Thinking Sera might have run off, Azron immediately fixed his armor, his movements sharper than usual, as if something restless stirred beneath his composed exterior. A faint unease settled in his chest, one he could not quite ignore, as he stepped out of the tent.
He strode straight toward Sera's tent without hesitation, his pace quick and deliberate, surprising General Jidu who was still knocking.
Without a word, Azron opened the tent's door—and found it empty. His brows furrowed deeply, a flicker of tension crossing his face, as General Jidu leaned in to take a peek inside the tent.
"Where is she?" General Jidu asked as he looked around the area, confusion evident in his tone.
"Find her." Azron ordered, his voice strict and annoyed—but beneath it lingered a quiet urgency, something far more personal than mere irritation.
General Jidu called several warriors to help with the search. They quickly dispersed, moving across the camp in different directions to look for her, while Azron remained near her tent, his sharp eyes scanning the ground, searching for even the smallest sign she had left behind, as if the earth itself might reveal her presence.
They had been looking for her for quite a while, and with every passing moment, the silence she left behind weighed heavier on Azron. Then memories surfaced—unbidden, vivid. The time he took her to Mort tower, how her eyes lit up at the sight of the entire city. The times she lingered on the roof of her house, alone with the sky. The rumors of her climbing the old willow tree in Grand Ersi's Quarters. And the image that remained the clearest—the assassination attempt, when she stood atop the temple roof, untouchable, surrounded by fallen enemies.
Azron exhaled slowly, his gaze lifting.
She wouldn't run… not like this.
She would climb.
Azron realized she must be somewhere elevated. He looked around for a place where she could have a clear view of everything, somewhere that would draw her in. Then his eyes found the tall tree. Without hesitation, he approached it and looked above.
There, hanging from one of the branches, was a strange-looking bag—something he immediately recognized as hers from the peculiar items he had seen in her house.
He stepped back, adjusting his position so he could look higher, toward the very top.
And there she was, standing so high up, balanced on the highest branch as though the sky itself welcomed her.
Azron crossed his arms as he gazed at her.
For a fleeting moment, he had thought she had escaped—that she had slipped away from his reach entirely. But instead, she was simply there… quietly enjoying the view, as if nothing else mattered.
The tightness in his chest eased, replaced by something softer. His worry faded, and a small, almost reluctant smile tugged at his lips. He found it strangely amusing… and unexpectedly comforting.
General Jidu saw Lord Azron looking above the tree and followed his gaze. When he saw Sera, he immediately signaled the warriors to stop their search before approaching Azron.
"What is she doing?" General Jidu asked, his tone filled with mild disbelief.
"It's just something she does," Azron answered, his eyes still locked on Sera, as though he needed to make sure she would not disappear again.
Then sunrise came. Sera's eyes widened at the sight of the sky's palette unfolding before her, soft hues of gold and crimson stretching endlessly across the horizon. It was so beautiful that she couldn't stop herself from staring, her breath catching softly as something inside her stirred—something gentle and unfamiliar.
Then she looked down to check if everyone was ready to depart. She saw the warriors already beginning their formation. She immediately shifted her attention to climbing down, but as she glanced below, her breath hitched.
Lord Azron and General Jidu stood there, both gazing up at her—as if they had been waiting for her for quite some time.
The realization made her heart skip.
She was so surprised at the sight of Azron looking directly at her that her hand slipped slightly, her body tilting as she nearly lost her balance.
Below, Azron and General Jidu both stepped forward instinctively, tension tightening in their bodies at the sight of her faltering.
Sera quickly steadied herself, gripping the trunk tightly as her breath came uneven for a brief moment.
Both Azron and Jidu exhaled, the tension easing—but Azron's gaze remained fixed on her, sharp and unwavering.
Sera climbed down gracefully, as if the tree posed no challenge at all, despite what had almost happened. Yet Azron did not look away, watching her every movement, making sure she reached the ground safely.
