"Mimi..." Silas called.
The maid shook her head, letting out a sigh that already expressed her refusal.
She sheathed her blade and took a deep breath.
"I know what you're thinking, Master Silas... But this story is much more complicated than we could have imagined." She whispered.
Silas's expression froze for a second. Still, he tried again:
"We can't just abandon them like this. Please."
The servant's icy grey eyes swept over each of the men with unyielding harshness.
"No." She said in a clear voice.
Simple, uncompromising. The decision of a soldier who does not negotiate.
The men looked up, their faces pale and pleading. Silas turned his head towards her, surprised by the brutality of this new refusal.
"But... Mimi, listen to them. They—"
"I said no." She repeated, her jaw clenched.
She picked up her dagger and tucked it into her belt.
"We're not getting involved in this. It would be suicidal. And we have nothing to gain from it."
A few of the men dared to insist:
"We beg you. Since you managed to knock us all down, we know you're strong enough to beat her."
"I won't repeat myself!" Mireille retorted sharply.
"Please... My lady warrior, that thing... it will end up—"
"I personally could not care less about your thing." Mimi cut him off.
Her gaze was like a slap in the face.
"...Let's get back on the road, young master."
She walked towards the horses, but Silas remained frozen in place, breathing heavily. The tension in his back was visible, as if something was preventing him from moving forward.
"Master Silas?" called Mireille without turning around.
The boy did not move.
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded strangled.
"…We can't leave them like this."
Mireille froze. Slowly, she turned towards him.
She knew that tone. She knew what it meant.
"You don't understand. We're not dealing with a simple target to be taken down..." she said in a lower voice.
The maid lowered her head slightly, as if unwilling to take responsibility for the words she was about to utter.
"This kind of creature... the demon they describe... it's beyond—"
"I don't care." Silas fumed.
He was surprised by his own boldness.
"We can't leave them like this." He said, his voice harsher than usual.
Mimi froze for a second, stunned by her young master's reaction.
"Master Silas, it seems you are unaware of the problem. This is a demon we're—"
"Actually, I understand perfectly well! And you heard what they said too: she controls them, the children, the women... And you want to... turn your back on them?"
Mireille turned and started to walk towards the horses. But in the end, she spun around to face him, her eyes sparkling with a concern she was unable to hide — especially in her current state.
"I want to keep you alive. And myself, too, for that matter. This business is none of our concern."
"She manipulates women and children, for heavens' sake… How can you expect me to turn my back on them? Just like that?"
Mireille took a deep breath, one hand on her hip. A nervous tic she hadn't had since the war.
Speaking of nervous tics, Silas had crossed his arms and was repeatedly tapping his index finger on his forearm. His teeth were clenched so tightly that one might have thought he was trying to crack an invisible nut.
The maid, tired of this charade, moved violently towards the teenager and spoke harshly — all semblance of respect due to the young nobleman's rank having left her voice.
"Listen to me, Silas. I'm tired of your little whims... Our priority is to get to Ceniel alive. Do you hear me? Alive. Every detour we take puts another day between you and Sentios. I'm not going to risk your life in a haunted village just because you want to... play the hero, or whatever else."
Silas paled, but he didn't back down.
"So what? We're just supposed to pass by and let it happen?"
"Yes, because it's none of our business. It's not our war."
The teenager's fists clenched.
"It wasn't their war either."
He lowered his head briefly.
"...And look what happened there in the end."
Mireille clenched her teeth. She understood.
Mireille raised her hands and placed them affectionately on the teenager's cheeks.
"It's not your fault." She said more softly.
But Silas turned his head away, ashamed — his mind still haunted by images of that hellish night. Mimi tried again to reason with him:
"Master Silas, you are not... responsible for—"
"Yes, I am. The big problem is that I'm not doing anything about it."
The young boy clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles made the leather of his gloves creak.
"…And if I never do anything, then what am I good for?" he continued.
He looked his maid and friend straight in the eye. A young, broken, but determined gaze.
"I refuse to keep walking, ignoring what is going on around me as if nothing were happening."
An icy wind blew through the thicket. The men from the village stood silently, holding their breath.
Mireille closed her eyes for a moment and took a single, deep breath.
When she opened them again, something had changed.
It wasn't an agreement.
It felt more like a mixture of resignation, loyalty, and a duty she would never admit aloud — the same resignation as a soldier returning to a battlefield he hates.
"Do you really want to help these people?" asked the young woman in a calm voice.
"Yes."
"Even if it puts you in danger?'
"Yes."
"Even if you're not ready?"
The silence that followed this question lasted a second too long.
"...Yes." Silas finally replied.
"Even if it slows us down?" Mireille continued.
"Yes."
"Even if it could cost one of us our lives, and consequently ruin all the efforts we've made so far?"
Silas swallowed... then replied nonetheless:
"Yes."
Mireille took another breath, as if swallowing hot embers.
"Very well."
The men flinched.
She put her map back in her bag, then tightened her grip on the reins of the horse beside her. Her voice became sharp again, completely controlled:
"We're going back to your hamlet. We'll find that demon. And we'll free your families from her clutches."
An almost animalistic breath escaped the oldest of the bandits, a mixture of relief and shame.
Silas looked at her, his eyes shining with painful gratitude. Mireille immediately looked away, as if this simple contact might crack her resolve.
"Let's go. Before the mist rises again..." she ordered.
The small group set off back towards the village. In the distance, the trees seemed to twist in the gathering mist like silhouettes ready to devour the group.
A disturbing silence reigned, broken only by the crunch of footsteps.
Night fell, thick and heavy, as if it knew what they were all about to face — and wanted nothing to do with the catastrophe that was sure to unfold.