The battlefield was eerily silent now, broken only by the crackle of dying flames and the moans of the wounded. Smoke curled upward, carrying with it the metallic sting of blood and the acrid bite of fire. What had once been green fields lay blackened and torn, bodies scattered like discarded chess pieces in a cruel game of fate.
Aelion moved through the ruins in a daze, his sword still slick with crimson, his armor dented and scorched. Each step was heavier than the last, the weight of the crown and the prophecy pressing harder against his chest. Victory had been claimed, but it tasted like ash.
"Your Highness," came a familiar voice, hoarse but steady.
Aelion turned sharply. Kealen was there, bruised and bloodied but alive. His dark hair clung to his damp skin, his tunic ripped where a blade had narrowly missed his heart. Relief surged through Aelion so strongly that his knees nearly buckled.
"You're hurt," Aelion whispered, rushing to him.
"I've been worse," Kealen answered with a tired smile, though his hand trembled as he wiped dirt from his face. "It's you I worried for. You should not have fought on the front lines."
"I am not just a prince who hides behind walls," Aelion snapped, though his voice cracked with exhaustion. "I could not watch my people fall while I did nothing."
Kealen's expression softened, but his gaze held shadows. "And yet, I nearly lost you a dozen times today. Do you not see, Aelion? If you fall, everything—this kingdom, this prophecy, all of it—crumbles with you."
Aelion's throat tightened. The prophecy had always hung between them like an invisible blade, threatening to cut their fragile bond. Now, standing amidst the carnage, it felt more suffocating than ever.
Aelion reached for Kealen, his gloved hand brushing against his protector's cheek, ignoring the grime and blood. "And what of you?" he murmured. "If you fall, Kealen, then none of this matters to me."
For a moment, the battlefield disappeared, and there was only them—the prince and his bodyguard, bound by something neither destiny nor death could sever.
But then the cries of the injured pulled them back. Aelion drew in a shaky breath. "We must tend to the survivors. The war is not over… only this battle."
Kealen nodded, but as he turned to help, his hand lingered on Aelion's shoulder a heartbeat longer than necessary. That fleeting touch was enough to remind them both of the promise they had made: to endure together, no matter the cost.
And yet, in the ashes and echoes of the battlefield, one truth burned brighter than any prophecy—neither crown nor kingdom could shield them from the price love demanded.