The room still smelled of ointments, clean linen, and the damp wood that crackled in the brazier. Snow fell softly against the closed shutters, as if the world outside was reluctant to disturb the silence that reigned within. Dyan lay propped up on pillows, his torso bandaged and his eyes veiled by a persistent fatigue that kept him closer to sleep than to wakefulness.
Lena sat by his bed, her back straight but her shoulders slightly slumped with tiredness. In her hands, she held the parchment sealed with the royal seal, which had arrived that morning with an exhausted rider. It was not often that such a letter was delivered to a convalescing soldier. Much less one signed by the Queen herself.
"Are you ready?" she asked in a low voice.
Dyan blinked, barely moving his fingers on the blanket. He nodded without speaking.
Lena broke the seal carefully. Her eyes scanned the lines written in a firm, elegant hand. She cleared her throat once, and then began to read aloud:
"To the attention of Dyan Halvest, apprentice of Edictus and servant of the Kingdom…"
Lena's voice, calm and deep, adapted to the letter's tone, as if weaving the words with soft threads over the young man's open wound. As she read, her expression changed: a furrowed brow when the queen confessed her doubts, a shadow of tenderness when she mentioned the desire to care for him with her own hands.
"Please, calm my heart. Tell me you are better, but do not lie to me to make me happy…"
Lena paused, swallowing. The room was filled with the creak of the wood expanding from the heat of the fire. When she looked up, she found Dyan's eyes fixed on her. There was something different in his gaze: it was not pain, nor exhaustion. It was a glimmer of life.
"I didn't know you mattered so much to her," Lena murmured, placing the parchment on the bedside table.
Dyan tried to speak, but only managed a hoarse sigh.
"You don't need to say anything," she continued, taking his hand gently. "You're going to get better. Not for her, not for me. For you. Because you still have much to do, and because… you don't deserve to remain broken."
The silence between them was long, but not uncomfortable. Lena didn't let go of his hand.
"When you're stronger, you'll reply to her," she finally said. "But until then, let this room protect you. Let me take care of you."
Dyan closed his eyes for a moment. Lately, they burned with a certain frequency; a sign, perhaps, that his sight was finally beginning to return. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but that possibility kept him on edge, as if his body feared confirming what his soul so desired.
He gently squeezed Lena's hand.
"Thank you for everything. I don't know how I can ever repay you for all you've done for me." He smiled, and this time, the smile was complete, as if the memory of the boy he once was began to return little by little. "A part of me doesn't want to leave."
Lena interrupted him before the weight of those words could grow heavier.
"Don't think about that yet. You saved my life, Dyan. And… you're the first mage I've ever truly appreciated." She looked at him frankly, with a sweetness she rarely let out. "This house is yours too. And… with you here, I don't feel so alone."
Dyan opened his eyes. This time, the fog was not total. He could make out Lena's outline, and details of her face that had previously escaped him. Her features formed as if emerging from a dream, and though still blurry, they were undoubtedly real. The improvement, paradoxically, brought him a confusing mix of relief, anxiety, and fear. To recover meant to return to duty. To march again.
He slowly raised his left hand. With a slight gesture, the flame of the oil lamp went out. The gloom embraced the room.
"Did you get your magic back?" Lena asked, holding her breath, guiding her gaze to Dyan's face in the dark.
The brazier crackled softly, casting a warm, faint light.
"A little," he whispered.
Dyan traced a circle in the air, his index finger glowing with a silvery light. Tiny luminous bubbles began to sprout from the air itself, floating gracefully in the room, bouncing softly off each other. They were like winter fireflies, alive and ephemeral.
"It's beautiful," Lena said, with a mixture of surprise and tenderness. Her blonde hair reflected the flashes of the bubbles, and her eyes shone with a childlike sparkle. She laughed softly, a shy laugh, and brought Dyan's hand to hers while she followed the dance of the lights with her gaze.
"It's a gift for you," he said, his voice breaking. "I hope you remember me when I'm gone… because I could never forget you."
Lena smiled, her eyes moist.
