Chapter 3
Without thinking, I reached out to steady him.
His body was icy cold, and even through his drenched clothes, that chill shot right into my hand.
My heart couldn't help but tremble.
Chris became my own soldier.
He was out to show he wasn't dead weight, throwing himself into training harder than anyone else.
Every day, he'd be up before dawn, training side by side with the veterans—sword in hand, riding, and shooting arrows.
He started out clueless, always getting tossed to the ground, his face swollen and bruised.
But he never once complained. Every time he hit the dirt, he'd just get back up and go again, no matter how many times it took.
His hands kept getting blisters. One would pop, scab over, and then another would show up right after.
In just two months, it was like he'd become a whole new person.
He stood straighter, and there was a sharpness in his eyes that hadn't been there before.
The boy who used to look so gentle and frail was starting to actually look like a soldier.
The soldiers started to see Chris in a whole new light.
In this camp, only the strong got respect.
Chris won everyone over with his sweat and grit.
He wasn't that lost kid who needed me to look out for him anymore. He was one of my own now, a proper soldier under my command.
He still depended on me, just like before.
But now, that dependence had a new layer, something I couldn't quite put into words, a mix of admiration and the way a kid looks up to their hero.
He'd chase after me, calling out in that bright, clear voice, "Ms. Serrano!"
That address always made me feel a bit awkward. I'd scold him a few times, and he'd promise to stop, but the next time we met, he'd blurt it out again without thinking.
Eventually, I just gave up trying to correct him and let him call me whatever he wanted.
He'd shine up my armor until it sparkled.
If I got back late from a war council, he'd always have a steaming bowl of soup waiting for me.
Whenever I was scowling at the battle map, he'd quietly stand by, making sure I had fresh ink ready.
His presence was like a warm ray of sunlight, brightening up my cold, hardened world before I even realized it.
I spent ten years holding the frontier, starting as a fresh recruit and killing my way up to general.
My hands were stained with blood, and my heart was cold and hard as iron.
My father always said, "My girl should serve her country with unwavering loyalty, protect our home and our people."
I did just that. I became the pride of Dravonland, the King's blade.
But nobody ever asked me, "Liliana, are you tired?"
No one ever cared if the wounds under my armor hurt at all.
Chris was the first.
Whenever I got injured, he'd awkwardly tend to my wounds, tearing up the whole time. It hurt him more than it hurt me.
"Ms. Serrano, does it hurt?" he asked, his eyes all red.
I looked at him, wanting to say it didn't hurt.
But when I opened my mouth, all that came out was, "A little."
When he heard that, his tears started falling even harder.
Watching him fret over me like that, I felt something deep inside me quietly melt away.
So this was what it felt like to have someone care about me.
That night, after my patrol, I walked into my tent and saw Chris sitting there, humming a soft tune by the dim light of a candle.
The melody was unfamiliar, carrying a touch of the desolate north, but somehow it was also strangely gentle.
I stopped in my tracks.
I seemed to have heard this song somewhere before.
I stepped inside and called, "Chris."
He jumped, leapt to his feet, blushing. "Ms. Serrano, you're back."
"What was that song you were humming earlier?" I asked.
"I... I'm not really sure," Chris replied, rubbing the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. "It just came to me out of nowhere. Feels like someone sang it to me ages ago."
Something inside me shifted.
Three years ago, it was also a snowy night.
During my patrol, I found a badly injured young soldier from Aurethland.
He was nearly frozen to death, so I dragged him into a sheltered cave, gave him water and medicine for his wounds.
He was out cold the whole time, mumbling about how cold he was.
I was worried he wouldn't make it, so I sat by his side and hummed a gentle tune from Corville that my mother had taught me.
There was only ever one person I'd hummed that song for.
Could it be that he was that boy?
I turned to Chris, and he was staring back at me, curiosity all over his face.
"Ms. Serrano, what's wrong?" he asked.
I shook my head, shoving that ridiculous idea away.
No way.
That was just way too much of a coincidence.
The boy from back then was way more badly injured than Chris. There was no way he could've survived.
Besides, I was wearing a mask, so he never got a look at my face.
"It's nothing," I said flatly. "Just don't go humming those mushy tunes around the camp."
"Okay," Chris answered, obedient as ever.
I didn't think much of it, just chalked it up to a coincidence.
But I didn't notice the complicated glint in Chris's eyes with his head down.
Winter always came early out here at the border.