She blinked at him like he was the one forgetting something obvious.
"The creature," she said, pointing again — this time directly at the staff. "The one for that."
Talo stiffened.
Rasha felt it immediately. She eased her stance, watching him closely. He no longer looked ready to fight — only stunned.
His grip loosened on the staff. Not as a threat, but as if trying to understand what had just been pulled from inside him and placed into the open.
He looked at the girl, voice quieter now. "Wait…"
He searched her face, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "How… how could you possibly know that?"
Her expression pinched with a touch of frustration, like she was explaining something to someone who should already know.
"The pictures," she said, with a soft sigh. "In my head."
Talo's breath caught. He looked down at his staff — not the way a warrior looks at a weapon, but the way a craftsman looks at something unfinished. Something waiting to become what it was meant to be.
And in that moment, he remembered.
The night he and Rasha forged Yin and Yang — how the flames had danced to her will, how she'd brought something into existence that felt alive, bound to her soul.
He'd said nothing then, but deep in his own heart, he had made a quiet promise.
That he would find a creature strong enough. That he would forge his own weapon — something born of his spirit, something worthy of protecting her.
And now, this girl — this child — had spoken it aloud. Not guessed. Known.
Rasha lowered Yin and Yang completely now, the tension in her arms easing. She no longer sensed danger — only the hum of something strange and important unfolding.
Her gaze moved between them — between the man she trusted with her life, and the child who had just unraveled a piece of him with a single sentence.
Rasha softened then, as if surfacing from a daze. Her expression was more focused now, more maternal.
"What's your name?" she asked gently. "Have you eaten?"
The girl lit up again, a beam of pride in her voice.
"My name is Sybil!" she said. "And no, not yet. But it's okay. You have some dried meat for me."
Rasha blinked, surprised by the certainty. She pulled out a wrapped strip of preserved meat from her pack and handed it over.
Sybil accepted it without hesitation. The Dread Stalker pup padded up beside her, rubbing against her leg with another low, feral purr.
"Oh! And don't forget Snuggle-Fang," she added through a mouthful, gesturing to the creature at her side. "He's hungry too. You've got enough for him too!"
Rasha blinked again — not in disbelief, but in quiet acceptance — and reached for a second piece without protest. The pup finished his piece in two bites and then pressed closer to the girl's side, curling slightly at her feet. Its eyes were closed now, lulled by the calm, purring with that eerie, feral hum.
Talo finally looked up.
And though he said nothing else just yet, one thing was clear:
Something had just changed.
And the girl — this strange, dirt-smudged girl with bright eyes and a predator at her heel — had known it would.
Rasha took a small step forward, still watching Talo. Something unspoken lingered in the space between them — the way he looked at his staff, the weight in his eyes.
She opened her mouth, voice soft, hesitant. "So what exactly are you looking for?"
"You're so pretty," Sybil said suddenly, turning to Rasha with a delighted grin.
The interruption was sharp, precise — not rude, but surgical.
Rasha blinked.
Her tone was too sweet, too eager — and a beat too perfectly timed.
"You look like the sun when it first touches the ground," she added, nodding as if she'd been holding the thought in for hours.
Rasha gave a small, startled laugh, the question dissolving on her tongue.
But it hadn't been forgotten.
Just diverted.
And the way the girl smiled — wide and innocent — made it clear:
She had done it on purpose.
"Thank you," Rasha replied, smiling despite herself. "And you're really pretty too, little one."
But she wasn't letting go that easily.
Her smile lingered just a breath longer before sharpening ever so slightly. "But you've got to answer some questions, young lady. What's this creature… and why do you call us Mommy and Daddy?"
Sybil didn't flinch.
Instead, she ignored the first question entirely and bounced on her heels with a spark of mischief.
"I call you that," she said brightly, "because you're going to be my Mommy and Daddy for a long looong time."
She drew out the word, stretching it with a grin that was all innocence on the surface, but something else underneath — like she knew exactly what she was doing.
Rasha's expression shifted.
Talo's lips parted, his stance shifting — not to defend, but to steady himself.
Sybil nodded, her gaze drifting slightly, as though watching something unfold just out of sight.
"We're going to watch people grow old and grey around us," she said. Her tone wasn't dreamy, nor was it heavy. Just matter-of-fact.
Not a child curious about mortality.
Not even someone dreading it.
Someone who knew.
Rasha felt her pulse slow. The breeze moved through the clearing like breath.
"You're saying…" Talo began, his voice low. "You're saying we… live forever?"
She just smiled at him.
Not answering.
Just smiling.
And for them — who knew, at the very least, that Rasha wouldn't die — that said everything.
She took a small step forward, still holding their eyes with that radiant, unsettling calm.
"We'll have plenty of time to talk about that," she said lightly — though urgency had crept in beneath the surface. "But right now, we have to move."
Her tone shifted subtly — still childlike, but more serious now. Grounded.
She glanced over her shoulder, toward the forest behind them, then back at Rasha and Talo.
"We have to be at the place before they find us."
Rasha exchanged a glance with Talo. "What place?"
Sybil didn't answer right away. Her gaze had gone distant — not confused, but searching. As if the image she was seeing wasn't in front of her yet.
Then she looked at them both, and the joy drained from her face just a little.
"All the other pictures end badly."
It wasn't said with fear.
It wasn't a warning.
It was a fact.
The wind stirred the grass again, soft but insistent.
And Rasha — just from peering into her eyes — although she'd been skeptical of the mercenaries' tale the night before, now found herself face-to-face with the very child they'd described. And somehow, everything they'd said rang true.
But what struck her more was this:
To the mercenaries, the girl had been a mystery. A superstition. A story cloaked in chaos and fear.
To Rasha, now… she wasn't a mystery at all.
She was a map. A living one.
And they were already following it.