The silence between them was a physical presence, as deep and cold as the starry void overhead. It was a heavy, shared quiet, born from exhaustion and the lingering adrenaline of the fight. Zhu Zhuqing, a creature of stillness by nature, had retreated so far into herself she seemed carved from moonlit ice.
Arthev walked beside her, his footsteps the only sound on the cobblestones. He respected her silence, but he could feel its weight, a palpable force pressing in from the dark.
She's processing. The fight, the humiliation of her fiancé, the sheer violation of it all. Best to let the storm pass.
They found a bench beneath the weeping branches of a willow, its leaves casting shifting patterns in the faint light. They sat.
Together, they looked up at the cold, distant constellations, points of fire in an infinite black. Words would have been an intrusion, a clumsy hammer against fine glass. Time lost its meaning, marked only by the slow, inexorable crawl of the moon across the sky.
Just as Arthev shifted, his muscles protesting the prolonged stillness as he prepared to stand and find them some food, a soft, unexpected scent of night-blooming jasmine reached him. Then, a gentle, hesitant weight settled against his shoulder.
He froze, his entire body locking into place. A quick, sidelong glance confirmed it: Zhu Zhuqing's head was resting against him, her dark hair a silken spill over his worn sleeve. Her breathing was deep and even; the day's trials, her injury, and her own churning turmoil had finally broken through her formidable defenses. She was asleep.
Well, this is a complication.
'Well, well, look at this,' a coarse voice grumbled in the vault of his mind. ' The little ice queen melts enough to use you as a pillow. Quite the development, brat. Don't get any ideas.'
Arthev sighed inwardly. 'Shukaku. Not now.'
A gentler voice, warm as a low-burning flame, answered. 'Do not mock him, Shukaku. He is showing compassion. It is a noble thing to offer shelter, even of this small kind.' Matatabi's tone was a calm lake to the One-Tail's jagged rocks.
A third voice, cautious and analytical, added, 'It would... be impolite to disturb her. But your position is anatomically unstable, Arthev. Prolonged immobility will cause significant discomfort. Perhaps we should find a more sustainable solution?'
'Thanks, Isobu', Arthev thought, grateful for the Three-Tails' practical, if clinical, concern.
'You're right. But what's the alternative? Moving her would surely wake her. And she needs the rest more than I need comfort.'
'The alternative is to stop being a wimp,' Shukaku barked. 'Use your wood power. Make a proper bed instead of a bony shoulder. A little comfort never killed anyone. Probably.'
Ignoring the taunt, Arthev focused. He channeled a single, thread-fine stream of energy, directing it into the shadows behind the bench. From the earth, dark wood seeped silently upward, a silent, living growth. It wove itself into a flat, sturdy plank that rose seamlessly to support Zhu Zhuqing's back, allowing him to slip out from under her without a jolt.
She murmured something indistinct, a faint crease appearing between her brows, but did not wake. He concentrated further, the wood expanding, curving, and shaping itself with silent efficiency into a small, simple hut around her sleeping form, its walls sealing out the night's chill and prying eyes.
He stood for a moment in the new darkness, looking down at her. The sight of the ugly gash on her arm, a stark reminder of the day's violence, felt wrong. A final impulse took hold.
He held his palm over the wound, and a soft, green light glowed from his palm. The inflamed flesh knitted together, sinew and skin weaving back into wholeness, leaving behind only smooth, unblemished skin.
There. That's better.
'Healing her so completely will raise questions,' Matatabi observed quietly. 'She has only seen your blue flames, not this.'
'Let her wonder,' Shukaku grumbled, though with less bite than before. 'Mystery is interesting. And it's a damn sight better than having to explain the chattering council of beasts in your head.'
Arthev agreed. Some secrets were not just power; they were armor. Best kept close.
-------
The first gray light of dawn seeped through the interwoven wooden walls, painting stripes of pale illumination across the floor. Zhu Zhuqing woke in confusion, the deep, instinctual disorientation of waking in an unknown place. This was not the bench. She was on a soft pallet of moss and grass, inside a small, quiet hut that smelled richly of fresh-cut wood and damp earth.
