The path descended from the riverbed along the precipitous slope of the mountain, reintegrating into the dense woodland where K.J. and Oliver had embarked on their expedition. Above, the sky persisted in its somber state, drenched with clouds that offered sporadic glimpses of sunlight, casting a muted gray pallor over the terrain. The wind had intensified, its gusts becoming more pronounced as the day progressed, exacerbating K.J.'s shivering.

K.J. tried to ignore the deep, aching cold that settled in his bones, focusing on the path ahead. The cut on his backthrobbed with each step, and he felt a gnawing chill slipping through the torn fabric of his shirt and vest, the holes in the back allowing icy air to seep in. He wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing them to create warmth, but the shivering only grew stronger, making him grit his teeth against the discomfort.

Oliver glanced over, noticing K.J.'s struggle. "You're cold?" he asked, his eyes narrowing in concern as he watched K.J. try to generate warmth.

K.J. shook his head quickly, his voice firm yet quiet, "No." It was a lie, almost convincing, but Oliver could see through it. He knew K.J little enough to spot the signs—his tense body language, the barely hidden shiver, and the struggle to keep moving forward.

They walked a few more steps in silence, the trees whispering above them, when Oliver stopped, placing a firm hand on K.J.'s shoulder. "Hold up," he said gently, his tone leaving no room for protest. "Stop for a minute."

K.J. hesitated, a hint of reluctance in his eyes, but Oliver's steady gaze didn't falter. He carefully turned K.J. around, reaching to pull back the edges of his leather vest and lifting his tunic. K.J. winced as the cold air hit the raw wound on his back, pain flashing across his face despite his efforts to conceal it.

Oliver's expression grew grave, his concern intensifying. The wound appeared crimson and raw, exacerbated by the exertion of their journey. "We need to stop for a moment," he said, his tone firm and resolute.

Oliver quickly scanned the area and spotted a small patch of green grass, sheltered beneath the broad branches of a towering red oak. Snow had failed to reach this spot, leaving the ground soft and dry. Gently, Oliver guided K.J. over, his hand steadying him as he helped him sit down.

"Your wound... it's getting worse," Oliver said, a deep concern etched into his face. "The herb seems to be wearing off, and the bleeding hasn't stopped." His voice was tense as he took in the angry, raw gash.

K.J. shivered violently, his lips slightly blue from the cold, but he managed to speak through chattering teeth. "Can... can you use... fire?" His voice was broken, trembling as he struggled to form each word.

"Fire? My magic fire?" Oliver repeated, taken aback. For a moment, he wondered if the cold and pain had pushed K.J. into a feverish state. It seemed like a desperate idea, even dangerous.

But K.J.'s eyes were clear, resolute. "Fire... can help. Fire helps stop bleeding..." He faltered, his voice strained, but the meaning was unmistakable.

Oliver's face tightened, hesitation flickering in his gaze as he looked at K.J., waiting to see if he was truly certain.

K.J. nodded, jaw clenched, his breaths shallow. With Oliver's help, he slowly peeled off his leather vest and lifted his tunic, gritting his teeth against the frigid air that stung his exposed skin. Oliver's heart clenched at the sight of the wound—a deep, jagged gash across K.J.'s back, the edges raw and still seeping.

Oliver took a deep breath, focusing. He raised his hand, pressing his index and middle fingers together, and summoned a small, controlled flame. His fingers were enveloped in a fire, the heat fierce and intense, yet he held it with a steady control.

"Okay..." Oliver murmured, steadying himself. He knew this would be painful, and he braced himself as much as he braced K.J.

Oliver brought his fingers to the bleeding edge of the wound, where blood pulsed sluggishly. The fire touched K.J.'s skin, and an instant sizzle echoed in the quiet air, the smell of burnt flesh mingling with the faint smoke that rose from the wound. K.J. tensed immediately, his body going rigid, and a low, guttural moan escaped his throat as he bit down, grinding his teeth to hold back the scream that tried to tear free.

