Alejandro couldn't stand it.
The silence. The heartbreak. The way no one looked each other in the eye.
Even the children didn't cry anymore. That was the part that hurt the most.
He stood at the edge of camp, wind lifting strands of gold hair from his face. His eyes were darker than usual. Determined.
They had to move.
And he knew exactly where to go.
He reached into his cloak, fingers brushing against a small sealed flask and a tightly-bound scroll. He whistled low.
High above, a silhouette dove.
Azura.
The hawk landed gracefully, nuzzling her beak to his forehead.
Alejandro smiled, something sad and heavy in his expression. "I've got a job for you, old friend," he murmured.
He tied the flask and scroll securely to her gear. "You know where this needs to go."
Azura cocked her head once. Then launched into the air.
He watched her fly until she vanished into the clouds.
"…There might still be hope," he said softly.
Maybe.
Just maybe.
He turned away. Time to check on the grieving family. He'd failed them before. He didn't want to fail them again.
A quiet step beside him.
Phineus.
He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, watching the same horizon.
Alejandro slipped a hand into his inner pocket. Pulled out the flask. Handed it over without a word.
Phineus accepted it. Took a swig.
The bite of herbal rum brought a wince.
He handed it back.
Their eyes met. Something old and buried passed between them.
Phineus's jaw softened.
"You're a good man, Roberto," he said, voice low.
Alejandro said nothing. Just nodded.
No grin. No clever remarks. Just the truth, shared between men, survivors.
They turned back to the wind.
Two silhouettes against a bruised sky.
No more words were needed.
Not now.