The morning sky was a pale, washed-out blue, and a soft breeze stirred the ashes of yesterday's sorrows. Aaron stood outside Aldric's house—his house now—quietly checking his satchel one last time. The repairs were finished, and the walls stood strong again. But the emptiness within them echoed louder than ever.And now, it was time to leave again.
He wasn't just going to the capital for the day anymore. This time, he was staying.
The Royal Army had chosen him. He was to become a trainee, and for the next few years, the barracks would be his home.
Evelyn came from her aunt's house just before he left. They didn't say much—there wasn't much to say. She simply walked up and stood beside him in the early morning hush.
They sat together on the small stone bench under the tree Aldric had planted years ago. Birds chirped above them, and the wind carried the scent of dew-soaked grass. Aaron glanced at her a few times, trying to memorize everything—her quiet gaze, the way her hands were folded in her lap, the edge of sorrow pressed against her calm.
His chest ached, but he said nothing.
Evelyn didn't ask him to stay. She didn't need to. Her silence spoke volumes.
Finally, when the sun was climbing higher and the time had come, he stood. She stood too.
He hesitated, his throat tightening. "I'll write you," he said. "As often as I can."
Evelyn nodded, blinking fast. "Be careful," she whispered.
He opened his mouth to say something more, but the words caught in his throat. So instead he reached out and gave her hand a quick squeeze—warm, brief, steady.
Then he turned and walked away.
The Royal Army barracks were buzzing with activity by the time he arrived. Recruits rushed past in groups, training commands echoed from distant courtyards, and the clang of steel rang through the crisp morning air.
Aaron stepped into the registration hall, his boots leaving faint marks on the polished stone floor. He gave his name, age, and village once more, and a tired-looking officer noted it down in a thick ledger.
"You'll be staying in the west wing. Report to Sergeant Tovel at dawn tomorrow. Understood? "
"Yes, sir," Aaron replied.
He was led to a long dormitory with rows of wooden beds and trunks. The room smelled faintly of polish and sweat. His new life had begun.
That night, after dinner and a long round of marching drills, Aaron sat on the edge of his cot, lit only by a flickering candle stub. The ache in his arms and legs pulsed with each breath, but his mind kept drifting back—to the village, to Aldric, and to Evelyn sitting under the tree.
The day had been grueling.
At dawn, they were woken by a horn blast. No time for dawdling. Sergeant Tovel's voice had boomed across the courtyard, demanding order and speed. Within minutes, Aaron and the other boys had lined up in formation, sleep still clinging to their eyes.
They ran laps around the yard—ten of them. Then came posture drills, where a sharp-tongued captain corrected their stances, smacking knees or shoulders into place with a wooden staff. Aaron's arms trembled from holding a shield too long. His legs burned as he ducked and sidestepped in clumsy combat patterns.
In the afternoon, they learned sword basics—not striking yet, only holding and moving. Aaron's palms blistered quickly, and he tried to ignore the sting as sweat dripped into the raw skin.
There were boys who complained, who dropped their weapons or begged for breaks. Aaron said nothing. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward, his breath heavy but steady.
Leo had winked at him once, during a water break. "Still alive, village knight?" he'd joked.
"Barely," Aaron muttered back.
By the time they were dismissed that evening, his shirt clung to him, damp and dusty, and his hands were numb.
But deep in the ache, there was something else. Something he couldn't name yet—maybe pride, maybe purpose.
He pulled out a small piece of parchment from his pack, dipped a borrowed quill in ink, and began to write.
Dear Evelyn,
I hope this letter finds you well.
It's only been a few days, but it already feels like I've been here for weeks. The barracks are louder than I expected—boys shouting, boots stomping, captains barking orders from before the sun even rises. It's a strange rhythm, but I think I'm starting to fall into it.
Training is harder than I imagined. My hands are covered in blisters, and my legs feel like they'll give out every time we finish a drill. But I'm doing my best. I want to make Aldric proud. I want to make you proud too.
I miss the quiet mornings back home, the ones where you'd sneak over with bread or berries and we'd sit near the edge of the stream behind the house. Things were simpler then. They still matter to me. They always will.
I don't know when I'll be allowed to visit, but I'll write whenever I can. Please tell me how the house is coming along. Tell me if the corner garden is still standing, and if the roof leaks when it rains. And… take care of yourself, even when you're being stubborn.
You always said I had a habit of running off into things. I suppose this is just another one of those times. But I'll come back. That much, I promise.
Aaron
A week later
Dear Aaron,
I was waiting for your letter.
I'm glad you reached safely and that the barracks haven't completely broken your spirit yet. Though I must say, I don't like the thought of you waking up before sunrise every day. I hope you're eating enough, even if the food there can't possibly be better than my bread.
The house is slowly becoming a home again. The workers finished fixing the roof yesterday, and I scrubbed the floor so hard my arms ached, but it felt good—like I was doing something Aldric would've smiled at. His chair still creaks the same way, and I left the bookshelf just how it was. I think you'd like it.
The garden is still there. A little charred on one side, but the violets are growing back. I watered them yesterday and thought of you.
I miss the sound of your voice, even when you talked too much. It's quieter here now, but I suppose I should get used to that. You always said you'd go out into the world one day, didn't you?
Thank you for writing to me. I'll wait for the next one.
Stay safe, stubborn boy. And don't forget—you promised to come back.
Evelyn
A few days after Aaron sent his letter, he received a reply—neatly folded, with a sprig of dried lavender tucked inside, the kind that once grew in Aldric's garden.
Dear Aaron,
I was happy to see your letter. It made me smile, even though it also made me miss you more.
The house is getting better. The roof still groans when the wind gets too strong, and the door creaks like an old man when it opens, but it's standing. Your room is just as you left it. I dust it every few days, even though I know you won't be sleeping there for a while. I just like to think you'll return to it someday.
I told the corner garden about your promise. The little rose bush actually sprouted a new bud. Maybe it believed you.
The days are long here without you. I still do my chores, and Aunt keeps me busy, but the silence is louder than before. I keep looking at the fence between our houses, half expecting you to hop over it like you used to. It's silly, I know.
You said you wanted to make Aldric proud. I think you already have. I think he knew it too, even before you ever stepped into the army.
Be careful, Aaron. Don't push yourself too hard. And yes, I know you'll still do it anyway, but someone has to say it.
Come back when you can. I'll wait.
Evelyn