chapter 24.4

Alcard sat silently in the simple wooden chair inside Anna's command tent, his crimson eyes scanning the room with quiet intensity. The space was smaller than he had expected, but it was meticulously organized. The sturdy wooden desk before him was littered with maps, battle reports, and documents that detailed strategies and troop movements. Dim candlelight flickered against the fabric walls, casting long shadows that danced with the movements of the wind outside. Hanging on the far side of the tent was a tattered banner—its edges frayed by time, its colors muted, but its presence unmistakably a symbol of the revolution.

Anna stood by the desk, her hands pressed firmly against its surface, her piercing blue eyes studying him with an expression he couldn't quite decipher. There was a storm of emotions beneath her calm exterior—a mixture of curiosity, determination, and something deeper, something that looked dangerously close to sorrow.

"She's not just another soldier here," Alcard realized. "She's their leader. Or at least one of the most important figures in this movement."

Anna inhaled deeply before she spoke, her voice steady yet carrying an unspoken tension. "You know, Alcard," she began, her words slow and deliberate, "I've always regretted the choices you made back then. Your loyalty to the crown... it was admirable, but it was also your downfall. That loyalty allowed them to use you, to turn you into a pawn in their schemes. And in the end, they branded you as the murderer of Prince Althar Jovalian."

Alcard didn't respond immediately. He merely looked at her, his expression weary, as if those words had been echoing in his mind for years. There was no need for her to remind him—he had lived with that truth every day since his exile. He had already judged himself far harsher than anyone else ever could.

"I'm done with Jovalian's politics," he finally said, his voice cold and devoid of emotion.

Anna exhaled softly, her gaze softening ever so slightly. "I know," she murmured. "And I don't blame you. But you should know this—despite my regrets about the choices you made, I have never stopped respecting you."

Alcard narrowed his eyes slightly, not entirely understanding what she meant. But before he could ask, she continued.

"I cared about you, Alcard," she said, her voice quieter now, but carrying an unshakable certainty. "I always did. And I was grateful they didn't execute you back then. If they had… I don't know what I would have done."

For a moment, Alcard was at a loss for words. It wasn't often that he found himself speechless, but Anna's confession struck him in a way that few things had in years. He had grown used to hatred, to scorn, to being treated as an outcast. To hear that someone had once cared—still cared—was something he hadn't prepared for.

Anna smiled faintly, but it was not a smile of joy. It was bitter, tinged with memories and regrets. "That's why I left," she said. "After you were exiled, I resigned as vice-commander. I couldn't keep serving under Drennal, couldn't pretend to be blind to what had happened."

Alcard remained silent, letting her continue.

"So I walked away," she continued, her voice carrying the weight of old wounds. "And since then, I've dedicated myself to finding a way to destroy him."

Alcard studied her for a long moment. A part of him appreciated her resolve, but another part of him—the part that had seen too many betrayals, too many shattered ideals—felt exhausted by all of it.

"And?" he finally spoke, his tone unreadable. "Did you succeed?"

Anna shook her head, her expression darkening. "Not yet," she admitted. "But I know what's happening. Drennal now controls Prince Calren entirely. The boy is young, too easily influenced. He's nothing more than a puppet for Drennal to maintain his grip on power."

Alcard let out a small, humorless laugh. "So nothing has changed," he said with quiet disdain. "Drennal is still the same venomous snake he's always been."

Anna didn't disagree. But there was a glint in her eyes—something that Alcard recognized as hope.

"There's a chance," she said.

Alcard arched an eyebrow. "A chance?"

"Prince Rhegar Jovalian," Anna explained. "He might be the key to ending Drennal's rule. And more importantly, General Gael Draven—the man Drennal appointed to replace you—has turned against him."

The name sent a sharp pang of bitterness through Alcard's chest. Gael Draven. A man he had once mentored, trained, trusted. A man who had been chosen to take his place, not through merit, but through betrayal. Any loyalty Alcard had once felt toward him had died the moment Gael accepted the position that should have been his.

"Gael?" Alcard repeated, skepticism heavy in his tone. "And you expect me to trust him after what he did?"

Anna met his gaze firmly. "I don't expect you to trust him," she admitted. "But I do know this—Drennal's grip on the kingdom is slipping. Gael sees that. He's realized that he backed the wrong side, and now he's trying to fix his mistake."

Alcard remained silent, digesting the information. The room was filled with nothing but the faint crackling of the candles, flickering against the tattered banner of the revolution.

"I don't think this will work, Anna," he said at last, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "Jovalian's politics are beyond saving. Everything I once fought for is already gone. There's nothing left."

Anna stepped closer, placing her hands on the desk, her eyes searching his. "But you can still make a difference, Alcard," she insisted. "You may not care about Jovalian anymore, but you know how much its fall will affect Middle Earth. The economy, the balance of power, even The Wall's resources. If Drennal and the nobility aren't stopped, the chaos will spread far beyond this kingdom."

Alcard sighed, his crimson eyes locking onto hers. She had a point, even if he didn't want to admit it. He might have abandoned Jovalian, but the consequences of its collapse would be inescapable.

Finally, he exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "I'm not making any promises, Anna," he said. "But I'll do what I can. Not for Jovalian. Not for the princes. But to make sure Drennal doesn't get to sink his claws any deeper."

A faint smile touched Anna's lips, and this time, there was genuine relief in her eyes. "That's all I need to hear," she whispered.

Then, without warning, she stepped forward and pressed her lips against his.

The kiss was not desperate, nor was it rushed. It was slow, filled with years of unspoken emotions—of longing, of regret, of things left unsaid. It was a kiss that acknowledged the past while embracing the uncertain present.

When she finally pulled away, she held his gaze, her voice softer than before. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her fingers lightly brushing against his cheek. "For not coming to find you after everything."

Alcard's expression remained unreadable, but his voice was steady when he finally responded. "I didn't need you to."

Anna chuckled quietly, shaking her head as if amused by his stubbornness. But then, her expression softened, and before either of them could say another word, she leaned in again.

And this time, he didn't pull away.

That night, in the cold heart of the forest, past wounds bled anew, but something else took root—something beyond war, beyond revenge. It was the rekindling of something that had once been buried, something fragile yet unbreakable.

And as the flames flickered in the dim candlelight, the war outside faded into the background, if only for a fleeting moment.