Alpheo drew the blanket up to his chest, pressing it tight as though it might shield him from the thoughts at his heart. He let his back sink deep into the mattress and, for a fleeting moment, closed his eyes and forced the air from his lungs until there was nothing left inside him.
He was home. Finally.
The war was over, and the peace signed.
By all accounts, he should have been basking in triumph, holding his son in his arms, kissing his newborn daughter, reuniting with the wife who had waited through months of steel and blood. But joy did not come. Only exhaustion. A weariness so heavy it seemed to crush his very bones, as though in Sharjaan he had left behind a piece of himself that could never be reclaimed.
