Chapter 22 Slightly Falling

### Chapter 22: Slightly Falling

*Bren's Point of View*

The road stretched endlessly ahead, the worn path winding between trees, over rivers, and beneath the wide open sky. They had been walking for hours, the rhythmic crunch of boots on gravel mingling with the occasional sound of a distant bird call. The air felt thick, heavy, as if the land itself was holding its breath, waiting for something. Bren was used to the solitude of the wild, but today, there was something different in the air.

It wasn't just the weight of their journey, the knowledge that Malgrin's shadow loomed larger with each passing day. It wasn't even the strange way the merchant had cringed at every look, afraid of what might happen if he spoke too much. No, it was something else—something quieter, more personal.

Her eyes flickered toward Trill, who walked just a few paces ahead, his expression unreadable. It had always been like this with him. Cold. Calculating. A blade wrapped in the softest of silences. But there was something in the way he moved today, in the way he glanced back every now and then, checking on her. He hadn't done that before—not this often. It was subtle, like a shadow crossing over the surface of a placid lake, but it was there. And for some reason, it made Bren uneasy.

She hadn't seen Trill as much more than a tool in the beginning. An ally, yes, but always distant. Always too focused on his mission, his goals, his vengeance. She had thought of him as an assassin—a deadly one, skilled with his sword, lethal in ways that made her nervous. But now, she was starting to wonder.

They were walking through the forest at the edge of a steep hill, the trees thinning out to reveal a stretch of open plains leading toward the distant town. The light was soft now, the last rays of the dying sun casting long shadows over the land. The air had cooled enough for her to wrap her cloak tighter around her shoulders, but it wasn't the chill that made her shiver.

It was Trill.

He was different now, less distant, more present. The hardened exterior he wore was still there, but there was something in his eyes—a flicker of emotion he hadn't shown before. She had seen it when he looked at her, just for a moment, in the depths of the night before the merchant fell asleep. That brief flash of something real. Something human.

Bren had never trusted people easily. Trust, for her, had always been a commodity in short supply. But there was a part of her that couldn't deny what she was starting to feel. Trill wasn't just an assassin. He wasn't some cold-blooded killer bent on slaughtering without cause. There was more to him—something that she couldn't quite place, but it felt... familiar. As if the two of them were cut from the same cloth, woven from the same dark thread.

She took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the handle of her satchel. They had been walking for so long, and her mind was weary, but she needed to ask him—needed to know something she'd been avoiding for days now.

"Trill," she said, her voice soft but firm enough to catch his attention.

He turned slightly, his piercing gaze locking with hers. "Hmm?"

She hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words, trying to reconcile the distant assassin she had come to know with the man standing before her. She could feel the weight of their shared journey in the space between them, and it made her stomach twist.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, the question coming out before she could stop it. "I mean… why fight for them? For the Sherpa?"

Trill didn't immediately answer. Instead, he slowed his pace and glanced back toward her, his face unreadable. For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer at all, but then his lips twitched into something resembling a smile. It wasn't a friendly one—more like a bitter reminder of something long past.

"Because I have to," he said finally, his voice low and heavy with meaning. "The Sherpa raised me, trained me... they gave me everything. And now they're gone. Enslaved. Forced to do things they never should have. I don't have much left in this world, Bren. But I won't let him—Malgrin—get away with it."

There was a fire in his eyes, a righteous fury that Bren hadn't fully understood until now. It was the same fury that had burned in her chest when she first saw her village destroyed. It was the same fury that had driven her to leave everything behind and hunt for the man who had killed her family. It was vengeance. It was a thirst for justice. It was a debt she could never repay.

Her heart twisted in her chest as she listened, a mix of empathy and something darker stirring within her. For all his coldness, Trill was like her in so many ways. Driven by the ghosts of the past, haunted by the things that had been taken from him. She had always seen him as a means to an end—a tool to use, a weapon to wield. But now, as she listened to him speak, she realized how wrong she had been.

She wasn't the only one with a past.

And yet... she still couldn't help but wonder. Could she trust him? Could she trust anyone?

"Do you ever think about what happens after?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. "After you've taken your revenge? After you've freed them?"

He looked at her then, his gaze sharp and piercing, as if searching for something in her eyes. For a long moment, there was silence, and then he spoke.

"I think about it all the time," Trill said. "But what comes after doesn't matter. I can't stop now. Not until I've righted the wrongs."

Bren wasn't sure why, but something inside her loosened at his words. The resolve in his voice, the clarity in his eyes—it was something she could understand. She had been running for so long, consumed by the need for vengeance, for justice. It had been her only purpose. Until now.

The wind picked up slightly, carrying the scent of wildflowers and damp earth. The road ahead seemed clearer now, less uncertain, as though the path had opened just a little bit more.

They walked on in silence for a while, and Bren felt herself falling into the rhythm of their shared journey. Something about this felt... right. Her heart still ached with the loss of her family, the memories of her village in flames. But for the first time in a long while, she didn't feel quite so alone.

As the evening drew closer, the sun dipping beneath the horizon, Bren found herself beside Trill. She glanced up at him, surprised to find him already watching her, his expression softer than she had ever seen it.

"I'm not... a hero," she said, her voice barely audible. "But I'm not a villain either. I'm just someone who's been hurt. Just like you."

Trill didn't respond immediately, but she saw the flicker of understanding pass through his eyes.

"I never thought of you as a villain," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "I never thought of you as anything but... human."

The words settled between them like a bridge, one that neither of them had been willing to cross before. And for a fleeting moment, in the growing dusk of the forest, Bren felt something shift.

She wasn't alone. Not anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, neither was Trill.

They walked together as the night deepened, their footsteps synchronized. There was more ahead—more danger, more secrets, more darkness. But for now, the road seemed a little less lonely.

And maybe that was enough.

**To be continued...**