A soft breeze rustled the camp's edge, but the scene in front of the main tent was anything but peaceful.
Shion, Seirou, and Seiya knelt in a row, arms raised stiffly in the air, their faces slightly bruised and expressions locked somewhere between guilt and exhaustion. Sweat dripped down their temples, and Seirou had a dried leaf stuck in his hair, courtesy of being tackled into a bush an hour ago. None of them dared move.
Ryoma paced in front of them like a storm, his robes still partially tattered from battle, bandages visible on one arm. And yet, despite the obvious signs of injury, his steps were firm, furious.
"You three couldn't keep her safe?" he barked, eyes narrowing sharply. "What do you mean she's missing?!"
The air felt heavier with every word.
Behind him, Commander Zhou stood with arms crossed, whispering under his breath, "…Is this man really injured? He woke up not even an hour ago and he's already beating the life out of those three men on his own team. Just how much strength does he still have left after all that?"
Daita, leaning against a post with arms folded, watched the scene with faint amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. "He survived a demon and now he's marching around like he didn't nearly die this morning," he murmured. "And believe me… I'm very familiar with just how terrifying his strength is."
Ryoma stopped pacing.
The three kneeling flinched.
"I trusted you," he said, voice dangerously low. "One job. One. And now she's out there alone, injured, while you're here looking like you need rescuing."
Seirou dared to open his mouth. "T-Technically, we're the ones who need rescuing now…"
"Seirou," Ryoma said without looking at him, "Lower that hand and I will break it."
The hand shot back up.
Ryoma exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as frustration simmered just beneath the surface.
Just then, one of the cultivators emerged from the tent, bowing slightly. "The person is awake."
In an instant, the tension shifted. Whatever punishment was happening a moment ago dissolved as everyone hurried toward the tent, footsteps crunching over scorched earth.
Inside, Ryoma knelt beside the bed, voice low but urgent. "Kaen…?"
Kaen's eyes fluttered open, dazed for a second as they scanned the dim interior. The moment clarity returned, he bolted upright. "Where is she?"
Ryoma didn't answer immediately—he turned toward the three kneeling figures still trailing behind him.
"She… she's missing," Seirou stammered, shrinking under Kaen's gaze.
Kaen's eyes darted back to Ryoma for confirmation. Who gave a slow nod, jaw tight. Kaen's face fell. He raised a hand to his forehead, fingers pressing into it as his breathing grew uneven, worry overtaking the pain still lingering in his body.
Just then, Daita stepped forward, hands tucked behind his back with unusual ease.
"There's no need to panic," he said lightly. "A search team was dispatched the moment we got word. We'll find her soon."
Kaen turned to him with a deep frown, eyes sharp and unreadable.
Ryoma didn't bother masking his glare.
Noticing their stares, Daita cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck with an awkward chuckle. "R-Right. Nice to meet you all… again."
From the side, Commander Zhou leaned in and muttered under his breath, "Seventh Prince, since when did you start getting familiar with commoners? You're not supposed to be in public without a proper disguise—especially when not ordered."
Daita glanced at him sideways and responded in a low tone, "I know. I was… under a mission at the time. Issued directly by the Crown Prince." He paused, then blinked.
"Wait—speaking of the Crown Prince… where is he? Why isn't he here yet?"
Zhou's expression shifted, the same thought clearly having bothered him. "We sent three signal flares already," he murmured. "There's no way he could've missed them this time."
At that, both Kaen and Ryoma turned, exchanging a glance the moment they heard the phrase "issued by the Crown Prince."
Kaen narrowed his eyes slightly. "The Crown Prince… is here too?"
Daita paused at the question, glanced between them, then gave a small nod. "He should be," he said simply, then turned on his heel and walked out, Zhou following closely behind.
Kaen turned to Ryoma, voice low. "Could it be…?"
Ryoma didn't answer. His jaw tightened as he stood up and strode out of the tent in silence. Watching him go, Kaen exhaled slowly, shaking his head. Then added, almost to himself, "he probably knew before any of us did."
