The observation was so accurate it took my breath away. "It is. Command means separation, even from people you trust. You can't be friends with men whose lives you might need to spend for strategic advantage."
"Is that why you've never felt comfortable inprevious bonds? Because leadership has taught you to maintain distance?"
The question cut deeper than intended, striking at fears I'd barely admitted to myself. I was quiet for a long moment, reaching for another fig to buy time while I decided how much truth I could afford to share.
"Perhaps," I said finally. "Or perhaps I've never felt safe enough to be... vulnerable. Bonds require surrender, but I've spent years learning that surrender means death."
"Not always," Kaelen said softly. "Sometimes surrender is the beginning of something better."
The words hung between us like a promise, heavy with implications neither of us was ready to explore fully. But something in his tone made me look at him more carefully, noting the thoughtful expression, the way he seemed to be working through ideas even as we spoke.
"You sound like you're speaking from experience."
"Theoretical experience," he corrected with a slight smile. "I've studied bond dynamics extensively, remember? The most successful partnerships happen when both people feel safe enough to show their authentic selves rather than performing expected roles."
"And what if your authentic self doesn't match what's expected?"
The question escaped before I could stop it, carrying more weight than I'd intended. Kaelenturned to face me fully, and I felt pinned by the intensity of his gaze.
"Then the expectations are wrong," he said with quiet conviction. "The gods created us as we are, not as Orders think we should be. Bonds work when people honor their true natures, not when they force themselves into ill-fitting shapes."
The simple statement hit me like revelation. All my life, I'd tried to fit the militant ideal—strong, commanding, always in control. But what if that wasn't who I was meant to be? What if the reason my previous bonds had failed was because I'd been trying to be someone else entirely?
"You make it sound simple," I said.
"The concept is simple. The execution..." Kaelen's smile held acknowledgment of complexity. "That's where it gets challenging."
The night deepened around us as we talked, sharing stories and observations with surprising ease. Kaelen told me about his childhood on Lyrian, about climbing the cliff paths to reach hidden caves where ancient hermits had once meditated, about finding fragments of pottery that might have held sacred oils a thousand years ago. His love for history was evident in every word, the way his hands moved as he described discoveries, the light in his eyes when he spoke of mysteries solved.
In return, I found myself sharing things I'd never told anyone—the weight of command, yes, but also smaller truths. How I'd started keeping a journal during campaigns, writing down the names of fallensoldiers so they wouldn't be forgotten. How I sometimes stood watch alone at night just to feel useful without having to make decisions that affected others. How the silence between battle and dawn was both peaceful and terrible.
"You're not what I expected," Kaelen said during one of our comfortable silences.
"What did you expect?"
"Someone harder. More... rigid. The typical militant—all discipline and duty with no room for doubt or complexity." He plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between his fingers. "But you're thoughtful. Careful with words in a way that suggests you understand their weight."
"And you're not what I expected either."
"Oh?"
I struggled to find the right words. "I thought scholars were... remote. Lost in books and theories, removed from practical reality. But you're... present. Engaged. You see things clearly."
"Thank you," he said, and something in his tone suggested the observation meant more to him than simple flattery.
A breeze stirred the branches above us, sending dappled shadows dancing across his features. He looked almost ethereal in the moonlight, like something from the ancient stories he loved so much. But when he smiled at me, he was entirely human, entirely real.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
I nodded.
"Are you nervous? About the bonding?"
The question hung between us, loaded with implications. This was dangerous territory—acknowledging what waited for us at the end of six days, the intimate ritual that would bind us together according to sacred law.
"Yes," I admitted. "Are you?"
"Terrified," he said with surprising honesty. "Not of you," he added quickly. "But of... failing. Of not being what you need. Of disappointing everyone who's watching to see if cross-Order bonding can actually work."
