Hidden Truths
For so long, I had felt alone, lost, like no one could truly reach me, understand me. Even when my parents were alive, the emptiness lingered. After they died, it grew heavier, settling into my chest until it felt almost unbearable. Yet someone had been there, quietly, steadily. Someone I could call my anchor. Someone who kept me moving, who made me feel safe even when the world had nothing left for me.
Over the months, as Kumbuye and I struggled through everything, I had called for the one person I could always count on, the one who would come no matter the cost, but he never answered. I thought I'd lost him. I thought he no longer cared. I thought...
"Doya?" I whispered into the darkness.
My voice trembled, small and uncertain. I could barely see him, but I knew.
He stepped closer, letting the firelight catch his face.
My chest tightened. He was real.
Relief and longing crashed into each other, sharp and sudden. It wasn't pain, not exactly, but the ache of missing him, of carrying his absence for too long. I froze, unable to move, overwhelmed by the sight of him after all this time.
Kumbuye lay beside the fire, still frozen, still breathing faintly, but for a moment it felt like it was just Doya and me.
He moved closer, and I could see him clearly now. His expression held too much, worry, fear, something like joy, something like regret, all tangled together.
Then he said my name.
"Dana."
The sound of it sent a shiver through me. I wanted to run to him, to throw myself into his arms, to tell him how much I had missed him. But the questions burned, sharp and relentless. Why he never came when I called... What had happened to him... Where he had been...
"I tried, Dana," he said.
The words were ragged, fractured, and something in them twisted painfully in my chest.
He seemed broken.
I hadn't realised when my body began to move towards him.
"I… I thought I'd lost you," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the crackle of the fire.
He reached for me, cupping my face in his hands. His touch was gentle, hesitant, as if he were afraid I might vanish. I leaned into him, closing my eyes, letting the warmth of his hands anchor me.
"I tried," he repeated softly, his voice almost a murmur, "I tried so hard to get to you… but I couldn't."
I looked at him, really looked, seeing the exhaustion etched into his face, the way his chest rose and fell unevenly. I had so many questions, but none of them mattered right now. He was here. He was real.
"I…" I whispered, my lips barely moving. I wanted to press everything into that single sound, I missed you. But the words were too heavy to leave my mouth.
I closed the small space between us before I could talk myself out of it. My hands found his robe, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing keeping me upright. He stiffened, just for a second, surprised, unsure, and then I leaned in and pressed my lips to his.
His lips were soft and warm not responding at first. Then, slowly, carefully, he did. Not with hunger, not with certainty, but with something fragile and real.
He lifted both hands to my face, his touch was gentle as he moved over my lips. Shivers ran through me, warmth blooming beneath his hands. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he drew me closer by the waist, steadying me.
The kiss lingered, unhurried, and when we finally pulled away, a breath left my chest that I hadn't realised I'd been holding.
A small smile escaped my lips as warmth rose to my cheeks. His hands stayed on my face, gentle, before he slowly guided me to rest against his chest. In that moment, wrapped in his quiet presence, he was my calm in the storm.
"Please… let's stay like this for a while," he murmured. His heartbeat quickened beneath my ear.
I slid my arms around his back and held him closer, drawing in his warmth, letting it steady me.
Then the quiet settled, just for a while, until reality returned.
Kumbuye.
The thought struck me suddenly. I lifted my head, my gaze drifting past the fire to where Kumbuye lay on the ground behind me. His body was still, frost clinging faintly to his skin. The rise and fall of his chest was slow and steady. He had fallen asleep.
I led Doya closer to the fire and we sat down together, my chest still hammering from the kiss. I did not know what to make of it. Maybe it had been the heat of the moment, maybe the exhaustion, but somehow it had steadied me. Calmed me.
I told him most of what I had been through — not in detail, just enough to fill the silence. I kept it brief, my voice growing heavy as the adrenaline finally faded.
The fire began to die down, casting long, dancing shadows against the trees. Exhaustion pulled at my eyelids, heavy and undeniable. Leaning against Doya, listening to the steady, rhythmic thump of his heart, the terror of the last few months finally felt distant.
"Sleep," he whispered against my hair. "I've got you."
And for the first time in a long time, I let the darkness take me without a fight.
The next morning, the cold woke me first.
A chill breeze swept through the cluttered woods, biting through my clothes. I blinked open my eyes, disoriented. The fire was nothing but a pile of gray ash, thin smoke twisting into the morning air.
I sat up, instinctively checking behind me. Kumbuye was still fast asleep, but the tension had left his body. His breathing was deeper, his skin less pale than when the Winter Shade had touched him. He had survived the night.
"You're awake."
