The Weight of a Stranger’s Kindness

The sound of water dripping softly onto broad leaves stirred him from the haze of half-sleep.

The Elf opened his eyes for the second time.

He was still in the same place—an open glade bathed in warm, filtered sunlight, where flowers glowed faintly and the air smelled faintly of wild nectar and ancient magic. But this time, the pain in his shoulder had dulled to a steady ache.

He pushed himself up slowly, careful not to tear at the half-healed wound. His body felt heavy—like he’d fought an army and barely lived to tell the tale.

Which, in fairness, wasn’t far from the truth.

A few steps away, he saw her.

She stood with her back to him, perched gracefully atop a moss-covered stone, singing softly to a nearby tree. The melody was delicate—woven from notes that dissolved into the air like stardust. Her wings shimmered faintly with each movement, catching the sunlight in a soft pulse.

He watched her without speaking, golden eyes fixed on her silhouette.

She looked like she belonged to a world untouched by blood or fire.
A world that didn’t exist.
Not anymore.

She turned, startled slightly when she noticed him sitting up.

“You shouldn’t move yet,” she said gently, stepping down from the stone and approaching with a waterskin made of woven petals.

He took it from her silently, drinking a little before meeting her gaze.

“…Why did you help me?”

Liora blinked. Caught off guard.

“You saved me first.”

“I did it because you’re a fae,” he said flatly.

Her brow furrowed. “And that means…?”

“It means if you were anything else, I might’ve let you die.”

He didn’t flinch as he said it. No apology in his tone.

But Liora paused, surprised by the raw honesty. There was no malice in his voice—only weariness.

“Why?” she asked.

He looked away, the shadows under his eyes deepening. For a moment, he looked older than his years—haunted by something long buried, but never forgotten.

“…Because you’re the only ones who never hurt me.”

The words hung in the air.

She didn’t speak. She only sat beside him, careful not to brush against his arm.

He was dangerous. That much was obvious. His body bore scars like cursed tattoos, his aura sharp with residual magic. But here, beneath the dappled light, he looked… lost.

More ghost than warrior.

“Then I suppose we’re even,” she said softly, crossing her legs beneath her. “You saved me because I’m a fae. I saved you… because I wanted to.”

He turned his head toward her, as if trying to decipher her meaning.

“You didn’t even know who I was.”

“Maybe that’s why I helped you,” she replied with a faint smile.

He studied her for a moment longer, as though the concept of kindness without reason was foreign to him. Maybe it was.

Silence settled between them.

The sounds of the forest returned—wind threading through the leaves, insects whispering secrets, far-off birds singing to the sky.

Then Liora spoke again, quieter this time.

“…But you can’t stay here long. If anyone finds out, I’ll be in trouble. Bringing a stranger into the grove—especially someone who looks like… you—isn’t exactly allowed.”

“You thought I was a demon,” he said, not a question.

Her cheeks flushed slightly. “You were bleeding black smoke. I didn’t exactly stop to ask your lineage.”

“…So why didn’t you leave me there?”

She looked down, teeth catching her bottom lip, thinking.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Something just told me… you weren’t supposed to die yet.”

He didn’t answer.

But deep inside, where he'd buried most of his emotions under layers of training, trauma, and cold logic, something flickered.

A warmth he hadn’t felt in years.
Small.
Fragile.
Unfamiliar.

Hope.

The Elf stepped beyond the mossy clearing, boots sinking into the glowing underbrush. The air shifted—warmer, heavier. The song of the forest dulled to a hush.

He moved with caution. Every instinct screamed that he didn’t belong here.

A few more steps… and then the ground trembled beneath him.

Roots stirred.

Vines slithered out of nowhere, curling like serpents, brushing against his boots—not attacking, just warning. A low hum pulsed through the soil. The forest was alive, and it didn’t want him further.

He clenched his jaw, fingers twitching near the dagger at his hip.

But then—soft footsteps.

Liora appeared behind him, barefoot, her silver hair catching the dappled light like strands of moonlight.

“You can’t go that way,” she said gently, almost apologetically. “The forest doesn’t trust you yet.”

He turned to her, eyes narrowing.

“And you do?”

A beat of silence. Her wings shimmered faintly behind her, barely visible, like light through mist.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But I want to.”

The Elf said nothing. Just stared.

Then, slowly… he stepped back toward her.

The vines receded.

The forest exhaled.

And for the first time, He wondered if this strange little place, this impossible girl… might be more dangerous to him than any blade.