The wind whispered through the tall trees, brushing against their leaves like an invisible hand playing the harp of the forest. As they moved through the thick woods, silence settled between him and the girl—not the kind of silence that feels awkward or heavy, but one filled with understanding. Words weren't necessary. Their breathing and the rhythm of their steps were enough.
She was still gripping his hand gently, her eyes occasionally flicking up to his face. He hadn't let go since he carried her across the valley, his feet never once touching the ground. It had felt like flying—weightless and effortless—but with purpose. Now, they walked together. She trusted him, though her mind still wrestled with the sprawling reality unfolding around her.
Her stomach grumbled faintly, a reminder that she hadn't eaten in what felt like days. He paused, glancing at her with calm clarity before slowly kneeling by a wild shrub. With a wave of his hand, the shrub shimmered and bore fruit—plump and glowing softly under his touch, as if the earth itself obeyed him without question.
"Eat," he said gently.
She hesitated for a moment. "What is it?"
"Safe," he replied simply. "Your body needs it."
Tentatively, she took the fruit. Its skin was cool and smooth against her fingers. The moment she bit into it, sweetness flooded her mouth—refreshing, like drinking from a mountain spring. Waves of strength returned, and color began to rise back into her cheeks. He watched her quietly, his eyes not only observing her expression but also how her body responded to the nourishment.
"You're not just powerful," she said between bites. "You're… careful. Like you can feel everything."
He nodded. "I can."
Curiosity sparked in her gaze. "Everything?"
"I see what your body hides," he said. "Pain. Fatigue. Even joy. Every cell has a sound. Every heartbeat has a rhythm."
She froze slightly, her fingers pausing over the fruit. "You can hear my heart?"
"Yes," he said gently. "And it is strong… though you carry sorrow."
Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. Embarrassed, she turned away.
"It's okay," he said, stepping closer but maintaining a respectful distance. "Grief is part of what makes you human."
"I've lost everyone," she whispered. "My family. My people. They were all taken. I ran. I survived. But I keep wondering if it was worth it."
His eyes shimmered, not with pity but with something deeper—understanding.
He lifted his hand, hesitating for a brief second, then placed it lightly on her head. A soft golden glow flowed from his palm—warm, inviting, and comforting.
At that moment, he felt everything within her: the microfractures in her bones from countless falls, the strained muscles, and the hidden injuries her body had learned to ignore. But it was the emotional wounds that struck him the most—sharp and buried, yet still bleeding beneath the surface.
Holding her hands, He closed his eyes, and the light intensified, sinking into her skin and flowing through her like water over dry land. It wasn't just healing; it was reviving and nourishing.
She gasped, trembling—not from pain but from relief. A burden she didn't know she carried was suddenly lifted.
When he stepped back, she looked at her arms—once bruised, now smooth. Her hands—once trembling, now steady. Inside, something felt different, like her soul had been hugged from within.
"How… what did you do to me?" she asked, awestruck.
"I gave back what was stolen from you," he said simply.
She nodded slowly, holding her arms against her chest. Then her eyes narrowed, focusing behind him. "Wait…"
He turned instinctively, sensing something stir in the distance. A vibration, faint but familiar. His hair moved slightly—not from the breeze but from signals. He could discern the low hum of creatures breathing and the way leaves responded to the pressure. There were many. Fast. Approaching.
He stepped in front of her protectively.
"They found us?" she asked, reaching for a stick beside her.
"Yes," he replied. "But you won't need that."
Without another word, he turned, scanning the trees. One creature darted from the shadows—its skin blackened, eyes glowing red, limbs sharp like blades. It lunged at him, snarling.
Fire burst from his mouth without warning—intense, controlled, and white-hot. It devoured the creature, reducing it to nothing before it even touched the ground.
She flinched but didn't question it. She understood now. This was him; the fire was part of him.
Another creature attempted to sneak from behind—this one slithering low, inching toward her as she perched on the fallen tree's trunk. He didn't even need to look. His senses picked it up immediately. He turned his gaze toward the tree.
As if understanding him, the roots of the tree uncoiled, stretching like arms. They twisted around the creature's legs, pulling it down into the earth. The ground swallowed it whole, and silence returned.
The girl was wide-eyed. "Did… did the tree just… obey you?"
"I asked," he said simply.
She shook her head, amazed. "You didn't speak."
"Words aren't the only language."
"I asked," he said simply.
She shook her head, amazed. "You didn't speak."
"Words aren't the only language," he replied, stepping closer.
There was more rustling in the underbrush. Shadows danced around them, creating a tense atmosphere.
"There are too many," she whispered, fear creeping into her voice.
"I'll handle it," he said calmly, as if he were addressing an everyday inconvenience.
He raised both of his hands, and to her astonishment, light burst forth from his palms—not fire, but water. It flowed gracefully through the air like ribbons, swirling around him and forming a protective barrier. As the creatures emerged from the darkness, they collided with the wall of rushing water. Some were pushed back, while others simply dissolved, powerless against the force.
The remaining creatures charged again, but they were met with pulses of energy radiating from his chest—wave after wave of light. Every movement he made was effortless, not fueled by rage or desperation, but by a quiet authority that filled the space around them.
When the last of the creatures fell, the forest fell into silence once more.
He turned back to her, noticing she was still catching her breath, trying to comprehend what she just witnessed.
"You're like… an army in one body," she whispered in awe.
He didn't respond; instead, he walked toward her and offered his hand once again.
She took it, feeling a mix of courage and uncertainty. "So what now?"
"We keep moving," he said, glancing at the path ahead—dense, dark, and fraught with uncertainty.
"Do you know where we're going?" she inquired, searching his face for reassurance.
"No," he replied honestly, "but my spirit does."
They stepped forward, hand in hand, venturing into the unknown.
Behind them, the tree slowly folded its roots back into the ground as if settling down after a great disturbance. The leaves shimmered faintly, almost bowing in respect to their passage.
The world was changing—transforming—and the heartbeat of something greater began to echo through them both.