The canvas of the tent stirred softly, lifted by a pale hand. Emma stepped out first, casting a quick glance toward the scattered silhouettes around the fire. Then she turned back, held out her arms - and Victor emerged behind her, bent forward, his features still strained, but standing.
His steps were slow, cautious, almost solemn. He walked without support, guided only by Emma's hand in his, their fingers clasped like a thread of trust. The daylight scratched at his face. He blinked - his right eye. The left remained hidden beneath a clean strip of linen, neatly tied from temple to cheekbone.
The cold still bit faintly at his lungs, but he didn't care. He was outside. On his feet. Alive.
Emma, to his left, stayed close without a word, attentive to his breathing, his fatigue, the slightest flinch of pain he might try to conceal.
Near the fire, Adam looked up, eyes widening - then he jumped to his feet, grinning wide.
"Well then... the dead has risen."
Victor let out a quiet, fractured laugh - but it was real. He stopped near the fire, searching for a dry place to sit. Adam had already stepped forward, clearing a patch of fur against a low stone. He helped Victor lower himself without a word, one arm under his shoulder, the other steadying his back. Emma remained close, her gaze never leaving Victor, like a worried caress.
Victor closed his right eye for a moment, letting the fire's warmth reach his cheeks.
"You look like hell," Adam murmured under his breath.
"We match now," Victor breathed.
Adam burst out laughing, and in an instant, the lingering tension broke.
A little further away, Edric had frozen. He turned slowly, then stood still for a moment. Finally, with measured steps, he approached. He seemed unsure whether to speak or remain silent. In the end, he crouched down before Victor, at eye level.
Their gazes met.
And for once, Victor didn't look away.
He held steady, despite the fatigue, despite the ache still pulsing in his lower back.
Edric hesitated, his eyes fixed on the face he'd thought lost. Then he reached out, slowly, and placed a hand at the back of Victor's neck. A simple touch - firm. Neither paternal nor distant.
Victor didn't flinch. A faint shiver passed beneath his skin. He hadn't expected that. He felt something rise inside him, silent and strong - a mix of gratitude, restrained sorrow, and a strange warmth that stung behind his eye.
And in the pressure of Edric's fingers, he understood something else. That this man - the silent one, the hard one - had been afraid. Deeply shaken, beyond words.
Edric withdrew his hand without another word and sat beside the fire, to Victor's right.
Adam, ever the one to ease what lingered in the air, handed Victor a piece of still-warm bread and a small bowl of thin stew.
"Eat. Otherwise Emma's going to lecture me."
Victor took the bowl, hands a little unsteady. He looked up at her, a soft smile on his lips.
"Is that true?"
She raised a brow. "Absolutely."
He tasted the broth. It was bland, a bit lukewarm - but good. It tasted like life.
They stayed like that for a long while, the four of them, not talking much. Some quiet jokes passed between Adam and Edric, Emma sitting close to Victor without ever quite touching him, careful of his pain. The fire cracked gently, a noise of life in the camp's stillness.
Victor held on. He made himself smile, respond, listen.
But after a while, the fatigue swept over him like a sudden tide. His eyelids grew heavy, his back began to tighten. The pain wasn't as sharp now, but simply being there - upright, composed - was draining him fast.
Emma noticed immediately. She leaned in a little.
"Do you want to go back in?"
He hesitated a moment - then nodded.
Adam offered a hand, ready to help, but Victor shook his head lightly.
"I've got it, don't worry."
He stood slowly, Emma already at his side. He cast a final look at the fire, at the two men still sitting there. Edric raised a hand, Adam winked.
And Victor turned his back to the fire, letting the cold wind sting his face.
The walk back to the tent was short. Emma lifted the canvas, letting him in. He sat down with a sigh, his hands flat on his thighs. Then he looked up at her.
"Thank you. For being there."
She knelt in front of him, took his hand again.
"Always."
And in the quiet of the tent, his breath steady at last, Victor finally closed his eye.