I turned. Doya was sitting on a fallen log a few feet away, packing his bag. He moved with a stiff, precise efficiency that I wasn't used to. His back was to me, and that was when I saw it — the robe.
It wasn't his usual shimmering silver. It was a deep, midnight blue, the fabric heavy and unfamiliar.
"You changed your colors," I said, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
He froze for a fraction of a second, then continued buckling his bag. He turned to meet my gaze, offering a faint, tired smile. "Yes. I got promoted."
"Oh." I blinked, staring at the blue fabric. "That's great."
He shrugged. "Not really."
I did not know much about what Doya had been through. He had said last night that he tried to get to me, but I still did not understand what he meant. I had called for him more times than I could count, and he never answered. Except...
"Well," I said quietly, "congratulations on your promotion."
He nodded, and that was that. The silence that followed settled between us, thick and awkward, weighing down the air.
We had not spoken about the kiss. I told myself I did not want to, yet I could not deny how much it still lingered with me. The warmth, the hesitation, the weight of it. I wanted to know what it had meant to him.
"Um… last night," I began, then trailed off. The words refused to come. He watched me calmly, his face unreadable, waiting.
"Never mind," I said at last. "It's not important."
He nodded and did not press further.
The thought stung, sharper than I expected, but I pushed it aside just as quickly.
I moved closer to Kumbuye and rested my hand lightly on his forehead, checking his temperature. The moment I touched him, he stirred in his sleep. I pulled my hand away at once. I did not want to wake him. He had been through enough already and his body was still healing.
"You said you tried so hard to get to me," I finally said, breaking the long stretch of silence.
Doya's head lifted sharply at the sound of my voice. "Yes," he muttered.
"But I called for you," I said quietly. "You never answered."
"I know," he replied. His hand rose to his face, rubbing slowly, like the words weighed on him. "I felt you. I just couldn't reach you."
"Why?"
"The veil wouldn't let me through," he said grimly. "Since the attack on the temple, I haven't been able to pass through it." His expression fell, the weight of it settling in his eyes.
Guilt tightened in my chest. I had thought he abandoned me. I had let that thought live inside me. Losing the ability to veil-walk must have torn at him in ways I could not imagine. I did not tell him that I could do it now. This was not the moment.
"I'm sorry," I said at last.
He shook his head gently. "It's not your fault."
"Well… how did you find me?" I asked, curiosity slipping into my voice.
He smiled faintly. "You have a bounty on your head," he said lightly, then added, "I saw the posters. Yours and Kumbuye's. I kept moving after that, following them, until I felt you again. I followed that fear."
I frowned. "I thought only the veil let you find me when I was in trouble."
"I told you," he said softly, "we're more connected than you think. Even I don't fully understand it." He paused, his expression tightening. "I may not be able to pass through the veil anymore, but I can still feel you. Still see you. And that hurts even more, knowing I'm so close and can't do anything from a distance."
"Oh," I said, my lips forming a small O.
"You still haven't told me about your journey," I added. Something about his tone, the way he kept deflecting, made my chest tighten. It felt like he was holding something back. Or maybe protecting me from it. I couldn't tell which.
"It's not important," he said quietly. "Let's just focus on your mission."
"Did something happen?" I pressed, my voice slipping. "What aren't you telling me?"
He didn't answer. He just stayed silent, eyes fixed somewhere far beyond the trees.
I followed his gaze trying to understand what he was hiding and why.
"Doya," I said, my tone firm, "if there's something wrong, you have to tell me."
He shook his head, brushing it off. "It's nothing, Dana."
I didn't believe him. But I knew better than to push him further right now.
I turned away, the unresolved questions feeling like a physical weight in the pit of my stomach. Silence reclaimed the clearing. He didn't look at me, and I didn't look at him.
Instead, I knelt back down beside Kumbuye. The morning light was harsher now, revealing the true weariness in his face. We couldn't stay here, hidden in the shadows of the cluttered woods forever. Not with bounties on our heads and the frost still clinging to the edges of our memory.
I gently shook Kumbuye again, urging him awake. His eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep, but steadier than last night. "It's time," I whispered again, my voice soft. "We have to move."
He groaned, but managed a nod. I slid my arms under his, helping him to his feet. His weight leaned against me, and I adjusted my grip, careful not to jostle the still-healing wound. Doya fell in step beside us, his eyes scanning the trees, hands tight on his bag. He didn't speak, but the quiet assurance of his presence steadied me more than words could.
The snow crunched under our feet, thick and uneven. I kept my gaze on the compass in my palm, the glow was steady, pulling us north. The forest pressed around us, trees tight and towering, their bare branches scratching at the sky. The chill bit through our hoods, and I tugged my sleeves tighter over my hands, feeling the cold seep through to my bones.
