I am scared of every corner, every hall, everything, I cannot show it. I must hide it. I hold myself with such confidence and strength because I must. If I let my guard down just for a moment, it may be my last. Plus, who would listen to the horrid and disgusting white eyed witch if I came strolling in without a care in the world. If you don’t hold yourself with confidence and determination, no one will listen. People look up to those who show ability, who show promise. Even if it is fake and just a mask you are putting on for show, they don’t know that, but you look the part so they will listen. The future isn’t a bright lighted tunnel like everyone thinks, it is a path of pure darkness. You cannot see what the future will bring, you can only hope you are following the right one. You have to hold your own torch and find the way.” She said, her gaze softening as she looked at him.

“You will stumble, you will feel hopeless, but that is life. But you can pick yourself back up, and at least pretend to hold confidence, to give your people the hope they need. Because if you don’t, they won’t believe.” She added her arms falling to her sides. “I did not kill your father or destroy this castle, but clearly something is making your mind truly think and try to believe me” She said.

Their eyes seemed to search each others, trying to dig for the truth, but it was far too deep for one another to see. As Ivan’s gaze fell from hers, so did Ilyana’s. Her arms crossed back over her chest once more as Ivan began to mutter, telling her she will catch a cold. A small chuckle escaped, Ilyana smiling softly, “I will be fine, I promise, it is just a breeze."

Ivan watched her as she spoke, her words giving him fleeting glimpses of what lay beneath the carefully measured distance that she wore like armor. With every sentence, he found himself listening more intently than he had in years. Not out of duty, not out of curiosity, but because he understood her. When was the last time he'd been able to truly relate to someone – or, for that matter, when had he last had a meaningful conversation where he felt heard?

Ilyana’s voice, steady at first, began to shift, emotions seeping through the cracks in her mask. Ivan exhaled slowly, letting her words settle between them, the only sound for a moment the gurgling and crashing of water in the fountain and the soft rustle of wind through the trees.

“Ilyana,” he said at last, his voice quieter now, “I don’t think anyone who has laid eyes on you could say that there’s anything horrid or disgusting about you and still be considered sane."

He continued quickly, as though that revelation was somehow more taboo than what had already been said. “Pretending… It’s a skill you had to teach yourself just to survive. My father—” Ivan paused, jaw tightening. “Agerion taught me that showing weakness was an unforgivable sin. Even when I was a grieving child. You don’t cry. You don’t flinch. You don’t fail. And if you do, you smile anyway and bleed behind closed doors. Our situations were undoubtedly different, but I think I understand the feeling.”

His eyes drifted upward again, partly in avoidance, but mostly as if searching the sky for something -- maybe courage, maybe just clarity. “I’m terrified, too. Not of death, not even of war. I’m scared of getting it wrong. Of leading people into something they can’t come back from. Of becoming the kind of ruler people fear rather than follow, becoming my father’s son.”

A faint smile played on his lips. “You say no one’s shown you kindness. That’s a shame. You are terrifying, yes, but for more than being a magical prodigy. Anyone who walks through hell with as much brazen confidence as you have is scary. They're either lunatics or could break the world with a snap of their fingers.”

The wind tugged at his cloak, and Ivan finally stepped back, eyes drifting again to the ruined roses, as if the image had become a sort of anchor for his thoughts. He didn't respond to her reaffirmations of her innocence in the matter of Agerion’s death. The vocal declaration all but erased his lingering doubts, and if they were to survive the coming war, then the hatchet would need to stay buried. Finding the true culprit would have to wait.

“I should get back,” he murmured, glancing toward the path leading back to the castle. There was a flicker of warmth in his expression, a soft smirk that didn’t quite reach a grin but lived somewhere near it. In a tired attempt at a jest, he snorted, “If you need anything… you know where to find me. Though I’m told I ‘look of the crypt’ at night.”

He took a step back, then another. Then, with one final look toward her—her dark hair tangled by the wind, the firelight from the fountain’s lamps dancing in her eyes—he nodded, turned, and made his way up the path. As the heavy doors of the castle closed behind him, the cold stone corridors offered no comfort. But tonight, something had shifted. The weight on his shoulders had not lessened, but it no longer felt quite so lonely.

He reached his chambers, the flickering hearth throwing long shadows on the walls. Ivan shrugged off his cloak, letting it fall carelessly over a nearby chair. For once, he didn’t immediately pace or pore over documents. Instead, he stood in silence, replaying her words. Then, without another sound, Ivan sat on the edge of the bed, his back straight, eyes on the fire. And for the first time in many nights, he thought... maybe he’d sleep.

