[Grace]

This wasn't a decision they could make lightly.

Ethan's offer made sense, but there were too many unknowns. Robert might not even come looking for them. He might not see them as a threat. But that was the problem—Kael had no idea what kind of man Robert was. He didn't know his face, habits, or what set him off. And that kind of ignorance was dangerous.

On the other hand, he did know Ethan. He wasn't the type to waste time on paranoia or needless speculation. If he said Robert was a problem, then he had good reason to believe it.

But joining him meant leaving behind the safety of this shelter. It meant staying on the move, adapting fast, and learning to survive without a fallback. If he and Zarek couldn't keep up, they wouldn't just struggle—they'd die.

Even so, Kael had made up his mind. They were going with Ethan.

Ethan was already on his feet, surveying their shelter with a neutral expression. His eyes settled on the large chest tucked in the corner. "This was here when you found the place?"

Kael nodded. "Yeah. Hasn't moved since."

Ethan walked over, crouched down, and unlatched the lid. Inside, the weapons and armor were neatly arranged. He stared at them for a moment before muttering, "Good. This will save time."

His tone was unreadable—neither relieved nor particularly impressed. He simply reached in, shifting the gear around, as if taking inventory. Then, without warning, his hand moved to the inner wall of the chest. Instead of stopping at solid wood, his fingers passed through it, sinking in like it was made of liquid.

Zarek took a sharp step back. "What the hell?!"

Ethan remained silent, testing the invisible barrier with methodical precision. He pushed in deeper, past his wrist, then his forearm. His expression didn't change, though his eyes darkened slightly in thought.

"How are you doing that?" Kael asked, watching carefully.

Ethan didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached further in, his arm vanishing up to the elbow. When he finally spoke, his voice was as steady as ever. "My family had access to things most people didn't."

Kael's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

Ethan exhaled through his nose, as if debating whether to explain. "I was born into a noble house," he finally said. "Northern bloodline. Doesn't matter anymore."

There was no bitterness in his voice, just a matter-of-fact coldness.

"What happened?" Zarek asked hesitantly.

Ethan didn't look at him. "Political purge. My father was executed. The rest of us were hunted down." His tone didn't waver, but there was finality in his words—like a door firmly shut on the past. "We ran east. That's all."

Kael didn't pry. It was clear Ethan had no intention of lingering on the subject. Instead, he focused on what mattered—Ethan's arm, still reaching into the chest.

A moment later, he withdrew it, gripping a small wooden box. He set it down, unlatched it, and flipped the lid open. Inside, eight neatly folded tunics lay stacked. Dark green, unadorned, and well-made.

Kael raised an eyebrow. "Clothes?"

Ethan didn't react. "Better than what you're wearing."

Zarek practically lunged forward. "You have no idea how badly we needed these." He gestured down at his tattered mess of an outfit, then shot Kael a pointed look. "Do you see what I've been wearing? We're two days away from me running around in leaves, Kael. Leaves."

Kael glanced down at the garments, then back at Ethan. Despite the strange nature of the chest, the unexpected supplies, and Ethan's unwavering calm, one thing was clear.

They'd made the right choice. 

Ethan's voice was steady, almost detached, as he spoke. "Apparently, in an attempt to 'cut loose ends,' my family was attacked. That was when my sister was taken. My mother didn't last long after that."

There was no shift in his tone, no sign of emotion breaking through his composure. "Before she died, I promised her I'd find Grace. No matter what."

Kael studied him carefully. There was no bitterness in his words, no rage. Just a quiet finality—an acceptance of the past that most people never reached. It was unsettling in a way.

Ethan glanced at the chest. "We had something similar at home. I never figured out how it worked, but I know it holds more than it seems."

He handed the clothes to Zarek, who took them without hesitation. After carefully folding them again, Zarek placed them over a large leaf, shaking his head slightly. "Man, this thing is full of surprises."

Kael wanted to sympathize, to say something that acknowledged Ethan's loss, but what was there to say? He barely understood the man standing before him. Back in the factory, Ethan had been more talkative, even easygoing at times. He was only twenty-one—just like them—another person who had lost too much too soon. Maybe that was why Zarek had gotten along with him better.

