The campfire burned steadily in the night.
Embers drifted upward, glowing briefly before dissolving into the dark. The scent of burning wood hung rich in the cool air, smoke rising in slow, lazy ribbons beneath the moonlight.
Insects hummed beyond the clearing.
The wind moved through the grass and branches, whispering softly as if nothing in this world had bled tonight.
It was peaceful.
Zen stepped into the open clearing.
The fire reflected faintly in his eyes as Dhaka and Zaki followed a step behind him.
Now the camp was fully visible—two tents already set up, a steady campfire in the center, and a cart parked off to the side.
Now the camp was fully visible—two tents already set up, a steady campfire in the
center, and a cart parked off to the side.
The cart driver, Ikuru, walked straight to the horse and gently petted its neck. The animal gave a tired neigh, leaning into his touch.
"Easy now," Ikuru muttered softly. "You did well."
Zen glanced at him briefly.
Zen's voice broke the quiet.
"This is where we'll be staying tonight," he said calmly. "I have an extra tent. We'll start by setting it up."
Suddenly, a low growl broke the silence behind Zen.
He glanced back toward the sound.
A slow smile formed on his face.
Zaki stood there, clutching her stomach, staring hard at the ground. A faint blush crept up her cheeks, visible even in the firelight.
The growl came again.
Zen turned slightly, amusement clear in his eyes.
"I think we can set up the tent later," he said calmly. "Maybe we should fill our stomachs first, don't you think?"
He gestured toward the fire.
"Me and the old man"—he pointed at Ikuru—"already made some food. There should be leftovers. It's simple, but it'll help."
Dhaka, too, had a smile on his face as he glanced at his miss.
"That would be wonderful, don't you think, miss?" he said lightly.
Zaki shot him a look sharp enough to stab.
If looks could kill, the old man would have fallen into the fire already.
But Dhaka wasn't one to retreat. His smile only widened. He tilted his head slightly, clearly waiting for her answer.
Zaki looked at him.
Then at Zen.
Both of them.
Teasing her.
Her face turned an even deeper shade of red. The firelight only made it worse.
Cornered and with no graceful escape, she lowered her gaze and gave a small, reluctant nod.
The growl from her stomach betrayed her one last time.
No one pushed the teasing any further.
It felt like it might backfire if they did.
So, quietly, they each took their places on the logs around the fire.
Zen moved first. He crouched near the pot and began serving the food into simple bowls. It wasn't hot anymore, but it was enough for the night.
Enough to settle the stomach.
Enough to keep strength.
He handed one to Dhaka, then to Zaki, careful not to meet her eyes for too long.
After that, he filled a full portion for himself. He hadn't eaten properly earlier. The battle had burned through more than just blood.
Zaki finished her meal slowly.
When she lowered her bowl, she stared at it for a moment… then at the pot near the fire… then briefly at Zen.
Then back to the bowl.
There was still some food left in the pot.
Her stomach had stopped growling, but it certainly wasn't satisfied.
She swallowed.
Asking would be embarrassing.
Zen, sitting across from her, noticed.
He had been quietly observing everyone while eating. When he saw the way her eyes kept drifting to the pot, the faint hesitation in her posture, the way she tightened her grip on the bowl…
He understood.
Without saying a word, he extended his hand toward her.
Zaki stiffened immediately.
Her shoulders straightened, and she looked at him warily.
"What?" her eyes seemed to ask.
Zen didn't speak.
He simply pointed at her bowl.
Then at the pot.
Realization dawned on her face.
Her embarrassment deepened instantly.
For a second, she hesitated.
Then, very meekly, she extended her bowl toward him.
Zen took it calmly and refilled it with another serving.
Not too much.
Not too little.
Just enough.
He handed it back without comment.
No teasing.
No smirk.
Just quiet understanding.
The fire crackled softly between them.
They finished their meal quietly.
The night had grown deeper. The fire burned lower now, steady and controlled.
Zen rose first.
Without a word, he walked to the cart and pulled out the folded canvas and support poles for the extra tent. The fabric was thick, worn but well-kept.
Dhaka stood as well, brushing dirt from his hands. Zaki hesitated for a second before rising too.
"Here," Zen said simply, tossing Dhaka a bundle of poles.
Dhaka caught it smoothly.
Zaki moved to grab the canvas, but it was heavier than it looked. She nearly stumbled before regaining her footing.
Dhaka pretended not to notice.
Zen definitely noticed.
He stepped forward and took one side without comment.
Together, they spread the canvas across the ground. The wind tried to lift the edges, making the fabric snap sharply in the night air.
"Hold that corner," Zen instructed.
Zaki quickly pinned it down with both hands.
Dhaka drove the first stake into the soil using the back of a small hatchet. The dull thud of metal against earth echoed softly through the clearing.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
A short while later, the tent stood firm against the night wind—secure, silent, and ready for rest.
Zen looked at both of them.
The exhaustion on their faces was clear—heavy eyelids, slowed movements, silence settling into their bones. Whatever questions he had could wait.
For now, rest mattered more.
"Sleep," he said simply.
They didn't argue.
Dhaka gave a small nod. Zaki hesitated for a second, as if wanting to say something, but fatigue won. They disappeared into their tent.
Zen remained behind.
Ikuru had already retired earlier. The old man's tent was still, no sound coming from within.
The campfire was dying.
Flames had lowered to dim tongues of orange, embers glowing red beneath a fragile layer of ash. Zen stepped closer and stood there for a moment before sitting down on one of the logs.
He stared into the fire.
Then up at the sky.
The stars stretched endlessly above him.
It felt like years had passed all at once.
Silence used to be his only companion. Days without conversation. Weeks without laughter. Words exchanged only when necessary. Efficient. Cold.
But tonight…
He had laughed.
Even if it was small.
Even if it was simple teasing over food.
It had been real.
This was the first conversation in a long time that he had actually enjoyed.
He hadn't realized how isolated he had become until that brief warmth touched him.
Such a small thing.
A shared meal.
A blush.
A growling stomach.
And yet, it stirred something in him.
Zen exhaled slowly, eyes softening as he watched a final ember drift upward and disappear into the dark.
Maybe he had been alone for too long.