The voice stopped her before she could take more than a few steps, familiar enough to reach her without force. She didn't turn immediately, her shoulders tightening just slightly before she let out a quiet breath and faced the source.
The old woman stood a short distance away, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached, her gaze already taking in more than Lysira would have preferred. There was nothing hurried about her movement, nothing uncertain, just a quiet persistence that had always been difficult to ignore.
"You're leaving already?" the old woman asked, though her tone carried no real question. Lysira met her gaze, expression neutral, her answer simple.
"Yes." It should have ended there, but the old woman's eyes shifted, tracing the subtle stiffness in her posture, the way her arm didn't quite move naturally, the tension she carried despite her stillness. "You're hurt," she said, not accusing, just stating what she saw.
Lysira's jaw tightened slightly. "It's nothing." The old woman tilted her head, unimpressed.
"That's not what I asked." A brief silence settled between them before Lysira exhaled softly. "It's manageable." The old woman sighed, a quiet, familiar sound. "You always say that."
Lysira glanced toward the path ahead, the urgency pressing at the edges of her thoughts. "I don't have time."
"For breakfast?" the old woman interrupted gently, stepping closer. "You always have time to disappear, but never to eat." Lysira frowned faintly.
"I'll eat later." The old woman shook her head. "No, you won't." The certainty in her voice wasn't harsh, but it left no room to argue. Lysira hesitated, caught between the pull of her task and the quiet insistence in front of her. "I said I would."
"And I said you won't," the old woman replied, her expression softening just slightly. "So come eat now, and then you can go. Whatever it is will still be there." The words weren't forceful, but they settled in a way that made walking away feel heavier than it should have.
Lysira studied her for a moment, something unreadable passing through her eyes before it faded. "You're not going to let me leave, are you?" she asked quietly. The old woman smiled faintly. "Not without feeding you first." The answer came easier than it should have. "…fine."
"Good," the old woman said, already turning back toward her hut. "Come on."
Inside, the warmth wrapped around her immediately, carrying the scent of simple food that made the emptiness in her stomach more noticeable than she cared to admit. The table was already set, two bowls placed opposite each other as if this moment had been expected all along.
Lysira sat without being told, her movements slower now, less urgent. The old woman moved around the space with quiet familiarity, setting the last of the food down before taking her seat across from her.
"You're quieter than usual," she said after a moment, watching Lysira pick up the spoon. "I'm always quiet," Lysira replied, her voice even. "Not like this." The words lingered, not pushing, just observing.
Lysira stirred the food absentmindedly before answering. "The job didn't go as planned." The old woman raised a brow slightly. "That happens." "Not like this." There was a pause, longer this time, before Lysira continued. "The target survived." The old woman didn't react immediately, just nodded once.
"Then you learned something." Lysira looked up slightly. "I should have finished it." "But you didn't," the old woman said calmly. "So now you figure out why and do better next time." The simplicity of it made Lysira pause, her grip on the spoon tightening just a fraction.
"You're not going to tell me to stop?" she asked, a hint of something quieter beneath the question. The old woman let out a soft, almost amused breath. "Have you ever listened when I said that?" Lysira shook her head slightly. "…no." "Then why would I waste the breath?" The corner of Lysira's mouth lifted faintly, the expression brief but real. They ate in silence after that, but it wasn't empty. It carried something steady, something unspoken but understood.
After a while, the old woman spoke again, her voice softer now. "You don't have to carry everything alone." Lysira didn't answer immediately, her gaze fixed on the bowl in front of her. "I'm not alone," she said eventually, though the words lacked their usual certainty. The old woman watched her for a moment, then nodded slowly, accepting the answer without challenging it. That, more than anything, made it harder to hold onto.
When Lysira finished, she stood, the urgency returning as quietly as it had left. The old woman didn't stop her this time. She simply watched as Lysira moved toward the door. "You'll be back?" she asked, not demanding, just asking. Lysira paused, her hand resting briefly against the frame before she answered. "Yes." It wasn't a promise, but it was enough.
She stepped outside again, the village stretching out before her, unchanged, quiet, distant from the path she was about to take. Behind her, the door closed softly, and whatever warmth lingered inside remained there.
-------------------------------------------------
The forest felt different in the morning, quieter but not empty, like it was listening rather than resting. Light filtered through the canopy in uneven patches, catching on the surface of a small pond tucked between roots and stone. The water was still, clear enough to reflect the branches above it without distortion, and for a moment it looked like nothing in the world could touch that place.
Lysira stepped into the clearing without making a sound, though she already knew she wasn't alone.
"You're limping."
The voice came from her right, casual, almost bored, and it made Lysira stop just short of the water's edge. She exhaled through her nose before turning.
Vaelira sat on a low rock, one leg stretched out, the other bent, a strip of cloth looped lazily around her fingers as she tightened it around the hilt of a dagger. She didn't look up immediately, like she didn't need to confirm it was Lysira.