For the first time in her life, Ilyana finally felt… heard. Someone actually listened to what she had to say truly instead of in fear. And for some odd reason she could not understand, she felt like she was not alone. Ivan shared a similar feeling, although for different reasons, it was so close to the same. They both were scared, they both had to pretend, they both had to guard their true self. Ilyana’s armor that protected her for so long was starting to bend and break, this new found feeling making her feel so uneasy. She could sense herself becoming too comfortable, but for some reason she could not stop it. His words drowned out the world around her, the deafening silence and thoughts dying out like the embers of a fire. He did not see her as horrid or disgusting. She could see in his eyes, even through the doubt, that he admired her in a sort of way. He saw her as terrifying, not in a bad way, but in a way that was strong and unbreakable.

For the remainder of Ivan’s words, she was quiet. Not ignoring him, but processing what he was saying, letting him have his turn to release the pent up emotions and thoughts they both suffered from. A small smile tugged at her lips as he made a jest to her previous tease, the night she met him where exhaustion had covered his expression. Her eyes dipped away for a moment as a small chuckle sat in her throat, threatening to escape but she held it back.
Just as Ivan was about to turn and return back to the castle, she shifted her form, her hands falling to clasp in front of her rather than hold herself tight.

“We don’t know what the future holds, but we can use the past to help lead the way.” She said softly, her eyes looking to his. “Use your past to prevent the things you don’t want to happen. Learn from the mistakes of others and be the son the Kingdom will be glad to have.” Her eyes held a softness that no one had seen from her before, a gentle look almost that of a mother’s gaze. Kind, quiet but also reassuring. “Goodnight, Ivan” She finally said, leaving it at that as he neared the doors.

Ilyana spent a majority of the night in those gardens, just walking, enjoying the cool air, thinking. It was a relief to not have a mind full of thoughts, just quiet and simple ones for the time being. Ilyana had paused as she saw the glowing light of the fire from Ivan’s room dim, standing silent for a second. With a small wave of her hand, the shadows within his room dissipated, as if they had been sucked up into a void and were gone. Maybe that would help ease his mind.

The next few weeks were filled with chaos and exhaustion. The Kingdom preparing to make their first move and trek over the mountain pass. Ilyana had taken command of routes and plans, leading several meetings with a variety of people. Captains, archers, everyone. Ilyana had the brains, Ivan had the strength. Together there was hope. The day had come where the trek would begin. Lines of troops filled the courtyard and streets, horses were set to pull wagons, supplies were as abundant as could be. Townspeople had worked day and night to help, preparing food, making clothes and blankets, the Kingdom worked together.

Ilyana stood at the front of the procession as she waited patiently, her hands clasped behind her back. Her ebony waves were braided back out of her face and her form was covered in a black and blood red dress, the cape cascading down her back. Her appearance oozed power and strength, her once soft eyes Ivan had seen now hardened. She was ready to get this over with, knowing what difficulties lay ahead. When Ivan arrived she neared, standing beside him before looking over the line of troops that stood before them.

In the skies above was Diaval, circling the area as he too impatiently waited. Ilyana looked to Ivan before she spoke. “I will fly ahead and make sure the way is clear.” She said simply, the hardened look in her eyes wavering for just a moment. With a quick nod she left it at that, turning and moving towards a clearing that had been made. She let out a sharp toned whistle, instantly attracting the attention of the beast above. Within seconds Diaval began to dive down, using his wings to slow himself as he landed. The ground rattled and the breast let out a deep grumble and snort, shaking his head as the dust settled around him. Ilyana made her ascent and climbed upon the beast before seating herself at his shoulders. She glanced to Ivan once more before leaning in and spoke, “Sōvegon” (Fly). Diaval lifted himself up before taking a few steps forward, his tail whipping behind him. He let out a deafening roar before he lept up, his wings beating quickly, causing a gush of wind to pound the ground below. Soon the two were just a speck in the sky, heading the direction Ivan and his men would be going.

The pair soared through the clouds that masked their appearance, keeping them hidden from anything below, but leaving just enough that at least Diaval could see out. The air shifted the closer to the mountains they neared, soon feeling like streams of ice against the skin. Ilyana ignored it though, she could tolerate it. Beads of frozen frost dotted her ebony hair and the spikes along the creature's body formed icy tips. Luckily when your transportation is a dragon, you can cover plenty of ground in a short amount of time. Ilyana knew these mountains too well, having retreated into them when she was young before she found solace in the forests. She knew some areas of clearings that would be off of the main road and provide plenty of coverage and advantage. There was a main road that was constructed years ago, but it was not safe unless travelling quickly and well armed. The things that lurked nearby were always waiting.

