Their group moved through the forest as the shadows lengthened and the light began to fail.

The fog had begun to thicken and spread among the dark trees. It wrapped around the trunks, slowly climbing higher. It curled around their legs and parted with every step they took.

Lyra understood that they needed to find shelter soon, before visibility worsened any further. The others, however, did not seem worried. They appeared certain of where they were going.

After a while, they emerged into a clearing. The moon was half-hidden behind heavy clouds.

Valir stopped first.

The ruins of a half-collapsed temple stood at the mouth of a cave. Its stones were dark with dampness, covered in places by moss that had spread across them like silent wounds.

His gaze moved from the ruin to the cave, then to the river, and finally back to the forest. He stood still for a moment, then gave a slight nod.

"Here."

Lyra noticed the part of a wall that had collapsed, leaving behind an opening that looked directly into the darkness of the cave. The remaining arch still stood, crooked and cracked, refusing to yield to the forces of nature.

It appeared to have been used before as a stopping point for passing travelers, hunters, and patrol groups. Her eyes picked out the remains of an old fire pit. Stones had been arranged in a circle on the ground, the spot blackened with ash, and the smell of burned wood dampened by moisture irritated her nose.

Someone had been here recently.

Most likely, the hunters they had seen earlier.

A little farther away, the river could be heard flowing. The water passed between smooth stones, creating a low, steady sound, as if it were whispering secrets of centuries.

It was the only thing that could be heard.

Only water and deafening silence.

The knights exchanged a glance and moved at once.

They had been walking all day, but fatigue did not show in their movements. They were quick, methodical. Karl and the female instructor headed toward the trees to gather firewood. Roland cleared the ground, removing stones and roots. Lyra helped him, taking the place of the injured instructor.

When she saw him trying to lift one of the fallen branches from the spot where they would be setting camp, she stopped him before Valir had the chance.

"Please, sit down over there. I'll help," she had told him.

The man had looked at Valir, who nodded for him to listen to her, and sat a little farther away, holding his aching arm lightly.

Within minutes, a small fire had been lit and was smoldering at the center of their camp.

At first, the flame rose hesitantly, flickering in the damp air, before growing stronger and taking on color. The orange light spread warm reflections over the stones and tree trunks, breaking through the grey of the fog.

The shadows around them shifted. Long. Distorted. Unsteady.

Soon, Valir lit the last of the torches placed around the camp.

Lyra left some of the wood she had gathered near the fire and stood still for a moment beside the half-collapsed wall. Her eyes moved from the ruin to the cave, then toward the shadows between the trees.

The place did not inspire trust.

It was not only the sight of it.

It was the feeling.

Valir's low voice over her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts, making her jump slightly.

"Has it become a habit of yours to give orders to my knights?"

There was no edge to his words. He was serious, but she could hear the faintest hint of a smile in his voice.

"Orders?" she asked, widening her eyes innocently.

Valir indicated the instructor sitting by the fire with the slightest lift of his chin.

"Ah," she said, realizing that once again she had moved and given instructions without his approval. "It wasn't an order." She looked him straight in the eyes. "It was instructions."

"Right...Next time, you should wait for me to give the instructions," he said quietly, careful not to be heard beyond the two of them.

Her cheeks warmed.

"I didn't mean to..."

He interrupted her.

"You're the doctor. You wanted to help. Just don't rush."

"Uh... All right," she faltered. She had not meant to seem as though she did not need his approval. But now that she thought about it, it looked as though she had taken initiative without considering anyone else. "I'm sorry," she said, now looking ahead.

"Good."

She could feel his eyes lingering on her longer than usual. She turned with curiosity.

"Do you need anything else?" she asked him. Her voice remained steady. Her heart did not.

"No."

He smiled faintly and walked toward the fire, leaving her standing there for a moment, unsure what to do with that strange feeling that had begun to grip her chest without her ever seeking it.

She saw Roland and Karl setting up a makeshift partition a little farther back. They tied fabric between two broken columns and secured it low, creating a small, secluded space.

It was not a tent.

But it was enough.

Lyra watched for a moment without immediately understanding its purpose. When she saw Karl struggling with the rope, she stepped closer.

"Can I help?" she asked, leaning slightly toward him.

The soldier looked up at her for a moment and shook his head.

"No, Miss Lyra," he said calmly. He tightened the knot and stood upright, taking half a step back. "Your tent is ready."

Lyra remained still for a moment.

"Is this for me?"

Her gaze rested on the makeshift partition.

"Of course. It wouldn't be proper to let a lady sleep among the knights," Roland answered. His cheeks were bright red.

"And the instructor?" Lyra asked.

"Amara is Morris's wife," Karl said. "She wants to stay beside him after his injury."

Lyra nodded.

She felt a strange tightness in her chest. A quiet, unexpected relief followed.

She gave the soldier a slight nod.

"Thank you," she said softly.

The two young men returned the gesture with a brief nod and returned to their places without saying anything more.

For a moment, Lyra let her gaze wander beyond the ring of firelight. Valir stood farther out, in the shadows.

His gaze had already turned back toward the forest. His face was lit only by the fire's reflections, his features hard, focused.

He looked as if he expected something to emerge from the forest at any moment.

