Chapter 17: Just for Tonight

It was still afternoon, but the sky was darkening. Thick clouds began to cover the sun. The wind was quiet, but the tall grass swayed gently across the large property. In the middle of the lawn stood Myrrha’s two-story house, a little old but strong-looking. The field behind it had been cleared. Now it was their training ground.

Lysandros stood with a shovel in his hands, serious, breathing steady. His feet were apart. Fighting stance.

Alexia, calm, her sword still sheathed, mirrored him. Fighting stance. Eyes sharp.

Myrrha stood on the side, arms crossed, no weapon. Just watching.

“Begin,” she said.

Lysandros closed his eyes for a second, then suddenly ran forward—fast, light on his feet. He side-stepped quickly, trying to confuse her.

Alexia didn’t move. Still. Focused.

SWISH!

Lysandros swung his shovel in a wide arc, aiming at her head.

CLANG!

Alexia blocked it with her sheathed sword.

Then the fight began.

He kept swinging—one arc after another, all fast and wide. But Alexia parried each one. Dodged. Slipped past. Her eyes never left his movements.

“You’re impressive!” Lysandros shouted as he attacked. “But don’t go easy on me! Use your Fracture too!”

Suddenly, his arm stopped mid-swing.

“Augh?!” he blinked, confused.

Alexia was already behind him.

Lysandros punched himself in the side of the face. His eyes lit up. He remembered. He was in a sparring match—against Alexia. Without looking, he spun and swung his shovel backward toward her.

But Alexia was ready. She blocked it again with ease.

“Oh?” she said. “Interesting. Hit yourself to snap out of my Fracture?”

“I just thought of it now!” he grinned.

Then he dashed again—more swings, faster thrusts. Alexia weaved through them all, parrying with speed.

Lysandros narrowed his eyes. Then he gathered strength into one powerful swing.

“You’re on par with me,” he said, “but let’s see how you handle this!”

He shouted, “O’ people of the Riverbend, please lend me your strength!”

His shovel glowed faintly. With one hard swing, he struck Alexia’s sword.

CLANG!

Her sheathed blade flew across the yard.

Alexia’s eyes followed it. For a moment, time slowed. She looked back. Lysandros was already on her side, ready to swing again.

But—

She smiled slightly.

“Not bad,” she whispered.

She swept her leg under his feet.

He stumbled. But his shovel tip stabbed the ground and stopped him from falling.

Alexia rushed forward. Her fists came fast—punch to the ribs, punch to the jaw, then a kick to the leg. Then another.

Lysandros was barely keeping up, blocking and dodging, but the force behind her attacks was real. He felt each hit.

Then—

He blinked.

She was gone. She was behind him now.

He didn’t even turn before her foot kicked the shovel from his hands.

Then she tackled him to the ground.

He gasped. “Augh—!”

“Tap out,” she muttered. “It’s over.”

Lysandros tapped the grass.

She stood. Then offered her hand.

He grabbed her arm. She pulled him up.

Alexia picked up the shovel, handed it back.

Myrrha was already walking over, holding Alexia’s sheathed sword.

“Here,” she said, passing it to her. “That was a good fight. Now I see why you don’t use your Fracture too much. You kind of don’t need to. Your sword skill alone is deadly. You win. But still—mastery over your Fracture will guide us better, okay?”

Alexia nodded, strapping the sword back on her belt. “Yeah,” she said. “But at least now you know how we fight.”

Myrrha nodded, satisfied."That's good, good. Keep going with your sparring session. You'll be mastering your Fracture in no time, that's for sure."

She paused for a moment, then looked at Lysandros.

"By the way, why not just own a proper fighting tool for yourself?"

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Lysandros blinked. "Me? Pfft. It’s okay. I’m more used to handling a shovel than a sword."

Alexia, eyes still sharp on him, added without missing a beat, "But you stole my sword from my belt when we were at Red Keep."

Myrrha laughed, light and amused. "Ha ha ha. Well then, that settles it. Now go on. Don’t mind me now."