Diaval dipped below the clouds now, slowing his form as they quietly soared over the peaks and valleys. Ilyana blocked the wind with her arm as she looked below, Diaval aiming for any clearings. Finally one large enough was spotted, enough trees and rocks for cover from enemies and the weather but also open enough to fit everyone and stand guard. Ilyana leaned forward, her hand running across the beast's large scales, “Ilagon Konīr” (Down there), she spoke softly, Diaval shifting his weight to descend. He was careful this time with his landing, his somewhat form of stealth being applied. A faint layer of soft snow covered the tree tops but was just not enough to stick to the grounds yet. Ilyana carefully slid off the beast, her eyes scanning the area as Diaval stood, looking as well.

The coast seemed clear, no footprints besides a bird or deer, no wagon wheel trails, nothing, this place was hidden just enough. Ilyana turned to Diaval, the plan was going well. She pointed out towards where Ivan and the troops would be coming, speaking quietly, “Jikagon, Jemagon se ñuhoso.” (Go, Lead the way) With that, Diaval grumbled and moved his form off and to the clearing, lifting himself and taking to the sky once more. Ilyana found their camp, now Diaval would show the troops the way.
Ilyana stood there in the silence alone, the wind the only sound for miles. She looked around some more, assessing the area. The main road was a bit close, but not directly beside them, they should be fine, right? Hours were starting to pass, the troops should be there before the next but Ilyana was growing wary. Something felt off. Standing from the log she had sat upon, she stepped more into the clearing, her brows furrowing as she looked around. Something was watching from the shadows, what fools. Slowly the shadows around her began to snake up her form, her fingers gaining their dark color, her eyes fading from their blue color to white. The shadows around the edge of the forest pulled away and swirled into her form as she waved her hand, revealing what she had felt. Bandits.

She simply began to chuckle as they circled her, unaware of what they were encountering. These men looked like they had not seen civilization in some time, makeshift or stolen weapons in their hands. They laughed and whistled, calling to the woman who stood before them, vile things spilling from their mouths. Ilyana just stood her ground, waiting for her moment to strike. The first man made their move, trying to slip from behind her, but easily was blocked by a swift wall of shadow. Then the next and the next. This fight was too simple for her, men that knew no combat or defense. It was quite tricky when all of them tried at once, Ilyana quickly blocking or shifting away. One man with a bent and rusty sword was able to get a slice to her shoulder, another with a dagger was able to get a cut to her side, blood beginning to stain the sliced fabric. Now she was just getting mad. She didn’t want to use all of her power and tire herself, it took rest to regain anything more than simple winnowing or illusion, but maybe it was needed.

Ilyana could hear the rattle of carts and armor echoing down the valley, the troops were close. But she did not have time to sit and wait. The bandits began to circle once more, bloodied and bruised, so was Ilyana, small specks of blood dotting her face like freckles. She had enough. The darkness rose from her fingers and up her arm, stopping around the elbow, her eyes began to glow brighter as her hair twirled around her head. With one final hard push of her arms to the side and a loud shout, the bandits around her were covered in a swirl of shadows, lifting into the air as some of their necks snapped, some their backs. The release of power sent a shockwave through the ground, their bodies falling to the ground.

Ilyana finally stood still, her chest heaving quickly as she gained her breath once again, her hands out to her side as the shadows slipped back to her form. All just in time as the troops arrived, led by Ivan. Everyone seemed to stop in their tracks, many eyes wide as they watched the witch before them. The killer they all knew.

The moment Ivan caught sight of her -- bloodied, breathing hard, and surrounded by the crumpled corpses of the bandits -- his stomach tightened. Wraith came to a halt on the outskirts of the clearing, the stallion rearing slightly at the lingering pulse of magic in the air. Ivan didn’t hesitate. He swung down from the saddle, boots crunching against the frost-covered ground as he strode forward.

“Having fun without me?” he called, his voice cutting through the silence that had gripped the soldiers. His tone carried the slightest hint of worry at the sight of blood on the witch; whether it was her own or her attackers', he couldn't tell. Two of the bandits, still alive but wounded, stirred behind her, dragging themselves from the bloodied snow, unaware of their incoming death.

Ivan drew his blade in one smooth motion, rushing past Ilyana's form with a warrior's ease. The first bandit lunged up, clutching a rusted axe and roaring more in desperation than strategy. Ivan met him mid-charge, sidestepping the sloppy swing and slamming the pommel of his sword into the man’s jaw with a sickening crack. The bandit collapsed like a sack of grain, but Ivan wasn’t finished: his blade arced through the air and into the man's chest with the practiced efficiency of someone who no longer hesitated.

