The Quiet Before

The fire had settled into a low, steady crackle. Smoke drifted lazily upward, glowing orange as it caught the last tongues of flame, spiraling toward the black canopy of leaves above. Around it, the five of them formed a loose circle—strangers only hours ago, yet already bound by the silence that comes after survival. Their shadows swayed and stretched across the moss, curling against the roots of the ancient trees that loomed like solemn guardians.

The forest still held the echo of the earlier battle. Patches of ground were torn open, soil blackened with the stink of demon blood. Leaves glistened with dew but also bore streaks of ash, as though nature itself had tried to wash away what had taken place. Yet the silence now was fragile, carrying the weight of relief and exhaustion.

Hikari sat nearest to the flames, her knees drawn close to her chest, chin resting lightly on them. Her eyes reflected the restless light, their depths shifting between amber and gold. She seemed calm, but her fingers gripped the fabric of her cloak tightly, betraying the unease of someone not used to lowering their guard.

Shin leaned against a fallen log a little further back, arms folded across his chest. His gaze pretended to linger on the fire, but it betrayed him again and again, sliding toward Hikari whenever he thought no one noticed. A part of him hated himself for it; another part couldn’t stop.

Kaori, by contrast, could never stay still. She plucked a blade of grass from the ground, twirling it between her fingers until it tore in half, then found another and repeated the ritual. Her restless energy seemed to hum against the stillness of the night, like a bird caged but unbroken.

Daelric had laid his sword across his knees, running a cloth over the blade with absentminded precision. The steel caught the firelight in fleeting flashes, like lightning held in his hands. His expression never changed, though the way his fingers tightened on the hilt spoke more than words ever could.

And Luneth—hood lowered now but her pale face still half in shadow—sat with an almost unsettling calm. The guarded aura that had surrounded her earlier had softened. Her posture was loose, her eyes heavy-lidded, as though the firelight had worn away a layer of steel around her.

It was Daelric who broke the silence first. His voice, when it came, was low and blunt, like a blade striking stone.

“You fight well.”

The words carried no praise, only fact. His eyes flicked between Shin and Hikari, giving them each the same curt acknowledgment.

Hikari raised her head at the words. “You too,” she replied softly. “That last strike… you cut the demon’s arm as if it were nothing.”

Daelric only grunted, resuming his careful polishing.

Kaori giggled, tossing away the shredded grass. “Don’t mind him. That’s his way of saying thanks. Or something close to it. He’s allergic to compliments, you see.”

Daelric didn’t rise to the bait, which only made Kaori laugh harder.

Shin smirked faintly, shaking his head. The tension between them all was still there, but thinner now, as if the firelight had burned some of it away. The silence no longer felt dangerous. It felt like the quiet of people who hadn’t yet figured out the right words.

As the fire warmed their faces and the night grew deeper, words came easier. Kaori launched into a story about sneaking into a village festival when she was younger. She described the painted masks, the rows of lanterns, the music that rose and fell like waves. “And the food,” she added dramatically, “was terrible. Burned rice, watery soup. I swear, I nearly cried. But the dancing made it worth it. I got caught in the middle of the circle, and some old lady tried to teach me steps I couldn’t remember even if I tried.”

“You exaggerated,” Daelric muttered without looking up.

“Excuse me?” Kaori gasped in mock outrage. “Are you telling me I didn’t almost starve to death from overcooked rice?”

“You ate three bowls.”

Kaori blinked, then laughed so hard she nearly toppled backward. “Okay, fine. Maybe it wasn’t that bad. But it wasn't good either.”

Even Luneth chuckled quietly at that, her lips curving in a rare smile.

The sound surprised Shin more than anything. He’d pegged Luneth as the type to remain detached, forever lurking in shadows. But hearing her laugh—even briefly—made her seem human in a way words hadn’t.

Shin himself stayed quiet, listening. Yet every so often his eyes found Hikari again. She was laughing more openly now, her posture no longer hunched, her face less guarded. Firelight painted her hair in shades of gold, and when she leaned forward to prod at the flames with a stick, the glow made her look as if she belonged to the night sky itself.