——————
The night air was cool, Under the shadow of an old tree, Astra sat with her knees drawn close, leaning against the rough bark in silence. The breeze tugged at her hair, but she didn't move—her gaze distant, unblinking.
Kriya crouched near the pile, pulling two stones from his sleeves. But before he could strike them together, Astra's voice broke the silence.
"Stop." Her tone was sharp, urgent. Kriya looked at her and saw the fear etched in her face. The way her eyes refused to leave the dry wood. The way her hands clenched the earth beneath her.
Without a word, he let the stones fall from his hands. They landed with a soft clink on the grass.
Astra exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. Her head leaned back against the tree as if it was the only thing holding her up.
Kriya didn't ask. He simply sat down a few feet away, the quiet settling between them like a thin, uneasy veil.
He froze, eyes lifting to hers.
"Don't light it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kriya thought for a moment, then quietly asked,
"How about… some poetry?"
Astra opened one eye, the corner of her lip lifting.
"Not a bad idea. Might help keep me from overthinking."
He tilted his head slightly. "Give me a topic."
She tapped her chin, pretending to think hard, then pointed toward the moon.
"Say something about my moon."
Kriya followed her gesture, gaze lifting to the pale light above. Then, after a short pause, his voice came soft, steady,
"The moon forgets her own glow, hiding behind clouds of lies. but even the night leans closer, just to be near her light. Even shadows hush, just to catch her gaze, and the stars realign, aching for her to stay."
"…That was pretty," she murmured, eyes turning from the moon to him.
After a long stretch of quiet, Astra opened her eyes again—and found Kriya watching her.
He was sitting with his elbow propped on his knee, chin resting lightly on his palm, a faint smile playing at his lips. The firelight they didn't ignite wasn't needed to see the look in his eyes.
She narrowed hers, exhaling through her nose.
"There you go again," she muttered, shifting slightly. "Just staring and saying nothing. Why do you keep doing that?"
A pause. "Do I look like a ghost to you?"
Kriya's smile didn't change. He only shook his head slowly, wordless.
Astra leaned back against the tree again, eyes half-lidded. "Don't go silent on me again," she said softly. "And stop looking at me like that. I'll get bored soon."
He tilted his head, watching her a moment longer.
"I just… never thought I'd see you again," she said, voice low.
"Thank you for helping me. Again."
Kriya gave a small nod and looked away, though the smile lingered on his lips.
The silence settled between them, not heavy, just still—until Astra shifted where she sat, eyes half-lidded, her head gently leaning back against the tree.
"…I think those herbs are making me sleepy," she murmured, blinking slowly, "but I don't actually want to sleep."
Kriya glanced at her.
"So…" she tilted her head slightly his way, "would you… talk to me? If you don't mind."
He nodded almost instantly. "I don't mind."
The speed of his reply made Astra chuckle softly. "That fast?" she said, eyes glinting with a trace of amusement. "Not even a second of thought?"She leaned back slightly, adding with a warning,
"Careful, I might just end up talking all night."
Kriya thought for a moment, then quietly asked,
"How about… some poetry?"
Astra opened one eye, the corner of her lip lifting.
"Not a bad idea. Might help keep me from overthinking."
He tilted his head slightly. "Give me a topic."
She tapped her chin, pretending to think hard, then pointed toward the moon.
"Say something about my moon."
Kriya followed her gesture, gaze lifting to the pale light above. Then, after a short pause, his voice came soft, steady:
"The moon forgets her own glow, hiding behind clouds of lies, but even the night leans closer, just to be near her light. She never sees how the stars rearrange for her silence, or how the sky waits, still hoping she'll stay a little longer. She doesn't know she's the moon, quietly pulling tides without a sound. Even the dark bends gently around her, as if afraid to dim what it can't live without."
"…That was pretty good," she murmured, eyes turning from the moon to him. He only smiled faintly, resting his chin on his palm again.
"You said it was your moon," he said quietly. "I just tried to make it pretty… enough to match."