CHAPTER 108: PROMISES

The gentle hush of the night wind rustled through the pines. He lay motionless on the uneven ground, pressed into its firm, lumpy surface. His armor had been cast aside—offered no comfort—leaving only plain dark clothes that clung to him.

Two daggers rested within arm’s reach at his side. The only other companion was the steady whisper of the breeze and the distant chorus of nocturnal life.

He drew in a deep, purposeful breath, lingering on its warmth. He shifted slightly, seeking relief from the ground’s sharp bite—and failed. A low groan escaped him. He’d growled in frustration, rolled again, determined to find a softer spot. Finally, he arched himself forward, pushing up on one arm, stretching out stiff muscles.

"Damnit... what a fucking comfortable way to sleep..." he muttered, voice edged with sarcasm. He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing.

"So much for my break from all the gruesome training with MILFs."

He flexed his fingers, then noticed the soft glow of the magic card resting nearby. Everyone else still slept, blissfully unaware. But tomorrow... tomorrow was everything. He felt the weight of it in his bones.

"We can’t keep hiding. We can’t pretend everything’s fine. I can’t stay like this—tired and scattered." he breathed.

"We’ve got too much ahead—finding the others, figuring out how to get through all of this."

He glanced toward the darkness where Fiona should have been sleeping—her presence meant safety. He whispered under his breath.

"That’s right. I... I still need rest. Especially to keep suppressing Fiona’s... thrive."

Something caught the edge of his awareness. A shift. A lack. His gaze snapped sideways.

Fiona’s place was empty.

He froze, heart lodging in his throat. Drowsiness evaporated. Panic surged.

"Huh?" he whispered to the night.

He bolted upright, scanning the camp. Shadows danced; silence swallowed his voice.

"Fiona...?" he called, choking on the pitch of his own fear. He leapt to his feet.

"Where the fuck...? Where’s Fiona?"

Dread flooded him with each step he took. Her absence felt like a wound all its own.

"God fucking damn it..." he muttered, scanning the gloom.

"She moved off on her own. Damn it. She fucking promised me."

He cursed himself for trusting her. She should’ve listened—but old instincts died hard. Fury and concern warred in his chest.

He dropped to his knees, eyes scrutinizing the ground. And then he saw it: a fresh set of footprints, bold against the softer soil. They led away from the camp.

His chest clenched with determination.

He sprang forward, sprinting through bushes, leaping over roots. The forest pressed in from both sides while his heartbeat roared in his ears.

’Please don’t be too far....’

Branches whipped his arms and legs. He ignored the pain, focused solely on the trail. It wove deeper into darkness—until he slowed, breath rasping, and stopped.

There she was.

Fiona. Seated on a flat gray rock beside a narrow stream. Moonlight spilled down, illuminating her pale skin and loose silver hair.

She hugged her legs close, her face calm and innocent—as if she were simply resting, not stirring his heart with fear.

"Fiona..." he breathed.

She looked up slowly, expression gentle.

"You thought I ran?" she asked softly. Her voice carried no scorn—just quiet assurance.

"Don’t worry. I didn’t. Running after them now... would only put all of us at risk. That’s what matters."

Her gaze drifted from his face to the moonlit water, and he took in the scene: a still, narrow stream gleaming under the silver sky, rock ripples catching gentle light. The world felt hushed, suspended in awe.

Steve exhaled, stepping closer.

"What are you doing up here?"

She offered a small smile.

"You should be resting." Her voice held a soft chide.

He shook his head, glancing at the thick forest beyond.

"Could say the same to you."

She pressed her lips into a line.

"I needed some air."

His gaze fell to her shoulders, the slight tremor betraying her collected exterior. He took a quiet breath. She was fractured inside—haunted by the day’s horrors.

"You’re not the only one who feels like this." he murmured, stepping up to stand beside her.

Fiona’s head turned enough to meet his eyes.

"What are we, then?"

He let out a low sound, half a sigh. "Broken. Confused. We all are." He turned his gaze to the stream. "Today... wasn’t what I expected." A tightness cracked his voice.

"I didn’t expect to end the day... like this. I didn’t expect to feel so... hollow, even though we made it this far. And losing so many—on our first encounter with a Magic Beast? I never thought..." His voice faltered under the weight of truth.

He pressed his lips together. The others. Hope, fear, grief—all churned together quietly.

"Everyone’s thinking the same. Feeling the same. But... I still have to hope. That if we regroup... if we find the others..." He trailed off, guilt fluttering in his chest.

Fiona’s voice cut through his thoughts.

"Promise me something, Steve."

He paused. Concern lanced his gut. He looked down at her tense posture.

"I need you to promise... we make it out alive. That none of our family... dies tonight." Her words were small. Fractured. But weighted.

A tear trembled in her eye—caught in the moonlight, brimming but refusing to fall.

"I can’t—" she choked.

"I can’t lose any of you. Tonya, Margie... you." She swallowed.

"I can’t lose you, Stevien."

His heart twisted.

He rose slowly, closing the space between them. Torchlight from the distant camp flickered—barely visible.

He reached out, fingers brushing her cheek with deliberate gentleness. She leaned into him, her eyes fluttering shut.

"Fiona—" he whispered, voice soft as silk.

She cut him off.

"Don’t lie. Just—tell me. Tell me you won’t let any of us die."

He hesitated. For a moment, the world hung between them in silver haze.

And then he did it.

He wrapped one arm behind her neck, the other around her waist. He pulled her toward him, lifting her onto the ground beside the stream. His chest sheltered her. Her body melted into his, softness against steel.

Their breaths mingled.

"Don’t worry." he murmured at her ear.

"I’m not going to die on you. Ever."

Her eyes fluttered, then closed. She clung to him tighter, pressing forward into the embrace. It began as comfort—but then changed. Her supple curves pressed against his chest as he could feel it, her breasts rising and falling against his chest.

Her hands traveled up his back—gentle strokes, seeking solace, reassurance.

And then, she pulled back—barely, just enough to leave no gap. Their faces hung inches apart. His fingers brushed her cheek, her breath.

Their eyes locked, and his gaze drifted down to her lips...