The descent into the Tower's underground became endless for him. The damp corridors seemed to close in on him, moss climbed the stones, and the darkness at every turn weighed on him like a cursed memory. Each step was an echo, and each echo returned the feeling that he was alone, even when he wasn't. The air was dense, heavy with moisture and old earth, as if the fort guarded centuries of forgotten defeats in its bowels.
Everything was, in a way, unbearable, but he was already there, and there was no turning back. It was all for the glory of Her Majesty, he repeated to himself over and over, clenching his fists, seeking silence and solitude, but in his mind, he still couldn't detach himself from, or store away, the warmth of her embrace; it still burned on his skin, her words still echoed in his memory as if she had said them minutes ago. Even there, where his steps had led him, in the room where the mana stone exhaled silver pulses of arcane energy, even in that instant, even against his will, his soul reminded him of what his mind wanted to forget.
He placed his hand on the huge stone. Perhaps these persistent feelings that he had managed to drown while in the tower were what they called love. He denied it immediately; that was gratitude, he thought. Although it hurt too much to be gratitude and made him feel so miserable. Why did no one in the Tower teach about these things? he asked himself, clenching his lips without realizing it.
He forced himself to clear his mind and work. He submerged himself in his mana well with a naturalness he had only dreamed of before, like someone moving through a dark room they know by heart. Down there, in those arcane depths, he found a silence that soothed him, as if the noise of his heart didn't exist. He poured his energy into the stone like water from one vessel to another.
He didn't know how much time passed. When he opened his eyes, the stone radiated a serene, silver glow that enveloped him completely. His hair and eyes seemed to be made of that same light, ethereal, untouchable. For an instant, calm claimed him. His inner self was still, like a breath that fears to be exhaled, a prisoner of a weight too great.
Footsteps sounded dry on the stone, as if someone were tiptoeing, sneaking a peek from the shadows.
Dyan turned; he recognized that way of walking, the soft sound of that breathing. His gaze sank into hers, which had lost, at least for that fleeting second, all the firmness that characterized her...
"I knew you would come, sooner or later..."
It was her voice. Not the one she faked to seem more imposing, but the one that had called out to him in the square when he was lost.
He smiled just a little, bitterly, while tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to fall.
"I'm glad you're okay."
The silence that followed was not like the ones they shared in Lena's small house; this one was awkward and had the taste of a goodbye.
Lena hesitated, but if she had thought of approaching and closing the few feet that separated them, she only managed to take a couple of steps that opened a crack between them, an invisible abyss that was drawn between the two of them and that neither dared to cross.
"I received your letter," she finally said, looking down. The uniform didn't protect her now. She felt tiny, unrecognizable even to herself.
"Forgive me for not replying... I never found the right time."
"Don't worry." Dyan swallowed. He had imagined this reunion a thousand ways, none like this. "Now I'm calmer," he said, and in part, that was true.
"It's been complicated months here, but we've seen worse battles. At least here there's a wall to protect us and a barrier. The conditions are much better." It seemed to him that her words only betrayed the falsity of what she had said before, but it was difficult for her to make sense of what she had inside.
Dyan clenched his fists, unable to remain silent any longer. "I see..." he inhaled deeply. And then, with a broken voice, he said it. "I missed you..."
Each word fell like stones onto glass, filling the room with invisible blades that didn't dare to touch.
"I'm sorry..." Lena replied, her voice a whisper, hiding her gaze. "A lot has happened. Can we still be... friends?"
Why did those words hurt so much? Dyan asked himself, while giving her a twisted smile. "I thought we were. Was I wrong?"
"No, not at all." Lena immediately denied it, almost stumbling over her words. "You're right... I don't even know why I'm so nervous." She tried to take a step forward, but her legs refused to obey. Her lips trembled as she said his name. "Dyan..." The silence suffocated her. Every fiber of her body resisted, but the truth finally escaped, heavy, irremediable. "I'm going to be engaged soon. I wanted you to know."
A dull thud resonated inside him. His heart hammered against his ribs, frantic, like a prisoner beating on his cell door.
"I'm happy for you," he finally said, though his voice lacked life. "You should stay away from the battlefield then... they must be waiting for your return." His eyes dimmed with each word, even as he forced himself to add, "The gods will watch over your union, I'm sure. You're a good person... you deserve the best."
He was trying to say the right thing, but the truth bled out between every word. And Lena knew it; she knew she was plunging a poisoned dagger into a naked, defenseless body.
Dyan turned toward the exit. His shadow stretched in the silver glow of the mana stone, as if his whole being were dissolving onto the floor. At the door, he stopped for an instant, with a knot in his throat that he barely managed to control.
"I hope you'll be very happy. Truly happy." This time his voice trembled, but it was the only sincere thing. Words torn from his soul, even as they ripped him apart to say them.
And he left.
Lena remained motionless, as if her body had been anchored to the ground. She followed him with her gaze until he was lost in the gloom, and in that instant her expression changed. She was no longer the firm captain, but the young woman who had found him in the square, blind and lost. There were no tears yet, but the emptiness in her eyes weighed more than any weeping. Her tight lips, her eyebrows barely arched in sadness... everything about her was a futile attempt to contain the inevitable.
She didn't know when she started to cry. She only felt the unbearable weight in her chest, the cruel certainty that pierced her: she had broken his heart with her own hands. And that wound, she understood with heartbreaking clarity, could never be healed.