**Chapter 20: Invisible Wounds**
The battlefield lay in silence, the aftermath of the brutal clash leaving a haunting stillness in the air. The cries of the fallen had long since faded, replaced only by the distant sounds of shifting winds and the occasional groan of the wounded. Smoke curled lazily from the remains of broken siege weapons and smoldering debris, but the worst was not visible. The true cost of the battle was hidden in the hearts of those who survived.
Riven stood at the edge of the clearing, staring out over the battlefield. His chest heaved as his breath came in slow, measured inhales. The weight of what had just transpired pressed heavily on him. His body ached, covered in dirt, blood, and the sweat of battle, but it wasn't the physical wounds that gnawed at him. It was the invisible ones—the ones that couldn't be healed with a salve or a spell.
He had seen too many die. Too many faces—friends, comrades—reduced to nothing but memories, and the faces of those still standing, forever scarred by the war. The survivors' faces had become more than just reflections of the fight itself; they had become mirrors of the internal struggles everyone now faced. Riven had led them into the heart of the storm, and though they had emerged victorious, the cost was clear. Victory was no longer something to be celebrated. It was something to survive.
"Riven..." The voice was quiet but firm, breaking through the fog of his thoughts. He turned to see Lia standing a few paces behind him, her expression unreadable. She looked as weary as he felt, but there was something in her eyes that told him she was carrying her own burdens.
Lia had been by his side through it all—through the victories and the defeats, the triumphs and the losses. She was his rock, but he had never asked her what she needed, what toll it had taken on her. The burden of war wasn't just on the battlefield. It was carried in the quiet moments like this, when the adrenaline of combat faded, leaving only the aching weight of what they had done—and what they had lost.
He didn't speak at first, unsure of what to say. Words felt hollow. What could he say that would fix any of it? There was nothing that could take away the pain, the grief, the guilt.
Lia stepped closer, her boots soft against the dirt, and placed a hand gently on his arm. Her touch was warm, a grounding force in the sea of chaos swirling inside him. Riven flinched slightly, not from her touch, but from the overwhelming flood of emotions he had kept buried for so long.
"I know it's hard," she said, her voice low and soft, but it carried the weight of understanding. "But we did what we had to. The lives lost... they weren't in vain."
Riven swallowed, his throat tight. "Was it worth it?" he whispered, though it was more a question to himself than to her. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, as if the answers might lie hidden there, among the distant shadows of the mountains.
Lia didn't immediately answer, and for a moment, the silence between them stretched long and heavy. She seemed to be weighing her words carefully. Finally, she spoke again, her voice even more quiet than before.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "Sometimes, I wonder if any of it is worth it. But I know this: if we don't keep going, if we don't fight, then what are we really living for?"
Riven clenched his fists, the questions swirling in his mind—questions he had no answers to. He had been so focused on the goal, on the fight, on the next battle, that he had failed to consider the toll it would take on those closest to him. The ones who followed him, who trusted him. His own wounds, his own grief, had been consuming him, and in the process, he had forgotten about their struggles. He had neglected their pain, just as he had neglected his own.
Lia's voice broke through his thoughts once more, this time softer, almost tender. "You're not alone in this, Riven. We're all carrying our own wounds, but we carry them together."
The words struck him with a force he wasn't prepared for. He had always tried to be the leader, the one who held the group together, but in doing so, he had distanced himself. He had thought that keeping them focused on the mission would shield them from the darkness, but now he realized that it had only pushed him further from them. The people who followed him were more than just soldiers—they were his friends, his family, and he had forgotten that in the heat of battle.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice cracking slightly. He hadn't meant to say it, but the words came anyway, unbidden. He turned to face her, finally meeting her eyes. "I've been so focused on leading... on winning... that I didn't stop to think about what you all are going through."
Lia's expression softened, and she squeezed his arm gently. "You don't have to carry it all alone, Riven. We're with you. You've always carried us—now let us carry you."
There was an ache in his chest, a deep, raw feeling that he couldn't quite place. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was the realization that he had been too proud, too stubborn, to ask for help when he needed it most. But for the first time in a long while, he felt something else—a glimmer of hope, a flicker of understanding. They were in this together. No matter what happened, they were a team.
They stood there in silence for a while longer, simply being in each other's presence. The battlefield had taken so much from them, but this moment, this quiet exchange, was something they could hold on to. They didn't need words to understand the depth of their bond. They had already proven that with their actions.
As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the landscape, Riven felt a shift inside him. The weight of his doubts, his fears, was still there, but it didn't feel quite so unbearable anymore. Maybe it was Lia's words, or maybe it was the realization that, despite everything, they were still standing. Still fighting. Still alive.
"You're right," he said, his voice steadier now. "We'll keep going. Together."
Lia gave him a small, reassuring smile. "That's all we can do."
Riven nodded, feeling a sense of peace settle over him, a quiet strength that had been absent for far too long. The wounds of war—physical and emotional—were deep, but they weren't permanent. And as long as they had each other, they would heal.
The battle was far from over, but in that moment, Riven knew they would face whatever came next with a renewed sense of purpose. He wasn't alone. And neither was the group.
Together, they would find a way through the darkness.