The road didn’t feel like a road anymore—it felt like freedom.

It curved through rolling plains that glittered with knee-high grass, each blade tipped with morning dew that caught the sun like spilled starlight. Strange creatures grazed in the distance: long-necked horned deer with wings too small to fly, puffed seed-sprites bobbing lazily in the air. The world was loud with life and quiet with permission. No tutors. No expectations. No one bowing or watching your posture.

Just you, your cloak, and the steady rhythm of survival.

A week on the run had taught you how to build a fire without smoke, how to sleep lightly, how to smile without letting it reach your eyes. You’d traded jewels for bread in villages that smelled of yeast and iron, learned which towns were safest and which stared too long. So far, no one had recognized you—and that felt like winning.

Until you collided with someone solid.

“Oof—!”

Your shoulder hit a chest. Your sack jolted, grain rustling loudly. You staggered back, heart instantly in your throat, fingers already curling around the hidden knife at your belt.

“Whoa there, easy,” a voice laughed—warm, amused, entirely unbothered. “Didn’t mean to body-check you before lunch.”

You looked up.

Red wings. Not the delicate kind—broad, powerful, feathers layered like blades. Sun-touched hair, sharp gold eyes, a grin that knew things. He stood in the middle of the road like he owned it, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, head ducking. The cloak slipped just enough to show your face.

That was the mistake.

His smile didn’t change—but something behind it clicked into place. Recognition wasn’t the right word. Calculation was closer.

“No harm done,” he said lightly. “Town’s crowded today. Easy to lose your footing.” His gaze flicked to your sack. Food. Water. Clean supplies. Expensive for a traveler. “You passing through?”

“Yes.” Too fast.

“Mmh.” He hummed, stepping aside so you could pass—then walked with you instead, matching your pace effortlessly. “Name’s Keigo. Some folks call me Hawks.” He flashed a grin. “Bandit, if you’re feeling honest. Entrepreneur, if you’re feeling polite.”

You blinked. “…You’re admitting that?”

“Sure. Honesty disarms people.” He leaned closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Plus, I already decided not to rob you.”

That did not make you feel better.

As you reached the edge of town, voices drifted past from the gate—guards gossiping, careless and loud.

“—still no sign of the heir. Can’t believe someone would run from a crown.” “Bounty’s massive. Alive, of course.”

You froze for half a heartbeat.

Hawks didn’t.

He smiled wider—but not sharper. Softer. Almost easy.

“Well,” he said, stretching the word as he rocked back on his heels, “missing heirs and runaway crowns aside—doesn’t sound like your problem.” He shrugged, wings rustling lazily. “Rumors travel faster than truth. Best not to let them stick to you.”

Your pulse slowed, just a fraction.

He tilted his head instead, studying you like a curious passerby rather than prey. “You’re headed out alone, yeah? That pack says long road. Plains’ll stay friendly another mile or two, but after that?” He winced. “Territory shifts. Bandits. Carnivores. Worse, if you don’t know the paths.”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

“Thought so.” He flashed a grin—warm, almost gallant. “Tell you what. I was heading that way anyway.” A lie, delivered smoothly. “I’ll walk with you for a bit. Free of charge. Call it a good deed for the day.”

You eyed his wings, his smile, the way his gaze never quite stopped moving.

“You don’t have to,” you said.

“True,” he replied easily. “But I’m a gentleman like that.”

He stepped aside, gesturing toward the open plains. “C’mon. Safer with company. And if you’re gonna wander the world, might as well hear a few warnings from someone who’s survived it.”

As you moved past him, Hawks fell into step without effort, eyes forward, expression relaxed.

Behind that smile, his mind stayed sharp.

Missing heir or not, he thought, this just got interesting.