The night was warm, the flames brighter than usual. A bonfire roared in the center of the rebuilt stronghold, its heat casting long shadows over the wooden walls and rough stone foundations. The survivors had turned their victory over the monster into a celebration—one sorely needed after so much death and fear.
The scent of roasted meat filled the air. Bowls of stew and trays of bread passed from hand to hand. Wine and ale were in abundance, sloshing over wooden mugs as soldiers raised their drinks high. Laughter, music, even the offbeat rhythm of someone banging on an overturned crate—it was rough, it was loud, and it was alive.
Thierry sat at a long table with his closest men. Jace was mid-sentence, halfway drunk and completely animated, retelling the battle with full theatrical flair.
Jace (waving a mug): "So there we were! Just us, three men against that thing. Ugly as sin and twice as fast. But did we run? No! Because I—I, mind you—stood firm like a wall of steel!"
The others groaned in unison.
Corwin: "A wall of steel that tripped over a tree root."
Another soldier: "Didn't your sword fly out and hit you in the head?"
Jace (grinning): "Details! Dramatic license, boys! Besides, I still landed the killing blow."
Corwin (smirking): "Pretty sure that was Thierry, from the air, decapitating it."
Jace (points): "Fine. Technically, yes. But emotionally? I was the heart of the team!"
Laughter exploded around the table, mugs slamming against the wood. Thierry smiled faintly, the sound of camaraderie easing the wear of battle still aching in his bones.
But then his gaze shifted. Across the crowd, sitting alone by the edge of the celebration, was Elise. She nursed a cup of ale, untouched food beside her, eyes fixed on the fire with a far-off look.
Thierry stood up, leaving his friends behind, and walked over.
She noticed him approaching and gave a small nod. He sat beside her without a word for a moment.
Thierry: "Not enjoying the party?"
Elise (shrugs): "I am."
Thierry (tilts his head): "You don't look it."
Silence stretched between them. The laughter from the others seemed distant now. Elise's fingers tightened around her cup.
Elise (quietly): "I'm glad everyone's happy. But I'm still angry."
Thierry: "At who?"
Elise (glancing at him): "You."
He didn't respond immediately. He looked into the fire, as if expecting the flames to offer some clarity.
Elise: "I've trained, Thierry. I've bled for this cause just like everyone else. I want to fight. I want to matter. But you held me back again. Like I'm still a child."
Thierry: "You're not a child. That's not the reason."
Elise: "Then what is it?"
He sighed, ran a hand through his hair.
Thierry: "I made a promise. To your mother. That I'd protect you, no matter what."
Elise (softly): "And I made a promise too. That I'd become strong. That I'd survive by fighting—not by hiding."
The wind picked up slightly, rustling through the torches and the distant tents. Thierry didn't speak for a while. He simply stared at the flame in front of them, jaw clenched.
Then he gave a slow nod.
Thierry: "Alright. You want to fight? Then fight. From now on, I won't hold you back. But you'll be training twice as hard. And when I give an order, you follow it. No hesitation."
Her eyes lit up. Hope and gratitude blended into a single expression.
Elise (grinning): "Deal."
He held out his mug. She clanked hers against his, and they both took a drink.
Thierry (half-smirking): "Just promise me one thing—don't start acting like Jace."
Elise (laughing): "Please. I have dignity."
They shared a laugh together—quiet, genuine.
From across the camp, the fire continued to blaze, carrying warmth into the hearts of the stronghold. For now, for just this night, peace held.
End of Chapter 21