.

Paralogue Four: Slow Burn Supernova

Mark's time with the Shepherds brought him closer to the group than he ever could have imagined. What had started as a chance encounter in a small village evolved into an incredible friendship between him and the rest of the Shepherds. The bonds he forged were deeper than mere comradeship; they were connections of heart and soul. Invisible ties that were strong yet unseen. And yet, one bond in particular had taken him by surprise—his growing connection with Lissa. From her pranks to her genuine care, from the times she was his most insistent tormentor to the moments she was his quietest confidant, she had been an anchor in his life. Whether she was dragging him into harmless mischief or offering a steadying presence when he was lost in his thoughts, she was always there. And despite his best efforts, he could no longer ignore how much that meant to him.

But lately, something was different.

He saw her less and less, her usual mischief replaced by an unsettling absence. She no longer pranked him in passing, no longer pestered him when he was buried in maps and reports. It should have given him relief, but it didn't. It gnawed at him, the quietness where there should have been laughter, the missing presence where there should have been a whirlwind of energy. But now, with Lissa's presence reduced to a whisper, he realized just how much he had come to rely on her.

He knew why. He knew what changed.

Emmeryn's death hung over them all like an unshakable shadow, but for Lissa, it was more than loss—it was a loss in her entire world. And Mark, despite his best efforts, could not ignore his own role in that grief. He had strategized, planned, thought of every possible move. And still, he had failed. After their battle with General Mustafa, his focus had been solely on preventing another failure. It took him too long to notice how much her absence had crept into the spaces where her laughter used to be.

And in that failure, he feared he had failed Lissa most of all.

And that terrified him.

The young tactician had been going through his reports late into the night, far past the time most of the others had gone to bed. The weight of his decisions still gnawed at him. He had failed. He had made mistakes—strategic oversights, the advantage that Gangrel and Aversa held that had led to casualties. Phila and the Pegasus Guard had perished, and many of their soldiers had turned tail and retreated. He had tried to focus on his work, but his mind kept wandering back to the same thoughts.

Emmeryn's sacrifice— it felt like an unbearable weight on his chest every time he thought of it. He could see Emmeryn's face, the warmth of her smile, the way she always seemed to put the needs of others above her own. He had known her only briefly, but it was enough to see the impact she had on the world around her. Losing her was a blow to them all, but for Lissa and Chrom, it was a wound that would take far longer to heal.

It was his greatest failure.

Mark had no clear recollection of his past. His memories—worn and faded like a painting left too long in the sun—were nearly blank. But loss? That, he understood all too well. After hours of staring at his reports, drowning in his own thoughts, he finally set down his quill. A walk outside might clear his head.

Even at Chrom's urging, he couldn't stop working. He refused. The heavy rain had let up, but the air was still thick with humidity, the world outside stayed dark and quiet except for the soft sound of water dripping from the trees.

He slipped on his cloak and made his way out of the tent, his feet squelching in the mud as he moved past the sleeping camp.

As he neared the edge, a figure caught his eye—Lissa. It was late in the evening when he noticed Lissa slipping away from camp. Mark didn't hesitate. He followed her quietly, carefully navigating the uneven terrain of the camp and the surrounding woods. The soft glow of the moonlight reflected off the surface, casting a serene light on her face. But even in the quiet of the night, Mark could see the sadness in her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged beneath the weight of her grief. He knew he should focus on the military strategies still at play, but something within him told him that this, right here, right now, was more important.

"Lissa?" Mark called gently, stepping forward. Her silhouette was faint in the dim light of dusk, her movements subtle but deliberate.

He caught up to her at the edge of a pond, where she crouched by the water's edge, her fingers gently brushing against the surface. The scene was serene in an almost surreal way—the quiet, still pond reflecting the stars above, and Lissa, so small and fragile against the vastness of the night sky. Her eyes were soft, almost like a blank stare. Her usual smile, gone and replaced with her lips parting slightly. As if lost in a trance. A frog gently rested between her hands. It didn't wriggle. It just sat there, as if knowing it was safe in her hands.

Mark stepped closer, unsure of what to say but feeling an undeniable pull to reach out. He hesitated before clearing his throat softly.

