After the Battle – The Market

The market district always smells different from the frontline camps.

Cleaner.

Artificially sweet.

Like someone is trying too hard to pretend the war doesn’t exist.

Kael walks slightly ahead, hands in his coat pockets, expression neutral. He doesn’t look at the shop windows. He doesn’t look at the people staring.

He already knows what they see.

Not soldiers.

Not protectors.

Just the discarded.

She walks beside him, slightly behind at first, but she slows whenever someone passes too close.

A woman pulling her child away whispers something under her breath.

She smiles anyway.

“Good afternoon,” she says gently to an older shopkeeper who is very obviously avoiding eye contact.

The man hesitates before nodding stiffly.

Kael keeps walking.

“You do not have to greet them,” he says quietly, eyes forward. “They are not going to greet you back.”

She tilts her head, looking at a bakery window before catching up to him.

“I am not greeting them because I expect kindness,” she replies lightly. “I am greeting them because I want to.”

“They think we are disposable,” Kael says flatly.

She shrugs. “That does not mean we have to think the same way about ourselves.”

A pair of teenagers across the street stare openly at the insignia on Kael’s sleeve.

One of them mutters, “Frontline trash.”

Sirfa hears it.

She does not react.

Instead, she moves a little closer to Kael.

“You know,” she says, glancing up at him, “you walk like you are trying to intimidate the pavement.”

“I am not.”

“You are. Your shoulders are tense.”

“They are not tense.”

She reaches out and taps his shoulder lightly.

“They are absolutely tense.”

He exhales slowly. “If you keep poking me in public, they will stare more.”

“They are already staring,” she replies, smiling faintly. “At least give them something interesting to look at.”

He almost rolls his eyes.

Almost.

They stop in front of a small workshop tucked between two larger stores. The sign above it reads: Precision Tools & Blade Maintenance.

Kael opens the door.

A small bell chimes.

Inside, the air smells like oil and metal dust.

An older man behind the counter looks up, squinting.

“You again,” the shopkeeper says, not unkindly, just cautious.

“I need whetstones and a replacement edge cartridge,” Kael says evenly. “Fine grain, not the cheap ones from last time.”

The man grunts. “You fight hard on those things.”

“They dull quickly when cutting armor plating,” Kael replies.

She wanders slowly along the shelves, running her fingers lightly over tool kits and polishing cloths.

“You should get a new grip wrap too,” she calls over her shoulder. “The last one started slipping when you overextended.”

Kael glances at her. “I did not overextend.”

“You did,” she says, turning to face him properly. “You stepped too far forward when the Obelisk unit fired. If Riven had not blocked that second shot, you would have lost your balance.”

The shopkeeper looks between them with mild confusion.

Kael sighs quietly. “I adjusted my position.”

“You adjusted because you had to,” she corrects gently. “That is different.”

The shopkeeper sets a small box on the counter. “You two always talk like this?”

She laughs softly. “Only when he pretends he is invincible.”

“I do not pretend that,” Kael says calmly.

She walks back toward him, holding up a roll of black grip tape.

“You absolutely do. You push Overdrive longer than you should and then act surprised when you get headaches.”

The shopkeeper pauses mid-movement. “Overdrive?”

Kael’s expression hardens slightly. “Just combat strain.”

The man nods slowly, deciding not to ask further questions.

She lowers her voice once the shopkeeper steps away.

“You do not have to prove anything every mission,” she says quietly. “We all know you are strong.”

“That is not why I push,” Kael answers, looking straight ahead at the counter.

“Then why?”

He does not respond immediately.

After a moment, he says, “Because if I hesitate, someone dies.”

She studies him.

Then she smiles — not playful this time, but steady.

“And if you collapse, someone dies too,” she says softly. “Including you.”

Silence stretches between them.

The shopkeeper returns with a small paper bag of supplies.

“That will be forty-eight,” he says.

Kael pays without comment.

As they step back outside, the sunlight feels harsher than before.

She adjusts the bag in her arms.

