The Changes in the Air

As night deepened, the sky stretched vast above them, its canvas dotted with the gentle flicker of stars. The storm had passed, leaving behind a crisp, pleasant chill that wrapped around them like an unseen veil. The quiet hum of nature filled the air, a stark contrast to the earlier downpour.

Ken exhaled, rubbing his arms as he shifted on his feet. "Ohh, it's cold… It's gonna be a troublesome night." His breath curled in the cool air, visible for a fleeting moment before vanishing.

He knew this was going to be an issue. He had only packed enough for himself—his share of blankets, his supplies. But now, with Claire here, the night ahead would be colder than he had prepared for.

His gaze flicked toward her as he asked, "You full?" The casual way he said it carried more meaning than the words themselves—was their meager meal enough for the night? Would she be able to rest?

Claire gave a small nod, and with that, Ken pushed himself up, glancing around. "Let's clean this space. It's already dark. Let's call it a night."

Without waiting for a reply, he stepped outside briefly, returning with a handful of fresh branches. The scent of damp wood and earth clung to them as he knelt down, brushing away debris to clear a space for them to rest.

Before he could continue, Claire stepped forward. "Wait, I'll help you," she offered, reaching for the branches.

Ken paused, his lips twitching into a knowing smirk. He handed them over without protest, his expression laced with quiet amusement.

Claire, determined, took the bundle and began sweeping the ground. But almost immediately, the leaves from the branches started to fall, scattering rather than clearing the space. Her movements slowed as she realized the futility of her effort, her fingers tightening slightly around the useless tool.

Ken leaned back, watching, the smirk never leaving his face.

Claire's gaze remained fixed on the floor, disappointment flickering in her eyes. Her voice was barely above a murmur when she spoke. "Sorry… I thought I could help."

Ken let out a quiet huff, shaking his head. "Claire, what if you take care of the fire instead?" he suggested, his tone carrying a teasing lilt. "Try adding some kindling to it—that could be helpful."

The playful jab landed as he intended.

Claire stilled for a moment before turning her head toward him, her lips pressing into a small pout—childish yet unguarded, as if instinctively responding to his teasing. It wasn't frustration, not really. Just… something light.

Ken's smirk deepened at the sight.

With an exaggerated huff, Claire turned away, moving toward the fire. The warmth of the small flames licked at her fingers as she reached for the kindling. But as she fed the fire, something tugged at the edges of her mind.

Her hands stilled.

Her eyes widened slightly as a thought crept in, unexpected and unshakable.

What did I just do…?

She hadn't even realized it—not until now. The way she had reacted to him, the way the moment had played out.

This kid…

Ken felt familiar. Too familiar. And yet, at the same time, distant.

What is this feeling…?

The fire crackled softly, its glow reflecting in her eyes as she stared into it, lost in thought.

Claire's thoughts drifted, the warmth of the fire lulling her into a sudden glimpse of something—something lost.

A fragmented memory, soft yet vivid.

A younger Claire, no older than a child, sat kneeling in a vast grassland, her tiny shoulders trembling with quiet sobs. Her gaze was fixed in the distance, searching, longing.

Beside her, a gentle hand stroked her back.

"Claire, my dear... don't cry, my little squirrel," her mother's voice murmured, soothing and warm. "He will come back again. For now, why don't you wait for his arrival next time?"

The words were soft, a promise wrapped in comfort.

Then, a presence from behind.

A small girl, no older than Claire, knelt in front of her, her own eyes brimming with tears as if mirroring Claire's sadness.

"Claire, don't cry..." she sniffled, her tiny hands fumbling with something—her stuffed bunny.

With a determined pout, she held it out.

"I can play with you," she offered earnestly. "Please don't cry..."

Claire's breath caught.

Elise.

The name rang in her mind like an echo of a time long past. The sudden recollection sent a dull ache through her chest, her expression faltering as she whispered inwardly—

Elise... Hope you're well...

She must be worried sick right now...

Before she could sink further into the weight of the memory, a voice pulled her back.

"Yep," Ken's voice rang out, followed by the sound of his hands clapping together. "All done."

Claire blinked, her surroundings rushing back—the firelight flickering, the watchtower's worn stone walls enclosing them, the scent of damp earth still lingering in the air.

Ken stood, stepping back to admire his work, the bedding now set up.

The moment had passed.

But the warmth of it lingered, like an ember buried beneath the ashes.