"Hey, Lissa," he called gently again. Lissa froze, her shoulders stiffening at the sound of his voice. She whipped around, startled, her eyes wide with surprise, but quickly softened with recognition. The frog gently wriggling out of her loosened grip, jumping into the pond with a crisp plop.

"Oh…! Mark," she whispered, her voice raw with emotion. "You startled me."

Mark winced, immediately regretting his approach. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I just… saw you out here, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

For a moment, Lissa didn't speak. Instead, she stared at him, her face unreadable. Then she smiled faintly, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"I'm fine. Just… catching frogs." She held up a small frog in her hand, its tiny body wriggling slightly in her grasp. "Keeps my mind off things."

Mark didn't believe her for a second, but he knew better than to push too hard. He sat down next to her, a respectful distance away, and let the silence settle around them.

"Looks like you're letting them go."

"Huh. Yeah, I guess I am." Lissa's laugh was short, almost bitter, but it came out as a half-choked sob.

"You know," Mark mused, watching the water, "some people say frogs bring good luck."

Lissa huffed out a short breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. "I think they're the lucky ones. I just wish... we were just as lucky."

Mark exhaled through his nose, letting the weight of her words settle over them. He watched the ripples in the pond, his voice softer now.

"I don't think she'd want us sitting here like this."

Lissa let out a small, humorless laugh. "That's easier said than done."

"I know," Mark admitted. "But if she were here, she'd be telling us to come join her for tea."

Lissa blinked, caught off guard, then let out a surprised smiled.

"And then she'd sit you down, pour you a cup of that tea she liked, and tell you that you don't have to figure everything out today."

Lissa let out a small chuckle. "Ugh. That tea was so bad."

Mark's smile lingered, his eyes locked onto hers. "I still remember when we were escorting your sister back in the mountain passes, I talked to her, she told me you kept dumping your tea."

Lissa froze, her head snapping toward him. "Wait, really!?"

Mark shrugged, watching the water again. "I think she knew you did that. She just thought it was funny and kept giving you the cup anyway to see how you'd dispose of it."

"Oh my gods. All this time, I thought I got away with it." Lissa covered her face with both hands, groaning.

"Lissa," Mark said, grinning. "You're really bad at hiding things, that was probably the worst-kept secret in Ylisstol."

The look of sheer betrayal on her face was so ridiculous that Mark couldn't stop himself—he laughed. And, shortly after Lissa did too. She took a deep breath and looked back out at the pond, her voice quivering as she continued.

"Emm… means so much to us. She was always there. She always knew what to say. And now… now it's just me and Chrom. And now she's gone? It's too much sometimes."

Mark's heart ached for her. He couldn't imagine losing someone so important, someone who had been a guiding force in her life. He knew he didn't have the answers, but that didn't mean he couldn't try to help.

"You're not alone in this, Lissa," he said quietly, his voice steady. "Chrom's not going to let Plegia get away with this. And I'm going to help him through it to make sure we do what is right, for Emmeryn's goals and dreams of peace."

Lissa turned her head toward him, her eyes searching his face for sincerity. "It's hard, Mark," she admitted. "I've lost so much, and sometimes it feels like I'm losing even more. Even things that used to make me happy—pranks, joking around—they just don't feel right anymore."

"Huh…"

Lissa's lips twitched into a smile, but it was fleeting. "I used to mess with everyone around camp all the time. I'd sneak up on Chrom, dump frogs in his bed, and watch him freak out. It was fun. But now, it just feels wrong. Like… like I'm not allowed to enjoy anything anymore."

Mark couldn't help but smile at the thought. "I think Chrom would probably say you're more than allowed to enjoy it. It's part of your charm."

Lissa laughed but it was a sad, half-hearted sound. "Yeah, I guess. But it's different now. I'm different now."

"You don't have to change, Lissa," Mark said softly. "It's okay to grieve. It's okay to be different. But you don't have to lose who you are completely. And, when you're ready, we'll be here to help you find that part of yourself again."

Lissa looked down at the frog in her hand, her fingers absently petting its back. For a long moment, she said nothing. Then, with a sigh, she let the frog slip gently back into the pond.

