Sion looked away from the sky as a golden beam shot down from above, teleporting Mavric away.
For a long second, he stayed like that—silent, thoughtful.
Tch. I hate doing that, he thought. I probably spooked her a little too much.
But if he hadn't...
His eyes slid to the side, to where Dara stood.
...she might have become a target later.
He left the thought incomplete.
As soon as Mavric vanished, Dara wobbled over to him.
She turned with a dizzy, lazy motion—and then, with no warning—
"Take care of me, boyfriend," she mumbled.
And fell face-first onto his chest.
Sion blinked.
Then adjusted her gently, pulling her into a proper hold, one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back.
She was light.
Too light, actually.
Without a word, he scooped her up in a full princess carry.
Behind them, Mimi and the others hesitated. They stepped closer... then stopped when they saw the scene.
They all exchanged looks—judging stares loaded with one collective thought.
"We thought you guys weren't dating."
Sion, deadpan, tilted his head and replied:
"We said we weren't dating.
Not that we wouldn't like to."
The Second Years groaned, half in disbelief, half in acceptance.
---
Hours passed.
Night fell over the Outer Edge, deep and vast.
Sion moved silently through a sparse forest, the trees skeletal and twisted under the twin moons' silver light.
The forest thinned... until it broke into open desert.
A faint, constant golden glow shimmered in Sion's brown eyes.
Not enough to make him seem inhuman—but enough that every beast lurking in the dark gave him a wide berth.
It wasn't fear.
It was survival instinct.
Everything weaker than him could feel it—an ancient, primal warning.
Stay away. Or die.
On his back, Dara slept soundly, her arms loosely draped over his shoulders.
She breathed softly, her heartbeat calm against his spine.
Sion adjusted his hold, making sure her weight sat easier on him.
The desert wind was cold, but he kept her close, shielding her from it.
For a long while, he walked in silence, just the crunch of his boots against the sand.
Then, with no one to hear but the night, he spoke quietly.
"Say, Dara," he murmured, smiling slightly,
"why do you smell so nice?"
No answer.
He chuckled low in his throat, almost embarrassed at himself.
"I've never smelled anything..." he said, voice dropping lower,
"...as pleasant as you."
He paused.
Then added, even softer:
"I don't think I ever will."
Behind him, a sleepy voice floated up:
"...'cause I'm your flower."
Sion blinked.
Turned his head slightly.
Dara's eyes were still closed—she was dreaming.
Or maybe not.
She nestled a little closer, sighing gently.
Sion smiled faintly, gaze turning back to the horizon.
He kept walking—carrying her through the sleeping desert, beneath the endless stars.
---
Sion kept walking, the horizon slowly brightening into softer blues and golds as the sun climbed higher.
The desert stretched wide and endless around him, broken only by jagged hills and scattered rocky outcrops.
On his back, Dara shifted slightly.
A sleepy hum vibrated through her chest.
"How long… have you been walking?" she mumbled into his shoulder.
Sion smiled faintly without breaking stride.
"Not long."
Dara snuggled closer, her arms tightening gently around his neck.
"Liar," she whispered against his back. "I can feel how far we are. My flowers… they're still whispering from the rocky field."
Sion chuckled under his breath, the sound rumbling in his chest.
"Must be a village boy's poor sense of distance, then."
"Mhm. Sure."
She yawned, burying her face in the crook of his neck like she was trying to melt into him.
Sion shifted his grip slightly, holding her more securely.
"You're awake now. You can walk," he offered.
"Nope," Dara replied immediately, her voice muffled and stubborn. "I'm good right here."
Sion rolled his eyes but said nothing more.
He kept moving.
---
An hour later.
Dara finally slid off his back with a theatrical sigh, stretching her arms wide toward the sky.
"Finally. I was starting to cramp," she said dramatically.
"You could have gotten down any time," Sion pointed out dryly.
"But then I wouldn't have enjoyed being carried like a princess," Dara teased.
Sion just shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
They walked side by side, the sand shifting soft underfoot, exchanging light banter.
Dara was mid-story about the time she tricked a court tutor into thinking she could talk to birds when Sion slowed, he locked his gaze forward.
Dara followed his line of sight.
Ahead of them—hazy through the heat shimmer—was something new.
Buildings.
Small, squat structures built from rough stone and clay, arranged haphazardly around a shallow well. Woven canopies stretched between some roofs to provide shade.
It was a village.
As they got closer, the details became clear.
The figures moving between the buildings weren't human.
They were humanoid—tall, broad-shouldered, skin painted in vibrant shades of blue.
Some had long tusks curving from their lower jaws.
Others bore ritual tattoos winding up their arms.
Their clothes were simple but carefully made—woven cloth dyed in earthy tones, decorated with beads and bones.
The villagers moved with a quiet, efficient grace—tending to fires, sharpening tools, fetching water from the well.
Sion and Dara slowed instinctively.
A few of the blue-skinned villagers noticed them—eyes narrowing, weapons at their sides—but no one moved aggressively.
Then—
A figure stepped forward from between two houses.
An elder.
His skin was a deeper shade of azure, lined and weathered by time.
White tattoos curled along his arms like vines.
He wore layered robes stitched with feathers and charms, and in his hand he carried a tall staff carved with swirling patterns.
He approached slowly, staff tapping lightly against the stone ground.
When he stopped a few feet away, he bowed his head slightly—a sign of respect, not submission.
His voice, when he spoke, was low and resonant.
"Welcome, travelers."
He lifted his gaze, and for a moment, something ancient flickered in his golden eyes.
"The Blue Roots have been expecting you."