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Lohen woke to silence.
For several moments he stared at the canvas ceiling above him, uncomprehending. The dull ache behind his ribs pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Every breath felt as though it had to push past splintered glass lodged somewhere inside his chest.
His memories returned slowly.
Snow packed itself into the grooves of a shattered gauntlet. A spear buried halfway into the ice. Blood spreading black beneath the moonlight.
A monster, barely a man, standing untouched in the middle of it all.
Rerir.
His jaw tightened.
The infirmary tent smelled faintly of medicine and melted wax. Somewhere beyond the canvas walls, boots crunched against frost-covered ground. Voices drifted in and out of hearing.
Outside, he heard someone shout orders. Ordinary, routine sounds that should have comforted him. Instead, they made something sour coil inside his stomach.
He realized that the battle was still going on. The world had not stopped simply because he had fallen behind.
Lohen pushed himself upright. Pain exploded through his body. White flashed across his vision. He nearly collapsed back onto the cot.
A hand immediately appeared on his shoulder.
"Easy, vice captain." The voice belonged to Winfried, one of the support personnel from the 8th. “You sustained a lot of injuries.”
Lohen brushed him off. "How long?"
Winfried sighed. "A week."
The words struck harder than any weapon. A week of lying here, doing nothing, while everyone else continued moving forward.
Lohen’s fingers curled around the blanket. "Where's the Grandmaster?"
Winfried hesitated. “He left on a mission.”
Of course he did.
“I see.”
The operation would not wait for one injured knight. Even if that knight happened to be the vice captain of the 5th Company.
Still, some stubborn part of him had hoped Varka would speak to him before leaving.
Winfried excused himself soon after, leaving Lohen alone with the muted sounds of the camp beyond the tent walls. There was little else to do but think.
Where had it gone wrong? Had he underestimated the enemy?
Or had he simply overestimated himself?
Lohen had spent years chasing strength. Instead of practice drills, he went out to clear hilichurl camps and ambush treasure hoarders during his free time. Bruises faded only to be replaced by fresh ones. He pushed himself harder than anyone else because he had to be stronger. Faster.
Yet when it truly mattered, it still hadn't been enough.
How can I become stronger?
The question inevitably led him back to the same person.
Varka was a force of nature disguised as a man. Lohen had watched him carve through the Wild Hunt with effortless precision, each strike clean and decisive. No matter how hard he trained, the distance between them never seemed to shrink.
Over the years, Lohen had challenged him more times than he could count. Sparring matches. Ambushes. Anything.
Varka always refused with the same infuriating calm.
If only he would agree to fight me just once...
Perhaps then—
As though summoned by the thought, the tent flap shifted. The Grandmaster stepped inside. Even bent beneath the low canvas ceiling, he seemed large enough to make the infirmary tent feel smaller.
For the first time in years, Lohen found himself irrationally relieved by the sight of him.
Varka crossed the room and stopped beside the cot. "You look terrible."
Lohen scowled. "You too."
A grin flickered briefly across the older man's face before fading. His gaze swept over Lohen's bandaged form, lingering on the worst of the injuries as though taking stock of the damage.
Growing impatient under the scrutiny, Lohen spoke first. "How was your mission?"
Varka hummed thoughtfully. “I finally met all the other players in this field. We’re calling it the Alliance for now. Just a ragtag group of who’s who in Nod Krai.”
“Are they strong?”
That earned a laugh. “Oh yes. But maybe not in the way you think.”
The silence that followed stretched between them.
Lohen broke first. "When do I rejoin the operation?"
"You don't." The answer came without hesitation.
Lohen glared at him. Varka met his gaze evenly.
After a moment, the Grandmaster sighed. "You nearly died."
"I'm still alive."
"Barely."
"I'm fine."
"No," Varka said quietly. "You're not."
Lohen looked away.
Toward the medicine bottles lined neatly on the table. At the folded bandages. Anywhere except Varka.
Everyone else was still out there. Fighting. Bleeding. Risking their lives.
And here he was, confined to a bed.
He hated being looked at like this. Hated the pity. The unspoken thought that he was weak.
Varka rested a hand briefly against his shoulder. "Lohen."
His voice softened.
"You've spent years carrying other people."
The Grandmaster's gaze drifted toward the tent entrance, toward the frozen world beyond it.
"Take this time to rest." A pause. "And maybe do some thinking, eh?"
The words lingered long after Varka left. Lohen sat alone in the growing silence.
Outside, the camp continued breathing.
The door to the Starshyna's office stood slightly ajar.
Illuga had only meant to deliver a stack of reports. Instead, he found himself frozen in the hallway.
"...the Knights of Favonius will handle the western route," Flins was saying. A map lay spread across Nikita's desk, its surface crowded with notes and markings. "Our patrols will support them wherever the Wild Hunt is most active."
Nikita nodded. "And Rerir?"
The room fell quiet. Flins folded his arms.
"The Traveler will lead the assault team." A pause. "Grandmaster Varka will accompany them."
Illuga's grip tightened around the papers.
"And you?" Nikita asked.
Flins smiled. "I'll be joining them."
The reports slipped from Illuga's hands. The sound echoed through the hallway.
Both men looked up.
Illuga barely noticed. He pushed the door open.
"What do you mean you're joining them?"
Flins blinked.
"Young master—"
Illuga stepped into the room. "No, absolutely not."
Nikita pinched the bridge of his nose. "Illuga."
He ignored his adoptive father. "You're going after Rerir?"
“Yes.” The confirmation landed like a stone in his stomach.
"Then I'm coming too."
Silence. Nikita and Flins exchanged a glance. The sight irritated him more than it should have.
"No." The firm answer came from Nikita.
"Why not?"
"Because it's dangerous."
Illuga laughed, a short, disbelieving sound.
"Dangerous?" He pointed toward Flins. "Then why does he get to go?"
Neither man answered immediately. The silence only sharpened the frustration building inside him.
"I'm not a child."
Nikita responded quickly, "No one said you were."
"I can protect myself. You know I can support them on the battlefield."