"You're right," she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. "But it's hard. It's all so hard."

Mark's hand twitched slightly, the desire to reach out and comfort her growing, but he held back. He couldn't just offer words. He had to be there for her, even if he didn't know what to do. The quiet of the evening settled over them like a comforting blanket, and though the night air was cool, Mark couldn't shake the weight that hung in the air. The memories of the battle, of Emmeryn's death, still loomed large. But as the stars above twinkled in the clear sky, Mark couldn't help but notice the soft sadness lingering in Lissa's eyes. She had been distant—carrying a weight that seemed too heavy for someone so young.

He couldn't stand it any longer. The silence between them was too thick, the grief too palpable. Mark glanced around and spotted a large toad sitting on a rock near the pond's edge. An idea struck him, and before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed the creature, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. If anyone could use a good laugh, it was Lissa. He only hoped she'd take it the right way.

"Hey, Lissa," he called, trying to sound casual.

Lissa, her eyes still distant as she stared out over the pond, turned toward him. "Hmm? What's up?"

With a wink, Mark tossed the toad in her direction, watching as it sailed through the air with an alarming amount of speed. Before she could register what was happening, the toad landed with a soft plop right at her feet.

Lissa's eyes widened in surprise as she jumped back with a squeal, stumbling slightly. Her hands flew to her chest as she gasped, her face a mixture of shock and horror. "Oh my gods! A toad? Really?!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking in surprise.

Mark, trying to hide his grin, couldn't help but laugh at her reaction. "What? It's just a little frog! You looked like you could use something to lighten the mood."

Lissa stood frozen for a moment, blinking down at the toad, before letting out a breathless laugh of her own. "It's a TOAD! You are so mean, Mark! I swear, you're lucky I didn't faint right then and there!"

Mark chuckled, his eyes twinkling. "You're always the one pulling pranks. Thought I'd give you a taste of your own medicine."

"Okay, okay. You've got me there,"Lissa shook her head, laughing despite herself, the tension from her earlier melancholy starting to fade. "I didn't see that coming at all."

Mark crossed his arms with a sly grin. "Glad to see I'm still able to surprise you. But hey, if you think that's bad, I've got plenty more where that came from."

Lissa grinned back at him, a playful spark in her eyes. "You better watch out, Mark. I won't let you get away with this!"

They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, the brief prank breaking the weight of the silence between them. The evening, which had been so heavy with unspoken grief, suddenly felt a little brighter. Lissa's and Mark's laughter filled the air, and it was like a weight lifted from their shoulders. An exchange of jokes, a splash of pondwater, a scream of "eww gross" pierced the silent night outside the camp.

"I'm super-duper sorry, Lord Tactician Mark!" Lissa said with mock desperation, clasping her hands together. "I swear I won't prank you again!"

Mark raised an eyebrow, his expression teasing. "You swear, huh? You've said that before."

Lissa gave a dramatic sigh, her lips curling into a grin. "Okay, okay, I won't prank you again. But you know, I can't make any promises about, uh… other stuff!"

Mark laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. But I'm watching my back from now on. You've been warned."

As the evening wore on, the air between them grew warmer, and the pain that had been weighing on their hearts seemed to ease—just a little. Mark could feel the quiet strength in Lissa, the way her playful nature had returned, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. They weren't alone in their grief, not anymore. Lissa turned her attention back to the pond, the toad now hopping away toward the water, but the moment of levity had done its job.

"Thank you," she said softly, her voice quieter now, a tenderness in her words that hadn't been there before. "I needed that."

Mark nodded, his smile sincere. "You don't have to thank me. I know it's not much, but I hope it'll help you go through the motions."

Lissa chuckled again, the sound more genuine this time. "I'll try. I think you've got me back on track for now, Mark."

As they sat in comfortable silence, the night continued on, the crickets' song accompanying the sound of their laughter fading into the distance. In that moment, it was clear that while the pain of loss still lingered, it was not all-consuming. With the Shepherds, with Lissa, Mark felt something he hadn't realized he needed—connection. He couldn't help but feel a little lighter. Maybe, just maybe, they could face what came next together. Though their grief hadn't gone away, Mark couldn't help but feel lighter as the evening wore on. And, for the first time in days, Lissa seemed a little less burdened by her sorrow.

