The commander's quarters were dimly lit, the glow of the low fire pushing back the chill that seeped relentlessly through the old stone walls.
Shadows swayed against the shelves and banners, giving the room a weight of history that pressed down on its occupants.
Kane leaned against the heavy oak desk, its surface scattered with maps and ink-stained reports.
His arms were crossed, posture deceptively relaxed though his jaw was set tight. Across from him, Arasha sat close to the fire, her armor half-unbuckled, shoulders eased in rare reprieve.
Strands of her dark hair had slipped free, catching the firelight like silk threads.
They had been speaking for some time, their conversation lingering in the wake of the war council's arguments and unresolved tensions. Yet here, in the fragile quiet, the words felt heavier—sharpened by the privacy of the moment.
Arasha broke the silence first.
"Hiral… he's young, yes, but sharp. There's a steadiness in him that doesn't waver with pride. Insightful, in a way that cuts to the truth without ceremony. I think he'll be an asset—not just in battle, but in keeping this alliance from unraveling."
Kane's response was a low, contemplative hum. His gaze remained fixed on her, though his eyes flicked briefly to the fire as it painted her face in molten hues.
He didn't speak right away, his silence weighted with calculation.
Finally, he asked, "And Alexis?"
The name shifted the air between them. Arasha exhaled slowly, leaning back in her chair as though bracing herself.
"Dangerous. Charismatic. A man who can draw a room to him—or split it down the middle—with only a handful of words. But… I can't deny, there's clarity in him. Where others drown their truths in flattery, he forces matters bare. For better or worse."
Kane's lips curved into something between a grimace and a smirk.
"That's exactly why I'll be watching him. A man like that doesn't act without intent, and intent like his always seeks more than what's spoken. Hiral may prove a shield for us, but Alexis… Alexis must be treated like a blade in the dark. Useful—yet dangerous to hold."
His eyes narrowed faintly. "Though I see Hiral has already captured more of your thoughts than he should."
Arasha tilted her head, catching the faint edge beneath his words. Her mouth curved knowingly.
"You sound jealous, Kane."
The accusation startled a blink from him. Then he let out a low chuckle, amused and unguarded for once.
"Jealous? Perhaps. You admire his wisdom, and I…" His voice trailed, softer. "Well, I can't help but notice."
Her laughter came warm and rich, wrapping around the room more completely than the fire ever could.
"You could never be replaced. My respect for Hiral's insight does nothing to dim what I hold for you."
Kane shook his head, muttering something that blurred between disbelief and surrender, though a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"And yet here I am, sulking like some untested youth."
The fire cracked, its rhythm filling the silence that stretched between them. Kane's expression softened, shadows easing from his brow as he spoke again, quieter this time.
"Do you think men like Hiral and Alexis… have someone they hold close? Someone they would guard as fiercely as I guard you?"
Arasha's gaze lingered on him, the glow of the hearth reflecting a tenderness in her eyes that no armor could conceal.
"I hope they do," she said, her voice steady but laced with something wistful. "Because to carry such weight alone… it breaks even the strongest of us. Having someone to turn to, to lean upon—it isn't weakness, Kane. It's the very thing that keeps us strong."
She reached for his hand, fingers brushing against his scarred knuckles, her touch steady and certain.
"Like I have you."
The words pierced deeper than any blade ever had. Kane—ever the unshaken commander, the man who wore composure like armor—felt heat bloom across his face.
His breath caught, and he looked away with a short laugh, as if to deflect the truth she had laid bare.
"You… you say it so easily, Arasha."
"Because it's true."
Her hand lingered in his, her warmth seeping into him like fire through cold steel. Kane squeezed gently, holding her in silence, the reflection of the flames burning in his eyes.
For all the storms and battles waiting beyond those walls, it was this—this quiet certainty—that grounded him more securely than any strategy, any weapon, ever could.
****
The library's great oak doors groaned as they swung open, spilling a pale blade of moonlight into the silent hall. Hiral stepped out, the faint scent of parchment and ink still clinging to his cloak.
He tugged the fabric tighter against the chill seeping through the stone corridors—only to pause when he saw the figure waiting for him.
Alexis.
The young general leaned with deliberate ease against a marble pillar, golden hair catching the moonlight in restless glints. His posture was all languid grace, the picture of carelessness, yet his eyes—sharp, restless things—gleamed even in the shadowed hall.
Hiral let out a faint, weary sigh.
"You should be in your room, General Alexis. Resting. Not haunting corridors at this hour." His voice was firm, though not unkind. "And for you to come back here so late… unfathomable."
Alexis pushed himself off the pillar with a practiced smirk, the mask sliding easily into place.
"Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd bother a certain someone."
The words came smooth, but beneath the veneer, something twisted in his chest. He wanted—desperately—to speak plainly, to let his admiration spill unhidden.
To tell Hiral that his presence was what pulled him back through these halls, not sleeplessness. But the thought of Hiral seeing it for what it was—that flicker of feeling blooming into something reckless—filled him with dread.
What if the moment shattered? What if all that tethered them now unraveled?
Hiral studied him with that steady, searching gaze that seemed to strip away the little defenses Alexis had so carefully built. For a heartbeat, Alexis feared Hiral saw too much.
Yet Hiral only softened slightly.
"Then you may. Tonight only—I'll lend you my ears and my presence."
For an instant, Alexis's grin slipped, and something boyish, raw, unguarded flickered across his face. His chest tightened painfully at the warmth in Hiral's words.
Then, just as quickly, he buried it again beneath a lazy grin, falling into step beside him. Their boots echoed softly in the hush of the corridor.
"So," Alexis drawled, fighting for composure, "how was the library? Still hoarding wisdom for yourself?"
"It was fine," Hiral replied. "Books don't argue."
The faintest tug pulled at Alexis's lips—he loved that dry bluntness. But his steps faltered when Hiral, almost idly, added:
"Arasha was there for a bit. We spoke."
The words slid into Alexis like a blade. He slowed, his stride breaking before he forced himself back into rhythm.
His hand curled into a fist at his side, smirk wavering despite his effort to keep it pinned in place. Hiral caught it, of course—Hiral always noticed.
A knowing smile curved his lips.
"Don't tell me you're jealous."
The question hit too close. Alexis's throat tightened, pride clashing with fear. He forced a scoff, turning his head away with a dismissive shake.
"I'm not."
The lie burned bitter. Because he was jealous—but not of Hiral, never of Hiral. Of how easily Arasha could stand close to him, speak with him, be part of his thoughts without restraint.
Hiral only sighed, shaking his head like a teacher chiding a stubborn pupil.
"Come. Quick pace. Let's see if the kitchens still have something warm. A late-night snack will serve us both better than sulking shadows."
Then, with that quiet wit that always cut deeper than it seemed:
"And you shouldn't be jealous of me. I've no interest in Arasha."
The words were meant to ease him, but they only twisted the knife. Alexis's jaw tightened, his laugh spilling out too quick, too thin to be real.
He tried to wear it like armor, but inside, his chest ached with the truth pressing against his ribs, begging to be let out.
As they walked, the silence between them deepened.
At last, when the hall was nothing but stone and moonlight and the echo of their steps, Alexis let the words slip, a whisper fragile as breath, not meant to reach ears but the night itself:
"It's not you I'm jealous of… It's Arasha."
Hiral glanced sideways, but said nothing.
The quiet stretched, heavy, suffocating. Alexis kept his gaze forward, every heartbeat hammering with the fear that Hiral had heard him—and the dread that perhaps he hadn't. Both possibilities felt like a blade's edge, and either way, he was bleeding.