When Honor Burns
Leon's lips twitched faintly — not quite a smile, but its ghost. It was half-appreciation, half-dare. "Good to hear," he whispered, "from the man they all call Vellore's First Wall."
The title seemed to strike something deep in Aden. His breath faltered, and his hand tightened instinctively on the hilt of his sword before loosening again. "And you…" he said, almost in awe, "you're the first warrior who's ever made me kneel." His voice dropped, low and reverent, carrying the weight of a lifetime of battles lost and won.
Leon moved closer. The rhythmic crunch of his boots resounded over the devastated earth, through the settling smoke and dust. Broken stone littered the ground in pieces beneath them, still warm from their struggle's heat. He halted a few feet off, his shadow casting across Aden.
"Then recall that when you rebuild," Leon said softly, his voice firm but not ungentle. There was power in it — not gloating, but centering. "You don't have to die here."