Nikita sighed. "That isn't the issue."
"Then what is?"
Flins stepped forward before Nikita could answer. His expression remained as calm as ever.
"Young master, your place is here."
Illuga's jaw tightened. "I don't want to hear it."
Flins continued anyway. "The Lightkeepers will need leadership while we're gone."
Illuga frowned. "There are plenty of people more qualified."
"Not for this." Flins smiled gently. "The others trust you."
The answer caught him off guard. Around them, the office seemed suddenly quieter.
Flins rested a hand against the edge of the desk. "When morale falls, they come to you. When they're afraid, when they need help, they come to you."
His smile softened. "Not everything important happens on a battlefield."
The words should have comforted him. Instead, they only made something ache beneath his ribs, because none of those things felt like enough.
Nikita finally spoke. "I need you here."
Illuga looked away.
"The Lightkeepers and the Knights will be coordinating closely over the coming weeks."
The Starshyna folded the map shut. "You will serve as a liaison between us and them. There’s no one else I would trust for this."
It sounded important. Reasonable, and necessary. Which somehow made it worse, because there was no argument he could make against it.
The room fell silent. After a long moment, Illuga lowered his gaze.
"...Fine."
Flins smiled. Nikita looked relieved. Neither reaction improved his mood.
The meeting resumed soon after. Illuga barely heard the rest of it. His thoughts lingered elsewhere.
If only he were stronger. Then perhaps he could have done more than stay behind and wait.
The days that followed passed slowly. Too slowly for Lohen’s liking.
He spent most of them confined to the infirmary or his quarters, enduring the endless cycle of medicine, rest, and concerned looks from medics who seemed convinced he would fall apart if left unsupervised for more than an hour.
His wounds started to heal, but the frustration did not. Each report that arrived from the front only made it worse.
The Alliance had begun coordinating patrol routes. The Wild Hunt had been pushed back from several settlements. Progress was being made, without him.
One evening, unable to bear the feeling any longer, Lohen slipped away from camp.
The training grounds sat empty beneath the moonlight. Snow blanketed the earth in silver, broken only by footprints left behind by the day's drills.
Good. No witnesses.
He grabbed a spear from the weapon rack. The familiar weight settled into his hand like an old friend.
Then he lunged.
The first thrust sent pain lancing through his side. His grip tightened.
Again.
The spear sliced through the air.
Again.
His shoulders protested. Something along his ribs burned.
Again.
Lohen gritted his teeth and forced his body through another sequence.
Forward. Turn. Strike.
The movements came as naturally as breathing. Thousands upon thousands of repetitions, etched into muscle and bone through years of fighting.
Yet when it mattered most, it had not been enough.
The thought struck harder than the pain.
His footwork stumbled. He corrected it immediately and drove the spear forward with more force than necessary.
Again. Faster.
The shaft blurred through the moonlit air.
Again.
His wounds screamed in protest. Lohen ignored them. If his body wanted to break, then it could break.
At least this felt better than lying in bed while everyone else fought in his place.
One more step.
One more strike.
One more—
A sharp voice cut through the silence.
"What are you doing?"
Lohen froze. He didn’t even notice that someone had managed to sneak up on him.
He turned.
A young man stood at the edge of the training grounds, bundled against the cold. Moonlight caught on pale hair and the gold accents of his clothing.
Lohen vaguely recognized him. He was one of the Lightkeepers, one Lohen had seen often these past few days.
The one who was always smiling. Always surrounded by people.
The young man's gaze dropped to the bandages visible beneath Lohen's tunic.
His expression darkened. "You're injured."
"I'm aware."
"Then why are you training?"
Lohen placed his spear back on the rack. "Why are you spying on me?"
The stranger blinked. "I wasn't spying."
"You were standing there."
"I heard someone hitting things."
Lohen scowled.
The young man sighed. "You shouldn't be here."
Lohen laughed, a humorless sound. "Is that so?"
"Yes." The stranger crossed his arms. "You're supposed to be recovering."
"I am."
"You're training."
"I'm doing both."
The young man stared at him. Lohen stared back. The silence stretched.
Eventually, the stranger pinched the bridge of his nose. "You’re impossible."
Lohen grinned. "That's what everyone keeps telling me."
Something about the response seemed to catch the other man off guard. His shoulders relaxed slightly. For the first time, Lohen noticed the exhaustion in his eyes.
The stranger exhaled slowly. "You're going to reopen your wounds."
"Good." The answer slipped out before Lohen could stop it.
The other man frowned. "Good?"
Lohen looked away. "At least I'd be doing something."
The words hung between them. For a moment, neither spoke. Then the stranger's expression shifted, to something like understanding. Lohen didn’t like it.
"You think I don't know what that feels like?"
The question caught him off guard. The stranger laughed quietly, though there was very little amusement in the sound.
"Everyone keeps telling me how important my job is." His gaze drifted upward toward the stars. "But at the end of the day, I'm still the one left behind."
Something tightened in Lohen's chest. The stranger smiled faintly, a sad sort of smile.
"The people I care about are risking their lives." His voice softened. "And all I can do is wait."
The training grounds fell silent once more. The wind stirred loose snow across the ground. For the first time since the conversation began, Lohen truly looked at him.
The exhaustion in the stranger's eyes suddenly made sense.
It wasn't the exhaustion of battle. Rather, it was the exhaustion of someone forced to watch from the sidelines.
After a moment, the young man straightened. "You should go back."
Lohen snorted. "You first."
A laugh escaped him. Small, but genuine.
"Fair enough." The Lightkeeper extended a hand. "Illuga."
Lohen looked at it for a moment before accepting.
"Lohen."
The smile that followed was warm enough to cut through the winter cold. Lohen thought it suited him more than the glare.
Together, they began the walk back toward camp.
The next morning, Illuga arrived carrying breakfast.
Lohen stared at the tray, then at Illuga. Then back at the tray.
"What is this?"
"Breakfast."
"I know that."
"Good. I was worried the head injury might be worse than the medics thought."
