Recollect and Reflect

The teleportation glyph shimmered at the heart of the base's courtyard. As the last arcane light faded, Arasha stepped through the veil, armor scorched and cracked, blood dried along the edges, but upright—alive.

She hadn't even taken a full breath when a voice boomed across the stone walls.

"Commander!"

Sir Garran's voice was sharp, but not angry—relieved.

Kane was the first to reach her.

"You—what were you thinking?" Kane's words exploded from him, too fast, too tight. "Alone? After what you've been through? You didn't even leave a message before teleporting!"

Before Arasha could answer, Leta pushed forward.

"Oh no, don't look at me with those 'I had no choice' eyes." Leta crossed her arms, glaring. "You look like you crawled out of a rift's belly, and now you're just standing there like you didn't almost give us heart attacks!"

Kane, fists clenched at his sides, tried to rein in his trembling voice. "You didn't even call. We had to hear from Cassian. Cassian, of all people!"

Garran approached more slowly, his gaze heavy with concern but not judgment. "You're the commander," he said gently. "But you're also human, Commander. You've been pushing yourself past the edge for weeks. What if something had happened to you and we weren't there?"

Their words didn't come from anger—but from the deep-rooted terror of almost losing her. 

Arasha stood still, letting their worry wash over her like a cold tide.

When the silence finally came, she spoke softly. "I'm sorry for making you worry. Truly. But I had to go." Her eyes swept over their faces, lingering briefly on Kane's conflicted expression. "I'm alright."

Kane scoffed, looking away. "You always say that."

Leta let out a huff, stepping forward and pressing a small pouch into Arasha's hand. 

"Energy bar. Eat it. I don't care if you say you're fine, your soul looks like it's limping."

Arasha gave a weak smile. "Understood."

With a nod to Garran, she dismissed herself.

The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind her, muffling the weight of the world outside.

She sat slowly at the edge of her bed. 

Her armor creaked, unfamiliar with the quiet. 

She closed her eyes.

And in the darkness behind her lids, she could still see it—the power.

Not just magic. Not a blessing from the gods. But something primordial—something born from grief, resolve, sacrifice.

It pulsed now in her chest like a second heart, warm and cold at once. She had accepted it, knowing the price would come later.

And now that she had it... she didn't feel triumphant.

Only heavier.

A knock echoed at her door—but she didn't rise.

"Later," she whispered to herself. "I'll face them all later."

Tonight, in the stillness of her room, Arasha allowed herself to feel the burden settle in full.

Because she couldn't afford to crumble in front of anyone else.

Only here, alone, could she grieve for the parts of herself she gave away—for power, for duty, for everyone else.

Then, a soft creak of the chamber door stirred Arasha from her heavy thoughts, though she didn't lift her head. The warm presence that entered needed no introduction.

Kane stepped in quietly, his armor off, boots muted against the stone floor. 

He crossed the room with hesitation, stopping only when he stood just before her.

"You didn't tell me everything," he said, voice low. "What happened in the warehouse?"

Arasha looked up at him, shadows cast across her tired features. 

She didn't speak, just watched him for a moment. 

The weight of his gaze, filled with concern and restrained frustration, finally broke through her stillness.

"I handled it," she said softly.

"That's not what I asked." His voice didn't rise, but the emotion behind it pulsed. "You keep carrying everything alone, Arasha. I know what that look in your eyes means. Something is bothering you... Isn't it?"

She didn't answer. Instead, slowly, she leaned forward—resting her forehead against his chest.

Kane froze. 

Not from surprise, but from the sudden vulnerability. 

His hands hovered for a moment before gently settling on her shoulders, grounding her.

"I'm here," he whispered. "Whatever it is, I can carry it with you. You don't have to face the storm alone. Not anymore."

Still, Arasha said nothing. 

Her silence was heavy, not dismissive—like a dam keeping a flood at bay. 

Kane exhaled through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching in quiet resignation.

"Alright," he murmured. "Not tonight. But soon."

After a long moment, she pulled back slightly, offering him the faintest, most exhausted smile.

"Good night, Kane."

"Good night, Arasha."

****

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the base's infirmary wing as Arasha walked in, her expression composed but still laced with the echoes of the night before.

Leta was waiting for her, arms crossed, eyes sharp as ever—but something about her was different. There was a glow beneath her skin, subtle and powerful.

"You're early," Leta said, then smirked. "Of course you are."

Arasha looked her over, instincts sharp. "You've awakened."

Leta nodded. "This morning. Didn't even need a dramatic near-death moment like the rest of you."

Arasha's brows furrowed with concern. "And the cost?"

Leta raised an eyebrow. "You always get straight to the worst-case scenario, don't you?"

Arasha's voice lowered. "I need to know. If your awakened state ever puts you—or anyone—at risk, you must tell me immediately."

That earned her an eye roll and a laugh.

"That's rich," Leta said, stepping closer. "Coming from the woman who just walked into a rift alone and came back with the weight of the world on her shoulders."

