After finishing her bowl of congee, Tanya eased herself back onto the bed. The soft linens welcomed her weight as fatigue crept over her once more. Her golden-amber eyes drifted toward the wooden beams above, their rough grain twisting across the ceiling like strange symbols carved by time.
Her mind refused to settle.
Fragments of memory surfaced in uneven flashes—the frantic escape through darkened woods, the sharp sting of betrayal, the suffocating terror of being hunted.
She could still feel it.
The phantom echo of pain where the blade had pierced her side.
Her hand moved there instinctively.
Smooth skin met her fingertips.
No wound.
No scar.
Only the dried blood staining her tunic remained.
A quiet breath slipped past her lips.
Relief came—but it did not last.
Too many questions remained.
How had they survived?
How had they ended up here?
In the home of a stranger who could undo death itself as if it were nothing.
The thought lingered.
Unanswered.
Beside the bed, the second woman stirred.
Her eyelids fluttered open before a soft groan escaped her.
Tanya turned toward her, a faint smile forming.
"Good afternoon, sleepyhead," she said softly.
There was warmth in her tone—gentle, familiar.
"That must've been some sleep."
The woman blinked, her vision clearing.
Then—
"Tanya?!"
She shot upright, her hood slipping back as she lunged forward, wrapping her arms tightly around her.
Emotion broke through instantly.
"Oh gods… Tanya, I thought—"
The words failed her.
She held on tighter.
Tanya let out a quiet breath, a faint wince slipping through despite her effort to hide it.
"Easy," she murmured, one hand resting lightly on her sister's back. "Not so tight. I'm still in one piece… barely."
A small pause.
Then, softer—
"But I'm here."
The woman pulled back slightly, her hands still gripping Tanya's arms.
Tears streaked down her cheeks.
"I thought I lost you," she whispered.
Tanya met her gaze.
"I'm not that easy to kill."
The line carried a hint of humor—but it didn't fully land.
Not yet.
Still—
It was enough.
A weak laugh broke through the tension.
After a moment, Tanya nodded toward the small table.
"You should eat," she said. "He left that for you."
Her sister followed her gaze.
The bowl rested there, steam still curling faintly into the air.
She picked it up and took a cautious spoonful.
A beat.
Then—
Her expression changed.
"Wait…"
She stared at the bowl.
"Is this… congee?"
The disbelief in her voice was immediate.
"How is that even possible?" she asked, looking back at Tanya. "This recipe is from our world."
Tanya exhaled softly.
"I said the same thing."
She leaned back slightly.
"He told me he'd explain later."
Her sister frowned, glancing between the bowl and the room as if expecting the answer to reveal itself.
It didn't.
Hunger won.
She continued eating, faster now, each bite grounding her a little more.
When the bowl was empty, she exhaled slowly.
"I never thought I'd taste this again."
The words came quietly.
But they lingered.
The cabin door creaked open.
Natsu stepped inside.
He carried a freshly prepared chicken, its pale body cleaned and ready for cooking. He moved to the basin first, rinsing his hands carefully, washing away the faint traces of blood.
Only then did he glance toward the bedroom.
Both women were awake.
He stepped inside with a small nod.
"Looks like you're both doing better."
Tanya straightened slightly.
"Thanks to you," she said.
There was no hesitation in her voice this time.
She gestured toward the woman beside her.
"This is my sister."
The woman lowered her hood fully.
Her shoulder-length brown hair fell in loose waves, catching warm light as it framed her face. The resemblance was clear—though where Tanya carried sharpness, hers was softer.
"I'm Anyael," she said.
Her voice was gentle—but steady.
"Thank you. For saving us."
Natsu blinked once.
The similarity between them caught him off guard for a brief moment.
Then he smiled.
"Nice to meet you."
He scratched the back of his head lightly.
"I just happened to be in the right place."
Anyael shook her head.
"No," she said quietly. "You chose to help."
A brief pause.
Her gaze lowered.
"We won't forget that."
Natsu shifted slightly, clearly not used to the weight of that kind of gratitude.
"Well… you're welcome."
He glanced between them, then added with a faint grin:
"You really are sisters."
Tanya tilted her head.
"What gave it away?"
"The identical faces," he replied.
Anyael blinked—
Then realized.
Tanya laughed first.
Anyael followed a moment later, the tension easing—just a little.
Natsu gestured toward the kitchen.
"I'm going to start dinner."
He lifted the chicken slightly.
"If you need anything, just call."
Time passed.
Slowly.
The sky shifted beyond the windows, pale gold fading into deep indigo as twilight settled over the forest.
Inside, the cabin filled with warmth.
The sound of cooking.
The scent of herbs.
The quiet presence of something… shared.
By the time the meal was ready, the table had been set.
A whole roasted chicken rested at the center, its golden skin crisp beneath the lantern light. Garlic, rosemary, and lemon infused the air, rich and inviting.
Beside it sat roasted potatoes and carrots, their edges caramelized.
A smaller dish of stir-fried chicken gizzards completed the spread.
Simple.
But prepared with care.
Natsu returned to the bedroom.
The sisters looked up.
Tanya's eyes widened slightly.
"That smells amazing."
Natsu let out a quiet chuckle.
"Dinner's ready."
He glanced at her legs.
"Think you can walk?"
She shifted.
A faint wince answered for her.
"Not yet."
"Alright."
He stepped closer and crouched slightly.
"I'll carry you."
Color rose faintly to her cheeks.
"I can manage—"
"It's easier this way."
He turned, offering his back.
A brief hesitation—
Then she moved.
Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as Anyael helped steady her.
"Comfortable?" he asked.
A small nod against his shoulder.
He carried her carefully into the dining area and lowered her into a chair.
Anyael followed, taking the seat beside her.
Natsu stepped out briefly and returned with a wooden stool.
The cabin had been built for one.
Now it held three.
As he sat down, something settled quietly in his chest.
It had been a long time since anyone else had sat at this table.
The realization lingered.
Longer than expected.
The cabin felt different.
Less quiet.
Less empty.
And for the first time in a long while—
He didn't mind.