Lohen glared at him. Illuga just smiled. It was the sort of smile people reserved for difficult children and stubborn animals. Lohen disliked it immediately.
That should have been the end of it. Instead, Illuga returned the next day. And the day after that.
Sometimes he brought food, sometimes reports from the Alliance.
Sometimes he brought fresh bandages because Illuga apparently believed Lohen could be trusted with a spear but not with basic wound care.
The first time Illuga insisted on changing his bandages himself, Lohen objected immediately.
"I can do it."
"I'm sure you can."
"Then why are you doing it?"
Illuga carefully unwound the bandage around his forearm. "Because you'll rush through it."
"I would not."
"You absolutely would."
Lohen frowned. The infuriating thing was that he was probably right.
A few days later, Illuga arrived carrying a small wooden carving. He placed it on the table between them, like an offering.
Lohen looked at it, then at him. "What is that?"
"A fox."
"I can see that."
"A child gave it to me."
"...Congratulations?"
Illuga laughed. The sound filled the room as naturally as sunlight through a window.
For some reason, he left the carving behind when he departed. Lohen did not throw it away. Not that he was keeping it. The carving simply remained where it was.
That was all.
The Lightkeepers noticed first. Of course they did.
Illuga seemed incapable of going anywhere without attracting a crowd.
One afternoon, Lohen stepped into one of the meeting tents at the Favonius Keep.
He had been looking for Illuga. Not that he intended to admit it. The man had failed to appear that morning, which meant Lohen had been left to endure breakfast, paperwork, and an entire afternoon without being bothered even once. It was suspicious.
The tent buzzed with activity. Reports were spread across several tables. A handful of knights worked alongside Lightkeepers, comparing patrol routes and supply manifests.
Near the center of it all sat Illuga. Surrounded, as usual.
Several Lightkeepers occupied the surrounding chairs. One was speaking animatedly while another sorted through a stack of documents. Illuga listened to all of them at once with the ease of someone who genuinely enjoyed people.
Lohen still found that mildly terrifying.
For a moment he simply watched. Illuga laughed at something one of the Lightkeepers said. The people around him laughed too. The entire group seemed to orbit him without realizing it.
Then, one of the Lightkeepers noticed Lohen standing at the entrance. A knowing look crossed their face. They leaned over and whispered something to the person beside them.
Within moments, several others were glancing toward the doorway. The conversation gradually unraveled into poorly concealed amusement.
Lohen narrowed his eyes, not liking where this was going. "What?"
Several Lightkeepers immediately found reasons to look elsewhere. One coughed into his sleeve. Another suddenly became very interested in a report he had been holding upside down. A few shoulders shook suspiciously.
The amusement in the room only deepened Lohen's suspicion.
Finally, one of the older Lightkeepers sighed. "Young master, you're feeding a stray cat."
Illuga blinked. "What?"
The older man pointed toward the doorway. Toward Lohen.
Illuga followed the gesture. For a moment, he just stared, then laughed. Lohen pointedly did not, which only seemed to convince everyone further.
"I am not a cat."
"Of course not." The older Lightkeeper's expression remained perfectly serious. "You just keep showing up wherever Master Illuga happens to be."
"I had business here."
That earned several snorts. Lohen glanced around the room. No one had the decency to look embarrassed. What a bunch of clowns.
"I am a Knight of Favonius."
"And?"
"And this is Favonius Keep."
The older Lightkeeper nodded thoughtfully. "Ah. So the cat has territorial rights."
The room erupted into poorly concealed laughter. Even some of the Knights looked away to hide their smiles.
Lohen considered leaving. Unfortunately, Illuga was laughing too. Bright and unrestrained.
The sound lingered in Lohen's ears long after the conversation moved on.
His recovery progressed steadily. The medics finally allowed him to move around more freely.
That should have improved his mood. Instead, he discovered a new problem.
He was bored. Terribly bored. There were only so many times a person could reorganize equipment, review reports, and stare at training grounds before losing his mind.
Illuga found him sitting outside headquarters one afternoon. "You look miserable."
"I am miserable." The answer came so quickly that it startled them both.
Illuga blinked, then laughed. Again.
Lohen was beginning to suspect the man found entirely too many things amusing.
"Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"I have work to do."
"That's not an answer."
"It is today."
Lohen followed anyway. Not because he wanted to, but because there was nothing better to do. At least that was what he told himself.
After that, accompanying Illuga became strangely normal. Illuga delivered reports, and Lohen came along.
Illuga inspected patrol rosters. Lohen came along.
Illuga met with Knights of Favonius officers. Lohen sat nearby and pretended not to listen.
The arrangement became so common that people stopped questioning it. Mostly.
The Knights certainly noticed. Lohen heard them one evening during supper.
"Vice Captain's been spending a lot of time with that Lightkeeper."
"He stays for meals now. He even smiles."
Lohen nearly choked on his drink.
Across the table, several knights immediately looked far too pleased with themselves.
"That happened once."
"Twice," someone corrected. A few snorts erupted around the table.
"I didn't think he knew how."
"Be fair," another knight said. "It's a very small smile."
"I'm serious."
The older knight laughed. "Good for him."
"What is?" another asked.
The older man shrugged. "Having someone his own age around."
The teasing atmosphere softened slightly.
"Vice Captain's always been different."
Lohen frowned. Different?
"He became vice captain young," the older knight continued. "Most of us are old enough to be his older brothers."
A few snorted. One of the veterans scoffed. "Speak for yourself."
"You're right." The older knight glanced at Lohen. "Some of us are old enough to be his uncles."
The table erupted into laughter. Even Lohen felt the corner of his mouth twitch.
The conversation moved on soon after. Still, the words lingered.
Having someone my own age around. Lohen stared down at his meal.
The thought should not have stayed with him. Yet, somehow, it did.
Several evenings later, Illuga looked up from a stack of reports. "You know, I've been meaning to ask you something."
Lohen continued reading. "A dangerous way to start a conversation."
Illuga ignored him. "What do you do for fun?"
Lohen glanced up. "What?"
"What do you do when you're not working?"
