Chapter 41: The Cost of War

The victory celebration in Whitespire is unlike anything Aya has ever seen. The streets are filled with people, music echoing off the stone walls. Flowers rain down as the army parades through the city.

At the front of the parade, Aya rides with Bracken and the commanders of the Royal Guard with her hood pulled down to cover most of her face. She sits straight in her saddle despite her exhaustion, absorbing the sight of the cheering crowds from atop Giroud’s steed.

The King himself places medals around their necks, declaring them heroes of Whitespire. Bracken stands nearby, his usually stern face split with a proud smile.

Later, as the celebration continues in the streets below, Bracken finds Aya standing on a balcony, watching the festivities. He steps out to join her, the cool evening air a welcome respite to muscles stiff from the previous day’s battle.

“How do you feel?” he asks, his voice tinged with concern as he studies her young face.

Aya turns to him, her expression weary but content. “I don’t know,” she admits, “We protected the people. But...”

“But the cost was high,” Bracken finishes for her, his voice gentle. The unspoken name hangs between them.

Aya nods, swallowing hard. “I didn’t know it was possible to win and still feel like you’ve lost everything.”

Bracken’s weathered face softens. “That’s the truth of war that ballads never sing about.”

His gaze sweeps across the joyous scene below. He can see the pride in the faces of the people, the relief and gratitude that radiates from them. But his own heart is heavy, the weight of their victory tempered by the sacrifices they’ve made.

“What happens now?” Aya asks, her voice soft and hesitant.

Bracken turns to her. “Do you have somewhere to stay?”

Aya nods. “I will stay with Lady Monique’s family I think. For now.”

“If you want to talk about it. Giroud. The battle. The lives that...” Bracken pauses, contemplating how to rephrase his words. “There is a price to every battle. Remember that this was not a fight we started but one we had to defend. It was not a choice but a necessity. Your role in that is no different.”

Tears roll down Aya’s face. “I know. I will make up for it all the same. I will learn healing magic and help everyone I can.”

“Any experienced mage healer would welcome a protégé with your gifts,” Bracken says. “When you’re ready. Giroud would want you to continue growing stronger.”

“Not just stronger,” Aya says, wiping her tears. “Better. Wiser. He always said power without wisdom was just another form of weakness.”

Bracken smiles, a genuine expression that softens his usually stern features. “He was right about that. And about you.”

“I just wish...” Aya starts, then stops herself.

“We all have wishes that can’t come true,” Bracken says softly. “But we honor the dead by living as they taught us to live.”