Korie walked and walked until he was certain Lyra would not see him, taking a moment to relieve himself and consider their next steps. Lyra was probably well-knowing on matters regarding their island's ruling power; it was technically a part of the kingdom of Eclipsia, but hardly dependent on the capital and the mainland. The island was effectively governed by the merchant guilds, who controlled its wealth and held the most influence. While a noble or governor may have represented the crown, real authority rested with the guild leaders, who managed trade, laws, and daily affairs. The royal family made no effort to reclaim control, as long as taxes and tributes continued to be paid.
Unfortunately, a lot of criminal organizations had their hands over the flames as well. The lands could be dangerous without proper protection and some basic combat training at the very least, both of which Lyra was clearly covered on. And him? If he even came close to danger, he'd have no issue slipping past it. Then, all they really had to consider was the route they'd take to the next settlement. He doubted there were any for a few day's time, but their horses would help make their trip a lot shorter...
...Which was bad. Korie didn't want their trip, to what was possibly the worst place in all the lands, to be short. He considered routes and roads, any ways he could extend their journey. There was an off-road path, but he didn't want Lyra to begin suspecting him of stalling. He just needed time to convince her, that was all he had to do. Any extra days of journey would help massively in those efforts.
He mapped a route in his head, finishing up with his break and dusting off his hands on his trousers. He began absentmindedly searching for those sticks and rocks he'd mentioned. Southeast, then south, then directly east to reach the temple... Southwest towards the next settlement... both roads met in the middle, hardly making it convenient to decide on which route was shorter. He'd have to ask for her preference, he supposed.
He observed the forest for a little while, simply enjoying his walk. The air was fresh, pleasant as he inhaled, smelling of resin and humidity. He did not mind the large roots he had to keep watch for, and he found the wildlife critters and birds an interesting sight. Birds sang their tune. Surrounded by such beauty, the stress from before melted away with ease. While he wasn't much of a survivalist, he found that places untouched by civilization brought him a sense of tranquility.
He looped right back to the clearing, observing Lyra as he dumped the sticks and stones on the ground. His walk was graceful and quiet in comparison to the clinking of the wood. He kneeled to dig out a nice spot for a firepit, beginning to line its border with the rocks. He figured now was as good a time as ever to ask her a few questions. "I'm curious," He spoke, glancing up at her before his eyes drifted lower to the campfire again. "You're... a human, correct? I thought only moon elves could be part of the guard, or so I'd heard. Probably a rumor, now that I hear myself..." He commented.
Lyra stood near the horses, brushing out Orion’s mane with slow, methodical strokes as Korie reappeared from the trees, the quiet of the clearing broken by the clatter of gathered wood and stone as he dumped his findings onto the ground. She flicked a glance toward him, watching the way he moved - graceful, smooth, almost noiseless. It was a contrast to the deliberate sound of the campfire materials being arranged. He had that natural light-footedness most elves did, a kind of careful ease that made him look like he belonged anywhere but here, kneeling in the dirt, preparing a fire. She was still running the brush through Orion’s coat when he spoke.
He'd noticed how vehemently she'd grasped her royal band, a fabric which meant so much more than words to a member of the guard. It was their badge of honor, their identification. Something about the way she'd torn it off didn't sit right with him. She'd clearly paraded that title with pride earlier, insisted that her name and title were her own, so why tear it off with such discontent?
The question about the moon elves settled heavier than Korie probably realised. He had no idea what he had just stepped into.
She had spent her entire life surrounded by moon elves. Not just in the Royal Guard, but before that - in the home where she had grown up, in the halls where she had learned how to hold a blade before she had even grown into her own limbs. The soft silver glow of moonlight on pale skin. The lilt of Elvish words, spoken around her before she had ever learned what they meant. The feeling of always being the exception, even when they had never treated her as such. She had been adopted into a moon elf family. She had been raised among them, trained beside them, taught to stand as one of them. Yet, she never would be. Her hand twitched, an old habit, like she wanted to adjust a sleeve that no longer carried the weight of her armband.