Lohen frowned. But before he could speak, Illuga interrupted.
"And training doesn't count."
"Why not?"
"Because that's still work."
Lohen set his report down. "How is training work?"
Illuga stared at him as though the answer should have been obvious. "You voluntarily wake up before sunrise."
"Yes."
"You spend hours drilling the same movements over and over again."
"Correct."
"You come back exhausted."
Lohen narrowed his eyes. "Your point?"
Illuga laughed. "My point is that I've just described work. It is literally your job."
Lohen opened his mouth. Paused. Then closed it again.
He searched for an answer. Training, patrols, fighting, paperwork. The problem was that none of them sounded right.
Across the table, amusement gradually faded from Illuga's face. Something softer took its place. “Oh.”
Lohen immediately disliked that reaction. "What?"
"What does that mean?"
"Nothing."
"It clearly means something."
Illuga lowered his gaze back to the reports, though not before Lohen caught the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
For reasons he couldn't explain, that smile bothered him far less than it should have.
Much later, after Illuga had gone home for the night, Lohen found himself staring at the wooden fox sitting on the table.
The room felt strangely quiet. His gaze drifted toward the door. He wondered whether Illuga would visit tomorrow.
The realization arrived a moment too late.
Lohen groaned and buried his face in his hands. This was getting out of hand.
At first, Illuga continued visiting out of habit. Or at least that was what he told himself.
The routine had become familiar over the past few weeks. Every morning he stopped by the keep with reports from the Lightkeepers. Every afternoon he found some excuse to return. Sometimes it was paperwork, sometimes it was supplies. Sometimes it was nothing at all.
Lohen's injuries had improved considerably. The medics no longer hovered around him every waking moment. He had resumed some of his duties and spent less time confined to his room.
There was no longer any real reason for Illuga to check on him so often. Yet somehow, he always did.
One evening, Illuga sat in the headquarters sorting through patrol reports. Around him, Lightkeepers moved in and out of the room. Someone was arguing about supply routes. Another was complaining about the weather.
A familiar voice immediately appeared in his mind. Then stop taking the northern route.
Illuga paused. The report remained forgotten in his hands. The thought had arrived so naturally that he barely noticed it.
Strange. Shaking his head, he returned to work.
The next day, a patrol returned with stories from the frontlines. Everyone gathered around to listen. One of the Lightkeepers dramatically reenacted his encounter with a Wild Hunt creature, complete with exaggerated gestures.
The room erupted into laughter.
Before Illuga could stop himself, he found himself wondering what expression Lohen would make if he were here.
Probably that unimpressed stare he reserved for particularly foolish people.
The realization made him smile. A moment later, he frowned. When had he started expecting Lohen's reactions to things?
Days passed. The thoughts continued.
A merchant arrived at headquarters with a cart full of trinkets gathered from nearby settlements.
Illuga paused before a small wooden carving shaped like a wolf. Its ears were uneven. One side had clearly been carved slightly shorter than the other.
Lohen would complain about the craftsmanship. The thought appeared immediately.
Followed by another. He would probably keep it anyway.
Illuga stared at the carving. Then quickly looked away. This was becoming a problem. Or perhaps it already had been for some time.
Later that evening, he found the same carving tucked into one of his pockets. Somehow, he wasn't surprised.
At least the fox now has company in his room.
Across the room, Nikita was discussing patrol schedules with several Lightkeepers. The headquarters buzzed with its usual rhythm of voices and footsteps.
Illuga should have been listening. Instead, his thumb traced absent circles against the smooth wood hidden inside his pocket.
A ridiculous thought occurred to him. Had he really become so lonely that his thoughts kept circling back to the same person?
For some reason, he was reluctant to examine it too closely.
As Lohen recovered, Illuga saw less of the injured knight and more of the vice captain. The difference surprised him.
One evening, he arrived at the command tent to deliver reports from the Lightkeepers. Several Knights of Favonius stood gathered around a table covered in maps.
Near the center stood Lohen.
His sleeves were rolled up. A pencil rested behind one ear. He was studying a supply manifest with a concentration Illuga usually associated with scholars.
"Move the next shipment east," Lohen said.
One of the knights frowned. "But Sir, we've already assigned escorts."
"Then reassign them."
"The western routes—"
"Have been quiet for three days," Lohen cut off, tapping a point on the map. "The eastern patrols have requested supplies twice this week. If we're choosing where to take risks, we take them where they matter."
The decision came quickly and cleanly. The others immediately began adjusting plans. No one questioned him further.
Illuga lingered by the entrance longer than necessary.
The Lohen he had first met would have charged headlong into a fight despite half-healed wounds. The man standing before him now was calm, deliberate, and quietly certain of himself.
For some reason, he had never thought much about how Lohen became vice captain. Now he found himself wondering.
Perhaps strength alone had never been the answer.
The injured knights arrived two days later. Illuga heard them before he saw them.
The sudden commotion outside the keep drew people from every corner of the camp. Conversations died mid-sentence. Chairs scraped against the floor. By the time Illuga stepped outside, medics were already hurrying across the courtyard.
Several knights were helping their companions through the gates in bloodstained uniforms. One man's arm hung in a sling, while another limped heavily, leaning almost his entire weight against the knight supporting him.
The sight sent a familiar knot twisting through Illuga's stomach. Around him, others reacted much the same way. Relief. Worry. Fear. The quiet realization that things could have ended much worse.
Soon enough, the story began to spread.
"It wasn't supposed to be a large group," one of the wounded knights recounted while a medic wrapped fresh bandages around his shoulder. "There were dozens of them."
Another let out a shaky laugh. "We would've been finished if the Traveler hadn't shown up."
Several heads nodded immediately. "Thank Barbatos for that."
The relief in their voices lingered beneath every word. Illuga found himself looking for Lohen.
The vice captain stood slightly apart from the crowd. His expression remained carefully neutral, but Illuga had spent enough time around him to recognize the signs.
The slight tension in his shoulders. The way his jaw tightened. The way his fingers curled briefly against his sleeve before relaxing again.
Anger.
