A Moment To Mend

In the canine kingdom, Harmony walked slowly along the cold, stone corridor, each step a hesitant echo that bounced off the tall, ornate walls. The torches along the hall flickered weakly, casting trembling shadows that stretched like long fingers across the floor. The festive decorations that adorned the hall—glimmering banners and intricately carved statues—seemed almost out of place, as though celebrating a joy that Harmony could not feel. Her heart raced quietly beneath her chest, a subtle drumbeat of unease. Every shadow appeared slightly more menacing, every whisper of sound slightly suspicious, as though the corridor itself were alive and watching her.

Suddenly, two dog guards appeared, blocking her path. Their uniforms were immaculate, polished to a hard gleam, and the leather of their belts creaked softly as they shifted their weight. Their bodies were taut as drawn bows, every muscle coiled with controlled readiness. Eyes sharp and alert, they radiated authority and menace, a silent warning that missteps here would not go unnoticed. Harmony felt the weight of their scrutiny, as though invisible chains pressed lightly but firmly against her shoulders.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a deep, commanding voice echoed down the hall, reverberating off the stone and sending shivers crawling up her spine. The voice held both authority and an unmistakable edge, a subtle threat hiding beneath calmness.

Harmony forced herself to stay composed, though her pulse thumped loudly in her ears. Thoughts collided in her mind like a whirlwind: What do I do? If I move too quickly, they’ll strike. If I stay still, they’ll think I’m hiding something… but what if hesitation makes it worse?

“I’m… just walking down the corridor,” she said, keeping her tone steady, though tension lingered in the undercurrent. “I got lost.”

One guard gritted his teeth, the faintest snarl escaping as he pointed a rigid finger toward the nearest doors. “No one walks here without permission. Especially not you. We don’t trust you.”

Harmony felt a tightening in her chest, a surge of adrenaline that made her fingers itch to move, to flee, yet she forced herself to breathe slowly, centering her mind. Don’t show fear. Don’t give them power over you. This is a game of presence… words can be shields if wielded carefully.

The guards exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. One sneered faintly, his canine teeth glinting in the torchlight. “What if we play with her a little?”

The other snapped back, voice sharp, “Don’t forget—she belongs to the cats. We can’t just let her go.”

Harmony held her breath, her mind racing, weaving strategies for evasion or survival. The corridor was narrow, leaving no place to hide, and every door seemed far away. Escape felt almost impossible.

Then, a subtle shift in the air caught her attention—a presence. Evander. He appeared just a few meters away, calm yet alert, his eyes immediately locking onto the unusual tension radiating from the guards. Instinctively, he knew Harmony had not wandered here by choice, and that these guards were exceeding their authority.

With a sudden, fluid motion faster than any eye could track, he moved between her and the guards. His aura filled the corridor, an almost tangible wall of cool, unwavering energy. The torch flames seemed to bend slightly around him, shadows trembling but unable to touch his form.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” His voice cut through the air, cold and decisive, leaving no room for argument.

The guards hesitated, uncertainty flickering across their features at the unexpected intervention. Relief washed over Harmony, though she remained cautious—Evander was strong, yet his emotions remained veiled behind a barrier of impenetrable calm.

“Try to touch her, and you’ll regret it. You’re here to guard, nothing more,” he added, his gaze icy but controlled.

The guards stepped back, hesitation and fear mingling in their eyes. Harmony observed quietly: Evander had noticed, had acted to protect her, yet an invisible wall still existed between them, a boundary unspoken but understood.

When the corridor finally settled into silence, Harmony whispered, barely above a breath, “Thank you… for protecting me.”

Evander remained calm, almost impersonal, but in the subtle flicker of his blue eyes, she glimpsed something—concern, quiet and fleeting. “Stick to corridors you know,” he replied, his voice firm yet carrying a trace of… something softer, almost imperceptible.

Harmony raised an eyebrow, curiosity mingling with caution. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as if the doors to his heart were half-open—but then he averted his gaze, reinforcing his boundary. Slowly… slowly, she thought, I’ll find a way through.

The next day, Harmony found herself beside Evander as he returned from battle, his cloak dirtied, bloodstains marring the edges, his posture firm yet slightly stooped from exhaustion. Beneath the steely exterior, she sensed the quiet weight of pain he carried.

“No, first attend to the others,” he said firmly to the medics, though a subtle tremor betrayed fatigue.

Harmony stepped forward, calm but resolute. “I’ll take him. If you insist, you’ll end up worse off. I… I can help.”

Evander paused, the tension in his jaw betraying the inner struggle between pride and trust. Finally, he nodded, a small concession. “Fine… but don’t expect me to obey every word.”

Harmony smiled faintly, her hands gentle as she tended his wounds. Each touch was careful, deliberate, radiating a quiet warmth that seemed almost magical in its softness. Evander’s voice, low and taut, broke the silence.

“Don’t worry about me. Wounds won’t stop me.”

“I know you’re not one to complain,” Harmony replied, her voice calm, resolute, “but… you’re still human. Everyone needs help.”

His gaze hardened, but Harmony noticed something she hadn’t before—fatigue, pain, and an almost imperceptible longing lurking beneath the surface.

“Why… why do you care so much?” he asked softly. “You’re not one of us. Yet… you act like it matters.”

Harmony’s fingers moved with care, finishing her work. “Because it does. Whether you’re a cat person, a dog person, or even just an ant… you are a living being. Even you… aren’t as cold as you pretend.”

For a moment, silence fell. Evander looked at her, his walls quivering, breath easing as if for the first time in ages he felt a fragile sense of safety.

“Maybe… you’re right,” he whispered unconsciously.

Harmony continued her gentle ministrations, her hands warm, deliberate, and deliberate in their motions, each touch a quiet promise: you are not alone. Evander clenched his teeth at first, tension clinging stubbornly, but it slowly ebbed beneath her care.

Her fingers glided gently over his skin, and in that quiet contact, there was something long absent—a sense of safety, of being seen. Her soft smile radiated reassurance, and for a brief moment, the armor he had spent years building began to crack.

Why is this so hard for me? Evander thought, heart skipping. I’m not used to being seen like this. All these years… I’ve had to be strong, firm, unyielding. And now… now she’s here, and all my defenses crumble on their own.