Someone Has To
The fire was low, by design.
Kespan liked it that way — just enough warmth to take the edge off the night, not enough light to give them away. The road behind them had been quiet for three days now, but old habits didn’t die just because the map said safe.
He sat with his shield resting at his side, polishing it more out of ritual than necessity, eyes lifting every few moments to where Keslana moved at the edge of the firelight.
She never stayed still for long.
The shadows liked her. Or maybe she liked them. Either way, she slipped in and out of the dark as if it were an old friend — checking lines, adjusting traps, testing the wind. A hunter’s restlessness, sharp and familiar.
“You know,” she said casually, “we are technically out of rations.”
He didn’t look up. “We are technically not.”
She smirked. He could hear it in her voice.
“The bread is stale.”
“Edible.”
“The dried fruit is questionable.”
“Still edible.”
She sighed dramatically. “You wound me.”
He finally glanced over, catching the glint of her eyes as she lingered just beyond the firelight. She looked lighter out here — less haunted by the ruins they’d left behind. The road suited her.
“Fine,” he said. “But don’t go far.”
She lifted a brow. “I’m a marksman, not a child.”
“And I’m a paladin,” he replied mildly. “Humour me.”
She rolled her eyes — and went anyway.
Kespan listened to her footsteps fade, then let out a slow breath. The night settled around him, filled with the soft crackle of the fire and the distant call of something nocturnal. His grip tightened briefly on the shield.
It wasn’t about standing in front to be a hero.
It was about standing there because someone had to.
And he would be damned if it were her.
He’d made that choice long ago — not when they left Silvermoon, but when he’d watched the Light fill his hands for the first time and realised what it asked of him. To endure. To hold. To take the blow so someone else didn’t have to.
A rustle in the brush pulled his attention sharp.
He rose smoothly, shield lifting, Light stirring at his fingertips — only to relax a heartbeat later as Keslana stepped back into the firelight.
She was dragging a carcass behind her, blood dark against the grass, expression smug.
“Dinner,” she announced. “You’re welcome.”
Kespan snorted, moving to help her without thinking. “I was just about to suggest fasting.”
She grinned at him, wolfish and bright. “You worry too much.”
He met her smile, steady and unshaken.
“Someone has to.”
