The bell no longer echoed.
It lingered—in the wind, in the stones, in the hearts of those who had heard its second cry. Something had begun, and no one could pretend otherwise.
But in the soft shadows of Myreth's inner streets, something more intimate stirred.
A name.
Spoken not in prophecy or warning, but in memory.
"Mirea."
She froze.
That voice. That name. Spoken with familiarity and hurt.
She turned.
He stood beneath the arch of the old fountain—hair darker now, beard rough, eyes sunken with disbelief.
"Aerin."
---
Before the Silence
They had grown up in the same village, two branches on the same tree.
Aerin had been the boy with ideas too big for his skin. Mirea, the girl who learned to listen to storms. Together, they had survived frost, loss, and fire. Together, they had watched the world break.
But she had left.
Without a word. Without goodbye.
Because she had seen what Aerin could not let go of—vengeance.
He had joined the rebels.
She had vanished.
Until now.
---
Reunion Like a Blade
"You followed the wrong shadow," Aerin said bitterly, eyes flicking toward where Frido rested beside a burned-down brazier.
"He's not a shadow," she replied.
"No? Then what is he? A dream? A myth with blood under his nails?"
"He's hope."
Aerin laughed, sharp and unkind. "Hope? He won't lift a sword. He kneels in front of armies like a martyr asking to be buried."
She stepped closer. "He's alive. And because of him, so are dozens who would have died today."
Aerin's voice lowered. "And if I told you I still remembered the way you used to laugh—would that change anything?"
Mirea's throat caught.
"No," she said.
"Because of him."
She didn't deny it.
---
Frido Listens
Later that night, Frido approached Mirea.
He had seen the exchange.
"I don't know who he was to you," he said gently, "but I'm sorry for whatever memory I pulled forward."
Mirea shook her head. "He belongs to the past."
"Do you miss it?"
She looked up at the moon. "Sometimes. But only in the way a tree misses being a seed. You can't grow if you stay buried."
Frido smiled faintly. "You're stronger than you think."
"And you're more fragile than you let anyone believe."
That caught him off guard.
But he didn't deny it either.
---
Aerin's Choice
At dawn, Aerin came to Frido.
He tossed a pouch at his feet. "Dried meat. Stolen from a war camp. Eat it or not. Doesn't matter to me."
Frido nodded, picked it up. "Thank you."
"I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it because she still looks at you like you're about to vanish."
Frido blinked.
Aerin turned, walking away. But he paused at the gate.
"She loved you," he said softly, so only Frido could hear. "She just never said it. And maybe she never will."
Frido stood frozen, clutching the pouch like it held fire.
---
The Weight of an Unspoken Name
Later, Teren found Frido alone, staring into the sky.
"You good?"
Frido didn't answer at first.
Then: "Do you ever feel like the closer you get to peace, the more people you hurt along the way?"
Teren sighed. "Peace costs. It always has. The trick is making sure it costs less than war."
Frido's fingers tightened around the stone in his pocket.
Teren looked at him. "What did that Aerin guy say?"
"Nothing I didn't already know."
But it wasn't true.
Frido now knew something he hadn't dared to believe:
> That someone was walking beside him in silence not because they feared the war—
but because they feared losing him.
---
A Letter in the Dark
That night, Mirea wrote again.
> "I could lie and say I don't remember the boy who taught me how to hear wind in the trees. But I do.
I remember everything.
I just chose a different future.
And now I walk beside a man who does not raise his voice, but still teaches others to listen."
She folded the letter, but did not burn it.
She left it beneath a stone near the bell tower, knowing Aerin would find it.
And hoping he would understand.
---
What Frido Began to See
In his sleep, Frido dreamed again.
This time, the child was back.
But this time, it wasn't a child—it was Mirea.
Not older. Not younger.
Just herself.
She didn't speak.
She only looked at him with eyes full of regret.
And held out a bell.
He reached for it.
But the bell melted into water, and he was alone.
---
Morning Brings Silence Again
When the sun rose, Mirea didn't speak of the night.
Neither did Frido.
But when they walked forward, he kept glancing sideways, just to make sure she was still there.
She noticed.
And said nothing.
But inside, her heart whispered:
> "Say something, Frido. Ask me.
I want to tell you everything.
I want you to stop walking before it's too late."
But she never did.
Because his silence was a kind of armor.
And she couldn't be the one to break it.
Not yet.
---
[End of Chapter 26]