Shadows Of Destiny

Chapter- XIV

The Guardian

As I knelt in front of her, reaching into the tattered tent for supplies, I glanced up and found her watching me, her eyes clouded with exhaustion and something else—something that made my chest tighten. I looked away, busying myself with the bandages and salve, but I could still feel her gaze on me, tracing over me as if searching for answers to unspoken questions.

"Where are you hurt?" I asked, keeping my voice low, steady. My fingers itched to touch her, to assure myself she was real, here, with me.

She hesitated, her eyes dropping, and I saw a flicker of shame cross her face. She shook her head, and in a shaky voice, said, "It's... it's not that bad."

The words rang hollow. I reached out without thinking, lifting her chin so she had to look at me. "Don't lie to me," I murmured, my voice softer than I meant it to be. Her lips parted, and for a heartbeat, the world around us fell away. There was just her face, her breath mixing with mine in the cold night air, her vulnerability and resilience laid bare.

Finally, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "My calf," she admitted, and I could hear the strain in her voice, the exhaustion and pain she was trying so hard to hide. The admission made my heart ache, but I simply nodded, letting her see only the calm, collected Elana she needed.

I slid my hand to the hem of her skirt, my fingers brushing against her bruised skin as I pulled it back to examine the injury. Her breath hitched, just slightly, and I had to steel myself, every instinct urging me to pull her into my arms, to tell her what I had been holding back for so long. But I couldn't. Not here, not now.

Instead, I focused on the task at hand, applying the salve with the lightest touch, careful not to hurt her. My fingers lingered longer than they should have, tracing the contours of her skin, feeling the warmth of her pulse beneath my hand. Her gaze burned into me, and when I looked up, our eyes met, the space between us charged, fragile, as though it would shatter at the slightest word.

"Oh, Her Majesty's going to have my head if she finds you in this condition," I muttered, trying to inject a little humor to keep my composure. Her lips quirked up in a tired smile, and it was enough to break the tension, but only just.

I shifted my attention to the fire, but my mind was on her, on every cut, every bruise. Anger burned beneath my skin, a fury I rarely let slip. They had dared to touch her, to hurt her. And though I'd killed the guards back in the fortress, it didn't feel like enough.

"You should rest," I said softly, my voice low. "We have a long journey ahead of us."

She nodded, her gaze lingering on me as if trying to read what lay behind my eyes. As she lay down, curling under the blanket, I took up my place beside her, my sword resting across my lap, keeping watch.

Every now and then, her hand would drift in her sleep, reaching toward me, and I had to fight the urge to take it in my own, to let her know I was here, that I would be here, always.

When she finally settled, her breathing soft and even, I allowed myself to look at her, my guard lowered for just a moment. I reached out, almost without thinking, and let my hand rest just beside hers, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin. She stirred slightly, her fingers brushing mine, and in that fleeting contact, I felt everything I could never say, every silent promise I could never keep.

But for now, as the fire crackled softly and the night pressed in around us, it was enough.

While I kept watch over her, the night settled into an eerie silence, and memories I'd long buried began to claw their way to the surface. The sight of that wolf symbol on the guards' chestplates—it had been years since I'd seen it, yet the image burned in my mind, stirring up memories I wanted to forget.

In the dim glow of the fire, shadows danced around me, and suddenly, I was back in the training camps of the Nattvagar. The cold bite of iron against my skin. The sting of a whip. I could hear the harsh, commanding voices echoing in my head, demanding obedience, strength, endurance. They'd pushed me past my limits again and again, and I'd endured, forced to bury my fear and pain deeper each time. I'd been shaped into a weapon, no room for weakness, no room for hesitation.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. But even as I sat there, the memories kept coming—the screams of those who'd failed, the agonizing punishments that still haunted my dreams. The flashbacks swept over me, wave after wave, until I felt as though I was drowning in them, chained to a past I'd never truly escaped.

They are all dead. I burned them. I have their blood on my hands.
But did I really kill them when I saw their logo on those knights? What were they doing? Were they actually the Nattvagar or was it somehow a trick to decieve me? To catch me off guard?