For centuries, the Royal Guard had been dominated by moon elves - silent sentinels, silver-haired and sharp-eyed, bound to duty by old tradition and unyielding loyalty. Then she had come along. Lyra glanced down at Orion’s dark mane, at her own hands, scarred and calloused from years of wielding a blade in service to a kingdom that had never truly been hers. Korie wasn't wrong to think it was unusual. A human, in the ranks of the highest elite? For many, it had been unthinkable. For her family, it had never been a question.
"I was raised by moon elves," she said after a long moment. "They trained me. Gave me a place. A name. A purpose."
Her voice remained level, betraying nothing. It wasn't a lie. It wasn't the full truth, either. Her family had never once made her feel lesser. Never once implied that she was anything other than their own. But the rest of the world? The world had never let her forget.
How many times had she felt those whispers? The ones that never dared to be spoken aloud, but had lurked behind polite smiles, beneath measured words. She didn’t belong.
She would never be like them. She was just a human. Even when she had earned her place, risen through the ranks, stood above most of them, those whispers never really faded.
"Being human didn’t matter." She tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk ghosting over her lips, but her eyes were sharp as she looked at him. "Not once I proved I was better than them."
She let the words sit there, waiting for him to understand because that was the reality of it, wasn’t it? She hadn’t been given a place in the Guard out of kindness, or sentiment, or obligation. She had earned it and she had made damn sure that no one could take it from her. Until one man succeeded in doing just that.
Moon elves, then...
The lights across Korie’s arms danced a little brighter. A cold envy washed over him at her words, despite the fact that he would never wish to lead the life she did. He was a moon elf himself, a fact that nobody recognized of him; the colour of his skin, ash black, was not one that any regular elf of the moon gods would have. In fact, the white hair only cemented the idea that he was a dark elf in other people's minds, and so he suffered the same judgement that any other surface dark elves do. He'd accepted the physical aspect of his new, cursed appearance, yes, but the lack of recognition by his own people hurt like a raw, open wound.
He would never be like them. He'd not been raised in a moon elf household, he'd not grown amongst his own. He had been raised amongst the poor, those who lost their families and had nowhere else to go, for he himself had been without family for as long as he could remember. So yes, he was envious of her life; that at the very least, her parents cared for her and loved her, and taught her the ways and traditions of their kingdom. She was probably more moon elf than he was, really.
But wishing for something set in stone was pointless, so he let those thoughts go.
More importantly, he realized that her confidence was not born of arrogance, but of genuine pride. Every word she spoke carried the weight of her efforts, the struggles she had endured to reach her rank. It was clear she had fought for her place, proving herself again and again, especially in the face of the judgement she faced simply for being human. She had clearly earned her place in a position where the royal guard, reserved for moon elves, rarely accepted anyone else. He couldn’t help but respect the strength it must have taken to rise above the expectations and prejudice, to prove herself worthy of such a rank despite being human.
He'd misjudged her, assumed that she was only arrogant from a source of high self importance, but no. She was a true royal guard, a woman who'd had to work harder than all the others, a human who was deemed worthy of a high position by the king and queen. It only concerned him. How would he convince a woman like that to stop her efforts chasing down Nocturne, when she'd spent her whole life proving herself and achieving the impossible?
He finished up with the stones, focusing on the sticks this time around. He collected them and began to carefully arrange them into a small pile, ensuring they were positioned just right to catch the flame. "I'm surprised so many were willing to assist you for no cost. The royal family... has little power around here." Korie grabbed his pack, dragging it closer as he began to rummage through it; he was certain he had some fire potion in there.
Korie's next comment regarding the aid that she had been given prevented her from thinking too much about that subject. Lyra scoffed softly, shaking her head as she adjusted the weight of her stance, arms folding over her chest. "Power doesn’t need to be present to leave its mark."
Those in charge of the island weren’t nobility, not really. The real power belonged to the merchants, the traders, the ones who controlled ships, ports, markets, and law. They didn’t wear crowns, but they didn’t need to. Yet, despite that - one armband, one emblem of the Crown had still been enough to make people scramble to give her whatever she wanted. She didn’t delude herself into thinking it was respect. It was a habit. The royal family’s reach was distant, but its shadow still loomed. Power made people obedient.
"People serve power," she continued, voice measured, "whether it’s real or just a ghost of authority. The Crown doesn’t need to rule this island. It just needs to remind people that it could. That’s why they helped. They may not take orders from the capital, but the fear of it is still there. People don’t defy power, even when they're not watching."
