[19] Chapter 3. In Order Not to Love (6)
“Wow, look at you—only taking care of yourself.”
“I’m the one who’s surprised. How could you come so unprepared?”
In the dimming light of the shallow forest, Fernciana easily crushed Ilias’ reproach with a sigh.
She had assumed that if they hurried along, they’d arrive in Desidiera before sunset. But between various delays and her slower-than-expected pace, the sun had already begun to set while Desidiera was still a long way off.
That was when she realized Ilias didn’t have a sleeping bag—or anything else, really. His face turned serious too.
Fernciana took a deep breath of the forest air. It wasn’t unbearably cold for sleeping outdoors, but with just a single thin blanket and one sleeping bag between them, it was a bit of a problem.
“Well, no choice then.”
“Hm?”
Fernciana offered her sleeping bag to Ilias.
“It’s a bit small, so either your head or your feet will stick out—but here, take it.”
“What about you?”
“Well… actually… I never catch colds and I’m not very sensitive to cold.”
“Oh, this is how you make someone feel like trash?”
“I’m serious!”
Fernciana shouted while trying not to laugh, and Ilias grumbled in response. She let out an exaggerated sigh.
“I’m not joking. Even in the middle of winter, one blanket is enough for me. Really, I’m fine.”
“If you’re that immune to cold, are you even human?”
“Like what?”
“Are you… a dragon?”
Ilias narrowed his eyes and stared at her. Fernciana showed him the scar on her nape left from the confrontation earlier that day.
“Do dragons get scratches like this?”
“Still, it’s just basic human decency. I’d feel bad using your sleeping bag.”
“Because you’re sorry? Feeling guilty? Or is it because I’m a woman and you feel weird taking it?”
“Number one: I’m human, of course I feel bad. Number two: guilt and being sorry are kind of the same. Number three: it’s normal to feel bad about taking something from someone younger than you.”
“If we’re going by mental age, I’m probably older than you…”
“You lose adult points for not telling your travel companion you were hurt.”
For once, Ilias replied without a joke. Fernciana fell quiet, a little embarrassed. Ilias pouted slightly.
“Next time… tell someone properly, alright? When you’re hurt or sick.”
“Y-yeah…”
She had plenty of excuses ready, but chose not to say any of them.
Before her mother disappeared and before Serelim died, she’d always used only what was carved from wood, no matter where she traveled. Before returning to this past, she’d lived entirely with the singular goal of killing the Emperor. She never had the chance—or the need—to talk to anyone about things like this. Even the person who taught her swordsmanship never heard her talk this way.
So maybe… she’d never said anything like that before because she didn’t think she needed to. Maybe she didn’t realize people would actually worry. Maybe that’s why.
“So what do we really do about the night?”
“I’m seriously not cold.”
“Then why do you even carry this around?”
“Just in case.”
The truth was, it was to avoid attention.
If you sleep outdoors in the dead of winter with only a blanket, anyone would find that suspicious. Even in summer, it’d raise eyebrows. The unusual always draws attention. That’s why Fernciana always carried at least the bare minimum for bedding.
Ilias stared at her for a long time before nodding, deciding not to press further. Instead, he turned to start a fire.
As the fire crackled and a simple meal was heated above it, he began pulling things from his bag. Fernciana, who was sandwiching slices of dried ham between pieces of bread, tilted her head when she saw what he was taking out—a strangely shaped piece of wood and a small knife that fit in one hand.
“Hey, kid. Step back so you don’t hurt yourself.”
“What are you doing?”
“Grown-up stuff.”
With a shrug, Fernciana shoved the sandwich she’d just made into Ilias’s mouth. He frowned at the sudden intrusion but chewed quietly nonetheless.
Then came a quiet, peaceful time. Fernciana stared into the fire like it was casting a spell on her, nodding off against a log. Ilias continued carving the small object in his hands until the stars came out.
‘Is this like… meditation? Or anger management?’
It was hard to see in the dark, and the piece he was carving was so small that you couldn’t tell what he was doing unless you were very close. But whenever she tried to get closer, he would push her away with a warning that “kids might get hurt.”
The chirping of insects and the soft scraping of carving wood soon lulled her into drowsiness. Fernciana, with only a thin blanket over her knees, glanced toward Ilias sitting in front of the fire.
She’d been completely startled when he showed up. She’d been thinking about him constantly and thought for a moment that she was seeing a mirage. But he was real. The living, breathing Ilias.
Wasn’t he supposed to have taken the carriage to Formilas? How did he get here? Those questions disappeared in an instant, washed away by the joy of seeing him.
‘Quickly, someone—anyone—before it’s too late…’
Before the last light disappeared, Fernciana stared at the beige hair of Ilias through her fading vision and thought:
The sun doesn’t shine just to sprout one seed. If you don’t want to cling to that sun, you need something else. Water would do. Another seed even.
During the “past,” her sun had been the desire to kill the Emperor. But now, that fiery sun was gone, and she was just a flower wilting in the shadows, yearning for a patch of sunlight. And then…
‘It’s because I have nothing. Nothing at all. That’s why… please, anyone, just someone else…’
Before it’s too late…
Just before falling asleep, Fernciana thought she made eye contact with Ilias. His black eyes, set against a pale face, looked at her—and he smiled gently.
*
Fernciana opened her eyes just before sunrise.
She realized she was under a sleeping bag—and sat up in a jolt. The fire was nearly out, and Ilias was sleeping against a log, covered with the thin blanket she’d used the night before. Despite everything she’d said, he hadn’t listened.
She got up, brushed the dust off the sleeping bag she had used, and gently laid it over him.
The early morning light was still pale and cool. She added some wood to the dying fire and stretched slowly.
Ilias woke up as she was cutting up fruit to roast for breakfast. Rubbing his eyes, the first thing he did was sigh at the sleeping bag covering him.
“When did you wake up?”
“Just a little while ago. Sleep well?”
“…Yeah.”
He answered in a groggy voice and sat up—only to immediately sneeze. Fernciana opened her mouth to say “I told you so,” but he quickly clamped a hand over her mouth. He let go only after noticing the ham she was roasting.
They finished a simple breakfast and resumed their journey to Desidiera.
It was morning, so the only passersby were small squirrels. One squirrel, after perching on Fernciana’s shoulder, dropped a nut the size of its head in her lap and scampered away. Ilias watched with a dumbfounded expression and turned to Fernciana.
“What was that?”
“A main character’s aura, obviously.”
Fernciana said this with a straight face as she bit into the nut. Then she rummaged through her pockets, placed a few almonds on a tree branch, and watched as a group of squirrels came running to grab them and dart away.
By the time the sun had climbed above their heads, Fernciana and Ilias arrived in Desidiera. The small southern-western gate leading to the capital wasn’t crowded, but it was still full of life.