The second man tried to run. Ivan didn’t let him get far. He sprinted after him, armor clinking, boots pounding across the ground. The bandit barely made it ten paces before Ivan tackled the man into the snow, wrenching the dagger from his grip and planting a knee into his back. With one final, clean strike, it was done.

The air returned to silence, thick and still. The soldiers stood frozen at the edge of the clearing, watching their prince with a mixture of sheepishness and discomfort. Ivan rose with a sharp glare towards the stone-still figures of his worn-out soldiers, wiping his blade clean on the dead man’s tattered cloak before sheathing it. His breath was visible in the cold air as he turned back toward Ilyana.

Blood from the wound on her side soaked through the red fabric of her dress, staining it darker. There was another cut high on her shoulder, and the sight brought a scowl to Ivan's face. “Can't believe you let them nick you. Are you hurt badly?”

“I’m sending for the physician,” he said before she could lie to him. “A woman one, don't worry. You’ll be treated, and properly, and this is absolutely an order.”

Turning to his nearest commander, Ivan raised a hand. “Gather the bodies. Burn them. I don’t want to leave anything that might draw attention from wolves or wargs or heaven knows what else.”

The captain saluted quickly, barking orders to the men who immediately got to work. Some of the soldiers hesitated as they passed near Ilyana, eyes flickering toward her with both fear and awe. But no one said a word. Not after what they’d seen.

Soon, a large fire was built at the far end of the clearing. The bandits were piled with little ceremony, death given its due, but no honor. Smoke rose in a slow column to the pale sky above, the wind carrying the scent of charred leather and blood away from the camp. Ivan wasn't worried about the empire seeing the darkening clouds; they'd no doubt heard of Caler's plans by now anyway.

In the clearing, tents began to rise. Braziers were lit every few paces, their flames flickering warmly against the creeping cold. The crackle of firewood and clank of armor slowly replaced the earlier tension. Ivan stood near Ilyana still, not leaving her side even as the world moved on around them. When the physician arrived, a short woman with graying hair and a worn leather satchel, Ivan gave her a nod and stepped back only slightly.

“Make sure she’s seen to,” he said lowly, though he kept his voice loud enough for the witch to hear him. “And if she refuses anything, let me know. I can probably hold her down long enough to give you an in.”

The healer gave him a somewhat exasperated smirk and knelt beside Ilyana and the largest tent, already unpacking her tools and salves. Ivan watched for another moment, then turned his eyes toward the mountains. They’d barely crossed the threshold into the Eredor, and already the shadows were testing their resolve.

It took Ilyana a decent minute or two to even realize everything had settled and all the men were watching her now. Her head began pounding in her temples, her chest tightening like someone had a grip on her lungs. She hated what power she could truly wield, how in that short moment she had been the embodiment of darkness and death.

Ivan’s voice was what pulled her back to reality, her softly shaking hands finally falling back to her sides, her breath slowing back to normal. It felt like a million eyes were on her at that moment, as if everyone around her was looking into her soul. She hated it.

Ilyana turned and watched as Ivan finished off the last two who had somehow been spared from her wrath, watching as he finished them with precision and ease, like they were nothing. Though there was something behind each blow, a strength with meaning behind it. This was no regular killing of some meaningless bandits.

Ilyana was still quiet as Ivan neared once again, his eyes immediately looking to the deep crimson stains that pooled on her dress. His slight taunt only caused her brows to furrow, her walls built high, her armor on once again.

“I’m fine” she said plainly, her eyes looking away, to anything but him. She didn’t need sympathy, she didn’t need pity, she needed nothing. Though as he mentioned having her treated, an ill feeling formed in her gut.

“I don’t need help, it is just a cut. I don’t want….” She was cut off before she could even rebuttal. It was an order.

Silence once again, her mind racing with thoughts.

Ivan seemed as if he was standing guard over her, whether it was to keep her from leaving or to protect her, no one knew. They said no words to each other, Ilyana simply stood, watching as the tents formed an established encampment. Once the healer arrived, her mind finally pulled back.

She did not want this woman near her, why didn’t he believe she was fine. But as he said, it was an order. Ilyana was told to sit on a makeshift bench that was set in the tent, the woman setting her items beside her on a small table. She examined Ilyana firstly, looking at the wounds through the fabric. Her shoulder was a simple cut but the one to her side was much deeper.

With each small touch, Ilyana’s skin seemed to flinch and tighten, the feeling of someone unbearable to her. The woman was quite the brute tho, ignoring Ilyana’s quiet protests. Grabbing a large roll of bandage, she carefully and intricately wrapped her upper chest after unlacing the dress, helping her keep modest. Dresses were not the easiest to work with.

