The next morning's sun rose slow and soft, washing the world in a gentle gold.
Pale light spilled across the worn earth, catching on the edges of leaves, dancing across the ash-toned leather of their new gear.
The fire had long since gone cold.
But warmth remained.
Somewhere in the quiet, Rasha stirred.
Her face caught the sun first — a kiss of heat across her cheek — and she blinked awake, lashes fluttering against the light.
The weight against her ribs wasn't her blanket.
It was Talo.
They had shifted sometime in the night — drawn together by dreams, by instinct.
His arm was wrapped beneath her shoulders, the other across her waist.
One of her legs had hooked gently over his.
And he was still asleep.
Completely and utterly asleep.
His breath was deep, calm, stirring the hair near her collarbone.
His brow, usually set with focus or mischief, was smooth now — softened by sleep.
And his grip, while loose, still held her like he didn't want to let go.
She didn't move.
Not yet.
A few heartbeats more, she just… stayed there.
It wasn't safety that held her still.
It was something rarer.
Something she hadn't dared name in years.
She felt… loved.
Not because he had said it.
Not because of grand gestures or whispered promises.
But because he held her like she mattered.
Because, even in sleep, his body had gravitated toward hers like it knew the shape of her sorrow — and chose to wrap around it anyway.
Her breath caught — not from nerves, but from the quiet ache of something healing.
Then, slowly, she felt the rhythm of his breathing change.
A shift. A slow blink.
A tightening of his hold before his fingers flexed gently at her waist.
Talo stirred.
His eyes opened halfway, bleary and unfocused.
He looked up — straight into hers.
For a long, silent second, they didn't move.
Then he blinked fully awake — and realization flickered across his face.
His arm was still around her.
Their legs still tangled.
And Rasha… wasn't moving away.
His throat bobbed with a swallow.
"Morning," he said quietly, voice still rough with sleep.
Rasha didn't look away.
"Morning," she echoed — softer.
Still, neither of them moved.
Not yet.
But the world — slowly, inevitably — began to return.
A bird called somewhere in the trees.
The breeze picked up, rustling through brush and branches.
The scent of cured leather, fire-cooled stone, and distant water crept into the space between them.
Reality.
Awareness.
They both shifted at the same time.
Talo's arm slid back.
Rasha's leg unhooked.
They rolled away from each other gently, each pretending it was just to stretch or adjust.
Talo cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly fascinated by the inside of his bedroll.
"Didn't mean to— I guess we moved a lot in our sleep."
Rasha nodded once, her fingers tugging lightly at the strap of her tunic.
"Yeah. Must've been the ground. Slopes a bit here."
A beat passed.
Then another.
And then, quietly, she smiled — just a little.
"It wasn't… bad."
Talo glanced at her, lips twitching.
"No," he said. "It wasn't."
They didn't say more than that.
But something in the air between them felt shifted — like two stars that had drifted a fraction closer in the sky.
No declarations.
No confessions.
Just a quiet, unspoken promise that whatever this was — it wasn't unwelcome.
Talo rose first, brushing dirt from his clothes.
"We should get moving," he said, voice even.
Rasha stood beside him, fastening her belt, blades at her hips.
And though the space between them had returned, it no longer felt as wide.
Rasha bent to tighten a strap on her boot, pretending to busy her hands — but her thoughts lingered in that stillness just moments before.
When their faces were so close.
When his breath brushed her cheek.
When he looked at her like she was something fragile and vital all at once.
She wished he'd kissed her.
Just then.
Just once.
She straightened slowly, her expression unreadable.
The moment was gone.
But the wanting hadn't vanished with it.
It just… folded inward, tucked neatly beside the growing warmth she refused to name.
Rasha lingered a moment longer, lost in the echo of what almost was.
The morning air tugged lightly at the edges of her cloak, but she didn't move.
Not until—
"Care to help… buddy?"
The word hit a little crooked on Talo's tongue — casual, sure, but too casual.
Like armor hastily thrown over uncertainty.
Rasha blinked, startled from her thoughts. She turned.
Talo was crouched beside their packs, adjusting straps, tying down their bundled gear.
He didn't look at her directly, but she caught the flicker of his eyes beneath his lashes — checking her reaction.
For a second, she didn't respond.
Then she snorted — just a breath of laughter — and rolled her eyes.
"Yeah, alright," she said, moving to his side.
"But only because you asked so sweetly."
He looked up then — and smiled, a little relieved.
They didn't talk about it.
But they worked side by side, boots scuffing over the packed earth, packs lifted, gear secured.
The day had begun.
They set out midmorning, packs tightened, new blades sheathed and glinting against their hips.
The earth felt different beneath their feet now — not because it had changed, but because they had.
The path back to the footbridge wasn't far, but it still took the better part of a day's walk.
They had veered a good distance from the river during the hunt, tracking the Shadowmaw through gullies and game trails.
Now the land sloped gently downward again, easing them back toward the narrowing water.
The mood between them was quiet — not tense, just full.
Like something had been settled, even if no one had said it aloud.
Rasha adjusted the strap across her chest and glanced sideways.
"You sleep often with one leg flung over someone like that?" she asked casually.
Talo didn't miss a beat.
"Only when they steal my blanket."
She snorted.
"You were the blanket."
He gave a mock-sigh.
"Figures. No gratitude these days."
Their laughter came easy, lightening the road as the trees thinned again.
The sound of water reached them long before the bridge came into view — a steady, winding hush.
But there was something else, too.
Rasha slowed slightly, tilting her head.
Birdsong.
Not just one — not the faint chirps of desert dwellers or the solitary cry of a hawk — but layered notes.
Calls and responses. Wings flitting overhead.
Somewhere beyond the bridge, the wilderness breathed fuller.
"You hear that?" she asked.
Talo nodded.
"More animals, too. I smelled something with wet fur earlier. Not Shadowmaw."
He didn't say what he was thinking.
Rasha said it for him.
"The other side's different."
Talo glanced her way.
"Yeah. And we haven't even crossed yet."
They walked a little longer, boots crunching over dry reeds.
The bridge appeared ahead — a ribbon of worn wood swaying slightly between the stone posts.
It looked the same.
But the air around it felt… denser.
Not heavy, exactly. Just watchful.
Rasha's fingers brushed the hilts at her sides.
Not out of fear.
Out of readiness.
Talo's pace didn't slow, but he reached up to tap the rim of his hood down a bit lower over his eyes.
"You good?" he asked.
She gave a quiet nod.
"Let's cross it," she said.
And together, they stepped forward — toward the threshold that would carry them into the Forsaken Realm