Ink: Living Life as Serena Gleis

Chapter L : The War has Begun.

We walked in silence, his hand lingering on my wrist, a silent anchor in the midst of uncertainty. Though not much unfolded before us in the expanse of Clyian woods-only towering Cerce trees and snow-dusted bushes-it held a peculiar comfort, a familiarity that whispered of home. Yet, amidst its simplicity, the dense woods served as a natural barrier, shielding Clye from the prying eyes of Bluistain, a fortress of solitude against the outside world's chill embrace.

Azrael stopped walking so I did too. He led me under a tree near a frozen lake. I have no idea that this place exist here. I haven't got the chance to explore Clye as I was too occupied with the paperwork. The lake shimmered under the morning sun, its surface a tapestry of sparkling light, as if the stars themselves had descended to dance upon the water.

"Pretty," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the gentle rustle of leaves. Perched on a nearby rock, I stole a glance at Azrael standing beside me. Together, we savored the tranquil scene in silence, the worries of the world melting away with each passing moment, swallowed by the beauty of the landscape stretching out before us.

"We should create a pathway leading to this place. This will be a great place for Clyians to visit every now and then." I said to break the silence. Azrael shook his head. "No, let this place be our secret."His words resonated with me, not for their content, but for the sentiment behind them. A secret haven, untouched by prying eyes-a longing I had harbored for so long. In that moment, as a smile graced my lips, I knew that I had found more than just a sanctuary in Azrael's company.

We lingered in the peaceful solitude of the woods, though the biting cold urged us to depart. Duty called, pulling us back to reality with a relentless grip. As we retraced our steps towards Clye, a distant noise shattered the stillness of the forest.

"A bear, perhaps?" I ventured, my question hanging in the frosty air. Before Azrael could respond, another rustle echoed through the trees. Instinctively, we gripped our swords, steeling ourselves for the unknown. With cautious steps, we approached the source of the disturbance.

"Hold on, Arthur. Please," one of the men ahead pleaded, bearing the weight of an unconscious comrade.

"Where are we going?" queried another, their worn faces etched with exhaustion and worry.

"I have no idea, but we must find shelter. Arthur's losing blood," the man to the right replied, his voice strained with urgency. They were knights, their armor battered and worn, bearing the scars of battle.

Knights of Bluistain, far from their homeland. Why had they ventured here, to the outskirts of Clye?

Azrael and I exchanged wary glances, uncertainty clouding our thoughts. Welcoming them into Clye posed a risk, yet leaving them to perish in the cold seemed unthinkable.

What should I do?

Sheathing my sword, I approached the trio with measured steps, Azrael's concern palpable in his gaze. Ignoring his silent protest, I offered a reassuring smile, silently promising him that all would end well.

It might have seemed foolish, but these knights were not our enemies. Victims of circumstance, caught in the crossfire of warring nations, they too were casualties of the turmoil raging beyond our borders.

As we drew nearer, the fear etched on their faces was unmistakable. One of the men, trembling, unsheathed his sword, while his companion tended to their fallen comrade.

"We come in peace, to offer aid," I declared, moving forward. The man's grip on his weapon remained firm, his sword quivering with uncertainty, poised dangerously close to my throat.

They were not in any condition to fight, a fact that was not lost on them. If conflict were to arise, they knew all too well the inevitable outcome-defeat, or worse, death.