The path to Orland Valley was more like a narrow trail winding between shrubs and tangled roots that jutted from the ground. Because of how tight it was, our bodies constantly brushed against each other—sometimes even bumping gently. But Elfea kept walking without saying much, her gaze fixed straight ahead as if unaffected by the closeness between us.
"Elfea..."
I called her name in a voice barely louder than the whispering wind.
She turned immediately, slightly surprised. "Yes, Rey? What is it?"
I hesitated for a moment before asking, "Aren't you... hungry?"
Grrrkkk...
Her stomach answered before she could, the sound loud enough that we both froze for a second. Elfea's usually calm expression turned stiff, her pale cheeks flushed pink, and she nodded softly—like a child caught sneaking a snack.
"…Sorry... I guess I am a little hungry," she admitted, almost shyly.
I smiled. "Good thing I still have some bread in my pack."
From my rucksack, I pulled out a piece of plain wheat bread wrapped in cloth. Nothing fancy, but enough to tide us over. Elfea accepted it with both hands, as if receiving something precious.
"Thank you, Rey."
Her voice was soft, and her eyes met mine with a warmth that felt... sincere.
We sat for a while on a large rock by the side of the trail. The wind blew gently, carrying the damp scent of the valley and the earthy breath of the forest. Elfea nibbled her bread slowly, as graceful as always.
I watched her quietly, thinking to myself, It's really nice... eating together like this.
Elfea continued eating at a leisurely pace, occasionally glancing up at the sky now draped in layers of gray clouds. I sat beside her, leaning against the cold surface of the rock, despite the rays of sunlight that still filtered through the canopy.
"…It tastes better than I expected," Elfea said after a few bites.
I chuckled. "That's just some dry bread I made myself. You probably never tasted homemade burnt bread before."
I remembered when I was twelve, I kept trying to bake bread—and the result was always the same: burnt. But through those failures, I learned a lot from the patient villagers of Hago who eventually taught me properly.
Elfea turned to me, her eyes sparkling. "You can cook?"
"Well, you could say... I have a talent for turning food into something unrecognizable."
She covered her mouth, stifling her laughter. "Then maybe I won't ask you to cook when we get to Moniyan Kingdom."
"Hey, don't say that! You have to try Rey's special burnt bread at least once. It has a smoky aroma that touches your soul."
Elfea's laughter broke free this time, clear and bright among the trees. I watched her for a moment—that smile, that laughter... like a spring breeze washing away the fatigue of our journey.
"You know, Rey," she said after her laughter subsided, "this journey… even though it's exhausting, doesn't feel as heavy when I'm with you."
I froze for a second, surprised such a warm sentence came from her.
"I feel the same," I replied quietly. "Since we've been traveling together... the world feels a little bigger, but also a little more... welcoming."
We gazed at each other in a comfortable silence. Not awkward, not forced. Just the wind rustling and the slow tick of time passing gently.
"Rey," Elfea said suddenly, her eyes turning back toward the path ahead, "once we reach Orland Valley... what will you do?"
I stared at the trail fading into the dense forest. Her question tugged at something inside me.
"I don't know yet," I answered honestly. "Maybe... I'll write this story. Our journey. So the world will know there's a girl named Elfea who dared to face dangers for hope."
Elfea fell silent. Then, slowly, she smiled with her cheeks tinged pink.
"Then... make sure you include the part about the burnt bread too."
"Of course. That's the most dramatic moment of our journey."
We laughed together. Our laughter echoed lightly among the leaves, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause just to let us enjoy that simple peace.
Elfea finished her bread with a calm final bite, carefully folded the cloth, and handed it back to me.
"Thank you," she said again, softer this time, but filled with meaning.
I packed it away without a word. Somehow, the silence between us wasn't empty—it was a comfortable space where two people could share without needing many words.
The sky began to pale, heavy clouds hanging lower above the treetops. The air turned damp and cold, a sign that rain might be coming soon.
"We should move on before the rain catches us," I said, standing while brushing the dust off my pants.
Elfea nodded, and without more words, we resumed walking along the narrow trail. This time, our steps felt lighter, as if the energy from the simple bread and shared laughter still echoed inside us.
After a few minutes, the sound of trickling water reached our ears—not from rain, but from a small stream crossing the path. The water was clear, gently flowing over smooth stones.
"…It's beautiful," Elfea whispered, kneeling by the stream and letting her fingers touch the cool surface. "So cold…"
I crouched down beside her, dipping my hand briefly into the water. "If you're thirsty, now's your chance. This is mountain water. It's safe."
Elfea cupped her hands and drank slowly. Her silver hair flowed softly in the breeze, and for a moment, I found myself silently admiring her like someone gazing at a living work of art. Simple... yet captivating.
"Rey," she said without looking at me, "do you ever feel... afraid of what we might face in Orland Valley?"
We had already faced the Wargwood before—our first real battle. And I had a feeling that every challenge ahead would only grow harder.
Her question struck deeper than I expected. I took a long breath and sat on a flat stone near the edge.
"Every day," I admitted. "I'm afraid that what we're looking for might not even exist. Or worse... that we'll be too late."
Elfea stood before me, water still dripping from her fingers.
"But you keep walking."
"Because if I stop... that dream will never come. And... I know you won't give up. So I won't either."
Her eyes met mine with a look I couldn't quite describe. There was admiration there, perhaps even understanding. She then sat beside me, letting her shoulder lean against mine.
"You know," she whispered, "I used to think the world didn't need someone like me. But... being with you, I feel like... maybe I matter."
I turned to her. "This world is too big to explore alone, Elfea. Sometimes, all we need is one person who believes."
We fell into silence again, this time a closeness deeper than before. Not just two travelers on the same path, but two hearts slowly learning to understand each other, even without touching.
The clouds finally broke, and the first drops of rain fell onto the leaves. We stood up almost at the same time, laughing softly as we realized our hair was already getting wet.
"Let's run!" I shouted.
We ran through the drenched forest, our steps splashing water and brushing against soaked foliage. Elfea laughed beside me, her laughter as clear as the trickling rain.
Beneath a sky that cried softly, we kept moving. Leaving footprints in the wet earth and small stories among the trees, toward Orland Valley—and perhaps, the fate that awaited us there.