“Pretty,” she whispered suddenly, almost without realizing.

Shin blinked. “What?”

She straightened quickly. “The stars.” She pointed upward, toward the breaks in the canopy where the heavens stretched wide and endless. “I’ve never seen them so clear before.”

Shin followed her gaze. The stars spilled like diamonds across the velvet black, each one sharper than glass. For a moment the world stilled—the hush of the forest, the steady crackle of fire, the slow rhythm of his companions’ breathing. But Shin didn’t answer immediately. He was too busy watching the reflection of starlight in her eyes.

Finally, he murmured, his voice low enough only she could hear, “Yes… too pretty.”

Hikari’s head snapped toward him, but he had already turned away, pretending to focus on the fire again. A flush bloomed on her cheeks, faint but unmistakable. She didn’t press him.

Time slipped away. Laughter gave way to stories, and stories to a kind of quiet that wasn’t heavy anymore. Kaori told them about the time she tried to cook for her family—burning the rice so badly the neighbors thought their house was on fire. Daelric actually chuckled at that, which earned a triumphant grin from Kaori.

Luneth spoke sparingly, but when she did, her words always lingered. At one point she leaned back against the log and said, almost idly, “You know, most travelers who cross these woods don’t survive. Demons run thicker here than blood. Perhaps fate had a hand in bringing us together tonight.”

Kaori rolled her eyes. “Or maybe we’re just stubborn enough not to die.”

“Perhaps both,” Luneth replied smoothly, her half-smile never wavering.

The idea of fate clung to Shin’s thoughts long after the fire dimmed. Fate. The word itself felt dangerous, but comforting too, like walking a tightrope with no safety net.

By the time the fire dwindled to glowing embers, the group had quieted again. Kaori curled up in her cloak, her soft snores breaking the hush. Daelric remained upright, sword balanced across his knees, but his chin rested on his chest in the posture of a man who had fallen asleep without meaning to.

Luneth stayed awake, watching the fire with hooded eyes, her mind somewhere else entirely.

Hikari shifted, brushing her sleeve against Shin’s arm. The touch startled him, though he tried not to show it.

“You should rest,” she murmured.

“You too.”

Neither moved. The air was cool but not biting, filled with the distant calls of owls and the whisper of leaves overhead. Shin thought of the battles behind them—the clash of steel, the screams, the scars. He thought of how close they had all come to death.

But sleep did not claim him. Not yet.

Instead, he tilted his head back, letting his gaze drift once more to the sky—and to the reflection of it still shimmering in Hikari’s eyes.

The night passed like that: laughter fading into quiet, quiet melting into trust. And when dawn came, painting the forest in molten gold, they were no longer strangers huddled around a fire.

The forest awoke in hushed tones. Shafts of pale morning light filtered through the canopy, painting streaks of gold across the lingering mist. The battlefield, once seared with fire and echoing with cries, now lay unnervingly quiet, as if the earth itself wished to bury the memory of last night’s violence beneath the gentleness of dawn.

Shin stirred first. His muscles still ached, and faint scratches stung across his arms, but compared to the exhaustion that had crushed him the night before, the morning air felt almost merciful. He sat up slowly, brushing stray leaves from his cloak, and let his eyes wander over the group scattered nearby.

Hikari was curled close to the edge of the camp, her face soft in sleep. The faintest smile tugged at her lips, as though her dreams had finally given her a reprieve from fear. Daelric snored loudly, one arm sprawled over his pack. Kaori, tangled in her blanket, muttered incoherently and kicked at nothing. Luneth, however, was already awake. She sat cross-legged by the remains of the campfire, the early sun glinting in her silver hair as though it had been forged from the dawn itself.

For a moment, Shin simply watched them all. Strangers. And yet… not entirely.

“Awake already?” Luneth’s voice carried softly across the clearing, calm and warm, unlike the sharp edge she had wielded during battle.

Shin cleared his throat, pushing to his feet. “Couldn’t really sleep.”

“Few of us did,” Luneth replied with a small smile. She gestured to the fire, where faint embers still smoldered. “Sit. Morning feels less heavy with company.”

