[INT. RESISTANCE BASE – TAVERN HALL – NIGHT]
The night was heavy, but the Resistance base was alive with low chatter and the hum of laughter. Near the barracks, a tavern-style hall had been set up where soldiers gathered to shake off the fatigue of war. Rough wooden tables, steel mugs clinking with cheap ale, and the smell of roasted meat filled the space. The atmosphere was meant to be light… but Ronan's heart was anything but.
Ronan's Restlessness
He had tried to stay in his quarters, but his body refused to relax. His mind kept dragging him back to the same image again and again: Lady Seraphina standing in the half-open doorway of her quarters, fresh from the bath, towel slipping, droplets of water glistening on her skin, and that smile—half-shy, half-playful.
It had shaken him more than any battlefield ever had.
For years, Ronan's discipline had been forged in fire—his body and mind sharpened by war, his heart locked away under layers of iron duty. He had seen comrades die, kingdoms fall, blood spill oceans deep. But never—never—had a single woman's smile shaken his fortress of discipline.
"Why…" he muttered under his breath as he walked through the dim corridors, boots striking heavily against the floor. "Why is my heart beating like this? Why am I restless?"
This wasn't the rush of combat, nor the thrill of danger. This was something far more dangerous—because it wasn't an enemy he could strike down.
His boots started moving before his mind did. The floorboards groaned under his weight, then settled. A few soldiers noticed him and straightened instinctively, but he raised a hand—at ease—and the room flowed back to its tired rhythm.
He aimed himself at noise. Maybe noise could drown this restlessness.
By instinct, he found himself heading toward the tavern hall, hoping the noise, the drink, and his soldiers' banter would drown out the storm inside him.
Soldiers' Talk
The moment he stepped into the hall, the sound of laughter washed over him. A group of soldiers sat around a wide table, mugs raised high, their words slurred but joyous.
One broad-shouldered soldier slammed his mug down with a grin.
Soldier A: "I tell you, lads—my wife swears I'm the only man for her. Says she couldn't live a day without me. She prays that death takes her before me, because she couldn't bear to live in a world without me!"
The hall erupted in laughter, cheers, and mocking whistles.
Soldier B lifted his drink.
Soldier B: "That's love for you! But a real man, eh? A real man would give anything for his woman. Even his life, if that's what it takes."
More laughter. More cheers. The hall glowed with warmth and camaraderie. But for Ronan—those words hit differently.
His chest tightened. His heart thumped louder.
He strode toward their table, his scarred face unreadable. The soldiers quickly noticed their commander and scrambled upright.
Ronan (raising a hand): "At ease. Sit."
They hesitated, then obeyed, though the mood was a little tense now. Ronan pulled out a chair and sat heavily among them. He grabbed a mug, poured himself a drink, and took a long, burning sip. The silence around the table thickened.
He set the mug down. His voice was calm, but edged with curiosity that didn't match his usual demeanor.
Ronan: "What were you saying? Repeat it. About… the kind of man a woman loves."
The soldiers exchanged uncertain glances.
Soldier C scratched his beard nervously. "Commander… we were just joking. Nothing serious."
Ronan leaned forward, his eyes narrowing.
Ronan: "I asked you to repeat it."
The men straightened. They had seen him command entire battalions. They knew better than to test his patience.
The Talk of Women
Soldier A cleared his throat. "We were saying, sir… that when a woman truly loves a man, she'll stand by him through anything. If he faces death, she'll face it first. She'd rather die than see him fall."
The words hit Ronan like a blade.
For an instant, his mind flashed to Seraphina—her towel slipping, her playful smile, her gaze locked on his. And then—another memory, when she had first joined him on the ship. He had asked why she was there, why she had come on such a dangerous mission.
Her reply echoed now, clear as crystal: "For the most important thing in the world."
At the time, Ronan had dismissed it. He thought she meant the mission. But now—now after what had happened in her quarters—he wasn't so sure.
A dangerous warmth spread in his chest. Was she talking about me?
