A Whisper of Peace

The morning sun had just begun to peek through the forest canopy, casting golden rays across the dew-soaked grass. For once, there were no monsters. No shadows clawing at the edges of Liora's mind. Just the gentle rustle of leaves, the steady crackle of a campfire, and the soft breathing of Kael beside her.

It had been three days since their last real battle. Three days of quiet. Of traveling down winding trails and letting the world around them exist without drawing blood. It was strange—unsettling, even—for someone like Liora, who had come to expect violence around every bend.

She sat on a flat rock near the edge of the stream, legs tucked beneath her, brushing out the knots in her hair with a carved wooden comb she'd looted off a noble's estate weeks ago. Her reflection in the water looked tired—older than eighteen. The dark crescents under her eyes and the streak of silver now threading through her raven hair made her look more like someone who'd seen war for a lifetime.

But there was still a spark in her eyes.

Necromancy hadn't stolen that from her yet.

Kael stirred behind her, groaning as he stretched. "You're up early."

"I haven't really been sleeping," she murmured, not looking away from the stream. "Too many dreams."

He sat beside her without another word, waiting. He'd gotten better at that—knowing when to push, and when to sit in silence.

Liora let the quiet stretch before finally speaking. "When I was little, my mother used to take me to a lake near our village. We'd sit for hours, just… watching. She said the water never lied. It reflected the truth—even the things you didn't want to see."

Kael leaned in, glancing at her reflection. "What truth do you see now?"

She paused. "That I'm changing. And not all of it is good."

Kael didn't answer right away. He picked up a pebble and flicked it into the stream, watching it skip. "I've changed too. We all do. But you're still Liora. Still the girl who risked her life to help a starving farmer last week. Still the one who hesitated before killing a necromancer who tried to take your head."

She snorted. "I didn't hesitate. I was weighing whether or not to raise his corpse."

He grinned. "Even so."

The teasing faded as his fingers brushed her hand. His touch was warm, grounding. A part of her—the part still buried beneath layers of power and bone and battle—ached to lean into it. To forget what she was. To be a girl again, just for a moment.

But she wasn't a girl anymore.

She turned to face him, slowly. Their eyes met—hers dark and guarded, his open and earnest. He leaned closer, and this time, she didn't pull away.

Their kiss was soft at first. Gentle. A question asked and answered in silence. But when her fingers tangled in his hair, and his arms pulled her closer, it deepened—hungry, searching. Not a battlefield, but something just as dangerous.

She hadn't expected to want this. Not now. Not in the middle of everything.

But she did want it.

And for a while, that was enough.

They broke apart, breathless. Her forehead rested against his, her heart thudding wildly in her chest.

"I'm afraid," she whispered.

"I know."

"I don't want to lose myself."

"Then let me help you remember who you are."

For the first time in weeks, Liora felt something ease in her chest. Like maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to carry it all alone.

Later that day, they reached a small village nestled between the hills—one that hadn't yet been swallowed by the chaos overtaking the land. Farmers worked the fields. Children played in the dirt. A blacksmith hammered steel as if monsters didn't lurk in the woods just beyond.

Liora wore a thick cloak to hide her telltale armor and the faint glow of magic that still clung to her skin. Kael kept close, his hand never far from his sword, but for the most part, they blended in.

It felt… strange. Pretending to be normal.

They spent the afternoon gathering supplies—food, medicine, a new satchel to replace the one Liora had lost in their last fight. At the village square, an elderly woman was selling handwoven bracelets. Kael bought one, fumbling with the coins like he wasn't used to such peaceful exchanges.

He handed it to Liora later that night as they sat beneath a tree just outside the village.

"For protection," he said. "Probably doesn't do much, but it looked nice."

Liora turned it over in her hands. It was simple—braided string, tiny beads made of bone and wood. She slid it onto her wrist and smiled faintly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he replied, watching her. "You seem different."

"Different how?"

"Lighter. Like… maybe you believe things could be okay."

She looked up at the stars. "I don't know if they ever will be. But today wasn't awful."

"That's progress."

They stayed up long into the night, talking softly about nothing and everything. Liora told him a little more about her mother—how she used to sing lullabies in a strange dialect Liora never learned. How she disappeared when Liora was twelve, leaving nothing but a letter that burned itself to ash after being read.

Kael shared his own family memories. His sister, who used to steal his boots and hide them in the fireplace. His father, a merchant with rough hands and a kind smile. His hometown, now buried under stone and ash after a dragon raid.

There was pain, but there was laughter, too. Grief shared between two broken people who, for one night, let themselves just be.

And when sleep finally came, it was without nightmares.

Not because the darkness was gone—but because, for now, it didn't matter.

They had each other.

And in a world unraveling, that was something worth holding onto.