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When Lea stepped out of the royal hall, her legs felt lighter than they should have, as if the stone floor no longer held her down. The veil covered her expression, but underneath her lips trembled, caught between disbelief and a quiet smile.
He remembered.
She hadn't expected it. She had convinced herself long ago that Elias had left her behind in memory, if not in heart. It was easier that way, easier to stay hidden, easier not to ache every time she thought of him. Years had passed, and she had told herself she was just a shadow from his past, nothing more.
But he remembered. Not just her name—her dream. Teacher. A word she had whispered once, half a lifetime ago, when they were huddled together after a battle, both too tired to even speak. She thought he hadn't heard. She thought he had forgotten.
Yet today, he looked straight at her and said it as if no years had passed at all.
Her chest tightened painfully, and she pressed her palm against it, laughing softly behind the veil. A laugh that was almost a sob.
"Elias…" she whispered to herself. "You never change, do you?"
For the first time in years, her loneliness felt a little less heavy.
---
Elias's eyes lingered on the doorway long after Lea disappeared beyond it. His expression remained the same—serene, collected, the kind of calm that unsettled people because it revealed nothing.
But inside, something stirred.
He remembered. The battlefield's stench of blood and smoke. Her hands trembling as she held a sword too heavy for her. Her voice, hoarse but steady, whispering that one day she wished to teach, to guide children away from this kind of life. He remembered how she had clung to that dream like a talisman while the world around them crumbled.
He remembered the way she had looked at him then—like he was both terrifying and safe.
The corner of his mouth tugged, just faintly. Not a smile exactly, more like the shadow of one.
The children's voices broke the silence.
"Who is she?" Elen asked, tilting his head. "You seemed… different with her."
Leya crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. "Is she your girlfriend?"
Lucien made a face. "You really shouldn't make a girlfriend so quickly. That's… irresponsible."
Elias exhaled softly through his nose, almost like a sigh, almost like amusement. His gaze shifted to the children, calm and steady as ever.
"She is someone I rescued," Elias said quietly. "Her village was destroyed. She was taken captive, forced to fight. We survived together… until the battle ended."
The table went silent.
Elen's spoon froze halfway to his mouth. "You fought together? Like—side by side?" His voice cracked, somewhere between awe and protest. "And you never told us?"
Leya's lips pressed into a thin line. She leaned forward, eyes narrowing as if she could chase away the shadow of that memory with a glare. "So… she's someone important to you." It wasn't really a question—it was an accusation.
Lucien, though quieter, gripped his cup tightly. His tone was calm, but it carried weight. "You saved her. Stayed with her. She must mean a lot." He paused, then added with the faintest edge, "More than us?"
Elias's gaze moved over them—steady, unshaken, as though he had expected this. He didn't rush to answer.
Finally, he spoke. "Not more. Not less. Different."
But that wasn't enough for the children.
"She must've looked at you the same way we do," Elen muttered, a sulk creeping into his tone. "Like you're the only one who could protect her."
Leya scoffed, but her fingers clenched on the table. "She smiled when you remembered her. I saw it. She still thinks about you."
Lucien, who usually avoided such open emotion, raised his eyes at last. "And you remember her too. Clearly."
The weight of their stares settled on him, three pairs of eyes sharp with something raw—fear, jealousy, love, all tangled together.
Elias closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling softly. "I remember," he admitted. "Because she deserved to be remembered. Because her dream, even on the battlefield, was to be a teacher. To give what was stolen from her back to others."
He opened his eyes, gaze calm but firm. "But I did not bring her here to replace you." His words landed with quiet finality.
Still, Leya muttered, softer now but no less stubborn: "We'll see."
Elen slumped in his chair with a dramatic groan. "If she's going to be around you, I'll have to keep an eye on her."
Lucien said nothing more, but when Elias looked at him, he found the boy's gaze steady—challenging, protective.
For a heartbeat, the air was thick with something unspoken. Then Elias reached out, his hand brushing lightly across the table to touch theirs one by one.
"You are my children," he said simply. "That will not change."
Lucien tilted his head, his voice calm but his ears slightly pink. "You know… there's only ten years between us." He said it matter-of-factly, but the faint blush betrayed more than he intended.
Elen, quick to catch the line, leaned forward with a mischievous grin, though his own cheeks burned. "Exactly. We're not that much younger. Just saying."
Leya, trying to act collected, crossed her arms, but her voice betrayed her as well. "Ten years isn't much at all… not really." Her face was half-hidden in the shadow of her hair, but the flush crept past it anyway.
Elias blinked, his expression unreadable behind the calm mask he always wore. For a moment, he seemed caught between amusement and exasperation.
The silence stretched, and then—
The three of them exchanged quick glances, a silent pact passing between them. Their faces were still red, but their eyes burned with something sharper, stubborn and bright.
They weren't going to let Lea have him so easily.
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