Chapter 5: Intruder

“What in the bloody hell are you doing here?” Luz’s voice emerged rougher than intended, betraying both anger and something deeper he couldn’t quite name. His grip tightened on the hilt until his knuckles turned white against the black veins crawling up his fingers. “Luz?” Amelia asked softly, her voice laced with doubt. The single word, spoken with such fragile hope, struck Luz harder than any blade. His sword lowered another inch, the tip resting against the ground. The carefully maintained mask of the Commander of the Corrompido army cracked completely, revealing the man beneath, with a flicker of amber in his left eye. “Don’t,” he bit out, though his voice lacked its usual commanding tone. “Don’t call me that name.” he placed his sword on the table alongside his gauntlets once more.

His crimson gaze locked onto hers, searching her face as if trying to memorize every detail before reality crashed back in. “You should not be here. This place is death for anyone stupid enough to follow.” Outside the tent, distant shouts and clanking armour reminded him they were not alone. “Then what should I call you?” Amelia asked, her brow furrowed with confused anger. The question hung in the air between them, charged with years of unspoked grief and betrayal. Luz’s jaw clenched beneath the dark stubble that had grown since he abandoned his old life. His crimson eyes searched her face desperately as if seeking permission to speak openly– or perhaps warning her not to press further.

“Commander… you can call me Commander,” he said finally, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Or General. Or traitor. Any title that reminds you that I am no longer the man who promised you a safe return.” He took a step forward, closing half the distance between them. The black veins on his neck pulsed visible with his rising emotions. “Because that man died six years ago on the battlefield. He sacrificed himself so thousands wouldn’t have to die.” His hands flexed at his sides, fighting the urge to reach out and confirm she was real. Amelia took a deep breath and for a long time she seemed speechless. “So, if you are dead, does that mean you… you didn’t miss me?” she asks hesitantly.

Luz’s breath hitched audibly at the question, his crimson eyes widening almost imperceptibly. The carefully constructed wall of detachment threatening to crumble entirely. His hands clenched into fists at his side. “I missed you every damn day,” he confessed, his voice dropping to a raw whisper that barely carried beyond the tent walls. “Every battle I fought, every village I destroyed, every moment I spent rotting in this Corrompido armour– I thought about you.” The amber flicker in his left eye intensified as memories flooded his mind– her laughter echoing through the village square, her stubborn determination when she insisted on helping him train despite her smaller stature. Things he had long tried to bury under layers of guilt and hatred for his own survival. “Of course I missed you!” he continued more harshly, taking another step forward until only a few feet separated them.

Amelia took a few steps forward, until she stood right in front of him and she leaned her head against his armoured chest. “Why… why didn’t you come back?” she asked sadly. The instant her head pressed against his armoured chest, something inside him snapped. His bare hand, which had been clenched tightly at his side, shot out to rest against her back. The touch was hesitant at first, as if testing whether this was real or just another cruel illusion. “Why didn’t I come back?” he repeated her words slowly, his voice cracking with emotion he had suppressed for years, “Because coming back would have gotten you killed! Do you think the villagers could have welcomed me? Or the Santo’s? They would have executed you for associating with me!”

His fingers curled against her shoulder blade, the warmth of her living form searing through the cold steel of his armour. The black vein on his arm pulsed violently in response to his rising emotions. “Their official records called me a traitor who sold his soul willingly,” he continued bitterly. Amelia moved back slightly and looked up at him. “You could have come back for me. You… you could have saved me,” she said, struggling to hold back tears. Luz’s bare hand instinctively reached out, fingers brushing against her cheek with a gentleness that contradicted everything he has become. “Saved you?” his voice was rough, raw with years of suppressed anguish. “You think I haven’t dreamed of saving you every night? Of riding back to that village and sweeping you away before the Corrompido arrived?”

He stepped closer again, invading her personal space until his armoured chest nearly touched her forehead again. The crimson sigils on his armour pulsed erratically as his control frayed under the intensity of seeing her so sad. “So why didn’t you?” Amelia asked softly, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “Why didn’t you do it today? Why didn’t you take me with you?” The single tear tracing down her cheeks seemed to pierce through Luz’s remaining defences. His hand, still resting on her back, trembled slightly as he found the urge to wipe it way. “Today?” his laugh was hollow, devoid of humour. “Today I was supposed to burn that village to ash like every other we have passed. Taking you with me would have meant sentencing you to a life worse than death.”

His crimson eyes blazed with a mix of frustration and desperate protection. “Do you have any idea what happens to humans captured by this army? They are either enslaved or killed for sport.” The black veins on his neck throbbed visibly as he struggled to maintain his composure. “I gave you one hour to run,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I did. I ran. But…” Amelia hesitated. “I have to know why? Why you keep leaving me. You are the commander. You could have found a way, couldn’t you?” The accusation hit Luz with the force of a physical blow. His face contorted, the carefully maintained mask of the Commander shattered and for a moment, the man Amelia once knew peeked through– the young knight who once swore oaths of honour.