29

The early morning mist wrapped the forested path in a soft grey blanket, the leaves swaying gently in the breeze. The camp lay still—silent save for the crackling of the dying fire in the center. Vanthelis and his comrades were still asleep, their bodies worn from the long, sleepless night before. Every breath they drew was shallow but deep, as though their dreams were catching up with the exhaustion of their reality.

The traps set around the makeshift stronghold had grown more elaborate. Sharp branches, tripping vines, concealed pits, and noise-triggering bells made from scrap metal scavenged from murloc corpses and the remains of an old fishing hut. Jayson had started giving names to some of the traps, proudly telling Kristine things like "this one's 'leg-cruncher'—you step on it, and it's over." It was childish, but everyone let it be. Humor was one of the few things keeping the younger ones from cracking completely.

On the far side of the camp, inside a tent made from patchwork cloth and animal hide, Dorothy lay awake, her body stiff, her fingers unable to close into a fist. Her legs were numb beneath the covers. Though she had once been a swift and strong warrior-in-training, now she was bound to a wooden wheelchair, built crudely from salvaged wheels and snapped planks. The fire from within her had dulled, not from a lack of will, but from the unbearable reality of helplessness.

Her eyes darted toward the flap of her tent as it rustled. Kristine poked her head inside, carrying a small wooden bowl of broth.

"Morning," she said with a soft smile. "It's still hot. You have to eat something today, okay?"

Dorothy sighed, offering a faint smile in return. "Thanks, Kris. You're becoming more motherly each day. What's next? Are you going to braid my hair?"

Kristine giggled as she knelt beside the cot. "Hey, don't tempt me. I've been getting better at it. Want me to try?"

"You really want to braid the hair of someone who hasn't bathed properly in weeks?"

"Well, neither have I," Kristine said with a smirk. "We can stink together."

They both laughed—a quiet, tired kind of laughter, but genuine.

The laughter died down, replaced by a soft silence. The morning sun filtered in, casting dappled shadows across the tent's ceiling. Kristine reached over and carefully helped Dorothy sit up a bit, spooning her some of the broth.

"You're too good to me," Dorothy muttered after swallowing. "What happened to the scared little girl hiding behind the crates?"

Kristine shrugged, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "She's still there, somewhere. But… I guess she has to grow up."

A pause.

"Hey," Kristine continued, voice quiet, "Can I tell you something?"

Dorothy gave a small nod.

"When I was younger… I always wanted to be a tailor. Like my dad."

"Really?"

"Yeah. He had this tiny shop near the outskirts of the Blackthorn territory. I was from a branch family, we weren't nobles or anything. We weren't even invited to the main gatherings. But that was fine. I got to help him stitch robes, dye cloth… I loved the colors most of all. Blues and golds. I always told him I'd make him the finest cloak in the city."

Dorothy blinked. "What happened to him?"

Kristine's smile faltered.

"When the raid came… they dragged him out of the shop. They said they needed all the adults for questioning. I heard one of the soldiers say it was just protocol. That was the last time I saw him."

A silence fell between them.

"I ran. Found some other kids. One of them was Haben. He found me when I had nothing. That's how we ended up here." She looked up, eyes misty but firm. "But I'm not crying about it anymore. If I cry, I can't move forward. If I stop moving, I'll be stuck. Just like back then."

Dorothy reached out, her fingers twitching slightly before settling atop Kristine's hand. "You've become strong. Even Vanthelis noticed."

Kristine smiled weakly. "I don't know about strong. I just… do what needs to be done."

"You're more than that," Dorothy replied. "You're one of the few lights left in this place."

Kristine looked down, suddenly shy. "That's sweet… but kind of dramatic."

"I can be dramatic if I want. I'm stuck in this bed. Let me have that."

Kristine laughed again and squeezed Dorothy's hand gently. "Deal."

They sat like that for a while—just two girls in a shattered world, clinging to a bit of normalcy.

Eventually, Kristine spoke again. "You want to hear something dumb?"

"Always."

"Last night… when we lit that straw camp on fire… I was hiding the bodies, just like Vanthelis told me. But after the last one… I started talking to it. Just asking, you know? 'Were you someone's sister? Did you want to be something else?' And then I said sorry. Sorry for killing them. Sorry for being alive."

Dorothy didn't speak for a moment. Then, she whispered, "That's not dumb."

Kristine wiped her eye. "I don't think I can do that again. I can't look into another pair of eyes and wonder what they left behind."

"You don't have to," Dorothy said firmly. "You're not like them. You still care. That's the difference. That's what makes you human."

"I don't know if that's enough anymore," Kristine whispered. "This world… it eats people like us."

Dorothy stared at her for a long time. "Then we'll bite back."

That earned another tearful smile.

Kristine stood and adjusted the covers over Dorothy. "I'll go help with breakfast. Maybe I'll make you something special."

"You're just going to add salt to the same burnt murloc meat."

"It's called flavor enhancement. You're welcome in advance."

They both chuckled, and as Kristine stepped out, Dorothy looked up at the worn ceiling. Despite the fear still lingering in her chest, she felt… warm. Just a little.

For now, that was enough.