The Flames Of The Red Saintess

Crossing the first Threshold

Izuku rode beside the carriage, his position atop his horse a stark contrast to Katsuki's confined space within. The early morning air was crisp, stinging his cheeks, now far removed from the Temple's protective enchantments. His breath formed clouds in the sharp air, a chill that penetrated his cloak and reminded him painfully of the warmth they had left behind. His horse's hooves crunched softly on the frost-laden grass, a sound oddly magnified in the quiet that enveloped their procession.

The usual sounds of the morning felt subdued, weighed down by the gravity of their journey. Izuku's gaze shifted continuously, alternating between the carriage that held Katsuki and the King's knights who rode in a tight formation around them. Each movement of the carriage's curtains drew Izuku's intense gaze, each glimpse of Katsuki's shadowed profile tightening the knot in his stomach. The Katsuki he knew—the vibrant, fiery spirit—seemed dimmed in the confines of the carriage, a caged bird whose every subtle shift spoke volumes to Izuku's watchful eyes.

Leather saddles creaked softly, and the rhythmic thuds of hooves on the earth merged with the hesitant chirps of forest birds disturbed by their passage. These sounds set a backdrop of solemnity for their journey, a stark reminder of the isolation imposed upon them despite their company.

This lull in action left Izuku's thoughts free to drift back to the day of their departure—the image of Katsuki descending the temple steps with a practiced calm that didn't quite reach his eyes lingered vividly in his mind. He remembered how Katsuki's demeanor had barely concealed the tension that Izuku could read so clearly, the subtle tremble of distress not visible to untrained eyes.

The memory of Captain Varric stepping forward to take Katsuki's hand, an action mandated by the High Priest rather than tradition, clenched Izuku's jaw tight. Each casual contact between the captain and Katsuki sent a surge of anger through him, though his position demanded he remain a silent observer to the political theatre unrolling before the temple's onlookers. As the procession wound its way through the thickening woods, Izuku couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that clung tighter than the mist.

The abrupt halt of the procession jolted everyone. A carriage wheel had snapped, its sudden ruin echoing through the still forest air, pulling a sharp curse from one of the knights and drawing all eyes towards the mishap.

Izuku, ever vigilant, seized the momentary chaos to slip from his horse. His boots landed softly on the leaf-strewn path, his senses attuned to the rustle of the forest around them and the murmur of the unsettled convoy. He approached the carriage, his eyes searching for Katsuki.

The door swung open, and Katsuki leaned out, his face breaking into a rare smile of relief at the interruption. Despite the formality required by his role, the glimpse of the real Katsuki—a hint of rebellion sparkling in his eyes—offered Izuku a brief respite from his worries.

"Seems fate grants us a brief reprieve," Izuku observed, eyeing the broken carriage up ahead as he offered a hand to help Katsuki step down onto the soft earth.

Katsuki accepted his hand light in Izuku's grip, a subtle acknowledgment of their camaraderie. "Good, I was getting cramped in there," he quipped, stretching his arms above his head, the lines of tension easing visibly from his posture. "These death traps are less spacious than they look."

"Care for a short walk?" Katsuki suggested, his voice carrying a low, conspiratorial tone, a silent invitation to momentarily escape their roles.

Izuku hesitated, his eyes flicking briefly towards the captain, who was preoccupied with assessing the damage. The possibility of straying even for a few moments held an appeal, yet the responsibility weighed heavily on him. "I don't know," he murmured, his protective instincts warring with the desire to grant Katsuki this small liberty.