Under the willow tree

He had fallen to one knee, breath shallow, fingers pressed desperately against his chest where the poisoned wound still bled. The blood dripped onto the moss-covered ground of the mountain, cold under the night’s chilly weather.

“Hey! Hey, answer me—please!” she cried, kneeling before him, her trembling hands cupping his face, brushing the blood and dirt from his cheek. His eyes were dazed, half-lidded and heavy.

“Hey, how are you? Let’s go somewhere to check your wound—it needs to be treated soon,” she urged softly. He nodded faintly as she slipped her arm around him to help him stand.

He steadied himself and gently withdrew from her support.

“Master, it’s alright. I can walk on my own. Don’t worry, I’m not that weak,” he murmured, shaking his head to stay sane.

He uncorked a small vial and drank it in one swift gulp—the antidote. The fight had loosened his hair tie, and his long strands now fell freely over his shoulders, brushing against his pale face in the cool night breeze.

He stood and moved toward one of the fallen enemies to check their pulse. Feeling no sign of life, he confirmed they were dead, then slid his sword back into its sheath and forced himself to stand tall once again—stubborn as ever.

Ninsula frowned at the sight of him moving despite his wounds. When he faltered again, she couldn’t help it; she stepped closer to steady him.

“You’re injured. Don’t be reckless. Let’s find a place to tend your wounds,” she said firmly.

They had barely taken a few steps before he stumbled once more, collapsing near a willow tree by a small pond—likely formed from the last rainfall. She rushed to his side, helping him rest against the trunk, his back hitting it with a dull thud.

Fireflies floated lazily through the night air, their gentle glow wrapping the two of them in a fragile halo of light.

She reached for the front of his robe, ready to inspect the wound, but before she could, his hand caught her wrist tightly.

“Master…” His voice was hoarse, his dim amethyst eyes lifting to hers—quiet yet stubborn. “You don’t need to. I’ll be fine. I don’t want to make you… touch me. I’m not… worthy of that.”

Her breath hitched.It was as if everything around them suddenly froze at his words. For a heartbeat, she simply stared—then anger and fear flared within her chest. She grabbed his collar and jerked him toward her, her voice trembling with frustration.

“You idiot… you fool! You’re injured because of me, and you’re talking about worthiness? Don’t bring your damn status between us—it’s pathetic!”

Her voice cracked, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. The tears spilled, wetting her lashes completely.“Now stop arguing, or I’ll punch you—really!” she snapped, her trembling hands still clutching his collar.

He stared at her, stunned. Then a quiet sigh escaped him—defeat softening his gaze.“As you command… Master.”

Seeing him surrender, she finally exhaled and wiped her eyes with her sleeve, rubbing them like a child. He watched her softly, not understanding why she looked so sad.

She gently helped him remove his robe.When the fabric slipped from his shoulders, she gasped. His body was a map of scars—old and new. But her breath truly caught when her gaze fell upon the fresh wound near his shoulder, dark veins spreading outward like blackened roots beneath his skin. His hair fell loosely over his shoulders and back.

She clapped a trembling hand over her mouth to stifle the sound that almost escaped.

If only I hadn’t distracted you… if I hadn’t asked your name then, this wouldn’t have happened… What a fool I am—of all moments, I had to ask your name there…

Her hands trembled as she reached for the arrow lodged in his flesh. With one swift, careful pull, she removed it. He groaned softly, jaw tightening against the pain—yet he didn’t look away. His long hair framed his face, strands clinging to his skin, giving him a wild yet fragile look.

“That antidote you swallowed earlier…” she whispered near his ear from behind, her voice barely a breath, “it can’t completely cure the poison, can it?”

He shook his head slightly, a faint smile ghosting his lips despite the weakness clouding his eyes. All the while, his gaze remained on the ground—on the dewy grass shimmering like tiny crystals scattered over green marble.

“That medicine… is called Vyntherra,” he murmured. “It was a gift from King Owan himself. He told me that if I were ever poisoned while protecting you, this would buy me time. It can neutralize most poisons… but when the poison is too strong, it only slows it down.”

She listened silently, her hands moving through his robe—finding bandages, herbs, and small vials. Every item was neatly folded, carefully kept—a life prepared for suffering.

Her eyes softened. “You always think of everything… except yourself,” she murmured.

But when he mentioned her father, her hands stilled. Her eyes shimmered, and her petal-like lips trembled.Father… always so protective. If only you were still alive… I wish I knew where you are now.

Before the ache could drown her, instinct took over. She moved quickly, circling around to sit before him—eye to eye, breath to breath. Then she lifted her hand and pressed it gently over his heart.

Her amethyst-colored band shimmered faintly as it touched his skin, and the silver runes within it glowed softly in response to his heartbeat.

Thud… thud…

She felt it—faint but steady. Her eyes fluttered shut, and a soft white light bloomed from her palm, wrapping around them both.

His eyes widened—those deep purple irises reflecting the light—and suddenly both their hairs began to flutter softly, though no wind stirred the air.What… what is this light? What kind of power is this?

