Joel eventually found shelter deep in the forest, where the trees grew so close together that they barely let in the moonlight. After searching for a while, he spotted an ancient colossus with a wide trunk and sturdy branches, its unusual shape curling in on itself, creating a natural gap between its main branches. There, moss grew thick and soft like a mattress, and the upper foliage offered a canopy thick enough to block both the cold and the wind. A perfect hiding place, invisible from the ground and large enough to shelter the three of them.

  Carefully, Joel climbed up with the children and settled them in a corner of the tree, wrapping them in a blanket and using his own coat as a second layer. When they were both safe and asleep, he lit a small candle, barely a pinprick of light in the green and earthy gloom.

  In the dim firelight, Joel allowed himself to clearly observe the children's faces for the first time. Ariel slept with her face turned toward him, her long, red hair spilling like dry fire over the folds of the blanket. Her eyelids were thin, almost translucent, and her delicate features gave her a fragile appearance, even more so because of her waxy pale skin. If it weren't for the steady rhythm of her breathing, anyone might think she was a porcelain statue. Liam, beside her, slept less soundly, his brow furrowed even in rest. He had short, dark, untidy brown hair and shared with his sister those same light blue eyes Joel had seen earlier amid tears and fear. His skin, on the other hand, was less pale, as if the sun had still managed to tan him before he was torn from his home.

  They were just children, and yet, they had already been marked by the pain of conflict and the greed of an empire that wanted them as weapons. Joel looked down and snuffed out the candle with two fingers, letting the darkness envelop him again. Silently, he settled beside them, sleepless, his senses open to the creaking of distant branches or the song of some night bird. The duty of the cult compelled him to disappear. His instinct told him that children complicated everything. But something inside him—something human, broken, and stubborn—knew he couldn't leave them behind.

  Joel barely managed to sleep that night. Although the shelter among the tree's branches offered some security, the forest around them was filled with unsettling sounds. The whisper of the wind through the leaves, the occasional rustle of branches, and the hooting of night birds kept him on edge. But the worst were the sounds of wild creatures roaming the forest in search of food, and there were quite a few, as most usually come out at night.

  On more than one occasion, Joel gripped the handle of his katana tightly as he stared, motionless, at the base of the tree. He barely breathed, as if the slightest noise might attract whatever lurked. He saw nothing, but heard enough to keep his eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time. The memory of previous battles helped him keep a cool head, but that didn't stop him from feeling vulnerable. When the faint light of dawn began to filter through the leaves, Joel knew that, for that night at least, they had survived.

  Exhausted, but with his willpower intact, he pulled what little food he had left and his canteen of water from his backpack. He broke the high-calorie biscuits into small portions and offered them to the children, gently waking them with low words.

  "Eat slowly," he told them. "There isn't much left, but it should be enough until I find something else."

  Ariel ate in silence, still half asleep, while Liam nodded without speaking. Joel watched them for a moment, assessing their expressions and physical states. They were still weak, but at least they were alive.

  Once they finished, he wiped his hands with a piece of cloth and looked at them seriously. The time had come to say something to the children.

  "Listen carefully, both of you."

  Liam looked at him carefully, and Ariel shrank back under the blanket, but her eyes focused on him as well.

  "You're not safe, not yet. What happened yesterday... was just a glimpse of what the Empire is capable of with children like you. If they find you, they'll take you far away, probably separate you, and end up using you. Maybe turn you into soldiers, or maybe worse." He paused, searching for words carefully. "From now on, you must obey me in everything. It doesn't matter if you're tired, scared, or angry. Every instruction I give you will be to keep you alive.”

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  Liam swallowed, understanding more than Joel expected. Ariel, on the other hand, just lowered her gaze, clinging to the blanket as if it were her only protection.

  "I understand," the boy finally said, his voice small but firm.

  Joel nodded, more with gratitude than pride. It was a beginning, a difficult but necessary one. From that moment on, the journey wouldn't be just a desperate escape. It would be a silent, disciplined escape, like the ones Joel had dreamed of in other lives... only this time, he wasn't alone.

  With the momentary safety offered by the gigantic tree, Joel decided to leave the children alone for a moment. He gave them clear instructions not to move under any circumstances, and he entered the treetops with agility and an alert gaze. There were no signs of danger, but he knew that the real problem for the three of them, at that moment, was hunger.

