As evening descended, the air grew cooler, and the golden hues of sunset faded into a deep indigo. Verina made her way to her usual spot by the lake, her heart heavy with thoughts of Victor and the weight of their brief encounter.
The gentle lapping of the water should have been soothing, yet her mind swirled with confusion and longing. Sitting on a smooth stone, she gazed across the water, watching the last light shimmer on the surface, but she barely noticed the lake's beauty, her thoughts elsewhere—wondering why Victor had pushed her away. Could it be the war?
She had hoped he might come, that he would find her here and offer some clarity, some explanation for his sudden distance. Just as doubt began to consume her, she heard footsteps crunching softly on the leaves. Her heart leaped into her throat as she recognized Victor, silhouetted against the dimming light. He approached slowly, the shadows beneath his eyes telling tales of sleepless nights.
"Verina," he said softly, breaking the silence that cocooned her. As he stepped closer, she noticed the tension in his stance.
"Victor," she replied, her voice barely a whisper as she stood, uncertainty pooling in her chest.
He glanced out at the lake, gathering his thoughts before meeting her gaze again. "I wanted to find you. I—" He hesitated, his brows furrowing as he searched for the right words. "I didn't mean to pull away like that. It's just… everything is changing so fast. I can't…"
"When?" she asked, her words trembling in the evening air. "When are you leaving?"
Victor tensed, his gaze shifting from the lake to the ground, as if the answer were buried somewhere he couldn't quite reach. "Tomorrow," he replied, his voice breaking slightly on the word. "At dawn."
Verina's breath hitched, her heart tightening with a mix of fear and sorrow. The weight of his departure settled between them like a shadow neither could ignore.
"Victor…" she started, but he raised a hand to stop her.
"I don't want you to wait," he said, his tone hardening. "I don't want you tied to someone who might not return. It's better if you forget me."
"Forget you?" Her voice trembled, almost breaking. "How could you ask that of me? We've only just met, and now you're asking me to let go?" She swallowed against the lump in her throat. "I can't just turn away from the only person who's made me feel—" She stopped, her voice trembling with an intensity that bordered on desperation. "Who's made me feel… truly alive."
Pain flickered across his face, but he shook his head. "You don't understand, Verina. I can't let you carry the weight of this war, of me. I want you to live… free. So promise me," he whispered, his eyes dark and unreadable, "that you'll let go."
"I can't just let go. I care about you, Victor," Verina's voice was soft, yet resolute. "And I believe in you, no matter what lies ahead."
His eyes filled with doubt, an internal struggle evident as he tried to guard himself.
"Then… make a promise with me," she said, her voice steady. "Promise me you'll come back. And I'll promise to wait."
Surprise flared in his expression, a moment of hope breaking through the storm in his gaze. "You don't know what you're asking."
"I know it won't be easy," she insisted, her eyes bright with the conviction she fought to hold onto. "But I believe you'll come back. I have faith that you'll survive this. I'll be here, waiting… no matter how long it takes."
They stood in silence, her words anchoring them in a fragile, shared hope. Victor's heart warred within him; part of him wanted to let go, but another part couldn't deny the bond he felt growing between them.
"Do you mean that?" he asked softly, his voice uncharacteristically tender.
"Absolutely," she replied, stepping closer, tears bright in her eyes but her resolve unshaken. "I'll hold onto that promise, Victor. Just promise me you'll come back."
A faint glimmer of warmth broke through the despair in his eyes. "If I promise… will you truly wait?"
"Yes," she whispered, her voice filled with conviction. "I'll wait, no matter what. Just don't lose hope."
She knew he needed at least one tiny reason to come back. Verina hoped with all her heart that she could be his reason to live and fight. So she tried to pretend as confident as she could.
With that, Victor reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly, a silent agreement passing between them. As they stood together by the lake, the fading light reflected their intertwined fates, both uncertain and yet undeniably bound by something deeper.
Verina's mind drifted to a cherished memory. She recalled a tradition often observed in the village: knights were honoured with tokens from the people they protected—small mementoes to remind them of home and the lives they fought for. A spark of inspiration lit up her expression as she turned to Victor.
"Wait," she said, breaking the contemplative silence. "I just remembered something."
He looked at her, curiosity mingling with the worry still etched on his face. "What is it?"
"People give gifts to knights before they go to war," she explained, excitement bubbling within her. "It's a way to remind them of what they're fighting for and to bring them strength. I have something I want to give you."
"Verina, that's not necessary," he protested, his voice soft but firm. "It's just a tradition."
"But I want to," she insisted, her determination clear. "This isn't just about tradition. I want you to have something that means a lot to me—something that can give you strength and remind you of home."
Victor hesitated, glancing back at the water, the weight of their conversation still heavy in his mind. But as Verina's eyes shone with earnestness, he felt compelled to follow her.
"Come on, let's go to my house," she said, pulling him gently by the hand.
Without waiting for his response, she started leading him away from the lake.
As they reached her home, Verina opened the door and quickly led him inside. The house was simple and barely furnished, but it seemed cosy. She moved to a small, ornate box on a shelf and carefully opened it, revealing a collection of trinkets and keepsakes, each one a piece of her family history.
"Here it is," she said, her fingers brushing over the contents with reverence. "This was my mother's."
She pulled out a delicate silver locket, its surface intricately engraved with floral patterns. The locket was old, its edges slightly worn, but it held an aura of love and resilience.
"I want you to have this," she said, holding it out to him. "My mother always said it contained the strength. When she wore it, she felt braver, as if she carried the love and courage of everyone who came before her. I hope it brings you the same strength."
As Victor stared at the locket, a mixture of gratitude and guilt swirled within him. How could he take something so precious? This symbol of love and resilience was too heavy a burden to bear. He was touched by the significance of her gift.
"Verina, this is… incredible," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Yet, the weight of his looming departure pressed on his heart like a leaden shroud. "I can't accept something so precious."
"Yes, you can," she insisted, her voice steady and sincere. Her determination pierced through his doubt. "It's a part of my family's legacy. I want you to carry it with you as a reminder that you're not alone in this fight. Whenever you look at it, remember our promise and the strength that comes from believing in each other."
He took the locket from her, his fingers brushing against hers, feeling the warmth of the moment enveloping them. "I promise, Verina. I'll carry this with me always."
As they stood in her home, the locket now a symbol of their bond and the promise of his return, both felt a flicker of hope amidst the uncertainty of the future.