The world outside was frozen—blanketed in a soft layer of crystalline snow and glowing faintly under the fading light of dusk. Gentle flakes drifted from the sky, quiet and harmless, like falling stardust. The surrounding trees were frosted with white, their bare branches glistening beneath the moon's silvery gleam.
Yet in the heart of the cold, a warm oasis burned.
A campfire crackled softly, its golden flames dancing against the chill, casting flickering shadows upon the faces gathered around it. The scent of roasted vegetables and warm bread filled the air, comforting and nostalgic. Potatoes had been seasoned and wrapped in foil, now steaming as they were unwrapped. A pot of creamy vegetable stew simmered nearby, filled with herbs, diced carrots, mushrooms, and wild greens. Scarlett had even managed to bake flatbread using a makeshift pan, filling the area with a homey warmth.
They all sat on thick woolen blankets spread in a semi-circle. Behind them, the carriage rested safely, and just ahead—peace, rare and cherished.
Noah sat in the center, leaning back with a relaxed smile on his lips. For once, his sword was sheathed. His eyes reflected the flickering flames and the faint stars above, but more than that—they reflected the girls beside him.
Scarlett was nestled against his right side, quietly watching the flames, occasionally sneaking glances at him with a soft blush painting her cheeks. On his left, Layla clung to his arm possessively, cheeks puffed in mock annoyance every time someone else got his attention. Lyra sat across from him, more reserved but no less present—her gaze gentle, as if this moment was a dream she didn't want to wake from.
They all looked… happy.
Noah's thoughts stirred beneath the peace.
They deserve this. After all the battles, the fear, the losses… this warmth is a luxury. But I want to give it to them. Again and again. No matter how cold the world gets… I want them to have this warmth.
"Open wide~" Layla's teasing voice cut through the moment, holding a spoon of stew toward his mouth.
He blinked. "Wait—"
Too late. She slipped the spoon into his mouth with a triumphant smirk.
"Good boy," she said, giggling.
"Layla!" Scarlett huffed, holding her own spoon protectively. "I was about to feed him."
Lyra, surprisingly, pouted slightly. "...Me too."
Noah coughed, then laughed. "W-Wait, one at a time, I'm not going anywhere."
Layla leaned her head against his shoulder, eyes closing. "Mhm. You better not. I'm too comfortable now."
Scarlett took the opportunity to scoop some stew and offer it to him, eyes locked with his. "You've done enough for all of us today. Let us spoil you now."
Her voice was tender, sincere.
Noah swallowed the bite slowly, smiling as he took her hand gently in his. "Then I'll accept it gratefully."
Lyra moved next, her motions more hesitant. She lifted a piece of warm bread, tore a piece off, and held it out to him.
He leaned forward, biting it carefully.
She lowered her hand shyly. "You always feed others. You rarely let yourself be taken care of."
"I guess I'm just not used to it," he said gently.
But inside, Noah's chest felt light.
They're smiling because of me. Laughing. Safe. Is this what I've been fighting for? Not glory. Not strength. Just… this?
Layla reached out next, holding a piece of grilled potato. "My turn again~"
"You already had three turns," Scarlett grumbled.
"I'm the one who's been guarding the carriage all day. I deserve—"
The banter continued, light and playful. They laughed under the open sky, warmth radiating from the fire and their voices.
Scarlett leaned into Noah's shoulder.
Layla rested her head on his lap, humming.
Lyra sat with both hands curled around a steaming mug, watching the fire, cheeks gently flushed.
And all of them, in their own way, felt the same thing:
This feels like home.
Meanwhile…
Inside the carriage, the air was still and hushed.
Alea's eyelashes fluttered open.
The world greeted her slowly—blurry images of wooden beams above her, the soft creak of the carriage beneath her, and… voices. Laughter.
Her body ached with fatigue, but her mind stirred sharply.
Where…? Lyra…?
She sat up with effort, pushing the blanket aside. The voices drew her, curious and warm. She stepped out carefully, her bare feet pressing against the edge of the wooden step, then the snowy ground.
Her breath caught.
The scene before her was like something out of a distant memory.
A fire. Her daughter. Smiling. Laughing. Surrounded by people who cared.
And at the center… a silver-haired boy feeding her daughter roasted potato with gentle care.
Lyra's cheeks were red. Her eyes sparkled.
She had never looked so alive.
Alea stood silently, watching everything—the way Layla clung to the boy's side, how Scarlett pressed against him, and how Lyra looked at him like he was the sun that melted her years of cold.
A mother's instinct stirred within her.
That boy… who is he to my daughter?
The laughter continued—until Alea took a single step forward and cleared her throat, her voice playful and clear:
"Well, well… I leave you unconscious for a while and you've already found yourself a husband, Lyra?"
The fire cracked.
Everyone froze.
The spoon in Lyra's hand slipped, falling to the snow with a faint clink.
Her eyes widened. "M-Mother…?!"
—To be continued...