The morning air was brisk as Aaron stepped outside, the faint scent of ash still clinging to the breeze. The village was quieter now—still bruised, but healing. With Aldric's letter heavy in his heart, Aaron turned his focus to restoring the home that had once been their safe haven. He had a few coins from the army, enough to begin repairs. It wasn't much, but it was something.
He spent the early hours moving broken furniture aside and sweeping out the dust and soot from the corners. The structure had held through the attack, but the roof needed patching, the windows were shattered, and many of the walls were scorched. Still, the house stood, stubborn and solid—much like the man who had once lived in it.
Aaron left shortly after to fetch workers. He knew a few men who could help—local builders who were already busy mending other homes around the village. By midday, he had arranged for them to come by and begin fixing the roof and repairing the walls. Tools clinked, sawdust filled the air, and for the first time in days, the sound of rebuilding echoed through the street.
As the sun lowered toward the horizon, Evelyn returned from her aunt's house, brushing dust from her skirt. She spotted Aaron wiping sweat from his brow, standing just outside the rebuilt wall.
"You've done a lot today," she said, stepping beside him.
"Couldn't leave it the way it was," Aaron replied quietly. "He deserved better."
She gave a small nod, understanding.
There was a silence between them, comfortable yet charged with the weight of the past few days. Then Aaron spoke again, his voice calm but carrying something heavier beneath it.
"Evelyn," he said, glancing at her, "I need to tell you something."
She looked up, sensing the shift in his tone.
"I've been selected as a training soldier for the Royal Army," he continued. "I'll be staying at the barracks in the capital for the next few years."
The words settled between them like a stone dropped in water.
Evelyn blinked, taking it in. "For years?"
Aaron nodded. "I'll still be in the capital, but I won't be home often. The training will be... intense. Discipline, drills, everything. Commander Silas said it'll shape us into true soldiers."
"I see..." she murmured, her fingers curling slightly at her sides. "And this is what you want?"
Aaron hesitated, then nodded. "It's what I have to do. For Aldric. For everything he believed in. And maybe... maybe for something more."
She didn't respond right away, her gaze drifting toward the house. "He would've been proud of you."
"I hope so," Aaron whispered.
Evelyn's lips parted, but no sound came out for a moment. "When?"
"In a week."
A shadow passed over her face. "That soon?"
Aaron gave a short nod. "It's what I wanted. What he would've wanted."
She looked away, blinking fast, then said, "I know."
He waited, expecting her to argue, to plead with him not to go.
But she didn't.
Instead, she met his eyes and gave a small, aching smile. "Ok i understand.
The evening breeze swept through the broken fence as the last of the sun dipped beyond the trees. Evelyn stepped back, her voice softer now. "I should go. My aunt will be calling."
Aaron gave her a faint smile. "Yeah. I'll stay here. Finish cleaning up."
The silence between them wasn't heavy—it was full of unspoken understanding, of a bond deeper than words. The sky above them turned gold as the sun dipped low, casting warm light over the half-healed house, the scars of war, and the two souls trying to find a future in its wake.
The days passed with quiet purpose. As repairs continued, Aaron spent every waking moment working alongside the villagers, making sure Aldric's house was rebuilt with care. The roof was fixed by the third day, new panes of glass were fitted into the windows, and the walls were scrubbed and patched until the house resembled its old self—warm, sturdy, and alive.
Evelyn came by every evening after her chores, sometimes with bread she'd baked or a bundle of wildflowers to brighten the kitchen. They spoke little of Aaron's departure, but the knowledge of it lingered between them like a slow-moving shadow.
On the fourth evening, they sat outside beneath the half-finished porch, watching the orange hues of sunset bleed across the sky.
"I used to think once the war was over, everything would go back to the way it was," Evelyn said softly, picking at the edge of her apron.
Aaron rested his forearms on his knees. "Maybe it never will. But maybe we build something better."
She looked at him then, her eyes full of quiet questions, but said nothing more.
By the sixth day, the house was whole again. Aaron stood in the doorway that evening, the familiar scent of wood polish and hearth smoke curling through the air. For a fleeting moment, it felt like Aldric would walk in from the fields any second, complaining about his back and asking if the boy had burned the soup again.
But the silence that followed said otherwise.
Evelyn arrived shortly after, and they shared a simple dinner. Afterward, she lingered at the door.
"Tomorrow, then?" she asked.
Aaron gave a slow nod. "Yeah. First light."
She didn't move to leave right away, just stood there in the threshold as if memorizing the sight of him in Aldric's house.
"Do you have everything you need?" she asked at last.
"Just enough."
A beat passed.
"Will you write?" she asked.
"I will."
She gave a faint smile, eyes glassy. "Then I'll wait."
They stood in the doorway a little longer—two childhood friends balanced at the edge of change, bound by grief and something softer they couldn't yet name. Then she turned and walked down the path.
That night, Aaron sat alone by the hearth, a candle flickering nearby. He ran his fingers across the worn edge of Aldric's letter once more, folded neatly beside a packed satchel. His sword leaned against the wall, polished and ready.
For the first time in days, Aaron didn't cry. Instead, he stared into the fire and whispered, "I'll make you proud, old man."
And when he finally lay down to rest, there was peace in his heart.
Because tomorrow, a new journey would begin.