CHAPTER 774: THE REASON OF WARS (1)

The low, flickering light in the alcove stretched long shadows across the rough stone walls, casting an ethereal, uncertain glow across the space. Mikhailis’ breath came steady, controlled, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of his pulse. He stood there, just beyond the warmth of the ember’s glow, watching Elowen. Her presence flooded the space with an almost palpable sense of relief—but only for a moment. Beneath her composed exterior, there was something else, something far deeper, that Mikhailis could sense but could not yet name.

Elowen stepped into the alcove, and for a second, Mikhailis felt an overwhelming rush of comfort. She was here, safe. That was all that mattered. But as she lingered there in the warm amber light, her face illuminated, he could feel it—the tension, the weight pressing down on her. It was subtle, but it was there.

Without a word, Mikhailis reached out and pulled her into a hug, drawing her close. She hesitated just for a moment, and then her arms circled him, resting briefly around his torso before tightening. He felt the softness of her body against his, the relief in the way she held him, but there was something deeper—a heaviness that clung to her, like an invisible weight that hadn’t been lifted.

Her arms tightened around him, but it wasn’t the joyful embrace of someone who had been waiting for this reunion. No, it was different—almost desperate, but still, there was a restraint there, a kind of emotional distance she was trying to maintain. As if, despite everything, she couldn’t completely let go.

Mikhailis closed his eyes and let the quiet of the moment settle around them, feeling her warmth against him. Her head rested gently on his chest, and for a moment, it felt like everything could stop, like time could just stretch and breathe with them. But as he stood there, holding her, his fingers lightly stroking her back in an attempt to reassure himself, he noticed the signs of strain.

Her brows were furrowed ever so slightly, just enough to be noticeable. The tightness around her eyes, the almost imperceptible clench of her jaw—all signs that even in this moment of relief, she was holding something back. Something heavier than the war itself. He could feel it, could sense it in the subtle shifts of her posture. The weariness that radiated from her, even as she clung to him.

She’s not okay, not really. The thought struck him like a weight to his chest. The war had already consumed so much of her. The burdens of ruling, of managing not just the kingdom’s defenses but the expectations of an entire people—it was all too much for one person to bear. And even in this moment of relief, he could feel it. The struggle. The exhaustion.

You’ve been holding all of this together for so long. And yet, I see it in the lines of your face. You’re still carrying the weight of it all. His heart tightened as the realization hit him with full force.

He held her a little longer, his arms around her not just for comfort but for something more—something unspoken. Mikhailis knew the toll the war had taken on her. It wasn’t just the battlefields, the soldiers, the strategies—it was everything that came with it. The endless decisions, the sacrifices, the people who would never return. He knew her better than anyone.

But, as always, Elowen hid it well. She wore the mask of a queen, composed and strong, for everyone else.

And you still have time to have a wonderful night inside a dungeon with an elven woman instead, Rodion’s voice piped in, light and teasing, through the glasses.

Mikhailis stiffened for just a fraction of a second before an amused smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn’t need Rodion to pull him out of the moment, but it was hard to resist the voice that always found a way to interrupt, even at the most inconvenient times.

"Shut up, Rodion," Mikhailis muttered softly, his voice low and teasing, though the moment of levity was short-lived. His eyes remained closed, focused on the woman in his arms. Always with the distractions, he thought to himself, but even so, the interruption—however unwelcome—was a brief reprieve.

Mikhailis slowly pulled back from the embrace, his hands lingering on her shoulders for just a moment before gently brushing a lock of hair away from her face. His fingers lingered on the soft strands, as if offering one last, unspoken bit of comfort.

But as she stepped back from him, he saw it.

Just for a moment, her expression flickered—a brief flash of something that crossed her face, too quick to fully grasp, but there nonetheless. Guilt? Unease? Whatever it was, it was enough to shift the air between them. The relief in her face was genuine, yes—but there was more to it. Beneath her attempt to mask it, Mikhailis could see the weight still resting heavily on her.

She’s still carrying so much inside, he realized, his chest tightening. The war, the kingdom, the people. It’s all on her shoulders, and I’m just... a man who came back from the front. I want to share her burdens, but... He couldn’t. Not fully. Not in the way she needed.

He saw her shift her gaze for just a split second, as though trying to mask whatever it was that had flashed across her face, but it didn’t fool him. Mikhailis gave her a soft, understanding smile, his eyes locking with hers. It was the kind of smile that carried years of silent understanding between them. She had tried to hide it, but he saw it. He always did.

He brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. "Let’s get moving," he said quietly, the words coming out more as a suggestion than a command, though the tension in his voice betrayed the weight of the situation. It was a subtle request, but also a way to move them both past the moment of vulnerability. They had a war to prepare for.

But the moment lingered, despite his words. Mikhailis could still feel her eyes on him, still feel the weight she carried, even if she didn’t speak it. He didn’t need her to say it aloud—he knew. She was trying to hold herself together, trying to be the queen the kingdom needed, the leader who could carry the burden of everyone else’s hopes. But even she had limits. Even she was human.

His heart ached a little as he turned his back to her, walking toward the opening of the alcove, but he knew he couldn’t stay in this moment forever. They had to move.

They had a war to win.

But something told him that whatever came next, whatever battles lay ahead, this—this moment of quiet understanding—was a precious thing he could never forget. Even if it wasn’t spoken aloud, even if the burden remained, it was theirs. They would carry it together.

"Ready?" he asked as he reached the opening, glancing back toward her.

Elowen gave a slight nod, her posture straightening, but there was still something in her eyes that spoke of the war to come. She was ready, yes—but the price of readiness was heavy. And she would carry that weight, as she always did.

Elowen cleared her throat, trying to mask whatever it was that had flashed in her expression, but Mikhailis saw it. He didn’t need her to admit it aloud; he knew her too well. He gave her a soft, understanding smile, brushing a lock of hair from her face. "Let’s get moving," he said, the words coming out more as a suggestion than an order.

_____

Mikhailis and Elowen made their way deeper into the camp, each step drawing them closer to the royal tent at the heart of the military formation. The air around them was thick with the scent of wood smoke and the metallic tang of iron, the constant hum of preparations hanging in the air like the quiet tension before a storm. Soldiers moved about in their usual routines—rubbing down weapons, checking supplies, speaking in hushed voices—yet there was a subtle shift to the energy in the camp, something different. These weren’t the same men he’d fought beside before. These faces were familiar, yet hardened, etched with the deep fatigue and stress that only a prolonged conflict could bring.

Mikhailis noted the tan-skinned soldiers passing by, their faces set in grim determination. The faint radiance that clung to their armor was a clear sign of the ethereal forces that flowed through the kingdom, a reminder of the ancient powers that the people of Silvarion had called upon in their struggles. But those powers, despite their strength, couldn’t erase the toll the war had taken. The armor gleamed, but the men beneath it looked weary, their eyes clouded with something darker than the usual resolve.