A younger Soldier E—barely more than a boy—leaned forward, eager and careful at once. "We were saying, sir… that love makes people brave. Stupid sometimes. But brave." He colored and sat back down, as if he'd said too much.
"Love makes people honest," another added. "It strips you. You can't hide in front of it."
The man to Ronan's right, older than the rest, nodded slowly. "My mother used to say: If a woman loves you, she'll walk behind you when you march and stand in front of you when you're struck." He shrugged. "That was her way."
Silence stretched a moment, warm and thoughtful. Someone refilled mugs. Someone coughed. A chair squeaked.
The Restlessness Deepens
He gripped his mug tighter, taking another sip, though his throat was already burning.
Ronan: "Tell me more. Why would a woman choose one man over another? What makes him… her chosen one?"
The soldiers looked at each other again, confused by their commander's unusual interest. But slowly, they answered.
Soldier B: "Sir… every woman is different. But strong women, especially… they don't just pick anyone. They need a man as strong as them. Maybe stronger. Someone who can match them in power, or even surpass them."
Another added quickly—Soldier A: "But not just power. Respect. A woman wants a man who values her, understands her, and never lies to her. Someone loyal, who'd rather die than betray her."
The youngest soldier, with a sheepish grin, lifted his mug.
Soldier D: "And muscles, sir. Don't forget that! If the man's strong and protective, it's always a bonus."
The table laughed again.
But Ronan wasn't laughing. He was silent, absorbing every word.
Ronan's Reflection
His mind raced. Strong. Protective. Loyal. Honest.
He clenched his jaw. That's me. That's who I am.
But then the second thought crept in. Am I enough? Am I the man she would choose?
He remembered again the way she had looked at him. The curve of her lips when she smiled. The sparkle in her eyes that seemed to pierce through his armor.
And that moment—the towel slipping, the softness of her form revealed, her beauty blazing like a secret flame in the mist.
He had fought countless wars, faced death itself a thousand times. But never—never—had he felt so utterly disarmed.
A faint smile touched his lips, though his eyes were shadowed with turmoil.
Ronan (to himself, whispering): "Maybe… maybe I don't fear death anymore. Maybe what I fear… is life. Because for the first time—I have a reason to live."
The Soldiers Notice
The soldiers had been watching him quietly. His silence, his brooding expression—it was unlike their commander.
Soldier C leaned in cautiously.
Soldier C: "Sir… forgive me, but… you seem troubled. Is everything alright?"
Ronan snapped out of his thoughts and looked at them. For a moment, he considered telling them. But then, he forced a faint, dismissive smile.
Ronan: "It's nothing. Just… a story from the past."
The men nodded, understanding it was personal. None dared push further.
Ronan Alone
Ronan drained his mug in a single gulp, the liquid burning down his throat. He stood, the chair scraping against the floor, and left the hall without another word.
The corridor outside was cooler, quieter. The night air brushed his scarred face. He closed his eyes for a moment, but all he saw was her—Seraphina.
Her smile. Her laughter. Her towel slipping. Her playful glance that had set his soul on fire.
His chest tightened painfully.
Ronan (to himself): "I've seen countless warriors, kings, and monsters. I've fought on a thousand battlefields. But nothing… nothing has ever done this to me. Not until her."
He stopped, leaning against the cold steel wall, breath unsteady.
Ronan (inner thought): "If this is weakness, then I am weak. If this is madness, then I am mad. Because I… I can't stop thinking about her."
He shook his head, forcing his feet forward. He was Commander Ronan, warlord of the Resistance. He wasn't supposed to feel this way. And yet—he did.
The alcohol buzzed in his veins. His body was heavy with fatigue. Slowly, reluctantly, he made his way back to his quarters.
But even as he lay down, closing his eyes, sleep came only because exhaustion demanded it—not because his mind was at peace.
The last image that burned in his thoughts before darkness claimed him—was Lady Seraphina, smiling at him in the mirror, her beauty etched into his very soul.
✨ End of Chapter 18 – The Restless Fire ✨
The night hides his secret, but daylight will not be so kind. When morning comes, truths will demand answers. Don't miss what happens next in Chapter 19.