Nathanial was busy packing his things in the barn, taking a little extra time to gather supplies for their journey. Kyralia, deep in thought, had chosen not to alter his memory of what he had witnessed. Despite the nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her it was a mistake, she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of relief. For the first time, someone knew her secret, and though it was risky, there was a weight lifted off her shoulders. She was taking a big chance with Nathanial, but for some reason, it felt like the right one.

With the last bag packed, Nathanial turned on his heels and walked toward the large hole Kyralia had created, the one she'd broken through with her body and walked away from unharmed. As he stepped outside, he caught sight of her in the distance, smiling brightly with her teeth as she spoke with the local villagers. They were showering her with thanks for saving their village and defeating the monster that had tormented them. Nathanial stood still for a moment, watching her closely. He admired her smile, her warmth, and her natural kindness as she helped those she barely knew. It was just who she was — selfless, compassionate, always ready to put herself at risk for others. A soft smile tugged at Nathanial's lips as he thought about how much good she had undoubtedly done in her four thousand years.

A small girl approached Kyralia, holding out a delicate flower. Kyralia crouched down to meet her at eye level, offering a soft smile as the girl gently tucked the flower into her hair, securing it carefully. It was a simple wildflower, common in the area, but the gesture warmed Kyralia's heart. She appreciated the sentiment more than the flower itself.

As if sensing his gaze, Kyralia turned her head to meet Nathanial's blue eyes, which were fixed on her, lost in his own thoughts. With a polite nod, she excused herself, raising from her crouch in a graceful way. With a polite nod, Kyralia rose gracefully from her crouch, excusing herself with a smooth, fluid motion. Nathanial didn't break eye contact as she approached.

"Enjoying the view?" She teased, well aware of the way he was watching her. She wasn't blind or foolish when it came to noticing the attention he gave her. Nathanial chuckled softly, his eyes drifting over her form, scanning every inch of her.

"You could say that," he replied with a playful grin, locking eyes with her once again. "I packed the last of the bags," he added, his tone casual, but Kyralia's expression immediately shifted. The smile that had been bright on her face faltered, replaced with a hint of unease.

"What is wrong?" Nathanial asked, not hesitating to press her. He didn't want to hold back. He wanted her to be open with him.

"These past few days have been... eventful," she started, her gaze never leaving his. "But I travel alone, and sometimes, it gets dangerous. I have lost good people along the way." Kyralia's voice faltered slightly as she spoke, her mind reliving the past.

She opened her mouth to continue, but he cut her off before she could say anything. "But I'm not like the others. I can protect myself—"

"Is that what you call protecting?" Kyralia raised her voice, her frustration seeping through. "You got hurt, and it was my fault." She needed to make it clear, her aggressive tone cutting through the air. She knew she had to be fierce—no creature ever fought fair.

"That was just a brief injury," Nathanial argued, trying to assure her it was nothing serious. But Kyralia was deep in thought, her mind racing. She overthought everything, and the idea of putting someone else at risk weighed heavily on her. Nathanial could see the wheels turning in her head. She was considering the future, trying to decide what to do with him.

"You cannot let the past control your future," Nathanial said, rushing the words out as he took her hand in his. The sincerity in his voice resonated with her. She was letting the mistakes of the past define her choices, worried that history would repeat itself.

"If I agree to this," Kyralia began slowly, meeting his gaze, "you keep the questions to yourself, and you listen to me every step of the way." Her tone was firm, making it clear that if they were going to continue this journey together, she was in charge.

"Not even one?" Nathanial asked, a playful spark in his eyes, but the question only made Kyralia raise an eyebrow in irritation. "Fine," he said with exaggerated defeat, rolling his eyes dramatically. She couldn't help but smirk at his antics. It was a small relief in the midst of the serious conversation.

"Get the horses," she instructed, and Nathanial nodded, heading back to the barn to gather the horses they would need for the next part of their journey.

Kyralia watched him go, the weight of her decision settling on her. Maybe this time, it would be different. Maybe this time, things wouldn't end in disaster. She could feel a sense of hope stirring in her chest, something she hadn't allowed herself to feel in a long time.

As her gaze drifted back to the villagers, who were laughing and celebrating their newfound freedom, Kyralia smiled. She had given them a gift, one she had given countless times over the past four thousand years. She knew she would continue to do so, helping others and sacrificing for their well-being until her last breath. It was who she was—and always would be.