The fire roared to life as Korie poured his solution over it, the flames eagerly flowing onto the twigs before spreading to the thicker logs in the center. A wave of heat washed over him as the blaze grew, melting away the permanent frost that had settled in his joints and veins. He practically melted at the comfort of such a nice heat. He was tempted to grab at some of the fire in order to warm his hands, but he knew the crackling flames would snuff out if he got too near to it. He picked up a sturdy stick instead, prodding at the burning wood and carefully rearranging it to ensure the fire remained stable and contained within the pit. Finally satisfied with its shape, he stepped back, watching as the flickering light cast dancing shadows across the ground.
Lyra knelt beside the fire, rolling out her bedroll with deliberate care, smoothing the fabric with her palm as she positioned it just close enough to the fire’s heat to stave off the night’s chill but far enough that she wouldn’t wake to embers licking at the edges. The ground beneath her was uneven, hardened by time and nature, but it didn’t matter. She had slept on worse.
As the firelight flickered against her armour, gleaming in waves of gold and red, she reached for the buckles at her chest, fingers working through a well-worn routine. The familiar metallic clicks filled the quiet, a rhythm she had repeated so many times it barely registered anymore. She removed the chest plate first, setting it down beside her pack with practiced care. Then came the arm guards, the leather straps worn smooth from years of use, the edges frayed where the metal met fabric. Her fingers lingered along the seams for a moment before moving on, undoing the greaves next, then unfastening the buckles at her boots, loosening them until she could pull them off entirely.
Armour was necessary. It protected. It concealed. But it was also a burden, a weight pressing against her bones, a reminder that even here, in the supposed quiet of the wild, she was never truly at rest.
He watched her with quiet fascination, his gaze drawn to the fluid precision of her movements. There was something almost hypnotic about the way Lyra shed her armor, deliberate and practiced, each buckle loosened with ease and each plate set aside in a careful, familiar sequence. The metallic clink of steel meeting the ground matched her words, a rhythmic pace to her calm, measured tone.
Layer by layer, the heavy plating gave way to leather, then to the dark fabric of her underarmor, which clung more closely than he had expected. Without the rigid shell encasing her, her figure became more apparent, lean but unmistakably feminine. The contrast was striking; it had been easy to assume her strength before. One that carried that much steel on her at all times without so much as a heavy breath was certainly powerful. Yet, without her armor, she had the appearance of a regular human, albeit taller than most others. The normality was oddly unsettling. It did not suit her. Surely she felt the same, for she wore her armor tirelessly all day long.
As for him, fire had always been an ally and friend; the ice in his veins that froze him up could only melt with it. It simultaneously enhanced his more unique features. The way his breath was visible in white puffs, despite them being nowhere near the cold of the mountains or Brimmond. The way the lights on his cheeks would dim and calm, pulsing with slow, ice blue colours. The fire especially accentuated the colours in his hands; the way the ashen skin turned black the further down his arms it went, giving the illusion of frostbitten limbs from the darkness.
His appearance was entirely unnatural. Thinking about it though, he realized that Lyra hadn't made any negative comments on his skin or his affliction, the curse that she clearly knew about. Stained with black magic, she'd said, yet she had not attempted to pursue the subject further, to push him into admitting a truth he hated to acknowledge.
"Why do you wish to find him so badly?" He asked, his voice a bit quieter this time around. He wasn't expecting any form of a detailed answer, nor did he wait for her to admit the whole truth to a stranger; but at the very least, he needed to understand at least in part why she was so adamant about finding him.
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She flexed her hands, rolling her wrists, rubbing absentmindedly at the faint indentations left behind by the armour’s straps. She could still feel the ghost of their pressure against her skin, as if she had been bound instead of merely protected. It was in the middle of this quiet, this methodical shedding of steel and leather, that Korie’s voice cut through the air. Lyra's hands stilled.
The last strap of her armour was half-loosened, the final piece waiting to be removed, but she didn’t move right away. The fire crackled beside her, its warmth licking at her skin, but suddenly, it felt distant. She should have expected this question.
