chapter 24.5

The night grew deeper, wrapping the revolutionary camp in an almost absolute silence. The only sounds were the measured steps of the patrolling guards in the distance, their vigilance unwavering against the unseen threats lurking in the darkness. Inside Anna's tent, the flickering candlelight cast moving shadows against the fabric walls, swaying in rhythm with the cold night breeze that slipped through the small openings. The scent of burning wood lingered, mixing with the damp air of the forest.

Alcard sat shirtless at the edge of a simple wooden cot, his forearms resting on his knees as he gazed at the dim candle on the table before him. His thoughts drifted like unanchored vessels in a storm, unable to find a shore. Across the room, Anna stood by the open tent flap, staring into the moonlit night. Her silhouette, outlined by the dim light, was both strong and fragile. Her simple nightdress clung lightly to her frame, moving ever so slightly with her every breath.

"If I could," she finally whispered, her voice blending with the wind. "I would have followed you, Alcard. To The Wall, into exile, through whatever you faced… But I couldn't."

Alcard turned his head slowly, his crimson eyes tracing the contours of her back. He could hear the pain in her voice, the weight of an unspoken truth pressing down on her shoulders. His lips parted slightly as if to respond, but before he could speak, she raised a hand, halting him.

"You know why I couldn't," she continued, her voice steady yet heavy with restrained emotion. "Drennal. He holds Jovalian in his grasp tighter than I ever thought possible. Eleven years, Alcard… Eleven years since you left. And in that time, he has ruled from the shadows, unchallenged, fearless. If I were to abandon everything and chase after you, there would be no one left to fight him. No one to stop him."

Alcard bowed his head. He had known this. He had always known it. Yet he had spent years trying to ignore the truth, convincing himself that what happened to Jovalian was no longer his concern. But the truth was relentless—it had pursued him across the years, no matter how far he ran.

Anna finally turned to face him, walking toward him with slow, deliberate steps before lowering herself onto the cot beside him. The proximity between them was close enough that he could feel the warmth of her presence, a stark contrast to the cold walls he had built within himself. With a gentleness he was not prepared for, she lifted a hand to his face, her fingers grazing the roughness of his jawline, forcing him to meet her gaze.

"I need you to know," she whispered, her voice softer now, almost vulnerable. "I never stopped loving you, even knowing you could never return to me."

Alcard didn't respond right away. He simply held her gaze, allowing the silence to carry the weight of her words. In that moment, he wasn't an outcast. He wasn't a warrior burdened by betrayal and bloodshed. He was simply a man—one who had once had a home, someone who had once been loved.

Without a word, he pulled her into his arms. There was no need for explanations, no need for conversation. They simply held each other, sharing warmth in the silence, as if the world outside had momentarily ceased to exist. In that fleeting moment, the past wounds seemed to dull, the betrayals and wars momentarily forgotten. All that remained was a rare, fragile intimacy that had long been buried beneath years of suffering.

As the night stretched on, Anna lay beside him, her body relaxed but her mind far from restful. She exhaled slowly before speaking again, this time with a weight that could not be ignored.

"This civil war, Alcard... it has taken so much from so many," she murmured, her voice thick with sorrow. "I've seen villages burned to the ground, children orphaned, families torn apart. I couldn't stand by and do nothing. That's why I lead this revolution."

Alcard turned slightly to look at her, watching as her blue eyes reflected the dim candlelight. "Feren Dalryn has been helping me," she continued. "He followed in your footsteps, you know? He admired you more than anyone. Even after you were exiled, he never stopped believing in you. Together, we started gathering people, training them, giving them hope that we could dismantle the broken system—the one ruled by both Prince Rhegar and Prince Calren. Neither of them deserve to rule Jovalian."

Alcard sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling of the tent as if searching for an answer that refused to come. "I can't speak on that, Anna," he finally admitted. "Or do anything about it. My loyalty is to The Wall now, to the oath I took as an outcast. The reason I came here wasn't to destroy Drennal, nor to get involved in this war. I came looking for traces of The Veil."

Anna was silent. Her expression flickered with a trace of disappointment, though she had half-expected his response. She knew that whatever she had once hoped for, Alcard was no longer the man she had known. The years had changed him, just as they had changed her. Still, there was one last thing she needed to ask.

"I understand," she said finally, though her voice was quieter than before. "But if the time comes, I hope you will stand with the people, Alcard. Just once more."

He didn't answer right away. He simply studied her, his expression unreadable, before turning his gaze back to the nearly extinguished candle on the table.

In the silence that followed, they both knew that this was far from over. Greater battles loomed ahead, choices that would demand more than either of them was ready to give. But for now, they were simply two souls who understood each other in ways words could never convey.

And that, for one night, was enough.