Gratitude

They left the broken clearing in silence, boots dragging through half-frozen mud and pine needles. Each step cost more than the last.

Katsu's veins burned under his skin, the ache from spent magic gnawing at every joint.

He nearly collapsed twice both times caught before he could fall. Rei steadied him on one side, arm locked under Katsu's, face set and wordless.

Sydney pressed in on his other, her hand firm against his shoulder, breath loud in the hush.

The woods pressed closer as dusk bled into Wildglow. Shadows stretched long; every branch was a threat, every shift in the undergrowth a warning. But eventually, they found it.

A wedge of wind-fallen pines, limbs locked together to form a crude barricade, half-shielded from the bite of the wind. It wasn't safe.

But it was defensible.

For tonight, that was enough.

Katsu slumped to the ground.

Bracing himself with shaking hands. The raw patches on his palms stung with the cold.

His knees gave, sending a spike of pain up his legs; magic always left bruises, but this was worse. Rei eased him down, careful not to jostle his frostbitten fingers.

Sydney pulled her pack open, digging for scraps of cloth and a dull salve. She didn't speak—just pressed the ointment to Katsu's burned skin, her touch gentle, deliberate.

Her hands shook, but she didn't let him see.

Rei sat a few feet away, boots off, rolling up his trouser leg to check the wounds the beast's teeth had left. The marks were angry and swollen.

He rinsed them with what water he had, then wrapped his foot in a strip torn from his shirt.

Every motion was brisk, practiced, but behind the calm, he moved with the stiffness of someone close to his own breaking point.

Night crept in fast. The wind rattled the branches overhead, scattering pine needles into their hair and onto the battered ground.

None of them suggested moving on. Not even Rei. They just huddled closer to the shelter, breathing in time with the dark, too worn out for words, too spent for anything but survival.

For the first time, exhaustion didn't divide them. It bound them together, if only for a night.

Katsu dragged himself upright, fingers fumbling through numbness as he stacked a ring of wet branches and half-rotten pinecones.

He struck the flint again and again.

Sparks danced, but the wood hissed and smoked, refusing to catch.

Sydney crouched beside him, shielding the pile with her arms, and together they coaxed a stingy thread of flame into a trembling ember.

It wasn't much—just enough to draw them in, a spot of warmth in the endless cold.

Katsu let out a shaky breath.

For tonight, it felt like winning.

Sydney opened her pack.

Palms red and raw, and pressed her share of dried fruit into Katsu's hands without looking at him. "Eat," she said, voice flat but kind.

He accepted, chewing slowly, letting the tartness chase the taste of blood from his mouth.

Rei broke a strip of hard bread and held it out to Sydney. She took it wordlessly.

Nodding once in thanks, and handed him the last wedge of cheese from her own pouch.

Their hands lingered for a beat.

Silent, awkward, grateful.

No one had the energy for conversation.

Their words were few, only what was needed.

"Water?" Rei asked, passing the canteen around.

Sydney checked the compass, its needle shivering but steady. "We're still on course."

Katsu swallowed, firelight flickering in his tired eyes. "I'll take first watch."

Rei shook his head, already leaning back.

"We'll manage."

They ate in quiet, the crackle of the small fire the only voice among them.

Every act—an offered portion, a careful look, the shift of packs so nobody slept on the frozen dirt—became its own language.

For the first time?

No gratitude needed no explanation; it lived in their hands, in the way none of them faced the dark alone.

The fire snapped and hissed, chasing back only a little of the night. Shadows curled close.

The three of them watched the embers, each locked in their own quiet aftermath.

Sydney broke the silence.

Her voice almost lost in the wind.

"Thank you. For not letting go." She didn't meet Katsu's eyes, but her words landed soft and real.

Rei shifted, rubbing at his foot, gaze steady.

"That magic…" He hesitated. "Should've killed you. Or all of us. But you pulled it back."

Katsu looked into the fire, letting the words settle. He spoke low, almost to himself.

"Didn't want to be alone at the end."

A hush followed, not uncomfortable. Just full.

Sydney wrapped her arms around her knees, staring at the fire's small glow. "What were you thinking, back there? When it got bad?"

Katsu closed his eyes, searching for the memory.

"I remembered my father. The way he looked at me in the snow when the wind came down from the mountains. I was small—maybe six. We'd run out of food, out of firewood, but he never let me see him afraid. He'd say, 'If you're cold, find someone colder. Share what you have. Survive together.'"

Katsu opened his eyes, watching the fire's light catch on Sydney's fingers.

"That's all I could think about. Not winning. Not losing. Just… not dying alone."

No one filled the silence after.

The memory settled over the group, a fragile thread holding them together as the wind howled past their little circle of warmth.

Sydney tucked her knees to her chest, a shaky smile flickering at the corners of her mouth.

"I was scared," she admitted, voice barely above the wind. "Not just for me. For both of you. It's… harder to hate you up close, Katsu."

Her words tried for a joke but landed somewhere softer, almost fond. Rei exhaled, eyes on the dying embers.

"We're not friends. Not yet."

He shrugged, lips quirking with dry humor.

"But I'd rather freeze with you two than die clean with anyone else."

Katsu tried to laugh.

The sound caught in his throat.

Half-cracked, but real enough that it drew a ghost of a smile from Sydney.

The fire slumped lower, casting long, uncertain shadows. No one argued about the watch.

Rei took first, settling cross-legged by the fire with his back to the wind.

Sydney set her pack down next to Katsu, wordlessly. A quiet offering, the last barrier falling away.

She curled up close, chin tucked in, breath evening out fast. For once, trust settled over the camp as surely as the cold.

Katsu let himself rest.

His hand falling near Sydney's pack, the gesture more comforting than he expected.

Outside their ring of firelight.

Wildglow's darkness prowled.

But within…

The three of them lay closer than before, guarded by each other and the faintest, brightest hope.

Katsu lingered by the embers after the others had settled, watching the fire's last glow flicker over their sleeping forms. The night pressed close.

Quiet, breathless.

For once, the Leviathan's voice came not as a taunt, but a whisper, low and solemn.

Survival is not victory. Trust is not safety. But tonight, you learned what even monsters need.

He didn't argue. Didn't resist. Just nodded to the shadows, letting the lesson settle into his bones.

He glanced at Rei.

At Sydney, their shapes outlined in faint orange, and felt something inside loosen.

For the first time, he let the fire's warmth lull him, let the others guard his sleep.

He closed his eyes, trusting them. Just for tonight.

The fire burned down to its last red heart, shadows spilling across battered boots and curled hands.

Katsu, Sydney, and Rei slept close, backs just touching, shoulders ringed by warmth.

Imperfect, bruised, but together at last.

Outside the wind prowled.

Carrying the restless breath of Wildglow.

In the dark, unseen shapes drifted between trees, but none crossed the thin boundary of firelight and trust. For one night, they weren't alone.

And for one night, it was enough.