Azron crossed his arms again as Sera jumped lightly to the ground. His face was serious, composed, though something unreadable lingered beneath his expression.
Behind him, General Jidu, sensing the heavy atmosphere, glanced between them as Sera approached, adjusting her backpack.
Sera smiled awkwardly at Azron, her heart still unsettled. She thought they had all been waiting for her—and that it had made him angry again.
"I was just…" she began, but Azron cut her off.
"Were you a monkey in your past life?" Azron asked, his tone flat, though his eyes lingered on her just a moment longer than necessary. Then he turned and walked toward his horse, ready for departure.
His comment almost made General Jidu laugh.
"Did he just call me a monkey?" she asked, her brows furrowing, unsure whether to feel insulted or embarrassed.
General Jidu giggled and tapped her shoulder. "Saddle up," he said as he whistled.
His whistle was followed by the echo of loud drums and horns, a signal for departure.
…
TO THE NORTH: SECOND DAY
Sera looked around her as the army continued to march, her eyes tracing the endless rows of warriors moving in perfect rhythm. Aren't they all tired? We've been traveling for half a day, she thought, quietly amazed at their endurance and dedication.
She glanced at the cavalry warrior beside her—it was the same one who had guarded her yesterday. General Jidu was now commanding his troops in the front. Sera wondered if it was because Azron had realized she wasn't going to run away, or if Jidu was simply needed at the front as they drew closer to the Northern lands.
Then a horn was blown, its sound sharp and commanding, and the entire army stopped.
"Why are we stopping?" she asked the cavalry warrior, but he didn't utter a single word.
Her annoyance flared. She turned to look at the other cavalry warriors behind her—their faces just as still, just as unreadable. It made her more irritated, as if she were surrounded by statues rather than men.
She didn't know they had been ordered not to speak to her—only to make sure she didn't escape.
Then the entire army shifted formation, splitting into four brigades. Their movements were swift and precise, every warrior preparing their weapons as if anticipating what was to come.
Then she saw the four generals approaching Lord Azron in the middle. She watched them closely, though she couldn't hear their conversation. Their faces were serious—far more serious than she had ever seen.
It made her chest tighten slightly as unease crept in. Something was happening. Something she could not yet understand.
The four generals soon dispersed, returning to their positions, leaving Azron standing there, his expression dark and intense.
Then another horn was blown and flags were waved—but Sera didn't understand their meaning.
Then something caught her attention.
Her eyes lifted—and widened.
A fireball tore through the air, accompanied by a loud, piercing scream.
Clay grenade!
It was rushing toward her direction, toward the supply wagons. The reflection of the blazing fire filled her eyes as everything around her seemed to blur. The warriors moved instantly, dispersing in perfect coordination as if they had already prepared for such an attack.
The noise dulled in her ears. Time slowed.
She had fought in dangerous situations before—but this… this was different.
This was war.
A soft whistle cut through the chaos.
Her mule suddenly surged forward, rushing away just as the fireball struck the ground behind them, exploding into a violent burst.
Sera clung tightly, shocked as the mule moved without command, as if guided by something unseen.
Then she saw him—Lord Azron—intercepting the mule, stopping it with ease, as if it had always been under his control.
"Good boy, Pearl," he murmured, gently patting the mule, his voice calm despite the chaos around them.
Sera's eyes widened in realization. The mule was following him.
Pearl? Is this mule his? she thought, her heart racing.
Then Azron's hands gripped her shoulders firmly.
"Focus!" he shouted, his voice cutting through everything, his eyes intense—but there was something else there now, something softer.
Sera looked toward where the fireball had struck. A massive crater marked the ground, though thankfully there were no casualties.
Then she looked back at Azron, noticing the faint trace of worry on his face.
"Can you manage?" he asked.
Sera steadied herself. She didn't want him to worry—not when he had an entire army to lead. She didn't want him to doubt her either.
"Yes," she answered firmly.
"Good."
