The tent felt smaller somehow. Like the air itself had thickened—heavy with words that had taken years to say and seconds to unravel.

Petra sat stiffly, her arms crossed, her nails digging into her arms as if she could anchor herself in place. Larz fidgeted, uncertain whether to speak, to comfort, or to simply exist quietly beside her. She exhaled slowly, then dragged a hand down her face.

“…You remember how he said he left me with someone he could count on to raise me?” Petra began, her voice steadier now, though the strain still clung to it. Larz nodded, his ears twitching faintly as he listened.

“That someone was my grandma. His mom.” A faint smile tugged at Petra’s lips despite everything. “She was… tough. Like, terrifyingly tough. Wouldn’t take crap from anyone—not the neighbors, not traveling merchants, not even me.”

A quiet huff of laughter escaped her.

“I once tried to sneak out past curfew. I thought I was being real clever about it too. She didn’t say a word when I got back.” Petra shook her head. “Next morning, she had me splitting firewood until my arms felt like they were gonna fall off.”

Larz let out a soft chuckle. “Effective.”

“Oh, very.” Petra snorted. “I never tried that again.” The humor faded as quickly as it came.

“Anyway… I was given to her when I was about five years old, after my mother died…” Petra practically whispered, her gaze distant.

“How did your mother die?” Larz asked without hesitation. Petra’s head snapped toward him. The fire in her eyes was immediate—sharp, incredulous. As if she were silently saying, you’re really going there just like that?

Larz froze. A beat passed—and then it hit him.

“…I—” His ears dipped quickly, embarrassment flooding his expression. “Forgive me! I didn’t mean to word it like that!”

The apology came out rushed, uneven. Petra stared at him for a moment longer—then let out a breathy chuckle, resting her chin on her hand.

“Guess even a hero doesn’t have perfect manners, huh?” Larz winced. “Clearly not.” The moment passed.

“…My mom died during one of the Gods’ tantrums,” Petra said quietly. “I don’t remember which God, or even how she died. I just know the story my grandma told me before I left home.”

Silence followed. Then, softer— 

“She died protecting me.”

The words settled between them. Larz’s chest tightened, guilt creeping in uninvited.

‘If I had been created 20 years ago…’

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking. Petra raised an eyebrow. “It’s not like it’s your fault.” But Larz didn’t respond. Because to him, it felt like it was. Petra exhaled and pushed forward. “Anyway… that guy outside,” she said, jaw tightening like even that was generous, “was an adventurer before I was born. Him and my mom both, actually. Different parties.”

She waved a dismissive hand before continuing.

“They met in one of the Gods’ dungeons while training or treasure hunting—I can’t remember. But long story short, they fell in love and had me.” Larz nodded slowly.

“That still doesn’t explain why Dro—” He didn’t finish.

Petra’s head snapped toward him again, her glare sharp and immediate. A silent warning to not say Drogun’s name aloud if he valued his life. 

Larz’s ears dipped. “…why he left,” he corrected quickly. Petra held his gaze a moment longer, making sure it stuck. Then she looked away. Heavy footsteps approached. Slow. Hesitant. Deliberate. Larz’s ears drooped slightly. Petra flat out ignored the source of the noise.

“I can answer that… if you’ll give me the chance,” came his voice, low and strained. He must’ve heard everything. Petra curled inward, pulling her knees to her chest.

“Why are you back? I thought I told Sly to kick you out,” she mumbled. 

“…He suggested I take a walk,” Drogun said dryly. “Told me I should give you some space.” Petra didn’t respond.

“I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again,” he continued. “So I want to say my piece while I still can.” A pause. “…Five minutes?”

Silence stretched. “…Five minutes,” Petra said at last, standing and glaring at him. “That’s it.”

“Thank you.” He exhaled slowly.

“When your mother and I met… it honestly wasn’t supposed to last. For either of us. We agreed it would just be a one-night stand.”

A faint, self-deprecating smile crossed his face. “Turns out, I wasn’t as forgettable as I thought.” Petra rolled her eyes. “Wow. Ego much?”

“Hey, I’m clinging to what little pride I have left,” he muttered. “Let me have this.”

For a brief moment—the tension eased. Then faded again.

“A few weeks later, one of her party members tracked me down. Your mother showed up at an A-class dungeon I was heading to… and told me she was pregnant.”

Petra said nothing.

“I stopped adventuring after that. For a time… life was good.” A quiet chuckle escaped him.

“Exhausting, sure. I don’t think I slept more than three hours at a time. You had lungs on you.” Petra huffed quietly. “But I loved it. Watching you eat, sleep… learn to crawl, to walk…” His voice softened. “You used to wobble like a newborn fawn.”

“…Wow,” Petra muttered. “That’s the comparison you went with?”

“Accurate.”

A beat passed. Then—

“When you were about three… I got the itch to adventure again. Your mother thought it was too soon.” His gaze lowered. “She was right.”

Silence lingered.

“…Until she got sick.” Petra’s breath hitched.

“That’s when I asked my mother for help taking care of you,” he continued. “Your mother had a rare form of Tarnish Fever. Quicksilver Rot.” Larz’s ears flattened.

“Her skin began to… turn into iron. Her body grew too heavy for her to even get out of bed most days.” He wiped his eyes quickly. Even Petra was barely holding it together.

“What happened next…?” she asked quietly. “I searched for a cure,” he said. “I couldn’t just let her die.” He inhaled a shaky breath.

“I found out that there’s a rare flower in one of Goddess Elestria’s dungeons—the Spectral Abyss. The Prism Lily. Its petals are like glass… and it was supposed to draw the disease out.”

Petra leaned forward slightly. “But…?” He let out a hollow laugh. “It’s at the very bottom. Of an S-Class dungeon.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“In hindsight… I may have aimed a bit high.” Larz winced. “Even with my old party, we barely made it halfway. Years passed as we pushed deeper.” His voice dropped.

“Then I received the letter I was dreading.”

Petra’s hands slammed against the bar as she stood. “But what?!” she shouted. Drogun lowered his head, a deep grimace forming. Silence briefly followed.

“Mom had died, right?” Petra said, her voice rising. “And you chose to abandon me out of what? Guilt?”

“I…I was a coward,” he admitted. “I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t tell you your mother died because I was too slow… too weak.”

His voice broke. “So I ran.” The words hung heavy. “I’ve regretted it every day since.”

Petra’s breathing was uneven now.

“I’m truly sorry,” he said softly. “But… I’m glad to see you’re doing well for yourself.” A small pause. “…Definitely less wobbly than the newborn fawn phase.”

Petra let out a strangled sound—half laugh, half sob. Drogun gave a small nod… then turned and left the tent. Once he was gone—silence returned. Then—a sniffle. 

Petra turned away, wiping her face. “Damn idiot… making me go through that,” she muttered between soft breaths. Another sniffle. “What’s his problem…?”

Larz watched her quietly, a soft smile forming.

‘I think she’s learning to forgive.’

And for the first time since it all began—the weight in the air felt just a little bit lighter.

To be continued…