She searched the soldiers in paranoia. But none paid her any mind. She was invisible, a no one. Daniel may be a lord and a major, but he was a freshly minted one and clearly not considered to be much above the common soldier. No one cared who went into his tent or why he took them there.

Inside it was larger than the average soldier’s, comfortable for three people. Serien sat dumbly, her eyes adjusting to the fading light. Daniel wasn’t a Firebearer, he couldn’t summon flames for them to see by, so they were left to the remaining light of the sun and growing light of the moon.

“Do you know how to take this off ?” He was already halfway out of his plate.

“Not really.” She’d forgotten what Aldrik had shown her. It was more complex than the simple hooks he’d fashioned for her scale mail.

“Let me show you.” Daniel moved slowly, as though the slightest motion could send her running. The moment he lifted the plate off her shoulders, she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d forgotten how heavy the blasted armor was. Serien was quick to shed her chainmail.

“What—” Daniel lifted her pant leg before she had time to object. Serien saw what had commanded his attention. Her calf was caked in blood, the bandages hanging limp and useless, her flesh was shredded from the stiches she’d ripped. “By the Mother, how are you even walking?”

“I’ve gotten used to it.” There was a horrific fascination with seeing her own body mutilated. Serien wondered if she felt so calm because even her body didn’t feel like hers. Nothing belonged to her anymore, not even her name.

“No, this is bad.” Daniel rummaged through his pack. “I need to go to a cleric.”

“No!” She gripped his wrist. “They’ll ask questions.”

“No, they won’t.” Daniel assured her. “Serien, you’re no one. I’m mostly no one. Soldiers get hurt all the time. Stop worrying.” He rested a palm on her head and quickly departed.

Serien struggled with the emotions silently warring in her that followed his absence: guilt, shame, pain, exhaustion, and relief. She was happy not to be alone.

Daniel re-bandaged her leg and refused to train with her for a week after that. She spent most of the time making up lost hours of sleep. As soon as his tent was erected, she disappeared and hid from the world. In the darkness she didn’t have to be Serien or Vhalla. She could be no one, and that was the only thing that brought her peace enough to close her eyes.

Patrols and sentries were increased around the host, but there weren’t any further attacks. The march toward the North seemed so peaceful that it was unnerving. The soldiers were beginning to bore, and with their boredom came gossip.

“I hear he finally started taking her to his tent again.” The chatty one next to Serien had been very excited for this particular piece of gossip.

“Who?”

“The crown prince and the Windwalker. Who else?”

Serien glanced in the direction of the talking soldiers.

“But I hear he’s going through twice his usual spirits.”

“Enough for him and her?”

“Well I can’t blame her. I’d have to be out of my mind drunk to even think of sleeping with the Fire Lord!” They all laughed.

She wondered how Vhalla Yarl had been so deaf to their words. But those words stayed with her. They stayed until she practiced with Daniel that night, letting them go through her gradually less clumsy swings and footwork.

“You’re getting better, you know,” he encouraged as they rested side-by-side later.

“Am I?” She rolled to face him.

“You are.” He smiled.

Serien did something she hadn’t yet done. She smiled in reply.

The expression melted from Daniel’s lips as he stared at her, as if realizing the same thing. “Vh-Serien,” he corrected himself, remembering how she had pleaded for him not to the last time he’d used her name. It took away Serien’s strength and reminded her of all the things that were broken in the world. Being Serien was becoming easier.

“Yes?”

“May I touch you?”

The question caught her off-guard, and she blinked at him, trying to see his face clearly through the darkness. She shifted closer in her attempt, but it was pointless. The moon was beginning to wane and with it their nights had become heavier.

“What sort of a question is that?” she whispered.

“I swore I wouldn’t,” he reminded her. “But I wish to.”

“How?” Her heart was beginning to beat furiously in her chest.

“I don’t know, just yet.” Daniel shifted closer. “But, I want to find out. May I?”

Serien swallowed, her throat gummy. “You may.”

The words escaped—she hadn’t even known they had been hiding within her. The rough pads of his fingers, calloused from years of the sword, brushed up against her forehead, feeling where her face was in the darkness. They stilled, slowly tracing down her temple, over the curve of her cheek, along her jaw, to her chin. They brushed over her lips, and up her nose, as though he was an artist trying to recreate her likeness.

“Daniel ... I ...” her voice cracked. Tears threatened to spring forth from the ache in her chest that could split her in two. He was too kind.

“What? You what?” Sand ground beneath him as he shifted closer still. Serien could feel his warmth now. He was warmer than she expected him to be and it was such a soothing comfort. “What are we?”

Serien opened her mouth, trying to formulate an answer—but she didn’t have one. She didn’t know what she should call him, call them. He had gone beyond his call of duty as a friend and without her noticing he had begun to fill the holes her prior life had left in her. He comforted her in the night and he soothed away her fears for the day.

She pressed her eyes closed and pulled away. “I’m tired.”

Daniel didn’t ask the question again.

It took just over two weeks for Craig to finally confront Daniel about his new aloofness and odd habits. At which point Craig was finally in on the plot. It shocked Serien that it took his being sat down before her and practically told to notice the woman whose body she was inhabiting.

The moment he realized who she was, he pledged to protect her as well, and she had two teachers after that. Serien hadn’t realized her monopolization of Daniel’s time had been taxing on him, but the moment he didn’t have to be with her every second following the march, he was off doing other things, tending to Baldair’s demands or helping run the camp. She was cross with him for not telling her she’d been a burden and made sure he knew it.

Daniel only laughed. He would have done it for her no matter what, he assured her.

Serien had been born of blood and death, but even she was beginning to see the sun rise in all its colors. Perhaps it was the tireless support of Daniel—and Craig. Or perhaps it was because every day carried her closer to the final outpost of the West, where the host would split, and she would be with Aldrik again.

Some soldiers had called the final outpost a “fort” but that term was a very loose one. It had a makeshift wall constructed of giant timbers and packed clay, but within it was little more than the glorified tent cities she had come to know. There was no pomp or circumstance here, no cheers or pennons or ceremony. This was the edge of war, and there wasn’t time for such frivolous notions.

“We will rest here for the night,” the Emperor shouted over the troops, his voice carrying across the desert. “When we march tomorrow we will move as three hosts.”

The Emperor’s sons flanked him to his left and right. Each of the royals had the black shadow that had never left their sides. Other than the dust on their capes, the Windwalkers appeared no different than they had when they left the Crossroads.

“Each legion will be divided among my sons and me. We three will each take a separate route to Soricium to increase our odds of all making it.”