What would we have been like if our pasts had been different? The thought crossed Kael's mind before he forced it away. There was no point in dwelling on what-ifs. Their pasts were gone. What mattered now was the future.

He turned back to the chest just as Ethan pulled out another item—a large leather bag, thick and well-worn. He studied it for a few seconds before setting it aside. At the very bottom, something remained.

A rolled-up parchment.

The aged animal skin was rough along the edges, its surface marked with elegant, unfamiliar lettering. Ethan unrolled it carefully and laid it on the floor.

Kael narrowed his eyes. The strange symbols seemed foreign at first, but as he stared, something shifted in his mind, like pieces of a puzzle snapping into place. He could almost read it.

He murmured under his breath, "Permit for Entry..."

Ethan, equally focused, echoed his words. "Permit for Entry."

They turned to each other at the same time, a silent understanding passing between them. Ethan's eyes sharpened as he regarded Kael.

"You—" Ethan started, but the words died in his throat. His attention snapped to the entrance of their shelter.

Kael followed his gaze.

Grace was gone.

Somehow, without a single sound, she had made it to the opening and was already poised to run.

Zarek's breath hitched. "What the—?"

Kael didn't move, watching the girl with cautious curiosity. Unlike Zarek, he wasn't surprised. He had sensed it before—the sharp edge beneath Grace's fragile exterior. She wasn't just someone's lost sister. She was a survivor.

Ethan didn't chase after her. He simply stood, straightened, and said one word.

"Grace."

His voice was calm, but something in it carried weight. A silent command.

Grace froze.

For a split second, it looked as if she was forcing herself not to move, her muscles tensed as if they had locked in place. Slowly, she turned to face Ethan, her gaze sharp and unreadable.

Zarek stepped behind Kael, his confusion plain on his face. "Am I missing something here?" he muttered.

Kael wasn't sure what to make of it either, but he knew one thing for certain—Grace was far more dangerous than she appeared. He could feel it, an unspoken threat beneath her stillness. If she had run, he wasn't sure they would've been able to stop her.

But he also knew something else. Ethan was in control.

Whatever history lay between them, whatever had shaped the way Grace responded to him—it wasn't his business. Some things were best left alone.

With a quiet sigh, Kael stepped toward the entrance, deliberately shifting the focus away from the silent confrontation. "I need water," he said. "Zarek, let's go."

Zarek hesitated for half a second before nodding. "Yeah, sure." He shot Ethan one last glance before following Kael outside.

Ethan remained where he was, watching Grace.

Just as Kael stepped into the open air, he heard a quiet word behind him.

"Thanks."

It was Ethan.

Kael didn't look back. He simply nodded, letting the moment pass without comment.

Kael and Zarek stepped past the girl and out of the shelter, leaving Ethan and Grace behind.

The cool night air greeted them, and Kael instinctively looked up, searching for the moon. But the sky was an endless sea of stars, stretching infinitely above them, their cold light casting a soft glow over the trees. It was breathtaking—beautiful in a way that almost felt unnatural.

Zarek exhaled and broke the silence. "Uh, Kael? You sure we should just leave them like that?"

"I don't want to get involved in their family matters," Kael said, his tone firm as they reached the stream. He crouched down, dipping his fingers into the cool water. "But keep an eye on that girl. We trust Ethan, but this is the first time we're meeting her. Stay cautious."

Zarek rolled his eyes. "I'm not a kid, you know. You've been lecturing me all day."

With a huff, he kicked the thick trunk of a nearby tree. He had meant to make a point, but the tree barely budged. Instead, pain shot up his leg, and he sucked in a sharp breath as his shin went numb.

Kael chuckled at the sight. "Yeah, well, I just don't want to end up a slave again."

Zarek shook out his leg and puffed up his chest. "Try being a little more optimistic, will ya? Don't you have faith in this great friend of yours?"

Kael smirked as he stood. "Of course, Sir Zarek. Your benevolence knows no bounds."

They locked eyes for a brief moment before bursting into laughter. It was rare, these moments of levity. But it reminded them they were still human. That they were still free.

Inside the shelter, Ethan hadn't moved.

His gaze remained locked onto Grace, calm and unwavering.

The girl's expression was tense, her body coiled as if she were waiting for an opening. But when she finally spoke, her voice was sharp. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

There was no hesitation in her stance, no trace of vulnerability—only wariness, the instinct of someone who had learned never to trust.

