"And… that’s how I met Elaris. Our whole story."

  Bruno scratches the back of his neck, a little awkward.

  "Kind of embarrassing, now that I say it out loud."

  Anaalyn lets out a short laugh, without humor.

  "Not embarrassing. Now we’ve just confirmed one thing."

  She points at him.

  "You’re absurdly unlucky."

  "Unlucky is an understatement," Tila comments, stretching until her bones crack. "But honestly, Bruno… let’s leave this for another day. My body can’t take getting involved in other people’s problems anymore."

  She yawns, covering her mouth.

  The story had been long. Heavy.

  And everyone in that room was at their limit.

  "Yeah," Seralyn agrees, leaning on the table to stand up, every movement betraying her exhaustion.

  "I think it’s best if everyone goes back to their corner and rests. I’m exhausted up to my neck too."

  One by one, the tension dissolved. There were no more accusations, no sharp irony — just a silent understanding. At least that.

  Bruno exhales slowly, his shoulders finally giving in.

  Better stop for today.

  This day felt endless.

  And all he wanted now was a decent bath and a real bed. Lying around like that for so long definitely wasn’t good for anyone.

  "Are you okay, Bruno?" Tila asks before leaving, glancing over her shoulder.

  "You look… far away."

  He takes a second before answering.

  "It’s nothing specific," he finally says.

  "Just… thinking about everything that’s happening."

  And for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t try to hide the weight of it on his face.

  "AHHHH!" Seralyn shouts, dragging a hand down her face. "Damn perfect warrior… has he already arrived?"

  There he was.

  An impeccable clone of Bruno, standing in front of the hut of the last doctor in Tila’s village — motionless, patient, as if the entire world could wait. Even the posture was identical. Irritatingly identical.

  "Don’t tell me he’s going to follow you around now," Anaalyn grumbles, clearly at her limit, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

  "So that’s what the old man was doing," Bruno murmurs, voice low. "Didn’t even bother to ask permission."

  He approaches.

  For a moment, anyone watching from outside might get confused — two Brunos, facing each other. But as the distance closes, the real one changes. The lightness disappears. His gaze hardens. His presence weighs down the air.

  "Disappear."

  One single word.

  The clone doesn’t argue. Doesn’t react. It simply dissolves into dark smoke, as if it had never truly existed.

  "…Well, at least that was fast," Tila comments, blinking a few times.

  "I’m leaving. See you later."

  Bruno says this already walking away, without looking back, only lifting a hand in a brief wave.

  "Goodbye, Bruno," Tila replies, with a smile too small to be just politeness.

  "I’ll be right there, okay, Bruno?" Seralyn says loudly, as if making sure he hears.

  "Be careful, idiot," Anaalyn adds, crossing her arms.

  He doesn’t respond. He just keeps walking.

  As soon as he’s out of sight, Tila takes a deep breath… and claps her hands once.

  "Alright. I officially call the girls’ meeting."

  Seralyn raises an eyebrow.

  Anaalyn sighs.

  "You two," Tila continues, already grabbing both of them by the arms. "We’ve got a lot to talk about."

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  "What are we supposed to do with all this new information?" Tila says, pacing back and forth, brow furrowed.

  "And also about this Elaris," Seralyn adds, arms crossed. "That hasn’t left my head for a single second."

  "I know!" Anaalyn raises a hand. "Bruno starts living in the dwarves’ village. There no one will interfe—"

  "No way in hell!" Seralyn cuts her off immediately. "You’re not staying alone with him, shorty."

  "We’re not falling for that either, Anaalyn," Tila reinforces, dry.

  Anaalyn scoffs, turning sideways.

  "It was just a suggestion."

  Tila takes a deep breath, like someone trying to organize chaos before speaking.

  "Look… Bruno didn’t hide anything out of malice. As far as we know, all of this happened before us. Things that maybe shouldn’t even have come out of his mouth." She pauses, choosing her words. "But now that we know, we need to think better about how we act."

