It was no longer difficult for him to step into the darkness of the tree. He might have even slammed the little bark door shut behind him, had he not reminded himself that Morrighan and the others would also need a way out of the enchanted world. So, he stepped back and left it ajar with a push.

"Not that they'd get stuck in there anyway; they'd tumble right out as soon as that girl finally puts an end to this fancy, purple-tinted magic," he muttered to himself. He had a choice word or two for Züiya as well, but he purposefully refrained from using it, even in thought.

After the overwhelming pastel hues and glitter, the natural colours and atmosphere of the forest felt like a relief. Zevran was an elf—more specifically, a dall, with ancestors who lived in the woods. Despite being raised in a city since childhood, his soul was deeply entwined with nature.

And his soul was also deeply connected to someone else. Determination shone in his light brown eyes, warmed by the sun's rays.

The Amruth Inn was bustling this time, judging by the restless horses outside, likely brought by a recently arrived group. Inside, nearly a dozen white-clad soldiers crowded the space alongside a handful of locals who had retreated to the corners. The latter cast wary glances at the newcomers, just as they had at Zevran and his companions a few days earlier.

Guifols, the man noted to himself, though he spared them no further thought. Instead, he took a seat at the bar, waiting patiently for the innkeeper, who seemed quite busy.

"Ah! You've returned, have you?" came a greeting from behind the counter. It was hard to tell if the man was pleased or merely lamenting the poor timing. "Sorry, I need to serve these soldiers first!" he whispered hurriedly. "The lady's already taken the only room, but feel free to go up to her if you'd like. I'll bring up your order once I've finished down here."

Zevran decided against barging in on Dina.

"I'll wait down here, thanks," he replied with a grateful smile. He appreciated the attention to detail that seemed second nature to these village folk, something he had come to miss.

He began sipping his wine in silence, keeping his eyes on the door to the room. At least, that was his intention, but the soldiers' frequent, peculiar glances in his direction interrupted his focus repeatedly.

What the hell are they staring at...?

Taking a closer look, Zevran scrutinised the faces behind their piercing gazes. Something about them seemed vaguely familiar, and then it clicked. He recognised one of the soldiers as the same man who had grabbed his arm back in Vasandoral not too long ago. While he couldn't recall the man's face, he distinctly remembered the subordinate's tunic being in better condition than his superior's.

Logan's lackeys. Perfect.

He suspected that some of them had recognised him too, but he didn't have time for them. He resolved to leave them alone unless they started trouble. Zevran was searching for Logan, but the noble wasn't with them. However, someone else of importance was—a grey-skinned figure who looked like a dark elf, clad in a blue robe adorned with patterns reminiscent of constellations. At first glance, Zevran pegged him as a high-ranking Guifol, not a warrior but a distinguished intellectual or advisor. His hooked nose jutted out like a mountain peak from his angular face, and his sharp eyes scrutinised everyone in the room, including Zevran.

The advisor summoned one of the soldiers with a subtle gesture, whispering something while glancing at Zevran.

Not even bothering to hide that they're talking about me, Zevran thought, shaking his head in plain view before turning back to his wine. This wasn't the time for unnecessary confrontations.

He sat quietly for a long time, saying nothing to anyone. He stared at the surface of the wine in his glass, watching how the red liquid met the edge. All the while, he pondered what he would say to Dina.

It was already dusk when Dina stepped out of the room, her expression slightly gloomy as she descended the stairs.

Zevran noticed her in an instant.

When she saw him, she froze, clutching the banister. Then, she lowered her head and continued down, passing him without a word.

Zevran jumped up and followed her.

The robed elf and the innkeeper, who had been wiping glasses, watched them intently. The innkeeper looked worried; the dark elf smirked.

Dina didn't wait for Zevran but neither did she run. She walked with her eyes on the ground, heading to the back courtyard shrouded in twilight. There, she sat on the top of three steps leading down to the yard. She heard Zevran stop behind her.

She glanced back at him briefly before turning her gaze forward again.

Dina sat on one side of the steps, while Zevran stood on the other. She clasped her hands together, staring ahead, while he looked at her.

Dina admired this about Zevran. Despite being a natural charmer, he never crossed a line without the other's consent. Now, too, he respected the boundary she had set the day before, when she had said it was over. He didn't pretend otherwise, only approached cautiously, as if they were meeting for the first time. Yet, there he was, steadfast and unwilling to leave her side.

The girl watched, unmoving, as a line of ants marched across the ground.

They didn't speak for a long while. Zevran's mind raced with ideas; he knew exactly how to win a woman back with sweet nothings. But he had no idea how to do it honestly. In the end, the only thing that came out of his mouth was her name.

"Dina...?"

She nudged a pebble aside with her foot.

"Why did you let her into your room?"

Zevran sighed.

"She didn't ask if she could come in."

"And what happened there exactly? Please, just tell me everything."

Zevran felt trapped. If he didn't answer, Dina would think he was hiding something. If he did, he would hurt her.

"We talked, about things that happened years ago. Like two friends, or like a parent and child. And then, suddenly, everything shifted. Züiya just seemed to lose her mind, and—"

"Why did you let her close the door?"