"Of course I'll remember you." She was about to say that she didn't want him to leave, that she was afraid of what was waiting for him out there, but she couldn't say it. Not yet.
The following weeks marked Dyan's slow and painful return to his body, to his will, to himself. With each dawn, he walked with more firmness. At first, he moved through the inner courtyard, guiding himself with his palm against the wall, unsteady. Then he began to walk without support, slowly, with measured but sure steps. His sight was improving, colors returning like a painting being gently cleaned, and outlines no longer blended together. He no longer stumbled over furniture, and he could accompany Lena to the market or watch her train in the midday sun.
One morning, while the water was boiling for breakfast, Lena stood behind him, gently combing Dyan's long hair.
"You don't have to do this every day," he protested with an embarrassed smile.
"Your right hand is still hurt. Besides, I like your hair. It's soft, and that color is rare around here."
"Sometimes I feel embarrassed," Dyan said, feeling his cheeks flush.
"Embarrassed now? I've seen you naked many times, and you blush because I'm combing your hair?" Lena laughed softly, tying his hair in a high ponytail with a dark ribbon.
"In the bath, there aren't many options… but this…"
Lena hugged him from behind, her chin resting on Dyan's bandaged shoulder.
"Let me take care of you until the end. Wouldn't you do the same for me?"
Dyan lowered his head and nodded.
"There's no point in arguing with the captain."
"I see you've also recovered your sarcasm, you cheeky brat," she said, kissing his cheek in a fleeting gesture. "I'm going to miss you a lot."
"Me too. These days have been… the warmest I remember, even with the wounds."
"Then let's not waste them. Will you cook with me?"
He looked at her with affection.
"Of course, I'd love to."
The days became a kind of daily miracle. Each one stolen from the winter that was beginning to fade. Dyan could already travel, if he wished. But he didn't. He claimed he still needed to heal, that the scars had to close completely. Lena didn't contradict him. She continued to meticulously heal his wounds, changing bandages, applying ointments, clinging to their shared routine as if she could postpone the inevitable.
One afternoon, while training in the courtyard, Lena wielded her sword with a precision that was almost a dance. Each blow sliced through the air with elegance. Her body glistened with sweat, muscles taut under her light clothing. She was strength made flesh.
Dyan watched her from the doorway, as he did every day.
"Don't you think you need some muscle on those arms?" Lena said without looking at him, as she spun the sword in a perfect circular motion.
Dyan stood up, took off his tunic, and planted his feet firmly on the ground.
"Maybe some exercise would do me good. I think I'm ready to try."
The bandages still covered part of his abdomen and his left hand. The scars would not disappear completely, but they no longer hurt.
"Alright. Take my sword," she said, tossing it to him easily. "Careful. It's heavier than it looks."
Dyan caught it with both hands. The steel felt denser than any grimoire. Lena approached from behind and wrapped her arms around him.
"Straighten your back. Like that." She adjusted his posture precisely. "You look taller without those old-sage tunics."
"My master gave it to me."
"Well, you should look for something that emphasizes that you're still young," she said, running her hand along his back. Then she winked at him. "You have a good height, and with a little more training, you'd be a more than decent swordsman."
"You think so?" Dyan whispered, noticing how his arms trembled. Holding the sword at eye level was not as easy as she made it seem.
"I know so."
"Then teach me as you see fit, captain." Dyan held a training sword with both hands, visibly uncomfortable with the weight, but firm.
"It's not a matter of strength," Lena explained patiently, placing herself behind him. "It's about balance, about knowing where the blow comes from."
She placed her hands over his, correcting the angle of the blade. Dyan swallowed. He felt Lena's warmth behind him, the quiet firmness of her voice. For weeks she had seen him on the verge of fever, unable to move from bed. Now he was standing, his leg still sore, his arm clumsy, but standing at last.
"Relax your shoulders," she murmured. "If you raise your elbows so high, you'll expose yourself."
"Like this?" he asked, correcting himself slightly.
"Better. Now try a horizontal slash. Slowly. You don't have to impress anyone."
