Gray-haired princess

The Forest of Ventos closed in like a vaulted ceiling over the night. The tangled canopies allowed only the thinnest threads of moonlight to slip through, trembling across the damp undergrowth. The air smelled of resin, fresh earth, and wounded bark. In that half-darkness, a pair of red eyes advanced with determination.

Blair Julis D’Blank walked without haste, yet urgency pulsed in her veins. Her long, straight white hair brushed against her shoulders like a trail of silver. The flower-shaped jewel in her hair glowed softly, pulsing, as though it could hear something beyond ordinary senses. The hem of her battle dress was stained with mud; still, she would pause now and then to shake it off with elegance—a gesture not of vanity, but of habit, learned in stone halls and polished floors.

A princess shouldn’t be here. Not alone, not at night, not with mud on her boots…

She forced herself to breathe deeply, filling her lungs with calm.

…but someone has to do it. If the Orb answers, if I can truly find it, maybe something will change. Maybe everything will. Am I doing the right thing? Or am I just fooling myself, thinking I can bend fate with my hands?

A sharp crack echo from the darkness. Blair froze. The sound wasn’t of a stray branch nor a fleeing deer; there was weight and direction in it.

She narrowed her eyes. The moon carved a vertical shadow between two trunks. Tall. Still.

A breath of wind brushed her neck; the temperature dropped like a bucket of cold water. She reached for the dagger at her waist with trained movements, her other hand lifting her cloak to free her legs.

Again… It’s been following me for a while. No one should be able to track me. No one. If they can… then they’re after the same thing.

The shadow shifted an inch, and Blair slid two steps sideways, her weight balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to spin. She inhaled through her nose, measured the distance, counted heartbeats. The flower in her circlet pulsed brighter for an instant, like a tightened lute string, before returning to its soft glow.

“Come out,” she whispered, low and firm. “Or I’ll drag you out.”

Nothing. Only the brush of leaves. A distant owl’s call. A silence that seemed to bare its teeth.

Blair pressed her lips together. Doubt hurts more than any wound. She moved forward, skirting trunks, ears straining at every sound. The sensation of being watched gnawed at her shoulders. A shadow darted across the corner of her eye, too fast to catch head-on. She spun with her dagger raised.

Nothing.

“…Damn it,” she exhaled softly, unwilling to gift the forest her unease.

The crickets resumed their song as if nothing had happened. In the distance flickered a warm glow—orange, twinkling, neither moon nor firefly. Blair brushed aside a branch and stepped into a clearing.

A small fire burned serenely, as though the world were perfectly in order. Beside it, seated on a rock, a tall boy with messy black hair and plain clothes chewed patiently on a piece of bread that looked, at first glance, as hard as the log he leaned on.

Blair froze, adrenaline still climbing. Her fingers didn’t quite leave the hilt of her dagger.

“You…?” she said, equal parts astonishment and reproach.

The boy lifted his gaze slowly, as if it took more effort to part from the bread than from the fire. He blinked once.

“Good evening,” he answered flatly.

Blair frowned.
“Good… evening? That’s all?”

He shrugged, chewing.
“It’s night. And I’m not doing badly. Would you rather I say ‘dreadful night’?”

The tone was dry, faintly cynical—and against all logic, effective. The tension in Blair’s chest loosened, undone by sheer dissonance: the scene didn’t match the danger burning at the back of her neck.

He poked a twig into the fire, and without looking at her, nodded toward the rock across from him.
“Sit down. Watching you pace around like…” he searched for a word, “…an indecisive ghost is exhausting.”

Blair hesitated. The jewel-flower throbbed softly. No shadows gnawed at the clearing’s edge—for now. With a gentle click, she sheathed her dagger and sat on the opposite rock.

The boy raised his bread in a mock toast.
“Hard bread. A king’s feast.”

Blair arched an eyebrow.
“That looks like a brick.”

“Works for both,” he said with mock gravity. “Eating… and self-defense.”

Blair’s laugh escaped like a sigh filled with light.
“You’re strange.”

“And you… gray-haired.”

Blair’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her hair.
“It’s naturally white!”

“Sure. Natural,” he repeated, savoring the word.

“Idiot.”

“Charmed,” he replied, bowing his head like a poorly trained knight.

The fire crackled. Between warmth and shadows, the night grew less hostile.

“I’m Blair,” she said with gentle formality. “Blair Julis D’Blank.”

The boy raised an eyebrow.
“Long name. Sounds noble. What are you, some runaway princess?”

“Exactly! I am a princess. And princesses can do as they please. Even speak with insolent peasants in the middle of a forest.”

He genuinely laughed.
“I’m Asori, then… Silver-Haired Princess.”

Blair huffed, but smiled.
“You’re insufferable.”

“And you don’t shut up easily,” said Asori with a small laugh.

“Then we’re tied,” Blair retorted.

“Were we keeping score?” Asori raised an eyebrow sarcastically.
“We’re tied then,” he declared.

Between jests and sarcasm, they spoke of trivialities: the hard bread, how she walked as if inspecting troops, how he looked more vagabond than villager. Little by little, without noticing, they had drawn closer—no longer at opposite ends of the fire.

Then his voice lowered.
“I live alone. For years now. My parents… died. It’s nice to have someone to talk to after so long.”

He said it plainly, without drama. But when he finished, he pulled something from beneath his shirt: a simple necklace with a transparent orb set in dark silver.

“This is all they left me. My father wore it the day he died. I don’t know what it is. I just… keep it because it was his.”

Blair leaned forward, eyes fixed. Her jewel-flower pulsed more strongly. The orb in the necklace reflected the same light as hers.

“I lost my parents too, when I was little,” she said, staring into the fire. Then added softly:
“I miss them too. Every day I think of them—their voices, their jokes… everything. I know how you feel.”

For the first time in years, in the midst of pursuit, solitude, and fear, both felt they weren’t alone. That perhaps there was someone else who could make them feel safe.

“That…” Blair whispered in surprise. “That orb… it looks like the one in my flower-jewel.”

Asori frowned.
“You know it?”

“No,” she replied, though her gaze seemed to confirm things only she understood. “But it can’t be a coincidence. Maybe you…”

The two objects vibrated at once, as if recognizing each other, then fell silent.

Asori tucked his back under his shirt.
“I have no idea what it means. Just… it’s all I have left of my parents. I think of them whenever I can, though no one…” he looked away, words too heavy to finish. “…Forget it.”

Blair lowered her gaze and murmured:
“Objects carrying someone’s memory… weigh more than a kingdom.”

He smiled crookedly.
“You definitely talk like a princess.”

The silence filled again with breeze and sparks, until something snapped in the air. The crickets fell silent. The fire bent low, as if starved of oxygen.

Blair raised her head, alert.
Again… it’s no illusion. I’ve truly been followed.

A knight in black armor emerged from the trees. His red eyes burned like embers; his sword didn’t reflect the firelight—it devoured it.

The air thickened. Heavy. Relentless.

Asori stood, calm but tense.
“First a sharp-tongued silver-head… and now a gothic knight,” he muttered, irony intact. “What’s next?”

Blair, already in guard, replied with a spark at her lips:
“Don’t get used to stone bread, Asori. Tonight you might have a different meal.”

The knight stepped forward. The entire clearing seemed to step with him.