The waning afternoon sun had transitioned into a deep orange glow, filtering through the window slats to cast long, skeletal shadows across the floor. Zara's heavy eyelids fluttered open.
Behind the blurred veil of sleep, the first thing she saw was Kelen's face—so close that she could clearly discern the ancient pain and unspoken concern swimming in his eyes.
Kelen's hand rested on her shoulder, its firm grip offering a strange sense of stillness and security. For a few heartbeats, time seemed to freeze within the silence of the old house.
Zara's breath hitched, and her heart began to hammer against her ribs. She simply stared at him—at the face she had called an 'idiot,' yet the one she found impossible to turn away from.
But then, as the realization of where she was and how close he stood crashed over her, her body stiffened instinctively. An unknown panic surged through her like a bolt of lightning.
Without a second thought, she struck Kelen's hand away with a sharp, forceful jerk—Slap!—pushing him back. She snapped upright in the chair, her chest heaving with rapid breaths.
Her eyes were wide, as if she hadn't seen a protector, but an unseen threat. Kelen, who had been completely calm, recoiled slightly from this sudden assault.
Lines of bewilderment etched across his brow. He looked at the hand Zara had just struck away, then turned toward her terrified expression.
His voice lacked the sternness of a warrior; instead, it held the trembling worry of a concerned guardian. "What happened?" Kelen asked softly, his voice as heavy as the dust scattered on the floor.
"Why did you panic all of a sudden? Did you... did you have a nightmare?" Zara rubbed her palms together fiercely, as if trying to erase the sensation of his touch.
She lowered her gaze, staring at the corner of the table where a trace of dust still remained. Her throat was parched, but she tried to steady her voice.
"No... it's nothing," she said flatly, though the trembling in her fingers did not cease. Kelen watched her intently. He knew that this 'nothing' was, in reality, quite a lot.
Within the walls of that house, where Miya's memory and Zara's 'denial' breathed together, the silence grew even heavier.
The savory aroma of the food on the table was now smothered by the tension between them. Kelen took a deep breath and gripped the arm of his chair.
Realizing that the war within Zara was now far more complex than the war outside the walls of Vespera. Noticing the lines of bewilderment etched on Kelen's face.
Zara clenched her trembling fingers into fists. She gazed out the window where the deepening saffron of the sky was slowly dissolving into violet ink.
To break the stifling silence, she exhaled a long, labored breath. "I am perfectly fine, Kelen," Zara said. Her voice lacked its earlier sharpness.
Replaced instead by a strange exhaustion, as if she were weary of carrying an invisible burden. Kelen looked at her, his eyes possessing a sturdy composure.
Built to withstand any storm. He gestured toward the dishes on the table, from which thin trails of steam still rose. "Eat your breakfast properly," he said in a calm yet firm tone.
"The sun is about to set. Afterward, take a bath and rest. The dark circles under your eyes show just how exhausted you are." Zara fixed her gaze on the meal spread across the table.
As she scanned each dish, a dull ache throbbed in a corner of her heart. Freshly made flatbreads, that specific chutney whose aroma invoked memories of her childhood.
And the fruits she loved most—Kelen had arranged everything according to Zara's preferences. On the entire table, there wasn't a single thing Kelen could call his own favorite.
The warrior, who portrayed himself as a 'machine,' had pushed aside his every desire for the sake of Zara's happiness. Zara traced the edge of the table with her fingers.
"Why did you make all this, Kelen?" she asked softly, her voice laced with a faint complaint and a well of hidden pain. "You didn't need to put in so much effort."
"You could have made something you liked; I would have eaten it regardless. Why didn't you keep anything for yourself?" Kelen shifted his chain-bound wrist slightly.
Eliciting a metallic—Chink...—sound. Without looking at Zara, he placed an old cup on the table. "I eat everything anyway, Zara," he said flatly.
As if trying to strip the act of any significance. "It makes no difference to me whose preference the food satisfies. Living at the borders, a man forgets taste."
"He only needs fuel to survive." Zara wanted to interrupt, but Kelen continued. A slight shadow crossed his face, as if he were hiding his emotions behind his words.
"It's not that I don't like this food... I like this too. If you are happy, then that is what taste means to me."
He stood as still as a monolith in the dimming evening light. Zara tore a piece of bread, but her throat felt constricted. This 'folly' of Kelen's—his habit of erasing his own identity.
To keep others safe and content—was the very thing that tormented Zara the most. She watched him consume himself under the guise of a brother's duty.
And she didn't know whether to call this sacrifice love or the stubbornness that stood like a wall between them. The faint aroma of food still lingered in the earthenware.
As Zara began gathering the empty plates with her weary fingers. A thick fog of sleep still clouded her eyes, yet she sought to throw herself into work.
Hoping to escape the weight of the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. Just as she lifted the final plate, a firm, calloused hand moved toward her wrist.
Kelen smoothly took the dishes from her grasp. The soft resonance of his wrist chain—Chink...—sounded like a command in the silence. "Go to sleep," Kelen said.
His voice possessed a stony firmness that brooked no argument. "This is the last task remaining; I will handle it." Zara shook her head in protest.
Her disheveled hair falling over her face. "No, Kelen... I can do this much. It's just washing the plates. You spend all day searing at the borders; will you do this too?"
Kelen looked directly into her tired, reddened eyes. His gaze was that of a seasoned general sensing the exhaustion of a weary soldier. "No," he repeated.
His voice lower yet deeper this time. "You are tired. You aren't fully conscious yet. You've come from a long and perilous journey, Zara. Drop the stubbornness and go upstairs."
Zara had no arguments left. Every wall she built crumbled before Kelen's quiet concern. She let out a soft breath, lowered her gaze, and moved toward the stairs.
Without another word. The sound of her footsteps—Thump... Thump...—echoed on the wooden stairs until the sound of the bedroom door closing signaled her retreat.
In the hollow silence, Kelen cleaned the dishes with meticulous care. The sound of running water and the clatter of metal—Clatter...—filled the emptiness of the house.
After arranging the plates neatly in their places, he wiped down the dining table. His hands moved like a machine—steady and precise. Then, he moved toward the windows.
These were no ordinary windows. One by one, he began to secure the heavy iron frames. The thick iron grilles bolted across them spoke of the bitter reality of Vespera.
That lurked in the darkness outside. As he engaged every latch—Clack... Metallic Thud...—the sound felt like he was raising an impenetrable wall.
Between the outside world and this home. This circle of protection had remained incomplete for Miya, but for Zara, he intended to leave no stone unturned.
Once everything was secured, Kelen walked toward the main door. He unlatched it, and a gust of cold, biting air struck his face. He stepped outside, intending to leave.
But suddenly, he froze. The warrior's instinct coursing through his veins jolted awake. In the stillness of the night, a resonance arrived from afar—one that was not natural.
Kelen's grip tightened on the door handle. He scanned the depths of the darkness once, then abruptly changed his mind.
Instead of leaving, he stepped back inside and locked the door from within. A new alertness sharpened his eyes.
He knew that the nights in Vespera were no longer what they used to be five years ago.