Lysandros, already hopping in place to warm up again, spun his shovel once in his hand.

"Well, Alexia, you ready for round two?!"

Alexia faced him. Calm. Focused. She unstrapped her sword again and raised it—still sheathed—into her stance.

"Let’s go."

Myrrha turned, walking toward the house with a slight wave.

"I’ll just be in the living room, writing. If you two need anything—or if you’re hungry after all that sparring—just come find me. I’ll be cooking some dishes, okay?"

Lysandros’ eyes lit up. He watched her leave, smiling.

"Okay!" he called, a little too eagerly.

Alexia didn’t even look away from him.

"Don’t take your eyes off an opponent. Or an enemy."

Without warning, she closed the distance between them. No footsteps. No sound.

She was already swinging.

"—Wha?!"

Lysandros barely got his shovel up in time to block the arc.

"Geez!" he shouted, laughing. "Go easy on someone who’s almost a decade younger than you!"

Alexia charged again, fast, not giving him time to rest.

"You won’t say that once a kidnapper is standing in front of you, right?"

He blocked, stepped aside, ducked another blow.

"Heh, I know!"

And the spar continued—fast, focused, without mercy… but still smiling.

----------------------------------------

Later that afternoon.

The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the lawn.

Sweat clung to their skin, breaths were heavier now. The sound of metal and wood clashing had faded, replaced by the quiet clink of plates and the soft simmer of something cooking in Myrrha’s kitchen.

Alexia and Lysandros entered the house, both tired and heavy with fatigue. Lysandros looked worse—bruises along his arms, a small scrape near his chin, and the way he limped a little with every step.

“Damn... Alexia... you really... really showed no mercy...” Lysandros panted, dropping onto a nearby couch like a man half-crushed.

Alexia didn’t even look winded. She just shrugged as she walked in behind him, her sword still strapped at her side. “What? You told me not to hold back, didn't you?”

Myrrha was in the living room, sitting on a low cushioned chair with a book on her lap and a quill in hand. She looked up, her writing paused. “Oh? Sparring session’s over already?”

Lysandros groaned, laying his head back dramatically. “Sparring? More like bullying session is over.”

Myrrha laughed softly. She looked at the bruises on him, then closed her book, gently setting the quill back into its ink container. “Well, do you really want to stay wielding a shovel and not move forward—now that you’re working for me?”

Lysandros sat up a little straighter as Alexia dropped onto the couch beside him. “Uh, like I said, I don’t really want to replace the shovel. I’ve just got more experience with it than anything else.”

Myrrha crossed her legs, leaning back with a thoughtful gaze. “As much as I respect your wants, don’t forget your needs. There will be times when preference isn’t enough. Sometimes, what you’re used to won’t match what’s coming next. You’ll have to grow out of habits if you want to survive what lies ahead.”

Lysandros tilted his head, then nodded. “Hmm, experimenting, huh. I guess I’ll think about that deeper.”

Myrrha turned to Alexia. “What about you, Alexia? Do you need new armor? Clothing? Weapon?”

Alexia placed a hand on the hilt of her sheathed sword. “I’ll be good with my sword and armor for a while.”

Myrrha smiled knowingly, remembering Alexia’s background. “Ahh right. Why did I even ask? Two decades with the sword. Ha ha.”

She stood and stretched a little. “So are you both hungry? You must be tired from all those movements from the sparring session. That kind of training wears the body out whether you realize it or not.”

Lysandros perked up like a dog hearing food. “Bet!”

Alexia rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at her lips. “Alright, calm down. It’s not like you won’t get to eat.”

Myrrha waved them along. “Come, let’s go to the dining area. I’ve already cooked some pork, meat, and chicken, some veggies too. And also some fine wine.”

Lysandros dashed ahead, turning the corner and entering the dining room. His voice echoed from inside, full of joy. “It’s all already served on the plates! And it smells amazing!”

Alexia said softly, “He doesn’t act like someone who’s seen pain. But I can tell he has, since, yeah, Fractures come from trauma, pain, suffering, and tragedy, right?”

