Time did not pass loudly.
It did not announce itself.
It settled.
Slowly.
Like dust on armor left too long unused.
---
Elsa was ten when she first outran him.
It happened without ceremony.
They were training in a clearing outside town.
Edward had set a simple rule.
"Touch the tree and return before I catch you."
She nodded.
Focused.
Serious.
He gave her a head start.
She moved.
Not wildly.
Not clumsily like before.
Her steps were measured.
Balanced.
By the time he reached halfway—
She was already turning back.
He pushed harder.
His lungs burned.
His legs protested.
She reached him.
Stopped.
Waiting.
He forced a smile.
"Good."
She tilted her head.
"You're slower."
"Yes."
She didn't mock him.
She simply observed.
That was what frightened him most.
---
They moved towns twice more in the following years.
Not because they were discovered.
But because Edward sensed patterns tightening.
Whispers in guild halls.
Too many questions from officials.
A knight seen asking about dragon residue in old forests.
He never said Jack's name aloud.
But he felt him drawing closer.
---
Elsa was thirteen when her horns stopped being subtle.
They curved slightly now.
Still small enough to hide.
But no longer ignorable.
When she was calm, they remained matte black.
When she grew angry—
Even slightly—
A dark red sheen rippled beneath the surface.
Her lashes darkened too.
Sharper.
Her presence heavier.
She hated that part.
"Why does it change?" she asked once.
Edward cleaned his blade slowly before answering.
"Because emotions are harder to hide than horns."
She frowned.
"I don't like it."
"I know."
She hesitated.
"…Am I dangerous?"
He did not look up.
"Yes."
Silence.
Then he added quietly—
"So am I."
She studied him.
"You don't breathe fire."
"No."
He finally met her eyes.
"But I would burn the world if it tried to take you."
Her expression shifted.
Something deep.
Something that did not belong to children.
---
Elsa was fifteen when she stopped crying entirely.
Not because she had nothing to feel.
But because she learned control too well.
One winter evening, Edward returned injured.
A deep cut along his ribs.
Nothing fatal.
But enough.
She helped him sit.
Removed his armor carefully.
Her hands trembled.
"You said you wouldn't get hurt."
"I said I'd come back."
She pressed cloth against the wound.
Her jaw tightened.
The air warmed.
Red shimmer flickered beneath her skin.
He caught her wrist gently.
"Breathe."
She forced herself to.
The heat faded.
She looked at him then.
Not as a child.
But as something older.
"I could have healed it faster."
"I know."
"You won't let me."
"No."
Frustration flared in her eyes.
Red deepened.
He held her gaze steadily.
"You need control more than power."
She swallowed the anger.
Forced it down.
Her horns darkened back to black.
She finished bandaging him in silence.
That night—
She did not cry.
He kissed her forehead anyway.
She didn't pull away.
---
Edward aged quietly.
His hair thinned.
Grey crept in at the edges.
Scars stiffened in cold weather.
He hid it well.
But Elsa noticed.
She always noticed.
"You're tired," she said once.
"I'm old."
"You're not old."
He smiled faintly.
"I feel old."
She sat beside him.
"You said running is leaving because you're afraid."
He glanced at her.
"Yes."
"Then don't leave me because you're afraid of getting old."
The words struck him.
He didn't answer immediately.
She continued.
"I don't care if you're slow."
He exhaled softly.
"I care."
She shook her head.
"I'll protect you."
He almost told her no.
Almost corrected her.
But something in her eyes—
Steady.
Certain.
He realized something quietly.
She wasn't saying it out of childish rebellion anymore.
She meant it.
---
Fifteen years.
No dragon descended.
No kingdom army stormed their door.
No final confrontation came.
Just time.
Stolen.
Borrowed.
Guarded fiercely.
Edward built their life on motion.
Never staying too long.
Never drawing attention.
Never rising high enough to matter.
He became known as dependable.
Forgettable.
A man who finished contracts and left no stories behind.
Exactly what he wanted.
---
One evening—
As the sun dipped behind distant hills—
Elsa stood at the edge of town, watching children laugh in the square.
They were her age now.
Human.
Normal.
Free.
She did not join them.
Edward stood behind her.
"You could."
She didn't look at him.
"They would notice."
"Yes."
Silence.
Then she said quietly—
"I don't want to hide forever."
The words were not angry.
They were tired.
Edward's chest tightened.
He had always known this moment would come.
You cannot ask a dragon to pretend to be small forever.
He stepped beside her.
"I know."
She turned to him.
"Then what?"
He looked at the setting sun.
The light caught in her eyes—
For a moment—
Gold shone fully.
Not flickering.
Not hiding.
Beautiful.
Terrifying.
He spoke carefully.
"We live."
She waited.
"And when the world decides it cannot accept that…"
He did not finish.
She understood.
Her jaw set.
"If they call me a monster," she said quietly, "I won't care."
He looked at her sharply.
"I will."
She frowned slightly.
"Why?"
He answered without hesitation.
"Because they'll be wrong."
Her lips parted slightly.
Then closed.
For a brief second—
She looked like the child who once held his thumb in a dark cave.
Then the moment passed.
---
Far away—
A knight reviewed accumulated reports.
Heat anomalies.
Witness accounts.
Unaging patterns tied to one moving adventurer.
Jack closed the final file.
Fifteen years.
If Edward had hidden something for fifteen years—
Then it was not accident.
It was devotion.
Jack stood.
Duty settled over him like armor.
If a threat existed—
He would end it.
Even if he had to look into the eyes of someone he once called brother.
---
That night—
Elsa stood by the window.
Cap in her hands.
She did not put it back on immediately.
The moonlight caught her horns.
Black.
Calm.
She touched one gently.
"Father," she said softly without turning.
"Yes?"
"If I lose control one day…"
He was already standing.
Already beside her.
"You won't."
"And if I do?"
He looked at her reflection in the glass.
Not a monster.
Not a calamity.
Just a girl who had learned to swallow her tears too well.
"Then I'll stand in front of you."
She finally turned toward him.
"Even if it kills you?"
He smiled faintly.
"I told you."
His hand rested gently against her head.
"I don't run anymore."