As the evening wore on, the air around them grew cooler. The stars above glimmered in the cloudless sky, and the sounds of the night—crickets, the rustle of leaves in the breeze—served as a gentle reminder that, though the world had changed, the cycle of life still carried on. The moonlight reflected off the calm surface of the pond, giving the entire scene an almost ethereal quality, as if time itself had slowed down.

Mark sat closer to Lissa, the earlier awkwardness between already reduced to nothing. The frog prank, though small, had bridged the gap in a way nothing else could. Lissa's lightheartedness had always been a source of warmth, a spark of energy amidst the chaos of war. Yet tonight, something about her felt different—there was a rawness to her, an openness that Mark hadn't seen before.

The gentle moonbeams breaking through the clouds illuminated the space between them, casting a gentle glow around them. The pond stood reflecting the stars, a peaceful sight amidst the turmoil that they experienced. It was a brief respite, one Mark cherished. Here, with Lissa, things felt simpler—like they didn't have to be anything more than two people sitting together in silence, understanding each other without words.

Lissa's voice broke the silence, soft and tentative. "I know I've been… acting weird lately too. But I'm glad we're able to talk like this."

Mark turned his gaze toward her, seeing the way she fidgeted with the grass beneath her hands. She always had a way of speaking before thinking, but now there was an unease to her words, a vulnerability he hadn't expected.

"Well, anything I can help with, Princess, I'm all ears." he replied gently, his tone conveying more than his words alone could. He didn't know what was happening either, there was a change in tone, a change in approach between the two of them. The sense of whatever formality was there before because of their stations were gone.

Lissa let out a sigh, one that seemed to carry the weight of everything unspoken. "I didn't realize how much Emmeryn meant to me until she was gone. It's like… I always thought she'd be there, you know? To tell me to listen to Frederick, to give me a hug when I needed it, or even just to listen to me when things got rough when I started cleric training. Now… it feels like there's this huge hole, and I don't know how to fill it. I'm not sure how to keep going without her. I want to be there with Chrom too, but I don't know how well we'll be able to talk to each other."

Mark's chest tightened at her words. His memories were fractured, but the pain of loss was something he knew all too well. He placed a hand on her shoulder, offering silent comfort.

"It's never easy losing someone who shaped your world," he said softly. "I think we all feel that way when someone we love is gone. But you know, you could always open up to Chrom. He's a bit…hard-headed and he's pretty bad at talking about his emotions, but I mean, he probably wants you to be there with him. Help each other grieve."

Lissa acknowledged Marks words and maybe, she'll drop by Chrom's tent later. She sighed, and turned to Mark, though it lacked the usual brightness. "I used to think I'd never be like her. I thought I'd always be the carefree one, the one who didn't take life too seriously. But now… it's like I have to be serious all the time. For Chrom, for the Shepherds. I have to be strong for them. But I'm scared, Mark. Scared that I'll fail. Scared that I'm not enough. I don't know if I'm strong enough to be who they need me to be."

Mark met her eyes, his voice steady and reassuring. "You're stronger than you think, Lissa. I know it's hard, and I know you doubt yourself. But that doesn't make you any less capable. The way you care for people, the way you keep fighting—even when you're scared—that's your strength. You don't have to be anyone else. You only need to be you."

Lissa's gaze softened, the sadness in her eyes lifting ever so slightly. "You really think so?"

Mark smiled, warmth in his voice. "I know so. You've got a fire inside of you. You're already doing what Emmeryn wanted you to do, even if you don't realize it. You don't have to try to be like her. You've always been yourself and I think she'd want you to stay like that."

She blinked back the hint of tears, her lips trembling as if she wanted to speak but couldn't quite find the words. Instead, she gave a small laugh, one that felt a little less strained this time.

"You really are a good friend, Mark."

He nodded, his expression earnest. "And you're a good person, Lissa. Never forget that."

