The Stand I Can’t Back Down From

Kain Rivel leaned against his shack's wall, the dual axes strapped to his harness glinting in the dim dawn light. Yesterday's clash with Leon Valtor replayed in his head—metal screaming, his coughs drowning out the cheers, Mya's kiss searing his lips. He'd held his own, barely, shoving back her protection and Leon's blade with sheer stubbornness. She'd called him hers, and he'd fought it—but that heat in his chest lingered, a tangle of rage and something softer he refused to name.

"I'm not her dog," he growled, gripping an axe. A cough flared, but he shook it off, pacing. "Or Leon's punching bag. I decide now."

Voices rose outside—sharp, urgent. Kain stepped out, axes clanking. The square buzzed with villagers and bandits, staring at a rider galloping in—not Leon, but a scout in battered armor, his face pale.

"Kain!" the scout yelled, dismounting. "Valtor's coming! Full force—knights, archers, a day out!"

Kain's gut twisted. "A day?" he rasped, coughing. "He's not messing around."

The bandit leader swaggered over, grinning. "Boss! We'll smash 'em! Your call!"

"My call?" Kain snapped, yanking an axe free. It wobbled, but he pointed it at the man. "I didn't start this!"

"You did," Mya said, emerging from the crowd. Her silver hair caught the light, her sword loose at her side. Her violet eyes locked on him—fierce, adoring. "You defied him. And me."

Kain glared, stepping toward her. "Good! I'm not your puppet!" The axe dipped, and he coughed, but he held her gaze. "Or their 'boss'!"

She smiled—sharp, warm—and closed the gap. "You're more than that." Her hand brushed his arm, lingering. "You're mine. And we'll win."

"Win?" he scoffed, pulling back. Her touch sparked heat, and he hated how it steadied him. "I'm not fighting your war!"

"It's ours," she said, her voice low. She grabbed his hand, pressing it to her chest—her heartbeat strong under his palm. "Feel it. For you."

Kain's breath hitched, his defiance faltering. "Stop that!" he rasped, yanking free. But his hand tingled, and her eyes—damn them—pulled him in. "I'm not dying for this!"

"You won't," she said, stepping back. "I'll keep you alive. Always."

The scout coughed, nervous. "Uh, they're coming fast. What's the plan?"

Kain turned, glaring at the crowd—villagers clutching pitchforks, bandits sharpening spears. "Plan?" he muttered. "Survive." He raised the axe, arms shaking but firm. "I'm not running. Or bowing. Leon wants me? He'll get me—my way!"

The bandits cheered, banging weapons. "That's our boss!" the leader roared.

"Not your boss!" Kain barked, but Mya's laugh—bright, wild—cut through.

"Your way," she said, drawing her sword. "I'll fight beside you." Her eyes softened. "For us."

"Us?" he rasped, coughing. "There's no—" He stopped, her closeness scrambling his words. "Fine! But I lead this!"

She nodded, a rare уступка—concession. "Lead."

Kain faced the crowd, axe raised. "We don't attack!" he shouted. "We hold here! Leon wants a fight—he comes to us!"

Murmurs rippled. The bandit leader frowned. "No raid? Boss, we—"

"Shut it!" Kain snapped, swinging the axe at a barrel. It split, wood flying, and he coughed, staggering. "We defend! I'm not chasing death!"

The crowd roared—villagers nodding, bandits grinning. Mya stepped beside him, her shoulder brushing his. "Smart," she murmured. "He'll break on us."

"Or break me," Kain muttered, but her presence—steady, warm—bolstered him. He shoved the thought down, glaring. "Don't get cozy!"

"Too late," she whispered, her hand grazing his back. She pulled away, addressing the crowd. "Fortify! Traps, barricades—now!"

The square erupted—villagers hauling crates, bandits digging pits. Kain watched, the axe heavy in his grip. "This is insane," he thought. "But I'm not folding."

Hours passed—barricades rose, spears bristled. Kain paced, coughing, the axes dragging. Mya stayed close, her eyes flicking to him—protective, possessive. She handed him water, her fingers brushing his.

"Rest," she said, soft but firm. "You're pushing too hard."

"I'll rest when I'm dead," he growled, but he took the water, their hands lingering. "Which might be soon."

"Not with me," she said, her smile fierce. She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "I love you, Kain. You'll see."

He jolted, water spilling. "Stop that!" he rasped, but his voice cracked—anger, yes, but a flicker of want. "I'm not your—"

A horn blared—close, loud. Dust rose beyond the trees. The crowd froze, then scrambled. "He's here!" Tobin yelled.

Kain dropped the cup, grabbing both axes. "Already?" he wheezed, turning to Mya. "You ready?"

"Always," she said, her sword flashing out. She stepped closer, her hand on his cheek—quick, tender. "For you."

He swatted her off, but not fast. "For me," he muttered, hefting the axes. "Let's go."

Leon burst into view—golden armor gleaming, knights charging, archers nocking arrows. "Rivel!" he roared, sword raised. "No more hiding!"

Kain coughed, planting his feet. "Not hiding!" he shouted, swinging an axe overhead. It wobbled, but he held it. "Come get me!"

Arrows flew—bandits ducked, villagers screamed. Mya deflected one, her blade a blur, shielding Kain. "Stay back!" he barked, shoving forward. "My fight!"

"OURS!" she countered, her smile wild. She grabbed his arm, pulling him behind a barricade as arrows rained.

Kain glared, coughing, but her grip—her fire—kept him steady. "Fine," he rasped. "Together. But I'm not yours!"

"You are," she whispered, kissing his jaw—fast, fierce. Kain growled, but didn't push her off.

Leon's knights hit the barricades, steel clashing. Kain swung an axe—clumsy, defiant—and the battle swallowed them both.