Not at the injured knights. Never at them.
At the Wild Hunt. At the simple fact that people under his command had returned wounded while he could do nothing but wait for reports.
For a moment, Illuga braced himself. The Lohen he had first met might have lashed out. Instead, Lohen drew a slow breath.
"Next time," he said, "reassess your opponents before engaging."
The room gradually quieted. "If something feels wrong, fall back."
The wounded knights lowered their eyes. Lohen's voice never rose. "You're lucky the Traveler was nearby."
Seeing that everyone’s attention was on him, he continued. "Don't rush in without a plan." His gaze moved across the group. "And learn to rely on others more."
Something passed briefly across his face, but it was gone before Illuga could name it.
The wounded knights nodded. "Yes, Vice Captain."
Medics returned to their work. Reports had to be written. Supplies needed to be restocked. The keep settled back into its usual rhythm. Yet Illuga couldn't stop thinking about that last sentence.
Learn to rely on others more.
It sounded less like advice and more like a lesson learned the hard way.
Hours later, as dusk settled over the coastline, Illuga spotted Lohen leaving the keep alone. He hesitated only briefly before following.
He found Lohen overlooking the frozen coastline beyond the camp. The sea stretched endlessly beneath the fading light. Lohen sat on a rocky outcropping near the shore, shoulders relaxed for once, his attention fixed on the horizon.
Illuga settled beside him without asking. Lohen glanced at him briefly, then looked back toward the sea.
Neither spoke. The wind carried the distant sounds of the camp behind them. Voices. Footsteps. The occasional burst of laughter. Far enough away to feel like another world.
For a while, that was enough.
"The Wild Hunt took a lot from us." The words slipped out before Illuga could stop them.
Beside him, Lohen remained silent. Encouraged, Illuga continued.
"When I was younger, I thought the Lightkeepers fought because they were brave." A faint tugged at his lips. "Maybe some of them are."
The wind tugged at his scarf. "But mostly we're angry."
His voice softened. "The Wild Hunt has taken families. Homes. Friends.”
The waves crashed against the cliffs below. White foam vanished into the dark water.
"Sometimes I think that's why everyone works so hard," Illuga said quietly. "Because stopping would mean having to think about everything we've lost."
Illuga drew his knees closer to his chest. "I hate waiting." The confession sounded small against the endless ocean. "I hate not knowing who's going to come back."
The uncertainty never became easier. Every patrol, every mission. Every farewell. A part of him always wondered if it would be the last.
"That's why I keep myself busy."
Reports, errands, paperwork. Anything to keep moving, to stop thinking.
"If I'm helping somehow, then at least I'm doing something."
Silence settled between them.
Then Lohen spoke. "I understand."
The answer was quiet, simple. Yet somehow it carried more weight than any reassurance.
When Illuga turned toward him, the last traces of sunlight had caught in his hair, painting the pale strands gold.
Lohen's gaze remained fixed on the sea. "I fight because I want to become stronger."
There was no embarrassment in the admission, only honesty. "I don't ever want to be powerless again."
He clenched his fist, as if reciting a vow. “I will protect everything that is precious to me.”
The words disappeared into the wind. Illuga looked at him. Really looked at him.
At the stubborn determination. At the quiet kindness hidden beneath the sharp edges.
Not just the reckless knight who had nearly trained himself into reopening his wounds. But the vice captain who carried responsibility as naturally as breathing.
The man who wanted strength not for glory, but so he would never fail the people he loved.
Something shifted quietly inside Illuga. What would it feel like to be protected by someone like him?
No, not just protected. Precious.
What would it feel like to be precious to someone like him?
Heat rushed suddenly into his face. Illuga looked away before Lohen could notice.
The answer frightened him. Because somewhere along the way, without him realizing it, this impossible man had become precious to him.
The wolf carving remained in Illuga's room for three days.
Three days of being moved from shelf to desk. From desk to windowsill. From windowsill back into his pocket.
Three days of convincing himself he was overthinking things.
It was a carving. A poorly made one, at that. Lohen would probably glance at it once, make some comment about the craftsmanship, and place it beside the fox.
So why was this suddenly difficult? Illuga groaned and dropped his face into his hands. This was exactly why people should not be allowed to develop feelings. Everything became complicated afterward.
The next afternoon, he found Lohen alone in one of the command tents.
Without giving himself time to reconsider, Illuga placed the carving on the table.
Lohen blinked. "A wolf?"
Illuga immediately regretted every decision that had led him to this moment.
"For your room." The explanation sounded inadequate.
Lohen picked up the carving. "The craftsmanship is terrible."
A smile tugged at the corner of Lohen's mouth. The sight made something warm bloom inside Illuga's chest.
"The fox looked lonely."
Lohen glanced up. "The fox?"
Illuga nodded. A pause followed. Then Lohen looked down at the two carvings resting side by side on the table. Something softened in his expression.
"It's like us."
The words slipped out so naturally that neither reacted at first.
Then, the meaning settled. Illuga felt his heartbeat stumble.
Across the table, Lohen seemed to arrive at the same realization at precisely the same moment. The tips of his ears turned red.
Silence descended between them. Neither appeared willing to be the first to acknowledge what had just happened.
"T-the fox hunts alone," Lohen said eventually. "The wolf doesn't."
Illuga watched him carefully, but by then he was already rambling. He gestured vaguely toward the carvings.
“They’re different.”
A pause.
"The fox prefers being alone. The wolf doesn't."
His gaze remained fixed stubbornly on the table.
"The point is that they're not really alike."
The words tumbled out one after another. As though the more he talked, the less obvious the original implication would become. Unfortunately, it seemed to be having the opposite effect.
Illuga's smile softened. “But they still became companions."
The last sentence emerged almost too quietly to hear. Neither spoke after that.
The camp continued breathing beyond the tent walls. Voices drifted in from outside. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed.
Inside, the air felt strangely fragile.
Illuga became acutely aware of everything at once. The warmth creeping into his face. The way Lohen refused to meet his eyes.
