Where Is Aria?!

Rayan only realized how long Aria had been gone when Tristan entered the room carrying a tray of food. A roasted pheasant lay on the plate, steaming slightly. The sight made Rayan pause.

He couldn’t help but recall Aria’s reaction when he had once prepared the same for her.

A faint, involuntary smile touched his lips.

But the smile faded just as quickly when he spoke.

“Did she eat?”

He hadn’t seen her since earlier. A flicker of unease crossed his face.

Tristan, understanding who his master meant, shook his head.

“I’m not sure, My Lord.”

Rayan’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean by that? Did she not make anything for herself?”

Tristan hesitated. He knew this wouldn’t go over well. Then he answered honestly.

“My Lord… I haven’t seen her since I last came to check on you.”

The silence that followed was sharp and tight with tension until Rayan’s cold voice broke through.

“And you’re telling me this now?”

His tone held restrained fury. Tristan stood still.

Rayan didn’t explode, but inside, he worried. He remembered how pale Aria had looked—how exhausted she’d been after healing him.

Had he frightened her? Had he said something that made her run?

She had saved him.

And he had done nothing but freeze in the moment after.

He swung his legs off the bed.

“My Lord!” Tristan stepped forward in alarm.

With his chest wound barely covered, Rayan shouldn’t have been moving at all.

“Move, Tristan.” His voice was low and angry.

Tristan blocked him anyway. “My Lord, please—you need to rest. You should be taking care of yourself, not worrying about—about her! Did you not see how the wolf obeyed her? She could have stopped it sooner, but she didn’t. She just stood there and watched. She’s not—”

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“Shut your mouth.”

Rayan’s voice cut through like a blade.

Tristan tried again, more urgently, “But, My Lord—”

“If you still intend to serve under me,” Rayan said coldly, “then I suggest you stop speaking about her in that tone. Immediately.”

That stopped Tristan.

His mouth remained slightly open, words frozen on his tongue. In his eyes, something shifted—hurt, disbelief.

But he said no more.

Rayan brushed past him and grabbed his robe from the bed, throwing it over his shoulders.

He didn’t blame Tristan for being angry. He didn’t even blame him for suspecting something.

But his way of reacting… that he couldn’t excuse.

He walked out of the room without another word. Tristan, frustrated and concerned, followed closely behind.

“My Lord—please. Let me go find her instead. You should rest.”

His voice had softened slightly now, attempting peace.

Rayan didn’t respond. He moved to another room in the hut and opened the door.

Empty.

His frown deepened. The worry inside him was mounting fast.

‘I’ll search the hill.’

Without hesitating, he headed for the main door.

Tristan rushed ahead and opened it for him.

“My Lord, allow me. I swear I won’t return without her.”

Rayan didn’t answer, but he stopped walking.

Tristan allowed himself a brief sigh of relief.

Until he noticed Rayan wasn’t standing still because of him.

Rayan’s gaze had frozen on something outside.

Tristan turned to look—and saw what Rayan saw.

Silhouettes, walking down the hill.

At first, Rayan felt a wave of relief. These were his men—he recognized them.

But then he saw what one of them was carrying.

An unconscious girl.

None other than Aria.

Confusion flickered in his eyes. Then panic. Then rage.

Tristan, delighted to see familiar allies, took a step forward—only to stop when he noticed Rayan’s expression.

Rayan didn’t even glance at the others.

He stormed forward, straight to the man carrying Aria.

“My Lord!” the man greeted with a relieved smile on his lips.

Rayan’s voice was ice. “What did you do to her?”

The man’s smile faltered. “My Lord?”

Rayan didn’t wait for a reply. He took Aria into his arms carefully.

His jaw clenched as he looked at her.

She was pale. Lips drained of color.

And far too still.

Without a word to anyone, he turned around and carried her back inside the hut.

----------------------------------------

Flashback

“Grandma, are there only two of us?”

Aria had once asked that with eyes full of innocent curiosity.

She would often watch birds fly together in flocks, and wonder. Wonder if people like her and her grandmother existed elsewhere.

Her grandmother stopped chopping vegetables and turned to look at her. She was silent for a long time, as though weighing the truth.

Then, finally, she spoke.

“There are more.”

Aria sat up straighter, her heart fluttering.

“Where? Why do we live here then? Why don’t we go there—or call them here?”

She imagined a world filled with people like them—so many voices, so much warmth.

But her grandmother’s expression didn’t match that joy.

“They are not good people, Aria,” she said softly. “They will take you away from me. Or take me away from you.”

The fear in her grandmother’s eyes had settled deep in Aria’s soul.

The thought of being separated had struck her like nothing else.

Her grandmother had looked into her eyes then, voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you want that to happen?”

Aria had shaken her head again and again.

“Never,” she had whispered, her voice trembling.

And she had meant it.