The storm clouds overhead brewed thick with tension, but Arasha's gaze remained clear. Mounted atop her steed, she studied the sketched maps and reports laid across a collapsible table. Around her stood the marsh captains, the local wardens, and her elite knights.
"Evacuation routes?" she asked crisply.
"Prepared and cleared, Commander," one of the marsh captains confirmed. "Civilians are being moved behind the third boundary line. We've marked homes with remaining occupants unwilling to leave."
Arasha frowned at that. "We'll prioritize them for emergency rescue."
"And the port?"
"Only skeleton crews remain to guide incoming reinforcements. We've arranged controlled fires to disorient the beast if it turns toward the docks."
Arasha nodded, then looked to Sir Garran for the mission. "What of the support logistics?"
"All in place. Medics on standby in Zone Delta, salves and mana tonics stocked, stretchers ready." He paused. "It's a good plan, Commander. We're as ready as we'll ever be."
Arasha looked across the marsh, where the hydra's presence thickened the air with its acidic miasma. "Then let's do this."
****
The first roar shook the land like thunder.
Seven heads. Each with its own cunning and hunger. Acid breath melted stone. Regenerating flesh danced mockingly each time they felled a head too hastily.
The Order fought with precision. Arasha led the charge, her blade crackling with divine blessing, carving through with controlled power. She called out warnings, adjusted formations mid-battle, and gave commands that turned potential disaster into narrow survival.
Several young knights took heavy injuries—acid burns, crushed limbs—but none retreated. One, bleeding and half-conscious, still managed to carry an old woman to safety before collapsing beside the marsh.
Arasha struck the killing blow only after five brutal hours. Her armor cracked, her blessing dimming, but her will never once wavered.
****
The square was quiet save for the hush of awe and gratitude. Most of the town had been spared thanks to her foresight. The Order was battered, but alive. Medics worked through the wounded with practiced speed.
Then, the people came. Not just locals, but merchants and travelers trapped by the hydra's siege. Some knelt. Others wept. Many simply handed over whatever they could—jewelry, fresh bread, potions, bolts of cloth.
A young foreign man approached, wrapped in merchant silks and confidence.
"I'm grateful, Commander," he said with a flourishing bow. "My trade would've died here today if not for your precision."
He held out a vial—glass etched with runes, its contents a shifting blue.
"A salve," he explained. "Rare—made from shrouded lotus and duskroot. It heals wounds, eases poison, even restores frayed mana channels. A token of thanks… and perhaps, if fate allows, the beginning of trade between us."
Arasha blinked, taken aback.
"I… thank you," she said slowly, accepting the gift with grace. "Your generosity is noted."
The man gave a wink. "And my name is Cassian, should you ever wish to find me again."
Sir Garran, not far off, rolled his eyes.
The Scion Order knights took note of the man.
Whether he would be a threat or not would be something time would tell.
Their commander after all ,was too busy to be vigilant in the matters of the heart, so they would be vigilant for her sake.
****
She sat in silence, staring at the vial. The hydra was dead. The people were safe. The Order's mission was a success.
And yet… she felt something distant. A disquiet that gnawed at her peace.
Perhaps it was Kane, still back at the fortress.
Or perhaps it was the strange weight behind the victory—as though even this hard-won peace had been calculated into some grander, invisible scheme.
She tucked the vial into her satchel, unsure if she'd use it… or if she'd save it for someone else.
I'll keep it for emergencies.
Seeing the cloudless night sky and countless of stars, Arasha wondered why she feels relentless when they had dealt with the hydra as planned.
She sighed.
"You shouldn't sigh too much Commander. You're letting some of your soul slip." Sir Garran commented as he sat beside Arasha and handed her super.
"A superstition, Sir Garran? But you know, losing my soul from sighing is the least of my problems…" Arasha replied as she took a spoonful of food.
