Lucian walked slowly through the streets, his armor cracked and streaked with soot and the dried blood of goblins. Every step echoed in the stillness of the city like a worn-out sigh. He could still hear it, the cries of the wounded, the whispers of the dying. It clung to him like a memory that would never fade.
He crossed the city square and entered the castle courtyard, climbing the stone steps. Each one felt heavier than the last. Snow fell silently, the cold wind brushing against the side of his face like a hand unsure whether it meant comfort… or guilt.
As he climbed higher, he saw someone waiting at the top, standing like a silent judge. Dressed in immaculate black and silver, the emblem of the King's Right Hand pinned to his chest, Lord Thandor.
He stood with his hands folded behind his back. His face revealed no emotion. His eyes were sharp and calculating, following Lucian's approach.
Lucian stopped a few paces away, chest rising with each breath as though he had climbed a mountain.
Thandor broke the silence.
"You survived." His low, commanding voice carried no relief—only cold observation.
Lucian let out a faint, humorless chuckle. "Would you have mourned if I hadn't… father?"
His father's eyes narrowed barely. "I would have buried you with honor. That is more than most receive."
Lucian stepped closer. "More than a hundred of my men died tonight. The rest are wounded. At this rate, we're losing soldiers faster than we can replenish."
"And the city still stands" Thandor replied. "That is what matters."
Lucian's eyes widened with disbelief. "Is that all you have to say? Do you always discard the fallen so easily?"
Thandor didn't answer immediately. He turned his gaze aside, and when he finally spoke, his voice carried a weight Lucian rarely heard from him a quiet strain, almost like a memory scraping its way back into the light.
"When I was your age" he began, "I lost three hundred men at the River Stride. Two of my brothers were among them. I carried the youngest back to camp myself, and he was only just sixteen"
He paused, jaw tightening.
"When my father found me weeping over his body, he said only 'Stand up. Those still breathing need you more than the dead.'"
His eyes shifted back to Lucian, sharp but no longer cold.
"I resented him for those words, I called him heartless. But he was right. A commander cannot lead with a bleeding heart. Feel grief, yes. But if you let it rule you, you will hesitate. And hesitation gets men killed."
He stepped closer, voice low. "I'm trying to spare you from learning that the same way I did."
Lucian growled softly. "So you buried your heart and called it duty!?"
"I did what was required of me!" Thandor snapped. "Just as you did tonight!"
Silence settled between them, long, heavy, unspoken.
Then Thandor took a step forward. His hands hovered uncertainly before resting on Lucian's shoulder.
"I may not show it the way you want" he murmured, barely above a whisper, "but I saw the fires from the palace… and I feared I'd lose you too."
Those words weighed heavily on Lucian, like for the first time in years, his father finally acknowledged him.
"Father… I understand. Truly... But I'm exhausted. Tonight took more from me than I expected."
Thandor withdrew his hand, giving a small nod. "Very well. Be at the council by dawn tomorrow. The nobles are already sharpening their teeth."
He turned, took a few steps then paused. Without looking back, he said "You remind me of your mother… when you're angry."
Lucian blinked. A faint spark stirred in his eyes as his father walked away, leaving him alone on the quiet steps, alone with that rare truth.
Lucian smiled gladly.