(Ahria)

The creaking of the wooden wagon wheels over the dirt was a monotonous, funeral song. They had been walking for hours. The dust kicked up by the footsteps of the village survivors mixed with Primitia's dense air, further dirtying the group's tattered clothes.

Ahria walked on one of the flanks of the wagon, her pale eyes sweeping the tree line. The wind, which had once been her celestial companion and obeyed her every whim, now felt like nothing more than a distant, indifferent breeze. She felt hollow.

Her mind refused to find rest. The words Tenebris had spat out amidst the ashes of the inn echoed repeatedly in the wind goddess's head like a lingering hex: "They abandoned you." Ahria knew Tenebris. She knew perfectly well that every syllable out of that shadow Primordial's mouth came wrapped in venom and loaded with ulterior motives. She wanted to sow discord, isolate them, break any bond of trust uniting them. But, as much as she hated her, the silence from Neiva, Yae, and Stella was deafening. What had really happened? Had they been separated from the group by the fire? Or had Stella, with her blind pride for the palace of Hyperion, convinced the twins to follow a selfish path?

Ahria sighed, feeling a burning in her chest. The old Ahria would have cried and denied that possibility to the death. But the old Ahria had died the moment her lungs failed and she had to drain the life from the earth just to breathe again.

The march continued, painful and slow. Flamescion led the group, her figure projecting an authority that tried to compensate for Stella's absence. Gigroth, Flora, and Fauna circled the wagons, ensuring no predator or soldier caught them off guard. As for Tenebris, she was merely a peripheral shadow; she traveled hidden in the tree line, appearing only when clouds covered the sun.

They walked for hours on end, until the golden evening light gave way to a dark, starry blanket. The village leader, his face marked by exhaustion and loss, finally gave the order to halt.

"We'd better take a break. The night in Ysmathal is treacherous."

They made camp in a sheltered clearing deep in the forest. The families huddled near the wagons, sharing the few provisions they had left.

Ahria approached one of the campfires Flamescion had lit and sat down on an exposed root. Gigroth joined her shortly after. The warrior's massive, imposing body dropped heavily onto the dirt, and she let out a deep sigh that seemed to unload the weight of a mountain.

They stared at the crackling flames for a while.

"Where do you think this journey is really going to take us, Gigroth?" Ahria asked, her voice dropping to a low, calculating pitch.

Gigroth rubbed her temples and looked at the group of sleeping humans in the wagons. "I don't know for sure. This Capital they speak of is a mystery to us. But Flamescion's instincts are sharp. I trust her ability to keep us on the right path, at least until we reach safe walls."

Ahria nodded slowly. She raised both hands and stared at her own palms, illuminated by the fire. The skin looked clean, but in her mind, she could still see the lush green grass turning yellow and crumbling to dust under her touch.

"Gigroth..." she called her attention again, without looking away from her hands. "Do you think it's right?"

Gigroth frowned, turning her rugged face toward her. "Do I think what is right?"

"Do you think it's right that we were thrown from Hyperion to Primitia to be the direct shields for these people?" Ahria's tone wasn't one of childish rebellion, but of profound inquiry.

The warrior crossed her broad arms, her makeshift armor creaking with the movement. "They are weak, Ahria. Look at them. They don't have divine armor, they don't channel Essence from the earth to fight. They have no way to protect themselves against dragons... the beasts that fell from the skies because of us."

Ahria lowered her hands and looked her straight in the eyes. "But what if there was another way? What if, instead of protecting them directly... instead of being the swords and shields that bleed for them, we just guided them?"

Gigroth narrowed her eyes, not grasping the reasoning. "What do you mean?"

"We should teach them," Ahria explained, her mind working at a speed she once used only to design the architecture of palaces in the sky. "Teach them to fight for themselves. To understand the world. To build their own defenses and master the few magics they have access to. Give them the knowledge so they don't have to rely on divine figures dropping from the heavens whenever danger strikes."

Gigroth fell silent. Her heavy breathing slowed as she processed the depth of the suggestion. She turned her face back to the fire, the orange glow illuminating the warrior's hard features. She stayed deep in thought for several long minutes. The crackling of a burning log was the only sound between them.

Finally, Gigroth turned her neck rigidly. Her stone eyes locked onto Ahria's with a seriousness that sent a chill down her spine.

"Would you want someone subjected to you to eventually surpass the heavens themselves?" Gigroth asked, her voice dangerously low.

The question hit Ahria with the force of a hurricane. She blinked, her heart skipping a beat.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

Gigroth immediately backed down. Her imposing posture returned to normal, and she looked away into the emptiness of the forest, shaking her head. "I didn't mean anything. Forget it."

But Ahria couldn't forget. She reflected on it, and the silence of the night became suffocating. Her mind pieced the cosmic puzzle together in a millisecond. Gigroth wasn't talking about herself. She was referring to the gods of Hyperion.

If they taught the humans to defend themselves, to grow, to master the laws of Primitia and not rely on miracles... they would eventually surpass their own limits. And if they surpassed the heavens themselves, they would stop praying. They would stop needing the gods. The golden palace fed on the blind faith and despair of mortals. The Arendelles and Elledneras of this life hadn't sent them here out of kindness or compassion for humanity; they had sent them to ensure the status quo remained intact. They were there to kill the dragons, restore temporary peace, and return the humans to their routine of worship and obedience. They were keeping the cattle in the pen.

Ahria tasted a bitter tang in her mouth. She looked back at the fire dancing in the center of the camp. The world of the deities was a lie built on ego and manipulation.

"Everything is always done with ulterior motives..." she whispered to the flames, her voice devoid of any faith.

Gigroth heard the murmur. She didn't turn around, but her response was cutting and laden with a grim acceptance. "We are just pawns on a golden board, Ahria."

Ahria closed her eyes. The voices of the gods screaming their names when they jumped from the border now sounded like mocking laughter in her mind. She hugged her knees and rested her face on her arms, feeling the sting of earthly reality burning away her former innocence.

The night dragged on in silence. They slept by the warmth of the fire, or at least pretended to sleep, until the brightness of sunrise announced the start of a new day marching toward the Capital.