The warehouse smelled of damp wood and rust, and the faint taste of the river hung in the air. Kaelen sat on a crate, elbows on his knees, eyes tracing the patterns of shadow on the walls. Maps and notes lay in front of him, but for a moment, he didn't see them.
He saw instead the city he had left behind. Narrow streets filled with laughter, smells of bread and coffee in the morning, the sound of children running barefoot on cracked pavement. He remembered nights spent leaning against walls, talking to friends who would never grow old, who would never leave him behind.
And then the war had come. Everything had changed. The Governor had made choices that destroyed people, destroyed lives. Kaelen had followed orders, believing in a cause that had been sold as right, only to realize too late that the right side had been buried under lies. He had been blamed for failures that weren't his, left to rot in exile while others took his place, smiled, and thrived.
He rubbed his face with his hands, the ache in his chest returning. Every step he had taken since leaving home had been haunted by that betrayal, by the knowledge that people he trusted could turn in an instant. That pain didn't fade; it settled into him, a constant weight, shaping how he moved, spoke, and thought.
Elira watched quietly, giving him the space to remember. She knew. She had seen him before, the shadows in his eyes, the way he carried himself like a man already half-broken and still, she needed him now.
"You don't have to do this," she said softly, breaking the silence. Her voice was careful, almost gentle. "I know what you went through. You don't owe anyone anything not even me."
Kaelen shook his head slowly. "I don't know if I owe anyone," he admitted. "But I can't walk away either. Not this time. Not when I see what's happening here and I… I can't ignore what he did to me, to everyone who trusted him."
He stared down at his hands. The scars on his knuckles, faded now, reminded him of every fight he had survived, every prison he had endured. Every loss. Every betrayal. It had made him who he was and who he would be if he chose to stay and act.
The lantern flickered, and Kaelen's eyes moved across the maps again. The streets, the checkpoints, the neighborhoods where people had disappeared. He memorized them, not just as strategy, but as proof that the city was still alive, still breathing, still worth remembering.
Elira reached over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I don't need you to be a hero tonight," she said. "I just need you to see it. To feel it. To know it."
Kaelen nodded, letting the weight settle over him. The fight hadn't begun. The city hadn't asked for anything yet. But he felt its pull, its memory, its pain and for the first time since returning, he felt a reason to stay.
Not because he was asked. Not because he wanted revenge, but because he remembered what it meant to belong somewhere and this city… it had once been his home.