The sun had not yet risen when they both left the fields of the Wrighton estate.
Their breath, dry and slightly tense, formed mist in the cold late autumn air. The road ahead was still dark, the mist — white and cool, obscuring their vision — crept across the fields, and their horses' hooves clattered in a silence that seemed almost sacred.
However, instead of appreciating these conditions, which were ideal for an escape, Mireille felt rather uncomfortable.
This was mainly because of the mist, which, although white and silent, awakened old, morbid memories buried in the maid's memory.
During all her years in the service of the Wrightons, she had apparently never managed to overcome her 'aversion' to mist.
And at the break of dawn, that old feeling brought ghostly smells back to her nostrils. Not to mention the horrific flashes of decapitated bodies and young soldiers praying to the gods not to die, but ending up buried under the cursed misty mass of—
Enough.
She shook her head to chase away these unpleasant memories. This was no time for trauma, but for concentration. Silas's survival depended on it.
Speaking of the young nobleman, he was cold. And his back hurt. And he was hungry.
He was discovering, with a growing sense of despair, that there was nothing noble or heroic about the journey — especially not when they were still in the first half of the day.
The mage's sceptre, belonging to his late mother, was attached to his saddle, too visible for his liking, but impossible to stow away.
Ever since he had grasped this artefact in his hand, Silas didn't quite understand why or how, but he just knew that being away from it made him nervous, as if the world was spinning a little too fast without the staff.
Mireille sighed and refocused on the road, giving the impression that she did not feel the cold. Her eyes scanned the landscape ahead, constantly on alert.
'More plains, more roads, and that damn silence that creeps in before you realise it's threatening... Nothing really changes. Even when life changes all around you. Ah! And I thought I wouldn't have to relive all this again.' She thought, without slowing her mount's pace.
The young boy, tired of the silence that had settled in for a while, finally asked:
"Mimi, do you think Mael will... come back?"
His travelling companion did not turn her head.
"Perhaps, but not right away. What I am certain of, however, is that the immediate threat... is not him."
"Others... then?"
"Yes."
He sighed.
"I would have preferred the answer to be no."
"Me too, young master. Believe me... me too."
***
At noon, they stopped under a solitary oak tree, whose foliage provided welcome shade. Silas, disheartened by the harsh reality of his first big trip, dismounted from his horse, cursing all the nobles who had ever idealised travels.
"All this to go to a city I didn't even know existed yesterday..."
Mireille handed him a piece of dry bread.
"Oh! Are you angry already?"
"No. I'm suffering. It's different."
Mimi smiled briefly.
'He's talking, so he's fine.'
——At least, that's what I used to tell myself. I had to keep believing it. Otherwise... well, you know what I mean. I'll spare you the details.——
They ate in silence, then Silas looked up at Mimi.
"Still, there's something I don't understand. You already knew about me, right? From the beginning..."
She nodded.
"As I said, yes. But not everything. Only that you were special, and that made you vulnerable."
"Okay. And you still agreed to stay and take care of me anyway?"
"Yes. Your mother asked me to. That was all that mattered to me."
"I see. But why would you risk your life just because my late mother asked you to? I don't understand!"
"Simply because she brought me back to life... in a way. And I promised to devote this new life to her."
Silas didn't reply.
A silence fell between them. A real one. Not an awkward one, but a shared weight.
"Thank you, Mimi." He finally said after a moment.
This time, the maid didn't just smile. She looked him straight in the eye.
"You're welcome. And do not worry, I will protect you, young master. Until the end."
***
The afternoon passed under a calm sky without any real constraints — apart from a few complaints here and there from Silas — until the road crossed a rickety cart.
It was pulled by a half-asleep mule. And next to it, a man with an overly long beard and an overly large hat greeted them with a theatrical gesture.
"O travellers! On your way to Ceniel, I bet! I can see it in your pace, or rather your trot! Tired but determined!"
Silas blinked.
"Er... yes?"
The man, apparently a pedlar, grinned with a smile full of teeth and secrets.
"Good, very good. However, the country is changing. So are the roads. Beware of bridges that weren't there yesterday."
Silas stared at him, perplexed. For her part, Mireille discreetly placed a hand on her sword.
The man lowered his voice.
"And if you're looking for Levanfort... beware of people who don't ask your name. They're the ones you need to fear."
Then, without further explanation, he continued on his way, whistling without looking back.
Silas waited until he was nothing more than a distant speck.
"Um... Is he crazy?"
"I don't think so. Let's just say you find all kinds of people on the road." Mireille replied simply. Nevertheless, she still instinctively gripped the hilt of her sword.
"Ah! Well, I don't like that man at all."
"He didn't look armed."
"Yes, but his smile still scares me."
"That's a good instinct. Keep it, young master." She finally said.
But deep down, there was a thought that was now pounding painfully in Mireille's mind, awakening all her senses and putting them on high alert.
'This guy knows where we're going. How?'
***
The two travellers soon reached a village before nightfall, but did not stop there. Mireille wanted to avoid crowds, questions and prying eyes.
And after their strange encounter of the afternoon, this idea was all the more advisable.
So they continued until they found a clearing, far from the road but not too far from the village. The moon lit everything with a white, silent glow.
Silas was shivering.
"Is this... is this what sleeping outside is like?"
"Yes."
"B-But it's cold... and there are bound to be animals..."
"Yes."
"You're not very reassuring, Mimi. You know that, right?"
"I'm not trying to be."
The young nobleman grumbled. Then he lay down. Then he grumbled again. Finally, he tried to sleep.
...Without success.
Mireille didn't even try.
She remained seated, her back against a tree trunk, as if sleep were an unacceptable strategy. And in fact, it was, given the situation they both found themselves in.
'This young boy... He doesn't understand yet. It's not the cold that's dangerous at night. It's the silence. It's when nothing moves. When you think you're alone.'
A noise caught her attention. She quickly glanced in the direction the sound came from, but saw nothing.
——You know, I've never really liked failing a mission. And at that moment, I had to stay awake, because this one was particular. I had to stay sharp. Not to protect him from what was happening. But to protect him from what he didn't know yet, unfortunately.——
Silas finally whispered, his eyes closed:
"Hey, Mimi... Don't you ever sleep?"
"Not when there's a risk." She replied simply.
"Yeah. That's what you say."
She looked down at him. In the pale moonlight, he looked even younger. Less noble. Less masterful.
But more human.
She allowed herself a slight smile.
"Rest, young master. I'll keep watch."
"I'll try?" Silas replied.
***
At some point — several tens of minutes or perhaps hours later — Silas sensed something. As if the sceptre were breathing.
Or pulsing.
He opened his eyes. The night was now darker. The silence deeper.
"Mimi...?" he called.
She was there, motionless but tense. Her gaze was no longer calm.
He understood without her speaking.
They were no longer alone.
Not yet attacked, but not ignored either.
Somewhere in the woods, hidden by the branches, someone — or something — was looking for them and heading dangerously towards their direction.