"It might be so, Commander. But there's no harm in keeping such a saying in mind. For you know, aiding you to be healthy in body, mind, and soul is my duty after all." Sir Garran added.
Arasha shook her head with an amused smile.
****
The skies had turned unrelenting. The road they originally charted was flooded by torrential rains and landslides, forcing Arasha and her company to make a long detour through the lesser-known Southwood Pass. The road was narrower, and the terrain muddy—but manageable. Arasha, seated atop her warhorse, continuously juggled between coordinating logistics and communicating with the fortress via sigil dispatches.
"Storms shifted east," she muttered, reading a weather map from the scouts. "We'll hit the river crossing by nightfall. If we push faster—"
A sudden cry from the front of the column cut through the air.
"Monsters! North side ridge!"
A scout galloped down, dust and alarm thick on his voice. "An entourage—flag of the Eastern Holy Land—they're under siege!"
Without hesitation, Arasha spurred her horse forward. "To arms! Knights, form a defensive arrowhead—Garran, secure the rear lines!"
They charged through the broken woods and stumbled upon a horrifying scene: white-robed priests cornered against a crumbling stone shrine, holy sigils flickering weakly around them. A dozen paladins fought desperately to hold a line against an encroaching horde of scaled monstrosities—twisted remnants of wyverns and bog demons.
"The Scion Order—engage and cover their retreat!"
Steel clashed, magic flared. Arasha's blade glowed with righteous fury as she cleaved through the beast that lunged for a fallen priest. Garran's voice roared above the chaos, commanding the knights into disciplined formations. Within the hour, the horde was routed—dispersing like shadows before dawn.
The holy entourage was shaken but alive. The high priest, trembling with age, bowed low before Arasha.
"May the gods bless your blade, Commander. We owe you our lives."
She nodded. "It was our duty. Escorting you the rest of the way is the least we can do."
Among the paladins was their leader—Sir Alvin Vonlux. Tall, amber-haired, with deep blue eyes that had never wavered in battle, he had taken note of Arasha the moment she appeared on the battlefield, sword drawn, divinity blazing.
At the campfire, he approached her with solemn intent.
"Commander Arasha," he began.
"Report, Sir Alvin?" she asked, not lifting her gaze from the glowing sigil slate in her hand.
"I—I merely wished to thank you again," he offered, a bit stiff. "And to say… your leadership is inspiring. I'd be honored to fight alongside you again one day."
Arasha glanced up briefly, smile polite but eyes distant with exhaustion. "Thank you. I'm sure fate will cross our paths again should it be necessary."
Then she turned back to her communicator. "Apologies. We need to reroute the incoming supply train to avoid the riverbank collapse near Fort Sarnel. Please excuse me."
Alvin stood there a little longer… then sighed.
As the holy entourage reached the capital, Arasha gave one final bow to the priests and turned sharply to her waiting knights.
"No time to linger. We ride for home by dawn."
Sir Alvin stepped forward, looking like he had something more to say—but Arasha was already giving instructions to the stable hands and discussing supply tallies with Sir Garran.
He watched her walk away.
"…May the gods guide you, Arasha," he murmured under his breath.
Sir Garran happened to look over and saw Sir Alvin standing forlornly.
Oh Commander...
Sir Garran could only internally comment on their commander's cold shoulder treatment towards the paladin.
Still, Leta might find it amusing.
Later that day.
Sir Garran walked in with a rare smirk.
"Guess what happened," he said, sitting beside Leta who was checking herbal stocks.
"I don't know. You finally bathed without being reminded?" she teased.
"No, better." Garran leaned in. "A paladin—Alvin, from the East—fell for our Commander."
Leta's eyes widened. "And?"
"She brushed him off without even noticing," Garran chuckled. "Too busy managing supply chains and field deployments."
Leta blinked, then burst into a laugh. "Oh, gods. That poor man. She really is hopeless, isn't she?"
"She's got no idea," Garran said with a grin. "None."
