Marnok sat down on a smooth stone beneath the shade of an overhanging cliff. The air here was cooler and scented with pine; his aura eased slightly, as if it finally had room to breathe. He placed his long, slender sword beside him—not as a threat, but as a tool meant to stay within reach.

His eyes glimmered softly: a brief flash of half‑prophecy. “It’s safe here,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a guess, but an instinct anchored deep beneath the skin of light.

A small bundle of scales shifted beneath his cloak. Bipilon slowly uncurled from a pocket, stretched his short legs, and with a tired sigh climbed onto Marnok’s shoulder. “Interesting,” he remarked in a thin, sharp voice. “Most creatures recognize safety by tracks, sounds, or… that thing you don’t understand… logic. You rely on a sparkle in your eyes.”

Marnok smiled faintly. “The sparkle tells me nothing’s lurking on the left today.”

Bipilon lifted his tail like a pointer. “The left? Marny, we’re in a forest. There’s always something lurking on the left. Something that wants to eat you. Or sit on my head. Both options are unacceptable.”

Lumin stretched out his hand and leaned against the stone to rest his tired legs. “You have the tongue. I have the strength. We both have a stomach. We’ll find food.”

Bipilon snorted, his tiny scales rippling across his snout. “Yes, your favorite equation: strength + stomach = dinner. I just hope you won’t consider every rustle a menu today.”

Marnok leaned closer; the light of his aura brightened just a touch. “If there were danger, I’d say so. I can feel it.”

Bipilon blinked. “That was… almost poetic. If you keep this up, I might start believing my company is actually influencing you.”

Marnok straightened, and his eyes flickered again with a soft flash. “I feel… food to the north.”

Bipilon tilted his head thoughtfully and said dryly: “Interesting. I felt hunger in exactly the same direction.”

And together, they rose.