Kyralia was pulled from her trance by the sound of approaching hooves. Nathanial appeared, leading two horses down the dirt path, his eyes lifting to meet hers. She offered him a soft smile, which he returned with a playful, flirtatious one.

Suddenly, a desperate cry pierced the air. "Please! Help!" A woman came running toward them, a small child clutched in her arms. Kyralia's gaze snapped to the scene, immediately noticing the deep grief etched on the woman's tear-streaked face. She recognized that expression, the raw, unspoken pain of loss.

"My son! He's... he's..." the woman stammered, her words breaking into fragments. She collapsed at Kyralia's feet, still clutching the boy, his face pale and covered in blood.

She knelt beside them, her voice calm and steady. "Take a breath. Tell me what happened."

The woman struggled to speak, her hands shaking as she gently laid the boy down. "He... When I woke this morning. He was not in his bed... I went to find him in his usual spots... then near the river... I heard him... And then..." Her words trailed off into a horrified silence, unable to finish the story, as though speaking the details would shatter her completely. Kyralia's gaze shifted to the boy's torso—three deep gashes that had drained him of life. His skin was as white as snow, and his body was still. The blood loss was fatal. And mere hours old.

It seemed impossible that such deep gashes could have been made by anything other than sharp, claw-like talons. Yet Kyralia knew, with certainty, that she had slain the creature responsible.

"Did you see what did this?" Kyralia asked urgently, her voice sharp. Her eyes burned with intensity as she focused on the grieving mother, who continued to cradle her child, rocking back and forth, consumed by her own pain.

An uneasy silence settled between them as Nathanial crouched beside Kyralia. She glanced at him, her gaze unreadable.

"I thought you killed the creature?" he asked, a hint of confusion in his voice.

"I did," she replied flatly, "Unless it was not the only one." She paused, her mind turning the question over as she looked at him.

Kyralia's eyes returned to the boy and his grieving mother, a weight pressing on her chest. Regret and sorrow washed over her, familiar yet still painful. She had witnessed this countless times, but it never became easier.

"I am so sorry," she murmured, her voice soft but resolute. "But there is nothing that can be done." Her heart ached as the cruel truth left her lips. "He has lost too much blood." The moment the words left Kyralia's lips, the mother let out a scream that tore through the air, a sound raw with grief.

She held her child close, rocking him frantically as tears streamed down her face, relentless and endless. Kyralia's hands tightened into fists, her frustration mounting. She shut her eyes for a moment, overwhelmed by a helplessness that gnawed at her. No matter how much she tried to protect this world, there were times when it simply didn't listen. Sometimes, there was nothing more to do.

When she opened her eyes again, something shifted in the air. A boy stood a few feet behind her, no older than the child in the mother's arms. His brown eyes, and his small frame, mirrored the boy before her, and in an instant, Kyralia knew what it meant. The boy's spirit had already begun to leave his body, preparing to cross over to the Underworld.

Her chest tightened, but she didn't hesitate. She rose to her feet and walked toward him, her gaze unwavering. To anyone watching, it would have seemed like she was speaking to thin air, but to Kyralia, he was as real as the ground beneath her feet. She crouched down to meet his fearful gaze, offering him a soft, understanding smile.

"Time has come for you, little one," she said softly, her voice carrying an ancient weight. "Your journey to the Underworld will be swift." The boy trembled, his fear palpable in his wide eyes, but Kyralia's calm words were meant to ease him. "Do not fear. Your mother will be fine, and so will you."

She spoke of peace, of comfort, trying to soothe the child as he prepared to leave the mortal world behind.

Nathanial watched from a distance, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. He saw Kyralia talking to herself, but there was a depth to her that he couldn't understand. To him, it must have appeared strange, yet Kyralia knew this language of life and death all too well—she had seen it unfold countless times.

As she rose and turned away, the boy's spirit vanished, and with it, the boy's life was released. His body exhaled its final breath, and the mother's cries of despair filled the air, echoing in the silence. She clung to her child, unwilling to let go, but it was already too late.

Kyralia felt the familiar pang of loss. The cycle of life and death was an eternal part of the world, something she had come to accept after thousands of years, yet it never became easier. Even after all this time, the pain still stung, especially when it was a child.

She looked down at the grieving mother, her heart heavy with the sorrow of the moment. She had seen countless deaths, but the loss of a child always left an indelible mark on her soul.

But when does the weight of that mark become too much to bear, leaving no space for anything else?

***********