The dense forest finally starts to thin, and the weight of the journey seems to lighten as they move through the last stretch of trees. Veyle's breath is ragged, his muscles aching from days of constant movement, and his clothes stick to his skin, damp from sweat.
"Huff, huff. Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Veyle mutters, his voice barely above a whisper as he drags his feet along the ground. He glances up and sees the tall buildings of the capital barely visible through the trees, looming in the distance.
Seren pauses ahead of him, turning to look back. She raises her hands and signs with slow, deliberate movements, "Let's take a break."
Veyle lifts his brow, a sharp sigh escaping him. "But the capital is in sight," he says, his words coming out a little too quickly, the exhaustion making him impatient.
Seren raises an eyebrow, a calm expression on her face as she shakes her head and signs, "We rest. It's okay."
Veyle groans, dragging his hand down his face in frustration. "Fine," he mutters. "Fine, we take a break. I can barely stand anyway."
He stumbles to a nearby rock and sits down, letting out a deep breath as he finally allows himself to rest. Seren, ever efficient, moves to gather fallen branches, her fingers working with a practiced ease as she prepares a small fire.
As the flames crackle to life, Veyle leans back, watching the smoke curl into the air, his thoughts wandering. The capital is so close, yet there's still this gnawing feeling of uncertainty in his gut. What awaits them there? He shakes his head, trying to push the thoughts away.
Seren finishes the fire and sits beside him, pulling out their last food packet. She holds it up and signs, "Last one."
Veyle's stomach growls loudly at the sight, but he forces a half-smile. "Guess that's it then," he says, tearing open the packet. They share the small, tasteless meal in silence, knowing it's the last of their provisions.
When they finish, Seren carefully stashes the empty packet away. She looks at Veyle with quiet determination, her expression unreadable.
"Thanks," Veyle says with a quiet laugh, wiping his mouth. "For… well, for everything."
They get up and start walking again. The forest vanishes all at once—like the trees just give up—and before either of them can process it, they're at the edge of a steep hill.
"Wait—!"
Veyle's foot catches on a root. One stumble turns into a full tumble, and the next thing he knows, he's rolling. Down the hill. Fast.
Leaves whip past his face. Rocks jab his ribs. Something wet hits him in the eye. He yells the whole way down, a mix of panic and indignation.
"WHO PUT A HILL HERE?!"
At the bottom, he lands in a heap—muddy, scratched, breathless. He groans and flips over onto his back, staring up at the clouds spinning above him.
A second later, Seren crests the hill, eyes wide in alarm. Without hesitation, she sprints down the slope—not tumbling, not stumbling, just… gliding, somehow. Kimono sleeves tied back, hair trailing behind her, face set in silent focus.
She skids to a stop beside him, kicking up a little puff of dust. Her face hovers into view above his, brow raised and lips pressed in concern.
Veyle gives a shaky thumbs-up. "I'm alive. Everything hurts, but I'm alive."
Seren kneels beside him, her hands moving quickly to sign. "Are you broken?"
He blinks at her, then wheezes a laugh. "Define broken."
She squints.
He groans, sitting up with a wince. "Okay, fine. I might've bruised my dignity and, like, every other part of me, but I'm good. Totally. Ow. Good."
Seren signs, "You fell very badly."
"No kidding!" Veyle waves at the hill behind them. "That was not a hill. That was a betrayal. A grassy lie."
She presses her lips together, trying not to smile. Her eyes gleam with poorly hidden amusement.
"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up," he mutters, brushing mud off his arms. "Glad I could provide entertainment. Just wait 'til I see a puddle. Your turn."
Seren signs, "I'll run past it. Gracefully."
Veyle snorts. "Of course you will."
She offers him a hand. He takes it with a grunt, pulling himself to his feet.
The hill is behind them now. In the near distance, the first outlines of roads and rooftops peek through the haze. The capital, finally within reach.
Veyle squints. "Please let them have soap. And food. And chairs."
Seren signs, "And a bath."
He groans dramatically. "Don't tease me with beautiful dreams."
They both stare ahead, wind pulling gently at their clothes.
Then, as if on cue, Veyle's stomach growls.
Seren signs, "Let's not roll into town like that."
He sighs. "Agreed."
The trees thin, and the dusty road stretches forward, leading to the towering stone walls of the capital. Banners hang from high turrets, fluttering in the wind — green cloth bearing a circular wheat emblem. The air feels heavier here, more structured. Controlled.
Veyle and Seren walk side by side, quiet. Dirt clings to their clothes, and the long journey weighs on their every step.
As they approach the gate, two guards step forward, spears crossed.
"Halt," one commands, his voice firm but not hostile.
They stop.
"State your purpose," the second guard says, eyeing them carefully.
Veyle nods once. "Passing through. Seeking entry — we've come a long way."
The first guard gestures. "Bags down. Arms up."
Veyle does as asked, slowly setting his pack down and raising his arms. His expression is unreadable — not hostile, but alert. The second guard steps forward, begins checking him: arms, legs, belt, boots. Precise, efficient.
Seren steps back a little, raising her hands with slow, careful movements. She signs, "I'm not carrying any weapons."
The guards exchange a glance, not understanding the gesture, but proceed with the search. The first one pats Seren down, gently but thoroughly. She holds still, her face neutral, her eyes calm.
