Small Talk

The wind had grown sharp. 

It knifed across the ridge lines and rattled the dry scrub like whispered warnings. 

Hiral walked with purpose but less confidence than usual, putting one boot in front of the other as the cliff faded behind him and Alexis's presence slowly thinned from his senses.

Still, it lingered.

That maddening tension.

That gaze, full of unspoken questions and things Hiral couldn't afford to answer.

He trudged on beneath the vast, moonlit sky. The stars above felt too bright, too close—like they bore witness to things best buried. 

He stopped briefly, glancing skyward as his breath ghosted into the air.

"What do you want from me, Alexis?" he murmured under his breath. "What is it you're hoping to achieve by following me this far?"

The moon said nothing.

The guilt crept in slowly, like frostbite—numbing at first. Dangerous later.

He reached the tent nestled in the shadowed valley and pulled aside the flap, ducking in with weary limbs. A simple bedroll awaited him, the canvas layered tight against the chill of barren land nights. He began peeling off his outer layers, folding the silk-lined sleeves, his hands moving by habit while his thoughts remained tangled.

How much does he know? Did he follow my trail from the city? Or did he feel something deeper—something I missed?

The belt around his waist came undone with a quiet hiss. He reached for a thicker coat and slid it on, fingers pausing at the clasps when a sound reached him.

Footsteps.

Measured. Familiar.

Hiral froze.

He turned only his head, peering cautiously through the small slit in the tent's canvas. His breath caught.

There—standing at the edge of the firelight perimeter—was Alexis.

His silhouette framed by moonlight. Staring toward the camp but not stepping closer.

Why is he here?

Hiral didn't move. He waited. Letting the cold seep into his skin, grounding him. 

Alexis didn't advance. He simply stood there for long minutes, unmoving.

Waiting.

A standoff without swords. A siege with only breath and silence.

Then Alexis tilted his head to the sky. He inhaled deeply. The next moment, his voice carried across the wind.

"Hiral."

Clear. Unshaken. Not a whisper, but a name filled with certainty.

Hiral clenched his jaw. Didn't answer.

Damn you, he thought. Why do you say it like that?

Alexis stepped forward. Just one pace.

"Hiral," he called again, softer this time. "I don't want to fight. I just… want to talk."

Hiral's body tensed instinctively. His mind raced—mapping escape routes, counting pressure points, calculating takedown options, should Alexis feign peace and strike.

He listened carefully for tone. Rhythm. Betrayal.

But none came.

Only longing.

Only sincerity.

He hated it.

Slowly, deliberately, Hiral stepped from the tent. The breeze tugged at his hair, long and unbound, rippling behind him like ink across parchment. 

He stood tall, the moonlight casting silver along his sharp features.

"You want to talk," he said, voice flat, eyes narrowed. "As if nothing happened on the cliff tonight."

Alexis didn't flinch. He looked exhausted, yes, but resolute.

"As if something still can happen after it."

Hiral's brows twitched—but only for a heartbeat.

He crossed his arms and stared at the man before him. His coat fluttered open slightly in the wind, revealing the layers beneath—not silk now, but thick wool, coarse and practical.

"Why are you really here?" Hiral asked. "If it's to accuse me again, spare us both the breath."

Alexis stepped no closer. His hands were visible—empty.

"No accusations tonight," he replied. "Only questions I can't bury anymore. And… one hope I haven't killed yet."

Something shifted in Hiral's chest. He hated how familiar that tone was.

Too raw. Too true.

He wanted to retreat. To lash out. To lie.

But instead, he remained still, the full moon above them bearing silent witness once more.

"Then speak, general," Hiral said coldly. "Say what you came all this way to say."

The firelight between them flickered. And the night held its breath.

The fire crackled softly beside them. The moonlight painted Hiral's silhouette in silver. The breeze tugged at the edges of his coat, his long black hair whipping like shadows caught in the wind.

Alexis stood with the aching pull of everything he hadn't said burning in his chest.

So he spoke.

"I came because I had to see it for myself," he said, voice low, steady. "To know you're not dying. That you're not—" he exhaled, eyes narrowing slightly, "in danger. That thought alone… it's been tormenting me."

His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"More than I thought possible."

The words struck deeper than Hiral cared to admit.

He kept his posture unreadable, his eyes sharp, his face emotionless—but inside, something trembled.

Guilt. Guilt again.

And something else.

He let the silence stretch before answering, cold and clean like the edge of a blade.

"Me in danger?" he said flatly. "You are the greatest danger to me, Alexis."

It wasn't even a lie.

He couldn't afford what Alexis made him feel.

He couldn't afford the weakness that crept in every time he looked into those honest, maddening eyes.

But when Alexis chuckled—chuckled— at that, Hiral barely masked the flicker of disbelief that passed through him.

"I suppose it was foolish of me to think that 'not-general' Hiral would actually be in any life-threatening danger," Alexis said with a sheepish grin. "Seeing you here, perfectly composed… alive and sharp as ever—it's a relief."

He meant it.

And maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was dangerous.

But it was also true.

Hiral frowned.

The grin. The warmth. The damned sincerity.

Hiral's temper flickered—cold and sharp.

"Why?" he snapped suddenly, stepping forward. "Why are you even concerned for me, Alexis?"

He moved like smoke, fluid and sudden. In a blink, he was behind Alexis. His blade unsheathed and pressed lightly, coldly, against the back of the general's throat.

"I'm an enemy," he murmured against the shell of Alexis's ear. "I'm a threat to your nation. I could end your life here."

His breath was even. His pulse… almost calm.

But his chest hurt.

The blade was real. The cold bite of steel against Alexis' skin was real.

But so was the way Hiral hadn't followed through.

So Alexis laughed—quiet and knowing.

