Lucien's Journal – Entry 190:
"The sword was easier. Orders, motion, risk — all things I can grasp. But this… this is the part Aldric never taught me. Coming home. Standing still."
⸻
The road to Ravensbourne wound through early evening mist, the tree branches overhead dipped low in quiet reverence. It was nearly dusk when the first riders broke through the northern pass — armor dulled, cloaks dust-streaked, weapons holstered. No horns. No fanfare. Just the low crunch of hooves and the creak of cartwheels bearing the weight of survival.
Lucien rode near the front, his posture upright, but the exhaustion clung to him like smoke. His armor was scuffed at the edges, the hem of his cloak torn from the fight in the tunnel. The only thing untouched was the pendant he wore — not a crest, but a simple silver ring on a chain, once belonging to his mother. He wore it on every mission. Tonight, he clutched it once when they crossed the ridge.
Behind him came the freed. More than three hundred — humans, elves, dwarves, beastkin — some hobbling, some silent, some whispering names over and over as if afraid they'd forget them now that they were real again. Others simply walked. Because walking meant they could.
Royce walked beside one cart, his usual sarcastic edge dulled but still intact. "That's the last time I pack this many ungrateful mouths in a single convoy. Remind me next time to requisition a second team."
Red snorted, his face smudged with ash. "You'd complain if you had a floating throne."
Mara said nothing. She rode with her hood pulled low, eyes scanning everything. Always watching. Always calculating.
They entered through the gates like ghosts returning to life. The Ravensbourne sigil fluttered overhead. And waiting there — under the arch, lit by the orange hues of the last sun — stood Sylva.
And Aerisya.
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Aerisya stood as if carved from stone, her hands clenched tightly around the edges of her shawl. Her eyes locked on the approaching line. She barely breathed. Every part of her screamed to run, to search, to find her — but fear rooted her in place. What if she wasn't there? What if this was all too late?
Then she saw her.
A slumped figure in one of the carts, wrapped in a blanket. Silver-blonde hair matted with dust. Thin. Pale. Familiar.
"Lethiel," she whispered.
Sylva turned her head. "Go."
Aerisya moved before her brain caught up. She stumbled into a sprint, skirts gathered, her boots half-laced from pacing all afternoon. The crowd parted instinctively as she passed. Some recognized her. Most didn't. But they saw the urgency.
Lucien had just dismounted when she rushed past him.
Straight toward the third cart.
He turned, startled — then followed.
⸻
Lethiel sat half-reclined against a crate, her eyes half-lidded, skin colorless under the grime. She looked like a phantom — except Aerisya knew ghosts didn't breathe.
"Lethiel!"
The voice cracked through the air. Lethiel's head twitched. Her eyes opened wider.
"Rissy?"
It was barely more than a croak, but it was enough.
Aerisya scrambled up the side of the cart, slipping once on the edge, then climbing in fully and falling into her arms.
The impact knocked a gasp from Lethiel, but she didn't care. Neither of them did. The blanket tangled around them. Aerisya sobbed openly, clutching her tighter, burying her face in her shoulder.
"I'm here. I'm here, I'm here, I'm sorry I left you—"
"You didn't. You didn't," Lethiel whispered, fingers weakly grasping at her back. "You came back."
It was a moment untouchable by war or time. Two shattered souls finding each other through the rubble. The kind of reunion that silence honored more than applause.
Sylva arrived quietly, setting a vial of calming draught on the edge of the cart for the medics. She didn't speak. She didn't need to.
⸻
Lucien stood a short distance away. He could hear the sobs, the choked laughter, the name whispered like a spell — Rissy — and the hush that followed it. It hit harder than he'd expected.
He'd been on missions before. He'd helped rescue. Rebuild. Heal.
But this? This was personal in a way he hadn't braced for.
A hand tapped his shoulder. He turned.
Sylva stood there, expression unreadable.
"She's alive," Lucien said, as if she didn't know.
"She is," Sylva replied. "Thanks to you."
Lucien shook his head. "Thanks to Aerisya."
Sylva studied him a moment longer. "You going to talk to her?"
"I… don't know what to say."
"Say nothing," Sylva said. "Just be there. She's had enough words."
⸻
Later that night, in the war hall beneath the Ravensbourne citadel, Aldric listened in silence as the squad leaders debriefed. The stone table was littered with maps, coded sigils, and bloodstained ledgers taken from the slaver archives.
"We took five of the key slavers alive," Royce reported, setting a sack of seal rings and nameplates on the table. "They'll talk."
Red leaned on the table's edge. "The escape plan held. Diversion, infiltration, structural sabotage. Everything went clean."
Mara added, "No casualties. No squad losses. Slavers never saw us coming."
Aldric folded his hands, gaze sharp. "And the freed?"
"Recovering," Lucien said from the side. "We'll need weeks to house and treat them. But morale is high."
Aldric nodded. "Good. Keep the pressure. And Lucien…"
Lucien met his brother's eyes.
"You led this?"
"I followed your example."
"Then you did better," Aldric said quietly. "You brought them home."
⸻
That same night, Aerisya sat on the floor beside the bed, her hand clasped in Lethiel's. The elf slept now, body finally allowed to rest. Aerisya hadn't moved in hours.
A soft knock pulled her from her thoughts.
"Come in."
Lucien stepped inside, a little uncertain. No armor. Just a fresh tunic, his dark hair still damp from washing.
"I didn't want to disturb you," he said.
"You didn't."
"She looks better," he added, glancing toward the bed.
"She is," Aerisya said. "Thanks to you."
Lucien shook his head. "You got her out. We just followed the path you carved."
A silence passed, but it wasn't awkward.
"She told me something," Aerisya said at last.
"What?"
"She said when I ran… she didn't think I'd ever come back. But she never hated me for it."
Lucien sat down beside her, not too close. "You couldn't have saved her alone."
"I tried."
"And now she's free," he said gently. "Because you lived long enough to lead us to her."
Aerisya turned to him, eyes red but dry.
"I never thanked you."
Lucien smiled. "You don't have to."
"I want to."
Then she did something unexpected — she leaned her head against his shoulder.
He stiffened just slightly — then relaxed.
"I don't know what comes next," she murmured.
"Neither do I."
They sat in the quiet for a long time.