Chapter 3: The First Touch
from Have You Someone to Protect?
by ©Amer
It began with a sound that didn't belong—a scuff against cobblestone, too sharp, too deliberate. The kind that had no business in Solara's quiet streets after dusk.
Lhady closed up the bookshop early that evening. The lanterns inside flickered low, casting amber shadows across shelves. Outside, the moon climbed higher, pale and unblinking.
She stepped into the garden behind the shop, humming softly as she checked on the violet blooms. Her hands brushed gently over petals that had begun to stretch skyward, stubborn and soft.
A rustle. Behind her. Then—
Hands.
Gloved. Rough.
One clamped over her mouth. Another grabbed her arm, twisting it behind her back.
She struggled, heart pounding, breath locked.
"Quiet, girl," one of the masked men growled. His voice was low, practiced. "We don't want to hurt you."
Liar.
"We just need what you're hiding," the second man said, stepping forward. His eyes flicked to the pendant around her neck. "The bloodline of Amer holds it. We know it's you."
Lhady's pulse roared in her ears. The Sigil?
"I don't know what you're talking about!" she gasped as the hand loosened slightly. Her thoughts raced.
Maybe… if it meant they'd go away… she should just give them the pendant?
But then she paused. Why would anyone disrupt Solara—peaceful, sleepy Solara—unless this pendant was more than they let on?
No.
She twisted violently, sank her teeth into the wrist of the man holding her. He yelped in pain and let go. She spun, elbowed the other in the ribs, and bolted toward the wall.
"We said we didn't want to hurt you!" the man shouted, exasperated.
Another lunged forward, but she grabbed a broken garden stake from the soil, swinging it defensively. "Then stay away!" she snapped, breathless. "Because you're not making it easy to believe!"
The men glanced at one another, hesitating.
"We're trying to protect you," one of them muttered. "The sigil—it needs to be moved, far away from you."
She narrowed her eyes, heart pounding. "That's the worst way to show it."
Suddenly—
A flash of silver.
A gust of wind.
And silence snapped like a bone breaking.
One of the masked men flew backward, crashing into a flower post with a grunt. The second turned just in time to meet Caelum.
No longer the quiet man who brewed tea and fixed shelves.
This Caelum moved like a storm given form—silent, merciless, terrifying.
He grabbed the attacker's wrist mid-strike, twisting with brutal precision. The man screamed, the blade clattering to the stones. Caelum's eyes burned with cold fire, his movements swift and fluid.
The first man staggered to his feet, eyes wide with fear. Caelum shifted to intercept—but not before pausing, mid-step, to shield the fragile violet blooms behind him. It cost him. A punch landed squarely across his jaw, but he didn't flinch. He simply adjusted his stance and delivered a powerful, calculated blow to his attacker's gut, dropping him to the ground.
The garden was chaos—but not ruin. Only two flowerpots cracked from the scuffle.
Caelum stood over the groaning men, chest rising and falling, coat torn at the sleeve.
Lhady backed into the wall, panting. Her violet shawl fluttered around her like smoke. She'd fought back—she wasn't helpless—but she knew she wouldn't have lasted long.
Caelum turned, breathing hard. His gaze swept over her quickly—no injuries. Relief passed through his features, tempered by something else: regret.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, voice low but gentle.
She shook her head, still clutching the pendant at her chest. "They knew my name. My family. What do they want?"
His silence said more than any answer could.
And then—she stepped forward, shakily, and gripped the front of his shirt. Her fingers curled tightly into the fabric, as if it were the only real thing in the world.
Her eyes searched his face.
"Who are you really, Caelum?"
A long pause.
He didn't answer.
But his hand rose—slow, reverent—and gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His touch lingered for a heartbeat too long.
"Someone who should've protected you sooner," he whispered.
A crack opened in the moment. The kind that couldn't be closed again.
Lhady looked down, still holding onto him. Her hands trembled, but she didn't let go.
"You fought like you've done it a thousand times," she said quietly.
"I have," he admitted, still watching the place where the masked men had vanished. "And a thousand more, if I must."
