In the same room PT 1

Sylvanie followed with an exaggerated sway, clearly still enjoying herself, while Celestia trailed behind more gracefully, clutching the clothes Meara had given them.

As they vanished down the hallway toward Oreon's old room, Meara released a quiet sigh, then turned toward the door Lena had passed through.

The trio followed the hallway to a narrow staircase at the back of the tavern. The wooden steps creaked softly beneath them as they climbed, and the noise of the common room faded behind them. Upstairs, a single lantern hung from a wall hook, casting dim light over the quiet hall.

Oreon led the way, limping slightly yet determined to reach the room on his own. At last, he stopped before a door near the end of the hall and hesitated, his hand hovering over the handle.

"…This is it," he said quietly, pushing the door open.

The room was modest but clean, despite Meara's warning about dust. A large bed stood against one wall with plain linens and a thick wool blanket. Near the window sat a small table and chair, while an old wardrobe rested in the corner. Through the far doorway was a cramped washroom with a basin, mirror, and copper tub. Beneath the windowsill, a built-in cushioned seat stretched long enough for someone to lie down.

"At least we have a roof over our heads, even if it's only for a day or two…" Oreon eased onto the window seat, sinking into the cushions as he leaned against the cool wall and looked outside. "Hopefully, we can stay two days, then leave."

Celestia stepped inside carefully, her eyes drifting over the room. It was humble—nothing like the grand chambers she had once known in Vel'Andria. Holding the borrowed clothes to her chest, she walked to the bed and lightly brushed her fingers over the blanket.

"Two days," Sylvanie repeated, circling the room as she checked the outer door's lock, tested the floorboards, and inspected every corner as if something might leap out at any moment.

"What the hell are you doing?" Oreon asked, watching her search the room. "It's a bedroom, not a fortress."

Sylvanie shot him a flat look over her shoulder. "Checking for hidden spots, human," she said curtly. "You don't survive as long as we have by trusting every safe place you're given." She pressed her palm against the wall near the wardrobe, testing it. "And if soldiers barge in, I'd rather know there's a way out besides the front door."

Oreon raised an eyebrow. "Through the wall?"

"Through the window," Sylvanie corrected, pointing to the wide, draped opening beside him. "Or the floor, if it comes to it."

"You're not tearing up Meara's floorboards," Oreon said flatly.

"Hmph. You don't tell me, human. I'll do what I have to," Sylvanie said, moving to the window to check the locks. "The window opens into the alley, and the back door likely leads there too." She murmured the assessment to herself. "Narrow, but passable. Good enough for an escape route." After one last sweep of the room, she nodded, satisfied. "This place has seen better days, but it'll do for now."

"Again, it's a bedroom, not a fortress," Oreon told her again.

Sylvanie turned to Oreon, arms crossed, fixing him with a sharp glare. "And you're a fool if you think we don't need to know our surroundings in this—"

"Sylvanie, please. I believe we're safe for the time—" Celestia stopped as she stepped into the washroom. Her gaze landed on the wooden tub against the wall. "A bath," she murmured, her unfinished thought forgotten. "It's been so long since I've truly felt clean." She turned back to the room, hope brightening her eyes at the thought of washing away days—perhaps months—of grime. "Would you mind terribly if I…?"

"I don't mind." Oreon sat with one hand pressed to the seat and his other arm resting across his lap, while Sylvanie waved dismissively.

"Go ahead. I'll keep watch," she said, moving to the window near Oreon. She settled into a chair, angling it so she could see both the door and him.

Celestia's face brightened, just enough to soften her expression. "Thank you," she said quietly, relief in her voice. She glanced at Oreon once more, as if making sure he would not change his mind, then slipped into the washroom and gently closed the door.

The sound of water being poured into the tub followed shortly after—

"You can relax, you know," Oreon said, closing his eyes for a moment. "Nothing's going to happen right now. Let yourself breathe for a bit." He opened one eye, giving her a sidelong look.

Sylvanie stayed silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on the door. Then she leaned back, crossed one leg over the other, and looked toward him. "Relax?" she repeated. "You expect me to drop my guard just because you say it's fine, human?" Her eyes returned to the door. "Humans and their optimism. Tch."

"You're going to wear yourself out," Oreon told her. "Look at you. You're in no better shape than she is, and pushing yourself won't help either of you. So, again… breathe a little."

Sylvanie glanced at Oreon, her body still tense before she looked back to the door. "…You don't get it," she muttered, her voice lower now. "We both lost something to the Order, but you didn't see what I saw. You weren't there when they tore through our home, dragged us out, and killed anyone who fought back." Her eyes narrowed at the memory. "My sister is kind-hearted—almost naïve, if you ask me. But I know better. The moment we let our guard down…" She bit lightly at her lip.

"And what happens if you never let your guard down?" Oreon opened both eyes now. "What happens when you're so tired you can't even swing that scythe of yours anymore? When you collapse before the enemy even shows up?"

Sylvanie did not answer right away. Oreon's words were clearly sinking in, though she only clenched her teeth and kept her eyes fixed on the door, as if expecting the Order to burst through at any moment.