"I know how deadly you are," he said without flinching. "But the fact that I'm still standing, that you've let me speak—again and again—is exactly why I worry about you."

He turned slowly, the blade never cutting, never pressing harder.

And there it was.

That same look.

The one Alexis had seen through veil, sickness, lies, and distance.

The one that made him stay.

Hiral let out a laugh—quiet, helpless.

And lowered the blade.

Turning his back, he shook his head.

"You're so strange," he muttered. "So damn strange."

He stepped away into the edge of the firelight, blade lowered to his side.

"I didn't kill you because it's unnecessary," he said over his shoulder. "Don't go reading into it. You're not worth the noise it would cause."

He hated how it sounded weak even to him.

Alexis grinned and took a slow step to Hiral's side.

"You always say that sort of thing. Like you're trying to convince yourself more than me."

He leaned in slightly, not touching, just there.

"But it's exactly because you're like this—calculated, cold, considerate—that I find myself… trusting you. Like how I trust Jiral."

He turned to meet Hiral's gaze, and the moment their eyes locked, Alexis felt a strange peace stir in his chest.

A quiet confirmation.

Hiral scowled, then shoved Alexis back lightly, eyes narrowing despite the smile tugging at his lips.

"I thought you said no accusations tonight."

Alexis raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing.

"You're right. I did."

Hiral exhaled, amusement slipping through.

"Then stop bothering me and go back. You're from the West. I'm not. We're enemies."

Alexis leaned back with a smirk.

"Then you should at least offer your enemy a warm tent. You didn't want me to die from being frozen cause it's more trouble, right?"

Hiral shot him a dry glare.

"You'll survive."

"You sure?" Alexis grinned. "Maybe I'll just faint dramatically in your camp and wait for your attendants to take pity."

"Don't test me."

They stared a moment longer. The fire cracked. The moon bathed the rocky cliffs in quiet silver.

Then Hiral turned and strode back toward the tent.

Without a word, Alexis followed—but stopped short of the boundary once more.

The fire had burned low when Hiral, after a long pause, turned toward Alexis. 

The flicker of moonlight danced across his unreadable expression, softened only by the faintest curl of a smile at the corner of his lips.

"Come," he said, with a fluid gesture toward the tent. "Since I need to be considerate and not let you die from freezing to death outside. I'll offer some tea. You've earned it, for all your concern."

Alexis, surprised but not suspicious—not yet—smiled back with a tilt of his head.

"Are you finally going to be civil with me?"

"Something like that."

Hiral, with a hidden smile, stepped into the tent. 

The space inside was simple but ordered. Sparse bedding. Folded clothes. A brazier still warm in the center. Everything spoke of readiness to leave at a moment's notice.

Hiral gestured to the center rug. "Sit. Let's share the heat, at least."

Alexis chuckled, "I knew you were soft somewhere in there—"

He never finished the sentence.

Because in one clean movement, Hiral spun the heavy tent rug, catching Alexis' legs mid-stride. The weight and angle pulled the general off balance, and before he could catch himself—

Thud.

Alexis hit the ground, a muffled curse on his lips, immediately struggling, but too late.

"Hiral—?! You sneaky—!"

But Hiral was already moving. Swift. Precise. He dropped his knee to pin Alexis, bound his wrists behind with cord from a bedroll tie, and with the kind of ease that only came from training, hoisted Alexis onto his shoulder like a sack of rice.

"You've always talked too much," Hiral murmured, tone dry.

Outside, his trusted horse stood waiting.

Hiral tossed the bound Alexis onto the saddle, adjusting him like an unruly cargo. 

Then he leaned close to the horse's ear, whispering instructions in the soft tongue of the plains.

"Take him to the western encampment. Run fast. Don't let him fall."

The horse snorted once in understanding, stamped its hoof, and took off—hooves drumming against the cold earth like laughter.

From the distance, Alexis's furious voice trailed:

"HIRAL! YOU COLD, TREACHEROUS BASTARD—"

"Safe travels!" Hiral called out, voice lifted with uncharacteristic mirth.

For the first time in a while, he laughed. Not a chuckle, not a smirk—but a laugh, light and dry and oddly relieving. As if some tight knot in his chest had finally loosened.

He needed that.

More than he'd admit.

Because Alexis wasn't just dangerous for his status, or his influence.

He was dangerous for the simple, disarming way he looked at Hiral. The way he didn't demand answers—but waited for them. 

Trusted for them. The way his sincerity rang too true, and his concern felt like it belonged to Hiral, unfiltered and genuine. Alexis' unwavering eyes told him so. 

Hiral exhaled heavily, his humor fading into a weary frown.

He bent to pack the tent quickly, hands practiced, swift. He couldn't risk Alexis returning before he was long gone. 

He didn't know what else the general suspected—what he'd seen.

The cliffside moon faded behind fast-moving clouds.

"I should've left already," he muttered to himself. "He's going to come back furious."

Everything packed, Hiral hoisted the bundle onto his back and made his way toward the nearest barren tribe settlement, moving with the silence of wind.

There, he traded a portion of his remaining supplies for a spare pack horse. 

The tribe, ever gracious to a familiar face, agreed without fuss, even offering dried goat cheese and smoked milk skins for his travel.

"May the moon guide you, silent brother," they bid him.

Hiral bowed once. "And may it light the dark paths for you."

He didn't let himself rest until he was miles beyond the cliff—until the barren lands had given way to quieter hills. 

Only then, beneath a thinning canopy of stars, did Hiral allow himself a breath.

Would this stir more trouble than he'd anticipated?

Almost certainly.

Alexis was persistent. Too persistent. And disturbing in ways Hiral couldn't always prepare for.

But for now, the wind was quiet. The road was empty. And the night, at least, was his.