The Rocky Journey to a New Beginning

By early afternoon, Akio's party was ready to depart.

Azrya's family had not come to bid her farewell.

She wasn't surprised.

Akio stood beside the carriage, as still and cold as ever. His dark eyes were unreadable, and his outstretched hand—meant to help her up—felt more like an obligation than a courtesy. Azrya walked toward him slowly, her steps dragging as though invisible weights were tied to her ankles.

But just as she reached the carriage, a high-pitched voice rang out across the courtyard.

"Wait! Don't leave yet, Azrya!"

Azrya froze. She turned sharply, immediately recognizing the voice.

It was Iris—her youngest sister—tears streaming down her cheeks as she ran toward her, her nursemaid chasing after her in vain.

Without hesitation, Azrya knelt down as Iris crashed into her arms, sobbing.

"I tried to come sooner," Iris hiccupped, clinging to the fabric of Azrya's dress, "but they wouldn't let me see you. I'm... going to miss you... terribly!"

Azrya hugged her tightly, gently rocking her sister as she soothed her with quiet words.

"It's okay, Iris. Don't cry. I won't be gone forever," she said, crouching down to meet her sister's gaze. "I promise I'll come back to visit. And maybe... you can come visit me in Magnus. You'll have your own room, and a whole wardrobe of pretty dresses just for you."

Iris blinked at her, tears still clinging to her lashes.

"Can it be decorated pink?"

Azrya smiled softly. "Of course, my sweet sister. A pink bed, pink walls, pink floors... even a pink potty." she said lighlty tapping the tip of Iris' nose.

That made Iris giggle.

"Lady Iris," came the nursemaid's sharp voice. "We must return now."

The smile vanished from Iris's face as her tears returned.

"Be a good girl now, okay?" Azrya whispered, cupping Iris's face. "I'll be back before you know it."

They hugged one last time before the nursemaid gently but firmly took Iris's hand, and led her away.

Azrya turned back toward the carriage, wiping at her tears—but they fell freely despite her effort.

Akio, who had observed the entire scene silently, finally spoke.

"It's time to go," he said curtly.

Azrya's eyes flashed with unspoken emotion. She brushed past him, ignoring his hand, and climbed into the carriage on her own.

Akio shut the door behind her, then mounted his horse. His jaw clenched, his face stoic—but inside, a storm brewed.

He hated seeing her in pain. And it frustrated him to no end that he didn't know how to make it stop.

If he could, he'd bring her sister with them. But things weren't so simple. And expressing how he felt had never been his strength. Instead, he vowed silently to give Azrya everything she could ever want in Magnus—luxury, beauty, comfort.

But what he couldn't yet understand was that none of those things could heal what Azrya had lost. What she truly longed for wasn't made of gold or silk—it was love, connection, family.

The small company—twenty men, Azrya, and a few wagons—set off from Castle Toria, which soon disappeared into a speck on the horizon.

Roughly three hours into their journey, the procession came to a sudden halt.

Azrya peered out of the carriage window, puzzled. They couldn't possibly have arrived yet—Magnus was at least a two-day ride away.

They were stopped in the middle of a forested road, surrounded by dense trees. Curious, Azrya leaned farther out the open window. Up ahead, a large tree had fallen across the road, blocking the way.

The soldiers dismounted, some attempting to move the tree while others remained alert, weapons at the ready.

Then—

"BANDITS!" someone shouted.

Chaos erupted.

A swarm of outlaws—at least fifty—burst from the trees.

Azrya's heart leapt into her throat as Akio galloped toward the carriage on his black stallion.

"Stay in the carriage," he barked, sliding the window shut.

Two of his men stood guard beside the carriage as Akio led the charge.

Screams echoed through the forest. Steel clashed. The metallic scent of blood filled the air.

Azrya watched helplessly through the glass as Akio and his men fought back with brutal precision. Though outnumbered, they were better trained—fierce, efficient, unrelenting. Bandit after bandit fell beneath their blades.

But then, one face among the attackers caught her eye.

A boy—no older than sixteen—lay writhing on the ground, his arm twisted unnaturally. His face, contorted with pain, was familiar.

Julien.

He was one of the orphans she'd secretly supported for years, after he lost his parents in a fire.

Without thinking, Azrya threw open the carriage door and ran.

The knights were too distracted fighting to stop her. She sprinted through the chaos to Julien's side and dropped to her knees.

His arm was badly broken.

"I'm going to fix it, Julien," she said urgently. "It's going to hurt—but you need to trust me, okay? Deep breath. On three."

Julien's pain-stricken eyes widened in recognition—but he nodded.

"One, two—"

Before he could react, she snapped his arm back into place.

He screamed, but the bone realigned. Azrya quickly tore a strip of her dress to splint and wrap his arm, just as she'd done countless times at the orphanage.

"You did so well," she whispered. "But we can't stay here. We need to move."

She helped him to his feet, his good arm slung over her shoulder.

They hadn't taken more than a few steps when a bandit appeared before them, sword raised.

Azrya froze.

But before the weapon could fall, a silver flash streaked through the air—and the man's head hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Behind him stood Akio.

His face was like stone. Cold. Unforgiving. Dangerous.

Azrya lowered Julien gently to the ground, shielding his body with her own as she checked his wounds again, trying to ignore the fury radiating from Akio like fire.

"Didn't I tell you to stay in the carriage?" he said, his voice eerily calm—but edged with menace.

"He's just a boy," Azrya replied without looking up. "He needed my help."

Akio was silent. For a heartbeat, the forest held its breath.

Then he unsheathed his sword once more.

"He is the enemy," Akio said flatly, stepping toward Julien. "We do not risk our lives for our foes. We kill them."

His blade rose.

"No!" Azrya screamed, throwing herself over Julien's body. "If you want to kill him, you'll have to kill me first!"

Akio's eyes locked with hers, blazing.

But after a long, tense moment, he sheathed his sword and turned away.

"Escort my wife back to the carriage," he barked to one of his men, not sparing her another glance.

A knight hesitated, then approached.

"Lady Halen," he said carefully. "Please... come with me."

Azrya's voice was firm. "Help me bring the boy."

The knight glanced at his captain—who was now several paces ahead, barking new orders—but Akio didn't turn.

Sighing, the knight nodded. "Very well. He can ride in one of the wagons. We'll be stopping at an inn for the night. He can rest and be treated there."

Azrya exhaled, finally satisfied. She nodded and followed the knight back toward the carriage.

Julien was helped into one of the wagons, and the convoy resumed its journey.

By dusk, they reached the inn.

And as night fell, so too did the weight of everything that had happened.