Marn watched Areen sleep, her chest rising and falling in the rhythm of deep slumber. The pale dawn light slipped through the gaps in the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room and tracing the delicate lines of her face. He should go—he knew that. His teammates would already be preparing for the day's training, donning their uniforms, falling into line. His absence would be noted. But he couldn't bring himself to move. Leaving meant returning to the life of discipline, of duty, but staying—staying felt like something precious, something he hadn't expected. Areen had surprised him last night. He hadn’t expected to see her at the village celebration, mingling among the dancers and partiers, laughing under the flicker of lan-terns strung in the rafters. But there she was, standing as if time hadn’t touched her—just like she’d always been. Her presence had stirred something in him that he thought was long gone. The surprise deepened when he learned she was living here, in Chervil, and still unmarried. It felt almost impossible like fate had conspired to pull their paths back together after all these years. He remembered how he'd been sweet on her growing up, a childhood crush that had never quite disappeared. Back then, though, they were trapped in a world steeped in old customs. Like most people in their small town, Areen had followed the pre-occupation traditions, clinging to the outdated roles forced on women. Marn had always struggled with that, especially after he left. His father was Men-thanlan, a man who had carried himself with quiet dignity and treated his wife, Marn's mother, with respect. But when his father died, everything had changed. Marn’s mother had taken him back to her own people, to a small village in Northern Yarba. There, the old ways dominated life. Women were little more than property, shuffled between families and husbands like goods to be bartered. Marn’s grandfather had quickly arranged for his daughter to be married off to the first man willing to take responsibility for a widow’s child. The man was brutal, treating his new wife with cruelty, and Marn fared no better. He remembered the sharp crack of harsh words and the constant sense of fear in their house. His stepfather's cruelty had etched itself into Marn’s memory, but more than anything, it was his mother’s suffering that left the deepest scars. He hadn’t remembered much of his time in Menthanla, but he recalled enough. His father had never raised a hand to his mother, never spoke to her with anything but patience and care. The contrast between his father’s quiet kindness and his stepfather’s abuse made Marn realize just how broken the world around him was. As he grew older, the weight of it all pressed down harder. He saw other women and girls in the village treated the same way: uneducated, trapped in marriages they had no say in, living lives of silent despair. He tried to help his mother, tried to convince Areen to break free from the cycle, but they wouldn’t listen. To them, this was simply the way things were, the way they had always been. Eventually, Marn knew he had to leave. He enlisted in the Menthanlan army, hoping that in serving something greater, he might find a way to make a difference. But the years spent in Yarba had left their mark on him. He might not have inherited the brutality of his stepfather, but he hadn't learned the same respect for women his father had shown. Instead, he had become something differ-ent. Now, in the eyes of his fellow soldiers, he was little more than a womanizer. The tales of his exploits had spread through the ranks, and it wasn’t long before he was placed in the problem squad—a unit made for soldiers like him, men whose reputations had gotten in the way of their potential. The one solace in his stationing was its proximity to his mother. He could visit her now, see the way she still bore the weight of her marriage. He clung to a faint hope that her husband might do something foolish, something that would lead to his arrest. Then, Marn could move his mother back to Menthanla, away from the pain she had endured for too long. Running into Areen had been a pleasant surprise—a glimmer of something good amid all the darkness. He had ended things with her years ago because she hadn’t been willing to change, hadn’t tried to grow or challenge the constraints around her. She had been too submissive, too unwilling to learn to read or think for herself. But the time apart had changed her. Marn’s departure had hurt her deeply, and it seemed that pain had been a catalyst. She had begun to reflect on her life and found she could no longer stay where she had been. Seeing her again had stirred something unexpected in Marn. He hadn’t realized that he still had feelings for her, not until the moment she saw him across the room at the celebration. When he approached her, she had kissed him—without hesitation, as if the years and the arguments between them hadn’t happened. It felt as though everything had fallen back into place, like the universe had conspired to bring them back to each other. For a fleeting moment, he imagined staying, imagined a life with her. But he knew better. He couldn't stay. His life was complicated, tangled in duties and expectations that he couldn’t escape. His reputation as a charmer followed him, a fact that weighed on him more now than ever. The others in his unit hadn’t said it outright, but there was an unspoken hope that Marn might use his connections with women to gather information—pillow talk with the servants could be useful for the kingdom’s inter-ests. As much as he might want to, pursuing Areen now would only complicate every-thing. She deserved better than a man like him, a man whose reputation for seduction overshadowed anything else. He sighed and cast one last look at her sleeping form. Her presence made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time—peace. But peace was a luxury he didn’t have. Faced with the moral dilemma of pursuing Areen or fulfilling his duty, he was torn. As he got dressed, he stole a glance at her, and regret and affection swelled within him. He couldn’t simply walk away, not again. Areen had already forgiven him once for leaving; to abandon her a second time would be unforgivable. With resolve and a quiet sense of anguish, he woke her. “Areen,” he said, gently stirring her from sleep. Groggily, she responded. “Huh? What is it?” “I need to go.” “Go? Where?” Confusion furrowed her brow. “Back to my post.” Understanding softened her features. “Oh, I thought you meant leaving town.” “No, I am stationed here for three years,” he clarified. “And where might that be?” “At Lord Rantar’s estate.” Her face twisted into a scowl at the mention of the place. “I’ve never been fond of it there.” He quickly offered a compromise. “I’ll come to town on my nights off.” “I finish my work early. We could spend time together then,” she suggested, warming up to the idea. He nodded, attempting a smile. “Yes, and we’ll steer clear of Lady Barta.” Areen grimaced at the mention of the lady. “It’s not just her—although I’m no fan either. It’s the entire household. Whenever I have to make deliveries there, I try my best to avoid everyone. The only people I ever feel at ease with are Sifa and Lanni, and per-haps the new healer, though we seldom cross paths.” Marn’s expression was one of confusion and concern as he settled onto the bed, the mattress creaking slightly under his weight. