The morning after the attack, the camp was buzzing with murmurs and the clanging of rebuilding. Makeshift repairs were underway, smoke still curling from charred patches of earth. Soldiers moved like shadows through the early light, most too tired to speak, others too wounded to move. In the center tent, Aaron and Leo stood before the commander, whose bandaged arm rested in a sling.
"You two saved my life," the commander said, his tone neither soft nor stern, but full of weight. "Not just mine. That part of the camp would've fallen if you hadn't intervened."
Aaron shifted his stance, unsure how to respond. Leo, however, grinned with a spark of pride.
"Well, sir," Leo said, brushing dirt off his tunic with exaggerated flair, "it's not every day I get to be the hero. I'd like a plaque, maybe a statue—something tasteful."
The commander arched an eyebrow. "I'll see about getting you an extra portion of stew."
Leo feigned offense. "Only stew? For risking my life?"
Aaron chuckled despite himself, the heaviness in his chest easing slightly.
The commander turned more serious. "You two have potential. Raw, but real. I've spoken to the higher-ups. You're being moved under my direct command."
Aaron straightened. "Thank you, sir."
The commander nodded. "Don't thank me yet. Hard days are ahead. King Theodren has issued a new decree."
He motioned toward a courier who entered the tent, mud splattered up to his knees. The scroll in his hand was sealed in crimson wax, and everyone went quiet as the commander broke it open.
As he read aloud, the air inside the tent thickened. The kingdom was preparing for a full offensive. No more defensive scrambling. The time had come to reclaim stolen land and territory—but it would cost them.
"All border units will be deployed to the front within the week. No exceptions," the commander said, voice grim.
Aaron felt the pressure settle in his chest. He thought of Aldric. Of Evelyn. Of the small cottage with its crooked roof and warm hearth.
---
Back in the Village
Evelyn sat beside the cold ashes of what was once their kitchen hearth. Her hands were red from scrubbing, the wooden floor still streaked with soot. The cottage had taken damage in the attack—broken windows, a collapsed corner wall—but it stood.
Unlike Aldric.
She still heard his last words in the quiet spaces. "Take care of yourself. And Aaron. Don't mourn me, child."
Her aunt had grown quieter, too, and more irritable. The village was thinner now—less laughter, more whispered stories of loss. Yet Evelyn carried on, patching the roof with cloth, sharing what little food they had with neighbors who had even less.
She hadn't cried since that night. Not really. She didn't have time to.
But in the quietest hours, when the night wind rustled the thatched roof, she curled beneath her blanket and whispered Aaron's name into the darkness, not even sure why. Just to remember he was still out there.
---
Back at the Camp
That night, Aaron and Leo sat on a log by the fire, the crackling embers barely keeping the cold at bay.
"Do you think we'll survive this?" Aaron asked.
Leo leaned back, staring at the sky. "You? Probably. Me? I'll charm the enemy to death."
Aaron snorted. "I'm being serious."
"So am I," Leo replied with a smirk, then softened. "But yes, I think we will. You've got something different in you, Aaron. The commander sees it. I see it."
Aaron looked into the fire. "I just want to make it through this. For Aldric. For Evelyn."
Leo gave a rare nod of understanding. "Then let's do it. For all of them."
The night deepened around them, the flames flickering like fragile hopes. And above, the stars stretched quietly over a kingdom preparing for war.