Myrrha nodded, her voice gentle. “He carries it differently than we do. But yes. It does… at least from everyone I’ve spoken to who’s Fractureborn. There’s always something behind it.”

She glanced sideways at Alexia. “So… how do you put this…”

Alexia answered without looking at her. “Why I got this?”

“Yes.”

Alexia’s voice didn’t change. It was steady, calm. “I’m not really from here. I’m from the north. So it passes that I’m an outsider in this kingdom.”

Myrrha’s eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “Oh? Where in the north?”

Alexia blinked slowly. “Hillfar.”

Myrrha froze. Her voice softened with sudden empathy, even though Alexia still spoke like it was nothing special. “Oh… Hillfar… huh…?”

“Yes.”

“The village that got erased from the map. By a Fractureborn.”

“Yes.”

A silence settled between them. Not heavy. Just quiet, full of things unspoken. Only the clatter of Lysandros chewing and enjoying his meal echoed from the dining room. It was like two worlds—his joy, and their quiet understanding.

“WOWWW!” came Lysandros’s loud voice from the next room as he saw the food already served on the plates.

Alexia and Myrrha followed behind him slowly, walking side by side.

Alexia glanced at the table, then at Myrrha. “Wow. You really are that rich, huh?”

Myrrha smirked. “Impressed?”

“A bit. But I’ve always wondered how it feels to be rich. Just carefree. Not worrying about expenses, or survival.”

Myrrha’s face changed a little. She didn’t say anything right away.

They stood there in silence for a moment, watching Lysandros chew and laugh by himself like a kid, stuffing food into his mouth with zero shame.

Myrrha finally walked in and sat down at the table. “Hey—leave some food for us, alright? Don’t forget this is my wealth getting spent in here!”

Lysandros stopped mid-bite, eyes wide. “Okay, boss!”

Alexia smiled, rare and quiet. She pulled out the chair between them and sat down. “Peaceful. This won’t go on forever... yet, I like it.”

She picked up a fork and knife, then slowly began to cut into a piece of chicken on her plate.

And then, they all began to eat.

The clink of utensils and soft chewing filled the room. Warm light from the hanging lanterns flickered gently across the table, casting soft glows on their faces. The food was good—really good—and for a few minutes, no one said a word. Just the quiet sounds of a shared meal.

Lysandros, his plate already half empty, leaned back with a happy sigh. “This… this is the taste of a queen’s feast. I’m telling you, Myrrha, I’d betray a nation for your cooking.”

Myrrha raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’d betray a nation for pork?”

“If it’s pork like this? Absolutely.”

Alexia gave a soft chuckle, cutting a slice of meat. “I should’ve hit you harder during sparring. Maybe that would’ve made you eat slower.”

“Never!” Lysandros said with a grin, pretending to guard his plate. “You’ll never stop me.”

Myrrha reached over and gently placed a napkin on Lysandros’s shoulder. “At least try to wipe your mouth. You look like you just came out of a pigpen.”

He blinked, looked down, then gave a sheepish laugh. “Oops.”

Alexia rolled her eyes but smiled. “He really is like a messy younger brother, isn’t he?”

Myrrha nodded. “Absolutely. I feel like I should start charging him rent.”

“I’m a treasure,” Lysandros said proudly. “You should be paying me for the honor of having me around.”

They all laughed.

After a moment, Lysandros leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You know, I never thought I’d have this again. A meal like this. People to eat with.”

Myrrha looked up, quiet now.

“Same,” she said softly. “I used to eat by myself. Even when I wasn’t alone.”

Alexia didn’t speak for a second, only stared down at her wine. Then she said quietly, “Then maybe, maybe, this can be our own little piece of peace. Just for tonight.”

Lysandros raised his glass of wine, even if it was only half-full. “To tonight.”

Myrrha looked at them both. Then, with a small breath and the softest curve of her lips, she nodded. “To tonight.”

Their glasses clinked gently.

They didn’t talk about pain. Or missions. Or Fractures.

Just food, teasing, and light laughter.

And for a while, it felt like family.