They stood there for a while, under the moon's pale eye, the garden breathing slowly around them.
When he finally moved, it was to kneel and pick up the pendant where it had slipped from her neckline during the struggle. The Sigil pulsed faintly—almost... grateful.
"You said it was just an heirloom," he murmured.
"I thought it was."
His gaze met hers again. "It isn't."
________________________________________
The next morning, the town buzzed.
"You hear the commotion last night?"
"Fools say someone tried to rob the bookshop."
"She's lucky Caelum's always lurking nearby. Maybe he's not just a shelf-fixer after all."
"Or maybe he's something more. Poor girl—bet she's forgotten that old heartbreak."
Lhady ignored the whispers. She focused on the blooms, pretending her fingers didn't shake, pretending her world hadn't changed in a single night.
Caelum was silent all day, except when he asked gently if she'd eaten, or offered to walk her home even though it was her shop.
But between them, the silence grew colder.
Neither knew how to breach it.
The next afternoon, Lhady was in the garden again, watering the violets—what remained of them—when footsteps padded across the stone.
Caelum stood at the edge, hesitating.
"I came… to say I'm sorry," he said softly. "For the pots. I tried not to—really, I—"
Lhady blinked, surprised. Then… she giggled.
He paused.
Her shoulders shook, and she covered her mouth with one hand. "You think… I've been cold to you because of broken pots?"
He looked startled. "Didn't you?"
"No," she said, still smiling. "Though thank you for trying."
His brow furrowed. "Then… why?"
Her laughter faded slowly. She looked down at the soil, voice quiet. "Because you didn't answer me."
He knew what she meant.
The question still hung between them.
Who are you, Caelum?
And why am I being hunted?
He opened his mouth—but didn't speak.
She returned to her plants, not pressing. But her smile lingered, soft and understanding.
Far beyond Solara's edges, the cloaked figures knelt before an obsidian altar. One of them crushed dried petals in his hand.
"She bears the mark," he said.
"And he has awakened," said another. "It won't be long now."
"The full moon approaches," their leader growled. "We move at dusk."
Far away, across miles and marble halls, a man paused mid-step as a hushed report reached him.
"There was an incident… in Solara. The bookshop. They say she was atta—"
"Was she hurt?" he interrupted, sharper than he meant to be.
The messenger blinked, startled, then quickly bowed his head. "No, Commander. She fought back."
His breath caught. Not in surprise—but in something like relief.
Still stubborn. Still strong.
The messenger continued more cautiously now. "But… she wasn't alone. A man was with her."
Silas.
The name passed only in silence—unsaid, but felt.
He stood in uniform still dusted with travel, a hand tightening over the hilt at his waist. The crest on his chest gleamed under the amber lights of the hall—a mark of high command, though it weighed less than the silence in his chest. His breath slowed, jaw tense.
So she wasn't alone anymore.
He thought he'd done the right thing—staying far away. After all, the dream had been clear. A whisper from an oracle, or something older still, had marked him as the one who would disrupt her peace. It had haunted him enough to step back. Enough to believe that was love too.
He had no orders to protect her.
He simply did.
From rooftops, shadows, across time and borders—he had guarded her without her knowing, not as duty, but as choice.
And now, someone else had touched her hand in the garden, someone else had stood between her and danger. A man who dared to stay.
It shouldn't have mattered.
But it did.
And somewhere deep within, something too old to name stirred—something that had never truly let go.
Maybe the dream had been wrong.
Or maybe it had been right all along, and he had misunderstood its weight.
He was not the one meant to break her peace.
But he had broken something just the same… by leaving.
And still—beneath the ache, beneath the steadiness of rank and time—there was a hope.
Quiet, unspoken.
That maybe not all was lost.
That maybe he could find his way back to her again.
He exhaled once, then spoke again—low and sharp.
"Find out who he is."
And so, with violet blooms opening in fragile defiance, and shadows gathering at the edges of peace, the next chapter of the old vow began—not with a war horn…
But with a whisper:
"Someone who should've protected you sooner."