---
The next morning, light filtered through the canvas of the tent. It bathed the interior in a pale, muted glow-almost gentle. Emma had gone to town early to lend a hand.
Victor was alone.
Sitting on his cot, one knee drawn up to his chest, he held a small shard of mirror in his left hand. The edges were smooth. Emma had slipped it in with a few of his things, without a word. He had known it was her-he had seen it... but he hadn't dared yet.
This time, he took it.
His heart beat faster than expected. He drew a breath, then slowly raised his right hand to the bandage wrapped around his head.
His fingers found the knot at the back, untied it carefully. The linen was clean, soft. He unwrapped it with slow precision, until the fabric fell across his lap.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Then he looked.
The trembling reflection in his hand showed a face he recognized... halfway.
His right eye, clear and sharp, still stared back at him.
But where the other had once been, there was only the pale shadow of a stitched eyelid, shut forever. The lid had been carefully sutured, drawn over the empty socket like a blanket tucked in. It formed a faintly raised line-no infection, no scab, almost serene. But there was a void. A hollow where nothing remained.
Just below it, his cheekbone still bore a mark: a slanting cut, stitched and healed, trailing down to the upper cheek. It had already begun to fade, but it was clear it would stay.
Victor didn't move. He stared.
For a long time.
At first, he thought of nothing. It was a cold, silent shock. A plain fact. A quiet "so be it."
Then, slowly, thoughts began to return.
The pain. The moment of impact. The burst of fire, the cry, the blood. The horror on Edric's face. And then the dark.
He ran a finger along his cheek, grazing the scar-then looked away.
There was a kind of shame. Not violent, but dull. A sorrow he didn't want to name.
He didn't look like the person he'd been. And he hadn't even said goodbye to that face.
A faint crease crossed his brow.
And Emma...?
He bit the inside of his cheek. It was foolish, maybe, but the question came back anyway. Would she see him differently now? Would it change what she felt? What she saw in him?
He knew she would never say anything cruel. He knew she loved him-or he hoped she did. But still, there was that strange fear, buried deep, almost childlike. That her gaze might shift. Turn cloudy. Or worse-pitying.
Then a voice rose softly from beyond the canvas.
"May I come in?"
It was Adam.
Victor barely flinched, then turned his head toward the entrance. He set the mirror down on his knees, drew a breath.
"Yes."
The canvas lifted. Adam stepped inside, gaze direct but calm.
His eyes fell on Victor's bare face. He paused for a moment. Then a subtle smile curved the corner of his lips.
"Healing well."
Victor didn't answer. He dropped his eyes slightly.
Adam stepped closer and sat down beside him, a little sideways. He pulled something from beneath his jacket-a rolled piece of leather.
"Brought you something."
He handed it over. Victor took it, unrolled it.
An eye patch. Brown, simple, supple. The edges slightly worn.
He raised a brow.
Adam wet his lips.
"It's mine. They gave it to me in the army, when I took a hatchet to the face. They thought I'd lose the eye-bad infection, you know?"
He paused, his gaze drifting to something unseen.
"I kept it all these years. To remember. What I nearly lost, I guess. But now... I figured... the scar's enough."
He looked back to Victor.
"You don't have to wear it. And it's not to hide your face. It's not for others. It's for you. To walk with. When you need it."
Victor was quiet, his fingers tightening on the leather. Then he nodded slowly.
"I'd like that."
Adam smiled-that gentle smile he saved for his own.
"Then don't move."
He leaned in, looped the patch around Victor's head, tied it carefully. The leather was warm, pliant. Victor closed his eye for a moment as Adam adjusted the strap behind his neck.
When it was done, Adam stayed a second longer, then tousled Victor's hair with a soft hand.
"There. You look even more dangerous now."
Victor let out a quiet laugh.
"Thank you."
Adam stood, offering a hand to help him up.
"Come on. It's a good day. No point hiding in here."
Victor nodded, rose slowly, and followed him outside.
The two of them stepped into the light.
