The Calm I Don’t Trust

Kain Rivel slumped against a splintered barricade, the dual axes thudding into the dirt beside him. His arm bled from Leon Valtor's nick, his chest heaved with coughs, but he'd won—sort of. Leon had retreated, golden armor vanishing into the dust, his knights battered by bandits and rocks. Rivermist stood, bruised but unbroken, and the crowd's chants—"Kain! Kain!"—rang in his ears. Mya Seraphine knelt nearby, her silver hair streaked with grime, her violet eyes locked on him—pride, love, and that unshakable edge he couldn't escape.

"I'm still here," he rasped, wiping blood from his sleeve. A cough doubled him over, but he straightened, glaring at the axes. "Not dead yet."

Mya rose, sheathing her sword. "You're more than alive," she said, her voice soft but fierce. She stepped closer, her hand brushing his wounded arm—gentle, possessive. "You beat him."

"Beat him?" Kain scoffed, pulling away. The axes clanked as he stood, wobbling but firm. "I survived him! Big difference!" Her touch lingered in his mind—warm, steady—and he shoved it down, glowering. "And don't get smug!"

Her smile twitched—sharp, adoring. "Not smug. Proud." She closed the gap again, her fingers grazing his jaw. "You fought like mine."

"Yours?" he snapped, swatting her hand. "I fought for me!" But his voice faltered—her closeness, that damn look, hit harder than Leon's sword. He coughed, turning away. "Back off, Mya. I'm not your trophy."

"You're more," she whispered, unrelenting. She grabbed his wrist, pulling him to face her. "You're my heart." Her eyes burned, and she kissed him—quick, fierce, lips pressing hard. Kain stiffened, heat flooding him, then shoved her back, wiping his mouth.

"Warn me!" he growled, but his glare softened—damn it, he'd felt it too. "I decide what I am!"

She laughed—bright, wild. "Decide, then. I'll wait." Her hand hovered near his, not touching, but close.

Kain coughed, glaring at the crowd—bandits hauling wounded, villagers patching barricades. "Wait all you want," he muttered. "I'm not folding."

The bandit leader swaggered over, grinning. "Boss! We smashed 'em! What's next?"

"Next?" Kain rasped, yanking an axe up. It wobbled, but he pointed it. "Clean this mess! I'm not your warlord!"

The leader saluted, chuckling. "Aye, boss! Rest up—you're a legend now!"

"Legend my ass," Kain growled, coughing as the man jogged off. He turned to Mya, her smile unshaken. "This is your fault."

"Mine?" she said, tilting her head. "You swung those axes. You stood." She stepped closer, her voice dropping. "You drew me."

"Drew you?" He scoffed, but his chest tightened—her words, her damn faith, gnawed at him. "I didn't ask for you!"

"You got me," she said, her hand brushing his harness—light, deliberate. "And I'm not leaving."

Kain glared, coughing, but didn't pull away—not right away. "Stubborn," he muttered, hefting the axe. "I'll outlast you."

"Try," she teased, her smile softening. She turned, barking at the bandits. "Fortify! He's not done!"

"Not done?" Kain wheezed, sinking onto a crate. The axes clanked, grounding him. "I'm half-dead already."

The square buzzed—villagers tending wounds, bandits stacking spears. Tobin approached, clapping Kain's shoulder. "Held off Valtor himself!" he said, grinning. "You're Rivermist's spine!"

"Spine?" Kain rasped, coughing. "I'm barely standing!" But Tobin laughed, jogging off, and Kain shook his head. "Idiots."

Mya knelt beside him, offering water. "Drink," she said, her tone firm but warm. Her fingers brushed his as he took it, and he didn't flinch—too tired, maybe.

"Thanks," he muttered, sipping. Her eyes softened—dangerous, that look—and he glared. "Don't read into it!"

"Too late," she said, her hand resting on his knee. "You're stuck with me, Kain Rivel."

"Stuck?" He coughed, shoving her hand off—but slower than before. "I'll ditch you yet."

Her laugh rang out, light and fierce. "You won't." She stood, scanning the horizon. "Leon's licking wounds. He'll be back."

"Good," Kain growled, hauling himself up. The axes swung, steadying him. "I'll be ready—my way."

"Your way," she echoed, her gaze piercing. "I'll fight it with you."

"Fight?" He smirked, coughing. "You'll lose."

"Never," she said, stepping close—too close. Her hand cupped his face, thumb tracing his jaw. "I love you, Kain. That's my win."

He froze, heat flaring—anger, sure, but more. "Love?" he rasped, grabbing her wrist, not pushing her off. "You're crazy."

"Crazy for you," she whispered, leaning in. Her lips hovered—tempting, fierce—and Kain's grip tightened, torn.

"Back off," he growled, but his voice shook—resolve cracking. She smiled, pulling away, leaving him rattled.

"Rest," she said, turning to the crowd. "He's earned it!"

The villagers cheered, bandits saluted. Kain sank back, coughing, the axes glinting beside him. "Crazy," he muttered, her touch lingering—her words sinking in. "And I'm crazier for listening."

A distant horn sounded—faint, not Leon's. Mya tensed, her hand on her hilt. "Scouts," she said, glancing at Kain. "They're watching."

"Let 'em watch," he rasped, standing. "I'm not running." He hefted an axe, coughing but firm. "Next time, I hit harder."

Her eyes gleamed—pride, love. "Next time," she said, stepping beside him, "we hit together."

Kain glared, but didn't argue—not yet. The calm settled, fragile and sharp, and he braced for the storm—axes, Mya, and all.