Then chaos erupted.
The army scattered as enemies charged into their formation, all targeting Lord Azron.
Several enemy cavalry warriors rushed forward, but Azron killed them instantly. His movements were swift, precise, and deadly.
Sera watched in shock—it was the first time she had truly seen him in battle. His reputation was no lie.
Blood stained the battlefield as warriors fell.
They had not even reached their destination, yet death had already found them.
Then more enemy warriors approached.
Azron glanced at Sera, then tapped the mule, sending it away from danger.
But Sera pulled the reins.
She turned back.
And saw him—alone, surrounded.
Azron stood on the ground, his sword dripping with blood, his breathing heavier now. The enemies attacked all at once, but he dashed forward without hesitation, as if their numbers meant nothing.
Sera's chest tightened painfully.
She couldn't leave him.
She urged the mule forward, grabbing a bow and arrow from a fallen warrior.
While Azron fought, Sera took aim at the enemies surrounding him.
"Steady, Pearl," she said softly as the mule ran across the field.
She released three arrows. They struck true.
Three enemies fell.
Again.
Three more.
Azron noticed. He turned—and saw her.
A small smile tugged at his lips, something proud and almost relieved. She had never needed protection at all.
The fight continued, and many enemy warriors fell to Sera's arrows, each strike precise and merciless, cutting through the chaos like a quiet promise of death.
One after another, the enemies collapsed, their bodies hitting the ground in a relentless rhythm that sent unease creeping into the enemy General's chest.
Confusion twisted into irritation as his gaze sharpened, scanning the battlefield for the unseen force unraveling his ranks.
"Who's firing the arrows?" he demanded, his voice edged with both anger and a growing sense of dread.
Then he saw Sera.
Pearl's white coat made her impossible to miss.
Sera continued shooting three arrows at a time, each shot precise, each strike deadly.
The enemy General grinned in anger and lifted his bow, targeting Sera. Though he was far, his strength carried the arrow through the distance.
But Sera saw it coming. She caught it mid-air before it could touch her—and sent it back.
The arrow pierced the General's shoulder.
He stared at it… then lifted his gaze toward her.
Their eyes met.
Her gaze was fierce, challenging—and a smirk formed on her lips.
The General laughed, amused at first—until realization struck. His eyes lingered on her face, on the way her hair moved in the wind, and his expression shifted into something darker, something predatory as the truth settled in—she was a woman. And she was beautiful. Then he noticed the mule.
Recognition dawned.
Ghosthoof.
Pearl was no ordinary mule. He had served three generations of Mort's Lord, enduring countless battles—trained not merely to survive, but to protect with unwavering loyalty. The Mort army revered the Ghosthoof, and even their enemies knew his legend. Across all of Mort State, his name carried a quiet authority, a symbol of endurance and unbreakable will.
The Ghosthoof did not allow just anyone to mount him—he yielded only when commanded by her master himself. How such obedience was won remained a mystery, something deeper than discipline, something almost sacred.
And yet… Azron had placed Sera upon his back.
By doing so, he ensured that no warrior would dare lay a hand on her. It was his protection… silent, unspoken, and far more intimate than any command spoken aloud.
But to the enemy General, Sera became something else entirely.
A prey.
A weakness.
A target.
Sera had no idea that by riding the Ghosthoof, she was placed under Lord Azron's protection—marked as someone important to him, and therefore a target for his enemies.
Noticing his forces were losing, the enemy General signaled his troops to fall back. The enemies retreated toward the woods—some on horses, some on foot—until they disappeared completely.
But the enemy General remained for a moment longer.
His eyes fixed on Sera.
Slowly, he pulled the arrow from his shoulder… and licked it, never breaking his gaze.
Lord Azron saw him—and followed his line of sight.
To her.
The General then shifted his gaze to Azron and laughed hysterically before disappearing into the woods.
And something dark, cold, and dangerously possessive flickered in Azron's eyes.