The road south stretched long and unbroken beneath Asta's horse.
He had ridden it before.
Many times.
Through seasons that changed the land in small, predictable ways—snow that softened the edges of stone, summer heat that baked the ground into something harder beneath hoof and steel. The path itself did not change. It did not need to.
But this time—
It felt different.
Not in the road.
In him.
The pace was steady, his mount well-trained and responsive, the rhythm of travel settling easily into muscle memory. Asta did not need to think about movement. His body knew it. His attention, however, refused to stay where it should.
It kept returning.
To Kael.
To the way he had asked.
Not openly.
Not foolishly.
But not clean either.
Asta's jaw tightened slightly as the memory replayed, uninvited but persistent.
How is she?
It should have been a simple question.
It wasn't.
