"You should eat."

General Vanrouge slid off his armor, dropping it atop a large rock sitting by the riverside. His cold gaze was never light, but now in particular, it was clear that something weighed heavily on his mind.

The General of the Right, who had rushed into wars—slaying enemies and earning medals—now felt a weight in his chest. It wasn't unheard of at all. Everyone experienced grief, especially those living during times of conflict. Lilia was all too familiar with it, but one person's death had struck him deep.

His longtime friend. His fellow General. Someone whom Lilia had loved deeply since their youth, spent growing alongside Meleanor. Gone to the foolish Silver Owls, who brought suffering to the fae.

His calloused hand, now devoid of an armored glove, reached to pull out his hair tie. Long dark hair fell gracefully behind his frame. Lilia winced faintly, settling into the cold water of the flowing river. A slow inhale, followed closely by a sharp exhale.

Striking crimson eyes flashed over to you.

Yet another companion, an ally who had long since earned his trust. He loved you too, more deeply than he would admit. Not until the war was over, at least. Such feelings were trivial—for the General would always prioritize his home and his people.

But to Lilia—not the General of the Right, just Lilia—you were his person. Though he had no time to think about it, nor the leisure of lingering on such thoughts. So he pushed it down. His thoughts would better be consumed with Briarland and protecting its citizens.

The evening was silent, save for the faint chirping of nearby birds returning to their nesting grounds. The General and his group had vanquished the Silver Eagles loitering nearby; therefore, the animals had deemed it safe to return. That was good.

Cold running water pushed against his skin. For the most part, this part of the river was rather calm. Streaks of human blood flowed downstream, standing out against the clear waters.

Even so, Lilia's head was never clear. The hunt for Silver Eagles would commence once morning came. Where would they hunt for them next? Where would the colonizers wish to occupy? He carded a hand through his hair, allowing the water to brush away any filth.

Washing the grime away from his lithe yet powerful body—honed from years of fighting—he began to speak once more. If anyone, he wished for you to be in good health. As well as Meleanor and Malleus, the unborn prince. But they weren't with him right now. You were.

A shaky exhale—a faint ache had settled in his muscles. Gripping his left shoulder, he rolled it with a mild grimace. His voice came out with something between a grunt and a sigh.

"It's best you're well rested. Once the sun rises, we're heading to the cliffs."