"…I won't burn out, if that's what you're implying." She said, finally, "I can't…."

Oreon let out a slow breath and shifted on the cushioned window seat. His ankle still throbbed, though the pain was nothing like before, thanks to Lena and Meara. "You say that now," he said, tilting his head back against the wall. "But I've seen soldiers think the same thing. They pushed themselves past their limit, and when they finally had to fight, they were too exhausted to move."

Sylvanie glanced at him for a second, returning to the door. "I'm not one of those precious soldiers you humans like to associate yourself with."

"No," Oreon agreed quietly. "You're not. But you're still human—well, elven—You know what I mean." He paused, watching her carefully. "You need rest just like anyone else."

"I'll rest when we're safe."

"And when will that be? What does safe even look like to you?" Oreon questioned her.

Sylvanie fell silent, her jaw tightening as she considered the question. She crossed her arms, one leg swinging restlessly beneath her.

"…When we're far enough away that they can't find us," she said. "When no one is hunting us, trying to chain us up, or drain us for some sick, twisted purpose. When my sister can sleep without waking up in some forsaken dungeon." She exhaled slowly and looked up at the ceiling. "That's when I'll rest."

Oreon studied her for a long moment, his expression softening. "So…Never, then."

Sylvanie's eyes snapped toward him, narrowing. "What?"

"You heard me," Oreon said evenly, meeting her glare without flinching. "The way you talk, you'll never feel safe enough to rest. There'll always be another threat, another reason to stay on edge—especially with the Order still out there." He gestured toward the window. "Look, I can only imagine what you've been through. Anyone who crosses the Order suffers something horrible, and it isn't only because of my old man." Oreon shifted his weight and looked outside. "The stories I've heard are nothing compared to what he's actually done…" He paused. "And I know firsthand how cruel he can be."

Sylvanie kept quiet, not even looking at him as Oreon took a deep breath. "I know it isn't much, but I can't apologize enough for what my father has done—not just to you and your sister, but to every race he has harmed. The fear on people's faces when my father's name is mentioned. How quick people run away when they know the Holy Order is breathing down their necks. It's all horrible; everyone is living under my father's heel, threatened to be crushed if they breathe the wrong way."

Oreon sighed deeply, keeping his gaze on the window as his eyes found the fortress they had escaped from, barely visible in the distance. "You may not trust me or care, but I didn't ask you two to come with me. My goal was to become strong enough to face my father alone, if I had to."

Sylvanie's eyes slowly shifted toward him, her expression unreadable. For once, she didn't interrupt or snap back with a sharp retort. She listened, the soft splash of Celestia's bath echoing gently behind their conversation.

"…Your father," she repeated. "Alaric the Righteous. The Purifier. The Order's Divine Hand." Venom sharpened each title. "The man who burned our home and slaughtered our people while calling it divine purpose." She leaned forward, her gaze returning to Oreon. "And now his son sits here, trying to right his wrongs by challenging him alone."

She leaned in closer, her face now only mere inches from his as he looked at her nervously.

Her eyes bore into him, searching for weakness—or maybe honesty. The silence stretched between them before she calmly raised her hand and thumped his forehead. "Stop being stupid."

Oreon blinked, wincing slightly as her finger connected with his forehead. "Ow—what the hell was that for?"

"You heard me, human," Sylvanie said flatly, leaning back in her chair. "You're being stupid." She crossed her arms again, eyes fixed on him. "Fifty." She started. "I killed fifty of your father's men before they captured me." She drew a breath. "And it was nowhere near enough. You saw what we faced in that dungeon—soldiers with blessed weapons, knights, paladins, and even elves who turned against us. And that's before you even get the chance to see his face."

Oreon wanted to respond but found that he was unable to.

"You'd die before you even know what his throne room looks like." Sylvanie continued as she kept her eyes locked on his. "Understand something, human." She gritted her teeth lightly. "Your father didn't just take our kingdom. He took our dignity. Our future." Her voice hardened. "So, when you speak of stopping him. Know that I don't care about your redemption fantasy or your guilt. I care about what he took from my sister and me. I care about making him pay that debt back in blood." She leaned forward again, almost as if she was trying to emphasize her point. "What you're suggesting is nothing short of suicide. That man commands an army with divine power or whatever passes for divinity in this twisted world. Not to mention the Holy Order itself. You wouldn't even make it past the paladins on your own."

Her eyes burned into Oreon's, her words hanging heavy in the air between them. The sound of water gently sloshing from the washroom seemed distant now, muted against the weight of what she'd just said.

Oreon opened his mouth, then closed it again. What could he say? Sylvanie was right, and he knew it. Facing his father alone had always been short-sighted, but hearing it laid out so bluntly made it sink in. Fifty men before she fell—and even that had not been enough. That truth weighed on him more than he wanted to admit.

"…I know," he finally said, his voice quieter than before. "I know it's stupid. I know I'd probably die before getting anywhere near him." He rubbed the spot on his forehead where she had thumped him. "Holy Order soldiers, generals, knights, paladins—and who knows what else. Hell, probably demons at this point." His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked back at Sylvanie. "But it doesn't matter; I plan on walking my father down all the same."