The wolf and fox resting side by side between them. Neither of them knew what to do with the moment.
Eventually, Illuga cleared his throat. "I should get going."
Lohen nodded immediately. Far too quickly. "Right." Then, he whispered, "Thank you." His fingers brushed briefly against the wolf.
The gesture was small. Yet it made something flutter painfully inside Illuga's chest.
When he finally left, he carried the memory of that moment all the way back to headquarters.
A few days later, Winfried finally declared Lohen fully recovered.
The announcement came after an examination that had taken entirely too long for Lohen's liking.
"You can return to regular duties, Sir Lohen," Winfried said, setting aside his notes.
"Good."
The medic held up a finger. "However—"
Lohen immediately groaned.
"—you're still recovering from severe injuries. Ease back into training gradually."
"Yeah, yeah."
Winfried narrowed his eyes.
"I'm serious."
"And I'm listening."
"Are you?"
"I listen all the time."
The medic looked unconvinced. Nearby, Illuga failed spectacularly at hiding his amusement.
Lohen pointed accusingly at him. "Don't encourage him."
"I'm not encouraging him."
"You smiled."
"I did."
"Traitor."
Winfried sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "For the love of the gods, both of you listen."
Neither looked particularly repentant. The medic turned back toward Lohen.
"No sparring. No excessive training. No trying to prove you're invincible."
"I wasn't planning to."
This time, Illuga didn't even bother hiding his laugh.
Winfried nodded toward him. "See? At least someone here has common sense."
"I wouldn't go that far," Illuga said.
Lohen looked genuinely offended.
Winfried ignored him. "Take it easy for another week."
"Winfried—"
The medic raised a hand. "Master Illuga will make sure of it."
Lohen opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Across the room, Illuga flashed Winfried a thumbs-up.
Winfried smiled in triumph. "Good. Glad we understand each other."
The moment the medic dismissed them, Lohen headed for the exit.
Illuga followed. "I think he likes ordering you around."
"I outrank him."
"And yet, you’ll listen, won’t you?"
Lohen scowled. The fact that he didn't answer was enough.
The very next morning, Illuga found him at the training grounds. The familiar sound of steel echoed through the cold air.
Lohen moved faster than he had in weeks. Not at full strength yet, but close.
Illuga folded his arms. "The medic told you to take it easy."
"I am taking it easy."
The spear narrowly missed a training dummy's head.
Illuga stared. Lohen stared back. Neither looked convinced. Still, Lohen no longer needed constant supervision.
No longer needed his bandages changed. No longer needed daily check-ins. For a brief moment, Illuga wondered if this was where things naturally ended.
Apparently, Lohen had been wondering the same thing.
"You don't have to keep visiting." The words were delivered casually. Too casually.
Illuga immediately recognized the question hidden inside them. A smile spread across his face.
"Lohen."
"What?"
"You're not getting rid of me that easily."
For a moment, something unexpectedly bright crossed Lohen's expression. It was gone almost immediately, yet Illuga saw it, and treasured it.
After that, their routines simply changed. Reports became sparring sessions. Walks through camp became longer conversations.
Neither seemed particularly interested in spending less time together.
The news arrived at dusk. Rerir was gone. For several seconds, nobody reacted.
The words felt too large. Too impossible.
Then the camp erupted. Cheers. Laughter. Relieved tears. People were embracing one another. Months of tension finally breaking apart.
Illuga found Lohen almost immediately. Before he could think better of it, Illuga threw his arms around Lohen.
The motion surprised both of them.
Lohen froze.
Illuga did not immediately let go.
The Wild Hunt was gone. Flins would come home. The others would come home. The nightmare was finally ending.
When he finally stepped back, Lohen's face had gone completely red. Illuga suspected his own looked no better. Still, neither mentioned it.
A few days passed before Grandmaster Varka finally returned to the keep. The debriefing was held that same evening.
Knights crowded into the largest command tent. Maps covered the central table. Reports changed hands. Discussions about patrol routes and supply lines continued long after the formal briefing ended.
The Wild Hunt remained dangerous. But without Rerir, the tide had finally turned. For the first time in years, people spoke about the future instead of survival.
Eventually, Varka reached the matter most of the Knights had been waiting for.
"The Knights of Favonius will begin returning to Mondstadt in batches."
The tent grew noticeably quieter.
"Our mission here is complete."
Several knights exchanged relieved looks. Others appeared disappointed. Most seemed some combination of both.
Varka continued. "I will remain behind for a while longer, along with a skeleton command. There are still agreements to finalize and cleanup operations to coordinate."
Lohen already knew where this was going.
"The Fifth Company will depart first."
Lohen felt his shoulders stiffen. Of course.
A few heads immediately turned toward him.
Lohen pretended not to notice.
Later that night, Lohen found himself standing across from Varka in the Grandmaster's tent. The older man was halfway through a stack of reports.
Without looking up, he said, "If you're here to complain, get in line."
Lohen folded his arms. "You should send someone else."
Varka turned a page. "No."
"Laurent can handle it."
"He can."
"Then send Laurent."
The Grandmaster finally glanced up. "No."
Lohen scowled. Varka returned to reading. For several seconds, the only sound in the room was the scratching of a pen against paper.
Eventually, Varka set the report aside. "Finished?"
"No." Lohen frowned again.
"Good." Varka leaned back in his chair. "You know you're going."
"I know."
"Then why are we having this conversation?"
Lohen opened his mouth. Then paused. The answer should have been obvious. Instead, he found himself grasping for one.
Across the desk, Varka's eyes narrowed slightly. A grin tugged at the corner of the Grandmaster's mouth.
"Oh."
Lohen immediately disliked that expression.
"Oh what?"
"Nothing."
"You're smiling."
"Am I?"
"Yes."
"Interesting."
Lohen narrowed his eyes. Varka’s grin widened, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Eventually, the older man leaned back in his chair. "You know, a few weeks ago, I'd have had to physically restrain you from throwing yourself back into battle."
"Surely I wasn't that bad."
"Haven't seen you give up that easily before."
Lohen sighed. "It's an order."
