They had been walking for days.
And Asveri had had enough.
"Arghh… it's been four days since we ate… I'm so fucking hungry," he groaned, dragging his feet through the dirt.
The wind answered him, cold and indifferent.
Anor'ven did not.
"Seriously. Four days," Asveri continued, louder now.
"I'm not even asking for something good. Just… anything."
No response.
The tall, dark figure ahead moved at the same steady pace.
Unbothered. Unchanging.
"You can hear me, right? I know you can."
Nothing.
"Of course you can. You understand me. You just don't care."
Asveri kicked a loose rock ahead, watching it bounce before disappearing into the tall grass.
His stomach twisted again, loudly this time. He clutched his sides.
"Ugh. If I collapse, it's on you."
Still, Anor'ven said nothing.
But Asveri noticed the faintest tilt of his head — subtle, but there.
"Ha. Knew it. You DO hear me."
For a brief moment, despite his hunger, he almost smiled.
They continued like this for hours.
The sky stretched pale and empty.
The wind tugged at their robes, sending Asveri's hair into wild shapes.
Dust clung to his face, his lips dry and cracked.
But he kept complaining.
Because complaining felt better than silence.
"This is cruel, you know. You could at least say 'Almost there.' Or lie. Just lie to me."
Anor'ven walked on, unaffected.
"Too ancient to lie, huh? Figures."
Asveri sighed, dragging his feet dramatically now.
"I used to talk to myself too, you know.
But now you're here, so technically, this is on you."
Still nothing.
And yet… the silence didn't bother him like it used to.
By afternoon, salvation appeared.
A village — or what was left of one.
Ruined fences. Half-buried rooftops. Windows staring back like hollow eyes.
But it stood.
Asveri's face lit up.
"Oh. Oh yes. Finally."
He broke into a jog.
His stomach forgot hunger in the face of hope.
Anor'ven stopped, watching quietly.
No words. No warnings.
Then, slowly, he followed.
Asveri reached the broken gate first, slipping through weeds and fallen beams.
"C'mon… berries, nuts, dried anything…"
He didn't expect much.
And yet, near what used to be a garden, he found them.
Wild berries, clinging to twisted branches.
Not much — but enough.
"Yes. You beautiful little lifesavers."
Without hesitation, he grabbed a handful and stuffed them into his mouth.
Juice ran down his chin, staining his pale coat.
"Tastes awful," he muttered between bites.
"But who cares."
Behind him, Anor'ven arrived.
His eyes flicked toward the berries, then away — uninterested.
Hunger did not belong to him anymore.
He stood still, watching the wind toy with broken signs and shattered rooftops.
For a while, Asveri ate in peace.
He even sat on a fallen log, legs swinging lazily.
"I could live like this," he joked with a mouth half-full.
"If I ignore the taste, the ruin… and, uh, the loneliness."
No response.
He didn't expect one anymore.
Still, he looked up.
"You really don't need food, huh."
Anor'ven did not answer, but his empty gaze said enough.
"Weirdo."
Asveri smiled faintly, brushing berry juice from his lips.
Later, as the sun dipped lower, they prepared to leave.
Asveri stretched, belly now comfortably full for the first time in days.
Just as they stepped past the crumbling archway, a voice broke the stillness.
"…Anor'ven."
Anor'ven paused.
An old figure stood on the path — hunched, wrapped in faded robes.
Eyes sunken, but sharp.
They stared at Anor'ven with disbelief. And fear.
"Still walking… after all this time."
Anor'ven said nothing.
The figure did not speak again.
Instead, they turned and vanished back into the ruins, leaving only the weight of their words behind.
Asveri blinked.
"Anor'ven?"
He looked up at the silent man beside him.
"Is that your name?"
Anor'ven gave no reply.
But he didn't walk away, either.
Asveri grinned.
"Anor, then. I'll call you Anor. Easier."
No approval.
No denial.
They left the ruins.
But this time, Asveri walked ahead.
His steps were light.
He hummed softly, arms swinging.
At times, he even skipped a little, the wind turning his white robes into fluttering flags.
Behind him, Anor'ven followed.
And for the first time, the distance between them felt smaller.
Not because of words.
Not because of understanding.
But because, quietly, Anor'ven followed.
Asveri glanced back once, grinning playfully.
"Keep up, Anor. Or I'm leaving you behind."
Anor'ven did not reply.
But his steps, almost imperceptibly, quickened.