Lilith was overwhelmed. A quiet unease settled deep within him — the kind that doesn't announce itself loudly but gnaws at you in the still hours. Why was he even alive? While others died and were forgotten, why did some of them persist, carrying the weight of memory like a stone they could never set down? He had no answer. He wasn't sure he ever would.
That day, he felt weak. Not from any lack of strength — Lilith had never been short of that — but from something far heavier. He had lost the courage to face losing someone precious. There is a particular exhaustion that comes not from battle, but from grief, and Lilith had begun to know it intimately. He walked miles and miles, through winding roads and quiet villages, driven by a single purpose: to find a man he had met long ago. A man the world had perhaps moved on from, but one Lilith had never been able to forget. He didn't know whether that man was still alive, or whether the years had taken him too. After all, for Aron, enough time had passed that the memories of old companions might have grown faint. But for Lilith, nothing had faded.
The world Aron had wanted was different. He was a pure soul — uncomplicated in the way that only genuinely good people are. He had no grand reason to fight, no burning ambition carved into him by blood or title. It had been Lilith who had drawn him in, who had sparked something in him. And yet, Aron had proven himself in ways no one had expected. A bloodline does not decide a man's will. Fate is not written in heritage alone. Aron had shown that to everyone who doubted it.
Aron had told Lilith many things about his past. How his mother had died in the burning left behind by a dragon — the kind of story that breaks something in a person permanently. How his father had fought with everything he had, not for glory, but because it was the only way he knew how to love. Lilith had thought of his own parents then, and the way their story had unravelled so differently from a normal life. Though his parents were also gone, the grief he felt in that moment was for Aron. It was a strange thing, mourning another person's loss more loudly than your own.
His sister, Lily — she had been genuinely happy around Aron. Finding that kind of friendship, Lilith thought, was a rarer thing than most people understood. You could fight a million wars alongside someone, stand shoulder to shoulder in the worst of it, and still have them drive a blade into your back when the fighting was over. But finding someone whose presence brought lightness, whose loyalty was effortless — that was worth more than any victory on any battlefield.
Lilith finally straightened. He cleared his head, exhaled slowly, and tried to gather himself. And then he heard it — a low murmur, the voice of an old man drifting through the noise of the street nearby.
*"You may know him,"* the old man was saying, almost to himself. *"He was with Commander Keiss. You have to find Aron."*
The words hit Lilith like a dagger thrust from behind. Aron. He moved before he had consciously decided to, striding toward the old man with urgency pulling at every step.
"Excuse me, Mister," Lilith said, reining himself in just enough to keep his voice polite. "I'm looking for a man called Aron."
Balrad studied him with cautious eyes. He thought: *Why? What do you want from that boy? Let him be. He's been through enough — cruelty, judgment, things no one should have to endure. He doesn't need more of it.*
"No, no — you're misunderstanding," Lilith said quickly, reading the old man's hesitation. His expression was earnest, open. "He is an old friend. I lost track of him a long while ago. I'm not here to bring him trouble. I just want to find him."
Something in Balrad softened. He thought of Aron — quiet, careful Aron — and how he had never once mentioned a friend like this. But then again, Aron rarely spoke of those things. *Whatever the case,* Balrad decided, *we have to find him before he wanders somewhere and gets lost again.*
---
Aron had reached Balrad's house ahead of either of them.
He slipped in through the side entrance near the barn, where the old horse, Quel, lifted his head and let out a low, recognizing neigh. Aron smiled — genuinely, without effort — and patted the animal on the neck.
"How are you, big guy?" he said quietly, and gave him a handful of grain before making his way inside.
The house was empty. Balrad wasn't home. Aron moved through the familiar rooms, changed out of his worn clothes, cleaned the road off himself, and finally, with the particular relief of someone who has been moving for too long, collapsed onto the bed.
He stared at the ceiling.
*Lilith.* The name surfaced on its own, the way it always did in quiet moments. *I was never like him.* Lilith had something Aron had always admired — a burning will, a courage that didn't waver even when everything else did. Aron had never been sure he possessed that same fire. Perhaps he had borrowed some of it, standing close enough to Lilith for long enough. But it had been a long time now. Too long.
*He must have changed,* Aron thought. *A man of standing, probably. Stronger. More certain.* He turned onto his side. *Would he even recognize me, looking like this?*
---
Balrad and Lilith searched the streets together, but found no sign of Aron. A quiet fear had begun to settle in Balrad's expression — the kind that comes from knowing someone too well and understanding all the ways they might disappear.
Then they found Keiss, freshly bandaged, still hollow-eyed from whatever he had lived through. Balrad went to him immediately.
"Where is Aron?" he asked.
Keiss looked at him, then past him, gathering himself. "He was alive at the end," he said. "Just before I lost consciousness, I saw him standing. He must have taken a different road back."
Balrad exhaled — long, slow, relieved. Then the thought arrived clearly: *He went home.*
"Thank you," Balrad said to Keiss. "For everything. For winning."
"Don't thank me," Keiss replied. "Thank Aron. Without him, none of us would be standing here."
Balrad felt something warm settle in his chest — pride, hope, the quiet certainty of a man who had always believed in the right people. He turned to Lilith.
"Come," he said simply. "We're going home."
The cart waited around the corner. They climbed in, and with a familiar *tock* against the cobblestones, it rolled forward — steady, unhurried, heading toward whatever came next.