The movement was clumsy, but effective. Lena nodded and stood in front of him, raising her own wooden sword.
"Hit me. And don't be afraid to," she said with a smile. "I assure you I can stop it."
"What if you can't?"
"Then you'll have to carry me back home," she replied, teasingly.
Dyan laughed, and the sword dropped slightly.
"Come on, Halvest. I'm giving you permission to hit your captain."
"That sounds like a trap."
Lena laughed too. It was a brief, low laugh that she didn't often share. They looked at each other for just a second longer than necessary.
For the next hour, they practiced basic forms. Dyan sweated, panted, and the pain in his side grew sharper with each movement, but he didn't stop. Lena corrected him with gentle gestures, without raising her voice. She was no longer his captain, or not entirely. She was the woman who had cared for him, who had read a letter to him with a broken voice, who didn't dare to speak of tomorrow.
When the sun began to set, Lena lowered her sword and watched him in silence. The air had turned colder, and shadows lengthened among the trees.
"Don't push yourself so hard," she finally said. "You're doing well, better than I expected. But you don't have to prove anything to me."
Dyan nodded, looking down.
"I know we don't have much time left."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you know it too."
She didn't answer immediately. She walked to him and took the sword from his hands.
"Yes," she said, without looking up. "We don't have much time left."
They both remained silent for a moment. Dyan felt his heart pounding in his throat, not from the exercise, but from the certainty of what was coming. The war had not stopped. He was just healing. And Lena… Lena had orders to follow.
"Then," he said finally, "shall we continue tomorrow?"
Lena nodded. But before turning to go back to the camp, she stopped next to him and brushed his arm with her fingers.
"Yes," she said softly. "As long as we can."
Winter was beginning to recede, leaving the snowy days behind. The warmer wind brought with it the fresh scent of conifers and the first flowers that dared to bloom. The morning air flowed in through the wide-open windows, filling the kitchen with the promise of a new season.
Lena watched Dyan from the table, with a slightly raised eyebrow.
"Do you really know what you're doing?"
The mage looked up, with a serene and satisfied expression.
"I've helped you enough to learn a few things. Eggs and bacon aren't exactly advanced alchemy."
"Are you sure you don't need any help?"
Dyan approached with a pan in hand, where scrambled eggs and crispy bacon slices rested. A proud smile shone on his face, as if he had just accomplished a great feat. He placed the pan near Lena, inviting her to admire his creation.
"Surprising… for someone who didn't know the difference between a spoon and a spatula a few months ago."
"If you cook with love," he said as he sat down with a cup of chamomile tea, "the food tastes better."
Lena smiled, amused.
"So now you want to be a householder instead of a mage, cooking with love for your young wife?"
Dyan poured hot water into his cup, where Lena had already placed the toasted berry powder. Then he served himself and sat down opposite her.
"Doesn't sound bad. Only thing missing is the young wife." The smile that accompanied his words was more subtle, almost like a veiled question.
Lena frowned with feigned annoyance and leaned across the table to pinch his cheek.
"You're getting very insolent, you know? Do I look like an old woman? I'm only… six? Seven years older than you?"
"I'm just kidding," he whispered, taking her hand in his. He gently slid his thumb over the pale skin of her fingers.
"I know…" Lena murmured, unable to contain her smile.
"Thanks for the food."
In the last few days, their moments together had been filled with a simple, real warmth. Sometimes, while they ate, they found themselves holding hands, even if it forced them to handle their utensils clumsily. Other times, they simply sat together in the inner courtyard, under the twisted branches of the vine, shoulder to shoulder, looking at the sky. When they went out, they took longer paths, and if they ventured outside the city, they walked toward the river to escape prying eyes, with their fingers intertwined and the silences filled with presence.
But each moment, however perfect, carried with it the whisper of goodbye. As if something was waiting, patient, crouched in a corner of time.
They hadn't finished breakfast when there was a knock at the door. Two dry, spaced-out knocks. They were not loud, but they resonated as if a mountain were crumbling on the other side of the threshold.
