Near the lake:-
The late afternoon sun dripped gold across the lake, scattering light over the ripples.
They were groggy at first, but as the wind fluttered their hair and the freshness touched their lungs, they couldn't help the faint curve of a smile. It looked almost foreign on their young faces, as though their muscles had forgotten how.
Eight—just eight years old, they are. People, no matter how old, still act like kids. They, on the other hand, still are kids… and deserve to live like one, Elias thought with a soft smile.
Lucien, sprawled on a folded blanket with one knee propped, shifted with a small wince instead of a groan. His voice came out dry, careful.
"Leya, you are terrible at carrying things."
"Got hurt while trying to carry all the snacks yourself," Elias said with a faintly sad tone. If he were stronger, he wouldn't let him get hurt. He should have noticed.
"Well, it's his fault indeed. So terrible at not getting hurt," Leya shot back, though her tone softened as she handed him another bandage.
Lucien's lips tugged faintly, then he muttered, almost as if to himself, "Come on, it doesn't matter… not like I'll live long anyway." The words slipped low, as if he wasn't sure they should be heard.
Elias knelt beside him, fingers tightening the wrap. "You'll live," he murmured.
Lucien didn't answer at first. Then, with a ghost of a smirk: "Hopefully."
"Not hopefully. You will." Elias's voice was certain, steady in a way that made the boy still for a moment, as though that quiet confidence had already decided his fate.
Leya sat back on her heels, hugging her knees, watching Elias work. "You're good at this," she said.
He didn't look up. "At bandaging?"
"At… making people feel like they're not alone," she replied, almost too quietly.
Lucien said nothing but didn't deny it either, lashes lowering as if to hide.
Elias's hand paused for half a second before moving again. "I suppose I've had practice."
Elen, listening to them, grinned—though the expression looked slightly too deliberate. "Well, if you ever get bored of… whatever it is you do, you can become my personal medic."
"I'd rather not have you as a repeat patient," Elias said, chuckling softly.
Everyone smiled at his statement, though Leya's was small, fragile. Elen nudged her, earning a faint roll of her eyes before she finally let out a short laugh.
A breeze stirred the leaves, and Leya noticed Elias's gaze flick—not toward them, but toward the trees beyond. His expression didn't change, but the air seemed to shift. Leya and Lucien followed his line of sight.
Nothing.
When she looked back, Elias was smiling again—slightly too knowingly.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing important," he said. But Leya had the distinct feeling someone had been there, and that Elias knew far more than he would ever admit.
Elen, as if determined to fill the silence, picked up a flat stone and skimmed it across the water. "Six skips," he said proudly.
"Five and a half," Elias corrected.
"Half?" Elen asked.
"The last one was pity from the lake."
Leya let out a soft laugh. Lucien's lips twitched but the sound didn't quite reach his eyes. Elen huffed, and for once, it didn't sound like he was forcing it.
Somewhere in the distance, a branch cracked. Elias didn't turn. "Clumsy," he said to no one in particular.
"Huh?" asked Lucien.
"Nothing," Elias said with a smile.
"Let's go closer to the lake," Elias said, getting up with Lucien in his arms.
---
They all sat near the lake, sunlight trembling across the rippling surface.
"Want to play something?" Elias asked, voice low but carrying.
"Yes!" Elen blurted immediately, too loud, too eager.
Leya nodded, humming softly. "Why not…" she murmured.
Lucien gave a small shrug, pretending indifference, though his eyes betrayed curiosity.
"Let's play chess, then."
"Chess?" Elen tilted his head. "Is it an animal's name?"
"Does it bite?" Leya asked, dead serious.
"From where will it appear???" Lucien added, brows furrowed.
Each question was so wildly different that Elias couldn't help it—a smile tugged at his lips, soft and genuine. For once, the kids saw a glimpse of warmth unguarded, and they loved it instantly.
"Here," he said, reaching into the air. From the silver gleam of his spatial ring, a chessboard slid forth, wood polished and pieces carved like soldiers frozen mid-march.
" What? Things come out from ring,??!" Ellen jumped up.
"Magic!" Leya gasped, eyes sparkling.
Lucien only muttered, "I see…" pretending he wasn't impressed—though he clearly was.
Spatial ring eas costly after all, and Elias ring was much more special, anyone could tell from it's detailing, made for Elias only...
Their different reactions amused Elias more than the game itself.
The board was set. The game began.
The scrape of wood against wood filled the silence as Elias shifted his knight. His moves were fluid, deliberate, like water shaping stone. The children, huddled together, whispered furiously—forming an alliance against the warlord.
But slowly, one piece after another fell.
When Elias's rook glided across the board with a soft click, silence struck.
Lucien's eyes widened. "Wait—"
Elen gasped. "That… that's check!"
Leya leaned closer, tracing the lines with her fingertip. Her lips parted. "…Not check. Checkmate."
Elias tilted his head, faint smile ghosting his lips, never reaching his cold, sharp eyes. He tapped the king once with a finger. "Checkmate," he repeated, voice quiet but final.
Shock spread across the children's faces. Elen groaned into his palms. Leya slumped back, whispering something about unfairness. Lucien clenched his jaw, swallowing the sting of defeat.
Elias remained composed, leaning back with calm certainty. For an instant, the aura of the warlord—the one whispered of in camps and nightmares—slipped through: unshakable, absolute.
Leya exhaled slowly. "You… you saw this from the very start, didn't you?"
Elias's gaze softened just slightly, voice even. "Always watch ten steps ahead. That's how you survive."
The words pressed deeper than the children expected. They sat in silence, their laughter replaced with the hush of realization.
"But," Elias added, exhaling as he let tension fade, "you three lasted longer than most."
The compliment lingered, heavier than anything.
---