His face twisted with pain, his breathing shallow as he forced himself to bear it. Every muscle in his body felt locked in a tight coil, his fingers digging into the earth as he fought against the agony that coursed through him.

Oliver quickly pulled back, letting the fire fade as he allowed K.J. a moment to breathe. His hand hovered nearby, ready to support him if he needed it, his own expression mirroring the pain he saw on K.J.'s face.

K.J. took in a shuddering breath, his chest heaving as he tried to steady himself. His eyes met Oliver's, gratitude mingling with the pain. After a moment, he gave a small nod, signaling that he was ready for more.

"Just one more spot," Oliver murmured softly, his voice filled with both determination and empathy. He reignited the flame, his fingers once again cloaked in heat as he carefully pressed it to another bleeding vessel in the wound. The same fizzling sound filled the air, and a thin wisp of smoke curled upward, but this time K.J. seemed to brace himself better, enduring the pain with tightly clenched fists and a strained, controlled breath.

Oliver withdrew his hand, extinguishing the flame. He placed a gentle hand on K.J.'s shoulder, grounding him, his voice low and steady. "It's over. The bleeding stopped."

K.J. sagged slightly, exhaustion etched into his face as he let out a long, shaky exhale. The pain still lingered, but the bleeding had finally stopped, and in the warmth of Oliver's hand, he found a small comfort amidst the agony.

Oliver gently helped K.J. slip his tunic and vest back on, moving carefully as he avoided the newly cauterized wounds on his back. Each touch was cautious, his fingers light yet steady as he tried not to press too hard on the sensitive skin. Even so, K.J. felt a dull, burning ache pulsing beneath the layers, a sensation that lingered and reminded him of the pain he'd endured. He set his bow down beside him, a few arrows slipping from the quiver and scattering across the ground.

K.J.'s shivering hadn't ceased, his body trembling under the weight of the biting cold. Oliver noticed, his eyes narrowing slightly in concern as he watched his friend try in vain to rub warmth into his own arms. Without a second thought, Oliver shrugged off his thick coat, the long, heavy fabric hanging like a shield against the bitter air. He extended it toward K.J., but K.J. instinctively shook his head, resisting the offer.

"K.J.," Oliver said, his voice gentle but firm. "Take it. It's warm. You need it more than I do—please."

K.J. hesitated, glancing at the coat and then back to Oliver, a hint of reluctance in his gaze. "That... that's only for the..." he began, his words trailing off, unsure how to express the discomfort he felt at the idea of taking something meant for a prince.

Oliver's brow lifted in gentle amusement, a slight grin pulling at his lips. "Don't say 'Prince.' Seriously," he quipped, with a warmth that dissolved any distance between them.

K.J. sighed, a quiet surrender in his eyes as he slipped his arms into the sleeves. As he pulled the coat around himself, he felt the lingering warmth it held, like stepping into the embrace of a hearthfire. The cold began to fade, melting under the weight of the thick fabric. Strangely, he realized that Oliver himself seemed almost unaffected by the chill—his very presence seemed to radiate a subtle heat, as if he carried a quiet fire within him, a constant warmth that kept the cold's sharp edge at bay.

K.J.'s shivering lessened, his body finally finding comfort as he settled into the coat's warmth. "Warm enough?" Oliver asked, his voice low, his concern unmistakable.

K.J. managed a gentle smile and nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you," he murmured, expressing his profound gratitude.

They sat in silence for a while, the stillness settling around them like the snow-dusted trees above. It was a peaceful quiet, a moment to catch their breath and simply be. Eventually, K.J. reached for his bow, letting his fingers trace the wood, admiring the familiar curve, the detailed carvings he knew so well. As he ran his thumb over the bow's edge, he noticed a small scuff. Rubbing it carefully, he managed to smooth it away, the small act of care a comforting ritual.

Oliver watched him, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You like your bow?" he asked, his voice light but curious.