For as long as she could remember, Grace had been a slave.

She didn't know exactly when it happened. Maybe when she was nine. Maybe earlier. There were fragments of another life in her mind, faint memories of warmth—an older brother she admired, a father who was tough but kind, a mother who used to comb her hair every night before tucking her into bed.

But those memories had long since been drowned out by nightmares.

And unlike dreams, nightmares didn't fade upon waking. They became reality.

Life as a slave was brutal. The only law was strength, and survival meant learning to fight. She had been thrown into a world of violence, where even other slaves weren't allies—they were threats. The only saving grace had been that men and women were kept separate. If they hadn't been... she didn't want to think about it.

She had spent years carving out her own space, forcing others to fear her so they wouldn't try to control her. That fear had kept her alive.

Then, suddenly, she had woken up in this strange, merciless forest.

The first few days had been hell. The creatures here weren't just wild—they were monsters, beasts that could crush her in an instant. She had survived only by keeping low, slipping past them like a shadow.

And just when she thought she had found safety, she had stumbled upon a settlement.

At first, she was relieved. Humans. Civilization. A chance to regroup.

But she quickly realized the truth.

The people there were worse than the monsters outside.

They were desperate, ruthless, and willing to do anything to survive. Or worse, to entertain themselves.

She had known from the moment she arrived that she had to escape. But instead of killing her outright, they had made her a scout—a death sentence disguised as an opportunity. She had understood what it meant. The moment she failed to serve her purpose, she would be discarded.

She had been ready to fight her way out. But before she could make her move—

One of them died.

Not just died. He was ripped apart.

Grace had barely registered what had happened when she felt strong arms wrap around her. Blood splattered, screams filled the air, and before she could even process what was happening, her would-be captors were dead.

And the one who had killed them—

She had turned her head, and there he was.

A man with glowing eyes, standing amid the massacre like a phantom.

Fear had seized her. She had tried to run. But before she could escape, darkness had swallowed her whole.

When she had woken up, she was here.

And now, the same man who had slaughtered her captors stood before her, watching her with an expression she couldn't read.

She had tried to slip away. But he had stopped her.

Damn it.

Her fingers twitched. She was fast. She could still run. But as Ethan took a slow step forward, something about his presence made her hesitate.

Her instincts screamed at her to bolt.

But something deep inside told her she wouldn't make it.

Just as Ethan entered her range, Grace moved.

She lunged—fast, precise, and deadly.

In a flash, she was upon him, her fist aimed directly at his solar plexus. A clean strike. One she had used countless times before to knock the air from an opponent's lungs.

But at the last second—

He sidestepped.

Her punch missed by a mere centimeter.

Grace clicked her tongue and immediately pivoted, ready to retreat and create distance. But before she could move, Ethan's voice cut through the air, calm and measured.

"You haven't changed, have you? Still using the same strategy… even after all those times I skipped my own training to teach you."

The words struck her harder than any physical blow.

Her mind wavered. A distant memory pushed its way to the surface, unbidden and disorienting.

She was smaller, younger, her legs burning as she ran—chasing after someone. Someone she could never quite catch. Someone she wanted to be like.

The figure ahead slowed, turned.

A face she knew better than her own.

Her older brother.

The boy who had always been there. The boy who had protected her. The boy who had taught her to fight, to be strong.

And now—

The man standing before her wasn't exactly the same. He was older, rougher, his body hardened by years of struggle. His eyes held something deeper—something weathered by loss.

But even so, there was no mistaking it.

This was Ethan.

Her brother.

Her arms, once tense and ready to strike, slowly lowered. Her stance loosened, uncertainty creeping in.

It didn't make sense. How could he have found her? After all these years, after she had long stopped believing in miracles—how?

And yet, she knew the answer before she even asked the question.

Because if anyone could have found her, it would have been him.

She had prayed for this once. Prayed for her brother to come save her when she was still a child.

But prayers had meant nothing in the end.

She had learned that the hard way.

And yet—

Her vision blurred. Before she could stop herself, her breath hitched, and her lips trembled.

"…Ethan?"

Her voice cracked.

The years of forced indifference, the walls she had built around herself—everything wavered in that single moment.