Chapter 5 – Dirt Paths and Dumb Questions
The forest path narrowed as the river slowly curved out of sight, but the two travelers kept moving. The sun climbed lazily through the branches above, scattering light in patches on the dirt trail.
Cyrus walked a half-step behind Yura, occasionally kicking loose stones just to hear them bounce off roots. "I feel like I'm in one of those tutorial quests," he muttered. "Follow the martial artist down a conveniently quiet path. Bonus XP if you don't trip over a rock and embarrass yourself."
Yura said nothing. She just kept walking, steady and alert.
"You're really not gonna respond to that?"
"No."
"You're strong, but you're not very supportive."
"I'm not your mentor."
"Yet," he said with a wink.
She gave him a look that wasn't quite a glare, more like the kind of glance someone gives a squirrel that's being too loud.
They rounded a bend, and the forest opened slightly again—a wide patch of grass surrounded by tall trees, with a few wildflowers blooming despite the season. Cyrus slowed, looking around.
"Huh. Okay, I'll admit it. This place is kinda pretty."
Yura knelt briefly, checking the soil and the broken prints near the grass. "Someone passed through here recently."
Cyrus squinted at the ground. "Bandits again?"
"Not sure. Too clean. No heavy gear marks."
He hummed. "Could be a hunting party. Or one of your clan's trackers."
"Could be."
He crouched beside her and poked at a footprint. "Y'know, I read somewhere that you can tell a person's weight by how deep their footprint is."
"That's not entirely accurate."
"I didn't say it was smart advice," he grinned. "I got it from a fantasy detective novel where the main guy wore a monocle and punched people."
She didn't respond, but her lips twitched again.
They resumed walking. The birds were quieter now, as if the forest sensed something watching. Cyrus glanced upward and around.
"Okay, serious question," he said.
"Hm?"
"If a monster attacks us right now, do I throw rocks or just run in circles until it gets bored?"
Yura slowed slightly. "You've got a dagger."
"That's like giving a spoon to a guy who's about to fight a dragon."
"You've got legs, too."
"…So that's a yes on running."
"Preferably not in circles."
He chuckled, rubbing his eyes. "Okay, okay. But I'm being serious now. I need to start learning things. Fighting, sensing stuff, not tripping on every damn vine."
Yura gave him a measured look. "You really want to train?"
"Of course I do," he said. "I don't plan on dying because I slipped and stabbed myself in the foot."
"Then start with your balance. Posture. Breathing. When we stop, I'll show you."
Cyrus blinked. "...Wait. Are you actually offering to train me now?"
"You asked."
"Wow," he grinned. "You're warming up to me. Just admit it."
She said nothing.
He leaned closer. "You totally are."
Still nothing.
"…Are you ignoring me because you secretly think I'm charming?"
She turned away. "You talk too much."
"I've been told that before."
They reached another clearing, this one shaded by thicker trees. There were signs of old campfires—burnt stone rings, scattered ash. Yura scanned the edges carefully.
"Old campsite," she said. "Looks safe enough for now."
Cyrus flopped onto the nearest dry patch of grass like a sack of complaints. "My legs agree. My spine too. Probably my soul."
Yura stayed standing. Her gaze never left the trees.
"You're not gonna sit?"
"Not yet."
He looked up at her. "You always this careful?"
"I'm being hunted."
"Fair."
He stared at the canopy for a while, then reached into his pouch and took out a piece of fruit. He held it up. "Want one?"
She hesitated—then took it.
Cyrus raised an eyebrow. "See? That was trust. Mark the day, it happened."
She sat down across from him, cross-legged, silent as ever. Cyrus didn't press. The moment was quiet, peaceful in its own awkward way.
After a while, he leaned back and said, "So… if your clan was gonna catch you, how would they do it?"
Yura didn't answer right away. She stared into the distance, expression unreadable.
"They'd send someone alone," she said finally. "Someone I wouldn't expect."
Cyrus blinked. "Wow. That's cryptic and ominous. Definitely doesn't make me nervous or anything."
"They won't risk alerting too many people," she added. "They like clean retrievals."
"Retrievals. Not executions?"
"They need me alive."
"...That doesn't make me feel better."
Yura stood again, brushing herself off. "We keep moving. No fires tonight."
"Joy," he muttered. "I'll keep warm by roasting myself with anxiety."
They began walking again, but this time the silence between them wasn't cold. It was… familiar.
Cyrus adjusted the robe on his shoulders. He still wasn't used to it—it flowed too dramatically whenever he moved. But he had to admit… it made him look the part.
Whatever that part was.
"Hey," he said suddenly. "If I ever start becoming cool and mysterious, like a proper shadowy leader, you're required by law to remind me I used to scream when I stepped in mud."
Yura didn't even turn around. "You still do."
"Only on the inside," he muttered.
The forest darkened slightly as clouds rolled overhead, but the path remained clear.
They kept walking.
No monsters. No battles.
Just two strangers slowly becoming something else.