For a moment, there was silence, but it was different this time. It wasn't filled with the weight of expectation or grief—it was filled with understanding, the kind that could only come from shared experiences, from knowing that they weren't alone. Mark stared at the rippling pond, his voice barely above a whisper when he spoke next.

"I'm sorry." Lissa's breath hitched, her head turning sharply toward him.

"Mark—"

"I'm so sorry." His hands clenched into fists against his knees, his gaze locked on the water—anywhere but at her. His voice was barely above a breath, cracking under the weight he carried.

"For everything. For—"

He didn't get to finish. Lissa cut him off without a word, reaching for him in one swift, instinctive motion—and hugging him so suddenly that they nearly tipped over.

"Wha—? Lissa—!" Mark jerked slightly, instinctively bracing himself with one hand against the ground as the force of her embrace sent them both off balance. For a moment, he thought they were going to fall over completely, but at the last second, he shifted just enough to steady them both.

She didn't let go. Mark sat rigid, caught between surprise and something else he couldn't quite name.

"No," Lissa murmured, her voice quiet but unshakable. "Don't ever be sorry."

He swallowed hard, his breath uneven. His fingers twitched in hesitation, hovering in the air before he finally, slowly, let himself return the hug—cautious at first, as if he wasn't sure if he was allowed to take this comfort.

"I'm not some tactical genius like you or Frederick," she whispered, her voice thick, stumbling over itself as she tried to put her thoughts together. "I don't know all the right moves, all the strategies. But I do know this— you don't get to apologize for something that was never your fault to begin with."

She tightened her grip on him, her voice unsteady but determined. "You planned for everything. Everything you could. But Emm—" she swallowed hard, pushing forward, "Emm didn't die because of you. She made a choice—a sacrifice. Because she believed in us. In you."

She let out a shaky breath, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his cloak.

"You didn't fail her, Mark. You didn't fail any of us. Even when it hurt, even when you were exhausted, even when you probably wanted to run away like the rest of us did, you kept going for us. You kept us alive—

You kept us together." Lissa didn't pull away and he let himself be part of it. Mark exhaled sharply, Lissa's words sinking in like warm embers settling into cold ashes. The weight in his chest didn't disappear, but it shifted—less suffocating, more… bearable.

"…Thank you."

Lissa sniffled, wiping at her eyes, then let out a soft, almost sheepish laugh.

"Yeah, yeah. You should be thanking me." She loosened her grip just slightly, a shift more than a separation, as if she wasn't quite ready to pull away. The night air suddenly felt warmer. Not from the remnants of the rain, but from something else entirely. His breath hitched, but he didn't know why.

Lissa, still lingering close, blinked slowly, as if something had just occurred to her. Her fingers, which had been clutching at his cloak, flexed slightly before resting again, almost absentmindedly. For a moment, she looked at him—not at the tactician, not at the war strategist, but at Mark.

And in that same moment, he found himself noticing details he hadn't before. The way the last traces of tears clung to her lashes. The gentle rise and fall of her chest, still steadying from everything she had just poured out. The way her lips parted slightly, as if searching for words but never quite reaching them.

"You might not be allowed to say sorry," she murmured, her voice softer than before, "but you can at least promise me something."

Mark tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing, and the distance—already too small—somehow felt even smaller.

"What?"

Lissa hesitated for a beat. Then, almost instinctively, she lifted a hand and poked his forehead.

"Take care of yourself, dummy," she said, half-teasing, half-serious.

Mark blinked, his mind lagging behind, not quite catching up to her words. Instead, he caught something else. The warmth lingering between them. The way her breath ghosted against his skin.

"I mean it." The teasing faded, leaving something softer, more sincere in her expression. "Chrom says it. Frederick says it. And now I'm saying it." She huffed, arms crossing. "Just once—just once—let yourself breathe. Please?"

Mark let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Oh, I'm listening to Chrom, alright."

Lissa raised an eyebrow, amused but skeptical. "Oh yeah? Since when?"

Mark tilted his head toward her, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Since I walked out of my tent and caught you sneaking off during sleeping hours.

Lissa opened her mouth, then immediately shut it, blinking. "...Wait. Hold on."

