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Chapter 23 - Whispers beneath the rain

Rain began to fall as they left the burning fields behind.

Not the kind that came with thunder and fury — no, this rain was quiet. The kind that fell like an apology.

Rowan's boots sank into the mud with every step, the revolver heavy at his side. The road curved east through low hills and scattered pines, the smell of wet ash clinging to his coat.

Behind him, Cass trudged with his jacket pulled over his head. "You'd think," he said between breaths, "after a war, the weather would give us a break."

Lynx's fur was soaked, her nine tails drooping like wilted banners. "It's just water," she muttered, shaking droplets off with a huff. "You humans are so dramatic."

"Dramatic?" Cass laughed weakly. "You don't even feel rain the same way. You got magic fur or whatever."

"Magic patience," she corrected. "You should try it."

Mira walked in silence. Her cloak was drenched, her braid undone and sticking to her neck, but her eyes stayed sharp. Every rustle in the trees had her hand drifting toward her sword.

No one said it out loud, but they all felt it — the unease, the wrongness in the air. The Phoenix soldiers hadn't just been chasing. They'd been herding them.

"Rowan," Mira said after a while, voice low. "They knew our route."

He didn't look back. "Yeah."

"So how?"

He hesitated before answering. "I don't know."

But he did know. Or maybe he just didn't want to believe it. The Loki crystal pulsed faintly under his glove, like a heartbeat that wasn't his. It could be reacting to something — or someone — tracking it.

---

By the time the sun vanished behind the clouds, the group was soaked to the bone. The dirt road had turned to sludge, and their breath came out in pale puffs.

Cass groaned. "Please tell me we're close to somewhere that isn't miserable."

Lynx sniffed the air and flicked her ears toward the north. "There's smoke. Faint, human-made. Probably a village."

Rowan straightened. "How far?"

"Half a mile. Maybe less."

"Then we move."

Cass muttered something about "half a mile too far," but followed anyway.

The trees thickened, their shadows curling like ink between the trunks. The sound of rain softened as they descended into a shallow valley, where the faint orange glow of lanterns flickered through the mist.

Mira's grip on her sword relaxed slightly. "Looks peaceful."

"Looks," Lynx echoed, voice wary. "Peace can lie."

---

The village was small — maybe twenty houses, most of them wood and stone with moss growing between the cracks. Lanterns glowed behind rain-blurred windows, and smoke curled from chimneys into the mist.

A sign, half-broken and leaning, read: VAELFORD.

Cass squinted at it. "That's either charming or cursed."

"Both," Mira said.

They entered cautiously, boots squelching on the wet cobblestone. No guards, no patrols — just the sound of rain and distant laughter from the tavern near the square.

Rowan paused under an awning, glancing around. "We need supplies and somewhere to rest."

"I'll check the tavern," Cass offered quickly. "Maybe see if they've got food and a bed."

"You just want ale," Lynx said flatly.

"I can multitask."

Rowan sighed. "Fine. Keep your hood up."

Cass grinned and disappeared into the warm light of the tavern.

Mira turned to Rowan. "You think it's safe?"

"Safe?" He gave a faint, humorless smile. "No. But it's quiet. That's enough for now."

---

They found an abandoned house at the edge of the village — the roof half-collapsed, but dry enough to keep the rain out. Mira set down her pack with a tired groan, while Lynx curled up near the cold hearth, flicking her tails toward the damp logs. Sparks flared, and a small fire caught.

Rowan leaned against the wall, watching the flames spread. The soft crackle filled the silence.

Mira glanced over. "You're still bleeding."

He looked down. His sleeve was torn, a shallow cut beneath it oozing faint blue light instead of blood.

"It's fine," he said.

"It's not." She moved closer, pulling a cloth from her belt. "Hold still."

He sighed but didn't resist. Her hands were steady, gentle but firm as she pressed the cloth against the wound. The smell of mana — sharp, metallic — filled the air.

"Does it hurt?" she asked softly.

Rowan shook his head. "Not like it should."

"That's not comforting."

He glanced up, their eyes meeting for a moment too long. "Wasn't trying to be."

Mira looked away, finishing the bandage in silence. "You're burning yourself out," she murmured. "You can't keep forcing that crystal. One day it'll take more than you can give."

"I know," he said quietly. "But right now, I don't have a choice."

She wanted to argue — to tell him he did, that maybe there was another way. But the look in his eyes stopped her. There was something there she recognized too well: that same exhaustion she'd seen in every fighter who'd run out of tomorrows.

So instead, she just nodded. "Then rest. Just this once."

Rowan managed a faint smile. "You giving orders now?"

"Only when you're too stubborn to follow good ones."

---

Cass returned later, soaked but grinning, a loaf of bread and two jugs of cider under his arm. "See? Told ya multitasking was a gift."

Lynx sniffed one jug suspiciously. "That's not cider."

Cass winked. "It is now."

They ate quietly, the fire crackling between them. The rain outside softened into a steady rhythm — a lullaby for the broken.

Mira leaned against the wall, eyelids heavy. Lynx slept beside the fire, her fur glinting faintly in the orange glow. Cass hummed something under his breath — an old song, off-key but comforting.

Rowan stayed awake. Always awake. Watching the window, the firelight, the shadows that danced against the far wall.

For once, no one was chasing. No one was dying. No explosions, no shouts, no blood. Just the sound of rain, steady and unrelenting.

He let out a slow breath and leaned back, closing his eyes. For the first time in weeks, the silence didn't feel dangerous. It felt… almost kind.

---

Morning came muted and gray. The rain had stopped, leaving mist coiling around the village rooftops. The world felt lighter — not safe, but softer.

Rowan stepped outside, boots crunching on the damp grass. The air smelled of wet earth and smoke. A few villagers moved quietly between homes, carrying buckets, mending fences. No one looked twice at him.

For the first time, anonymity felt like a blessing.

Mira joined him at the door, her voice quiet. "We'll stay a few days. Lay low. Fix what we can."

He nodded. "Then Valecrest."

"Then Valecrest," she echoed.

They stood there in the pale light, listening to the village wake.

No war. No fire. Just rain on the rooftops and the faint whisper of peace pretending to last.

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