After some time, they had finished severing the orc's limbs, rolling the massive parts off the pathway and onto the grassy field nearby.
Nyra wiped the sweat from her brow, breathing heavily. She'd done most of the work—not because she was ordered to, but because she insisted on handling it herself. "That was some tough work… and you guys barely did anything!" she huffed.
Lyssa's ears drooped as she slouched forward, her tail barely twitching. "That's because you wouldn't let us help…" she muttered, clearly drained.
Elira spoke softly, brushing her hands together. "It would've been easier if we had a sorcerer with gravity magic."
Those words caught Solas's attention. He turned his head toward her. "People can use gravity magic?"
Elira looked at him, surprised. "Yeah…? I mean, not many. It's not exactly a beginner-friendly discipline. Nor can everyone use it." She nodded toward the severed orc remains. "Still, would've saved us the heavy lifting."
"You can say that again…" Lyssa yawned and stretched her arms high above her head. "I could really go for a nap."
Solas's eyes lingered on the four of them for a moment. "So… all of you can use magic?"
Elira crossed her arms. "Well, kind of. We're still learning. That's why we're in a squad under our commanding officer, Vaelira."
"Why's that?" he asked.
"There are regular knights who make up the bulk of the army. Then there are beginner-level sorcerer-knights like us—placed into squads to train under more experienced commanders. Once you're skilled enough, you either join a special unit or the royal guard as a full sorcerer-knight."
She glanced off to the side, her expression dimming. "But… we don't exactly have the best reputation among the higher-ups. Mostly because of how we act."
The other knights didn't look particularly pleased when Elira brought up their squad's reputation—most averted their gazes, their moods shifting subtly. Mirell, as usual, remained unreadable, arms still crossed.
"But that's what makes us special," came a proud voice.
All heads turned.
Vaelira stood tall once again, seemingly fully recovered. Beside her was Rowena, and clinging lightly to her arm was Selin—still visibly injured, her steps unsteady.
"Nya?!" Lyssa's ears perked up, concern flashing across her face. "Selin, you shouldn't be standing! You still look really out of it!"
Vaelira raised a hand, gesturing for Lyssa to calm down. "It's alright. She insisted. Said she wanted to thank the person who saved her life." Her gaze shifted to Solas, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
She could barely stand… yet she still came all this way just to thank me? Strange girl. Admirable… Foolish, maybe. But still admirable.
Selin's ears drooped, and heavy dark circles rested under her eyes. As she looked up at Solas, he noticed for the first time the soft amber-gold hue of her irises—gentle and expressive, even through exhaustion.
She parted her lips, her voice barely a whisper.
"T…thank you…"
She swayed dangerously. Before she could fall, Rowena caught her, wrapping an arm around her back for support.
Vaelira stepped in to steady her as well, then nodded toward Rowena. "Get her back to the caravan."
The other knights moved instinctively, worry on their faces, but Vaelira calmed them with a look.
Once Selin was out of earshot, she turned back to the group. "You all did well. Rest while you can—we'll be moving out soon."
She brought two fingers to her mouth and whistled sharply. In the distance, hooves thundered against the dirt, and before long, a horse galloped up to meet her. With practiced ease, Vaelira grabbed the reins and mounted.
From atop the saddle, she glanced down at her squad—then at Solas.
"We're heading to the Capital. So I suggest you get those cuffs back on," she said, a knowing look in her eyes. "The guards there aren't quite as forgiving."
"Well, I'm not too sure how I can do that. The ones you put on Rowena and me are kinda broken," he said with a soft smile.
They were, after all—during the goblin attack on the caravan, one had swung at him. Solas had let the blow land to break the restraints, allowing him to fight freely and protect Rowena.
Vaelira gave a faint smirk and pulled out two more cuffs, letting them dangle from her fingers. "Good thing I keep spares," she said, tossing them to him.
Catching them with ease, Solas glanced back at her. "I'll make sure Rowena wears hers too."
Not long after, the squad mounted up. Rowena and Solas returned to the caravan, now cuffed again. Selin, still injured, was given a spot up front beside the driver, unable to ride on her own. With one of the knights' horses slain in battle, Selin's mount was borrowed for the trip.
The skirmish had earned Solas the respect of Vaelira's squad—and of Vaelira herself. Even if Mirell remained unreadable, offering no expression or clear judgment, it hardly mattered. Sooner or later, she'd fall in line like the rest.
The ride was quiet. Rowena sat close beside Solas, her presence more grounded than before. She'd stepped out of her shell—tending to Selin's wounds, helping Vaelira, even holding a meaningful conversation with her about Solas.
The caravan's wheels creaked softly along the dirt path, accompanied by the rhythmic sound of hooves outside. Rowena looked down, fingers fidgeting in her lap.
It felt different now. The way he looked at the others… the way he'd stood beside Vaelira and fought. She knew she shouldn't think like that—but part of her wondered if he'd already started drifting away.
Maybe he didn't need her anymore. Maybe he never did.
She hesitated… then spoke.
"I–I'm not a burden to you, am I? You seem… distant. Like I'm being pushed away."
Solas turned his head toward her, gaze calm—welcoming. He studied her for a moment, silent.
"You're not a burden, Rowena," he said gently, but with conviction. "You helped a lot. With Selin, with Vaelira… and for that, I'm grateful."
He placed his hand lightly on her thigh, causing her breath to hitch. A flustered pink spread across her cheeks.
"You've grown more than you realize. I saw it—in how you stood by their side. You've come far since the day we met."
Just then, the caravan hit a bump, jostling them. Solas lost his balance and fell forward—landing atop her. Their faces were close. Her breathing quickened.
"I'm sorry about that," he said softly, trying to shift back. "I should've caught myself."
She could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips. Her heart thundered. Everything else—the caravan, the noise, the world—fell quiet.
Rowena didn't answer. Her eyes lingered on his lips—then, without thinking, she leaned in and kissed him.
It was deep, unexpected—her body trembling slightly, a soft moan escaping her as she pulled away.
Her first kiss. She didn't even know why she'd done it. Maybe it was the way he looked at her, or the way he made her feel safe…
"I–I'm so sorry," she stammered, hands rising to cover her face. "I don't know what came over me."
Solas gently lowered her arms, his expression warm, even tender.
"It's okay," he said. "Things happen."
He hadn't expected her to kiss him so openly, but it confirmed what he had begun to sense—that she saw him as more than just a friend or companion.
Before more could be said, the caravan shook again and slowly came to a halt. Voices could be heard outside—guards, travelers, the sound of iron gates creaking open.
Solas sat up, Rowena following suit.
They had arrived at the capital.