Beneath the Stillness

As they approached, the shape took on more detail — and with it, more unease.

The figure was tall. Too tall to be just another wanderer.

Their cloak hung stiff and uneven, like it draped over something not entirely shaped like a person.

The bundle on their back wasn't gear.

It was too tightly bound. Too still.

The wind shifted, and Rasha caught a scent — metal, burnt leather — sharp and heavy, like blood left too long in the sun.

Talo slowed, shoulders stiffening.

"Nope," he muttered low enough only she could hear. "Not interested in that kind of mystery."

He angled them away with a gentle nudge, casual but tense.

"Keep walking. No sudden moves."

Rasha moved easily with him. Her hand drifted near her belt — not from fear, but readiness.

The fire inside her pulsed, steady and low.

Yet beneath the warmth, an old whisper stirred — the years of being called weak tugging at her ribs.

She inhaled slowly, choosing to steady herself.

The flame did not waver.

Neither did she.

As they passed, a few paces beyond the figure, the voice came — smooth, low, and too calm.

"Name yourselves."

Talo stopped, jaw tight. He didn't turn fully, just angled back.

"Talo," he said flatly. "Just Talo. And we're passing through."

No reply.

The silence thickened, heavy and waiting.

"Name yourselves."

The second command fell like a stone into still water, rippling outward.

Rasha's heart gave one sharp beat — a memory, not fear — and then she stepped forward.

Her voice was calm.

Inside, the old wounds pulled, but she spoke anyway.

"Rasha," she said clearly. "And you have both our names now."

The figure shifted — a single step forward, deliberate.

Tension crackled around them like dry branches before a fire.

"You show attitude before you even introduce yourselves properly," he said, clipped and hard.

"Is that how your kind carries themselves in the desert? Or just those with something to hide?"

Talo bristled beside her.

But Rasha stood firm.

"My name is Rasha," she said. "I carry no banner. No title. Only myself."

Her breath was steady, even if somewhere deep inside, the past still pulled at her.

"If you see caution as disrespect," she added quietly, "perhaps you should wonder why caution is needed."

The flame inside her warmed — not to lash out, but to brace.

The figure stared at her a long moment, then grunted under his breath.

"Go on," he muttered. "You two aren't worth the trouble."

He turned sharply and vanished behind a broken ridge of stone.

Rasha didn't move immediately.

She listened.

Waited.

Only when even the memory of his gaze had faded did she turn and walk forward again, Talo slipping back into step beside her.

They didn't speak at first.

The desert stretched wide and still around them, breathing under the rising stars.

Finally, Talo muttered, "What if that had turned bad?"

Rasha shrugged, her movement loose, the tension bleeding away.

"Then we would have met it."

She let the words sit for a moment, feeling the truth of them in her bones.

But then, quieter, she added:

"I know now, that I have only ever believed I was weak, and that has taken a toll on my mind... but I need to be strong, so I have no choice but to stand when it matters. Even when part of me still wants to run."

She exhaled slowly, the desert wind tugging at her cloak.

"I'm learning not to fear the cost. Only to choose when it's worth paying."

Talo kicked a stone, watching it tumble off the edge of the road.

"You're the flame," he said, a crooked smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. "I'm just the one who strikes first."

Rasha didn't laugh.

The road still pressed heavy around them.

She lifted her eyes to the night sky, where the first stars bled into the bruised horizon.

"I used to think death was the reward after a full life," she said softly. "A peaceful sleep, earned after walking the right path."

Her voice dropped, nearly lost in the sigh of wind.

"But I won't die like them. Not anymore."

Talo slowed beside her, solid and steady.

"You won't be alone," he said simply.

Not a promise.

A truth.

Rasha turned her head slightly, catching the faint smile in his eyes — the stubborn faith he offered so easily.

They walked onward, side by side.

The desert ahead was endless, stitched together by silence and stars.

Rasha pressed her shoulder lightly into Talo's — an unspoken acceptance of the bond between them.

And just as she let herself relax into it —A ripple moved inside herself.

Laughter.

Soft...Amused.

The Fire Spirit's chuckle brushed her thoughts, light as a hand stroking flame across wood.

Rasha stiffened.

The spirit wasn't comforting her.It wasn't assuring her future.

It was laughing — at the sweetness of hope. At the fragility of mortal promises.

She turned her gaze to Talo's silhouette against the stars — the boy who had offered loyalty without demand, without oath.

And she thought, I'll protect this.

For as long as I can.

Not because it was promised.But because it was worth it.

The desert stretched silent around them, carrying their unspoken truths on the slow, whispering wind.

After a long moment, Rasha glanced down the lengthening shadows along the road, then turned toward Talo in the fading light.

She hesitated, then asked softly, "Talo… have you ever had to kill someone?"

He froze, the scuff of his boot against loose stone loud in the quiet.

For a moment, the only answer was the steady breath of the wind.

Then he shook his head once.

"Not a person," he said quietly. "Not like that."

Rasha waited, sensing there was more.

He exhaled slowly.

"There was a raid... a long time ago. A scavenger broke into our camp. I had to stop him before he hurt someone else. I didn't have a choice."

She watched the way his hands fisted and relaxed at his sides.

"I didn't kill him," Talo said, voice low. "But I made sure he couldn't hurt anyone again."

Rasha felt the weight of it settle between them — not guilt, not pride. Just necessity.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He shook his head.

"You don't have to be. It's the way of the wild out here. You survive, or you don't."

Rasha nodded slowly, staring at the dusty road ahead.

"Thank you for telling me."

They walked on, side by side, into the deepening night — carrying their truths quietly, step after step.