Victor walked slowly, but unassisted. The eye patch gave him a slightly fiercer air, but his posture remained calm, almost gentle. He blinked a bit in the light, adjusting instinctively. He stood straight.
He looked alive.
Adam smiled, clearly pleased. They made their way toward the fire, talking in low voices.
That was when Emma returned.
She was coming up the path from town, a lock of hair caught against her lips. Her cheeks were pink from the wind. As she looked up and saw Victor standing outside, speaking with Adam, she stopped in her tracks.
A second of stillness. The world seemed to hold its breath.
He saw her, too. And smiled.
A real smile. Not forced, not tight. A slow, shy smile-but deeply sincere.
Emma hurried to him. When she reached him, she didn't speak right away-she just cupped his face in her hands, eyes roving over him.
Then she kissed him.
Victor kissed her back, tenderly. It was a little longer than usual, a little more charged. There was no fever in it-only love, and relief, and something soft and intimate. When she pulled back, she stayed close, her forehead resting against his.
"You wear it well..." she whispered.
He smiled faintly.
"You think so?"
She answered with a gentle pressure. Nothing more.
They stayed like that for a few moments, then Emma slid an arm around his waist and didn't look away as they walked to the fire together.
Victor greeted a few members of the troupe, shared a few words, took a plate. But after a while, his gaze lifted, searching for a figure.
Edric.
He was off to the side, sharpening a blade, his back to the sun, expression focused. Closed, as always.
Victor approached.
Edric looked up at the sound of his steps. And when he saw the eye patch, he froze.
His gaze-usually hard-traced Victor's face without a word. Took in the dark leather, the single eye, the proud posture. A breath, barely audible, escaped him.
"There you are," he said simply.
Victor nodded. He stood tall in front of him, one hand at his hip, the other clenched.
"I want to resume."
Edric raised a brow.
"Resume what?"
Victor met his eyes.
"Training."
A pause. Then a dry laugh-not mocking, but taut-escaped Edric's lips.
"You think it's not too soon?"
"I know it is."
"Then why?"
Victor inhaled deeply. He didn't look away.
"Because I need it."
Edric looked at him for a long time. He didn't reply at once. He saw the sincerity, the resolve-but also the strain beneath.
He knew what that meant. He had felt it himself-that need. To stand again. To take back control of the body. Not to stay where pain had pinned you.
He stood slowly, his gaze still locked on Victor's.
"Alright."
Victor looked faintly surprised at how quickly he agreed-but Edric raised a finger.
"Tomorrow morning. But the moment you start to falter, we stop. No playing tough. No proving anything. Losing an eye is no small thing."
A beat.
Then Edric added, more quietly:
"You've taken a lot. The fact that you're still on your feet-it's already something. And I'm not in a hurry to scrape you off the ground again, all right?"
Victor gave a faint smile, though his eyes were damp.
"All right. Thank you."
Edric gave a short nod and, after a pause, reached out. He placed his hand briefly on Victor's shoulder, then looked away, saying nothing more.
Victor stood there for a moment, then turned back toward Emma.
---
The day had passed in relative quiet. Victor had stayed outside for a while, talked with Adam, watched the others go about their tasks, tried to get his single eye used to space again, to movement, to depth. He had smiled more than once, even laughed a little. But despite the lightness on the surface, something remained tight, somewhere in his chest.
Night had fallen. The cold outside was dry and biting. But inside the tent, the blankets held the warmth. Emma had lit a small oil lamp placed near them. The canvas rustled gently under the wind.
They were sitting side by side, half-reclined under the same blanket. She had taken off her jacket, and so had he. Her fingers were entwined with his. It was quiet.
Victor turned his head slightly toward her.
A moment of silence.
Then, softly, his voice roughened slightly:
"Would you... like to see?"
Emma looked up at him, not understanding at first. Then she saw the subtle movement of his hand reaching for the knot of his eye patch.
She straightened a little.
"Only if you're ready," she said gently.
He nodded. But his hands betrayed his hesitation.
He was slowly undoing the leather strap, his fingers slightly trembling.
"I think I need you to see."
