The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting the village of Vekara in hues of orange and red as the shadows stretched long across the walls and buildings. Leon made his way through the quiet streets, his mind still buzzing with the endless strategies and preparations needed to keep Vekara safe. His muscles ached from the day's work, and his mind felt heavy with the weight of decisions yet to be made. But for now, there was something else calling him—something, or rather someone, who had been a steady presence in the chaos.
Mara.
The small house that served as both his home and the village's makeshift clinic came into view, and he could already see the faint glow of a lantern flickering through the window. Inside, Mara was finishing up for the day, organizing the shelves, checking their supplies, and making sure everything was in order for the next round of patients.
Leon pushed open the door, the familiar creak of the hinges barely audible over the soft rustle of papers and the clink of glass jars being put away. Mara glanced up from her work, her face lighting up with a tired smile as she saw him.
"You're late," she teased, though her voice was soft, her exhaustion evident in the way she moved. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten all about us here in the clinic."
Leon smiled faintly as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Long day. Strategic meeting with Gorak and Rourke. The usual preparations."
Mara nodded, her hands still busy organizing the last of the herbs on the shelf. "The village never sleeps, does it?"
"No," Leon replied, his voice low. "And neither do we."
Mara chuckled softly, though there was a weight behind her laughter. "I've noticed."
She placed the last jar on the shelf and turned to face Leon, leaning against the table with a sigh. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready for the day to be over. We've had patients in and out all day—nothing too serious, thankfully, but it's been non-stop."
Leon leaned against the doorframe, watching her as she spoke. There was something different about her tonight, something in the way she carried herself. She wasn't just tired from the day's work; there was a restlessness in her eyes, a need for something beyond the endless cycle of healing and survival.
He could sense it, and for the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed himself to let go of the constant weight of responsibility, if only for a moment.
"You seem distracted," he said quietly.
Mara looked at him, her eyes soft but filled with something unspoken. "I guess I am," she admitted. "Don't get me wrong—I love helping here, doing what we can for the people. But it's… it's always the same, isn't it? Security, medicine, survival. We talk about strategy and supplies, and we do what needs to be done. But sometimes I just want to talk about something else. Anything else."
Leon's expression softened. He understood all too well. The constant pressure of keeping Vekara safe, of planning for an attack that could come at any moment—it wore on them all. And yet, they had no choice. The village's survival depended on it.
But Mara was right. Sometimes, you needed a break from the endless cycle.
Leon took a step closer, his voice quiet but sincere. "What do you want to talk about?"
Mara blinked, surprised by his sudden willingness to drop the weight of their responsibilities, even for a moment. She hadn't expected Leon to let go, not when he was always so focused, so determined. But here he was, offering her a chance to escape the grind of their daily lives, even if only for a short while.
"I don't know," she said, laughing softly. "Anything, really. I just need to get my head out of… all of this." She waved her hand vaguely at the clinic around them. "Something that doesn't involve the walls or patients or supplies."
Leon nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I get it. We've been going nonstop for weeks. Feels like there's no time to think about anything else."
Mara tilted her head, studying him for a moment. "What about you, Leon? Before all of this—before Vekara, before the camp—what did you think about? What did you want?"
Leon hesitated, the question catching him off guard. It had been so long since he had thought about anything beyond the immediate needs of survival. His past life, his old desires, his dreams—all of it felt distant, almost like a different world.
"I wanted to help people," he said finally, his voice thoughtful. "That's why I became a doctor. To heal. To make things better. I didn't expect to end up here, fighting to keep a village safe from a king's army."
Mara nodded, her eyes softening. "You're still helping people. Just… in a different way."
"Yeah," Leon agreed, though there was a hint of melancholy in his tone. "But it's not the same. Healing feels different when you're constantly preparing for war."
Mara pushed herself off the table and took a step closer to him, her voice quieter now. "Maybe we're all fighting for something different. For you, it's about keeping people safe. For me, it's about giving people a chance to live without fear. But that doesn't mean we can't still talk about what we want, does it?"
Leon looked at her, his eyes meeting hers in the dim light of the room. "No," he said softly. "It doesn't."
They stood there for a moment, the silence between them heavy but comfortable, a shared understanding passing between them. The world outside was dangerous, filled with uncertainty and threats they couldn't control, but in this small room, for just a little while, they could forget about that.
Mara smiled, a small but genuine smile, as she leaned against the table again. "Maybe one day, when this is all over, we'll talk about things that aren't so heavy. Maybe we'll even laugh."
Leon chuckled softly, the sound rare but welcome. "Maybe."
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Leon allowed himself to relax, even if it was just for a brief moment. The burdens of leadership, of protecting the village, were still there, waiting for him when he stepped back outside. But for now, in the quiet of the clinic with Mara, he could let it go.
Just for tonight.