"Yes," K.J. replied, his voice soft yet certain, the answer as simple and steadfast as the bond he felt with the weapon.

Oliver chuckled, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "Right," he said, remembering their earlier exchange. "If I want more than a single word out of you, I just have to ask the right questions."

K.J.'s lips curved into a rare smile, a quiet laugh escaping, followed by Oliver's own chuckle—a sound that permeated the air between them, dispelling the silence with a sense of tranquility and camaraderie.

After a pause, Oliver's gaze shifted back to the bow in K.J.'s hands. His voice softened, touched by something deeper. "That bow... it actually belonged to my mother."

K.J.'s head snapped up, his eyes widening in surprise. "Your mother's?" he asked, the shock evident in his expression.

Oliver nodded, his gaze distant for a moment as he sank into the memory. "Yes... it was hers. She loved archery. She'd spend hours out there, shooting at targets alone in the gardens. She wasn't very good," he admitted with a slight smile, "but it kept her focused. She told me once that holding the bow helped her feel grounded, like the world around her could fall away for a little while." His voice grew softer, tinged with a quiet sadness. "I never took much interest in archery myself, but I'd sit and watch her sometimes. There was this... calm about her, a gentleness that only came out when she was holding that bow."

K.J. listened, captivated by the reverence in Oliver's tone. He could almost picture her—a woman with grace and strength, finding peace in each carefully aimed arrow, her movements slow and measured. A memory stirred within him, a flicker of familiarity as he thought of his own uncle, who had shared the same quiet connection with a bow and arrow.

"My uncle was the same," K.J. said, his voice laced with a nostalgia that softened his words. "He'd practice in the Oaklane Forest, near Astria. He'd make targets out of old logs, or anything he could find. Sometimes he'd let me watch, and I'd sit there, just... mesmerized. When I turned thirteen, he taught me to shoot. It felt like... I don't know. Like I'd been given something important, something sacred." He paused, a faint smile on his lips as he added, "He had this patience about him when he was teaching me, like each shot mattered in ways I couldn't fully understand back then."

Oliver looked at K.J., their eyes meeting in a moment of shared understanding. "It sounds like he gave you something similar to what my mother gave me," Oliver said softly. "The patience to see things through, to be present in each moment. To find peace, even in chaos."

K.J. nodded, the warmth of Oliver's coat seeping into him as he reflected on their words. These memories, so personal and dear, had been locked away in the quiet corners of his mind, yet here, with Oliver, they felt safe to share, as if speaking them aloud let him relive them and let go of their weight.

They sat together, the silence around them rich with understanding, their shared memories forming an unspoken bond. Beneath the sheltering trees, the chill in the air seemed to lessen, held at bay by the quiet warmth between them. The bow rested in K.J.'s hands, now more than just a weapon—it was a link to his past, to the people who had taught him resilience and focus, and now, it connected him to Oliver as well.

Silence fell between them once more as K.J turned to face Oliver and spoke his name softly, "Oliver?" Oliver hummed in response, finally paying attention to K.J's words. "Mara..." K.J's voice trailed off as he corrected himself, "I mean Nyssa." Oliver raised an eyebrow, waiting for K.J to continue. "I remember you mentioning that Nyssa doesn't care about your appearance or why you rely on sex to calm yourself."

Oliver squirmed in his seat, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over him at the mention of his reliance on sex. He met K.J's intense gaze with raw honesty, his voice trembling slightly as he spoke. "Yes, I am painfully aware of my insecurities about my body. One night, after a particularly heated argument with my abusive father, I stumbled into a bar in the upper district and saw her. She was alluring, seductive, and she sensed my anger. Without hesitation, she approached me and began to flirt and tease, igniting a fire inside me that I couldn't control." Oliver's confession became more urgent as he continued. "She led me into a nearby alleyway where she stripped off my shirt and every inch of my skin crawled with discomfort. But then she started kissing and licking me all over, filling me with sensations that made me forget all my worries...until she took off my pants and engulfed my cock in her mouth, leading us both into a wild frenzy of passion that lasted for hours. In those moments, my rage disappeared completely and all that mattered was our physical connection." With shame etched onto his face, Oliver admitted the truth. "She never cared about what my body looked like, so I used her whenever I felt angry or insecure."