Lyra inhaled slowly, steadying herself before she continued as if nothing had changed, as if she hadn’t noticed the weight of the words hanging in the air between them. Unbuckle. Loosen. Set the armour aside. Her face remained composed, her breath measured. There was no hesitation in the lie.
"The royal family tasked me with it," she said, her voice even, steady. "Tarek Nocturne has committed crimes against the Crown - against the kingdom itself. His actions can't go unpunished."
She reached for her bedroll, fingers brushing against the fabric as she spread it out beneath her. She didn't look at Korie. Not yet. Because if she did, she might see something in his expression that she wasn't prepared to acknowledge. Suspicion. Doubt. Or worse - understanding.
Lyra spoke with unwavering certainty, as if the kingdom’s decree was beyond question. But something about her tone didn’t sit right with Korie. The kingdom’s law was firm, yes, but it was also just, never cruel enough to command an execution without cause. The way she spoke so casually about ending a life... He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was misrepresenting the kingdom’s will, pushing him into accepting something with the confidence that he would never be able to confirm it for himself.
Was this truly how things worked, or was this just the version of the truth he had been given? It was as if the answer had been placed neatly before him, polished and unyielding, with the expectation to be taken at face value. It was a stalemate of information, but he supposed it was enough of an answer.
Even if she was lying, it would remain the truth that Tarek acted in a way that had threatened the royal family. It was the most likely possibility why one of their guards was out there, hunting him down in their name. Korie had no doubt that the man would plot to rise in power through dark and twisted means. He was the type to manipulate and destroy anyone who stood in his way, with no care for the damage he caused. It wasn’t just ambition that drove him, it was the pleasure of controlling and crushing others. But to think that he would go for the throne...
"Bastard," he muttered quietly, the word slipping out with a mix of frustration and anger. He could imagine that Lyra felt the same disgust when she spoke his name. It was the kind of revulsion that ran deeper than just dislike. It was personal, rooted in everything the man had done. Korie’s stomach twisted at the thought of him.
Her fingers twitched as she absently ran a hand over her forearm, brushing away the faint pressure marks left behind by the armour’s straps. It reminded her of something else - the tightness of the armband she had torn away earlier, the emblem it bore, the weight of the authority she had wielded so effortlessly and abandoned just as quickly. She had worn that lie just as easily and just like the armband, she had cast it off the moment it had become too much.
No one had sent her. No orders had been given. No duty had been assigned. This hunt was hers and hers alone because no one else was coming for Tarek. Justice would never come for him unless she carried it there herself.
The fire crackled again, snapping her back into the present, pulling her out of the past and the places she did not want to be. She let out a slow breath, stretching her legs out before her, feeling the residual heat of the fire curling toward her skin. Only then did she cast Korie a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable.
The fire’s glow cast sharp shadows over his face, highlighting the unnatural details she had seen before - the ashen hue of his skin, the white of his hair, reminding her of a dark elf. The lights on his cheeks pulsed slowly, dimming and brightening in rhythm with his breath, like a candle caught in a draft. Was he a dark elf? From what Lyra knew of them, they were calculated, composed, and cold in a way that came from generations of living in the depths of the world. Something about Korie didn't fit and yet, he made no effort to hide.
Had he simply grown so used to the stares, the whispers, the offhanded comments that they no longer mattered? Had they worn him down over time, until he no longer cared to react?
Her gaze lingered for a beat too long before she finally spoke.
"You’re more concerned about my reasons for chasing him than I am about the curse on your skin."
She let the words settle between them, tilting her head slightly as if weighing the thought.
Her tone wasn’t harsh, but neither was it gentle. It was simply a fact, a quiet understanding that Lyra wasn't the only one keeping secrets.
He didn't expect her to turn the subject around on him out of nowhere. The question caused his heart to beat at the speed of a rabbit, his body to shiver with a cold chill. He flicked his head to the side as though the words had slapped him.
"You need not be concerned," Korie spoke quietly, his eyes looking down at the fire. The warm tones contrasted with the cold on his skin. "It... I am not... contagious." He eyed the tips of his fingers, the pitch black colours spread onto his skin.
She exhaled through her nose and turned back toward the fire, pulling her bedroll the slightest bit closer to its heat before speaking. "If I thought it was contagious, you wouldn't be sitting here now."
