Lingering Wounds and a Shared Vow

The night sky over Ardellon was still red, as if unwilling to let go of the embers of the war that had just ended. The scent of blood clung to the air, stinging the lungs, mingling with the smell of iron and burnt ash from the ruined village.

Lyselle stood amidst the wreckage, her gown tattered, her left arm streaked with dried blood. Her silver hair was grimy with ash, clinging to her pale cheeks. She looked down at the bodies lined up on the ground—the villagers she had failed to save, and the rebels who had drawn their swords until their last breath.

Lyselle's hands trembled. She slowly raised one, staring at the bloodstains on her fingertips. Am I really a High Elf? Or am I just a monster claiming to be an advocate for justice?

Behind her, heavy footsteps sounded. Caelan walked closer, his own body covered in wounds, his shoulder guard shattered, and a broken sword still in his hand. His gaze was vacant, as if half his soul had been left behind on the battlefield.

“Lyselle…” his voice was hoarse, almost breaking.

Lyselle turned slowly. Their eyes met—and for the first time since the battle ended, she realized how fragile Caelan looked. Not like the powerful knight who stood tall on the front lines, but a young man with empty eyes, burdened by a sin he could never atone for.

“…We won, didn’t we?” Caelan gave a hollow smile, but his voice was full of bitterness.

Lyselle bit her lip until it bled. “If this is what winning feels like… I don't want to feel it again.”

Silence.

The night wind blew, carrying fragments of ash and burnt paper from the village houses.

Lyselle finally dropped to her knees. She covered her face with both hands, and her shoulders began to tremble. A suppressed sob finally broke free—loud, bitter, and full of pain.

Caelan just stood, watching her, then slowly knelt down as well. He said nothing. He simply placed his hand over Lyselle’s, strengthening her in silence.

“Why… why did all of this have to happen…” Lyselle’s voice was broken and soft, as if she were talking to herself.

Caelan closed his eyes, as if the answer would never come.

But in the bloody silence of the night, between two wounded souls, a bond was born.

A bond not formed by victory… but by the shared wounds they carried.

A small campfire flickered in the middle of the ruins. The night wind carried the lingering scent of iron, blood, and ash. The orange light danced on Lyselle’s face, revealing small cuts on her cheek and sweat that had not yet dried. Her hands still trembled as she tried to clean the blood from Caelan’s arm with a piece of cloth.

“Stay still for a moment,” she whispered softly, almost inaudible. “If you keep moving, I can’t bind the wound.”

Caelan held back a short laugh, though the pain was evident on his face. “You say that as if I can just stop. The pain… is incredible.”

“Yes, of course it hurts!” Lyselle's voice rose, cracking at the end of the sentence. “If only you weren't so stupid, blocking that spear by yourself…”

“If I hadn't blocked it, that spear would have gone through your chest, Lyselle.” Caelan looked into her eyes, intently, even as his lips trembled with pain. “I would rather my body be shattered than let you fall in front of me.”

Lyselle froze. The words, simple yet piercing like a merciless sword, struck her. The hand holding the cloth stopped moving, then slowly lowered.

“…You're always… like this. Treating your life as if it means nothing, as long as I’m still standing.” Her emerald green eyes trembled, glistening with unshed tears. “But… I don’t want to keep seeing you get broken for me, Caelan.”

Caelan was silent, then took a long breath, as if wanting to answer but holding back. In the silence, only the sound of the campfire could be heard.

Levirian, who was sitting a little distance away, staring at the night sky, suddenly commented softly.

“It's funny. You two talk as if the world still gives us time for drama. When, in fact, our enemy is still far greater than we can imagine.”

Lyselle turned sharply, her eyes ablaze. “Levirian, don’t interrupt—”

“No, let him,” Caelan sighed. “He’s right. But I also can’t pretend to be strong anymore.”

He bowed his head, his blood-stained hands clenching the dirt. “I’m… scared, Lyselle.” His voice was hoarse and honest. “Scared I’m not strong enough to protect you. Scared of losing you like I’ve lost everyone else.”

Lyselle looked at him for a long time. Those words shook her heart more fiercely than any war cry. She slowly moved closer, her knees almost touching the ground next to him. Gently, she touched Caelan’s face, forcing him to look at her.