Lena got up immediately.
"I'll get it, don't worry."
Dyan held her hand for a second longer, as if that gesture could postpone the inevitable. He looked at her with eyes filled with a nameless anguish.
"It's okay," she said, in a soft voice. "Maybe it's just the postman."
But they both knew it wasn't.
The mage watched Lena as she walked away toward the door. His heart pounded hard, and each of the captain's steps echoed like an eternal reverberation in his chest. For an instant, he rose from the table, driven by the irrational desire to stop her, to cling to her and never let her go again. But in the end, as she opened the door, Dyan sank back into his chair, feeling the knot in his throat tighten mercilessly.
Every minute Lena spent away stretched out like a needle slowly piercing his newly recomposed soul. And then, she returned. She appeared in the hallway with a barely-there smile, one of those that fools no one, much less him. Her eyes spoke more truth than her lips: they were filled with sadness. In her hand, a letter.
A letter with the royal seal.
Lena handed it to him without mincing words.
"Looks like the queen is looking for you." She sat down opposite him again, letting out a long sigh, like one who releases an unbearable weight. She looked down and stared at her reflection in the nearly empty cup.
"I'm sorry, Dyan. I truly am." Her voice was a broken whisper. "Climberland has called me into service. Movements have been registered on the Chinsonite border. We will leave at dawn."
Each word was a rock falling on his shoulders.
Lena continued, without looking up.
"There's a carriage waiting outside. The royal advisor has summoned you to the palace. You are expected to leave immediately."
He didn't need to read the letter. The parchment burned in his hands as if he already knew its content. His face, already pale, became almost translucent, and though his breathing grew heavy, he remained upright.
The silence that followed was one of those that do not console, that do not calm, that only aggravate. A bitter silence, made to break souls.
Lena stood up and wrapped her strong arms around him.
"I didn't want to say goodbye to you like this."
Dyan felt the weight of the moment pressing on his chest. He leaned against her, searching in her warmth for the last spark of something he could hold on to.
"Lena…" He looked up, and when their eyes met, he saw hers were filled with tears. "Can you hug me a little longer? Just… a little longer." He stretched out his hand and caressed the face of the woman who had brought him back to life. "You can't imagine how much I'm going to miss you."
"Hey," Lena whispered, smiling through her tears, "you talk as if we'll never see each other again… We're both warriors. We'll meet on the front, and if you take a vacation, you can come here. This will always be your home. And if I pass through the capital, I'll stop by Scabia to see you…"
Her words were diluted by the weight of her tears, which fell one after another without restraint.
"You can also write to me. And even though I don't like to, I promise to reply… I promise."
Dyan tried to wipe her face, but Lena took his hand and brought it to her lips. She kissed it with a desperate tenderness, again and again, her lips trembling on his skin. The mage stood up and hugged her tightly. He felt Lena's sobs against his chest, and his own, silent ones, like an internal storm without visible tears, tore him apart inside.
"Thank you for everything." He whispered against her neck. "These months have been the sweetest, the kindest I've ever lived. I love you, Lena… I love you very much."
"Me too," she whispered, holding him tight. "I love you very much too."
The farewell didn't last longer than the inevitable. The carriage waited, motionless and implacable. When Dyan left the house, he carried only his almond wood staff and the letter with the royal seal. But in his heart, he carried something much more valuable, something he would never leave behind.
Before the carriage left, Lena helped him up and, for the last time, wiped his face as she had done so many times. With trembling hands, she smoothed his silver hair and looked him directly in the eyes, with an intensity that seemed to want to sculpt his image into her soul.
"I won't forget you… ever." She whispered in a broken voice.
Dyan pressed his lips together, clinging to his staff so as not to beg to stay.
"I love you." That was the last thing he said before closing the door.
The carriage set off, and as it moved away down the cobblestone streets, Lena remained there, with her heart in a knot, silently wishing it would stop. But it didn't happen. Nor did she dare to ask when she could.
Because at dawn, she too would leave. And so it was.