A warm surge spread through him—soft, soothing, alive. He closed his eyes, feeling it. The heaviness in his chest eased; he could feel her delicate fingers against his skin, their mingled breaths the only sound in the quiet night. The faint rustling of willow leaves whispered nearby as the darkness crawling under his skin began to fade, replaced by clean, untainted flesh.

Neither of them knew how long the moment lasted.

When she opened her eyes again, her pupils shimmered faintly—white and blue light swirling within before fading away. Their gazes met as he opened his eyes too, just staring at her in silence.

She brushed her thumb lightly across his healed skin, then quickly stood and turned aside to grab the bandages she had picked up earlier. A soft flush warmed her cheeks—it was the first time she had ever used this power in front of someone other than her father.

What will he think…? she wondered. He might think I’m some kind of witch.

“We can’t let you stay in pain,” she whispered. “This power… it’s something I’ve had since childhood. Only my father knew about it.”

“I’ve lessened your pain, but we still need to bandage the wound.”

He watched her quietly, the faint glow still clinging to her hair. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to question her about this strange power. Somehow, it soothed his heart—it felt familiar, as if he had once seen this kind of light, this sense of relief, somewhere long ago. Yet he was certain he had never witnessed such power before.

Lost in thought, he suddenly felt her touch again from behind. She began wrapping his shoulder with careful precision, the bandages pulled snug around the wound. Her movements were gentle—almost hesitant—because though the poison had drained, the wound itself remained. Her soft hair brushed against his back now and then, light as breath.

When she finished, silence settled around them.The forest had gone utterly still. For a while, he couldn’t hear any movement behind him. He was just about to turn when he felt it—her arm coiling gently around his from behind, her head resting against his shoulder. A faint, trembling voice followed.

“...Sorry, Shiro.”

Her voice quivered.

Drip… drip…Tears slid down her cheeks, falling softly onto the moss below.

His body trembled. He didn’t know why—his eyes widened, his breath caught. He couldn’t protest the touch, couldn’t move, couldn’t even find his voice. She only held him tighter.

“I’m sorry for troubling you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Because of me… you had to go through all this. You were poisoned, hurt, and yet you still protected me.”

Her words wavered through soft sniffles as fireflies drifted around them—tiny specks of starlight wrapping them in faint, trembling light.

“I feel responsible for your suffering. If I hadn’t distracted you, none of this would’ve happened. I’m such a burden…”

Her voice cracked, the words barely holding together between sobs. Then, quieter—almost lost to the night—

“When we reach Naran Kingdom… you won’t have to follow me anymore.”

He froze. Her voice—so sincere, so trembling—pierced straight through him. For a long moment, he couldn’t turn or speak. He only looked up at the night sky, willow leaves drifting down like falling memories. Fireflies glowed brighter, as if the world itself had paused to listen.

Finally, his voice came—low, hoarse, but steady. After a long sigh, he steadied himself, forcing the cold back into his tone.“Master… you don’t need to apologize.”

He drew a slow breath.“You’re not forcing anything on me. I protect you because it’s my choice—my purpose. Even if it means bleeding… even if it means dying, I’d still protect you.”

He lowered his gaze, his voice softening. He didn’t dare touch her trembling hand—just stayed there, unmoving.“So please… don’t speak of freedom. I already have it—right here, beside you.”

Behind him, she clutched his arm tighter, her muffled sniffles echoing faintly through the quiet night.

The willow leaves kept falling. Fireflies lingered, glowing like scattered stars around them.

Some time later, he sat beneath the willow, his back resting against its thick trunk. His long black hair flowed freely, the faint dawn breeze teasing a few strands across his face. His chest was wrapped in fresh white bandages, one knee bent, the other stretched before him. His eyes closed for a moment—then slowly opened, half-lidded and calm.

On his lap, Ninsula slept soundly—her head resting gently against him. Her brown hair spilled across his thigh like moonlight over still water. Her breathing was soft, calm. He had draped his robe over her delicate form, covering her as if even the wind mustn’t dare disturb her.

Then, in her sleep, she murmured faintly,“...Shiro.”

His eyes widened.The world seemed to still—even the wind forgot to breathe. His heart gave one uneven beat at the sound of his name.She remembered.

Master… how can you remember that name? How can you…?

It had been so long since anyone had spoken that name aloud. His hand hovered uncertainly before he slowly brushed a few stray strands away from her face. Her skin looked fragile beneath the pale morning light.

When she stirred, clutching his robe tighter, he froze again—and then withdrew his hand, a helpless smile ghosting across his lips. He leaned his head back against the tree with a soft thud, exhaling quietly.

“Master,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “what have you done to me…? If Grandfather saw me now, he’d probably kill me.”

He tilted his head back with a soft thud hitting the trunk, half-lidded eyes gazing through the willow branches. Light filtered through like shattered glass, dancing across his calm yet conflicted face.

In that silent dawn, only the whisper of the leaves answered him—soft, forgiving, and full of secrets neither of them were ready to name. 

( I’ve rewritten this chapter four times,really four times 😭 chasing the feeling I wanted it to hold. Tell me what you think so do not leave me hanging here — your thoughts mean a lot to me.)