"True."
"And you're the Grandmaster."
"Also true."
"Which means this conversation is pointless."
"And yet you're still here."
The words landed more heavily than they should have.
Lohen fell silent. For a moment, neither spoke. Varka watched him carefully.
After a moment, the Grandmaster's expression softened. "Did you do much thinking while I was gone?"
Lohen barked out a laugh. "When?"
Varka raised an eyebrow.
"You told me to rest."
"I did."
"You left me half your responsibilities."
A pause. "Fair."
Lohen shook his head. "Between the reports, patrol schedules, supply requests, and fixing everyone else's mistakes, I didn't have time to think."
The answer came immediately. Too quickly. Varka studied him for a moment.
"Hm."
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That wasn't a nothing sound."
The Grandmaster's grin returned. "No, I suppose it wasn't."
Lohen groaned.
For some reason, that only seemed to amuse Varka further.
That night, Lohen sat alone in his tent.
The camp had grown quieter since the announcement. It didn’t ever grow silent, never, but there was something different. The tension that had gripped everyone for months had finally loosened. Beyond the canvas walls, he could hear the distant sounds of preparation. Crates being packed. Horses being checked. Knights discussing routes home.
Home. The word felt strangely foreign.
A lantern flickered softly on the table beside him. Its light pooled across scattered reports, a half-finished supply manifest, and two small wooden carvings.
The fox rested near the edge of the table. The wolf sat beside it.
Companions.
His gaze lingered on them longer than necessary. The wolf's ears were still uneven. Lohen ran a thumb absentmindedly across the rough wood.
The craftsmanship really was terrible. The thought should have amused him more than it did.
Soon he would return to Mondstadt. The mission was over. The Knights could finally go home.
This was what he had wanted. For months, years even. So why did the thought leave an unpleasant ache beneath his ribs?
The lantern flame danced. Shadows stretched across the tent walls.
Lohen leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. For a moment, he imagined the keep without Illuga.
No more unexpected visits. No reports delivered with increasingly questionable excuses.
No bright laughter drifting across a crowded room.
When did those things become part of his routine?
Outside, someone called out a farewell to another knight. A burst of laughter followed.
Lohen opened his eyes. The fox and wolf remained exactly where he had left them, side by side.
At least they would remain together.
The thought should not have comforted him as much as it did. He exhaled slowly. His gaze lingered on the carvings for a moment longer before he finally looked away.
Hopefully he would still have a chance to see Illuga before he left.
Meanwhile, Piramida buzzed with activity. Returning patrols, medical evaluations, debriefings.
Celebrations.
For the first time in months, people smiled more often than they worried.
Illuga spent most of the following day helping wherever he could. Carrying reports, delivering messages. Checking on injured Lightkeepers. Keeping busy.
By dusk, Nikita had summoned him to the Starshyna's office. The familiar room looked much the same as it always had. Maps covered one wall. Reports occupied nearly every available surface.
And standing beside the desk was Flins. Healthy, alive. The sight still brought an embarrassing amount of relief.
"...the northern patrols reported only minor encounters this week," Flins was saying as Illuga slipped quietly into the room.
Nikita nodded. "And the remnants?"
"We're tracking them." Flins crossed his arms. "The Wild Hunt is disorganized now. Dangerous, but disorganized."
A welcome change. Nikita hummed thoughtfully. "Then the cleanup should be manageable."
"Manageable," Flins agreed. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Unfortunately, not pleasant."
The Starshyna snorted. "Nothing worth doing ever is."
Illuga settled into one of the chairs nearby. For a while, he simply listened. Patrol rotations, supply allocations. Settlements requiring additional support. The sort of discussions that meant life was slowly returning to normal.
Then Flins turned a page. "Oh."
Nikita glanced up. "What is it?"
"The Knights of Favonius."
Something in Illuga immediately sharpened.
"What about them?" Nikita asked.
Flins scanned the report. "The first groups will begin returning to Mondstadt soon."
The room suddenly felt very quiet. Nikita nodded as though this was entirely expected. "That makes sense."
The older men continued discussing logistics. Illuga barely heard them.
Returning. Soon.
The words echoed unpleasantly inside his head.
Of course they would return. Their mission was finished. Rerir was gone. The Alliance no longer required the full strength of the Knights. There was no reason for them to stay.
The logic was flawless. It did absolutely nothing to improve the feeling settling beneath his ribs.
"...the Fifth Company is scheduled to depart first."
Illuga's attention snapped back to the conversation.
Flins continued reading.
"The others will follow in stages."
The Fifth Company.
Lohen.
A strange tightness settled in his chest.
Nikita glanced toward him, sensing something was wrong. "Illuga?"
He blinked. "Hm?"
The Starshyna raised an eyebrow. "You haven't said a word for several minutes."
Flins looked up from the report. Understanding appeared almost immediately. Which was unfortunate.
Illuga straightened in his seat. "I was listening."
"Of course you were," Flins said. The amusement in his voice was impossible to miss.
Illuga narrowed his eyes. Neither man looked particularly concerned.
"How soon is soon?" he asked.
Flins consulted the report. "In a few days."
A few days. The answer landed harder than it should have.
The room resumed its discussion. Illuga heard very little of it.
A single thought repeated itself over and over.
He hadn't said goodbye yet.
The meeting eventually adjourned. Yet, Illuga remained seated. He didn't realize he was staring into space until a familiar voice spoke beside him.
"You've been unusually quiet."
Illuga looked up. Flins stood nearby, gathering the last of the reports.
"I'm always quiet."
Flins raised an eyebrow. The expression said exactly what he thought of that statement.
Illuga sighed, "Fine. Sometimes."
"Mm." The older man stacked the documents neatly.
For a while, neither spoke. Then Flins said, almost casually, "The Knights are leaving soon."
Illuga's fingers tightened around the edge of his sleeve. "I know."
"If there's something you need to do before then," Flins continued, "I suggest you do it now."
Illuga blinked. For a brief, horrifying moment, he wondered exactly how obvious he had been.
