The Field Reeked Of Blood.
Kaelen tightened his grip on the sword as the dawn broke over the hills, painting the sky in streaks of crimson and gold. Below, the enemy warband moved like a tide of steel, banners snapping in the wind. Three hundred men, hardened raiders from the east, their faces painted with ash and war-ink.
Kaelen had two hundred. Farmers and minor soldiers, most untested, their hands shaking around their spears.
Seliora stood at his side on the ridge, her cloak flaring in the cold morning air.
> "This is madness," she murmured, eyes fixed on the enemy lines.
> "It's necessary," Kaelen replied.
He spoke calmly, but she saw the fire in his eyes—the same fire that had burned in him since they were children.
> "If we wait, they'll torch another village tonight. I won't let them."
Seliora turned to him, her voice sharp.
> "You can't save the people if you throw your men away on a suicidal charge. Think."
Kaelen smirked faintly. "That's what I have you for."
He strode forward before she could protest, lifting his sword high.
> "Archers! Loose!"
A hiss of arrows filled the air as shafts rained down on the approaching enemy. Screams rose, brief and sharp. The first line faltered but kept coming.
> *"Spearmen, ready!"*
Seliora clenched her fists. She'd spent half the night trying to convince him to withdraw and regroup, but Kaelen was relentless. The people of the burned villages haunted him. He could not abide another slaughter.
Or perhaps, she thought bitterly, he wanted a victory so badly he would gamble everything.
---
*THE CLASH
The first wave hit like a storm. Spears shattered. Men screamed. Kaelen was in the thick of it, cutting through enemy warriors with brutal efficiency. His blade danced—a flash of steel, a spray of blood.
Seliora's heart thundered in her chest as she watched from the ridge. She wasn't a fighter; her weapon was her mind. And right now, she needed it.
> *Think. Think.*
She scanned the battlefield, eyes darting. There—a gap forming on the left flank as the enemy pressed too far.
Seliora grabbed the nearest lieutenant.
> "Take fifty men, swing around the hill. Hit their rear. Now."
> "But—"
> "NOW!"
He hesitated only a moment before running to obey.
---
The flank maneuver worked. The enemy stumbled, caught between Kaelen's ferocious charge and the sudden attack from behind. Panic spread through their ranks.
> *"Push! Break them!"* Kaelen's voice rang out.
And then it was over. The enemy scattered, their banners falling into the mud.
A cheer went up from Kaelen's men, ragged but fierce.
---
*AFTERMATH
Seliora found Kaelen in the field, wiping his blade clean on a dead man's cloak.
> "You're bleeding," she said flatly.
> "A scratch," Kaelen replied, though the cut along his forearm was deep.
Seliora stepped closer, her voice low.
> "You were reckless. Again. You nearly got yourself and every man here killed."
> "But I didn't." He looked up at her, eyes alight with triumph. "We won, Seliora. That's what matters."
She wanted to slap him and kiss him in the same breath.
> "One day your luck will run out," she murmured.
> "Not while you're here to save me."
For a moment, the tension between them shifted—less anger, more something else. His gaze softened, and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks.
---
*THE WAR COUNCIL
That night, the commanders gathered in a battered tent, the air thick with the stench of sweat and smoke. A map lay on the table, weighted by daggers.
Seliora spoke first.
> "We can't keep fighting like this. Supplies are thin, and we're weeks from reinforcements."
Kaelen leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping the hilt of his sword.
> "If we stop now, the raiders will regroup. We've bled them. One more push and we break them completely."
> "Or they break us."
The two locked eyes. Around the table, the other commanders shifted uncomfortably.
Seliora's voice dropped.
> "You're too eager for glory, Kaelen. That's how men die."
> "And you're too cautious. That's how kingdoms die."
The silence stretched.
Finally, Kaelen said:
> "Fine. Three days. Secure more supplies, rally the lords. But after that…"
He leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous.
> "We move. I won't let fear chain me here."
Seliora nodded stiffly, but inside, her unease grew.
---
*THE FEAST
Victory brought them an invitation to Terynth, a wealthy lord's hall.
Kaelen thrived in the candlelit banquet, his dark hair tied back neatly, his tunic freshly laundered. He laughed with nobles, danced with their daughters, and spoke of honor and loyalty as though he believed in it.
Seliora watched from the shadows.
A courtier whispered in her ear:
> "Your commander is impressive. But dangerous."
> "He's a man of vision," she replied coolly.
> "So was every tyrant in history."
She turned away, but the words lingered.
---
*THE CAMPFIRE
That night, back in the camp, Kaelen found her staring at the embers.
> "You've been quiet," he said.
Seliora didn't look up. "I wonder if the nobles see you as a hero… or a threat."
Kaelen crouched beside her, his voice soft.
> "Does it matter? Heroes don't win thrones. Threats do."
Seliora's breath caught. "Thrones?"
Kaelen met her gaze.
> "This kingdom rots under a king too weak to defend his own borders. We could save it, Seliora. Together."
She wanted to argue, but part of her—the part that still believed in the boy under the oak—whispered that maybe he was right.
> "Then promise me," she said quietly. "Promise me you won't become what you hate."
Kaelen took her hand, pressing it to his chest.
> "I promise nothing except this: I will never leave you. We will rise together."
Seliora nodded, but in her heart, a flicker of doubt took root.