---
Days slipped by on the road, slow and silent. We moved cautiously, careful not to break the shadows of the forest or stray near roads where bounty hunters might be waiting. Our meals were sparse: dried fruits, small rations of bread Doya had with him, and whatever little game Kumbuye managed to catch. Streams were frozen or barely trickling, but we found pockets of water under the ice, and snow melted over our small fires when needed. Winter made every task harder, yet it also worked in our favor. The cold kept us alert and seemed to have stiffened Kumbuye's body in a way that helped his wound mend faster.
The compass's glow grew stronger each day. I could feel its pulse in my hands and, slowly, in my chest too. Not just the Cranium's pull — my own power had begun to hum along with it, sharp and alive under my skin. I kept it in check, knowing we could not afford any accidents, but the sensation reminded me that we were moving in the right direction, that something immense was waiting for us.
There was little conversation. Doya moved beside us quietly, his presence steady and reassuring. Kumbuye's breathing was deeper now and steadier. We stayed close, our steps careful, our paths winding through the dense forest. Safety, in the end, lay in the shadows, in the quiet endurance of the trees that sheltered us from the world outside.
By midday, the forest thinned slightly, the sun was weak but it was enough to offer a little warmth. We stopped beside a cluster of trees, their trunks forming a small hollow that offered shelter from the wind. Kumbuye's legs were steady now, the wound that had slowed him felt less like a burden and more like a memory. He leaned against a tree trunk, closing his eyes as he took deep, measured breaths.
I glanced at Doya. He had dropped his bag and was methodically checking the straps and contents, like he had done the past few days. Something in the way he moved, so careful, so precise, told me he wasn't just tired. He was hiding something.
I crouched beside Kumbuye, brushing the snow from his sleeves. "Kumbuye…" I began quietly, careful not to disturb the fragile calm of the forest and quiet enough so Doya couldn't hear. He opened one eye, still groggy but alert enough. "I need you to do something for me."
He tilted his head slightly, waiting.
"Doya…" I glanced at him, then back at Kumbuye. "I know he's hiding something. I can feel it. I want you to… try to see what he's thinking. Just for a moment. Only enough to know if there's danger or if he's holding something important from us."
He shifted beside me, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Wary of him now?" he asked, amusement lacing his tone.
"Not wary," I replied, keeping my voice calm, "just… I feel like he's holding something from us, something we're supposed to know."
He exhaled, closing his eyes fully, letting the power between us hum faintly. His expression tightened, the familiar weight of concentration settling over him as he kept his eyes on Doya.
Kumbuye's head moved slightly as he focused, his brows furrowing. I held my breath, watching him, my pulse quickening.
Then he stiffened, a faint gasp escaping him. "Dana…" he whispered, low and strained.
"What is it? What did you see?" I asked, barely moving my lips.
"There's something in his bag… a containment," he replied, his eyes still searching for answers in Doya's thoughts.
"And?" I pressed, desperate.
"I… I'm not sure. But I think it's meant to hold something… more like someone's power." His face twisted with puzzlement.
"Okay…" I murmured, expecting more.
"I can't get further… he's blocking his thoughts," Kumbuye admitted.
"Keep going. Dig deeper," I urged, my voice steady but firm, our gazes locked on Doya, who was still focused on his bag, oblivious to us.
Kumbuye's lips parted, his brows knitting tighter. "I think… it's meant to activate for you. But it's dangerous. It can hold… someone's entire energy."
My heart skipped. Why would Doya hold something that could contain a person's energy? Was he… trying to take my powers? No. That wasn't possible.
"What else?" I asked, horror creeping into my voice.
"I… I can't. I'm not strong enough," Kumbuye said, his voice faltering.
"You have to keep digging. We have to know."
"K… Dana, I—"
His words cut off as I noticed the blood trickling from his nose. My eyes snapped from Doya to Kumbuye.
"Oh no." I said horror lacing my voice. "I'm… sorry. I had—"
He wiped the blood away, tension tightening his jaw. "It's fine," he muttered, trying to collect himself.
I swallowed hard, a storm of confusion, anger, and mistrust swirling in my chest. Why hide something like this? And yet… deep down, a small voice whispered that perhaps it wasn't entirely malicious. Doya could never truly betray me. But the questions, the secrecy… it was enough to unsettle me.
I drew a slow breath, forcing my mind to steady. I didn't move, didn't speak, letting the silence stretch, letting Doya continue unaware as the forest held us in its quiet grip. For now, the questions burned inside me. The truth… would have to wait.