The ruins of the village were silent now, save for the occasional hiss of fire dying in the ash. Ryan stood in the center of it all, Elara clinging to his cloak. Her small hands were tight fists, clutching as if letting go would mean vanishing too.
The Ashborn had buried the fallen, her mother among them, but Elara hadn't spoken a word since. Her wide eyes just followed Ryan, shadowing his every step.
Kaelin scowled as she kicked at the dirt. "This isn't a battlefield for children."
Ryan shifted Elara higher in his arms. She was feather-light, but the weight of her presence pressed down on him more heavily than his armor. "She's here because of me," he said quietly. "Her mother made me swear. And I don't break promises."
Lyra's voice was gentler. "She's more than a burden, Kaelin. She's a reminder." Her gaze lingered on Ryan. "A reason to fight for more than just ourselves."
---
Adjustments
Traveling with a child changed everything.
Elara rode most of the way in Ryan's arms or on his shoulders, her small fingers twined in his hair. She rarely cried, but her silence was heavier than any tears. When danger rustled in the underbrush, she buried her face against Ryan's chest, trusting him blindly to keep the monsters away.
Kaelin, impatient at first, eventually softened. When Elara stumbled trying to walk on her own, Kaelin scooped her up with a grumble but carried her anyway. "You're lighter than my sword," she muttered, though her arms cradled the girl with surprising care.
Lyra was more maternal. She hummed lullabies in an old tongue to soothe Elara's sleep, weaving gentle threads of aura that calmed her nightmares. She even gave Elara a pendant of carved wood, a charm of protection.
Ryan watched all of this with a quiet ache. The shard whispered constantly in his chest, its voice urging him toward strength, battle, conquest. But Elara's presence cut through the noise like sunlight through clouds.
---
The Ribbon
One night, while the group rested near a stream, Elara tugged at Ryan's sleeve. For the first time since the village, she spoke.
"Hold this," she whispered, pressing a small ribbon into his palm.
It was frayed, crimson-stained, the kind of thing a mother would tie in her daughter's hair.
Ryan's throat closed. "It was hers?"
Elara nodded. "Mama said… it would keep me safe. But…" Her voice cracked. "She's gone. So you have to keep it now. You promised."
Ryan tied the ribbon around his wrist, the red stark against his skin. "I'll keep it," he said firmly. "Always."
Elara's small hand slipped into his, and for the first time since the tragedy, she gave him a faint, trembling smile.
---
Fatherhood in the Making
As days passed, the others began to notice the shift. Ryan no longer just carried the shard's burden — he carried Elara's hope.
Kaelin teased him lightly one evening after Elara had fallen asleep against his chest. "You're getting good at that. You'd almost pass for a father."
Ryan's stomach tightened, but he didn't deny it. Instead, he looked at Elara's peaceful face and whispered, "Maybe I already am."
Lyra's eyes softened, but her voice carried quiet weight. "Then remember — fathers can't afford to fall."
The shard pulsed in agreement, quiet for once.