❖ Chapter 4: We Do What We Must
The hunger never really left.
Even when they found a dry root, a half-rotten onion, or a discarded crust of bread, it didn't satisfy. It only made the pain quieter — and then the pain came back louder.
The village had nothing to offer. The village was nothing.
A collection of dying homes, thin people, and thinner hope.
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Havella moved easier now. The fever had broken the night before.
She sat on a flat stone with her legs folded, sharpening a thin piece of metal they'd found near the ruins. It wasn't a knife, but it could be made to act like one.
Jio sat nearby, as always, watching the horizon like it might someday offer answers.
"You're still not asking," she said.
He glanced at her.
"I don't like questions," he replied.
"Tch."
She stood, paced once, then finally said it:
"I can steal."
Jio blinked.
Havella crossed her arms. "That's what I call it. Not like pickpocketing. I mean real stealing. Taking things the world doesn't want to give. A look. A lock. A lie. If I focus... I can make people ignore me. Make doors open. Make coin disappear from a pouch without touching it."
She paused, waited for his reaction.
Jio just blinked again. "…Sounds useful."
She looked like she wanted to hit him. "That's it? No 'what are you talking about?' No 'prove it'? Just 'sounds useful'?"
He scratched his cheek. "You're not dead. That's proof enough."
She opened her mouth, then closed it.
"…You're a boring person, Jio."
He shrugged.
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They stole food from a merchant's cart that night.
Not enough to notice. Bread. A salted fish.
Havella whispered words that weren't words. The merchant blinked, turned his head — and the fish was gone.
Jio held it like it was nothing. Didn't even thank her.
She didn't expect him to.
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Later, under the same broken roof of the mill, she looked up at the stars and said, quietly:
"Back in the capital, there were people who'd kill to see what I can do."
Jio was lying down, arms behind his head.
"Then why leave?"
She didn't answer immediately.
"…Because they'd kill me after."
---
The fire was small. Just embers, really. A slow, flickering breath between them.
She leaned back. Watched the sky.
Then:
"You hear the rumors?"
Jio tilted his head slightly. "Which ones."
"Bandits. North path. Some say they're coming down through the pine line. Hitting lonely roads, traders, even little holes like this."
Jio didn't react.
"They're not the usual desperate kind. These are soldiers without a war. Exiled ones. Big. Ugly. Starving."
He just nodded.
"Nothing to say?" she asked.
He turned his face slightly toward her.
"…If they come, they come."
She stared at him.
"…Do you ever panic?"
He gave it a moment. Then he answered plainly:
"I forgot how."
---
That night, Havella dreamed of fire, of boots in mud, of blood on stone.
Jio didn't sleep.
He never really did.
Just waited.
Like something already knew where this was going.
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End of Chapter 4
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