Ilyana’s brows only furrowed more, her fingers tightening as the slight breeze nipped at her skin. Her torso and back was bare besides the minimal modesty cover, her fair skin stained with scars of different sizes and depths, the woman already beginning to clean her wounds. Her shoulders tightened as did her back, the only thing keeping the cold away was the pain as the woman worked quickly, already beginning to stitch her side.

Ilyana hissed sharply as the final stitch was being placed, the stinging sensation causing her to tightly grip the wooden bench below.

Ilyana gave no fight, but once done, she was quick to leave. She carefully slipped the top of her dress back up, reaching back and tying it as much as she could before standing. She brushed past Ivan without a care, just a simple, “I am going on patrol”. She was gone.

Ilyana met with Diaval a little down the main road in another clearing he would be hiding in, carefully climbing on before taking to the sky. She wanted to be alone. And that is where she was until the sun had set and the moon had taken over, only then did she return. It was late, most of the men were asleep besides the ones set to guard. One had informed her upon her return she would be sharing the tent with Ivan which just made her roll her eyes. At this point she did not care, she just wanted to rest.

Entering the tent she quietly slipped to her side, her steps silent before carefully laying herself down. She knew she wouldn’t sleep much, but at least she did not have to talk, she could just prepare her mind and plans for the coming days. And that is what she did, she let her mind race until finally the exhaustion of her actions had let her body drift just enough for some time, just awaiting the nightmares to come.

The medic worked quickly and silently, her hands steady despite the fading light. The flap of the tent swayed gently in the breeze, sending flickers of torchlight over Ivan's face as he stood outside, pacing. His arms were folded, his jaw tight. He hated waiting, hated not being able to do anything but listen to the low, curt exchanges between Ilyana and the physician inside. Each time Ilyana hissed in pain or the healer muttered about the depth of a wound, Ivan’s fists clenched tighter. He wasn’t sure if the tension building in his chest was guilt or helplessness—perhaps both. He’d arrived too late. Again.

Finally, the flap opened, and the healer stepped out. She gave Ivan a tired nod, brushing her hands off on her apron. “She’ll be fine. The wounds were shallow, but she lost more blood than I’d like. She’s stubborn, but she didn’t fight me.”

Ivan managed a short exhale and nodded. “Thank you.”

“She needs rest,” the woman added over her shoulder. When she walked off, Ilyana was quick to exit the same and push past Ivan with a short growl about going on patrol. He turned to follow, watching her storm out into the cold air. A part of him wanted to chase her, to demand she tell him what she was thinking. Another part – the one that had started learning her rhythms – knew she just needed time.

So, he waited again.

-

The tent flap rustled as she returned much later. Her face was unreadable, and she didn't say anything to him. Ivan was now seated near the fire brazier inside, having exchanged his armor for something more comfortable – a thick, loose-fitting sleep shirt and soft breeches. His hair was slightly tousled, a testament to the stress of the day.

He looked up at her with a mixture of guilt and awkwardness, and when she moved to lay down on her bedroll, he cleared his throat again.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he gestured vaguely around the tent. “For… this. For us having to share the tent. I didn’t plan it. Supplies are limited, and you outrank most of the officers, and frankly, you intimidate the rest.”

She raised a brow, unimpressed. “I intimidate you.”

Ivan scratched the back of his head, his ears turning slightly pink. “Yeah. You do.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Ilyana laid down on her cot, beneath the furs and blankets. Ivan huffed under his breath, settling down onto the opposite side of the tent near the brazier. He didn’t immediately lie down, his eyes watching the flickering shadows on the canvas walls, then flicking to her form beneath the furs.

She was shivering. Barely, but it was there. Her shoulders trembled every so often, but it was so slight that it could have easily been mistaken for the dimness of the tent. However, the temperature had dropped quickly in the mountains, and even with a brazier nearby, the chill seeped through everything. Ivan didn’t move at first, opting to instead sit there, teeth pressing into his bottom lip, fingers twitching on his knee.

Finally, with a soft sigh of defeat, he stood and padded across the floor to her side. He crouched down, hesitated for only a second longer, and then, carefully, he lifted the edge of the furs and slipped beneath them. Before she could protest, he wrapped his arms gently around her waist beneath the bandages and pulled her back against him. Closing his eyes, he focused on the heat from the brazier and drew it to him, using his own fire magic to raise his body temperature. Through his concentration, he mumbled, “Just for warmth. I promise. I know full well you could just kill me.”

After a few moments, his breathing began to slow, evening out. Ivan’s body relaxed and slipped into sleep against his will, causing his forehead to slide down to rest against the back of her shoulder. Just to keep the chill away. Nothing more.