Call of the Rain

The flames danced in slow, hungry movements, licking at the dry wood Claire had just added. She watched as the embers glowed, pulsing like a heartbeat, tiny flecks of ash drifting upward before vanishing into the evening air.

The heat curled around her fingers, a quiet contrast to the coolness that settled in her bones. The wind had picked up again, carrying with it the faint scent of damp earth and pine. It was the kind of chill that seeped into the skin, not biting but lingering, like a whisper of something waiting just beyond reach.

Somewhere beyond the trees, an owl let out a low, drawn-out call, its cry swallowed by the rustling branches. A response came soon after—another call, distant yet similar, as if the evening itself were alive with hidden watchers.

Behind her, the shuffle of footsteps signaled Ken's return. He dropped the gathered supplies onto the ground with a tired sigh and reached for his waterskin, taking a long sip before exhaling.

"Found a place nearby," he muttered, shaking off the exhaustion. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Can't believe I didn't notice it earlier."

Claire turned slightly, glancing at him. "Do you need help with anything?"

Ken barely looked up as he started unpacking. "No. You should rest." His voice was firm but absentminded, like he wasn't just dismissing her—he was simply too drained to argue.

She didn't insist. Instead, she watched him move, quick and efficient, setting up their temporary shelter with the ease of someone who had done this a hundred times before.

"You do this a lot," she remarked.

Ken didn't pause. "Mm. Stopping wherever I find a roof? Yeah." He secured the tent's frame. "It's part of the journey."

A journey.

Claire stayed silent as he continued.

"I'm heading west."

That single word made her stomach tighten.

West. The farthest point from home. Opposite to everything she had ever known.

"Can I ask… where we are now?"

Ken stilled, then shot her a glance. "You didn't even know?" His voice held mild exasperation. "How did you not—? Never mind." He exhaled, shaking his head. "Near the southern border. A couple of days from Rhistel."

Her heart lurched.

Rhistel.

Claire straightened, forcing her expression to remain still, even as the name echoed in her mind louder than it should have.

How far have I come…?

Rosélind, her home, lay firmly in the eastern province. The province was divided among noble houses, but the Valens—her family—held the most power. It was a land known for its fertile soil and lucrative trade routes, a place where her name meant everything.

But here, in this unfamiliar stretch of land, her name meant nothing.

Ken kept speaking. "Not yet. I'm stopping in Rellin first."

Rellin. Claire exhaled, only now realizing she had been holding her breath.

That was still within the eastern province. A small village, unimportant in the grand schemes of noble affairs. For now, she had no reason to panic.

She settled back slightly, watching the fire flicker between them. "And then?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Ken dusted off his hands, straightening. "Then, I'll head south."

There it was. That shift in her chest.

The reminder of what lay beyond the border—the place she was meant to go but had no intention of reaching.

She didn't speak for a moment. The fire crackled between them, its warmth brushing against her skin, yet the cold that pressed against her back felt stronger.

Still, something in her hesitated.

"You seem sure of your direction."

Ken tilted his head slightly. "Shouldn't I be?"

Claire gave a small, almost bitter smile. "Not everyone has that luxury."

Ken didn't press further. He only looked at her for a second longer before turning his attention to the fire.

Then—

A sound.

Distant, but distinct. Voices carried by the wind, just beyond the stream.

Claire's gaze flicked toward the direction of the sound.

Ken, busy with his preparations, didn't notice.

She turned slightly, straining to listen.

The voices were familiar.

Too familiar.

Her chest tightened.

Ken muttered something under his breath before huffing in frustration. "Tch. Looks like it's gonna rain." He glanced at the sky. The wind had picked up, a warning in the air. "Let's move before it—"

A cold drop landed on his hand.

Ken groaned. "Oh, great." Another drop. Then another. "Shit, it's gonna pour. Claire, let's move to that place I found earlier—"

She wasn't listening anymore.

Her gaze had shifted, locked onto the distant figures moving between the trees.

Armor. Torches. Purposeful steps.

Her guards.

They were searching for her.

Her breath hitched, but she didn't let the panic show. Instead, her hands moved swiftly, reaching for Ken's belongings without hesitation.

"Ken." Her voice was steady, but firm. "We need to go. Now."

Ken blinked, caught off guard by her sudden urgency. "What—?"

Claire didn't wait for him to question it. She shoved his pack toward him, already reaching for her own. "You said there's shelter nearby, right? Let's move before the rain makes it harder."

Ken frowned, glancing at the sky. The wind had picked up, the air thick with the scent of approaching rain. He hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Yeah. This way."

Claire followed close behind, her grip tightening around the strap of her bag. She didn't dare look back.

Neither did Ken.

Good.

They moved quickly, the fire behind them shrinking into the distance as the first heavy drops of rain fell.

Only when the trees swallowed them whole did Claire finally exhale.