"I didn't know you were knocking. Nothing could be heard inside; she had some kind of spell for that too...!"

Dina noticed the evasiveness in his answer. She knew pressing him wouldn't help them now. So, she let him finish what he had to say before asking again, in the same soft, calm voice as before.

"Why did you let her close the door?"

Zevran scratched his head, then stepped closer to Dina and crouched down before her. The girl silently observed as he averted his gaze, something she had never seen him do before. Zevran, avoiding eye contact. Perhaps he didn't want to look at her sorrowful face. Then, as if out of torment, he raised his hand abruptly, as though to touch her face, but the movement faltered halfway and his fingers clenched into a fist.

They were back where they started, in Perubia. They weren't lovers yet; they weren't together. Yet there was a tension between them, a pull. And once again, Zevran couldn't touch Dina.

The girl waited silently.

"Because I didn't want to..." He glanced to the right, then to the left. "I didn't want you to see us."

Dina blinked twice in quick succession as her only response.

"But not because I had ulterior motives! I didn't—never have, not with Züiya!"

"I know."

"It's just... I wanted to talk to her! It was nice to recall the old times, that's all. I didn't want you to see us because you'd misunderstand, and..."

Zevran's desperate justification was interrupted by Dina's calm voice. "Because you love her. You wanted to spend time with her too, because you love her."

The man looked up into Dina's eyes, then shut his own. He nodded and shrugged. "Of course I love her," he muttered under his breath. "No matter how foolish she is, I love her."

Dina smiled faintly, for the briefest of moments, then drew a deep breath.

"We've failed, Zevran," Dina said, her lips curving into a reluctant smile.

Zevran looked at her pleadingly. "Don't say that. We haven't failed."

"But we have. We weren't ready for this. We haven't spent enough time together yet. Maybe if this challenge had come later, I would've trusted you more, and you might have acted differently. But as it is... it ended in failure."

"Then let me fix it. Let me take the blame—make this failure mine alone! But don't say it's ours."

"I've never told you about my parents, Zevran."

He raised an eyebrow. "I know they've passed away, Dina."

"But you don't know anything else about them. Because I've never told anyone, not even you."

Zevran sensed the significance of the topic. Though he didn't understand why it came up now, he nodded.

"Dina, my darling, if it helps, then tell me about them."

There was a simple ease in his voice as he said "about them," and Dina found that lightness oddly intimidating. Despite the hardships of Zevran's own life, he always spoke of his parents with such unclouded, unconditional affection. His father was a "witty woodcutter," his mother a "graceful beauty."

"Will you listen?"

"Of course, my beauty."

"I hated being a child with them. They argued constantly, fought over the most mundane things. My entire childhood was spent trying to find a quiet corner where I couldn't hear the hatred in their voices. They barely paid any attention to Fernil or me; they had no energy or time for us. All their strength was consumed by endless conflict. Only their sickness—like a greater evil—could silence them, and even then, only because they lacked the strength to speak to each other."

Zevran's eyes traced gentle caresses across Dina's face.

"You know, Zevran, I don't want a life like theirs. And I was scared too. Our argument wasn't even harsh, we didn't shout, but still... it reminded me of them. Is every relationship destined for that? Do all couples end up fighting endlessly? Are we already stepping into that cycle, being pulled into that endless vortex? And when I think about it... no. I don't want that with you. I'd rather stay as we are now. I'd rather just be your friend, your confidant. I'd rather endure never being touched by you again, no matter how much I long for it. But... no."

Zevran was quiet for a moment. "I'm not sure I could bear that," he admitted. "I don't want to be beside you, knowing I can never touch you. I want to hold you, to love you, Dina. And if you're afraid, I want to show you there's nothing to fear. I want to win you over again and again, and..."

"Again and again? After every argument?" Dina interrupted.

Zevran gave her an encouraging smile. "Yes, Dina. After every argument. Just let me. Let me win you over again."

Dina remained silent.

Zevran leaned toward her, but she gently pushed him back by the shoulder. Shaking her head slightly, she indicated that this was not the way to reclaim her heart.

The man blinked, then a strange anger flashed across his face as he turned his gaze away. "If that's how it is, then I never stood a chance. If you call this a failure, then it was doomed from the start."

Dina listened, her eyes focused on a trail of ants.

"In Perubia, it was already written that I would fail. In Sylvaron, I even said it aloud without knowing what I was saying. But if that's true, Dina, then it's unfair. Life isn't fair."

"Perhaps it would've been better if we'd never made that agreement. If I'd let you seduce me that first night. If we'd spent a few passionate days together, and then I let you go."

Dina meant this in earnest. If Zevran had taken her virginity back then, it would have been better than giving it to a stranger. Then she might have remained at Harod's brothel, like the other women, endlessly waiting for Zevran to return, longing for her turn to spend another night with the handsome, kind stranger.

And she would have fallen in love with him all the same.

Every woman in Zevran's life had been in that position—except Dina. Even Züiya, in her way.

"Perhaps you regret it didn't happen like that."

"No. I don't regret it, Dina."

