As the carriage rolled steadily onward, a mounted guard finally broke the silence.
"Tenth Sun, forgive the intrusion, but it isn’t safe atop the carriage," he said with a respectful tone.
Asher, eyes closed in quiet thought, slowly opened them. He turned to the guard and gave a slight nod. With effortless grace, he slipped back into the carriage, his movements fluid and unhurried.
"How was your moment of peace, Young Master?" Lyra inquired from her seat opposite him, her voice calm.
"Refreshing," Asher responded briefly.
He had little else to add, though he had genuinely enjoyed the wind’s gentle caress and the fleeting glimpse of the vast world passing by.
The sun dipped beneath the horizon, and the cloak of night began its slow descent, casting the world into shadows. Not once during the journey had they paused for rest, but with darkness now reigning, they had no choice but to halt.
Asher stepped down from the carriage, the silver light of the moon catching in the strands of his purple hair, giving them an ethereal glow.
The moment his boots touched the earth, Lyra positioned herself a single step behind him to the right, while a guard mirrored her on the left.
Asher made no remark about the added vigilance. Night had fallen, caution was no longer a courtesy, but a necessity.
Asher’s gaze drifted to the horses, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. They had been running since morning without pause, yet even now, they showed only the faintest signs of exhaustion, just a soft panting as they lay gracefully upon the grass.
Around him, the guards moved with practiced efficiency, their motions fluid and precise, as though they had performed this routine a hundred times beneath a hundred different moons. Under the quiet silver light, tents began to rise.
With a faint shake of his head, Asher turned away and stepped inside his tent. Lyra followed silently, her presence a constant shadow. Two guards took position at the entrance, their silhouettes standing firm against the backdrop of the night.
With a graceful wave of her hand, Lyra summoned a large bed that materialized in the air before descending gently onto the mat a guard had laid out earlier.
"You brought this with you?" Asher asked, genuine surprise flickering in his voice. He hadn’t expected such comfort out here in the wilderness.
"Your comfort is my priority, Young Master," Lyra replied with a serene smile.
Another wave of her hand, and a polished table appeared, accompanied by a spread of elegantly arranged dishes, warm, aromatic.
Asher blinked. "When did you even have time to prepare all this? We barely packed anything after the Primarch announced our departure. The chefs couldn’t possibly have cooked this on such short notice."
He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling the table closer, his curiosity still lingering even as the scent of the food pushed him to dig in.
"On the day of your awakening, Young Master," Lyra replied calmly. "Since you spent the entire day in solitude, I took the opportunity to visit the kitchens. The chefs prepared a wide array of dishes from morning until night."
Asher took a bite, his expression thoughtful. "Why go to such lengths?"
"Because your awakening marked a turning point," she said matter-of-factly. "It was only a matter of time before we left the estate. I needed to be prepared, for nights in the forest, or inns whose food may not meet your standards."
Asher chuckled softly, a smile tugging at his lips. "I have to hand it to you, Lyra. You really are too good."
"It’s my duty, Young Master," she replied, returning his smile with quiet pride.
Asher, noticing Lyra standing silently like a statue while he ate, felt a quiet urge to invite her to join him. He knew what her answer would be, she would refuse.
But still, he asked. Better to offer and be turned down than to say nothing at all.
"You don’t have to just stand there like a statue. Join me, at least for tonight," he said, his eyes focused on the dishes laid before him.
Lyra turned her head toward him, surprise flickering in her eyes. The suggestion was almost unthinkable, servants did not dine with their masters. Still, she answered with composure.
"I appreciate the offer, Young Master. But given my Life Rank, I can go several weeks without nourishment."
Asher didn’t press the matter. He simply gave a small nod, her response was exactly what he’d expected. Despite the closeness they shared, there were invisible lines drawn between them, boundaries that Lyra would never cross, no matter the circumstance.
’So it’s not as exaggerated as those novels claim. Characters with high cultivation going years without food, or abandoning it altogether, sustaining themselves entirely on energy.’
Asher thought silently. The reality, it seemed, was far more grounded.
The tent settled into a tranquil silence, broken only by the soft clinking of cutlery as Asher finished his meal. A gentle golden light flickered within the tent, casting warm shadows along the fabric walls.
Asher dabbed a napkin across his lips. Without delay, Lyra gave a small wave of her hand, and the dishes vanished soundlessly into her space ring.
"Good night, Lyra," Asher murmured, settling onto the bed, the duvet still neatly draped over him.
"Good night, Young Master," she replied softly.
With a subtle motion, she extinguished the light, and darkness embraced the tent like a velvet curtain.
But she didn’t step outside to stand guard by the tent’s entrance. No, she remained within, quietly shifting to a different position. Her presence seemed to melt seamlessly into the darkness, as if she were part of it.
Lyra wouldn’t risk leaving Asher’s side, not here, not in a forest swallowed by night. This was the kind of place where silence breathed danger, where the right set of skills, abilities, or elemental affinity could turn an assassin into a ghost.
And with that, only the soft rustling of leaves remained, whispers in the dark, swaying to the rhythm of the wind’s quiet song. Outside, the guards stood silent, their senses honed to a razor’s edge, prepared to react to even the faintest disturbance.
They all knew one truth, if the Tenth Sun returned with even a single strand of hair out of place, the Wargrave family would tear the Empire apart to find out why.
The Wargraves might wear cold expressions and speak with veiled hostility toward one another, but that coldness was reserved for themselves. Should anyone outside their bloodline dare show the same indifference, or worse, hostility, toward a Wargrave, it was considered nothing less than a death sentence.
Yes, the Suns and Moons of the Wargrave House may wage quiet wars among themselves, vying for the seat of the Primarch, but those battles ended at the family gates. Beyond those walls, they stood as one, unshakable and merciless.
But Asher didn’t know this. He didn’t know that if an assassin were to strike tonight, even if it were killed before reaching him, silenced by a single guard, the Wargraves would still hunt down the assassin’s organization and raze it to dust before dawn.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Note that only a few among the Suns and Moons display cold demeanors toward one another as they vie for the position of Primarch. The Elders and Great Elders, having nothing to gain from the conflict, remain largely detached, there is little to no strife among them. Yet, even in their detachment, they consistently wear expressions that are either impassive or cold.