A Silent Breath

The streets of Eldoria bustled with midday life. Merchants called out their wares, children chased each other between the cobbles, and smells of fresh bread, roasted meat, and spiced wine filled the air.

Leon and Sylva walked quietly at first, side by side, their steps echoing in rhythm on stone. Leon led her to a quieter street lined with food stalls and small shops. When he saw her gaze linger on a loaf of honey-glazed bread, he bought two without a word and handed her one.

"Thanks," she said simply, taking a bite. Her eyes softened a little.

He gave a small smile. "Tastes better when it's not rations, huh?"

She nodded. "A lot better."

They continued through the streets, stopping occasionally to sample fruit or watch a performer juggle knives with unnatural precision. There were moments when Sylva looked over her shoulder, instinctively checking corners, but gradually she began to relax.

Eventually, they sat on a stone bench beneath a tree that overlooked the city square. The air was warm, the kind that whispered of spring.

Leon glanced at her. "You don't talk about your past much."

Sylva looked down at the half-eaten bread in her hands. "That's because it's not much of a past. Just orders, blood, and silence."

"The Night Reapers," Leon said quietly.

She didn't flinch. "Yeah. I was raised to kill, not question. Cassandra trained me. She taught me everything I know. Back then, I didn't think it was strange to end a life because someone said it was necessary."

Leon didn't speak. He just listened.

"I don't regret surviving it," she said after a pause. "But I wonder, sometimes, what I missed by not being allowed to be… anything else."

"You're more than that now," he said. "You're still standing."

Sylva looked at him, surprised by the simplicity and strength of his words.

"You always say things like that," she said, voice softer now. "Like they mean something."

"They do."

For a while, they just sat there. No threats, no battle cries, no politics—just the gentle rise and fall of breath beside someone who understood that not all wounds bleed.

And in that quiet, something between them began to mend.

* * * * *

The moon hung high above Eldoria, casting pale light over the rooftops and narrow alleys. The city slept, but Sylva didn't. Not yet.

The warmth of the day still lingered in her chest, but it couldn't quiet the restlessness in her limbs. She needed air. Movement. Distance.

She walked alone through the quieter parts of the capital, her steps soundless against the cobblestones. Shadows pressed against the walls like watching spirits, and she let her senses stretch out like old instincts returning home.

Then she felt it.

A presence.

She didn't turn immediately—didn't show she noticed. But the weight of it settled between her shoulder blades like a knife.

She turned into a tight alley, then stopped.

"I know you're there," she said quietly.

Silence.

Then a step. A second. A cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, their face hidden beneath a cowl.

"Took you long enough," the voice said, low and bitter. "You were always slower than the rest of us."

Sylva recognized it instantly.

"Kael."

The man chuckled. "So you remember. Thought you forgot everything when you let yourself become a lapdog for humans."

"I survived," she said coldly. "Unlike the others."

"You ran," Kael spat. "You abandoned us. Cassandra died for nothing."

"I was sold, and you know it."

Sylva drew her dagger. "Cassandra made her choice. And so did I."

Kael's smile twisted. "Then die with it."

He moved first. Fast. But not faster than Sylva.

They clashed in silence, steel flashing in moonlight. It was clean. Brutal. No wasted motion. Kael was skilled, angry, but predictable. And Sylva…

She had learned to fight without anger. Without pride. Only purpose.

In one swift motion, her blade cut across his throat.

Kael stumbled. Gurgled. Collapsed.

Sylva stared down at his body, her breath steady.

"I didn't abandon her," she whispered. "I carry her with me."

She vanished into the shadows before the blood cooled.

* * * * *

Sylva slipped back into the inn just as the last echoes of midnight faded into the hush of early dawn. Her cloak was pulled tightly around her shoulders, the hem of her boots faintly stained red. She stepped lightly down the hallway, her thoughts still tangled in the final words of the man she'd put in the ground.

As she reached the common room, she froze.

Velis stood there.

The girl looked like she had been waiting for some time, dressed in a nightgown, her hair dishevelled from sleep but her eyes unmistakably awake. She tilted her head with a sleepy smile, silver irises catching the dim lanternlight.

"You're late," she murmured, voice soft and oddly playful. "Where were you, Sylva?"

Sylva's instincts flared. "I was walking. Couldn't sleep."

Velis yawned and stretched like a feline, arms high above her head before curling back around herself. "Mmm. That's a long walk for someone carrying that much weight."

"What about you? Why are you up this late?"

Velis shrugged, the motion sleepy and slow. "I was waiting. I had a feeling you'd be back soon. Now I'm tired."

The girl swayed slightly where she stood. Sylva sighed and guided her to sit on the nearby couch. Velis leaned against her without hesitation, curling into her side.

They sat like that in silence, the hush of early morning wrapping around them like a second blanket.

Then, just as Sylva thought Velis had drifted off, she heard her murmur: 

"You should clean your boots. Blood like that smells."

Sylva stiffened.

But Velis didn't speak again. Her breathing had slowed, evened out. She had fallen asleep.

Sylva looked down at her, then gently gathered Velis into her arms. She carried her to her room, laid her onto the bed, and pulled the covers up over her shoulder.

As she turned to leave, Sylva glanced back once.

Velis looked peaceful.

But Sylva knew now more than ever:

Velis saw everything.