The words were flat, matter-of-fact. Not cruel, not dismissive - just true. She wasn't afraid of whatever magic had settled in his skin. Then, she leaned back onto her elbows, stretching her legs toward the fire’s warmth, and let the subject fall away like it had never been spoken. Instead, she exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she glanced at the fire, watching the flames curl and snap around the carefully stacked wood.
The certainty with which she spoke her words, as though they were gospel, was a reminder that not all was wrong with the world. That there were people out there, right in front of him even, who cared not for strange looks or atypical personalities, who understood that priorities should not be wasted on appearance. Korie finally stopped holding his breath, letting out a long, drawn out exhale, a frosty cloud forming on his breath. Lyra's tone was so matter-of-fact that it made it far too easy to trust her. After all, why should such a simple woman have anything to hide?
Korie spoke as if he expected her to be concerned. She wasn't. Not in the way that he thought. His voice was distant, barely above a murmur, but there was something beneath it. A hesitation. A weight. Korie was waiting for something. A reaction, maybe? For her to pull away, or avert her gaze, or pretend not to have heard. Lyra, instead, remained silent, watching the way he didn't meet her gaze, the way he said the words like he'd said them before. As if he'd spent his life reassuring others, as if it was second nature to explain himself before anyone could make up their mind first.
The topic was... difficult. Harder than he could ever begin to explain. Even if he wanted to, his voice would probably refuse to sound, trapping his secrets forever within. He'd never told another of his past. It was a dangerous topic. He was often paranoid that they lurked around him, shadowing his every move, and that any whisper of their titles would be echoed back to them.
The customers at the Low Lantern would often mock or fear him due to his weird attitude and otherworldly appearance. He'd hear their whispers of judgement and pretend he did not, but late in the night they would return back to him like an unpaid debt. He's diseased... Don't let him touch you. There'd been the touches, the pokes of curiosity. Slaps on his back to summon those flickering lights on his cheeks and nape. Grabs of his waist or lower, to fluster and embarrass him. Usually by the drunk customers; sober men rarely wanted to put their hands on his skin, even if he allowed them to.
He had put up with everything because he needed the job. The Low Lantern offered a steady income, enough to keep him afloat, and a boss who was fair enough to avoid complications. It wasn’t a dream job by any means, but it was the best he could hope for under the circumstances. It gave him the freedom to keep his head down, to avoid standing out, and to stay hidden in plain sight. The work was simple, the hours predictable, and it kept him far from the dangers he knew would find him otherwise.
Lyra studied him, the way his eyes flickered down toward the fire, his expression unreadable. The flames threw golden light against his skin, a contrast to the unnatural darkness creeping along his fingers like a stain that would never wash away. Lyra's gaze drifted lower, to the way his fingers curled slightly, his thumb brushing against the darkened skin along the edges of his palm. The pitch-black colour, like frostbite that never healed, like something left too long in the cold. She watched the way his breath fogged in the air despite the lack of cold, the way those strange freckles pulsed dimly like embers that had never quite caught flame.
She was curious, sure, but not enough to care. She had no reason to ask further questions. His affliction, whatever it was, didn't concern her. The only thing that mattered was what he knew, that he could lead her to Nocturne and that he was her only lead after months of chasing ghosts. Everything else - his curse, his unnatural glow, whatever misfortune had embedded itself into his very flesh - was irrelevant.
Though, she supposed it would be irritating if it turned out to be fatal. It would be just her luck for him to drop dead halfway through the journey, leaving her with yet another dead end and no answers. After all, it wouldn't be the first time.
The hours stretched on, punctuated by idle small talk, the fire shrinking and growing with the occasional breeze, sending embers spiralling into the cooling air. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, bleeding the sky into dusk before fading entirely into the velvet dark of night. The once golden glow of the clearing had turned to deep, shifting shadows, the flickering firelight casting jagged shapes across the trees.
The evening was settling in properly now, bringing with it a hush that was different from the stillness of day. The birds had quieted, their songs replaced by the occasional hoot of an owl, the rustle of unseen creatures moving through the undergrowth. The stream nearby still trickled in its steady way, a constant backdrop to the crackling of burning wood.
The weight of the day pressed into her limbs, an exhaustion that wasn’t just physical.
She had been running for too long.
