That night, time seemed to slow to a gentle crawl. With the others sound asleep in the camp, Cecilion and Zixuan slipped away in silence, guided only by moonlight and the quiet pull of longing. The river, cool and glimmering under the stars, welcomed them with its stillness, cloaking them in secrecy as they waded past the rocks.
They found shelter behind a large boulder, half-veiled by ivy and shadow. From there, the world felt distant—reduced to soft water lapping at their skin, the occasional rustle of trees, and the quiet rhythm of their breathing.
Cecilion was tense at first, casting glances back toward camp, afraid that the others might wake up. But no footsteps came. No voices. Just the hush of the forest and the glow of Zixuan's eyes under the moonlight.