The patch slipped from his temple, his hair parting just a little. He kept his eye lowered for a second, then looked up at her.
The missing eye was hidden beneath a sewn-shut eyelid, clean, pulled slightly over the empty socket. A pale scar ran from the outer corner of the eye down to the top of his cheek, grazing the cheekbone. The skin was still a bit pink, fresh, but everything was neat. The stitches had been done well. There was nothing infected, nothing unhealthy.
But it was striking. An absence.
Victor watched her from the corner of his good eye, searching her face.
Emma didn't look away. She looked at him. Fully. Like before.
And he felt, deeply, that she didn't flinch.
He let out a breath, half-serious, half-mocking, his voice low:
"So? Am I not too hideous?"
She smiled softly. Reached out to place her palm against his scarred cheek.
"No." A caress of her thumb, so gentle it made him close his eye. "Not at all."
She leaned in and kissed him.
And this time, there was no leather on his face. He felt seen. Whole. Bare.
He returned the kiss, a little longer, a little deeper. He was relieved, yes, but also overwhelmed. His heart beat too fast. She was there, close to him, unafraid, unhesitating.
She kissed him without looking away.
And he felt that this kiss meant something. That she wanted him back-not in spite of the scar, but with it. He slid a hand to the nape of her neck, pulled her closer. Their foreheads touched.
Emma murmured, barely above a whisper:
"I missed you."
He smiled, eye shining.
"You were here every day."
She shook her head softly.
"Not like this."
A pause, then she kissed him again, slower this time. Their bodies moved closer. She slipped over him, straddling his hips, sitting astride him, her hands running through his hair.
She brushed her lips over his, then his jaw, and slowly lower. Then she kissed the scar. Right there. On his cheek.
A kiss as light as a breath of wind.
Victor froze. Then closed his eye. And something broke open inside him.
He inhaled sharply, like he'd been holding his breath for hours. He pulled her to him, a low sound escaping his throat. Not pain. Just emotion.
"Emma..."
She lifted her head. Their eyes met. And there was nothing left to hide.
Then she kissed him again, and her hands slid under his shirt. His skin was warm despite the cold. He let her do it, shivering under every touch.
Slowly, she undressed him. He did the same, his hands trembling slightly. No rush. Just the need to find each other again. To feel.
Their clothes fell to the ground, one by one, in the hush of the tent. Outside, the fire crackled softly. Inside, their breaths quickened.
Emma lay down against him, skin to skin. She bent to kiss him again-his neck, his chest-and Victor caressed her with the tips of his fingers, as if afraid she might break.
He was even gentler than usual, almost shy. He touched her hips, her thighs, kissed her everywhere, as if to make sure she was truly there, that she still wanted him, that he still had the right.
When she guided him inside her, he gasped, stifled a moan against her neck.
They made love slowly. Unhurried. Their bodies moved together as before, but with a new intensity. Every movement was a caress, every breath a reconnection.
Victor was panting, his hands gripping her hips, his gaze locked on hers. He whispered her name like a prayer.
She stroked his neck, his back, her fingers sliding over his skin with wild tenderness. She kissed his shoulder, his collarbone, then again that scar he no longer hid.
And it undid him.
He hadn't known one could feel loved like that.
They came together, in a slow, trembling wave, silent. He buried his face in her neck, held her tightly. His eyes were wet. So were hers.
Then they stayed there, naked, against each other, beneath the warm blankets. Their breathing slowly calmed. Silence wrapped around them.
Victor gently stroked her hair, his temple resting against hers. He whispered, in a low, hoarse voice, with no hesitation:
"I love you."
A pause. Just the sound of two hearts, close together.
Emma lifted her head slightly, looked straight into his still-bright eye.
She smiled, her hand resting against his scarred cheek.
"I love you too," she said softly. "I have for a long time."
He closed his eyes, sighed like something inside him had finally let go. She nestled even closer, and he held her with his whole body.
And that night, he fell asleep without his eye patch, without a bandage.
Just against her. Whole. Loved.