Weight Of A Choice II

The battle was over. Snow fell in soft silence, as if the night itself wished to cover the scars it had just endured. Smoke curled faintly from the battlements, where fresh scorch marks and black blood stained the stones. The fortress had held, but the air carried the raw edge of fear and exhaustion. The wind bit colder than usual, pressing the weight of survival into every soldier’s shoulders.

Seren walked the lines with his steady presence. He stopped at each cluster of rookies, his words blunt but never cruel. He didn’t praise them with honeyed lies, nor did he scold them for trembling hands. Instead, he reminded them: what they had faced was only the beginning. His certainty carried more strength than his words, as though the weight of his years on the battlefield lent proof that endurance was possible. Veterans stood taller by his side, living testaments to survival.

Caldris, ever bright, brought his own brand of healing. He laughed too loudly, clapping rookies on the shoulders, cracking jokes about their uneven stances or clumsy grips. At first glance he seemed to mock, but slipped between the words were soft instructions, quick corrections, and encouragements. His warmth was easier to cling to than steel discipline, and the rookies leaned toward him like moths to a lantern in the dark.

Mira arrived with her team, already murmuring calculations under her breath as she traced the lines of the damaged gate with a gloved hand. She spoke to Seren with her usual clipped precision, but her tone softened when her eyes swept over the younger knights. When she caught sight of a boy clutching his spear too tightly, she paused just long enough to tell him to breathe. That single reminder steadied him, his grip loosening, and his shoulders easing. Mira didn’t linger - her work was urgent - but the moment stuck.

The priests were the quiet thread that kept the soldiers' mental states from unraveling. They moved among the weary, binding wounds with steady hands, murmuring prayers low enough to soothe. Ansel’s palms glowed with a faint light as he pressed against cuts and bruises, refusing to stop even as his own hands trembled. Lysandra leaned heavily on her staff, lips pale, yet her chanting never faltered. They were still young, but their resolve rivaled the veterans’.

Noel lingered at the rear, Akari perched silently on his shoulder. Her flames were faint and her fox body heavy as though weighed down by more than fatigue. She didn’t tease or smile like usual. She simply watched, golden eyes tracking the people around her. Caldris passed by with his ever-present grin, pressing dried sweets into her paws. “For the cute little fox who lit the walls. You earned them.” She nibbled one without spirit, her fire dim. Caldris glanced at Noel, a look that asked if she would be alright, but didn’t press the question.

Even Barkley, who rarely slowed for anyone, dipped his head as he padded past. Approval in his silence. Akari turned her face away, unable to meet his gaze.

As the fortress settled, the rookies clung to their small routines. Some polished weapons with trembling hands, as though cleaning steel could erase memory. Others huddled in groups, speaking too loudly about their small victories - shouts that carried cracks of fear underneath. Veterans mingled quietly among them, guiding without smothering, lending presence more than words. The fortress didn’t just endure by steel and magic, but by how its people held one another together.

...

Their quarters were quiet, the kind of stillness that followed exhaustion rather than peace. Noel lit the hearth, coaxing warmth into the room. Akari curled in his lap, her fire faint but steady. He tried to tease her.

“You nearly startled Lysandra out of her skin with that last burst.”

The attempt fell flat. She didn’t laugh, didn’t even pretend to. Her silence pressed heavier than the snow outside.

“What’s on your mind?” Noel asked finally, softer now.

Her voice was small. “The battlefield… I can still smell it. The blood. The smoke. I can hear the screams. I thought I was ready, but… I wasn’t.”

Noel smoothed a hand across her fur, feeling the weak pulse of warmth. “It’s normal. Especially your first time. But listen, Akari. You’re still a child. Younger than I was when I joined the capital’s military. You don’t have to keep doing this. If you want to stop here, that’s okay.”

Her flames flickered, faint but stubborn. “I can’t. My powers are growing. If I can help keep people alive, how could I stay behind? I don’t want to just sit and watch.”

Noel held her gaze for a long moment. “I understand. But let me tell you something. Back in the capital, I didn’t get to choose. You can. My family forced me into the military. My unit was led by a relative. The kind of man who thought breaking us was the only way to make us strong. Seren is nothing like him.”

Akari blinked, listening closely.

“I tried to leave once. They dragged me back. Again and again. I didn’t fight because I wanted to. I fought because I had no choice. The only thing that kept me standing were the friends I made there.” His words caught, and for a moment only the crackle of the fire filled the room. “But friends will not always make it. You cannot save everyone. Some will fall, no matter how hard you try.”

Akari pressed closer against his arm, her fur warming faintly as if to remind him she was still there.

Noel exhaled slowly. “Don’t burn yourself out trying to prove your worth. To the fortress, to me, or to anyone. Take your time. Decide if fighting is what you truly want. Don’t waste yourself the way I did by always chasing worth and never finding it.”

For a while, she was quiet, tail wrapped tightly around herself. Then she whispered, “I don’t want to leave you behind.”

Noel’s hand lingered on her fur, steady and warm.

Snow tapped softly against the window. The fire burned low, casting long shadows across the room. Akari curled in his lap, finally asleep, her body temperature like a heat pack. Noel stayed awake, watching the hearth, his hand never leaving her side. He thought of the capital, of faces he would never see again, and of the girl in his lap who still had the chance to choose her path.

In the silence, he made a promise. Not to lean only on her flames, but to grow strong enough to shield her too. She would never have to face it alone.