  The other two listen, even if begrudgingly.

  "So far, each of us reacted in our own way."

  She points to herself. "I always wanted to be strong. Strong enough to protect my village. My friends."

  Her gaze slides to Seralyn.

  "And you," Tila continues. Just hearing her name makes Seralyn flush slightly. "You always wanted a home. A place to call your own."

  Seralyn looks away.

  "Don’t talk like it’s simple."

  "And you, Anaalyn…" Tila turns to her. "You just wanted to find someone who could fill a very old hole in your chest."

  Anaalyn opens her mouth to respond — too late.

  BAM.

  BAM.

  Two punches hit Tila’s head almost at the same time.

  "Who said you can summarize our lives like that, you crazy cow?" Anaalyn yells, her face red as fire.

  "Turned into a shaman now, effeminate ox?" Seralyn adds, equally flushed. "Stop analyzing other people’s lives!"

  Tila falls sitting on the floor, holding her head.

  "You’re way too violent," she grumbles. "But see?

  That’s exactly what I’m talking about."

  Both cross their arms, looking away.

  "And about Elaris," Tila continues, now quieter. "She’s not a threat. She’s just a memory. A part of his story."

  Seralyn sighs.

  "And we can’t compete with the past."

  "Nor should we," Anaalyn adds, more serious than before.

  For a few seconds, silence settles in.

  Then Tila smiles slightly.

  "Alright, then it’s decided. No crazy plans. No pushing Bruno into any corner."

  "Unfortunately," Seralyn murmurs.

  "And we do what we do best," Tila concludes.

  Anaalyn raises an eyebrow.

  "And that would be…?"

  Tila stands up, puffing out her chest.

  "Keep being a problem in his life. But an honest one."

  Seralyn laughs.

  "That, we already do very well."

  Anaalyn smiles too, even if faintly.

  "Fine," she says. "But if he hides anything else…"

  "Two more punches," Tila completes.

  The three look at each other.

  And burst out laughing.

  "Tila, I heard there’s going to be a festival."

  "The Harvest Festival!" Tila answers immediately. "Yes, if nothing goes wrong like the last times and

  it doesn’t get postponed…" She gives a slightly embarrassed smile. "It’ll be in three days. They say your first dance at the festival is with your soul partner. Forever."

  "Clichéee," Seralyn sings, rolling her eyes. "Seriously, that sounds like any cheap romance book out there."

  "Cliché," Anaalyn agrees, shrugging. "Sorry, Tila, but she’s not wrong."

  "Seriously? Even you two?" Tila crosses her arms, indignant. "It’s an ancient tradition!"

  "Ancient doesn’t mean true," Seralyn shoots back. "It just means a lot of people already fell for it."

  Anaalyn smiles crookedly.

  "And usually after that comes tragedy, war, or an arranged marriage."

  "You’re horrible," Tila complains. "It’s a beautiful festival! Music, food, dance… joy."

  "Perfect setup for trouble," Seralyn replies bluntly.

  Tila sighs deeply.

  "Still, everyone goes. Including him."

  The two fall silent for a second.

  "Oh," Seralyn says slowly. "So that’s why you’re defending it so much."

  "That’s not it!" Tila replies too quickly.

  Anaalyn tilts her head, with a dangerous half-smile.

  "Of course not. Just a coincidence that fate decided to dance right in front of us."

  Tila feels her face heat up.

  "You two are going to dance too, just so it’s clear."

  Seralyn takes a step back.

  "Not even dead."

  Anaalyn crosses her arms.

  "I might dance… but if this so-called soul partner really exists, I hope he comes with beer."

  Tila rolls her eyes, but smiles.

  "Laugh all you want. On the day of the festival, we’ll see who laughs last."

  But each one couldn't stop feeling it in their chest. Each of them wanted something different from that feeling, and yet what they wanted was similar.

