"Some scars are carved deeper than flesh"
The village was still, blanketed in that soft hush that only early morning could bring. The markets hadn't yet opened, and the smell of fresh earth clung to the air like memory. For once, there was no sword drawn, no suspicious glance, no talk of symbols or survival. Just... calm.
Hikaru leaned against the wooden post of a small house, arms folded, pretending to scan the narrow road ahead—but his eyes kept drifting.
Nala knelt near a group of children gathered around a broken cart. One of the wheels had come loose and rolled a few feet away. The kids were trying to fix it themselves with too-small hands and too much determination.
Without a word, Nala crouched beside them. "Let me see it."
The little boy holding the axle looked up, uncertain.
"I won't bite," she said, dry as ever.
The kids giggled. She examined the wheel, wiped her hands on her cloak, and began to reattach it with swift, practiced movements. Her fingers were strong but careful, and her voice—when she gave them instructions—was steady and low, not soft, but comforting in its precision.
"You've got to keep pressure here," she said, pressing one child's hand over a bolt. "It won't hold otherwise. Don't let it wiggle."
She tightened the last piece and gave the cart a shove. It rolled smoothly down the short path.
The kids cheered. One of the little girls threw her arms around Nala's waist.
Nala blinked. Froze.
And then, slowly—awkwardly—patted the girl's head.
Hikaru swallowed.
He'd seen her kill with that same hand.
She stood up, brushing off her knees like it was nothing. But there was something different in her eyes when she turned. Not soft, not exactly. But less guarded.
Hikaru didn't look away fast enough.
"What?" she asked, catching him mid-stare.
"Didn't know you were good with kids," he said, feigning casual.
She raised a brow. "They're easier than grown men. At least they listen."
He smirked. "Didn't seem like you wanted them to listen."
"I didn't." A pause. "But if I can fix something in five minutes, why waste my time watching it fall apart?"
He watched her for a beat longer than he should've, then glanced off toward the road, pretending that meant something.
And just like that, she was walking past him, cloak trailing behind her like she had somewhere better to be.
She didn't look back.
But he did.
Lena perched on an overturned bucket near the village well, scribbling something onto a piece of paper. A group of children ran by, giggling, and she offered one of them a silly face that made them laugh harder.
"Okay," she muttered, tapping the parchment. "Tall is fine, but not brooding. I want someone who actually talks. Bonus points if he can cook."
She added a quick doodle of a little chef's hat next to the line.
A few feet away, Hikaru passed by, arms crossed and expression unreadable as usual. Lena squinted at his retreating back and shook her head with a grin.
"Definitely not my type," she said to herself. "Too many secrets. Nala's got the patience for that. I need someone who'll gossip with me and do my hair if I ask nicely."
She drew a little heart beside a badly-sketched man holding a plate of dumplings.
One of the village elders wandered by and raised a brow at her list.
"Husband hunt?" he asked dryly.
"Just staying prepared," Lena said sweetly, tucking the paper away. "You never know when you'll run into a man with good food and emotional maturity."
The village elder chuckled and moved along. Lena gathered her things and stood, brushing dust from her robes.
She turned—and bumped straight into a tall man carrying a basket of herbs. He was broad-shouldered, with kind eyes, sun-kissed skin, and a small braid tucked behind one ear. The scent of something warm and spiced clung to him.
"Oh—sorry," he said, steadying her with one hand. His voice was low, calm, and entirely pleasant.
Lena blinked up at him. "Uh..."
He gave a polite smile and stepped around her, continuing down the path without a second glance.
She watched him go, then looked down at her paper.
"...Okay, weird," she muttered, "but kind of impressive timing."
She tucked the list back into her bag and walked off, pretending she wasn't already mentally adding braids to it.
The night had grown quiet. Too quiet.
Nala stood by the window of their inn room, eyes scanning the sleeping village, arms crossed. Hikaru was across the room sharpening his blade with steady rhythm, while Lena sat curled on a floor cushion flipping through her journal.
It should've felt peaceful. But it didn't.
A soft creak came from beneath Lena's foot as she shifted. Her brow furrowed.
"What was that?" she asked, pressing down again. The floor groaned faintly.
Curious now, Hikaru set his blade aside and crossed over. Nala joined, crouching as he carefully wedged his fingers beneath the warped plank.
With a quiet tug, the board gave way.
Beneath it lay a folded piece of aged parchment, its edges frayed, the ink faded but still legible. Hikaru unfolded it slowly, his brows knitting as he read silently.
Then he passed it to Nala.
She read aloud:
"You're not the only ones searching for the truth."
"The Lotus leaves marks, but not all are carved in stone. Look for what's been erased, not just what remains."
"The outpost in the city's outskirts—abandoned but never empty. Go quietly. They're listening now."
"Don't trust uniforms. Don't speak names aloud. And don't underestimate the girl with fire in her voice. She already knows more than she thinks."
— R.K.
The room went silent.
Lena blinked. "Okay, that's not creepy at all."
Nala's eyes narrowed. "Someone knew we'd be here."
Hikaru's jaw tensed. "And they know more than we do."
Lena looked between them. "City outskirts, huh? Sounds like a date."
Nala rolled her eyes. "Let's just hope it's not a trap."
Outside, the wind picked up—soft, distant, like the breath of something watching.
And somewhere, just beyond the inn's fading lantern light, someone watched them walk back inside—his coat soaked through, the brim of his hat shadowing a pair of sharp eyes.
He smiled.