The barracks were dark when they returned, their boots dragging across the stone floor. Most of the other recruits had collapsed straight into their cots, armor half-unbuckled, weapons still dirty. No instructors barked at them — exhaustion was punishment enough.
Kaelen's squad drifted toward their corner of the hall, settling in silence. The night still clung to them: the pale figure in the forest, the laughter that had seeped into their bones. The torches along the wall flickered low, shadows long and restless.
Seralyn dropped her quiver onto the floor and leaned her bow against the cot. "Well," she muttered, voice hoarse, "that was a lovely stroll."
Deren barked a laugh — sharp, tired, a little mad. "Oh, sure. Just another night walk with friends. Whispers in the dark, faceless creeps, runes that don't make sense. Perfect bloody holiday." He kicked off his boots, grimacing. "Remind me why the hell we signed up for this shit again?"
"Because we'd be dead already if we hadn't," Maeve answered flatly. She sat cross-legged on her cot, staring at the chalk dust still on her fingers. Her face was pale, lips pressed tight. "And because the Order doesn't give us a choice."
The laughter drained from Deren's face. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly restless. "Right. That."
Kaelen said nothing. He was sitting at the edge of his cot, sword across his knees, turning it slowly in the dim light. The steel gleamed faintly, but his eyes were far away.
Seralyn noticed. "You haven't spoken a word since we got back."
He looked up, blinking, as if surfacing from somewhere else. "Nothing to say."
"Bullshit," Deren said, lying back with his hands behind his head. "You've got that brooding-hero look again. The 'I've seen things you wouldn't believe' look. Come on, spill it. We're practically blood-bonded now."
Kaelen's grip tightened on the hilt. "Drop it."
That only made Deren grin. "Oh-ho. Secrets. I knew it. You're hiding some tragic backstory, aren't you? Dead lover? Abandoned child? Forbidden romance with a goat?"
Maeve threw a bit of chalk at him. "You're an ass."
"Hey, I'm just guessing," Deren said, hands raised. "We all know Seralyn's the stoic hunter with a vendetta, Maeve's the grumpy scholar with issues, and me—well, I'm obviously the charming rogue. But Kaelen? He's the mystery. And mysteries eat at me."
Seralyn shook her head, half-smiling despite herself. "You really don't know when to shut up."
"Not in my nature," Deren replied.
Kaelen should've brushed it off. He should've stayed silent, let their jibes pass like wind. But the weight of the forest still pressed on him, and the whispers had stirred old ghosts. He couldn't bury them as easily this time.
He set the sword aside, exhaling slowly. "There was someone."
The words cut through the air like steel. The others froze.
Maeve tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Someone?"
"A girl," Kaelen said, voice low. "Back in my village. We grew up together. She was… everything. Smarter than me, braver than me. She always dragged me into trouble." His lips twitched with the faintest smile. "We used to sneak into this old underground library no one else cared about. Dust everywhere, half the books falling apart. But to us, it was a kingdom."
Seralyn leaned forward slightly, her usual sharpness softened. "What happened to her?"
Kaelen's throat tightened. He hadn't said her name in weeks, not even to himself. He forced the word out anyway. "Lyra."
Maeve's expression shifted, something guarded flickering in her eyes. "And?"
"She's gone," Kaelen said simply. "The day the Order came for me, she vanished. Our village was attacked. I thought she'd been killed. I… still think she's dead."
Silence. The torches crackled. Somewhere down the hall, a recruit muttered in his sleep.
Deren sat up, the humor gone from his face. "Shit. I didn't mean to—"
Kaelen cut him off with a sharp look. "Don't. Just don't."
For a moment, the air felt heavy, almost unbearable. Then Seralyn broke it, her voice soft but steady. "You cared for her."
Kaelen nodded once. "More than I realized. She kissed me, the night before everything fell apart. Then… nothing. She was gone."
Maeve's gaze flicked to him, unreadable. "First love."
"First and last," Kaelen muttered.
Deren tried for a smile, but it came out crooked. "Damn, Kael. That's rough. No wonder you walk around like the world's already ended."
"Feels like it did," Kaelen admitted.
Seralyn leaned back, staring at the rafters. "Loss changes people. Makes them harder. Or stronger."
"Or both," Maeve added.
No one spoke for a while. The weight of Kaelen's confession lingered between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable anymore. It was binding, like a scar shared among comrades.
Then Deren, because he couldn't help himself, muttered, "So, let me get this straight. You're all tragic and moody because of a girl. And here I thought you were cursed or something."
Kaelen snorted despite himself. "Still an ass."
"Yeah, but I made you laugh," Deren said, smug again.
The four of them chuckled softly, the tension easing. The barracks didn't feel quite so dark anymore.
Later, when the others drifted toward sleep, Kaelen stayed awake, staring at the ceiling. Lyra's face lingered in his mind, clear as the day he'd last seen her. Her smile, the dust on her cheeks from the library shelves, the way her lips had trembled before she kissed him.
He wondered what she'd think if she saw him now, sword in hand, a recruit of the Order. Would she laugh at the irony? Would she scold him for leaving her behind? Or would she even recognize the boy he'd been?
The whispers of the forest echoed in his ears, blending with the memory of her voice. He closed his eyes, trying to force sleep, but it didn't come easily.
When it did, it carried dreams of torchlit halls and shelves of broken books, of carved angels with hollow eyes, and of a girl's hand slipping out of his own.