“You know,” she says lightly again, restoring her earlier tone, “we still have to buy actual groceries. Unless you plan on eating sharpening stones.”

“I would prefer not to,” he says.

“That is good,” she replies. “Because I was thinking we could make something warm tonight. Something normal.”

He glances at her.

“Normal does not last long.”

She looks forward, smiling faintly.

“That does not mean we cannot have it for a few hours.”

People still stare as they walk.

But this time—

Kael slows slightly.

Just enough for her to walk beside him instead of behind. The market crowd thickens as midday approaches.

Vendors shout over one another. Fabric banners sway in the warm air. The polished district gleams like it belongs to another world.

Kael walks slightly ahead, a paper bag of supplies in one hand, eyes forward as always.

She lingers a step behind him, adjusting the strap on her shoulder.

And then—

She turns too quickly around a corner.

And collides straight into someone.

The impact is solid — not rough, but firm enough to knock her off balance.

Before she can fully stumble back, a gloved hand catches her wrist.

The crowd around them stills.

She looks up.

Blond hair catches the sunlight like gold thread.

Blue eyes — bright, startlingly clear.

His coat is tailored, immaculate, lined with insignia that shimmer subtly at the collar.

People nearby immediately step aside.

Whispers ripple.

“The prince…”

Leo.

He looks at her for one suspended second.

And something changes in his expression.

Without hesitation, he steps back slightly, releases her wrist gently—

Then bows.

Not shallow.

Not careless.

A proper, deliberate bow.

He takes her hand again — carefully this time — and lifts it to his lips, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles.

Gasps break through the crowd.

Girls nearby stiffen, whispering sharply.

One audibly says, “Is he insane?”

Leo lifts his gaze to her, eyes softened in a way that feels almost disarming.

“I apologize, my… lady,” he says smoothly, voice warm and sincere. “I was not being careful enough.”

She blinks, stunned.

“I did not expect,” he continues, still holding her hand gently, “to encounter someone so radiant in the middle of such a busy street.”

The air around them feels charged.

“I do not believe I have ever seen such a beautiful lady in years,” Leo adds, studying her face openly. “May I know your name?”

More gasps.

A woman nearby mutters, “He has never spoken like that to anyone.”

Another whispers, “She is from the frontlines…”

Jealousy crackles in the air like static.

She opens her mouth, clearly caught off guard.

“I—”

But before she can finish—

Her hand is yanked back.

Firm.

Controlled.

Kael steps between them without raising his voice.

He does not bow.

He does not acknowledge Leo’s status.

His grip on her wrist is protective, not rough — but unmistakably possessive of the space between them.

“We are leaving,” Kael says evenly.

The crowd stiffens.

You do not interrupt royalty.

Leo’s gaze shifts to Kael slowly.

There is no anger in it.

Only curiosity.

And something calculating.

“You are rather quick to pull her away,” Leo says lightly. “May I assume you are her escort?”

Kael does not answer the question.

“She did not ask for your attention.”

A flicker — brief — passes through Leo’s eyes.

Then he smiles again.

“If my presence caused discomfort, then I sincerely apologize once more,” he says smoothly. “However, I could not ignore someone who stands out so distinctly.”

Kael’s jaw tightens.

She gently tugs at his sleeve.

“It is fine,” she says quietly, still a little surprised. “It was only an accident.”

Leo watches that exchange carefully.

Very carefully.

“I would be honored,” Leo continues, straightening fully now, “if we could speak again under calmer circumstances.”

The crowd murmurs louder.

A prince.

Speaking to someone from the discarded ranks.

Unheard of.

Kael steps back slightly, but keeps himself angled between them.

“That will not be necessary,” he says calmly.

Leo’s eyes shift back to her.

Not insulted.

Not offended.

Just intent.

“As you wish,” he says, though the words are clearly not meant for Kael.

Kael turns without another word and begins walking, pulling her gently but firmly with him.

She glances back instinctively.

Leo is still standing there.

Not moving.

Watching.

The sunlight catches in his hair.

And for a moment—

He looks less like royalty.

And more like someone who has just discovered something he wants.

Very badly.