"I've been meaning to ask," Ansel began, voice quiet in the dark. "You… keep turning away when I try to kiss you."

Claudia stiffened slightly at his words. The sheets were warm against her skin, the weight of his presence beside her as familiar now as the feel of her own breath. But the moment he spoke, something sharp and uneasy curled in her chest.

She didn't answer right away.

Ansel lay on his side, facing her, his gray eyes catching the faint glow of the candle still burning on the bedside table. He wasn't accusing her. He wasn't even pressing her.

But he was asking.

And that, more than anything, made it difficult to find her words.

She turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling. "It's… complicated," she finally said.

Ansel huffed out a short breath, amused but not unkind. "Everything about this is complicated," he pointed out.

Claudia let out a dry chuckle. He wasn't wrong.

Silence stretched between them, but Ansel didn't let it settle for long.

"Is it about Klaus?" he asked.

The question shouldn't have surprised her. Of course it was about Klaus. But hearing it spoken aloud sent a ripple through her.

Claudia turned her head, meeting Ansel's gaze. She exhaled through her nose, rolling onto her side to fully face him. The sheets shifted, cool air sneaking between them, but she didn't pull away.

"I don't know how to explain it," she said. "We've already… done so much. Crossed every line, broken every vow. But for some reason…" Her voice grew quieter. "That would feel like crossing a line I can't come back from."

Claudia hesitated, then reached up, brushing a lock of red hair from his forehead. It was a small gesture, almost absentminded, but she caught the way his eyes flickered at the touch.

"Klaus is my husband, and I have chosen to betray him." That, she realized, was the first time she had admitted that aloud. It hurt. It was a pain unlike any she had known before. It was a wound she inflicted upon herself, a self-flagellation that cut deep. But she had done it anyway, willingly, knowingly.

And yet...

It wasn't quite as painful as she'd expected.

"...I've betrayed him in the worst way imaginable," she said. "I've lain with you, let you touch me, and let you fill me. I've let myself feel things I shouldn't feel. I've given in to desires I shouldn't have."

Ansel didn't interrupt. He just listened.

Claudia swallowed. "But the rest of this… everything we've done… It still feels like something I can keep separate. Like it's just…"

She trailed off, unable to find the right word.

"Physical?" Ansel supplied.

Claudia exhaled, nodding slightly. "Yes. Physical."

She wasn't sure if that was entirely true. But it was easier to believe that. To pretend that was all it was.

"I'm glad."

Claudia blinked, taken aback by the unexpected response. Her brows furrowed, and she tilted her head, studying his face. "You're… glad?"

He nodded, shifting onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "From the moment we started doing this... I realized that there's something wrong with me. Something broken, maybe. I thought for sure that there wasn't a line I wouldn't cross. But every time you turned away... I guess there's a part of me that was relieved."

Claudia studied him for a long moment, his profile outlined in the dim candlelight. "Why?" she asked.

He shrugged, a small, helpless gesture. "Because it felt like... We haven't thrown everything away. Like there's still some part of us that hasn't given up. Some part of us that's still holding on to who we used to be."

He looked away, expression distant.

"And I'm grateful for that."

The silence returned, but it felt different now. Lighter, in a way.

Finally, Claudia reached out—just enough for her fingers to brush against Ansel's hand. He didn't pull away. But neither of them moved closer.

The line remained. And for tonight, at least, it would stay there.

The summer air hung thick and heavy over the ramparts, a stark contrast to the crisp spring evenings of just a few weeks prior. The stones beneath Claudia's boots radiated the lingering heat of the day, still warm even as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep amber and violet.

The scent of warm earth, mingled with distant woodsmoke, drifted through the air, carried by a sluggish breeze that did little to break the heat.

It was a different kind of suffocation.

The past weeks had been marked by a series of clashes against the Legion, each battle small but relentless, testing the garrison's endurance. Nothing decisive. But enough to keep her occupied, enough to keep her focused.

She still thought of Klaus. She still thought of his gentle voice, the warmth of his letters, the quiet strength in the way he had always supported her.

But she also thought of Ansel. And the thoughts no longer brought her nausea.

That was the worst part of all.

She exhaled, resting her hands against the cool stone of the watchtower's parapet, gazing out over the world below. The fields beyond the walls were a patchwork of green and gold beneath the twilight, the farmlands stretching endlessly toward the dark line of the forest. Somewhere beyond those trees, the Legion was still out there, licking its wounds, waiting.

"Lost in thought?"

She did not startle, nor did she need to turn to know who it was.

Ansel approached from the stairwell, his steps unhurried but not hesitant. Unlike before, he no longer seemed uncertain about approaching her.

Perhaps he should have been. Perhaps she should have been. But the moment passed, and she did not send him away. Instead, she inclined her head slightly, acknowledging his presence as he stepped up beside her. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Ansel leaned against the stone railing, looking out over the plains. "It's been a while since we've had a quiet night like this."

Claudia let out a quiet hum of agreement. "Too quiet," she mused. "It won't last."

Ansel exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah. Figured as much."

Another stretch of silence. But it was not the kind that demanded filling. There was something different about this moment. A shift in the air, subtle yet undeniable.

"…Are you alright?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Ansel blinked, caught off guard by the question. Then, after a brief pause, he let out a quiet chuckle. "That's supposed to be my line."

Claudia did not return his smile. "Ansel."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know," he admitted. "Some days, I think I am. And other days, I think..." He exhaled. "I think about what happens when this is all over."

She tensed.

"Do you?" he asked, turning to face her now, fully.