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice laced with unease, seeking clarity amid his troubled thoughts. Rantar’s actions and intentions were becoming increasingly alarming, and Marn’s companion didn’t hesitate to voice her worries. “Rantar reminds me of your dad, I mean the man your mom’s married to. I think he wants to bring back the old ways. Not just women being property but all of it—no magic, only humans, no Menthanlans, and all the rest.” “All the rest” embodied a chilling reality Marn was all too familiar with: slaves subjected to the whims of their masters, endless wars driven by the lust for power, a soci-ety where only the nobles owned property and everyone else lived at their mercy, human rights disregarded, and laws easily cast aside when deemed inconvenient. It was precisely this kind of world Marn had committed to changing when he enlisted, and the thought of it potentially resurfacing was something he couldn’t stand. With a heavy exhale, he re-plied, “Thanks for the warning.” “You always treated me well. I wanted to return the favor,” his companion said with sincerity, her intention clear in her steady gaze. “But I didn’t treat you well,” Marn objected, reflecting on his past behavior with a tone of self-reproach. She gave a somber nod, acknowledging his admission. “You never hurt me,” she affirmed, separating his actions from physical harm. “I didn’t hit you, but I wasn’t as good to you as I should have been. Even now, I’m not,” Marn confessed, his hand sweeping through the air, indicating the modest room around them, a stark contrast to a past filled with different choices. “I slept with you because I wanted to, not because you made me feel like we should,” she clarified, separating her own desires from any obligation. “And before?” Marn pressed, seeking to understand the full scope of their past in-teractions and the dynamic of their relationship. She nodded again, a gesture accompanied by a complicated assembly of emotions. “I liked you. You never hurt me,” she reiterated, her voice soft yet resolute. “Not physically, but I did hurt you,” Marn persisted, refusing to let himself off the hook for the emotional wounds he may have inflicted, no matter how inadvertent they might have been. “You did, but you had to leave. It took me a while to understand that and why. It’s why I left too.” She explained, her insight into his motivations and their shared expe-riences giving her a perspective of forgiveness and understanding. Marn’s thoughts then turned to the others. “What about the other girls?” The ques-tion hung heavy in the air. He’d been flirtatious with them, displayed his attentions open-ly, and occasionally it had led to more. It was a painful recollection, one that highlighted his shortcomings and the potential hurt his actions might have caused, not just to her, but to others as well. “I was jealous. But I don’t think either of us understood,” Areen agreed, her voice betraying a vulnerability that seemed out of place in the battle-hardened warrior she had become. “I’m sorry,” Marn told her earnestly, the words heavy with the weight of years and experiences that had passed between their last farewell and this unexpected reunion. “I forgave you long ago,” she replied, her smile bittersweet as she reflected on the tangled web of their past. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of that. There have been others since I left,” Marn con-fessed, his gaze lowering, haunted by the memories of relationships that had served as pale substitutes for the connection he once shared with Areen. “I’d worry about you if there weren’t. You’re not the type,” she noted with a hint of both concern and understanding in her tone. “I want to be,” he declared with an intensity that surprised even himself. In a moment of longing, he leaned in and kissed her. She shook her head, a gentle reproach in her motion. “No? I don’t? Or do you mean you don’t want to be the one?” Marn’s words tiptoed around the question he feared to ask outright. “I mean, I’ll have to be jealous a bit longer,” she teased, a playful glint in her eye that belied the somber context of their conversation. “I still don’t understand,” he admitted, his brow furrowed in confusion. “You’re a soldier. You need to find out what Rantar and the others are up to. One of the maids and the nurse both have big mouths in the bedroom,” Areen said matter-of-factly, reminding him of the duties that awaited him beyond the comfort of her company. “You’re telling me to sleep with them for info?” Marn asked, incredulous at the suggestion and the ease with which Areen appeared to condone it. “If you need to, why not? I don’t want to go back to the old ways. I like being free,” she said firmly, her words reinforcing her desire for a life unshackled by the chains of their past. “You’re telling me to sleep with Malla and Crellis to get information?” Marn sought clarification, still grappling with the moral implications of such actions. “Not Malla, Wenda,” Areen corrected him. “Wenda? She’s married,” Marn pointed out, a flash of surprise crossing his fea-tures. “So? She doesn’t care. Has that stopped you before?” Areen challenged, her eyes locking onto his with an intensity that demanded honesty. “Sometimes. But I’m under orders,” Marn replied, the reality of his role as a sol-dier casting a long shadow over his personal desires. She frowned, her expression tightening. “They tell you who to sleep with? What about me?” Areen’s voice held a hint of concern and perhaps a touch of jealousy. “Why? You’re not married, are you?” Marn asked, his stomach twisting with the sudden fear of having lost her to another during their time apart. She had said she was single, but the doubt lingered. “No. Like you, there have been others, especially before I left. I never found someone to marry. Maybe he’d already left me,” she confessed, the poignancy of her words hanging between them. “Maybe he was too stupid to know what he’d left,” Marn said softly, the regret in his voice echoing the sentiment of his heart. He kissed her again, a kiss filled with the promise of redemption and hope. After all, he didn’t need to be on duty until that even-ing. He had lost her once; he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her again. Trema was not happy that he had missed training, but he must have been in an ex-ceptional mood because, much to Marn’s relief, he didn’t give him extra work. Instead, he showed a surprising interest in what Areen had to say, and he even promised to make sure Marn had time to visit his mother, a gesture that meant more to Marn than Trema could ever understand. #fantasy, #magic, #dragons, #hiddenlands