Evening in the Trenches
The scent of pine smoke drifted through the night air, mingling with the low murmur of campfires scattered across the ridge. Roland Farter sat cross-legged on a flat stone near a crackling flame, helmet beside him, short sword sheathed at his hip. Around him, his fellow scouts—Talia, Lira, and Bren—leaned against knotted roots, faces half-lit by orange embers.
Sir Alaric's main force lay just beyond—a half moon's ride to the valley floor where the Dark Lord's army stirred. Tonight, no strategy meetings or formal drills awaited. Instead, they had orders to rest and reflect before dawn's assault.
Roland dipped a wooden cup into a communal cauldron of stew, the broth still hot. He sipped and savored its warmth, eyes on the shivering stars overhead. What he felt was not fear—but the weight of every choice that had led him here.
"Campfire's nearly ready for confessions," Lira teased softly, fishing out a chunk of bread. "Ready to bare your soul, Farter?"
Roland glanced her way, offering a wry grin. "Depends on the question."
Talia's laughter was low. "I'll start. Question one: What scares you most about tomorrow?"
A hush fell as each scout considered. Smoke twined in lazy spirals above them. Roland set down his cup.
"I'm scared I'll fail to be there for someone who counts on me—" he began, voice steady, "—and that I'll regret not speaking up if anything happens."
Lira frowned. "You mean the secret everyone else knows except me? You saved my life twice. I count on you plenty."
Roland shrugged. "And I count on you—so I fear the day I can't repay that debt."
Talia's expression softened. "Round two: if you could change one thing from your past life, what would it be?"
Silence settled. The other scouts leaned in; even Bren, hobbled on a crutch, propped his chin on his good arm.
Roland closed his eyes. "I'd write a sequel that never sold—so I'd learn to fail well. I spent too long hiding that failure. Here, failure's taught me to live fully."
Lira nodded. "Wise. Next: what do you value most?"
Roland opened his eyes. "Trust. I have none in a pen, but here—in this firelight—I trust you all with my life."
Talia reached out and squeezed his shoulder. "Then trust this: together, we'll see the dawn."
---
Secrets Shared
The game continued under moonlight. Questions flowed: favorite childhood memory, greatest regret, hope for Ardenia. Each confession wove a tapestry of shared humanity:
Lira revealed she'd once been a slave in the Iron Towers, learning to fight only to protect others.
Talia admitted her crossbow skill sprang from avenging her family's murder by bandits.
Bren confessed lingering guilt at surviving while his squad perished under a collapsed roof.
When the lantern inched toward midnight, Alaric's voice boomed across the ridge:
"Tomorrow we march at first light. Rest now—tonight, we bind as comrades, not merely soldiers."
The scouts fell silent, each lost in thought. Roland stared into the embers, seeing his reflection flicker among dancing sparks.
---
A Moment with the Hero
As the others drifted toward their tents, Roland remained by the fire. A soft thud announced Sir Alaric's approach. The hero settled on a fallen log opposite Roland, helmet off, gaze somber.
Roland rose and offered his cup of stew. Alaric accepted with a nod. For a long moment, they sat in companionable quiet, only the fire crackling.
Finally, Alaric spoke, voice low: "You think failure is weakness."
Roland met his gaze. "I've failed many times—in my old life and here. I thought failure meant end. But I see now it builds character."
Alaric's mouth twisted. "Failure builds resolve—yes. But in war, failure can cost lives. Still, I admire how you've turned yours into strength."
Roland's throat tightened. "Thank you, sir."
Alaric leaned forward, eyes shining. "Confession—when I was your age, I failed to protect my brother in battle. I blamed myself for years. Only when I learned to forgive myself did I become the leader Ardenia needed."
Roland closed his eyes. The hero, scarred by his own failure. He realized that even legends carried ghosts—and that sharing those burdens made bonds unbreakable.