Claudia did not move. "…Yes," she finally said. "I think about it."

"And?"

She did not answer. Because she had no answer.

Because what lay beyond this war was something she did not dare allow herself to picture.

Ansel was still watching her. Waiting.

And gods help her, she could not look at him.

"…It's late," she said instead, turning away.

Ansel did not immediately move. He lingered for just a moment longer. Then, finally, he pushed off the railing. "Yeah. You're right."

Claudia did not look at him as he turned toward the stairs. She heard his steps begin to fade. And then they stopped.

"…Claudia."

She stiffened, fingers clenching against the cold stone. She knew she should not look back. But she did anyway.

He stood there, half-turned, his expression difficult to read in the dimness. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Good night," he finally said, his voice barely audible above the evening breeze.

Then he descended the steps, and Claudia was alone once more, left with nothing but her thoughts and the moonlight for company.

The dawn mist clung to the treetops, shrouding Gratwald Pass in pale silver. Kirk adjusted his grip on the spear, glancing at the soldiers arrayed beside him. The orders had come swiftly—scouts reported an aberrant force approaching from the northern woods.

It should have been a brutal fight. Gratwald had been the site of skirmishes before—ambushes where aberrants sprang from the undergrowth, tearing through unsuspecting patrols.

But when the enemy came into view, the tension dissolved.

A small band. Barely a dozen.

Haggard goblins with cracked shields and broken weapons. A single troll trailing behind, dragging a club too large for its gaunt frame.

The soldiers exchanged glances.

"This... is it?" Colette muttered beside Vera, lowering her blade slightly.

The fight was over before it truly began. The goblins fell easily, barely resisting. The troll gave a tired, guttural bellow before collapsing under a volley of arrows.

When the last creature fell, silence reclaimed Gratwald.

"No reinforcements?" someone whispered.

Kirk stared northward, beyond the treeline. No war cries. No distant horns.

Just silence.

The chamber was thick with the scent of parchment and candle wax.

The war council had gathered in Wallesdorf's keep, seated around the long wooden table where so many battle plans had been drafted, so many grim discussions held. Now, however, there was something different in the air.

Not tension. Not dread. Something else; Hope.

Claudia tapped her gloved fingers against the table's surface, her gaze drifting between the reports spread before her. The messengers had arrived throughout the morning, their news piecing together a picture she hadn't dared to believe at first.

But now…

Lord-Mayor Blücher cleared his throat. "It's real," he said, answering the unspoken question hanging over the room. "The scouts all report the same thing. The aberrants are withdrawing."

A murmur passed between the gathered officers, a mix of relief and skepticism.

"They're retreating?" one of the lieutenants asked. "All of them?"

"Aye," Captain Kessler nodded. "Moving south, back into the Dark Queen's lands. At first, we assumed it was just a temporary shift. Maybe a regrouping. But the pattern is too widespread. This isn't a feint. They're abandoning the region."

Claudia remained silent, absorbing the information. She didn't allow herself to exhale just yet.

"Why?" she asked at last.

Kessler shrugged. "We can only guess. Maybe the Dark Queen has other plans. Maybe they suffered enough losses that they don't see the point in throwing more bodies at us." He glanced down at the reports again, shaking his head. "Whatever the reason, the fact remains—this war, or at least this battle, is ending."

Ansel, standing at Claudia's side, crossed his arms. "So, what now?" he asked. "Do we send a force to pursue them? Strike while they're vulnerable?"

A fair suggestion.

But Claudia shook her head.

"No," she said firmly. "We won't chase after them. We came here to defend Wallesdorf, not to launch an invasion of our own. If they truly mean to retreat, we will let them."

"Agreed," Kessler said. "The men need rest. Supplies need to be replenished. And, frankly, the people of Wallesdorf have endured enough."

Claudia's fingers drummed against the wood, then went still.

It was over.

The realization settled over her like a physical weight, and with it came something she hadn't expected—something that almost felt like discomfort. For so many months, the battle had been all they'd known. Every day had been dictated by combat, by planning, by survival. Now, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, they were not preparing for another fight.

There would be no more night raids. No more morning war councils. No more standing at the walls, waiting for the next wave of monstrosities to hurl themselves against the gates.

A long breath escaped her lips.

"Then it's decided," she said at last. "We begin preparations to return home."

A ripple of agreement passed through the room. Kessler, the captains, the lieutenants—all nodded, some with visible relief, others still wary but accepting.

"Word will spread fast," Kessler noted. "The men will celebrate tonight, mark my words."

"They deserve it," Claudia admitted.

Ansel let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Feels strange," he muttered. "Going home."

Claudia glanced at him, catching the shadow that flickered across his expression. Home. For most of them, it meant returning to family. To familiarity. To comfort.

For her, it meant returning to Klaus.

Her chest felt tight.

"We still have work to do before we leave," she said briskly, pushing the thoughts aside. "We need to ensure the town is properly garrisoned before we depart. There will be rebuilding to do, fortifications to reinforce. I won't have Wallesdorf left unprepared should the Legion ever return."

Kessler nodded. "Understood. I'll begin drawing up logistics for the transition."

The meeting adjourned soon after, officers filing out one by one, speaking in hushed voices as they went to inform their respective troops.

Only when the chamber was nearly empty did Claudia allow herself a pause, exhaling through her nose.

Ansel remained by her side, watching her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Claudia hesitated before answering.

"Yes," she said. "It's just… strange."

Ansel nodded. He understood.

Because despite everything—despite the relief, despite the exhaustion, despite the fact that this was the outcome they had fought and bled for—neither of them felt at peace.