The news of the free night was the only thing being talked about in the barracks.
After the announcement, the atmosphere changed. Where there had once been tension and exhaustion, now there were murmurs, nervous laughter, and improvised plans. Some recruits dropped onto their bunks, allowing themselves to breathe. Others were already talking about food, drink… and something more.
Hal was the first to jump to his feet.
"You heard it!" he exclaimed, eyes shining. "The city! A whole night!"
Lysander blinked several times.
"A… real free night?" he asked, as if afraid he had misheard.
"Real," Bromir confirmed, crossing his arms. "And with pay included."
That was enough for Hal to lean in conspiratorially.
"I've heard things," he said in a low voice, though not as low as he thought. "About a certain place in the city."
Aren looked up immediately.
"What kind of place?"
Hal smiled.
"The red district…" he lowered his voice even more. "I heard there are places where the girls prefer knights and know exactly how to treat them. They even say some of them have… very specific tastes."
Lysander turned red to the ears.
"R-really?"
"Of course!" Hal replied with a mischievous grin. "They say a veteran knight knows a place where—"
"Enough," Aren interrupted firmly.
Both of them looked at him.
"I didn't come here for that," Aren added. "And I'm not getting into trouble on the first night."
Hal sighed dramatically.
"You're no fun."
"I'm just responsible," Aren replied.
Bromir shrugged.
"I'm going," he said, holding back a laugh. "Just to make sure these two don't die of a heart attack."
Lysander swallowed.
"I… I want to go," he admitted. "That place must be full of beauties."
Aren closed his eyes for a second.
'Great,' he thought. 'Exactly what I feared.'
Eryndor, who had remained silent while calmly adjusting his straps, finally spoke.
"I'm not going."
Hal looked at him, surprised.
"Seriously? Not even out of curiosity?"
The elf looked at him with clear disdain.
"I don't need to pay for attention," he said. "Besides, I already said I'm not interested in other races."
Hal and Lysander glared at him.
"There could be an elf woman waiting for you there," the halfling said sharply.
"I doubt it," he replied seriously. "And if there were, she would be a half-blood who doesn't understand the value of elven heritage."
Without saying more, he took his cloak and left without looking back.
Aren sighed.
"Alright. It's obvious you're going to get into trouble," he said at last. "And I don't think Bromir can handle both of you."
Hal smiled widely.
"I knew you wouldn't abandon us!"
"It's not that," Aren clarified. "It's so you don't get into trouble."
—
When they left the facilities, they found a world very different from the one they had grown used to.
Torches lit narrow streets, music spilled out of open windows, and the air was heavy with sweet and spiced aromas. As they got closer to the red district, the atmosphere changed even more. Laughter, soft voices, and suggestive looks.
Lysander walked stiffly.
"This is… a dream…" he murmured.
Hal looked completely at home.
"Right? It's going to be the best night!"
Bromir growled.
"If anyone tries to touch my beard without permission, they'll lose a hand."
Aren walked at the back of the group, alert, but clearly uncomfortable.
Then he felt a presence behind him.
"Aren?"
He stopped dead.
He turned.
Aveline stood a few steps away, leaning against a stone wall, arms crossed.
She was not wearing her training gear, only a slightly faded blouse and very loose pants. Even so, she still carried a strong presence.
Hal and Lysander froze.
Bromir raised an eyebrow.
"See you later," he said quickly, pushing the other two. "Don't do anything stupid. I already have enough with these two idiots."
And they left before Aren could protest.
Aren was left alone, facing Aveline.
"Hi," he said awkwardly.
"Hi," she replied, watching him closely. "Where were you going?"
Aren opened his mouth. Closed it.
"…to accompany my friends."
Aveline looked toward the red district.
"I see."
The silence stretched.
"Is that your type of woman?"
The question was direct.
"W-what?" he stammered nervously.
She raised an eyebrow.
"The ones you find in brothels," she replied calmly. "Exaggerated curves and fake smiles."
Aren felt the heat rush to his face.
"Of course not!" he exclaimed quickly. "I wasn't… I wasn't going to—"
He stopped.
Aveline was watching him carefully, waiting for a real answer.
"It's not my thing," he said more slowly. "I just didn't want to leave my friends alone."
She studied him for a few more seconds.
Then, to Aren's surprise, she smiled.
Not mockingly, but with relief.
"Good," she said. "That would have been a waste."
Aren blinked.
"What?"
Aveline stepped closer and stopped right in front of him. Aren caught the faint scent of wax as their eyes met and held for a few seconds.
"It would be a shame if someone with your talent and face had those vices," she added with a light laugh, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Aren was left speechless.
She walked a few steps before adding, turning back to him.
"Come," she said. "I know a better place."
—
The chapel looked almost forgotten by time.
Its cracked stone walls and holes in the roof let in threads of cold air and a few rays of moonlight that illuminated the space.
Aren stopped at the entrance.
"I didn't think you'd bring me here," he admitted, looking curiously at the interior of the chapel.
There were no readable symbols, only blurred traces where banners or sacred icons had once hung.
Aveline walked a few steps farther and sat on one of the wooden benches. As she did, the moonlight drew soft shadows across her face.
Aren realized—too late—that he had been staring at her longer than he should.
"This is the closest thing I have to… home," she replied without looking at him.
Aren cleared his throat and walked over, sitting at a prudent distance, though not as far as he would have liked.
"Home?" he repeated. "Did you grow up in a church?"
Aveline rested her forearms on her knees.
"Something like that."
She looked toward the altar.
"My father was a merchant," she said suddenly, with a nostalgic smile. "We traveled from town to town."
Aren stayed still, watching as Aveline's smile faded.
"I was five when he was killed."
The words were spoken without drama.
"It was bandits," she continued. "They ambushed us. I managed to hide, but I saw everything."
Aren clenched his fingers on the bench.
"After that… a priest of Alfaro found me."
"The god of light," Aren murmured by instinct.
Aveline nodded.
"He had a small, old church, almost like this one. It was also a refuge for orphans and the helpless."
She paused.
"I stayed there and swore I would never be weak again."
Aren swallowed.
"That's why you seemed so used to fighting."
She nodded, clenching her fists.
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable. It was shared.
This time, Aveline was the one who broke it.
"When you fight," she said after a moment. "What is it that you seek?"
Aren did not answer.
"To protect something?" she continued. "Or someone?"
The name crossed his mind like a whisper.
Lylia.
Aren closed his eyes for an instant.
"Maybe I want to prove something to someone…" he admitted, lifting his gaze to the moon. "But I also have ideals I would like to defend."
Aveline stood up with a complicated expression, which slowly turned into a smile.
"Let's go back," she said. "Next time, it's your turn to tell your story."
Aren nodded.
When they left, the city was still alive and vibrant, but for Aren, that small evening among the ruins was more meaningful than he wanted to admit.
However, something inside him could not help but feel a strange sense of guilt.