Elian didn't talk much about home.
That, in itself, made it memorable when he did.
We were assigned together again—outer patrol, light escort, nothing urgent. Rhea was with us, along with Brenic Hale, a broad-shouldered shieldbearer who laughed too loudly and apologized too quickly for it.
"Western passes again," Brenic muttered as we walked. "Feels like they're daring something to happen."
"They always do," Rhea replied. "That's how they justify revisions."
Elian was quiet for most of the road. When he finally spoke, it wasn't about the assignment.
"My family lives near here," he said.
Rhea glanced over. "Really?"
"Village called Stonecross," he continued. "It's small. Off the main routes."
"That's close," Brenic said. "Didn't know anyone actually lived out there."
"They do," Elian said. "My mother, Serah. My younger sister, Ilen. And my uncle, Marrek."
He said the names carefully, like he was placing them somewhere safe.
"They don't fight," he added. "They trade. Farm. Survive."
Rhea smiled faintly. "Sounds peaceful."
"It is," Elian said. "Because it has to be."
I noted the information without comment. Families were vulnerabilities. Geography mattered.
Nothing about it was actionable.