Arasha opened her mouth, but Leta cut her off.

"I know. You're worried. You always are. But right now, the only threat I see is you—not because you're dangerous, but because your first concern isn't yourself,... it's me."

Arasha's shoulders lowered, the beginnings of a sigh escaping her lips. "I can't help it."

"I know," Leta said, softer now. "That's the problem."

Arasha gave a helpless smile.

Leta waved her off. "Now come on. We both have work to do. You can save the martyrdom for later—preferably never."

****

The air in the north was crisper, tinged with the chill of lingering frost and evergreen. 

Arasha's arrival at Northlight Manor was met with respectful bows from the guards and staff. 

She had refused any grand procession—just her and her mount, with a message sent ahead to inform Duke Lionel and the Duchess.

Inside the grand hall, Duke Lionel rose with a tired but warm smile as she entered.

"Commander Arasha," he greeted, his deep voice echoing off the stone walls. "You've come all this way for courtesies?"

Arasha offered him a graceful nod. "I've come to thank you—truly. What you and the duchess did at court was more than I could have asked. I owe you."

Lionel waved her words off. "You owe us nothing. We merely did what was right. Those nobles are too used to pointing fingers instead of lifting swords. Someone had to speak sense."

From the side chamber, Duchess Jane appeared, her elegance undiminished by age or war. 

She walked straight to Arasha and took her hands gently.

"And I'm not letting you leave without sitting for tea," the duchess said, eyes narrowing at Arasha's subtle fatigue. "You look thinner than last I saw you—and more burdened. Sit. No arguing."

Arasha gave a soft chuckle and allowed herself to be ushered into the duchess's sunlit parlor.

Moments later, young Levi burst in, all exuberance and wind-tousled hair. 

"Big Sister!" he beamed, hopping into a seat beside her. "Did you know Kane broke the eastern watchtower's old training record? Lucian's still upset about it."

Arasha blinked, then laughed quietly. "I didn't. I'll be sure to congratulate—or tease—him about it."

"Oh! And he actually cooked something!" Levi continued animatedly, "But it tasted awful, and even the dogs refused to eat it. He said it was 'experimental ration reform.'"

Duke Lionel coughed to hide his laughter. The duchess sighed, clearly recalling the incident.

Levi leaned in conspiratorially. "You should visit more often. Kane works harder when you're not around, probably trying to impress you. So go rest. Let him and the others earn their keep for once."

Arasha laughed—freely, genuinely—and the sound brought a brief silence of fondness to the room.

The moment didn't last long, of course.

"Big Sister!," Lucian said, striding into the room still in training gear. "Spar with me!"

"Lucian, she just arrived," the duchess protested. "Must you ambush every guest with a challenge?"

"It's not a challenge, Mother," Lucian said seriously. "It's an honor."

Arasha raised an eyebrow at the boy, now taller and more sure-footed than before.

"I accept," she said, rising smoothly. "But if I win, you have to taste Kane's cooking for a week."

Lucian grimaced but straightened his shoulder and already reached for practice blades. "Deal."

As they moved to the training yard, Duke Lionel sipped his tea, shaking his head with a wry smile. "You've made quite the impact on our sons, Commander."

The duchess nodded, her gaze following Arasha with a touch of maternal fondness. "And quite the mark on our hearts."

The clashing of practice blades echoed across the stone courtyard, rhythmic and sharp, punctuated only by the occasional grunt or shuffle of boots. 

Arasha's dark cloak was cast aside, her tunic damp with sweat, but her movements were fluid, graceful, honed by years of battle and discipline. 

Lucian, though younger and still growing into his strength, matched her with a tenacity and fire that made the watching knights pause.

Lucian ducked, twisted, and launched a clean upward strike that would have caught any average opponent off guard. 

Arasha deflected it with a tilt of her wrist, the force sending a jolt down both their arms. 

She smiled — not mockingly, but with genuine respect.

"You've improved," she remarked between strikes. "Your footwork is cleaner. No hesitation in your wrists anymore."

"Not enough if I still can't land a hit," Lucian growled, pressing in again.

From the sidelines, Levi lounged beside his father and mother, an apple in hand, clearly enjoying the show. 

Then, as if deciding the moment needed a little more flair, he piped up casually.

"By the way, did you know Big Sister mastered the sword at age twelve? I found royal records about it in the palace library. Youngest swordmaster in recorded history!"

Lucian immediately staggered mid-step, his balance off for a heartbeat. "Levi! Stop distracting me!"

Arasha, almost flustered, cast Levi a helpless look as she parried Lucian's sloppy follow-up. "Really?"

Levi only grinned wickedly and took a bite of his apple, utterly unrepentant.

The duchess chuckled behind her tea. "Honestly, Levi. Let them have their moment."

Duke Lionel smirked as he leaned back. "If Arasha's so formidable, perhaps I should request a match as well. It's been some time since I've stretched my legs."

Arasha raised an eyebrow, breathless but amused. "I'd be honored, Your Grace. But let's not cause your wife more worry."