“Look at me, Caelan.” Her voice was trembling, but firm. “You're not the only one who has lost things. I carry the same burden… and that’s why we can’t push each other away.”

Caelan swallowed hard, his eyes glistening. “Lyselle…”

“I swear right here,” she continued, her voice breaking, “from now on, we won’t fight alone anymore. No matter how great the enemy is. You won't be a shield on your own, and I won’t run without looking back.”

Her tears fell, dripping onto the back of Caelan’s hand.

“This isn't about who protects whom. This is about us… surviving together.”

Caelan was silent. Then slowly, he took Lyselle's hand, which was still on his cheek.

“In that case… let me make my own vow.”

He took a deep breath, though every exhale was clearly painful. “Whether it’s hell, whether it’s a foreign world, whether it’s a god or a demon… I will always stand by your side. Not in front, not behind. But beside you.”

Silence. The campfire flickered. Levirian, though pretending not to care, glanced over, his eyes dim with something hard to explain.

Lyselle closed her eyes for a moment, then smiled bitterly. “You really are an idiot… making a vow that heavy when your body is almost falling apart.” “But it's the only thing that's keeping me breathing right now.” Caelan smiled weakly. “And if you dare break it… I'll drag you to hell with me.”

Lyselle laughed softly through her tears, a sound full of pain but also warmth. “Alright, Caelan. In that case, let’s survive together, until the end.”

The campfire swayed. The night felt cold, but their hearts, for the first time since the fight, felt warm—even though the world around them was still full of blood and ash.

Dusk slowly fell over Ardellon. The scorched red sky seemed to hold on to the last vestiges of the battle they had just endured. Small fires still burned from the collapsed houses, and the air was filled with a mix of wet earth, dust, and dried blood.

Lyselle sat leaning against a cracked stone wall, her body still wrapped in the faint glow of healing magic. Caelan sat not far from her, his spear resting on his shoulder, his eyes staring straight at the ground. Silence. So quiet, only the rustle of the wind carrying fluttering ash fragments.

But in that silence, the weight of their feelings collided with each other.

“...You almost died just now.”

Lyselle’s voice was soft, hoarse, but heavy with emotion.

Caelan turned, looked at her for a moment, then looked away again. “You too. If I hadn’t blocked that attack—”

“If I had been faster, you wouldn’t have had to!”

Lyselle's voice rose, cracking as if holding back tears. “I… I didn’t want to see you fall in front of me, Caelan. What do you think that felt like?”

Caelan fell silent. His jaw hardened, as if holding back something he wanted to say but couldn’t.

Lyselle looked down, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. “I’ve lost too much already. My family, my people, even the future of my nation. If I have to lose you too… I don't think I can survive.”

Her voice trembled, soft but sharp, piercing right into Caelan’s heart.

Finally, he moved. Slowly, he approached, kneeling before Lyselle. His large, rough hands from the battlefield took Lyselle’s cold and trembling ones.

“Lyselle,” he whispered, looking directly into her eyes. “You are not the only one who is afraid of losing. From the first day I swore to follow you… I knew the risks. But I have no regrets. Not even if I have to pay with my life.”

“Don’t talk nonsense!”

Tears fell down Lyselle’s cheeks. She shook her head hard. “I don’t want to hear those words of sacrifice from you. I don't want you to be a part of the endless chain of pain that follows me.”

Caelan held her hand more tightly, as if to force strength into it.

“In that case… allow me to be the only pain you never want to let go of. The only one you protect, not avoid.”

They both fell silent. Only the thunderous beat of their hearts could be heard, louder than the rustling of the wind.

Lyselle looked at him, her emerald green eyes wet, but this time there was another glint—not just sadness, but determination.

“…Then promise me. Never leave me. Don't let me stand alone in this world.”

Caelan smiled faintly, bitterly but sincerely. He raised Lyselle's hand to his chest, right above his fiercely beating heart.

“For all that is left of my life… I swear, Lyselle. As long as this heart still beats, I will be by your side.”

Silence fell again. But this time it was different. It was no longer a frightening quiet, but a bond that held more strongly than words.

Lyselle closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against Caelan's shoulder. “Don't let this vow break… because if it does, I don't know if I can go on living.”

Caelan did not answer with words. He simply held her in a tight embrace, conveying all his answers through the warmth of his body.