"I can't wait to share such juicy story to old Mila! I bet she'll be laughing as hard!" Leta mischievously declared.
"If you share it to her, then not even a day will pass, the whole base would be gossiping." Sir Garran stated, while shaking his head.
"That's the whole point! Aren't you curious what that love-sick puppy's reaction will be with such gossip? Wouldn't that make the little puppy confront the Commander, perhaps making the commander be more aware about romance?~" Leta blurted excitedly.
Sir Garran couldn't deny that he was curious.
The two then shared a conspiring laugh—warm, light-hearted—for a brief moment in a world that was otherwise anything but.
****
Arasha had barely been back for a day when the fortress buzzed like a hive struck by thunder. The knights—especially the senior ones—had stories to share. Stories of the glorious subjugation of the hydra, the daring rescue of the holy delegation, and, of course, a certain paladin from the East.
Sir Garran, wiping down his blade in the sun, didn't even try to hide his grin as he listened to a group of knights debating near the mess hall.
"I'm telling you, that paladin had the look!" Sir Brian insisted, gesturing wildly. "Like a man struck by lightning. He didn't take his eyes off her!"
"Oh, please," another knight snorted. "What about that young merchant? Gave her that fancy salve. A practical man! Knows how to support."
"What about the foreign prince we met last spring?" added a third. "He sent her letters for months!"
Kane, walking by with a training staff, paused—again.
He gritted his teeth. This was the tenth time.
"She's just returned! Shouldn't they be praising her tactics? Her flawless command?" he muttered, marching off.
As he rounded the corner toward his usual escape—the old overgrown training hall—he froze when he heard familiar voices.
"Alvin of the Holy Paladin Order isn't bad," Leta said, arranging vials. "A paladin's devotion runs deep. And he did risk himself to protect the priests."
Sir Garran hummed thoughtfully. "And he seems grounded. Not overly political. Would treat her well. Honestly, I wouldn't mind if he kept her distracted for once. Might get her to sleep before dawn."
"She's at the right age too," Leta added, a teasing smile in her tone. "She should start thinking about things beyond duty. Maybe settle down someday."
That's when Kane, who had been standing just beyond the trellis, snapped.
"No!" he shouted.
Garran and Leta startled, looking up to see Kane, his fists clenched, storming through the vines with tears welling in his eyes.
"She doesn't need someone like that! She doesn't need—she's fine as she is!"
His voice cracked at the end, and he bit his lip, willing the tears to stop, but they didn't. "Why are you all pushing her toward someone else?!"
"Kane—" Leta reached a hand toward him.
But Kane shook his head and turned away, dashing down the corridor before either of them could stop him.
Kane sat on the cracked tiles, knees to his chest, staring blankly at the moss-covered wall. His heart was pounding too loud for him to hear the wind. His thoughts kept circling.
Why does it hurt so much?
Why now?
Why does everyone talk like she's supposed to belong to someone?
He remembered her laugh. The feel of her arms when she hugged him. The warmth of her praise. The way she always chose her people over herself. Over and over again.
It's not fair.
She didn't even have time to live her life before—before she—
He let out a strangled sob and covered his face.
The golden light of dusk filtered softly through the cracked, ivy-covered windows of the old training hall. Dust floated in the air, catching the waning light like forgotten stars.
Kane sat against the cold wall, unmoving. His heart was a tangled knot, too tight to unravel.
Why did it hurt so much to hear them talk like that?
He clenched his fists.
I trained harder than anyone. I followed her orders to the letter. I've risked everything—twice—for her. But they still see me as a boy. A child. Not even worth considering.
Kane gritted his teeth, dragging a shaky breath through his nose. Not once did they think... maybe she doesn't need someone else. Maybe I—
He stopped. The thought punched him harder than a sword to the gut.
Maybe I want to be that person for her.
The realization struck like a thunderclap in his chest.
