The Last Godfall: Transmigrated as the Young Master-Chapter 150: Empty Hours

Vencian pushed an elbow into the packed earth and tried to rise.

His legs shook at once, cloth pulling tight across his thighs, and the effort sent a dull throb through his knees and lower back. The shelter sagged when he shifted, branches scraping together above him. Dried blood cracked at his sleeve where it had soaked through earlier, stiff enough to bite at the skin when he bent his arm.

He drew a breath, held it, and tried again.

The world tipped. His foot slid on leaf litter, and the strength he expected failed to arrive. He dropped back onto his hip with a quiet sound, jaw tight, palms flat against the ground to keep from falling fully over.

So much for leaving quickly.

Seris had chosen the shelter well. Low, buried, invisible unless someone knew where to look. That kind of hiding worked because it assumed time would behave. Vencian had learned to treat time as conditional.

He flexed his fingers, checking what answered and what did not, then stopped before the shaking grew obvious.

Across the narrow space, Seris watched without comment. Her posture stayed upright, attention fixed on the gaps between branches rather than on him.

"You’ll tear the seams if you keep testing it," she said. "Your left side’s worse. We can move after dawn, not before."

He shrugged.

She glanced once at his sleeve, at the darkened fabric.

"We’ll need to change that."

Branches shifted at the shelter entrance as someone crouched low and stepped through.

The forest woman carried a bundle that bowed her arms outward, cloth wrapped tight with cord and bark twine. She set it down with care rather than haste, weight controlled, then straightened without looking at Vencian.

Seris turned to her at once. Their voices dropped into a different cadence, clipped and efficient, words passing quickly. Hands moved as much as mouths. A nod. A brief question. An answer that ended the exchange cleanly.

The woman pushed the bundle forward with her foot, accepted a small token from Seris, and withdrew the way she came, branches easing back into place behind her.

Seris knelt and loosened the cord.

Folded fabric showed through. Wool, linen, two weights. More than one set.

Vencian shifted against the wall, palm pressing to the ground to steady himself.

"That’s more than needed," he said.

"It’s for days," Seris replied, eyes on the bundle. "Routes change. We may double back."

She separated the stacks with quick movements.

"I also refuse to travel beside someone wearing the same blood-stiffened clothes day after day. It draws notice."

Vencian rolled his eyes.

The motion pulled at his neck and earned him a quiet hiss of breath, but he let it stand. He looked at Seris afterward and held the look, waiting.

Seris met the look. Neither she said anything nor she turned away. 𝑓𝑟ℯ𝘦𝓌𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝑐ℴ𝓂

The bundle rested between them. Folded cloth. Space that needed resolving.

Vencian stayed where he was, back against the shelter wall, hands loose at his sides. The quiet stretched, unhelpful and deliberate, the kind that only existed because neither of them would volunteer movement first.

Finally, he straightened as much as his body allowed.

"Lady Valemont," he said. "I’ll need a moment."

He tipped his head toward the clothes, then the entrance.

"Pick your preference."

Seris paused.

She looked at the bundle, then toward the shelter wall, as if mapping distance rather than weighing words. When she spoke, it came without edge.

"I’m going to the stream," she said. "The forest folk mentioned it when they marked the shelter. I can use that."

She rose and gathered one of the folded sets, movements economical. The decision landed as settled fact, not response.

"I’ll wash and change there. It saves time and keeps the shelter clean."

Her gaze shifted back to him only long enough to anchor the next point.

"Enjoy the privacy."

Seris crouched and slipped out the way she had entered, careful with the branches, deliberate about the gap she left behind. The shelter eased closed after her, twigs settling into place with a muted scrape.

The quiet returned, broader for the absence, walls unchanged and space newly fixed in place.

A faint glow slipped through the branches before Quenya followed it.

She drifted in upside down, hair hanging toward the floor, hands clasped behind her back. "Well," she said, peering at the folded clothes. "That went smoothly. Almost festive."

Vencian did not look up. "Go sit."

Quenya blinked, then righted herself with a small flick and hovered near the ceiling. "Straight to orders. I missed this side of you."

"Not now."

She tilted her head, smile fixed, voice lighter. "I arrive to lift spirits and I’m told to perch like furniture."

"Quenya."

The smile thinned. "All right," she said. "Message received."

She drifted toward the corner, deliberately slow, then stopped short. "You’re snapping at the wrong target."

Vencian exhaled and set his palms flat against his knees.

"I’m sorry," he said. "That was uncalled for. You weren’t the cause."

Quenya turned, irritation still tucked behind a playful lilt. "Then what was."

He hesitated a fraction, then answered. "Dependency."

Her glow dimmed slightly. "On the forest folk."

"On anyone," he said. "We’re inside their routes, their timing, their silence. That matters."

She crossed her arms. "It also kept us clothed and unseen."

"I know." His voice stayed level. "Which means we have to plan for the moment it stops working."

Quenya floated closer, enough that the space tightened again. "You always jump to failure states."

"They’re cheaper to map early."

She watched him, expression easing. "You could have said you were tired."

He shook his head once. "That doesn’t change variables."

"It changes how you speak to the people stuck with you."

He met her gaze. "That’s fair."

The cottage pressed in with her nearness, one roof, one entrance, air held between them.

Quenya uncrossed her arms. "Strangers mean risk," she said. "So does shutting everyone out."

"I’m not shutting you out."

"I noticed," she said, faintly dry.

"Good." Vencian adjusted his leg and spoke as if outlining a route.

"If we’re discovered," he said, "I remove Seris from the field first."

Quenya did not interrupt.

"I won’t warn her. I’ll force her into storage and seal it. That removes the primary target and the most volatile variable." He continued without pause. "I’ll change appearance, that works most of the time."

Her glow shifted, slow and thoughtful. "You’re assuming she survives confinement."

"I am," he said. "The last person who went there did. And she looks tough enough to survive that."

"You’re also assuming she forgives you."

"That comes later."

Quenya drifted back a handspan, measuring. "You’re planning to violate trust as a tactic."

"Yes."

"No hesitation," she said.

"It adds friction."

She studied him. "It will cost more than friction. She doesn’t look like give trust often. Taking it by force may end the exchange permanently."

"It can’t go worse than what it already is.."

Silence sat between them, close and deliberate.

She nodded once, slowly. "I’ll stay with you."

Her voice lowered. "But hear this. Trust is already thin. You break it again and there may be nothing left to manage afterward."

He did not argue. "That’s acceptable if it keeps her alive."

Quenya’s glow dimmed a fraction. "You always talk like aftermath is optional."

"It’s secondary."

She turned away, hovering near the shelter wall. "Then don’t pretend you’re surprised when people stop standing close."

Vencian inclined his head. "I won’t."

Quenya drifted toward the entrance and slipped out without comment, glow thinning until it vanished beyond the branches.

Vencian reached for the clean tunic and pulled it over his head. The fabric scraped faintly across his shoulders, coarse but dry, settling with a weight that felt earned. He adjusted the hem, tugged the sleeves straight, then tied the cord at his waist with steady fingers.

The old clothes lay folded to one side, darkened and stiff, set apart from what he wore now.

He smoothed the front of the tunic once and shifted his weight until his balance held. The shelter stayed as it was. Low roof. Packed earth. One exit.

Temporary choices had a way of fixing themselves into place. He had already marked the line he would cross and the one he would not hesitate over.

All that remained was timing.