She sat up quickly, the rough-spun blanket falling away. Her hand went instinctively to her wounded arm, and a sharp, incredulous gasp escaped her. Her fingers found only smooth, unblemished skin. The injury was gone, healed as if it had never been. Not a scar, not a scab. Nothing.
The woven door creaked open. Arthev stepped inside, silhouetted by the pale morning. "You are awake." His voice was the same as ever, calm, measured, giving nothing away.
"Where are we?" she asked, her voice low, layered with wariness.
"Inside a shelter," Arthev replied calmly, his gaze steady on her.
"Whose shelter?"
"Well, technically, it didn't belong to anyone until last night," he explained, gesturing with a slight motion of his head to the walls around them. "I constructed it here. It seemed a better option than the bench."
"You made this?" Her eyes, sharp and perceptive, scanned the perfectly formed walls, the seamless joinery. Then they snapped back to him, drilling into him.
"Your soul skill was flame. Blue fire. How can you also build?" She lifted her healed arm, her gaze intense enough to pin him to the wall. "And this. How is this possible?"
Here it comes. "Martial souls can be complex, multifaceted," Arthev said, offering the vague, textbook explanation with practiced neutrality. It was the kind of answer that was technically true but revealed nothing.
"The construction was a simple matter of form and energy. As for your wound..." He met her skeptical stare without flinching, his own expression one of mild curiosity. "I was as surprised as you are when I saw it had healed this morning."
"Do not insult my intelligence," Zhu Zhuqing said, her voice like chips of ice. "Wounds like that do not vanish overnight. Not without help. What are you?"
Arthev held her gaze, his own unwavering. "I am someone who helped you. Does the mechanism of the help matter more than the fact that you are safe and whole?"
She looked away first, a faint tremor in her jaw. "No," she conceded quietly. "It does not."
"Let's not dwell on it," Arthev said, shifting the conversation firmly away from the dangerous ground of his capabilities. "More importantly, what are your plans now? Will you return home?"
Her face hardened instantly, the momentary vulnerability vanishing behind a mask of defiant resolve. "I will not accept my fate. Returning now would be an admission of defeat, a surrender to their plans for me. It is not an option."
"Then what will you do?"
"I plan to join an academy,"she stated, her voice gaining steel and conviction. "I will cultivate my strength there until I am powerful enough to stand on my own. Then, I will travel the world."
She paused, a rare, almost imperceptible flicker of hesitation crossing her features before she looked directly at him, her dark eyes holding his, unblinking. "Arthev... would you consider coming with me?"
"An academy?" He shook his head immediately, the refusal instinctive and absolute. Structure, rules, scrutiny… a cage. "No. That path is not for me."
The fragile hope in her eyes died, extinguished in an instant, replaced by the familiar, cool distance. It was better this way.
"Which one?" he asked, partly to fill the silence, partly out of a genuine, lingering concern.
"Shrek Academy," she announced. She had heard the whispers on her journey, a small, obscure institution that audaciously claimed to only accept monsters. Its obscurity was perfect for hiding, and its motto was a challenge that called directly to the rebellious, hunted spirit within her.
'Shrek Academy? Monsters, eh?' Shukaku laughed uproariously in his mind. 'If they only knew what kind of monster is thinking of applying! The irony is delicious! Go on, brat, tell her! Tell her you're a walking menagerie!'
'I think I'll keep that particular detail to myself,' Arthev thought wryly.
"I see. When do you plan to register?" he asked aloud.
"Today."
"Then... I believe this is where our paths diverge," Arthev said, his tone gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument.
Zhu Zhuqing gave a single, curt nod. "Thank you," she whispered once more, the words meant not for the shelter or the healing, but for the quiet understanding, for the brief, unjudging alliance in the dark.
"Be careful at that academy," Arthev added as they stepped outside. "A place that calls for monsters... it may attract more than just students."
"I am a monster in my own way," she replied, her gaze fixed on the path ahead. "Perhaps I will fit right in."
After a quiet breakfast of foraged fruit, they stood at a literal crossroads, the paths leading in opposite directions. The morning sun cast long, divergent shadows behind them. With a final, silent nod, a world of unspoken gratitude and respect passing between them, they turned and walked away, each step taking them further into the uncertain geography of their own separate fates.
To be continued.....