Mark grinned, clearly enjoying this a little too much. "If I weren't following orders and resting, how else would I have found you?"

Lissa sputtered, her earlier calm, wise tone unraveling in an instant. "Th-that's different! That's—!" She groaned, rubbing her temples. "Ugh. You are impossible."

Mark shrugged. "And yet, here we are."

Lissa blinked, the corners of her lips twitching into something small but genuine. Then silence. Not an uncomfortable one, but the kind that settles too deeply, lingers just a second too long. The realization crept in slowly, an unspoken awareness settling between them. The air thickened, the weight of everything that had passed still lingering in the space they hadn't quite closed.

Neither of them pulled away. The space between them remained, charged with something unspoken.

Lissa's fingers twitched slightly where they rested between them, and Mark noticed—no, felt—the way her breath had slowed, steadied, yet still held a trace of something she wasn't quite letting go of.

Mark's pulse quickened, but he didn't move. Neither did she. She shifted just slightly—not away, not closer, just enough for the air between them to hum with something unspoken.

His gaze flickered—noticing the way her eyes softened but didn't look away, how her lips parted slightly like she wanted to say something but hadn't found the words.

And then—they both noticed.

So close.

So warm.

So much.

Lissa's breath caught, just barely. She didn't pull away. Neither did he. There was no rationalizing, no second-guessing, no plan.

There was no single moment where the shift happened—just a quiet pull, an understanding neither of them had spoken aloud. And suddenly, the space between them disappeared. Mark barely registered how close they had become, the space between them shrinking without either of them meaning to close it. Lissa's breath slowed, her fingers still curled in his cloak as if anchoring herself. There was no grand realization, no sudden rush—just warmth. A quiet pull toward something unspoken.

And then, without thinking, they both leaned in. Not far, not much—just enough for their lips to brush against each other's, feather-light and fleeting, like a whispered thought neither of them dared to voice aloud.

It lasted only a moment, brief enough to question if it had happened at all. And yet, it changed everything. Lissa pulled back just a fraction, her breath uneven, her wide eyes searching his. The cool night air should have grounded them, a sharp reminder of the weight they still carried.

Mark could still feel the warmth of her touch, the way she had hesitated yet followed through, and something inside him told him that this—whatever it was—wasn't just about grief. It wasn't just about needing comfort in the moment.

It was them.

The thought unsettled him as much as it reassured him. Because now that it had happened, now that he had felt it, he couldn't deny that it felt right. Was this something he had wanted? Or had the moment simply led them there? He wasn't sure. But he knew he didn't regret it. But gods, the timing—was this truly the moment for something like this?

A breath left her, shaky but steadying, her fingers slowly unfurling from his cloak as reality caught up with them.

"Mark… I—" Lissa hesitated, biting her lip, looking as though she was warring with herself. Her face flush with a crimson only well hidden by the clouds holding the moonbeams back.

"I-I know," he said quietly, because he did. He felt it too.

The guilt curled at the edges of the moment, unspoken but present. This wasn't supposed to happen like this, not when grief still clung to them both like a second skin. And yet… neither of them could deny it.

Lissa swallowed hard, offering a half-hearted, nervous laugh as she averted her gaze. "That was… definitely a thing."

Mark let out a slow breath, forcing a weak chuckle. "Y-yeah… yeah, it was."

They both knew they wouldn't talk about it, not now, maybe not for a long time. But neither of them could shake the quiet certainty that, despite everything, despite the grief, despite the war still looming ahead…

This had meant something.

"Well!" she suddenly blurted out, a little too loudly, brushing the grass from her clothes with far more enthusiasm than necessary. "Enough with the heavy talk for tonight!"

Mark let out a small chuckle, shaking his head as she quickly averted her gaze, looking everywhere but at him.

"You know," she continued, pointing a finger at him, "you still owe me for that toad you dropped on me!"

Mark raised an eyebrow, watching as she shifted into her usual dramatic stance, clearly attempting to shake off the moment they just shared.

"Oh? Just like that?" he mused, his voice teasing, but softer than before.

"Yes. Just like that." Mark's lips twitched in amusement, but there was a gentleness in his smile now, as if the exchange had shifted something between them. "I had a feeling you'd say that."