"Would you walk a path you knew led nowhere?"

"I would. For you, I would."

Dina met his gaze, then lowered her head, covering her eyes to swallow back her tears.

"I'd walk it for you, even if the wisest minds in the world told me I could never reach you! I'd keep going, Dina, until the forest parted before me or I carved a path through it myself. But I wouldn't give up! I won't give up!"

Zevran seemed about to take Dina's hand, but her closed eyes didn't see the gesture. She stood, hearing him rise to follow. She felt his presence so near, and now she felt how love could truly ache.

She nodded to Zevran, briefly meeting his eyes, sending him a smile dimmed by tears. Then she turned slowly and walked back toward the inn.

"Dina, don't leave!"

"I just..."

"Don't leave me like this, in tears, I beg you. Let me hold you! I can't bear to see you cry!"

"I just need some time alone, Zevran."

She heard him follow for a while before sighing heavily and stopping.

Returning to her room, Dina ignored the curious glances of the Guifols, collapsed onto the bed, wrapped herself in a blanket, curled up, and cried until sleep took her.

Early at dawn, a knock woke her.

She raised her head.

Zevran...?

But something told her it wasn't him. It would have made sense, but...

There was another knock.

Dina sat up in bed and lit the candle. It was still dark; the sun's rays had yet to break over the horizon, though the clouds' undersides glowed faintly red. The knocking was unnervingly loud at such an hour. Dina stood, stepped closer to the door, but didn't open it. She asked cautiously:

"Who is it?"

"Beautiful lady, please, open the door!"

An unfamiliar man's voice. Judging by the tone, he could be either an elf or a human.

"Who are you?"

Silence, full of unspoken thoughts, lingered behind the door.

"Please, madam, just open the door. Let us talk."

Dina stared at the door handle, confusion written across her face. A dark premonition whispered that danger awaited her on the other side, even if the stranger's voice seemed calm and reassuring. She didn't move.

Another knock followed, softer this time, almost gentle, and the tone more persuasive.

"Beautiful lady... come out. Let us talk."

"If you won't say who you are, don't expect me to open the door!"

"My name is Caentrin Elanan, plain and simple, pronounced with a C and an E. I am an advisor to Lord Logan."

"And what does the lord want from me?"

She received no answer—not from the advisor, at least. What she did hear was a cold command from behind the door: "Break it down."

The lock groaned, and the sound of shoulders crashing against wood followed. Dina scrambled to retrieve her dagger, fumbling to draw it from its sheath with trembling hands. She retreated as soldiers burst through the door, swords drawn, surrounding her.

The advisor stepped forward, breaking the circle.

"Please, madam, do not resist. Just come with us."

"I don't want to!"

The advisor smiled. "Oh, that wasn't a request—it was an order. Now, put down that dagger."

Dina, knowing she stood little chance against so many battle-hardened men, still refused to yield. She held the slender blade steady, pointing it at one man and then another. Her defiance lasted until a soldier struck her wrist with precision, making her drop the weapon. The small dagger skittered across the floor, and Dina instinctively stepped toward it. But the soldiers closed ranks before her, and rough hands seized her arms.

"Let me go! Zevran! Zevran, help me!"

The advisor stepped closer, a smug smile spreading across his face. "What was that, madam?"

Dina ignored him, shouting louder: "Zevran, please, help! Zevraaan!"

The man calling himself Caentrin smirked. "The name... perhaps a bit louder."

"Zev...!" Dina's voice caught in her throat. She stared at him in horror. This was exactly what they wanted. They wanted her to call for Zevran.

"Please, call out again," the advisor said with exaggerated politeness, his tone dripping with mockery. "We wouldn't want him to miss this." He flashed Dina a triumphant grin before turning to the soldiers. "Take her!"

Dina, now silent, watched intently, praying that Zevran wouldn't appear. Logan's men were too many, and he would have no chance against them, just as he hadn't in Perubia. Back then, they had merely subdued him, but this time—what did they intend? To kill him?

Her hands were wrenched behind her back, rope binding her wrists. She was dragged out of the inn and thrown onto a cart. Zevran was nowhere to be seen.

The innkeeper ran up, bowing obsequiously, his posture pleading as he addressed the advisor.

"Sir, please, the lady hasn't paid for her room yet!"

"Get lost!" one of the soldiers barked, but the innkeeper didn't retreat. Behind him, his wife and daughter clung to each other.

The advisor noted the man's desperation but paid him no mind. Like his soldiers, he mounted his horse without a second glance.

"Sir, I beg you! This is a great loss for me and my family... Please, settle the bill!"

Caentrin shot him a disdainful look before spurring his grey mount. The cart carrying Dina, surrounded by mounted soldiers, rolled away, leaving the innkeeper standing helplessly. The last soldier to pass leaned down and struck the man with a heavy slap, sending him sprawling to the ground. His wife and daughter helped him to his feet as they all watched the cart disappear into the distance.

Later, they found the room's payment tossed onto the inn's floor—along with the cost of the modest downstairs lodgings for one more night. The gentleman who had rented it for that evening was now nowhere to be found.