The sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the small, worn hut that Fleur called home. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the lingering hint of medicinal herbs. Her uncle coughed, a rattling sound that echoed the fragility of his life. Fleur, a wisp of a girl with eyes the color of the deep sea, watched him with a silent, aching tenderness.

"Uncle, I'll just go to the valley for water," she offered, her voice soft but firm. "We need it."

His weary sigh filled the silence. "But my daughter, it's almost night. It's not good to go alone." The words were familiar, a constant worry in their precarious lives. Just as Fleur was about to protest, a familiar voice cut in.

"That's fine, father. I'll go with her."

Kai, her cousin and brother, stepped into the doorway, his presence a comforting shield against the darkening world. Fleur smiled, a flicker of relief easing the knot in her stomach. The valley's water was not ideal, but it was all they had, and they couldn't wait until morning.