Three Minutes Later
The dirt road curved along the edge of a grain field when she spotted a familiar wooden sign: Nin's General. She reined in her horse and dismounted, brushing dust from her jacket. But just as her boots touched the ground—
Screaming.
A woman's voice. Sharp. Desperate.
Ylin's instincts surged. She sprinted toward the sound.
Down a narrow alley behind the store, two men were grappling with a woman—trying to force her to the ground. One had his hand on her waistband.
Ylin didn't hesitate.
SHING—her sword, The Gravittor, gleamed in the light.
"Hey! You get away from her. Now."
The men froze. One turned slowly, sneering, pulling a revolver from his coat.
Ylin's eyes narrowed. "Alright then. The hard way."
With one fluid motion, she struck—the gun flew from his hand. Before he could react, she spun low and slammed her heel into the second man's chest, sending both crashing to the dirt.
They scrambled up, limping, and ran like cowards.
Ylin sheathed her blade, her breathing steady. Then she turned to the crying woman, still shaking on the ground.
"Come on," she said gently, reaching out a hand.
The woman—barefoot, bruised, and tear-streaked—nodded. Ylin led her back toward the store.
Inside, the truth hit hard. The two attackers had name tags hung behind the counter.
"They work here," Ylin muttered, disgusted.
She scanned the shelves, found a simple set of clothes—a linen blouse, modest pants—and handed them over.
"T-thank you, ma'am," the woman whispered, slipping into the garments.
"No problem," Ylin said softly. "You're safe now."
The woman smiled shyly. "Can I come with you?"
Ylin blinked. "Sure," she replied, a little surprised. "What's your name?"
"Irene," she said, brushing her matted hair from her eyes.
"Well… my name's—" Ylin hesitated. Something about saying "Salvender" aloud felt heavy. "Just Ylin."
"Okay, Ylin," Irene replied sweetly.
They mounted the horse together. Irene's arms wrapped gently around Ylin's waist. For a moment, Ylin tensed—but said nothing.
"Is there anywhere I can take you?" Ylin asked, eyes scanning the horizon.
"There's nowhere I need to be," Irene murmured, burying her face just near Ylin's shoulder. "I want to stay… with you."
Ylin's breath caught in her throat.
"You… you have no home?"
"I'm a poor, poor woman," Irene whispered, voice dipping into a sultry purr near Ylin's neck.
Ylin straightened in the saddle, a chill crawling down her spine.
"Alright," she said finally, "We'll find shelter for the night."
---
Later That Evening – Motel Room 4A
The inn was barely more than a collapsed tavern with numbered doors. The old man behind the counter—Azin, as the crooked nameplate suggested—grunted as he handed over a rusted key.
"That'll be 25 Cv."
Ylin tossed him the coin and led Irene up creaky stairs to room 4A.
They opened the door. The stench hit first—mildew and something vaguely like old cabbage. Wall paint flaked off in ribbons. A lone couch sat slanted in the corner, springs peeking from its side.
Ylin sighed. "I've been in worse."
She pulled off her boots and jacket, letting herself collapse onto the couch.
Irene stood in the doorway, watching her with curious eyes.
"…You okay?" Ylin asked.
Irene hesitated. "I'm just… cold."
Without waiting, she crossed the room and curled beside Ylin on the narrow couch, resting her head gently against her shoulder.
Ylin flinched, startled—but said nothing. She could feel Irene's breath steadying.
"This is so much better," Irene whispered. Her gaze lifted to meet Ylin's. "You know… ever since you helped me back there, I've started to like you. A lot."
Ylin blinked. "I—I…"
But no words came. Not yet.
Outside, the wind picked up.
Inside, something uncertain began to stir.