Itzima had woken up quite a while after Arsanguir, as she had quite a relaxed morning planned Today she had to sell the grain and make dinner. Waking up a few hours after dawn she ate the breakfast that Arsanguir prepared before leaving in the morning. She made her way to the centre of the village with the grain. Itzima's parents had died in an accident a few months before Arsanguir's father and so they had formed a bond deeper than friendship, almost like family. They had both pooled together their meagre inheritances to get Arsanguir's fields and Itzima's house, selling the rest for a few gold coins to start an independent life, both at a young age barely teens had grown up fast. They became self-sufficient relying on no one but each other to survive.
Wandering around the village Itzima passes small a small temple raised in worship of Ix-Tazel, the goddess of the moon. The temple made of lunar stone absorbed and reflected the sunlight giving the temple a pale blue-grey hue. The peasants prayed for many things at the temple; better crop yields, rain during droughts and even praises to royalty.
Getting closer to the marketplace more grand buildings came to view, the Library and the blacksmith. The library was gigantic, its walls and grand pillars pulsed and flowed with Kucholel. The tapestries and etchings on its wall ever flowing and changing like a story, depicting ancient battles whose memories had been forgotten over time. A major part of the village's history, the empire had discovered the library when expanding its territories into the Eastern forest, the village was then built around the structure as scholars and Ajkulel's flocked to the library in order to discover its secrets. In the library's history, no one had been able to enter the chamber of the Ajtaseeb, the room where the keeper and owner of the library resided.
Itzima always had a routine, whenever she would come to sell grain she would spend an hour or two in the library, reading books on the intricacies of kucholel. She had already become adept at manipulating it into tangible forms without any formal guidance. Finishing up her reading for the day Itzima made her back home after buying some fresh produce from the markets.
Itzima had been cooking for a short while when she noticed a bloody man walk into her view from the kitchen window. Shrugging it off she kept cooking but the man was walking towards her house, pretending not to notice Itzima continued cooking. A few minutes later the man came closer and Itzima couldn't help but peek yelping in surprise and fear after the man stand in the front porch .
Arsanguir's journey back to the village didn't stay dampened for long, as he replayed the fight in his head thinking of ways to bend the truth. To make him seem more impressive than he was when telling Itzima about his eventful day. As he got to the village entrance, Arsanguir noticed a change in the attitudes of the villagers he called his neighbours. The adults now shielded the eyes of their children ushering them to look elsewhere, anywhere other than him. The old geezers were more sinister looking at him up and down, inspecting his wounds from afar before looking at each other and sneering coldly and joyfully, revelling in his pain and hardship. His previously cheerful and proud mood withered into bitterness as he realised that these people would never care about him. Even if he had a hand in saving their lives. Coming home he greeted Itzima through the kitchen window.
Locking eyes with Itzima, Arsanguir felt a wave of relief washed over him to see her safe and sound. Watching her yelp in concern made him chuckle as he thought about her trying her hardest to ignore him when he was a "stranger". Itzima rushes out the front door, eyes wide with concern and glinting with suspicion, she puts his arm around her shoulder helping him walk into the house.
"Arsi, what happened? Who did this to you? Why?" Itzima burst out not letting him answer before bombarding him with more questions.
Arsanguir paused for a moment going over his exaggerated story one more time in his head, before whispering. "It's a... it's a long story, Itzy. Maybe later"
Seeing Arsanguir trying to hide a cheeky grind, Itzima heaved a sigh of relief. If he was joking around it definitively meant he wasn't in too bad a shape, despite of what it looked like. "Tell me now before I hang you with these bandages." she laughed getting the bandages and a water cloth. Itzima listened to Arsanguir's clearly magnified version of his fight with the bandits, chuckling tearily every so often when recognising his rare childish side surface. Lately, Arsanguir had been putting up a stoic front to make her feel, which worked, at the cost of their relationship. Itzima had begun to feel more and more distant as he began to hide his troubles and worries from her.
After patching Arsanguir up, Itzima finished making dinner. Waiting for Itzima to serve dinner Arsanguir's mind drifted, the thought about the the bandit he had killed and how, most likely the whole bandit group had met the same fate.
Watching his sour wincing face during dinner, Itzima asked again "Are you sure that you're alright Arsi?"
"I'm all good, just happy to be alive and at home," he replied not wanting to burden her with his thoughts and worries.
Deciding to sleep in the living room for a few nights Arsanguir began to unpack his belongings that he had taken out with him to the fields. Looking at the shattered pitchfork in dismay he sat it down on the centre table. Before setting up the sofa to fall asleep.
Not wanting Arsanguir to be alone after what had happened, Itzima began setting up the sofa. While preparing to go to bed not a single word was exchanged between the two just a silent understanding as they both worked in unison helping each other but not getting in the way. Curling up under the blankets Itzima breaks the enveloping silence with a whisper before blowing out the candle not giving Arsanguir a chance to reply. "Aris? You really are something special. You know that." Comforting him in her embrace Itzima falls asleep.
Arsanguir lies there in the dark, allowing himself a moment of weakness, making sure that Itzi is asleep. He cries, silently, not of sadness but of fear. Being a hero of battles and valour had always been his dream, even after experiencing the horrors of battle this hadn't changed but what had changed was his outlook on war, as he realised that the stories never did give justice to the negatives of war.
In the coming days, Arsanguir never recovered mentally despite the comforting and loving words constantly reiterated by Itzima. During these days tending to his wounds and reassuring him with words of affirmation Itzima's feelings of family began to change, evolving.
As Arsanguir and Itzima slept on the couch for one last day before going back to their rooms Arsanguir kissed Itzima on the forehead before resting her head on his chest and falling asleep, dreaming about more adventures and battles to come.
Leaning on Arsanguir's shoulder, Itzima can't fall asleep. Her face flushed a bright red her mind whizzing through possibilities.
A few weeks go by and they both return to their usual routines much to Itzima's dismay. As Arsanguir recovers fully he plans a long hunting trip, to make up the time he had lost while recovering, to stockpile enough food to get through the winter.