"She worries whether I swing a sword or a spoon too hard," the duke remarked dryly, earning an eye-roll from the duchess.

Lucian, finally composed again, bowed his head. "Thank you for the spar, Big Sister. I'll keep training until I can land one blow on you."

"You'll need to grow quicker, then," Arasha said kindly, ruffling his hair before stepping back to wipe sweat from her brow. "But you're closer than you think."

****

The manor had quieted down. 

Moonlight filtered in through the tall windows, casting soft shadows across the guest chamber. 

Arasha sat at the edge of the bed, hair loose, a shawl draped over her shoulders as she gazed out into the northern stars.

A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.

"Come in," she called gently.

The door creaked open, revealing Levi, wrapped in a robe and holding a blanket under one arm.

"I'm not here to spar, I swear," he said quickly. "I… just wanted to ask something."

She tilted her head. "Of course."

He stepped in and sat across from her on the rug, folding his legs, unusually solemn. "Can you tell me about your missions? The real ones. Not the heroic tales people tell in taverns or what they write in the Kingdom papers. I want the truth — what it was really like."

Arasha blinked, then offered a small, knowing smile. "That's a heavy request for someone your age."

"I'm going to be part of this world," he said quietly. "Whether I choose to or not. And I'd rather hear it from someone I trust."

That touched something deep in Arasha — a tenderness reserved for younger soldiers and the youth swept into this harsh new world.

So, she leaned back and began.

She told him of their first rift breach. 

Of the burning villages and the frozen fear in the hearts of children. 

Of the first awakened teen she had to put down with her own sword. 

Of Kane's trembling hands when he first healed a dying knight. 

Of Leta stitching wounds while still bleeding herself. 

Of the hope that lit their eyes every time they saved even one person.

She told him the truth — unvarnished, painful, and at times horrifying.

Levi didn't flinch, though his hands curled into fists around the blanket. And when Arasha paused, he only said:

"Thank you."

Arasha smiled faintly and brushed a strand of hair behind his ear like an older sister would.

"Sleep now," she said. "There's strength in knowing. But rest is part of surviving too."

Levi nodded, rose quietly, and left — more thoughtful than he had entered.

Arasha sat in silence long after, the weight of memory heavier than usual, but her heart warmed by the silent trust placed in her.

****

The echo of firm, purposeful footsteps reverberated through the hallways of the base. 

Leta stormed through the grand corridor, her medic's coat flaring behind her, face drawn tight with frustration. 

At the door to the command chamber, she didn't bother to knock.

Inside, Sir Garran stood by the large map table, going over patrol rotations. 

He looked up the moment she entered — followed closely by Kane, his presence quieter, but no less intense.

Leta's voice was sharp. "You let her go to the north. Alone. Without proper escort. What were you thinking?"

Sir Garran didn't flinch. His gray eyes met hers, calm and unreadable. "She wasn't alone. She went to people she trusts. To a place that holds memories she needs right now."

Kane stepped forward, arms crossed. "I'd like to hear your full reasoning, Sir Garran. She's been through hell lately — we all have — but she more than anyone. We can't afford to let her burn herself out chasing clarity."

Sir Garran gave a slow nod, like he expected this confrontation. "Arasha… is not a sword you simply wield until it breaks. She's a commander, yes, but also a person. I sent her north because that place, and the people there, remind her who she is without the weight of command — without the blood and grief of the cult's aftermath pressing in on every corner of her mind."

He stepped around the table, tone firm but not defensive. "She needed space. A place of familiar comfort. Somewhere her walls might lower. You saw her after the last mission — she was carrying too much sorrow. The north is where her roots lie. It's where she learned discipline, yes, but also love. Kindness. Strength not born of duty, but of home."

Kane said nothing at first, his jaw tight. But Sir Garran continued.

"And those young lords up there — Lucian, Levi — they're around the same age as the ones Arasha had to cut down. Being near them… talking, sparring, laughing… it gives her space to process. To reflect. To accept that not all youth are lost to darkness."

Silence fell in the chamber.

Kane eventually exhaled, shoulders loosening, though worry still lingered in his eyes. "You're right," he murmured. "She was suffocating here. I just hate feeling like I can't help."

Sir Garran's expression softened, rare and brief. "You help by being here when she returns. By making sure the base runs, by giving her someone to come back to."

Kane gave him a long look, then nodded once and turned to leave, footsteps quieter now, more thoughtful.

But Leta remained, arms still tightly crossed, her eyes stormy. "You better be right about this, Garran. Because if she breaks while you're giving her 'space,' I swear, no rank will stop me from blaming you."

Garran met her glare without wavering. "If she breaks, I'll take the blame. But I trust her to rise — and I trust those in the north to help her do it."

Leta's eyes narrowed. She didn't answer, just turned and left, muttering under her breath as she stalked down the corridor.

Garran remained still for a long moment, then looked toward the window, where the wind whistled faintly through the stone slats.

"She'll return," he murmured, mostly to himself. "Sharper, stronger… and ready."