When it's done, the guard gives a nod. "They're clear."
Veyle lowers his arms. "Thank you," he says simply.
"You'll find the main street ahead. Stay out of trouble," the second guard says, stepping aside.
They walk through the gates and into the city.
Inside, the capital is alive — not with chaos, but with movement. Traders hauling carts, townsfolk talking, the distant ringing of a bell tower echoing from the inner district. The smell of firewood and iron fills the air.
Seren looks ahead, face unreadable, her gaze sweeping the unfamiliar roads and rooftops.
Veyle walks beside her in silence, his expression more serious than usual, before whispering.
"God, they were scary..."
The gates close behind them with a dull thud
---
The city opens up like a breath held too long. After days of trees and silence, the rush of voices, the clatter of hooves, the clang of iron and bells—it's almost too much.
Veyle blinks under the sunlight, stepping into the capital's lower district with squinted eyes. The cobbled streets stretch out before them, lined with leaning buildings and shaded awnings, crowded by merchants and customers arguing over prices or gossiping about things that don't concern them. Life pours out of every corner, loud and fast and indifferent.
"Guess we made it," he mumbles, dragging a hand through his hair. He glances back at Seren, who signs with a flick of her fingers:
"Still alive."
He snorts. "Barely."
They weave through the crowd. Stalls blur past—pottery, dried meats, jars of powder. Veyle eyes a steaming tray of grilled something, but the weight of their empty coin pouch reminds him they've got other priorities. And besides, the faster they find shelter, the sooner his legs can stop feeling like overcooked noodles.
A few streets later, the dull clang of metal pulls him off course. A blacksmith's forge—tucked between a dye shop and a stable—sits half-open to the street, smoke rising from the chimney. Inside, a tall woman strikes iron with unhurried rhythm. Each blow sparks gold, illuminating racks of blades and tools.
Veyle stops at the threshold, his gaze drawn to a curved dagger with a bone handle. "Now that's something."
Seren signs slowly: "You want to carry more weight?"
"I want to look cooler," he replies with a half-smile.
"Too late." She signs.
He laughs under his breath and backs away before the blacksmith notices him loitering. "Right, let's go before I humiliate myself further."
They keep walking, letting the streets carry them forward. The city changes as they move—quieter roads, fewer merchants, narrower homes with flower boxes and lazy cats. The sun dips low, casting orange light on weathered stone.
Eventually, they reach a modest inn wedged between a lantern shop and a closed café. The sign hanging above the door reads The Wren's Nest, the paint peeling but still cheerful. A tired old man at the counter barely looks up as they check in, sliding them a key and nodding toward the back.
The room is small but warm—two narrow beds, a crooked window, and a door that creaks when opened too fast. Veyle drops his pack and stretches out, groaning. "I'm never walking again."
Seren raises an eyebrow and signs: "There's a hot spring out back."
Veyle sits up immediately. "Wait, seriously?"
"Yes." she signs.
"Pfft. Fine by me," he says, already peeling off his boots. "Honestly, I'll take anything that doesn't smell like swamp and fear."
He grabs a towel from the shelf near the door, then stops to glance at her. "You coming?"
Seren gives a small smile, one that barely tugs the edge of her mouth. She nods, signing simply: "Race you."
Before he can respond, she's already out the door, her steps light as ever.
Veyle stares, then grins. "Oh, it's on."
The back of the inn opened into a serene courtyard, dimly lit by old lanterns that swayed gently in the evening breeze. Steam billowed up from a stone-set hot spring, nestled against the inn's wooden walls. A carved sign hung above the gate: Guests Welcome – Clean Your Feet First.
Veyle stepped out first, a towel wrapped snugly around his waist, another slung over his shoulders. The spring's warmth radiated outward, drawing a long, tired sigh from him.
Seren followed a moment later, equally covered, her expression unreadable as always. She stepped lightly across the stones and dipped a toe in before easing into the water with practiced calm.
Veyle watched her settle across from him, her arms resting on the edge of the spring. "Is this what heaven feels like?" he muttered, lowering himself in until only his neck and head were above the water. "If it is, I'm never leaving."
Seren raised an eyebrow and signed lazily, "Don't get too comfortable. We still smell like smoke."
He huffed, leaning back against the smooth stone. "Right now I don't even care. I'd take a hundred more forests if it means ending the day like this."
Seren's shoulders sank a little beneath the water, her fingers trailing along the surface in gentle circles. She looked up at the hazy night sky, stars peeking through steam. A rare, faint smile tugged at her lips.
Veyle glanced over at her. "...Thanks for sticking with me," he said, a bit softer than before. "You didn't have to, y'know."
Seren blinked, then signed: "I wanted to." Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before she looked away again.
A quiet silence settled between them, broken only by the distant creak of the inn and the whisper of water. They were safe here—at least for a night. The capital walls lay behind them, the road ahead unknown. But for now, warmth filled the air, and the tension between them melted away with the rising steam.
Veyle closed his eyes. "Five more minutes," he muttered. "Then maybe we wash the soot off."
Seren rolled her eyes and signed, "You're washing first."
He groaned, but the hint of a grin crept onto his face. "Fine, fine… go back to the changing roo, ill shoat you when im done."
She sighs, and signs."in a minute."
The spring carried their silence into the night—quiet, still, and peaceful.