  Climbing trees was harder than usual. Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll, but he couldn't afford to stop. With calculated movements, he made his way through the highest branches until he found what he was looking for. Among nests hidden in cavities and gnarled branches, he found eggs, dozens of them, of various sizes and shades, some mottled, others smooth and shiny. With great care, he placed them in a makeshift basket he made from woven young branches and padded with dry leaves to prevent the eggs from breaking.

  He returned to the shelter as quietly as he had left, and when he saw the children still there, safe and silent, he felt a small spark of relief. He said nothing, just smiled briefly and bent down to prepare what they needed for the journey.

  They resumed their journey soon after, with Joel carrying them again. Liam on his back, holding on more confidently now, and Aria in his arms, still looking tired, but less scared. Joel maintained a steady speed, relying on his bearings thanks to the position of the sun. He knew that as long as he kept a straight line away from the attack site, he increased the distance and decreased the chances of them being found.

  For hours, Joel ran in silence. Sometimes all he could hear was the crunching of leaves under his feet or the distant song of a bird. The dense forest was perhaps an overwhelming sight for the children, who remained calm and mostly kept their eyes closed, especially Ariel, who seemed to want to wake up from a dream, each time she opened them and found herself disappointed that she was still in Joel's arms.

  Finally, they found a new stream, with clear water and gentle currents. Joel let the children rest on a flat rock while he gathered stones to make a small fire ring. Using dry branches and some kindling, he lit a fire. Over it, he suspended a makeshift bowl made of giant, tough leaves, into which he poured water from the stream and carefully placed several of the eggs he had collected earlier.

  The children watched silently, their eyes shining with anticipation. As the eggs began to cook, a soft, warm scent wafted through the air, a stark contrast to the days of fear, ash, and blood they had lived through.

  "They're almost there," Joel murmured, checking constantly until the eggshells began to crack.

  When they were finally ready, he delicately peeled one of the eggs and offered it to Aria. The little girl took it in her small hands, eyes wide, and took a timid bite. Her eyes widened, and she smiled. A small but real smile.

  Liam soon followed suit, devouring his own with restrained enthusiasm. Joel said nothing, but seeing them finally eat something warm and tasty made his heart swell a little. It wasn't a victory, but it was a respite. And in the midst of uncertainty, respites like that were worth more than gold.

  "We'll continue our journey soon," he said softly, more to himself than to them.

  The children nodded, still eating, and for the first time since this dark journey began, the silence didn't feel so heavy.

  The grueling journey lasted nearly a week. Each day was a silent struggle against fatigue, hunger, and fear. Joel maintained a steady, determined pace, his body driven by a steely resolve that brooked no weakness. The wounds that had left him reeling after the battle slowly began to heal. First, the sharp pain in his ribs disappeared, then the bruises faded, the muscle aches became a memory, and the scars healed. His body, trained and strengthened beyond human limits by his mage status—and by echoes of lives not entirely his own—responded with superhuman efficiency. By the time they reached the seventh day, there were no visible traces of his fractures.

  They advanced hundreds of miles without ever touching a trail or meeting a soul. The dense forest was an endless labyrinth of dark greens, treacherous roots, and tangled branches. But it was also teeming with life. Where others would see hostile territory, Joel found opportunity. He hunted small animals with improvised traps, gathered edible fruits, leaves with medicinal properties, and nutritious roots. He climbed trees like a seasoned hunter in search of eggs, always weighing the risk and reward.

  The children began to change as well. The initial, paralyzing fear gave way to a timid adaptation. Liam, more talkative, began to ask questions in a low voice. Aria, always silent, observed everything with wide eyes, as if trying to understand the world from scratch. They no longer cried at night and no longer trembled every time Joel drew his sword at an unexpected noise. Slowly, without realizing it, they began to trust him.

  None of them spoke much about their pasts, because there was no need. The silence that surrounded them spoke for them: they were children torn from their homes and families, persecuted for who they were, and now clinging to the back of a stranger as their only refuge. But that stranger was also their shield, their fire, their food, and their newfound certainty.

  Joel watched them as they slept, curled up against each other by the root of some hollow tree or on a safe branch among the treetops. He wondered how much pain they could endure before breaking, and how much of that pain he himself was unwittingly transmitting. But he couldn't stop, not now.

  He knew the possibility that they were being hunted was high, as empires don't leave loose ends. But he also knew how to disappear, and if he had to drag those two children to the ends of the earth to keep them out of the imperial cages, he would do it without hesitation.