  Finally home.

  The silence inside had weight — not the comfortable kind, but the kind that only exists after too many days surviving.

  "Elaris hasn’t changed at all, huh?" Bruno murmurs. "Always with that defiant attitude."

  Kearlin was already sprawled over the sofa, positioned in a way impossible for anything alive. Legs in the air, arms behind his head, a lazy smile on his ethereal face.

  "Not even a little," he replies. "She just got taller… and more problematic. The full package."

  Bruno doesn’t laugh.

  He sits down slowly and begins undoing the bandages. The cloth comes off heavy, stained with old blood. The explosion really hadn’t done anything — not the way it would have to anyone else.

  His body was still there, whole by force, covered in old scars like maps of wars no one else remembered. Now there were new burns, skin darkened and cracked in places.

  "You should’ve died about three times today," Kearlin comments, like he’s talking about the weather.

  "I tried to avoid it," Bruno replies dryly.

  Kearlin turns his face toward him.

  "Liar."

  Bruno pulls off the last wrap from his arm and lets out a low sigh, tired in a way even the body could no longer pretend away.

  "I don’t think this will change anything," he says. "It’ll just bring more trouble."

  "Trouble always follows you. That’s nothing new."

  Bruno stares at his own hand, still red, still trembling slightly.

  "You never cared about that, did you?"

  Kearlin smiles crookedly.

  "You mean… being a hero?"

  Bruno doesn’t answer immediately.

  "I never wanted to be any of that," he finally says. "I just wanted it to end."

  Kearlin stays silent for a few seconds — which, coming from him, already says a lot.

  "Funny," the spirit says more quietly.

  "You always say that. But you keep coming back, keep protecting, keep getting involved where it hurts."

  Bruno closes his eyes for a moment.

  "Someone has to."

  "And that’s the problem, hero," Kearlin says, throwing himself back onto the sofa. "You think it always has to be you."

  Bruno leans back in the chair, exhausted.

  "Maybe it does."

  The fire in the hearth crackles softly.

  Outside, the world still exists — and with it, new troubles, new people, new pains.

  But there, for a few minutes, Bruno stays still.

  Breathing.

  Whole.

  Too tired to even run from his own thoughts.

  The more I suffer, the clearer one thing becomes: crying never helped.

  I think about it all the time. How many times have I felt this pain? How many times has it come back, the same, stubborn. And yet, I always won.

  Maybe that’s what scares me.

  I think I’m getting used to it.

  Is that good?

  I don’t know anymore.

  Bruno stood in the middle of the room, his gaze lost, while the fire in the hearth danced low. The exhaustion wasn’t just in his body — it was deep in his chest, where no scar ever closed properly.

  Then he felt it.

  A presence outside the house.

  Not hostile.

  Not hidden.

  Familiar.

  "Seralyn…" he murmured, almost soundless.

  Outside, the elf hesitated. To the world, that was just another cabin.

  To her, it was everything. Her only home wasn’t made of wood or stone — it was made of a single person. The only one who believed when no one else did. The only one who didn’t ask for explanations when everything hurt too much.

  Everything always returned to the same place.

  To him.

  Bruno ran a hand slowly over his face.

  "I’ve thought so many times about why I fight," he said, more to himself than to anyone else. "And the answer never changes."

  He opened the door before he could even hear footsteps.

  Seralyn stood there, hood low, eyes far too tired for someone who pretended strength so well.

  "There’s always someone in front of me," Bruno continued, voice low, almost bitter. "Always another person to protect. Another reason that isn’t mine."

  He lets out a short, humorless laugh.

  "I really am an idiot."

  Seralyn doesn’t answer right away. She just steps inside, closing the door behind her, bringing with her the cold of the night — and something even quieter.

  The certainty that, even when he said he didn’t want to fight anymore…

  He would continue.

  Because that’s what he did.

  And because, deep down, that’s what he was.