K.J. shifted slightly, his voice a soft murmur as he replied, "Oh?" There was an awkwardness to his tone, but also genuine curiosity. Oliver, sensing that hesitation, felt his stomach twist. He assumed the worst, thinking his actions must seem appalling to someone like K.J., who had always carried himself with quiet integrity.

"I know," Oliver muttered, looking away, his shoulders tense with self-reproach. "It's stupid. Disgusting, really."

But K.J. surprised him, shaking his head slowly, his gaze gentle and steady. "I don't think that at all," he said, his tone kind. "Actually... it explains a lot."

Oliver looked back at him, brow furrowed in curiosity. "Explains... how?"

K.J. hesitated, choosing his words carefully, before speaking. "Your magic—your fire—it's tied to your emotions, isn't it? Anger, desire... they're like fuel for it." He held Oliver's gaze, his voice steady and thoughtful. "When you start to feel that fire growing out of control, you look for something to ground you. Something to quiet that rage." His words softened as he continued, "In your case, it seems like you turn to intimacy, physical closeness. Something that doesn't need words, just... release."

Oliver listened, taken aback by the depth of K.J.'s understanding. It was as if he were seeing his own struggles from a new perspective, one that didn't feel so lonely or shameful. A small, disbelieving chuckle escaped him. "You think it's just... my way of finding balance?"

K.J. nodded, a warm, encouraging smile on his lips. "Yes. I think it's natural to reach for something when things feel too heavy, too much. You're trying to replace that rage with something that brings calm." He hesitated before adding, "That doesn't make it wrong. It just means you're trying to protect yourself, even if it's... imperfect."

Oliver let out a slow breath, a sense of relief washing over him. "I never saw it that way." He gave K.J. a grateful smile, one filled with a mixture of awe and appreciation. "I thought you'd judge me for it... think I was unfit to be a prince."

K.J. shook his head, his gaze unwavering. "I don't judge. We all have things we're trying to carry. You're just... finding your way."

Oliver felt a warmth fill him, a gratitude that seemed to reach down to the very core of his being. He reached out, resting a hand on K.J.'s shoulder, and drew him into a brief but meaningful embrace. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "That means more than I can say." He withdrew, giving K.J. a small, reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I'll take responsibility for it all," he added. "But knowing someone understands... it helps."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and then Oliver's curiosity got the better of him. "How do you know so much about magic?" he asked, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

K.J. looked at him, a spark of pride in his expression. "My mother taught me," he replied simply.

Oliver's brows lifted in surprise. "Your mother?"

K.J. nodded, his tone carrying a touch of reverence. "She was a witch." He watched Oliver's face closely, waiting for any sign of judgment or surprise, but instead, Oliver's expression was one of respect and genuine curiosity.

"A witch," Oliver echoed softly. "She sounds... remarkable. What was she like?"

K.J. looked down, a small smile gracing his face as memories surfaced. "She was... calm. She understood things that most people don't. She knew that magic wasn't just about power—it was about balance." His gaze grew distant as he continued, his voice soft with reverence. "She taught me that strength comes from knowing when to push forward and when to let go. That magic is like emotion, flowing through everything, connecting it all."

Oliver listened, enraptured, sensing the depth of K.J.'s bond with his mother. "She sounds wise," he murmured. "And... I think I owe her my life."

K.J. met his gaze, surprised.

"That night with the poisoned soup," Oliver said quietly. "If you hadn't noticed it, I wouldn't be here. How did you know?"

