Chapter 98 Surviving Long Enough to be Tired
Bella
The world finally slows. Not all at once but in pieces. A tent here. A bedroll unrolled there. The clink of armour being set aside instead of worn like a second skin. Voices drop from sharp and alert to low and tired, laughter quieter now, edged with that brittle relief that only comes when you realise you’ve lived through something you really shouldn’t have. We make camp far enough from the woods that they feel like a bad dream instead of a threat. The trees thin, the road stays stubbornly normal, and the air loses that charged, listening quality that made my shoulders live somewhere near my ears. Here, the night smells like grass and smoke and sweat — ordinary things. Blessed things. We have an easy dinner of tinned foods and damper around the fire as we all come to terms with the day we've had. Then one by one, people disappear into tents. Ashlyn blows me a kiss as she ducks into hers, already mid-complaint about sore legs and existential dread. Red doesn’t linger at all; she sharpens her blade once, checks the perimeter with a look that says nothing sneaks up on me twice, and vanishes into the shadows like she was never meant to sleep in the first place. Damien, Gilfred, and I retreat into our tent last. It’s nothing special — canvas and poles and a bedroll that’s seen better days — but when the flap falls shut behind us, the world narrows down to something manageable. A lantern glows low and warm in the corner. Gilfred immediately claims the pillow like he paid rent and flattens himself against it, eyes half-lidded in pure reptilian bliss. He will definitely have to move. I sink down onto the bedroll with a groan that I do not attempt to hide.
Damien’s mouth twitches. “You alright?”
“I always wanted adventure,” I say, staring up at the canvas ceiling. “Turns out being the one in it instead of reading about it is deeply overrated.”
He huffs softly and sits beside me, long legs stretched out, shoulders slumping now that he’s no longer holding the world together through sheer willpower. He looks tired in a way that goes beyond physical; it's the kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones when you’ve been tested, measured, and found wanting by something ancient and cruel.
“I thought it would never end,” he admits quietly.
“The woods?”
“The choices,” he says. “What they offered. What they expected me to want.”
I turn my head to look at him. The lantern light softens his features, but there’s no hiding the shadows under his eyes. “You didn’t want it.”
“No,” he says immediately. Then, after a beat, more honestly: “I might have. Once. Long ago.”
That doesn’t scare me. What scares me is how easily the world tried to hand him something painless in exchange for everything he is. I sit up and lean into his side, resting my head against his shoulder. He stiffens for half a second, then relaxes into it, his arm coming around me without thought.
“Do you think it’ll happen again?” I ask quietly. “More tests. More… doors?”
He’s silent long enough that I know he’s telling the truth when he answers.
“Yes.”
I sigh. “Figures.”
His chest vibrates with a low chuckle. “We’re walking straight toward the Glacial Sanctum. I doubt whatever waits there will be content to let us arrive unchanged.”
“Home is going to feel very far away by the time we get there,” I murmur.
He tilts his head, resting it lightly against mine. “You're considering it home now, huh?” He says with a small playfulness that I know he's using to hide his utter awe at my choice of words.
I nudge him softly in the side and smile as I lean back into him. I think about warm beds and quiet mornings. About snow that doesn’t scream with magic. About not being watched by forests or castles or doors that think they know better than I do.
"Yeah. Home. I think I’m going to sleep for a week when we get back there,” I say. “Possibly two. No prophecies. No monsters. Definitely no tea.”
Gilfred flicks his tail in agreement.
Damien’s grip tightens just a fraction. “You did well today.”
I snort softly. “I screamed, froze a fake you, threatened an illusion, and declared war on perfection.”
“That,” he says, utterly serious, “might be the bravest thing anyone’s done in these lands for centuries.”
I laugh despite myself, the sound soft and tired and real.
Damien shifts beside me, movement careful, like he doesn’t want to disturb whatever fragile peace we’ve finally earned. He reaches for his boots first, tugging them off with a quiet grunt and setting them neatly beside the tent wall. Then he pauses, glancing at me.
“Feet,” he says.
I blink. “What?”
“Your boots,” he repeats, already reaching for them. “You’ve been walking all day.”
I let him lift my heel, fingers warm and steady as he works the leather loose and slides the boot free. He does the other just as carefully, setting them beside his. Gilfred clicks in mild protest as Damien gently scoops him up from the pillow.
“Hey,” I mutter. “That’s his spot.”
“He’ll survive,” Damien murmurs, settling the gecko onto his shoulder. Gilfred promptly flattens himself against Damien’s neck like this was the plan all along.
Damien stretches out behind me next, guiding me back until my spine rests against his chest. His legs bracket mine, long and solid, and then his arms come around me, firm and sure, like he’s anchoring us both in place. I let my head fall back against his shoulder with a soft sigh. The world narrows down to the sound of his breathing. The steady beat of his heart. The faint, familiar warmth humming beneath his skin where the dragon rests, quiet but watchful.
“You still with me?” he murmurs.
“Barely,” I admit. “Turns out saving yourself from cursed woods is exhausting.”
A ghost of a smile brushes my temple as he presses a kiss there.
“I like this adventure, Snowflake,” he says softly. “But I think our story will be much calmer when we’re home.”
I close my eyes, letting the words settle.
“I used to think adventure meant running toward danger,” I whisper. “Big moments. Big choices. Big… everything.”
“And now?”
“Now I think it’s this,” I say. “Choosing each other when something tries to rewrite us. Surviving long enough to be tired together.”
His arms tighten just a little, protective without being possessive.
"Sounds like the perfect fairytale to me, Snowflake."