Six years had passed.
The battlefield, once a place of fire, blood, and sorrow, now bore witness to a different kind of union.
Selara moved among her soldiers, armor polished but battle-worn scars hidden beneath ceremonial cloaks. Aren stood beside her, calm, steady, and impossibly handsome in his uniform, the one crafted to honor his service and their shared history.
No cathedral. No gilded palace.
Just the open sky, the scent of earth and smoke, and the loyal men and women who had fought beside them through hell.
"Do you feel ridiculous?" Selara whispered, glancing at Aren.
He smirked, eyes soft. "Only slightly. But you look stunning."
Her chest rose with a small laugh, the kind that came naturally only with him. "You flatter me in front of soldiers."
"They've seen me fight. I think they can handle a little charm."
The ceremony was simple, yet profound. Vows were exchanged beneath the setting sun, golden light spilling over steel and dirt. Words carried weight here — no pomp, no pageantry, just truth.
"I vow to fight beside you… in war and in peace," Selara said.
"I vow to remain steadfast… in love and loyalty," Aren replied, fingers entwining with hers.
When they kissed, a hush fell across the battlefield. Dust swirled in the golden light. Some soldiers wept quietly; others cheered softly. In that moment, even war seemed to pause — respectful, silent.
Months passed.
Then joy bloomed.
Selara, now radiant in a softer way, held her hand against the gentle curve of her belly. She was pregnant. A girl this time, she learned with quiet awe.
She could barely contain her excitement as she wrote to Ophelia.
Selara's Letter:
Dearest Ophelia,
I hardly know where to begin. Life has been strange and wonderful. Aren and I are wed. Yes — your Selara is married, beneath the sky that once witnessed endless war, surrounded by those who fought by our side.
The soldiers cheered. I laughed more than I have in years. And Aren… he is everything I could have hoped for, and more.
But that is not all.
I am with child. A girl. I can barely believe it myself. She will grow strong, I hope, like her father, but with spirit that no army could ever break — as stubborn and fierce as me.
The twins are growing so quickly, are they not? Seven years old! I imagine their training — swords, etiquette, the way Ophelia has always taught them. I hope they know that you are always near, in spirit if not always in sight.
I cannot wait for you to meet my little one, just as I cannot wait to see you smile in person. The world feels… fuller, somehow, now that so much of it belongs to those we love.
Forever yours,
Selara
Meanwhile, back at the palace…
Ophelia read the letter aloud to Merideth, who leaned in curiously, feigning delight.
"The battlefield as a wedding hall?" Merideth asked lightly.
Ophelia's eyes sparkled. "Yes. Imagine the courage, the strength, the devotion. Our Selara — my sister — she has built her own world amidst the ashes of war."
"And a daughter?" Merideth's tone betrayed a hint of surprise, carefully masked by a practiced smile.
"Yes," Ophelia said softly. "She writes as if the world is expanding, and somehow… she is at the very center of it. I am proud. I cannot describe how proud I am."
Merideth nodded, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Inside, something flickered — a curiosity, perhaps even envy — but she kept it hidden, polite and perfect.
At the same time, the twins were growing into their roles. At five, they began training in swordsmanship and etiquette, laughing and competing beneath the watchful eyes of tutors and Selara's occasional letters.
Ophelia's Reply to Selara:
Dearest Selara,
Your words arrived like spring itself. I read them three times over, imagining you beneath that vast sky, exchanging vows while the world watched and remembered.
A daughter! Oh, how glorious! I can already picture her stubborn little hands, determined eyes, and spirit unbroken — your own heart reborn.
The twins are flourishing. They spar with their swords, stumble and rise, and laugh as only children do. They will learn honor, strength, and perhaps mischief, for a life without mischief is no life at all.
Your happiness — it fills me as if it were my own. Continue to write. I live for your letters. I read them aloud, and sometimes… I swear I can hear your laughter in the wind.
With all my love,
Ophelia
That night, Selara held her growing belly, reading Ophelia's words over and over.
The battlefield, once cold and merciless, seemed warmer. Even amidst war, the bonds of family, laughter, and love endured.
Somewhere, far away, the palace gardens slept under the silver glow of the moon. But in her heart, Selara carried a world made entirely of letters, laughter, and dreams yet to be fulfilled.
And for the first time in years, she allowed herself to believe — that perhaps, happiness could survive even amidst war.