As she watched him, he turned and glanced back at her over his shoulder. His gaze touched her for a moment, so briefly that she could have imagined it.

Perhaps it was a coincidence.

Perhaps not.

Little by little, everyone gathered around the fire. They did not sit too close to the flames, but near enough to feel the warmth reaching their hands. The shadows of their bodies stretched behind them, tangling with the tree trunks and disappearing into the fog, which continued to thicken.

No one actually sat with their back to the forest. Their gazes, almost unconsciously, kept drifting beyond the light.

Lyra approached and knelt beside Morris. Amara shifted slightly aside.

"Let me see your hand," she told him calmly.

The man gave it to her without objection. His fingers had tightened around the fabric of the old bandage, as though he had been holding onto it more than necessary.

She loosened it carefully.

Her movements were steady, focused. Every time she faced a wound, it was as though the world around her faded away.

The injury had not reopened, but the surrounding skin was still sensitive. She poured on a little clean alcohol to prevent any possible infection.

The soldier drew in a sharp breath.

"I'm sorry..." she said softly, without stopping. "We're done."

She cleaned the wound carefully and wrapped his hand again with fresh gauze, tightening it exactly as much as needed. No more. No less.

"It will pull a little, but it's better this way," she told him.

"Thank you," Amara said politely.

Lyra gave her a courteous nod and moved away.

The small pot they had placed over the fire earlier had begun to steam. Lyra took a few dried herbs from her bag and dropped them in. The scent that spread was gentle, almost warm. An earthy sweetness that softened the cold air around them.

It was not something that would draw attention, but it was enough to change the feeling of the space.

When the drink was ready, she filled a small cup and handed it to Amara.

"Have him drink it slowly," she said. "It will help with the pain."

Amara took it and gave it tenderly to her husband, who nodded gratefully, holding the cup with both hands. He remained like that for a moment, letting the steam warm his face before drinking.

The rest of the meal was prepared quickly. They had some bread they had bought that morning before leaving the city, dried meat cut into small pieces, and a little warm herbal water for everyone. Nothing heavy. Nothing that would leave a strong scent in the air.

At first, they ate quietly. The rhythmic sound of the flowing river reached them. The fire crackled softly, and the torches around them flickered, keeping the darkness at bay.

Then they began to speak. Quietly. Briefly. As though they did not want to disturb something.

Small conversations about the route, about the next day, about unimportant things that nevertheless kept their minds away from the forest.

Lyra listened more than she spoke.

She sat a little farther back from the fire, her hands wrapped around her cup. The warmth slowly seeped into her fingers, driving away the dampness that had soaked into her skin since they entered the forest.

At some point, almost without realizing it, she lifted her gaze.

Valir was looking at her.

It was not an intense stare. Nor anything that would easily draw the attention of others. And yet, it was enough to unsettle something inside her.

She immediately lowered her eyes to her cup, tightening her fingers slightly around its warmth. For a few moments, she remained like that, trying to focus on the voices around her, on the flicker of the fire, on the sound of the river.

When she raised her eyes again, she found him looking her way once more, this time only for a moment. It was so quick that she could almost question it.

Almost.

The third time their eyes met, she did not look away immediately. A small, awkward smile escaped her lips before she could stop it.

Valir remained still for a fraction of a second, then turned his gaze elsewhere.

Lyra lowered hers to her cup. Had she been mistaken? Perhaps he had simply been thinking about something else without truly looking at her. The warmth of the steam touched her face, but that was not what had made her cheeks warm.

The feeling remained inside her, quiet and persistent, without taking a clear name.

"We'll take watches," Morris said, interrupting her thoughts.

Roland nodded.

"Two at a time."

Lyra lifted her head slightly.

"I can..."

"No."

The answer came calmly.

Valir was not looking at her this time. His eyes remained on the fire.

"We may need your hands steady tomorrow," he added. "Rest."

There was no tension in his tone. But it left no room for argument.

The others did not comment. It was clear they agreed.

Lyra remained silent for a moment. Then she nodded slightly.

"All right."

She sat a little while longer, fidgeting somewhat awkwardly, somewhat absentmindedly with her hands, and then stood. She wished them good night softly and disappeared into her tent.

Behind the fabric partition, she could still make out their shadows sitting around the fire.

She felt grateful to have that small measure of privacy. Here, she could escape his gaze for a little while.

A gaze that had lately begun to make her feel strange whenever she met it.

It was not only today.

She had noticed his gaze following her back at the Headquarters, in the courtyard, during training. She had seen him looking at her from his office when she was going back and forth at the library, loaded with books.

It was there, during their chance meetings at the tavern.

Their glances were always measured and brief. Fleeting. A nod, a faint smile.

At first, she had believed it was because she was being watched over.

Today, she couldn't tell with certainty.

Or perhaps she did not want it to be that simple.

The thought made her freeze in place.

"Pull yourself together, Lyra," she whispered to herself.

She spread the long cloak she wore on the ground, lay down on it, and stubbornly closed her eyes.

For a moment, she lay there hearing them talking. Their quiet, low voices, the crackling of wood burning in the fire, and the water flowing farther away offered a sense of safety and warmth.

A fragile kind of safety in that inhospitable, silent place.

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Thank you for reading "Rookie of the Wind".