It surprised him, how approachable she seemed now. The same woman who had cut down demons with terrifying precision last night now looked almost casual, the hard lines of command smoothed into something friendlier. Shin hesitated, then lowered himself near the fire.

Moments later, Hikari stirred, blinking against the sunlight. She sat up and rubbed her eyes, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. “Morning already?” she mumbled.

“Unfortunately,” Kaori groaned from across the clearing. “I think the ground has a personal grudge against my back. I’m never sleeping on dirt again.”

Daelric cracked an eye open and snorted. “You’ve slept on worse. Remember the marshlands?”

“Don’t remind me,” Kaori said, shuddering dramatically. Her antics drew a laugh from Hikari, and even Shin found himself smirking despite the heaviness of the night before.

The mood lightened—just a fraction, but enough.

As the group began to shake off the stiffness of sleep, Luneth pulled a small satchel from her pack. She laid out what little food they had: strips of dried bread, berries gathered along their journey, and a few herbs wrapped carefully in cloth.

“Not a feast,” she said, “but enough to keep us moving.”

Hikari reached hesitantly for a piece of bread. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Luneth inclined her head, accepting the gratitude with effortless poise. Then her eyes flicked toward Shin. “And for you as well. You’ll need strength if you plan to travel further.”

He nodded and accepted the food, though his movements remained cautious. It was strange—her hospitality felt genuine, but Shin couldn’t shake the instinctive wariness curling in his chest.

Kaori, meanwhile, chewed loudly. “Ugh, stale as always,” she complained, though her grin betrayed her exaggeration.

Daelric chuckled, leaning back against a tree. “Better than going hungry.”

“Barely,” Kaori shot back, crumbs scattering.

Shin watched them bicker lightly, realizing how foreign yet familiar this sounded—like siblings arguing without malice. Hikari seemed to notice it too; her eyes softened as she listened, perhaps remembering something lost.

When her gaze shifted to Luneth, Hikari surprised herself by speaking. “You… you’re a really good leader,” she said, voice shy but clear.

The clearing stilled for a moment. Even Kaori looked up in surprise. Compliments weren’t something Luneth often received, at least not unprompted.

Luneth blinked once, then smiled faintly. “Is that so?”

Hikari nodded quickly, cheeks pink. “The way you fought yesterday… and now, how you’re calm this morning. It’s… reassuring.”

Luneth studied her quietly, then inclined her head again. “Thank you. Strength isn’t only about blades. Sometimes, it’s about keeping people steady.”

Her words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning.

Later, while Kaori and Daelric debated whose turn it was to carry supplies, Luneth stretched and walked a few steps away, leaving Shin and Hikari momentarily unguarded.

Daelric turned his gaze toward Shin again. “So, where exactly are you two headed?” His tone was lighter this time, lacking the suspicion from last night.

Shin hesitated. He still wasn’t about to unravel his entire story. “…Nowhere in particular,” he admitted, voice low. “Just… moving forward.”

Daelric raised a brow but didn’t press. “Fair enough. Roads like these don’t care for plans anyway.”

Kaori grinned. “As long as you’re not thieves, I’m fine with it.”

Hikari frowned. “We’re not.”

“Relax, I’m joking,” Kaori said, waving her hand, though the glimmer in her eyes showed she enjoyed poking at people’s nerves.

When the noise of conversation dulled and the others were distracted, Shin leaned closer to Hikari. His voice dropped. “I don’t really… know where I belong.”

Her eyes lifted to him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. For a moment, she searched his expression, as if trying to see the weight he carried.

“Maybe belonging isn’t about where you’re going,” she whispered back. “Maybe it’s about… who you’re with.”

By midday, the group began to pack their things. Luneth stood at the edge of the clearing, surveying the trees with the quiet vigilance of a seasoned traveler.

Shin glanced at Hikari, who clutched her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Neither spoke, but the thought hung silently between them.

As the sun climbed higher, the group finally set out. Their footsteps crunched softly against the leaf-strewn path, the air heavy with the scent of moss and damp earth.

And as the road stretched before him, Shin couldn’t shake the thought that maybe—just maybe—this was where something new began.