But beyond the gloomy twilight sky, in the ruins of a distant northern tower, a strange light glimmered. Not magic, not fire… but something foreign, a metallic sheen that shouldn't exist in this world.

From within the shadows of the ruins, a faint voice echoed— “The fragment… is still functioning.”

Lyselle, who was leaning against Caelan’s embrace, suddenly felt a coldness spread across her skin. She turned to the dimming sky, her heart trembling for no clear reason.

Their vow had just been spoken, but a shadow from another world was beginning to creep in.

The night wind blew gently, carrying the scent of blood and ash from the ruins the war had just left behind. Small fires still burned in the distance, dancing softly as if mocking the lingering life that held on.

On a cliff overlooking the valley, Lyselle sat slumped, her body covered in wounds and her white robe stained with red. She stared at her trembling hands, not just from the pain—but from the weight of the reality she had just endured.

Caelan stood not far from her, head bowed, his sword still dripping with blood. The moonlight made his face appear darker than usual.

“All of this… it’s really real,” Lyselle’s voice broke, almost a whisper. “Those people… they’re not coming back. The children, the mothers, the fathers… I couldn’t stop it. I… failed.”

Tears fell, streaming down her dusty cheeks.

Caelan slowly approached. His footsteps were heavy, as if each one was a burden trying to drag him into the ground. He knelt beside Lyselle, then looked deeply into her eyes.

“You didn’t fail.”

His voice was low, hoarse, but firm.

“If it weren't for you, many more would have died tonight. Don’t carry all the sin on your shoulders alone.”

Lyselle bit her lip. “But still… I was the one who delayed the decision. I was the one who chose to trust the enemy’s words. And look at the result… wounds, blood, and death. How can I look at this world with conviction again, Caelan?”

Silence enveloped them. Only the rustle of the wind and the crackling of the fires far below could be heard.

Caelan looked at the moon, then sighed deeply.

“Lyselle… I also bleed. I also kill. Every drop of blood on my sword is a sin that will always follow my path. But…” He looked into Lyselle’s trembling green eyes. “…I choose to keep going. Because if I stop, then those who fell will have died in vain.”

Lyselle was silent, her shoulders shaking. “Aren’t you… afraid?”

“Afraid? Of course I’m afraid,” Caelan replied quickly, his eyes narrowed. “I’m afraid of losing the people who are precious to me. I'm afraid that one day I’ll look back, and you won't be by my side anymore. That’s why I will keep moving forward. Because only then can I protect… what’s left.”

Those words hit Lyselle harder than any sword. She covered her face with both hands, crying uncontrollably. A broken cry—a cry she had held back for too long.

Caelan moved closer, reaching for her shoulders. At first Lyselle resisted, but she finally fell into Caelan’s embrace. Caelan’s hard, warm chest was the only place where she could feel safe.

“…I’m tired, Caelan,” she whispered through her tears. “I’m really tired.”

“I know,” Caelan replied gently. “Me too. But listen to me, Lyselle. From tonight, we don’t walk alone. We will bear this burden together. The wounds, the blood, the sin—we will share it all.”

Lyselle looked up slowly, her eyes swollen, but a small light flickered within them. “Together…?”

Caelan looked at her intently. “Yes. So, swear with me. Before this moon, on this ground that has absorbed innocent blood… that we will never stop, never give up, until this world changes. Until no one has to suffer a fate like theirs again.”

Lyselle took his wounded hand. Their fingers intertwined tightly, their blood mixing.

“…I swear,” her voice trembled, but was firm. “I won’t stop. With you, Caelan.”

The moonlight seemed to illuminate that vow, a silent witness to the determination of two broken but united souls.

But beyond the night sky, far above, something trembled. As if an unseen eye was watching.

And amidst the distant fog in the valley, a strange glint appeared—not magic, not fire—but a cold, regular light, as if from a foreign metal.

Caelan briefly looked back, his eyebrows furrowed. “What is that…?”

Lyselle also stared at the faint light, feeling a foreign presence prick her skin.

A word whispered in her mind, faint, as if carried by the night wind.

Remiel...

She gasped, clutching her chest. “That name… who’s calling me…?”

Caelan looked at her with concern. “Lyselle?”

But Lyselle only remained silent, her gaze vacant, as if piercing a veil of a world she shouldn't be seeing.

The wind stopped. The night froze. And for the first time since the war began, something from an old world revealed itself.