"We should rest," she said finally, shifting where she sat, adjusting her bedroll into a more comfortable position. "We still have a long way to go tomorrow."
"Indeed we do. We're two days' worth of travel from Aurumvale." The trip did not sound very exciting; they'd probably spend most of their time on the dirt roads or moving through trees, without any form of personal time or hygiene. Travelling itself was an exhausting endeavor, but the fact that they had to do it on their own with no wagon service to take them there... At least they could control the pace of their journey on horseback. Wagons were slow and cumbersome, and there was no telling what kind of company they would be forced to share; a cramped ride with strangers, packed in with merchants, travelers, or worse, someone who smelled even worse than the road itself.
He eyed the two sleeping horses, their sides rising and falling in the quiet stillness of the night. One of them, the sturdy brown horse with the thick mane, was Orion, Lyra’s horse. Had she brought him with her all the way from the mainland when she came to the island? The thought of transporting a horse by ship, the cramped quarters, the constant rocking of the waves... How had Orion endured it? He imagined the poor animal penned in the dark hold, the scent of salt and wood mingling with his own nervous sweat. It must have been a rough journey.
Lyra stretched out across her bedroll with a slow, careless ease, the movement vaguely feline as she rolled her shoulders and flexed her legs out, letting the tension in her muscles unwind. The warmth of the fire licked at her skin, a pleasant contrast against the cool evening air. She let out a slow exhale as she settled, her back pressing into the fabric beneath her, adjusting just enough to find the most comfortable position against the unforgiving ground. Her arms lifted lazily, hands linking behind her head, fingers threading through the loose strands of her hair as she gazed up at the star-pinned sky above them.
Korie did not need to lay down in order to rest. He was sitting cross-legged on his bedroll, with his hands on his knees. He preferred it this way, sitting with his back straight and his eyes gently shut, allowing him to take deep breaths during his trance. He let his breathing slow, deep and steady, drawing in the cool, quiet night with each breath. The air around him was thick with the scent of damp earth and the faint smokiness of the fire still crackling softly in front of him. The flickers on his skin, those lights that reminded of reflective crystals and stones, dimmed along with each slow breath, reflecting the calm that was starting to take hold. Lyra's soft breathing was audible in the silence, gentle but alive, and he could not help but match his breath along with her.
Her last words to Korie before she let herself drift were, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't sneak off in the middle of the night. I'd rather not have to track you down again."
It was only partially meant in jest.
Lyra's comment had been unexpected, snapping him out of his calm. He'd not taken her for someone who would joke in the first place. "Oh, hah," Korie let out a humorless huff, his surprise showing as he tried to collect himself. He blinked, looking across the fire at her.
There was something about her... Her striking eyes, always alert and staring down at him with awareness he rarely saw, the way she carried herself with what he'd previously assumed was arrogance, but soon proved to be true confidence, how determined she'd been in convincing Korie to help her. Her presence was stern and demanding, and Korie uncharacteristically listened. He would not have caved so easily in usual circumstances; even if his plan was to inevitably stop her from her own madness, she had managed to convince him to play along.
He had to say, he was impressed. Not by her stupidity for chasing down an elven devil, however.
"I won't run off. You'd probably find me anyway," Korie spoke, his voice a little deeper as he'd begun to settle down. He shut his eyes once more and allowed himself to slip into trance, relaxed and calm.
The night passed swiftly. The first light of dawn crept through the trees, casting a soft glow over the campsite as the night's crickets and birds went silent. Korie had been awake long before the sun rose, his trance lingering in the quiet of the night. It hadn’t been a long rest, but it never was; humans simply rested more than elves needed to. His eyes were still closed, his posture straight as ever, legs crossed beneath him as he basked in the morning chill.
The fire had burned low, its embers glowing faintly, while the horses began to stir. Their soft snorts and gentle movements broke the stillness of the morning. Korie remained still, his breathing slow and steady, listening to the faint rustle of leaves above. As the sunlight filtered through the canopy, he opened his eyes, watching the horses stretch and shake off their sleep. The forest around him felt calm, every sound a reminder that the world was waking up. Korie stayed where he was, taking in the morning, grounded and ready for whatever the day would bring. He doubted they'd have any complications on the road, but if they did, they would not be a problem, what with the warrior at his side.
