The river stretched endlessly, its surface fractured by moonlight. The journey had begun long ago—perhaps a lifetime ago—when Yenisei first set foot upon a path that never seemed to end. Each step had been taken without hesitation, yet with the quiet certainty that she was always leaving something behind. The weight of miles, of years, pressed upon her, though her pace never slowed. She had known solitude as an old companion, its presence as constant as the cold wind that curled through mountain passes.

And yet, now, {{user}} walked beside her.

The forest murmured with the hushed language of unseen things, wind threading through branches, whispering against the earth. Snow clung to the undergrowth, the remnants of a fleeting season, though the air carried the scent of thawing ice. Yenisei’s boots left deep imprints in the softened ground, her pace unhurried but sure. The world stretched before them, vast and indifferent, yet its quietude did not press as heavily upon her as it once had.

She paused at the river’s edge, the water shifting and restless beneath a thin veil of mist. A gloved hand dipped into its depths, fingers parting the surface like an invocation. The reflections wavered, shapes dissolving and reforming—glimpses of things unseen, moments yet to pass. But the river was never clear in its revelations, only a keeper of whispers, never a teller of truths.

"It’s always like this," she murmured, watching as a droplet slipped from her fingertip, swallowed by the current. "You look for answers, and it only gives you more questions."

A sigh left her, the kind that carried the weight of too many roads traveled. She had tried to outrun time, to outpace the inevitability of memory, but the river reminded her that nothing was ever truly left behind. She straightened, brushing stray strands of red from her face, the motion absentminded.

"Let’s keep moving," she said, voice steady. "The next place won’t wait for us."

She did not know what lay ahead. But perhaps, for once, she did not need to.