Lissa looked around dramatically, feigning deep contemplation. "Hmm, what to use? What to use?"

Mark raised an eyebrow, his smile becoming a little more playful. "C'mon, is it really a prank if you're going to be obvious about looking for your next plot?"

Lissa gasped in mock offense, placing a hand over her heart. "It's a diversion! Just you wait."

"Saying what the purpose of your diversion is kind of renders the diversion useless." Mark crossed his arms, amused. "I'll be ready. You won't catch me off guard."

For a moment, there was only the sound of the night around them, and then suddenly, something cold and slippery brushed against his hand. His heart leaped in his chest as he recoiled in shock.

"GHHHYAAAAHHH! Snake?!" Mark yelped, his voice a mix of surprise and genuine unease. And to Lissa's delight, that ridiculous rubbery expression of his was back.

Lissa's laughter rang out, and the sound was bright and genuine, unburdened by the sadness that had weighed down their earlier words. "Gotcha! You did that rubbery thing again!"

Mark stared at her, his heart still pounding from the shock, but his lips curled into a reluctant grin. "I swear, one of these days, I'm going to get you back for that."

Lissa wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, her chest still heaving from the fun, dangling the little worm she caught as a playful taunt. "Not if I get you first!"

The teasing continued, both of them taking turns to prank the other, laughter filling the air in a way that felt almost like a release—a reminder that there was still joy to be found, even in the midst of everything they were facing. It didn't fix anything, but for a moment, it was enough.

Eventually, the night wore on, and the laughter faded into quiet. Mark found himself gazing up at the stars, feeling a peace he hadn't realized he'd been missing. The world outside felt far away, as if, in this moment, it didn't matter. He hadn't been expecting the evening to unfold like this, hadn't been expecting the quiet connection they'd shared.

"Thank you," Lissa said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, unsure whether Mark would hear her. "For tonight. For everything."

"You're welcome, Lissa," Mark said, smiling, a carryover from the pranks they pulled against each other and the genuine joy of each other's company.

She still carried her grief, but it no longer weighed her down. She was moving forward—one step at a time. Tonight, she found something she hadn't realized she needed: someone to share the weight, someone who understood. Mark had been there, not just to listen, but to stay, to remind her that she wasn't alone in this.

And for Mark, the road ahead remained uncertain—war was still looming, and the choices he made would continue to weigh on him. But for the first time since Emmeryn's death, he didn't feel like he had to shoulder it all alone. Lissa had been there, not just to comfort him, but to remind him that he wasn't lost, that he wasn't failing the people who still lived. Still mattered.

For the first time in what felt like forever, they both knew that whatever came next, they wouldn't have to face it alone.

As they walked back toward camp, words were no longer necessary. The understanding was already there—etched in the way they carried themselves, in the subtle glances, in every playful nudge and quiet laugh. Each step they took together, each lingering smirk, each shared moment, reaffirmed what they both now knew.

The weight of the world was still there, but it no longer felt impossible to bear. Because now, neither of them carried it alone.

"You know," Mark said, exhaling softly, "I'm going to get you back for that. I really, really, really hate cold slimy things. And a bunch of pond moss in my boot? Worst ever."

Lissa raised an eyebrow, arms crossing. "Oh? Is that a threat?"

Mark winked, grinning. "It's a promise."

He glanced at her, catching the way her lips twitched like she was fighting a smile.

Lissa shook her head, exhaling softly—something unspoken lingering between them. Then, a smirk. The moonlight caught the warmth of her cheeks as she grinned.

"You better!"

A/N:

Uh... 12 years? Hi!

It's been a while! I hope you all enjoyed this expanded version of Robin(Mark)/Lissa's A Support. My goal was to structure the C and B Supports to provide tension, conflict, and resolution that starts a deeper friendship between the two, allowing the A-Support to serve as the romance starting point that will lead to the inevitable S-Support conversation.

At the same time, I also revised their B-Support to add more depth from the original version to make it a bit more natural between Maribelle's interactions and her overall role in there.

Please leave a review! Hopefully, I'm not out of the game just yet!