I don't just admire her. I don't just want to protect her. I—
His breath hitched. I'm jealous. I'm possessive. I want her eyes to be on me and no one else. Gods, I love her.
The word settled heavy in his gut like truth poured from molten iron.
But what am I to her? Just a squire. A boy she comforts when he cries. A responsibility.
He wiped angrily at his eyes again, just as the faint sound of soft boots brushing against grass tickled his ears.
Without needing to look, Kane knew.
Her presence was warm. Steady. Like the sun easing through a stormcloud.
She said nothing at first, only quietly walking past the threshold and sitting beside him with a small sigh. There was silence—gentle, companionable silence. Only the distant call of birds and the quiet rustle of leaves spoke between them.
And then, unexpectedly, she hummed.
It was soft, a tune from a lullaby she had once murmured while tending to injured squires.
The melody brushed against Kane like a balm, and for the first time since his heart started twisting, the knot eased.
He turned his head slowly, eyes rimmed red.
Arasha glanced his way, her expression open, tired but serene. "I missed you," she said, simply.
Kane stared.
No teasing. No lectures. No guarded distance. Just that—gentle, honest, devastatingly pure.
And all at once, the walls Kane had tried to patch back up shattered again.
His breath caught in his throat.
That stupid, beautiful warmth she always carried—that softness only he ever seemed to get glimpses of—he was the one she missed.
Not the fortress staff. Not the squires.
Him.
His voice came out choked, almost unwillingly. "I-I missed you too…"
Arasha smiled faintly. "You're allowed to miss people, Kane. Specially, if they go off to fight hydras."
Arasha thought that Kane must had missed her and at his age, it's hard to manage emotions so it was no wonder he had holed himself again not wanting her to see him sulking.
Good thing Sir Garran told her about him running off because she forgot to look for him again after returning. Kids do sulk often.
Arasha silently mused as she look over Kane.
Kane's shoulders trembled, but this time not from grief or jealousy. The storm inside him had quieted, replaced by something steadier, something that wasn't ready to be spoken—but needed no words to be felt.
He didn't know what the future would bring. He didn't know how much time they had. But he knew, right then, with her beside him, that he was seen.
And that was enough.
****
The quiet of the hall lingered in warm tones as the last of the twilight faded, shadows weaving around the greenery-covered walls. A cool breeze drifted through the broken windows, rustling the leaves like a lullaby finishing its verse.
Arasha's gaze still at Kane beside her, the flickering golden hue from her softly glowing communicator lighting up the curve of her cheek. Her eyes were steady, thoughtful.
"…I didn't get to hug you this time," she said suddenly, her tone light, almost playful.
Kane stiffened. "D-Don't."
She tilted her head at him, a slow smile tugging at her lips. "You sure? You looked like you needed one earlier."
His face bloomed crimson in the dim light. "I did not," he grumbled, half turning away and trying to bury the red of his cheeks into his knees.
Arasha chuckled softly, resting her arms loosely over her knees. "Fine, fine. I'll save it for next time."
Kane peeked at her through his lashes, his heart beating a little too fast again.
Then her voice softened—gentler, vulnerable. "I… might not have much time to talk when I get back from the next mission," she admitted. "Things are starting to pile up again. But if it's alright, I'd like to have dinner with you and the squires when I can."
She looked up at the cracked ceiling, where the stars barely peeked through the vines. "It's not much, but… it means a lot to me. This place. The Order. Coming back to it after every mission—it feels like breathing again."
Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper.
"…You're part of that now, Kane. One of my precious people."
Kane's breath caught. He didn't look at her. Couldn't. He was afraid he'd do something stupid—like reach for her hand or say something impossible for his age.
But his chest ached. In a good way.
He wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn't come.
And maybe he didn't need to. Because she smiled at him again, so bright and sure it made his throat tighten.
Just then—
"Ohhh, my bad! Should I come back in ten minutes?" Leta's familiar voice echoed in with far too much dramatic timing as she peeked through the overgrown doorway. "Didn't realize I was interrupting a night date."