K.J. nodded, understanding. "She taught me about herbs and poisons. How to spot them, how they smell. She used to say that knowing how to heal and how to harm were two sides of the same skill." He gave a soft smile. "She believed that knowledge like that should be used wisely... to protect those you care about."

Oliver let that sink in, a deep respect welling up in him. "Then I have her to thank for my life," he said, his voice sincere. "Without her knowledge... and without you... I wouldn't be here now."

K.J. nodded, the pride and sorrow in his eyes mingling. "She'd be glad her teachings could help someone. Especially someone like you."

Oliver listened intently, his expression softening as he absorbed K.J.'s words. "Do you know what happened to her... after that?" he asked gently, his voice careful, as if afraid to stir painful memories.

K.J. took a steadying breath, his gaze distant, as though he were seeing something far off. "I remember her," he murmured, his voice tinged with both longing and sorrow. "Her hair was long and soft, black as night. She smelled like lavender... it was her favorite flower." He paused, a faint smile flickering across his face. "There are only bits and pieces... scattered memories. But I remember riding on horseback with her once, feeling her arms around me, holding me close. She was in a hurry. She kept looking back, like she was afraid."

His brow furrowed, and he glanced down, his hands clasping together tightly. "She didn't let go of me, not for a second. I can still feel how tightly she held on." He hesitated, as if the memory were painful to unearth. "When I looked over her shoulder, I saw them... dark figures on horseback, closing in. Knights in black armor. There was a crest, but I... I can't remember it. Just that they were relentless. They followed us all the way until we reached Astria's borders."

He paused, the silence thick between them. "They stopped chasing us as soon as we crossed into Astria. She seemed to know that we were safe, for the moment. She took me to my uncle's house, and I remember her looking at me... her face filled with worry, but there was something else, too." K.J.'s voice wavered. "She told me she'd come back for me one day. And then... she left."

Oliver felt a pang of sadness for K.J., a longing that resonated in his own heart. He reached out, resting a reassuring hand on K.J.'s shoulder. "You didn't understand why at the time?"

K.J. shook his head. "No. I was too young to understand any of it. I waited for her. I kept thinking she'd walk back through the door. Every night, I'd look out the window... hoping."

The silence settled over them again, heavy with unspoken emotion. Oliver tightened his grip on K.J.'s shoulder, a quiet reassurance. "She did what she could to keep you safe," he said softly. "She must have loved you dearly."

K.J. nodded, his gaze unfocused, lost in the memory. "I think... she did. It's strange, though—sometimes I wonder if she knew she might never come back."

Oliver's hand lingered on K.J.'s shoulder, his touch steady. "She kept you safe, K.J. Whatever happened to her, she must have wanted you to live... to be free from whatever was chasing her."

A hint of sadness crossed K.J.'s face, but he managed a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Oliver. For listening."

"Always," Oliver replied, his voice gentle.

Oliver watched the resolve flicker in K.J.'s eyes, a look of quiet determination that made his own heart swell with empathy. "You want to find answers... about her?" he asked, sensing there was more to K.J.'s search than just the mystery of her disappearance.

K.J. nodded, his voice steadier now, a touch of intensity in his gaze. "I need to know why she left, yes. But also... why I am the way I am." He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers, as if he could summon the strange power coursing through him with just a thought when he saved Oliver from Nyssa power. "These... abilities. Powers. I don't understand why I have them, or why they seem to... scaring the gods and goddesses."

Oliver listened, nodding slowly, understanding the weight of what K.J. carried. "It must feel like a puzzle with pieces missing," he said softly. "Not knowing what makes you... you."

"Yes," K.J. replied, his voice quiet but charged with emotion. "My mother kept so much from me, yet I feel... that somehow she knew this would be my path. That I'd have to find these answers on my own."

Oliver leaned closer, his voice steady and filled with conviction. "Then let's find those answers together. Whatever it takes."

They sat quietly, lost in thought. For the first time, Oliver felt a deep connection with K.J., beyond words. They shared struggles and a mother's love, now alive in their relationship.