The rain came without warning.
It wasn't violent. Not like the storm they had just endured. It fell softly, silently, like the sky was trying to wash the blood from the earth. But no rain could cleanse the memory of that night.
Kael sat alone at the edge of the castle's training yard, the once-polished flagstones now scarred and blackened from battle. His armor lay discarded beside him, bloodied and bent. His shirt clung to his skin, damp from sweat and rain. His hands—once sure and steady—trembled faintly as they gripped the hilt of the Crimson Blade, now resting across his knees.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
He hated it.
He hated how still everything felt after so much chaos, as if the world had just… stopped.
But inside him, everything still burned.
The wound at his side ached, a sharp reminder that he was still alive. And he resented that a little. Not because he didn't want to live—but because surviving meant remembering. And he remembered every face. Every scream. Every soldier who looked to him and never rose again.
"Kael."
He didn't look up.
He knew that voice.
Aurelia.
She stood a few paces away, her robes damp from the rain, silver hair pressed to her cheek, eyes full of worry and something deeper… something only for him.
"You're bleeding again," she said.
"I know."
"You're not even trying to treat it."
"I know."
She walked closer, kneeling beside him with gentle urgency. Without asking, she placed her hand against his side. Ice bloomed across the wound, numbing the pain.
He flinched.
"Don't," she said softly. "Let someone care for you. Just once."
Kael looked at her, really looked.
Her cheeks were pale, her eyes tired, her hands shaking ever so slightly as she tried to mask the strain from overusing her magic. She had suffered too. She had nearly died last night—because she had rushed into the fight beside him.
"You shouldn't have followed me into that chaos," he murmured.
Aurelia raised an eyebrow. "And let you take on an assassin alone? Please."
"I can't keep watching you get hurt."
"And I can't keep watching you try to carry a world on your back."
Their words hung between them, thick as the fog settling over the castle walls.
Kael dropped his gaze. "I was trained to fight. Not to feel."
Aurelia leaned closer, her hand still pressed to his side. "Then it's time you learned both. Because feeling doesn't make you weak, Kael. It means you still have something to fight for."
He stared ahead, the distant echo of thunder rumbling in the mountains.
She was right.
But he didn't know how to say it out loud.
---
Later that evening, the castle held a quiet remembrance for those lost in the siege.
The Grand Hall had no banners. No music. Just the soft golden light of candles and the scent of rain still lingering in the stones. Names were read. Faces were remembered. And Kael stood in silence, feeling every death like another cut on his soul.
Beside him, Aurelia remained quiet. But her fingers brushed against his hand beneath the table. A simple touch. A reminder.
He was not alone.
And maybe—just maybe—he didn't have to be.
---
That night, Kael stood once more on the balcony. This time not in armor. This time with no sword.
Just himself.
The wind carried the scent of the coming winter—crisp, sharp, and strangely hopeful.
He heard the door behind him open.
Aurelia didn't speak as she joined him. She simply leaned on the railing, shoulder brushing his.
For a long time, neither of them said anything.
Finally, Kael broke the silence. "Do you ever wonder what we were… before all this?"
She tilted her head. "Before the wars? Before the magic? Before the blood?"
He nodded.
Aurelia smiled faintly. "I was a girl who believed ice could protect hearts. And you were a boy who thought swords could keep the world from falling apart."
Kael chuckled, a dry, tired sound. "Sounds like fools."
"Maybe," she said. "But we survived. And fools who survive? They become legends."
Kael turned to her.
This time, when he looked into her eyes, he didn't see just a comrade. Or a sorceress. Or a weapon.
He saw the woman who had stood in front of death and chosen him.
And something shifted.
Slowly, carefully, he reached out—just a hand brushing her wrist.
"I don't know what comes next," he said. "But I want to face it with you."
Aurelia smiled, soft and full of sorrow and strength. "Then we'll face it together."
---
Far in the distance, a new fire glowed in the northern sky.
Unnatural.
Too bright.
Too red.
Something was coming.
But for now—for tonight—they stood side by side, two hearts scarred but still burning.
Still alive.
Still willing to fight.