Hope glanced toward Massa, who sat a short distance away with her eyes closed. Her expression was serene, but something about her posture made it clear she wasn't simply resting—she was meditating, or perhaps lost in deep thought. For a brief moment, he considered starting a conversation with her. Maybe ask her something to break the silence, to bridge the quiet distance that always seemed to linger between them.
But as he watched her, he realized that whatever place her mind had wandered to, it was far away from here. Far away from him.
So, he dismissed the idea with a quiet sigh.
Instead, he turned his gaze back to Nefer, who had resumed sharpening her blade with practiced ease. The steady shhk, shhk of stone against steel was oddly rhythmic, almost hypnotic. Although she didn't have to sharpen it, because it will repair it self in her soul sea....
"I hope we'll be welcomed at the settlement," Hope muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Nefer, however, caught the words and looked at him.
"Why?" she asked, her voice curious but sharp. "What's on your mind?"
Hope shook his head. "Just a fleeting thought," he replied, raising a hand to wipe away the fine layer of dust that had settled on his face.
As he did, his muscles tensed instinctively, his body still aching from the relentless training earlier. The moment he lifted his arm, he felt the pull of exhaustion in every fiber of his being, and he quickly dropped it with a quiet grunt.
Nefer chuckled. "You'll get used to it."
Hope let out a dry huff. "I've been through worse."
"Trust me," Nefer responded, amusement still in her tone. "The Soulrealm is worse than the outskirts."
Hope exhaled sharply. "Hmph. True."
A brief silence passed before he spoke again.
"Can I ask you something?"
Nefer glanced at him. "Go on."
Hope tilted his head slightly, studying her. "How did you get so good at fighting?"
Nefer blinked, then raised an eyebrow.
Hope continued, "I mean, we both went to the academy, but they didn't train us anywhere near your level. They barely scratched the surface, and yet… you fight like someone who's been training since birth. You don't seem like a clan heir either, so where did you learn?"
Nefer was silent for a moment, watching him closely.
Her gaze lingered on his face, taking in the contrast of his features—the unnatural porcelain-white paleness of his skin, the sharp angles of his jawline, the way his dark, unruly hair framed his face. His deep-set eyes, always calculating, always wary.
Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
"I was taught by my father," she said at last. "He's an Ascended. He trained me in combat from the time I could walk."
Hope's brows raised slightly. "An Ascended?"
Nefer nodded. "Yes. He made sure I knew how to fight, how to survive. He never went easy on me, no matter how young I was."
Hope considered her words carefully. "Did that change you?"
Nefer exhaled slowly, glancing up at the sky as if searching for the right words.
"I don't know," she admitted. "Maybe. I suppose I don't act like most other girls." A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "But I'm grateful for his training. Without it, I wouldn't have lasted this long."
Hope nodded in understanding. He knew what it was like to be shaped by harsh circumstances, to be molded by necessity rather than choice.
"You must've had good siblings," he said absently, assuming she had grown up in a large family.
But Nefer's next words made his breath catch in his throat.
"I was adopted," she said plainly.
Hope almost choked.
For a moment, he wasn't sure if he should apologize, ask more questions, or just sit in stunned silence.
Nefer, however, didn't seem bothered by his reaction. She simply looked ahead, her expression unreadable.