"I don't know what you're talking about." The lie sounded weak even to his own ears.
Flins hummed. "No?"
"No."
The older man looked entirely unconvinced. Unfortunately, years of experience had made him impossible to fool.
"I recognize that expression, Young Master."
Illuga immediately regretted making eye contact. "What expression?"
"The one people make when they're running out of time."
The room fell quiet. Flins gathered the last report from the desk.
Then, more gently, he added, "Don't let something important become a regret."
For a moment, neither spoke. The words settled heavily in Illuga's chest.
When he finally looked up again, Flins was already heading toward the door. He paused briefly at the threshold.
"Good night, Young Master."
The door closed behind him. Illuga sat alone in the sudden silence.
Outside, the lights of Piramida glimmered beneath the winter sky.
A few days. That was all. His gaze drifted toward the window, toward the distant horizon.
Toward the keep where the Knights of Favonius were preparing to leave.
Slowly, he rose from his chair. Perhaps there was still enough time.
Don't let something important become a regret.
Illuga stopped in the middle of the corridor.
The evening bustle of Piramida flowed around him. Lightkeepers carried reports from one room to another. Patrols returned from the city gates. Someone called his name from across the hall.
He barely heard any of it.
A few days. That was all.
Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he turned around and headed for the door.
"Young Master?" Someone sounded surprised.
Illuga offered a distracted apology as he passed. "I'll be back later."
The cold evening air greeted him the moment he stepped outside. He adjusted his scarf and quickened his pace.
By the time the roofs of Piramida disappeared behind him, he was almost running. The wind bit at his cheeks.
His heart pounded for reasons that had very little to do with the pace.
What exactly was he planning to say?
The question arrived far too late.
Because now he was committed.
Favonius Keep was already preparing for departure.
Crates lined the pathways between tents. Knights carried supplies from one end of the camp to the other. Somewhere in the distance, someone was arguing about inventory.
Illuga ignored all of it. He had only one destination. Unfortunately, locating Lohen proved more difficult than expected.
The training grounds were empty. The command tent was nearly deserted. The few Knights still awake pointed him elsewhere.
"Haven't seen him since the meeting."
"Try his tent."
"He wasn't there when I checked."
With every failed attempt, Illuga's heart sank a little further.
Eventually, he stopped in the middle of the camp. The wind tugged at his scarf.
Then he remembered. Of course I know where he is.
The coastline stretched endlessly beneath the moonlight. Silver waves rolled against dark cliffs below. The wind was always stronger here.
A familiar figure stood near the edge of the overlook, hands resting against the railing. Facing west. Toward Mondstadt.
Relief washed through Illuga so suddenly that it nearly stole his breath.
For a moment, he simply watched. Then he approached. His boots crunched softly against the frost.
Lohen didn't turn around.
"I wondered how long it would take you."
Illuga blinked. "You knew it was me?"
A faint smile appeared. "No one else walks that quietly."
The answer warmed him more than it should have. Soon, they stood side by side.
The sea stretched before them. The moon hung high above.
For a while still, neither spoke. The silence felt familiar, comfortable. Then Lohen broke it.
"I wonder how much Mondstadt has changed."
Illuga glanced toward him. Lohen's gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
"I've been gone a long time."
"You miss it."
"I do."
A pause.
Then, more quietly:
"But..."
The word disappeared into the wind. Lohen never finished the thought, but he didn't need to. Illuga understood anyway. The thought had been haunting him too.
The mission was over. The war was over. This should have been enough. Yet neither of them seemed ready for the ending.
The realization made Illuga's chest ache.
The wind shifted. A strand of pale hair drifted across his face. He gathered his courage. Slowly. Carefully.
"Lohen."
"Hm?"
When did his voice become so difficult to use?
Illuga stared out toward the sea.
"If we don't see each other again for a while..."
The words caught. He cleared his throat, and tried again.
"Keep in touch with me."
Beside him, Lohen turned.
"I mean it." Illuga laughed nervously. "Write letters."
A pause. "Or send messages."
Another pause. "Or anything, really."
The embarrassment arrived all at once. He sounded ridiculous.
"I just—" His voice softened. "I don't want us to forget this."
The wind carried the final words away.
For a moment, Lohen simply looked at him.
Then, a whisper. "How could I?"
Illuga blinked. Lohen stepped closer. Moonlight reflected in his eyes.
"How could I ever forget?"
The answer settled somewhere deep inside Illuga's chest, warm and tender.
Lohen's gaze lingered on him, longer than usual. As though he were seeing something for the first time.
The silence stretched. Neither looked away.
The moonlight threaded itself through Illuga's silver hair, and for a moment, it seemed to hold starlight.
Then, before he could stop himself—
"You're beautiful."
Illuga froze. Color rushed immediately into his face.
"Lohen—"
The other man looked equally surprised by his own words. Yet he didn't take them back.
Slowly, carefully, he lifted one hand. His fingers brushed against Illuga's cheek. Warm despite the cold.
"Can I kiss you?" The question was almost a whisper.
Illuga's heart felt dangerously close to stopping. For a moment, he couldn't speak. So he nodded.
That seemed to be enough.
Lohen leaned forward.
The kiss was gentle.
As though neither of them quite believed it was happening.
The world seemed to fall away. The sea and the wind faded into the background.
The fear, the loneliness. All of it faded. Leaving only this.
When they finally parted, neither moved very far. Neither seemed willing to.
Illuga rested his forehead briefly against Lohen's shoulder. A laugh escaped him, soft and breathless.
People always talked about first kisses as though they changed your life. But standing there beneath the moonlight, Illuga realized something.
His life had already changed.
Not tonight, not because of a kiss.
It had changed the moment a stubborn, impossible knight had stumbled into his life and refused to leave it unchanged.
Slowly, they turned back toward the sea. Toward the western horizon.
Toward Mondstadt.
Toward whatever came next.
The wind carried the scent of salt and snow across the cliffs.
Beside him, Lohen stood close enough that their shoulders touched.
Above them, the moon watched quietly.
And for the first time in a long while, the future did not feel frightening.