Kane nearly jumped to his feet, flustered beyond words, while Arasha turned slowly with a cool, unimpressed look.
"Leta," she said evenly, "go hydrate."
Leta only grinned. "And leave this scene unfinished? Perish the thought."
Kane muttered something unintelligible and turned his back to both of them, ears glowing red.
Arasha stood, dusting off her cloak with elegance, and gave Leta a light nudge on the shoulder as she passed. "Let the boy breathe."
"I'm just keeping the romance alive."
"There is no romance!" Kane shouted from behind them, voice cracking.
Leta only cackled.
And Arasha—she smiled again, soft and secret, and only shook her head at Leta.
****
The sun had barely risen when the teasing began.
Kane walked through the training yard with determination in his steps, hoping to sneak past the early risers unnoticed. But fate had other plans.
"Oh-ho~ Morning, Kane," one of the quartermasters called with a sly grin. "Slept well after your moonlit tryst with the Commander?"
"I—what—it wasn't a tryst!" Kane sputtered, his face instantly turning scarlet.
A squire polishing a sword nearby chimed in, "You didn't even show up to supper. We figured you two were off planning your future wedding vows."
Another chuckled from across the yard, "Should we start calling you Commander's Shadow?"
Kane glared, flustered. "You all have too much time on your hands!"
But the more he protested, the more the teasing grew, echoing in his ears and across the stones of the Order's fortress.
Fleeing their laughter, Kane stormed into the older section of the stables where the scent of hay and time lingered like a memory. Horses nickered softly in their stalls, and the quiet offered some respite—until a voice, gentle and weathered, spoke up from the shadows.
"Y'know, lad," said Old Bob, the veteran stable hand who had seen generations of knights come and go. "No need to fight it so hard."
Kane froze, then turned slowly, still fuming. "Fight what?"
Bob smiled as he stroked the muzzle of an old, dappled mare. "You're like an open scroll, boy. Your feelings for the Commander—plain as day. Everyone sees it. Even the horses, probably."
Kane's breath hitched. "She… she doesn't."
"Aye," Bob said, nodding. "That's the tragedy of it, ain't it? Poor Commander's as brave as a lion but as clueless as a babe when it comes to the heart."
Kane looked down, the stable floor blurring in his vision again, emotions prickling hot and sharp behind his eyes. He hated how easily these feelings unmade him.
And then—boots stepped through the hay behind him.
"Getting love advice from horses now, Kane?" came Sir Garran's unmistakable voice.
Kane straightened instinctively. "They're better than the knights. At least they don't tease me."
Bob chuckled and tipped his head. "I'll leave you boys to talk."
As the old man slipped away, Sir Garran leaned against the stable post and crossed his arms. His usual stern expression had softened—just enough.
"You're angry," Garran said, "and embarrassed. That's alright. But you shouldn't be ashamed of how you feel."
Kane didn't speak. He just stared at the wooden wall ahead, fists clenched at his sides.
Garran continued, voice steady and low. "You're young, Kane. That's not a weakness. That's your advantage."
Kane turned slightly, confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," Garran said, pushing off the post, "you still have time. Time to grow stronger. Smarter. Kinder. Wiser than any of the other fools eyeing her. You're not just a boy in love—you have the chance to become a man worthy of standing beside her."
Kane's breath caught in his chest.
"You've seen what she carries," Garran added, eyes serious now. "The weight. The responsibilities. The danger. Being near Commander Arasha is no easy path. But if you're serious about it—about her—then grow into the one she needs."
Kane looked down at his hands—small, callused, trembling with conviction.
"…Do you think I can?" he asked quietly.
Garran smiled faintly. "I know you can."
Kane closed his eyes and swallowed hard, the teasing, the self-doubt, the pain—all shifting into something heavier, but steadier. Something like resolve.